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incidentallysunny · 3 months

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I Was Never There.

Death Island Leon x Reader

Real!Dad Leon

Dead dove warning.

13k word count. Proof read 3 times until I got to around 11k then I stopped worrying and just skimmed. Critique is welcomed and my skin is thick for it.

I’d like to appear in the tagz pls so here’s a warning. My writing is not ever meant to be taken literally and is just for the sake of writing f*cked up content that I enjoy writing. If you do not wish to read this, please do not as my intentions are not to offend or make you intentionally uncomfortable but if you choose to read- don’t be hateful. With that out of the way, extremely sensitive content and dead dove material ahead.

Specifically blood-related incest, smut, suicidal ideation, mentions of grotesque imagery, light mentions of gore in a hypothetical scenario, daddy-issues, age-gap, overall disturbing topics.

As far as smut specifically: this includes talking of public sex, mentions of oral, fingering, unprotected sex, cream-pie (wrap your willy irl pls) praise, dirty talk, any probably some other irrelevant shit I’m forgetting my b.

PROCEED if you read the above, are okay with it, and are mentally unwell like I am. Happy reading, it’s a long one.

The drive from your college town to where your home had been all your life was as expected. Nostalgia and homesickness being mixed in your gut like a can of paint in one of those weird machines at the hardware store that your dad would take you to. Speaking of dad, you hardly remember him. He was present for a short while, your mom always excusing his absence with work this and work that. He really did get busy, though. Almost dying several times. You still remember your moms panicked phone calls, her countless prescription drugs for the same problems you now suffer from, and her late-night bathroom breakdowns. Apparently he couldn’t get out of this job though. Some real fucked up government shit he was tied to, your mom explained. All you know about him is that he saved the president’s daughter. Whatever.

So yeah- a perfect life with a perfect set of parents. One being mentally driven through the dirt and the other that you haven’t seen in 8 years or maybe more. You can’t seem to remember if the last few times you saw your dad were daisied dreams or reality. Bastard has never FaceTimed or video called you, either. Dunno if he even had a phone capable of that. Either way, it must be for the better, because your grades had been sufficient without stressors on your mind. And we all know a low-effort dad would definitely be one. But perhaps he’d rather just be there in person. Older people are like that.

You grunted, trying to drag your over-packed suitcase up the steep suburban driveway before sighing and standing in place. Sure, you didn’t need to bring so much shit home, but would you really want to risk some bitch at college stealing anything from your quad-dorm?

Before you could think and figure out how you’d even get the plastic luggage up the pristine, hand-painted porch steps and inside (without scratching them up and having your parents on your ass about their perfect house having a flaw) a voice called out to you. Unrecognized and not ringing any of the bells in your head. (If there were any left)

“Hey there, sweetheart. It’s been a while, huh?”

You turned to see a middle-aged man, similar to the last memory of your dad that had been printing-pressed into your mind for safe keeping. He was just emerging from the front door, broad chest accentuated by a well-fitted T-shirt. You immediately felt angry that his tits were bigger than yours. Would probably look better with a bra, too.

You didn’t answer.

Fuck- nerves were getting the better of you. Your palms were slick with sweat and you didn’t know if it was from the building summer humidity or anxiety. Was this normal? No the fuck it wasn’t.

“Uhh.. dad?” You queried- almost certain the gorgeous man at the door was just a hotter, older version of your dad and not actually him. The fuck is wrong with you? You’re getting this worked up over your father? Did college drinking really rewire your brain to be this fucked or is it all of the anxiety meds? Maybe both. Maybe you’re just overwhelmed. Maybe it’s because you rarely saw him and have zero attachment.

“Yeah, it’s me. Your old man. Missed you, kiddo.” There’s a pause for a moment- because you’re not sure why he’s talking so casually as if you see each other every weekend- like it hasn’t been years and years since you’ve seen him.

“Don’t remember me,huh?” He laughs satirically- like you’re supposed to be so sure. It makes you slightly furious and the feeling of anger bubbles up again- replacing any strange thoughts you were having moments ago.

No, my apologies dearest dad. I totally recognize you despite having met you enough times to count on almost two hands.

But the better part of you that managed to exist underneath the scores of problems you had just replied in jest- like someone without said scores of problems. It was best to keep the peace for now.

“You look a little different… sorry.” Is that all you can manage? It’s pitiful the state that your sullied mind is in.

He chuckles, though, like he knows your’re right. The sound is more pleasant and striking when it’s genuine. Makes you feel damp in other areas than just your armpits (thank you, heatwave).

“I suppose there’s truth to that. But It’s alright, sweetheart. I know it’s been a long time. People change, right?” His eyes scan you in an undecided way.

“But you, shit. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. College treating you well?” His words sound a little huffed then, he’s clearly beating around the bigger issue with a stick. But him calling you beautiful and being all fucking sappy makes your face feel hot and sticky like it’ll melt off. Got you wanting to rip the hair from your scalp to hear him say it again.

“Please?” You called out gently- gesturing to the suitcase and ignoring any other question. You were very much overstimulated- having overexerted muscles in your arms by being a weak bitch about a crammed carry-on. Just get your ass out here and help your daughter, thanks.

He shook his head- again laughing hotly while looking down as he stepped off the porch- his brown bangs were peppered with greys and they brushed his face on one side, his hair somehow pornographic on its own. Christ. He looked like one of those men you saw on Viagra commercials that obviously didn’t actually need it. Even the sight of your perfectly trimmed lawn and faux-looking home completed the scene. Where was the camera?

He walked over to you- there was a slight stiff in his stride; like he had a bad back or something. Maybe he did. Almost dying was the likely cause for that. Serves him right for leaving you with issues on top of issues. Maybe you should stop being mean, you’re the one getting hot over your own father. Again- because of him. Circle back to square one.

Leon towered over your frame as he hinged at the hips, picking up the suitcase with ease- the muscles in his arm flexed with each small movement. His face was a tinge of smug with a mix of something else…satisfaction? Maybe he was just pleased he was able to lift it without rupturing a hernia. Jesus Christ, his veins. You wonder if he has them anywhere else. No- maybe you should be wondering about taking your ass to an inpatient facility immediately. A few screws are loose and you don’t exactly have the tools to tighten them.

“I guess college did treat you well. You’re here in one piece.” He says- cutting you thickly from your thoughts and answering his own question from earlier. His blue eyes are sweet and gently lined with signs of aging. Which only makes him hotter- just like the fiery pits of hell that await you.

You scoff.

“Well, it’s not like I went to war or something.”

“Still. It’s nice to see you, sweetheart.” The word rolls off his tongue again. Your insides are trapezing around in their own miniature, fleshy circus- you’re wishing you could stab yourself in the stomach to stop the swarm of butterflies that don’t even feel metaphorical anymore. You’re sure they’re real now.

He continues, though.

“I know I haven’t been around much in your life- this fucking job and-“ You stare up at him- glossy doe-eyes and stupid look on your face. An apology- or even an explanation from your daddy might be part of what your scrambled brain needs.

“Work kept me away, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you every day. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you like I should have been. Shit… What I mean to say, is- things will be different. I’ve retired. Your mother wanted me to tell you over dinner later but I figured you’d be happy to know. I��m not the best at keeping secrets.” He jokes at the end, but how is that true in the slightest? He’s kept his job a secret for your entire life, so he clearly can’t be that horrible at it.

“Oh.” Leaves your lips quietly, ghosting over Leon and leaving him wondering if he said something wrong. But then he realizes it’s probably just overwhelming for you. The worst part of him thinks you hate him. A feeling overcomes you though, and you rush in to wrap your arms around his waist- hugging him tightly. You now wonder why he didn’t hug you to begin with. Maybe he wasn’t an affectionate guy.

He says nothing at first- he’s even more awkward than you are if it’s possible. But he’s trying. He sets down your suitcase before returning your hold. One arm comes around the back of you and the other is overlapped on top- a hand nestling on the back of your head. Seems he’s getting a bit emotional, too. The attention from him is nice, though.

When you make a small grunt as to wanting to end the hug, his hands linger on your shoulders and he smiles at you. You actually return to, not feeling anything horrid become of your thoughts right now. Whether it be anger or incestual lust.

—

Your dad pushes the front door open with one of his large hands encased on the knob. Hands you immediately find attractive, wondering if they’d feel nice scissoring your cunt open. You now begin to understand why your mom was getting suicidal over him possibly not returning home. You’d kill yourself over him too. But that’s too morbid- especially after the moment you just shared.

That’s already lost to you.

He shut the door firmly, sighing, then gestures to the stairs.

You went up first, self conscious about your backside being right in front of his view but he was your dad. Wouldn’t be looking at you that way. You’re just brain-rotted and have an ill opinion of men.

Your old bedroom still looked the same, basically. Just emptier and more hollow without your things. But the walls were still painted a babydoll-pink and lined with the few girlish decorations you left on the wall. No way you would have been caught dead with those in your dorm. Not unless you wanted to endure torment and bullying that’d lead you to jumping off the dormitory roof.

He sets your luggage down and takes a seat on your bed. A groan escapes him as he puts a hand on his lower back for a moment.

“I see this room hasn’t changed much, has it?” he muses, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Your mom and I had a blast putting it together for you when she was pregnant.”

Yikes. You almost feel guilt for both the incestuous thoughts and the fact you may have ruined your parents' marriage. Maybe that’s not true. It was his work- not you. After all, he’s insinuating how happy they were to have you brought into this world. Plus- they were fine. Never argued or anything.

“I’m sorry. I dont- I don’t know what to say.” You laughed awkwardly, throwing your hands slightly up by your side.

His face doesn’t drop, though. It seems he understands perfectly fine.

“It’s okay. We can start from scratch. Not talk about… your room or childhood stuff. I know it’s a sore spot for you, sweetheart.”

Wrong. It’s more like a festering wound with the rusted knife still wedged in it. The knife being Leon and the wound your daddy issues, by the way. And having no attachment to him as a father figure makes the attraction worse. Notably when he calls you any term of endearment. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

What the fuck. Was he sculpted by Satan himself as some kind of hell-on-earth punishment? Is this purgatory? Everything he did now was driving you up the wall like a roach- every movement and small flex showing a vein or bulge of muscle. And his arm hair didn’t help. Fucking Christ- shave it off or something. You don’t know how you’ll be able to stand it.

“Okay…. How does that work?” You cocked your head to the side a little, shifting your weight onto one leg. A nervous habit.

“Well- what do most parents do with their kids? We could go out for dinner, catch a movie, just… hang out. I’d like to spend time with my daughter, you know.”

Okay, so maybe he did care. That’s a start.

“Uh… all three?” You questioned, an eyebrow lifting along with the infliction of your voice towards the end of your sentence. You’re indecisive like your mom.

He smiled, lines and the corners of his mouth pressed. Happy. Something you heard wasn’t common for him, anyways.

“Of course. We can go out tomorrow, honey. Your mom just wants us to all have dinner together when she gets home. She missed you- not as much as I did, I bet.” He does that stupid fucking wink again. It makes you switch emotions and want to throw something at his head. Maybe your lamp. You feel bad, It’s not his fault you’re acting like a mental freak about him. You don’t even bother to fixate on the fact you’ll have to have dinner with your cunt of a mom. Okay, maybe that’s harsh.

“Okay.” You breathe out, looking around your room. Leon takes that as a cue to stand up from your old bed- the thing creaking from his weight and leaving an indent on your comforter.

“It’s a date, then. I’m going to start dinner. As much as I love your mother, she can be…scary.” He says, still rocking that pressed-in-cheek smile and cracking your door closed behind him. By the way, what he really meant was probably ‘bitchy’- not scary. But dad seems too kind to say that. He loves your mom.

You can breathe again without his presence. It was smothering, like you had to overperform. You find yourself rushing to your dresser mirror to check how you looked. Hair looks great, face too- though a little tired from college over-studying and then driving 4 hours home with no break.

You might as well write ‘whore’ on your mirror with lipstick. Or a marker- since that’s a more permanent reminder with the way you’re acting. But part of you wanted to know what he thought of you- how he perceived you. For now though, it doesn’t matter. Had barely been 15 minutes since you arrived. You turn your attention to your suitcase and push it over flat, unzipping it before the teeth give out and some of your things spill from inside.

You had less than a sufficient amount of energy to care about it being broken now- so you just put your things away quickly before plopping onto the bed and indulging your senses with the smell of the floral detergent your mom always used on your sheets.

—

It’s some time later when you’re abruptly awoken by your moms manicured hand shaking you awake by the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re sleeping when you could be spending time with your father. He was excited for you to be home.”

‘Way to wake me up.’ You thought. She was always having a stick up her ass about this kind of thing. Or anything, really..

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Besides, we’re going out tomorrow to do a bunch of stuff.” You argue sleepily, sitting up as your back aches with your vision still adjusting. She cuts on the lamp, sizzling your retinas.

Her face perks up but is pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, okay..” silence.

“I’m sorry, honey. It was just a long day at work and I’m just over-the-moon for you two to finally have some daddy-daughter time.”

You wrinkle your face in disgust, but not fully disgust since you were just fawning over your hot dad earlier. Maybe daddy doesn’t sound so bad.

“Ew- mom. He’s just my dad. I’m not five.” She laughs, waving her hand off at you.

“Well anyhow- come down for dinner, will you? He put in a lot of effort to cook something for us.”

You cursed under your breath and straighten out your shirt- hoping she wouldn’t bitch about it being slightly wrinkled from you sleeping in it. You seat yourself at the table- adjacent from your mother sitting at the end. She’s already changed out of her office clothes and sure enough, here comes your daddy dad from the kitchen with utensils.

“Sorry ladies- almost forgot these.” He laughs, placing down everyone’s set before seating himself next to you. Fuck.

“You know- your father has only been home a few months and he’s already shown the extent of his memory loss.” She jokes, giving him a loving yet teasing look that makes you want to vomit. And yet jealousy curls up like a cat in your lap, wanting to be lavished with attention from you. The metaphorical jealousy pounces off your lap as you’re met with your dad’s hand on your denim-clad thigh. It’s an innocent gesture but you want to his hand to go further than just sitting politely.

“She’s right, but I can be useful otherwise.” He’s bantering back with her- and you realize he’s making an innuendo when you look over at his face. But it’s weird that he’s saying it while his digits cradle your thigh so gently.

“Gross.” You take a bite of your food- momentarily shocked that a dad of any sort could make such a pleasant meal, especially when he’s spent such little time doing domestic duties.

“Oh honey- you’re grown. We’re just teasing each other.” Your mom nods to Leon, taking a bite off of her fork. His hand slides off of your thigh and he grabs his whiskey glass to take a proper sip.

Jeez, he drinks that shit like its water. No grimacing. No face was made when he swallowed it. Just a guy thing you suppose.

Dinner drags on- the both of them forcing you to talk about your less-than-thrilling college experience. No mom, no boyfriend. No dad, I’m not failing. No you two, I’m not having unprotected sex- fuck off.

After that eventful meal and conversation where your parents basically eye-fucked each other over dinner, you’re left to clean up the mess while your mom gets ready for bed. She has to leave for work early in the morning- as usual. Guess she’s going to take your dad’s spot for the absent parent now that you’re grown and traumatized full and proper.

Sleep came and went- leaving you to trudge out of bed and do your morning routine. It felt out of place trying to do it back at home- but it was also a sentimental feeling to be doing just that.

Leon is already in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking. Seems impractical, but holy fuck. You’d gorilla glue your eyelids open just to not miss a single second of what you’re seeing. Maybe that wasn’t needed- because you've been staring long enough that your eyes prick with tears. You remind yourself to blink and you seat yourself at the high-top, the stool swiveling slightly when your bottom meets the material.

“Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder. His traps are distracting you. You want to chew your fingernails past the nail bed- bite a finger off too. You can’t stand it. For a moment- the way he talks to you- you’re pretending you’re not his daughter. And then a moment later, you’re not being delusional anymore.

“Mhm.” You mumble sleepily- wishing you’d have stayed in bed longer. But piercing morning light, lack of blackout curtains, and the chirping of birds outside made that idea inconceivable. Leon chuckled to himself- turned away from you.

You decide to scroll through your phone for a moment’s time before he slides a plate to you from across the island.

“Breakfast a la Leon.” He says- clearly being silly. Corny as fuck, anyways.

“You’re old.” You snort, setting aside your phone and grabbing a fork to pick at your food until he turns away again. You didn’t enjoy the idea of having a hot, shirtless man watching you eat.

He shakes his head, sitting down next to you at the island.

Christ. Fucking go away. It’s actually enraging now.

You want to scream at him- it’s irrational and crazy- but you do. Screaming at him and being sent away to a ward sounds more appealing than the anxiety crawling up your spine like a horde of fire ants. Potentially- just like the butterflies- they’re real too.

He seems undisturbed as he settles- taking a bite. You do the same- trying to ignore the fact he's so close you can nearly feel his arm hair touching you every second or so. He breaks the silence after a moment.

“So- after this, I’ve got a whole day planned out. Mall, movies, and dinner. Sound good?” You nod, a soft ‘mhm’ reverberating on the roof of your mouth.

He finishes before you and makes his way upstairs- the occasional pain in his back unmistakeable every few steps. And yet he wants to take you to the mall to walk around? You didn’t even know how to feel about a day with your dad. What’s a dad? What’s daddy-daughter bonding? That’s lost to you- well- more like it was never even discovered. Not even Columbus could have ventured out and conquered it.

Since he’s no longer in the room, you hastily eat the rest of your breakfast before you discard the plate and fork into the way-too-elaborate dishwasher your mom had installed (you totally didn’t spend 10 minutes trying to turn it on).

Back in your room, you settle on a simple, totally not underlyingly slutty outfit. Shorts and a crop top. Can never go wrong with that. It’s just soft/core prom enough for an outing with your dad. When you leave your room- Leon is just headed down the stairs. He turns to look at you, his smile is as jovial as it has been since you’ve seen him. For a moment though, you think you catch his eyes landing on your exposed legs- but you know you’re just crazy. You’re the one lusting after him, not the other way around. Your dad isn’t abnormal like you. His head is on correctly- even if it’s been battered and spun on his shoulders throughout the years.

“Ready?” He asks, stopping in place to wait for you. You nod stupidly, breaking from your trance to follow him in a descent down the stairs.

He’s dressed similar to how he was yesterday- jeans and a t-shirt that should be considered indecent. If you were your mom, you’d beg him to wear something that doesn’t highlight every curve and dip of his chest. Hell, if you were your mom, you’d never let him go outside. Too risky. But you’re not your mom. You’re just unusual.

As a perfect man does, he opens the door for you. Then opens the SUV door, allowing you in before shutting it behind. You’re sure you've never met a guy that does that in real life, but maybe it was a ‘you’ problem and not the guy. Who knows.

When he gets in, he cranks the vehicle only for rock music to start playing from the radio- making the corners of his mouth dimple with a pleased look. Really are the simple things for him. As for you, you’re suffocated in a Hellish torment by both his presence and the expensive scent of cologne and leather seats combo.

The ride isn’t long, nor bad. Albeit you two only talk here and there so he can focus on the road- and so you can focus on not dying (he’s not a perfect driver, but not terrible either). Just enough to keep your nerves teetering between a light anxiety attack and full blown panic.

You’re relieved to get there alive. Maybe not. Your thoughts have you thinking suicide may be your only option for now disgusting they are. And it only gets worse when he helps you down from the step up of the SUV- a hand on your exposed waist and the other on your shoulder. It’s harmless. Just a dad being gentlemanly. He was shaped and carved out in that perfect, chivalrous image with only a mallet and hammer. No reason to make it weird.

Inside the mall is a tad busy- the perfect amount to be comforting. You feel a bit more at ease in a public setting since you can now focus on anything but your dad’s chest. As long as he doesn’t require eye contact or talk to you, that is.

He looks around, arms crossed. It’s almost whorish. He has to know his arms look good. Or that his everything looks good. The fuck.

“So…” He cranes his head to the side, bangs brushing over his nose for a moment. The way he looks around makes his Adam’s apple and neck muscles a little more prominent. A perfect, stubbled spot to attack with your lips.

“What do you feel like doing first, kiddo?”

You. Is what you want to say.

He looks back to you, smiling down amused. He seems genuinely happy to be able to take you out. But really- his face is making you nauseous. Obviously not because it’s bad. But because it’s good-bad. Too good it’s bad.

“Uhh… “ you look away from him, scanning the entrance area and looking at any signs. Almost like an escape.

“How about new clothes maybe? Seems like something got ahold to the other half of your pants anyways.” He nudges you with an elbow, gesturing to your shorts with his head.

So he probably did look at your legs earlier. Maybe not in the way you think, though.

You glare at him.

“Seriously?”

Leon puts his hands up in defense. He’s always on the defense in life anyways.

“Joking, joking. You’re…grown.” His forehead lines crease when he raises his brows. You did get rather annoyed at his comment, however.

“I could always buy some even shorter.” You spit sarcastically.

“Yes- because every father wants to walk around with their daughter who has her ass out.” He’s quick to remark, this time he seems grumpier when he talks. Sorta like he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. Or that he’s mad.

“Sorry my legs make you so uncomfortable. I guess I should’ve left them at home.” The back and forth here could go on forever between you two but he catches you off guard.

“Shit- no. It’s not that- ‘s just you’ve got nice legs. Can’t have these…shitheads eying down my little girl. I may be old, but I can fight when I need to.”

You know he meant his words innocently enough, but the fact that he said nice legs has you giddy inside. Same feeling when your crush calls you pretty. Yeah- that sorta feeling. And his little girl. It has a ring to it. Could even legally change your name to it so that he can call you by it more often. Maybe he’ll even let you jump on his dick right away.

Your face is pure rose-shaded. A perfect, neutral shade to make your embarrassment pop on your skin. You’re sure it’s visible to him, too. Your mom always teased you about how blotchy it would get when you were humiliated. Particularly when she would tell awkward stories about you at family dinners. Bitch.

“What’s wrong? Don’t be pissed at me, sweetheart. I was just teasin-“

“It’s not that.” You interrupt- heart thumping into your rib cage. If it doesn’t stop, or you don’t stop your word-vomit, it might crack a rib or four. Probably more. Better have hospital bill and therapy money ready, dad.

“Then what’s the matter? I just want us to have a good time together. I’m not trying to upset y-“

“You said I have nice legs.” You’re quick to cut him off again.

“And…?” He trails off, cocking his head to the side like he’s confused. Because he is confused. You stare off to the side- eyes glued to the fountain. Maybe you could go drown yourself in the penny-flavored water that you guarantee hasn’t been changed out since you were still the unlucky sperm in your dad’s ball-sack.

“I like that. You saying that.” You speak a little lower now- afraid someone will hear. Or because the tinnitus is so loud in your ears. What you’re getting at is almost clear now. Or at least clear enough.

Leon’s expression is taken aback but still confused to an extent because he’s not even certain what you’re saying. Though, he has an idea.

“Oh- uh. Okay. Sweethea-“

“Holy fuck- stop calling me that. You’re not making this easy. Wanting to fuck you. I know- I sound mental.” You spill it out, guts on the floor and the sword still in hand. Holy shit. Just told your dad you want to fuck him. You could have backtracked- fucking dumbass. You won’t be shocked if he packs his bags and leaves off again tomorrow.

He’s silent for a moment.

“Okay- clearly I wasn’t around enough. I get that. But I mean- fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking around. Probably thinking the same thing about the fountain that you did. Still- he looked hot while having a crisis and contemplating immediate suicide. He paces while your nerves are being electrocuted in your body. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“Just- sweetheart, no. None of that’s.. I can’t.” He starts, turning back to you. It seems he can look you in the eyes now. So maybe he’s not entirely disgusted by you. His face isn’t contorted with disgust, so there’s a chance. Yeah, you’re off your rocker now. You know.

“Look- let’s not talk about this. C’mon. Let’s go catch a movie like I promised.” He starts walking- leaving you standing in a puddle of shame and embarrassment for a moment before stopping to let you catch up.

Luckily- the theater is joined to the mall. It’ll be a short walk.

—

Leon is lax on the couch until he hears the crunchy sound of tires on concrete. You’re home. Despite his shitty back, he's huffing as he gets up fast and is already opening the door. The air is hot as it greets his skin and he watches you struggle with your suitcase through the heat-haze that spans over the distance.

He calls out to you- making your head snap in his direction. Your face is that of awe and confusion. You don’t seem to immediately recognize him- okay. He gets it. It’s been a while. Nevertheless, you’re beautiful. He’d seen pictures of you from your mother, but he’s in awe just as you are. Though, he doesn’t think that highly of himself so he often wonders if you’re even his kid. Couldn’t have made something that perfect, in his mind. He helps you with your bag and follows you to your room. But your demeanor around him is noticeably mousey. At first, it doesn't seem like much. You’re just getting used to him.

Plus, Leon knows he can come off intimidating. Sometimes. But for him, he’s got a good eye and his job has led him to being able to read even the tiniest bits of body language. Doesn’t take him long to see how you’re worming around shyly- subconsciously smoothing your hair down and biting at your lip. Same way your mom acted around him before they started dating. But again- maybe it’s just in his head. Leon’s been wrong a time or two.

A better man would have left it alone. Leon gets that. But an innocent thigh squeeze at dinner can help him test his theory. A thigh squeeze that’s under the guise of friendly, fatherly touch. You tense- he can hear your small, sucked in breaths as long as his hand is there, along with heat radiating off your body like a wildfire. If wildfires could be horny college-aged daughters with daddy issues, that is.

The idea disgusts him. Because he should feel disgusted and just kill himself. Where did these thoughts come from? He even has the urge to let his hand wander other places. Bets that you have a cute pussy. No matter what it does or doesn’t look like, it’s yours and he knows it's cute. He’d give you two thick digits in your hole (three if you allow him) and have his tongue kitten-lick your clit.

“There we go. Good girl.” Is what he envisions saying before diving back in for a mouth full of you. Girls like you love being praised. Especially by their estranged father-figure or a middle aged man. It’s all the same. He’d pry the daddy issues right out of you with his dick. It’s long and fat enough, and solves all of his matters properly. Your mom is in a bad mood? His dick will fix that. He can’t sleep? His dick will fix that. His daughter is a horny freak and begging for it? His dick will fix that, too- obviously.

It’s only when your mom makes some stupid fucking joke about his memory loss that he snaps back into reality and he loses the momentum he had going for an erection. Which is good. Maybe thinking about fucking your mom will make him normal again. So he drops a quip right back- something about… being useful. Yeah. Again, his cock is useful. Your mom bites at his words, but you’re annoyed and disgusted with his comment- especially with his hand on you while he says it.

Trust me, baby. Much rather be splitting you open than having performative, mandatory spousal sex. It’s like a switch flipped. He’s not interested in your mom. Should’ve had that realization years ago, even. Technically he did. He’s just now saying it in his head finally. Mostly he was exhausted because she had nothing to do with Leon even when he was home (unless it was for dick). Too bad he was a golden retriever following after her every step like a good doggy. Marriage did that to a guy. He just did what he was supposed to. Kept the lights on, blew out her back occasionally, listened to her complain, and took care of the lawn when he could. Easy enough. That’s what men do, right? He doesn’t really know what being a man is, honestly. Thanks, Major Krauser. Anyhow- he chokes down his food with a smile. The need to upchuck after everything he just thought up is a given.

He takes the liberty to fuck your mom later that night as promised per (faux) flirting over dinner. He has her face down-ass up, though. For… imagination’s sake. At least fucking a pussy and imagining you is better than his hand and imagining you. Or so he tells himself. Call it killing two birds with one stone, satisfying your mom and quelling his own desires. And it’s not hard to imagine any of it, because you look so much like your mother. He lies awake for a short while after- contemplating his existence and fucked up thoughts. He’s still holding back vomit and the urge to grab his gun from the nightstand and off himself all over the wallpaper, while in the process, traumatizing your mom. After an hour of this- he figures it’s fine, men think of perverted or weird shit sometimes. Jerk off to weird shit too. He hasn’t technically done anything morally wrong… sort of. It’s denial. At least he’s good at playing the part of a genuine, loving father. Because he is! He loves his family. Always has!

Spending time with you would make you happy, him happy, your mom happy. He loves you dearly. All is great. He’s swearing that his brain won’t be smoothied in his skull by tomorrow. It’ll be normal and function rationally.

But Leon wakes up with the thoughts being real as ever while he stretches an arm out to feel around for your mother- bed empty since she leaves at the ass crack of dawn. Leon had just missed her leave, he’s still getting used to sleeping in ever since he retired.

He gets up and heads downstairs- immediately starting breakfast to take his mind off his…mind. Breakfast is his favorite meal of the day, it makes him feel better to indulge in it right now. Though, he doesn’t bother putting a shirt on at any point- just rocking those generic, green and blue tartan patterned pajama pants. Cooking shirtless is weird- but he’s hungry and part of him wonders if he’ll get to see your priceless face when you walk into the kitchen. He shakes his head- telling himself that he just had this talk with himself last night. None of that shit.

He was right about one thing. God, he could make a killing in betting. He sees your reflection behind him in the small window above the counter but you didn’t know that. Just stood, gawking. It’s okay. He’s observative, you’re not. You’re his dumb little girl. Dumb in the way you shift in your stool next to him when he sits down, dumb how you hold your breath when he’s near, dumb how you can’t even eat next to him, and dumb how your thighs seem to wriggle when his arm ‘accidentally’ brushes yours. Oh, he’s definitely not wrong.

Still- he knows when to back off. He hounds down his food, before you even make a dent in your plate, and heads upstairs to shower. He’s analyzing every detail of himself, contemplating how he can get under your skin the most- his knuckles gripping the sink with distaste for himself. Because it’s wrong. He’s acting like a teenager. This is a date with his daughter, not his highschool girlfriend.

Leon skips over shaving his face. Likes to keep it a little grown out but not too much so. Just in case he gets the chance to eat (your) pussy or kiss (your) a neck. Then comes the Dior ‘Sauvage’ body wash he never failed to keep with him. He takes pride in smelling good if anything. And this particularly expensive wash, plus the cologne, was his lifeline for that. When he traveled for work- the D.S.O. better have god damned had some sent to his room as courtesy. Ever since Raccoon City- he’s adamant about not smelling less than great. He swears he can still smell the sewer on himself sometimes, even if it’s not really there.

His hair routine was even more extensive and involved a weekly hair mask. Hey- it wasn’t wrong for a guy to have nice hair. It paid off.

Heat protectant, blow dry, hot-comb to get any cow licks or fly-aways he might have- though it’s unlikely- and a little spritz of biotin spray to keep it healthy and shiny. All of that in reasonable time, too. And no- it's not weird for him to spend longer on his hair than your mom does.

Besides, you seem to appreciate the way he looks when you come out of your bedroom- watching him descend the stairs. Leon looks back at you- eyes on your legs momentarily then coming back up. He knows it was a quick look- quick enough to make you question it. You do. Very much. Still, taking you out in public wearing those shorts is less than ideal for him, but he’s the one who needs to be watched closely. Aforementioned, Leon’s great at pretending. Pretending to be normal. Pretending to not have ulterior motives. Pretending to not want your legs on his shoulders as he-

“All ready?” He interrupts himself here. Can’t let his thoughts keep going too far. Even if he does want to rest a hand on your leg while he drives. Or veer off the road and into a tree so that he can’t continue to be disgusting. He’d die with the image of being a good, wholesome dad in everyone’s mind. And if you did or didn’t die too, at least you would have died not having been fucked silly by your old man. He manages to not kill you both, though. He wasn’t planning to- his driving is just ass. He knows whiskey with his breakfast isn’t ideal but when you’re a recovering alcoholic plus post traumatic stressed failure of a father, it helps.

Can’t complain though since he gets to put his hands on you while helping you out of the vehicle.

Now you’re both in the mall- Leon questioning what exactly he’s supposed to do now. He hasn’t been to one since… he doesn’t have enough fingers for that. But you’re seemingly calm. Until he makes a stupid joke about your shorts. Sure. As much as he’s thinking about ripping a hole in the crotch to fuck you cause he’s impatient and stupid- he said it out of genuine concern.

He still has fatherly instinct. Some sick bastard could get a glimpse of your exposed legs and go jerk off to it or take a photo. Ironic coming from him right now. The call is coming from inside the house but the dad is too busy fiending after his own daughter to answer.

You’re royally pissed. He knows it. Women don’t like having it insinuated that they’re dressed like a whore. Big whoop, though. Someone has to say it. Then you blindside him. Big, needy eyes and saying you like it when he tells you your legs are nice. Then something about how you want to fuck him. Christ. What the fuck. He’s not sure if this is some kind of screwy set-up or you’re actually just so slutty that the only dick you’ll accept is your dad’s. He’s rocking a semi now. Would be a full hard-on if he weren’t in public but his head spins cause all the blood went to his loins too fast.

Leon doesn’t accept the advances yet. Not now, anyways. He’s mortified. He really thought he had himself going in delusion about how you were behaving- but he was actually right. And now being confronted with it… he’s fucking scared - that’s for sure. Hmm. Be a morally acceptable human or fuck your needy, whore daughter silly? He shakes his head and lets out an exhale.

That question needs some thought. No, it doesn’t. He knows better than to do any of that shit, right? He takes a moment to start walking while you follow along shamefully- the two of you headed to the theater. A movie is perfect. Don’t have to talk or anything. No interacting, really. But how the fuck is he just going to forget what you said? Sure, he’s been having questionable thoughts but they’re just thoughts. Your words, however, spoke it into existence. Like a fucked up, frankenstein’s monster of father-daughter reality.

Don’t mind us, everyone. Daughter’s got it real bad for me but I’m just going to take her to the movies and pretend it’s normal. Reality was distorted for him ever since the existence of zombies and BOWs anyway.

He lets you pick the movie- telling the attendant that he needs two tickets. It’s a horror movie. Of course. Something to trigger his PTSD, maybe. Then he could say anything he did after that was just accidental. A mental slip. He goes to fork over the $60 for tickets and popcorn- god, when did shit get so expensive? As he’s pulling out the cash, he sees you give him a look like you want to say something. His mind is racing looking at you- it makes him nervous.

“Uh.. what about candy?” You ask, looking away from him and at the display.

“What? Sour worms?” He questions you, laughing. Not in a mean way- but because it’s your favorite. So insignificant but he remembers. You were still a kid when he and your mom took you to see some milked out children’s movie that was a part of an entirely too long series. He bought you two boxes of sour worms then. You were a weird kid, though. The worms were split into two colors, and you’d always bite them down the middle and make him eat the side you didn’t like. But he’d do it. Gladly.

You nod, a little befuddled that he’d remember something like that. Cute. Too bad your weird ass just told him you wanted to fuck him about 15 minutes ago. So not entirely a cute moment.

“Oh- and two boxes of Sour Worms, please.” He adds, now pulling out a little more cash.

You both respectively grab your own drinks- Leon with popcorn in tow and you, your worms and cherry soda. His hands are full but he manages to flash the movie ticket between his index and middle finger to the usher, who then ripped it in half and pointed to the left end of the hallway.

You both don’t say anything, but you immediately race to the very top row like a child once inside the screening. Leon swears under his breath as he follows you like a geriatric snail. If a snail could have lumbar issues. He’s able to make it up the stairs to you quite some time after and takes the seat next to you that’s closest to the aisle. Safety and all that jazz.

Previews are already playing so it gives him peace of mind to not address the awkwardness between the two of you. Your soda is in the cup holder that’s separating you both, but you lean over to take a sip, cheeks hollowed out while you drink. Of course Leon looks over, fuck.

Pretty little lips wrapped around the straw until you pull off of it with a satisfied sigh. Cause you were thirsty from anxiety- like someone shoved gauze and cotton into your mouth.

He shifts in his seat and looks back at the screen. He doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not, however. He’s just a perverted dickhead.

Time passes and not a single soul has come into this screening. It’s Monday at 11am, after all. Who the hell would come watch a horror movie at this time? No one except two fucking weirdos. It’s making Leon’s nails dig into the armrest with the other set scratching at his jeans.

The movie doesn’t start off bad, to Leon’s shock. He’s actually enjoying it and you seem just as entranced, pulling open the box of Sour Worms without looking down. You do wind up looking down, however, to bite one in half because it just so happened to be a blue and orange combo, and you hated the orange side.

“Here.” Leon turns to look at you- your eyes coming up to meet his blue ones that are oddly blue enough to the point that any light from the screen makes them pop. Pretty.

“The orange half. I know you don’t like them.” His voice is husky and low since the speakers are blaring some generic string-quartet horror piece. He nods down to the half chewed candy in your palm.

You pinch it between your fingers, bringing it to his mouth as your cunt throbs. He was expecting you to hand it to him, but the way you confidentially yet instinctively brought it to his lips isn’t entirely unwelcome. The emptiness of the theater makes it that way. Allows room for incest of whatever. He opens his mouth for you, and you go to place the sour treat on his tongue. His lips gently close around it, before he grabs your wrist to hold your arm in place. A hold gentle enough to tell you that if you want to snatch your hand away- feel free to do so. But you don’t. And you won’t. He knows.

Candy in cheek, he brings your fingers to his lips and nurses your knuckles with a kiss before puppeteering your hand with his larger one, working each digit so that he can equally suck each one clean. You’re amazed, aroused, and alarmed all at the same time. Amazed because he looks so gorgeous sucking on your fingers. Aroused for the obvious reason. Alarmed because duh, he’s your father and things can only go further from here.

Leon places your hand back onto the arm rest between you, chewing the halved sour worm now. As if he didn’t just give you the most visually appealing form of sexual affection in the history of womankind. The dryness of your mouth returns and you take another sip of your Cherry soda. Maybe you can drown yourself in it. No, stupid. That’s what the public bathroom toilets are for.

Right before you set the plastic cup into the cupholder again, Leon speaks.

“Ah, ah. Put it over there.” You don’t even hesitate to listen. Record timing for you doing anything. You don’t even know why you followed his instructions so quick.

“Good girl.” His words send lightning of excitement down your nerves and straight to your clit as he pushes the armrest between you upwards and out of the way. Because that’s a thing, for some reason. It’s like theaters want people to fuck, give head, and spread their diseases everywhere. And why does he know they move? You don’t even want to question it. Maybe he’s just a knowledgeable guy.

“Come here, honey. Let daddy kiss that pretty mouth.” Fucking Christ. This can’t be real. Doesn’t matter, ‘cause again, there’s zero hesitation on your part. Leon likes that. A woman that can follow orders. He’s so used to taking them, not giving them. And your mom isn’t one to listen to other people. Either way, if this goes south, Leon can always just off himself. He wasn’t around much so what difference would it make if he was permanently gone? The reassurance of being able to log out forever gives him courage here. It’s rational.

You scoot over since you’re free from any barriers or restrictions, and he puts an arm over you. You swear you almost hear your skin sizzle from the contact. You’re not a witch- and as far as you know, he’s not water. Even if he gets you wet. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and swipe a thumb over your bottom lip- teasing you.

“D-dad.” You stutter a protest- cringing that you sounded the way you did just now. Maybe you shouldn’t be embarrassed ‘cause he’s your dad- but you are embarrassed ‘cause he’s hot. You can’t even figure out why you wanna back out suddenly. Probably because the idea was better than betraying your mom and knowing yourself as someone who fucks their dad. Anywho- didn’t he say something about kissing you? Cause he’s not even doing as promised.

Your dad leans in, his free hand is now on your neck and angling it just to show you how easy he can manhandle your body. He plants a kiss on your earlobe before saying anything.

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t go giving daddy blue-balls now. It’s not polite to start things you don’t wanna finish.”

Leon’s words simultaneously gross you out and turn you on in a self-deprecating, disgusting kind of way. Not to mention he’s literally contradicting himself since he would gladly eat the half of the sour worms you didn’t want to finish- therefore entirely enabling you to start things you couldn’t finish. Hm. That must explain a large portion of your life, then. And besides all do that, doesn’t the know blue-balls is some kinda stupid myth or whatever?

His thumb falls down your lip and traces your jawline with intentional slowness while his eyes look over your face appreciatively- but it also seems as if he’s looking for or at something specific.

You get the courage to speak, air sucked fully into your lungs.

“Sorry, daddy.” The fuck is wrong with you? You could have said anything but that. It’ll only spur him on. But you want that, obviously.

He smirks, lips pressed together as the corners of his mouth do that same, pitted thing they do that you like so much. Must go hand in hand with how his chin is also dimpled. It’s sexy. But little do you know, it’s one of the reasons he keeps his stubble. Doesn’t feel like having his butt chin on display to the world- even if every woman that’s ever laid eye on him sees it and wants it buried in their cunt.

“That’s my girl. Didn’t even have to be around much to teach you that, did I?” Leon queries, grabbing your chin to crane your head just so that he can plant his lips onto your neck. His other hand is on your knee, unmoving. You want it to move, though. God- you’re sure whatever higher power is in the great sky is throwing up right now, moments away from pressing the reset button. The same higher power will make a new rule on humanity.

No free will and absolutely no incest. Yeah. Probably should have written that into the books ages ago, one fears.

You fidget as he kisses your neck, stubble scratching your epidermis yet tickling all the same.

“Not gonna answer me, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your throat, the neck kiss he gives it uses a bit of tongue- making your body jolt. “I know your mother taught you manners.”’

You mumble something pathetically apologetic, hands gripping the fabric over his shoulders. Hopefully your mom won’t notice his shirt being stretched out there- cause she notices everything.

“N-no, daddy. I knew it on my own.” You huff, that hand you wanted him to move is slowly doing so- fingers dragging along your inner thigh as if everything he’s doing to you is purposefully meant to be some kind of forewarning. But for what, exactly?

“Such a smart girl. Get that from daddy, you know it?” Ok, cocky…

Leon kisses his way back up your neck, jawbone, and then your cheek. It’s sweet- if being lavished with saccharine, sexual and inappropriate attention from your dad could be sweet.

You nod, feeling his grip loosen from your chin and now sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair, threading it. He’s slow and deliberate- part of you wishes he’d not give you time to think about your actions. Not that you can really think anyways. Your heartbeat is muddled in your ears and the movie is still rumbling through the speakers while someone gets murdered on screen. Lucky them.

The hand on your thigh presses firmer into the skin just below the edge of your shorts, a silent telling for you to keep your attention on him.

“Sorry baby, daddy got distracted. Just so pretty.” He must be able to tell you’re impatient because he kisses your cheek (with an oddly dark undertone to it) before slimming the distance between your lips. He pauses right when they touch and you’re breathing in the taste-turned-scent of the sour worm you fed him earlier. Sugar and that weird orange flavor that is only specific to orange candy. You’re obviously not a fan, but it suits him.

You don’t get any time left to process before it’s a full on kiss- well, make out, actually. It’s slow. You can’t recall being kissed like this, ever. Normally it’s straight to tongue with guys, and not in, like, the good way. The ‘having an eel invading your oral cavity’ kind of way. Eugh.

But your dad’s tongue does brush yours, tastefully. You can actually feel the texture and it’s easy to tell there’s an erection fueling his actions- but not so much so that it takes over the whole kiss.

He uses your hair to pull you closer, teeth clashing momentarily. Not exactly the best feeling but everything else envelops your senses to the point that it’s only a flash of a moment. Your thigh is neglected by his touch, hand moving up and around onto your backside. He gives a squeeze to the fat of your ass and groans against your mouth before pulling you into his lap- legs folded on either side of his thighs.

You break the kiss, looking over your shoulder and to where the entrance is- the exit sign casting a nearby glow that gives you anxiety..

“Can’t- we’ll get caught.” You pant, that weird feeling that’s the grotesque love child of nervousness and excitement is swimming in your gut like a parasite before settling. The severity and realness of the situation sinks in.

Leon laughs low and mean, retracting his hand from your hair and moving to run it through the top of your scalp to push it back. He juts his hips upwards to prod his denimed erection into the cunt of your shorts. You mewl quietly, or maybe it was loud. The movie is just too deafening to distinguish which.

“Suppose you’re right, baby.” He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, leaning in to give you a light peck on the lips. “Told you you’re a smart girl, didn’t I? Can’t let me go around thinking with my dick, huh?”

His hand pats your thigh as if to tell you to get off.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Up.” He commands you with a huffed voice- not because he’s annoyed but because he’s a middle-aged man. Moving is hard. You ignominiously climb off of his lap, putting your bottom back onto the seat next to him. He’s looking at you, meandering a hand back onto your thigh just to rest in place.

You stare at the screen- but you can’t even register it because you’re too disassociated from what just happened. You almost want to beg him to fuck you right here- plead for forgiveness that you suggested stopping in the first place. And you can still taste that damned orange sour worm in your mouth.

Leon behaves, though. He’s good about that. Respectful. In the way of consent- not in the way of not tongue fucking his daughter in a public space. When the movie ends, he gestures for you to stand and you walk past him, carrying your empty cup and boxes of sour worms while the uncomfortable feeling of your slick clinging the gusset of your panties to your cunt. You look back at your father, the sight of him in the palely lit theater is a bit intimidating. He’s adjusting his pants for obvious reasons. You look away quickly and keep walking- a giddy feeling of satisfaction overcoming you. Shortly enough, you’re both back in the main area of the mall. You brush your shirt out and fix your hair- the thought occurs to you that maybe you look a little mussed and should have straightened up sooner.

But the daylight beaming through the sky roof brings you back to your senses.

“Hmm. What does my sweet girl want to get up to now?” Leon asks, intersecting his arms as he looks over you.

You think, mind fizzling as it short circuits. You almost smell smoke emanating from your head, too. How can you look him in the face right now?

“Uhh..” You really don’t know what to say. What can you focus on doing after everything that’s happened today?

“How about this? We can go home a little early and I’ll cook something up for lunch. The drive will give us time to work up an appetite.” He says, nonchalant. Right back to his same fatherly tone from earlier today instead of the ‘I want to split you open with my dick’ tone he had moments ago. Maybe he’s just being sweet and you’re overthinking.

You’re befuddled that he’s not saying anything else about… that. How can he so easily go from publicly groping you to acting cheery and normal? It’s frustrating. Disturbing even. Leon can see the disappointment on your face- but you don’t know that. You assume it’s well hidden, just like the fact you kissed your own father. He thinks it’s cute though. You’re just cock dumb for him. On the other hand, this whole situation is something he has to deal with.

“Got it.” You manage to say, walking a little faster than he does. This is the second time you’ve walked off from your dad, and it does irritate him because he can’t keep up like he used to. Displaced disc in his spine or whatever. Plus, he thinks you’re pissed. Which is worrying. Should have known better than to mess around with his own daughter, he supposes.

The drive back is silent and less terrifying than the previous, part of you thankful. Maybe he was only a bad driver in the morning. Unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe it was the fact that he drank whiskey with his breakfast. Hm. ‘Responsible’ in hindsight.

It’s still early in the afternoon when you arrive back home. The concrete is sizzling from the heat and the sun beats down way too uncomfortably for even a walk from the driveway to the front door.

Leon side-steps you to unlock the house before he urges you in. He may be morally reprehensible but he still didn’t want to let any cool air out- AC’s expensive. You plop down on the couch and he locks the door, walking past you and straight to the kitchen.

The tension is thick for you- but for Leon- not at all. You watch him disappear through the doorway as he goes to prep food. Why is it so hard to read his emotions? He’s like a fucking light switch. You’re annoyed- leaning back on the couch, until he calls for you. You’re quick to get up, scrambling into the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart. Mind giving me a hand?”

“Yeah. What is it?” You faintly cock your head to the side.

Leon looks to the side- directly at you. You’re cute when you’re confused. He can tell that all you’re thinking about is continuing where you two left off earlier. Shit, you’re no better than your mother. ‘S just that you’re not crabby and sour all the time like she is.

“Can you grab the saucepan from the bottom cabinet. Your old dad can’t exactly bend over too well.” He laughs- shaking his head. Yes, dad. I get it. I know you have a bad back.

You walk over to the cabinet where he’s leaned onto one hand which is rested on the marbled countertop. You feel a bit apprehensive to be close to him again. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to not jump his bones, but Leon’s already ahead of you. As soon as you bend over, he pulls you back by the hips so that your ass is flush with his groin.

You’re taken aback but definitely not surprised. He’s a dirty old man, as you’ve learned.

“Gonna let daddy fuck this pussy now, or are you getting flaky on me?” He coos against your ear while he runs his hands up your sides and down again- creeping his hands to your front and over the buttons of your shorts- unhooking them through the slits.

“Yes.. want it.” You breathe in quick- the word coming out on its own. If god could hear you right now, he’d set your house ablaze with lightning.

“Need you to loosen up if I’m going to. You’re way too stiff.” Your shorts are the opposite of you, loose and unfastened fully so they fall to your ankles, and Leon nudges your feet apart with his boot. You realize he’s got a point as you feel his calloused hand glide down your hip and yank you in place. The other hand is spreading your pussy lips apart before finding that fleshy bud between them. A moan rumbles in your throat as your legs almost give out below you. He mutters a curse under his breath, and you realize his cock is now out while he rubs up against your ass- getting off on not only playing with your pussy but from dry humping you.

“Fucking christ. Got the prettiest ass, baby. Think daddy needs to see it bouncing on his cock.” You can practically feel that stupid, smug look as he grabs his dick- slapping it on your ass. It makes you cringe a little, but maybe you should be cringing at the fact your dad is the one doing it. You figure it’s just something he saw in porn, so it doesn’t leave your expectations high at the moment. Great. Leon adjusted himself back into his pants, for now.

His finger continues circling that bundle of nerves, your legs shaky as you’re being pressed into the counter, a hand is on your lower back to keep you down so he can do what he wants. You sound stupid- tears welling in your eyes as you babble nonsensically about wanting to cum. He moves his hand off of your back and sinks to his knees to be face level with you (even if it makes his back hurt a little), sliding his fingers up your inner thigh until there’s a digit prodding your hole, slowly pushing in.

He watches your cunt swallow his finger, barely able to fit it inside.

“Fucking shit, baby. Gonna have to stretch this pussy out if I want my cock in you, huh? Think you can let daddy do that?” He asks, breathy and sounding like he’s trying not to bust all over himself.

You eagerly shake your head.

“Yes, daddy. Need you to get me loose.” The words spill like a hot cup of tea from your lips, scalding Leon with desire.

“God damned. Such a polite fucking girl I’ve got. Might have to eat your mother out later to thank her for making you so respectful.”

You scrunch your face in disgust.

“That’s fucking gross.” You moan, Leon slipping a second finger into you, which should technically feel like four with how worn and big his hands are.

He tuts, planting a kiss to your asscheek.

“Now, didn’t daddy just compliment you? Could be a bit more grateful since he’s trying to make you cum” He grits, sounding a bit (terrifyingly) stern.

You apologize again.

“Sorry, daddy. Just don’t wanna hear about you and mom. Makes me jealous.” You admit, briefly thinking about their dinner conversation last night. Then about how fucking weird you are. You’re really hoping you get the courage to bash your head on the marble countertop and get amnesia.

Leon laughs, but in a way that makes you think he’s amused more than actually laughing.

“God. Want me to stop fucking my own wife just ‘cause you’ve got a needy pussy?” A third finger slips in, making an almost unbearable stretch as you feel a slight ache, but the previous two fingers already did enough work that it’s not completely unbearable.

“Maybe you’re not that grateful. Giving you three fingers here and she’s still too tight.” He twists his hand, letting the inside of you feel every inch of his knuckles and calluses. Your knuckles, however, are ghost-white as you grip at nothing.

“Maybe your fingers are just too small.” You say- mostly from built up tension and annoyance that you didn’t get to let out yet. But you regret the words.

He’s silent- which scares you. He pulls his fingers out of you- the stark contrast in emptiness is clear and the cool air stings you.

Leon groans as he stands up, kicking off his boots before yanking you by the arms to stand straight. He leans into your ear.

“C’mon. You’re gonna come sit on daddy’s dick, since you’re too fucking picky.” Goosebumps form all over you as he leads you to the couch. Leon leaves you standing there so he can get comfortable and discard his clothing, lying back with his hands behind his head. You make a mental note of how his biceps look with his arms bent in this position, even if you kinda feel like it’s lazy. But holy fuck, his toned stomach is perfect- sprinkled with a happy trail that will definitely lead you somewhere that will make you happy. Speaking of, his dick is nice. Fat. Not sure how big it is since you have not much to compare to, but you’d imagine taking it would be a bit of a proper challenge.

You step a little closer- crawling awkwardly over his lap- ass faced towards him so that you settle on his waist. It’s hard not to feel self conscious about your backside in this position, even considering the fact that he was just fingering you from the back moments ago. You’re mostly just upset you can’t gawk at his tits or stomach.

You grab him by the base, shifting yourself to hover directly over him, letting the tip graze your wet hole before slowly sinking down- a drawn out moan escaping you.

“Fuckkk. That’s it. Sit down on it. Take all of daddy.” You glance over your shoulder as you bottom him out; his eyes are half-lidded. Well, at least he’s got a pretty face while you’re fucking him. You almost failed to realize his hands moved from behind his head to your ass- gliding up your back and down again.

You take a moment to adjust, breathing shakily ‘cause his dick is so fat you think you might die. Or maybe you’re having a heart attack at your ripe age.

“Didn’t tell you to take any breaks, did I baby?” You’re annoyed at his pushiness, but you did have a bit of a sour attitude earlier. So you can only blame yourself.

You’re not sure how to entirely do this, but you move yourself up and down. Not at a fast pace, yet. Just that savoring your dad’s dick seems like a reasonable ordeal.

He doesn’t shut up, though. You’re learning just how much he likes to talk- as if he just wants to hear himself. Is he even getting off on you or the sound of his own voice? It makes you roll your eyes even if you do like hearing him say dirty shit.

"That’s my girl. So fucking good. Ride it nice and slow... Work that sweet pussy on daddy's cock.” You just might fall over dead hearing him say any of it- it’s disgusting but sweet Jesus are you eating it up. He must know it too because of how you clench around him involuntarily when he talks like that.

“You like when daddy praises you? Yeah, you love me telling you how good you are.” His words are husky and yet pleased with the previous tidbit of information.

“See how nice I am? Letting you sit on my cock after you made me wait earlier. Wasn’t very nice of you, now was it, baby?” His words have an underlyingly mocking tone, but you’d do anything to make him change it.

“No, daddy. Was really mean of me.” You whine pitifully, bouncing yourself on his dick like it’s your major in college and you’re trying to pass with flying colors.

“I know, baby. But daddy forgives you.” He murmurs, sitting up with you still on top of him. He’s flush against your back now- reaching in front of you to make those same tight circles on your clit. You both exchange your pitchy moans and his grunting and groaning- working up to a good point in both of your impending orgasms.

“Gonna cum in this pussy, got it? Daddy doesn’t like to pull out.”

You scramble a bit, squirming on his lap.

“Fuck, dad! You can’t do that!” You whine as his other arm holds you onto him- wrapped around your stomach. Your nails dig into his forearms, hopefully not leaving noticeable scratches.

“I think I can, baby. You’re squeezing me at the idea- I’m not fucking stupid.” He’s quick to be mean again, but you’d be a liar to say you’d don’t want him to cum in you. And you’re not a liar, that’s just deplorable- coming from someone who is literally fucking their dad with enough energy to power a small village for a month. And yet, you don’t stop riding him.

And your silence tells it all.

“Yeah- my baby wants a nice creampie.” He sounds more strained now, letting go of his hold on your stomach and using his hand to now guide you to roll your hips on him.

Sweat beads down Leon’s forehead, bangs sticking to his face as he watches your ass grinding against his lap.

“Fuck, baby. Just like that. I’m gonna cream this tight fucking pussy. Want that, don’t you? ‘Cause daddy’s gonna give it to you whether you want it or not.”

You should be a little more upset or concerned in any regard right now, but the last two days have made you into a proper whore to the point that you don’t even give a shit. Self respect crawled itself into a space shuttle and launched off of the planet, probably to never be seen again. Stuck in orbit, if you will.

You’re sucked out of the motions when Leon speaks again.

“Stop, stop.” He pats your bottom.

“Turn around, baby. I wanna see your face. Wanna kiss those lips while you’re on my dick.” Your stomach flutters with nervousness and a sickly sweet feeling. You lifted yourself from him with a trail of arousal to follow and maneuvered to turn around- this time he was holding his cock ready for you. Moments went by of you staring, getting a proper look of him since everything had been a quick blur so far.

“Come on, baby. Need you to mount daddy’s cock again. Told you I wanted to kiss you, didn’t I?” He exhaled, sounding a bit pent up. Jeez- seconds without pussy and he’s getting upset. Maybe he needs a therapist and anger management, not his college-aged daughter spearing herself on him.

You replied, yes, daddy. Sorry, daddy. Didn’t mean to make you wait, daddy.

You dropped yourself down onto him once more- only this time it was easier since you were able to get accustomed to his dick.

“Start moving sweetheart, make daddy cum.” He instructed, leaning in to take you in a kiss. It was more dirty than the last kiss, somehow. His tongue slipped between your lips- Leon lifted you with his hands on your waist before jutting his hips up to slam his cock snugly into your heat, groaning against your mouth delightfully.

His teeth nipped your lower lip- giving you a little further taste of just what kind of lover he is. Or maybe this is just the version you get. Either way, you can’t complain in any area. You feel lucky to receive even a sliver of it.

The familiar roughness of his thumb returns to your already throbbing bud- circling at the same pace he’s now moving at. Despite his age, he seems awfully enthusiastic to do strenuous work involving his hips. Bad back, my ass. Or maybe he’s able to put that on the back burner to please you. Probably worried if he doesn’t give you good dick then you’ll go tattle on him.

Leon didn’t break the kiss whatsoever while he pounded into you ruthlessly, he swallowed up every moan and noise you made like it was alcohol. ‘Cause that was his favorite, obviously.

When he pulled his mouth off of yours, a trail of saliva lingered- stretching out while you giggled on top of him. Something about you laughing almost made him nut immediately, but he held out just to prolong this and let it engrain into his mind for certain.

“Got the prettiest baby- look so good on my cock like this. Want daddy to bust in that pretty pussy?” He asked, looking for your approval.

“Uh-huh. Need daddy to knock me up.” The words came from god knows where, making even your eyes look bewildered for a second.

Leon laughed darkly at you.

“God, baby. Daddy’s so fucking close.” He muttered stupidly, almost like he was drunk. At least this could be an ego boost for you- but the fact it was your dad canceled that out. Dick only counts if it’s from someone that’s not related to you. His eyes did that half-lidded thing from earlier that you found so hot, and he pulled you down onto his cock one last time, spilling thick ropes into your blood-related hole. His dick pulsed as he let out a muted grunt, head lolling back and his adam's apple on full, stubbly display. You could bite it, just like a real apple.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He moaned. Jeez. He was a whore, honestly. The way he made noises and didn’t shut the fuck up was honestly… a case that should be studied. Maybe he had been turned out a time or two himself.

His cock didn’t soften though, nor did he not forget about you cumming. He lifted his head back up, looking down at where his thumb was. It was almost like he read your thoughts, not saying a word as he concentrated on making you cum. ‘Cause earlier he had been too eager to get in you and you were too eager to get on him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders (hopefully your mom wouldn’t notice any marks on him when she gets home from work later) and he gently fucked into you while you received proper attention on your aching clit. The combination of his dick keeping you full and the sensation of his digit sent you throbbing through your orgasm around him- low curses and other disgusting things coming out of both your mouths.

‘Cause you’re both disgusting.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy death island #leon kennedy vendetta #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon s kennedy #tw inc*st #tw #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #leon s kennedy smut

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targaryenluvs · 9 months

Text

— CHARITY

pairing: dark!president!coriolanus snow x fem!wife!reader

summary: president snow was praised for his love and devotion to his wife, a cripple. if only they knew how you’d ended up that way.

warnings: violence, basically torture, unhinged coryo, obsession, forced marriage, short fic

a/n: based on this request, this is actually insane

what an angel he is.

the capitol viewed your dear husband as nothing short of a saint. an amazing president, an even better husband. of course they all knew about you, his dear wife, the one who swept him off his feet.

the start of your marriage was torture enough for you, having been forced into it by your parents. all they could talk about was what a sweet man coriolanus was. how accomplished he was. it didn’t matter what he’d been in the past, he had built himself up again and he was undeniably coveted by many. you should be thanking him for choosing you.

yet you couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

you’d already told him you weren’t interested. you weren’t charmed by the copious amounts of gifts he’d sent your way. the poetry books that you were sure you’d never talked about to anyone else, only written of in your journals and read at home. the pretty dresses and jewellery but the only gift you’d accept of coriolanus’s was his absence from your life.

and he couldn’t handle it so he went over your head and enticed your parents.

you hated him with your whole soul and every bone in your body whilst he worshipped you. “you look gorgeous, fit to be my wife.” you stood in front of him, hand in hand, wedding dress donned and ready to marry.

you wanted to punch him in the face yet you held your breath, and smiled at him as well as the guests, of which you knew only a few. he kept you restricted, as if on lockdown in your own home. he was like a leech, feeding in your happiness and you’d been sucked dry. coriolanus was the worst possible thing that could’ve happened to you and you wouldn’t let him win.

so you ran.

you’d made it about a few steps down the street before his sleek black car pulled up, his driver walking around to you whilst you backed up, all the way against the tall, black bars of your home. prison.

“did you think you’d get far? that i’d let you? you are my wife, my responsibility, you are here for me. i was trying so hard to give you space, to let you adjust and you took advantage of my generosity.” his words were filled with spite, each word piercing your skin.

he was truly insane.

“generosity? generosity? you forced me into a marriage and expect me to kneel down and kiss your feet for this? for me to not fight back? i have never loved you nor will i coriolanus.” you were a cornered animal, only being able to lash out, bad mistake. the sun reflected off of the crowbar in his hand, twirled between his hands as he stepped out of the car, you were shrinking into yourself whilst he grew taller.

a selfish man stealing the oxygen you needed, the freedom, and now, your abilities.

“how many times must i correct you, it’s coryo darling.”

the unspeakable pain broke your heart, your throat raw from the shrieking and screaming. eyes stinging at the touch of a hand, puffy and sore. blood drawn from your lips tasted metallic and odd, yelling seemed to do nothing so you resorted to biting down on anything.

he’d shattered your legs.

you’d never walk again.

you’d have to rely on him.

you were confined to a wheel chair for your life.

he now controlled where you went.

you’d never be able to move on your own.

in your desperation to escape you’d overlooked and underestimated coriolanus’s obsession for you. he knew the second you’d stepped out of the home, either he was waiting for it or was always ready to come home. whether it was a trap or just bad luck, you were stuck.

most of panem viewed your husband to be an absolute angel, he could have remarried, he could have turned you away yet he stuck by your side, ever the supportive partner. how lucky you were! the rest of them saw you as a chore, someone undeserving, unable to provide for your family. he was a nice man.

you were just charity.

#hunger games x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #yandere!coriolanus snow #yandere coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games fic

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sukunas-wife · 7 months

Text

Valentines Special

A little something for the masses 🤍💌 Happy Valentines Day everyone 🤍🤍🤍

“Two of whatever just came out.” Sukuna knew what came out, it was Friday on Friday they made snickerdoodles fresh. The smell always filled the school entrance and shoe locker room pulling students in to buy. He was always there just in time for the old to sell out and the fresh to come out. The same amount every day 143 yen, he kept the exact change daily in the stupid little coin pocket of his wallet. The jingle of his wallet while he took out the coins was always accompanied by the whispers and giggles of girls when Gojo Satoru would make his daily appearance gracing everyone with his cheeky smile, hands stuffed into his pockets, crude remarks being passed off as flirting.

“Thanks for that.” Gojo slid the pack of cookies Sukuna was about to pay for toward himself, “Fuck of Satoru don’t touch my shit unless your looking to lose the hand you jack off with.” Sukuna slammed the coins on the counter, snatching the pack away from him before walking away. He didn’t care to listen to whatever Gojo was screaming back at him, he had his own stuff to worry about, that stuff being finding you before you started running late to your class. Sure he was late to his classes but a teacher wouldn’t say a damn thing once they saw his face. But you, you were a mess. He didn’t understand what you saw in being Student Body President. You show up early to school, skip breakfast because your sense of time is shitty, stay late after school and always look so tired after dealing with incompetent fools. At lunch it’d be a miracle for you to eat on your own, more often than not he’s dragging you to the school's garden and feeding you whatever you packed him for lunch. And when it’s the right season, whatever fruit he can steal from the garden.

Perfect timing as always, he caught you running up the stairs. You stopped smiling up at him, he was at the top staring down at you, eyebrow raised at why you were holding your skirt down like you could flash anyone. Why were you wearing one of those slutty mini skirts anyways, usually only Gojo’s fan girl wore those to catch his eye. He usually saw you in those skirts that were knee length, sometimes ankle length. He liked it like that, you looked different from everyone else, it amused him when you’d grab the front of your skirt hitching it up to run up the stairs, his eyes would always long in your stocking covered squished thighs when you’d raise your skirt too high in a hurry. But this mini skirt, you didn’t miss the change in his face, and you looked down, “My skirt got torn by my desk and this is all the nurse had in the and found.. i don’t know how you lose a skirt really but…”

He sighed, “damnit Y/n you really are a mess ya know.” You watched as he untied the black sweater from his waist. He moved to stand behind you, one step down, “Ya know how many fucking perverts are in this damn school just waiting to get an up shot of some girls underwear.” You felt his arms come around your waist and you moved your hands away watching as he tied a knot with the sleeves, “It’s disgusting.” He didn’t move away, your hands rested on his around your waist, you felt him rest his chin on your shoulder, “What happens if one day I’m not here to take care of you huh?” You turned your face to look at him, his red eyes were staring down at you. You did your best to kiss his cheek, “I’ll just have to suffer alone Kuna.” He scoffed at you, “whatever.”

You couldn’t help the smile when you pressed your lips to his cheek again, your lips lingering and he hummed before moving to face you, catching your lips. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, smiling up at him, his eyes were lidded with a lazy smile. The warning bell pulled you out of your little lovey staring contest, “Change that skirt when you get the chance or I’m killing the first pervert to look up your skirt.” You rushed up the stairs and he leisurely followed behind til you made it to your class. He never failed to eye your class out of judgement, more specifically looking for that dumbass Gojo that was in your class. He was always ready to get into a fight with that prissy twink. You watched him make a face and looked into your class, there was Gojo Satoru, staring right at your boyfriend with a frown of his own. Between the two it was like watching an adolescent Snow Leopard and Tiger getting ready to fight for a fresh meal. What would you expect from two of the most well known families in your city? Satoru’s family was well into being wealthy, their lineage producing world class Models and successful doctors, it was no surprise when on show and tell in elementary school Satoru brought in magazine’s of a white haired blue eyed child saying he was a baby/toddler model. As for Sukuna’s family, they have a much longer history in this city then Satoru’s. Trumping Satoru’s family in wealth, but what would you expect from a family who had long been dedicated to beating the head of a successful and thriving branch of the Yakuza.

You remember the first time you met Sukuna’s father. Sukuna had taken you out to buy a traditional kimono, get your hair done with jade combs and pins. Telling you about how his father was a very traditional man with values such as, respect your elders and those above you, never steal or wrong the everyday man or woman, never disrupt the harmony of your family or those around you, never become involved with drugs and always act chivalrously. You admired the way he talked about his dad, he looked up to him with respect, admiration so you agreed to do the best you could.

His house was not just a house, it was a Shinden Zukuri, it was massive, and glorious. It was exactly what you would have expected from his father from just hearing of him. “It’s…amazing Sukuna.” You turned to look at him and he was smirking down at you, “I know it is.” He led you along the path to one of the entrances and to the Genkan, you slid your shoes off and held onto your bag. Following sukuna further into the house, and out onto the engawa of the home until he stops at another room, he slid the shoji door open telling you to enter. He took your bag, placing it on a shelf against the wall, and you looked around the room. It was almost empty except for the white men's kimono on the kimono rack. You looked at Sukuna. His school shirt was open and he pulled it off, throwing it over your head, “Leave that on.”

you heard the rustle of fabric, all you could see was the white fabric in front of you until we pulled it off of you and you looked up at him, his brow was furrowed as he tried to fix a hair comb that came loose. You could see a part of his chest showing through his Kimono, he leaned closer mumbling something about the comb being difficult. He smelt good, it was masculine but clean, he smelt like a candle he once bought you, Bergamot, Lavender and Cedar. You couldn’t help the little sniff you took and he let out a single laugh pulling away from you, “weirdo.”

You just smiled up at him and he led you further into the “home.” Stopping right outside double sliding doors, “alright, if you’re not ready by now, you’ll never be. So if you're not ready and you fail, sorry to break it to you now you’ll probably never see me again.” He gave you a cheeky smile when he saw your scared and worried expression, “Su-alright no backing out now.” He slid the doors open bowing and greeting his father, and there he was, frozen for a second the man was massive in size and he was only sitting. He was shirtless and covered in tattoos, you swallowed before dropping into a deep bow greeting him and introducing yourself in a calm but confident way. You didn’t look back up until you heard him let out a low chuckle and tell you to stand at ease. Your face was still looking down, if that’s what Sukuna was going to look like when he was older, there was already no doubt in your mind you wanted to marry him but if there was even a smidge or shadow it was gone. Sukuna’s father cleared his throat, “Sit, I want to learn more about the little lady who managed to leash my boy.” Sukuna groaned as he put a hand on your lower back, ushering you forward to sit with him across from his dad…. The rest was history.

The Late bell pulled you from your memory, “I’ll see you-at Lunch yeah yeah go before that teacher Yaga comes in and marks you absent.” He nodded with his head finally looking at you, you smiled. You saw the small twitch in the corner of his lips before he stepped back and started walking to his own class with no haste.

——————

It had been a week since that day but more importantly it was the weekend before valentines. Here you were in your kitchen doing everything to make the perfect gift. You’d gone to the store that morning spending a decent amount of your savings on things to make sweets and bake little things for him. There was no doubt in your mind that just like last year, your boyfriend's locker would be filled with love notes and chocolates that he’d either let you have your choice of or throw away. The love letters, you’d read and go though all the candy bullying him about his little secret admirers before he’d crumple them up throwing them into the trash.

But right now! You were focused on making homemade chocolate filled with red velvet cream, smooth white chocolate, or almonds. You had taste tested so many you finally got the right flavour. They weren’t bitter, but not overly sweet like the store chocolate you watched him make a face at, one time. On the other hand, you had little chocolate heart shaped cookies you’d decorated with royal icing trying to make cute valentines designs. The lines weren’t the cleanest or fanciest but you liked them enough to pack them into a little treat bag with a red bow and a name tag. The Chocolate you packed into a gold box with a bright red satin ribbon. And the little cake tin you chose was a gold tin with a clear top. You wanted to make a milky cake with whipped cream and strawberries. You even bought a bigger bento box to make a special lunch for him, you had it all planned out. It was a three layer bento. Your plan was to stuff him and push him into a food coma for his final class. The first was beef and vegetables with white rice with pickled plum and pickled ginger he always ate like it was nothing. The second layer was tempura shrimp, a pickled cucumber salad and fried rice. The final layer was two egg salad onigiri with sesame snap pea salad. On the side was going to be your cake and a little egg pudding. There was no way he’d be cranky in his last class if he was stuffed to the brim.

——————

“no more…” You watched Sukuna as he dramatically fell over into your lap breathing heavily as he huffed. One arm thrown over his eyes, the other hanging down still holding the onigiri he had yet to bite into. Your hand scratching his head gently, “Happy Valentine's Kuna.” You did your best to angle yourself and lean over to kiss his forehead. You didn't miss the smile on his lips when you pulled away, he held the onigiri up blocking the sun when he uncovered his eyes, the little face you worked so diligently on for him. “Maybe one more.” You watched wide eyes when he stuffed half of it in his mouth before holding it up to your lips, his cheeks puffed out while chewing, it was cute for someone who without a doubt could snap your neck or make anyone cry and want to die with just words without having to raise his voice. He hummed offering to feed you some of the onigiri again and you took a small bite. Before your finger came to pick a grain of rice off his cheek, it was cliche and even worse when he eyed your finger and pulled it to his lips licking the grain off. “Happy Valentine’s Day to me.” His cheeky smile made you break out into a smile when he shoved the last of his rice ball into his mouth struggling to sit up, “damnit, I can’t.” He gave up and laid back in your lap, “I live here now.”

“Wait there’s one mo-no I can't I’m full, look at me.” He patted his stomach with his hands, you didn't see a difference in his fit form, that was until he saw the reflective gold and his eyes widened, “wait!” You watched him wiggling and struggling to sit up, putting a hand on his back to push him up, he made grabby hands at the tin when you pulled it away, “I thought you couldn’t- I can! I lied, I do that sometimes.” He tried to lean over you to grab it but you leaned further, so he did what he would never do publicly. He grabbed you and hauled you over into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist holding you there, “Now feed me y/n.” He rested his chin on your shoulder looking at the cake. Whipped cream and a heart made of strawberry purée and strawberries, “heh, you do all this for me, pretty girl?” Your smile was big and ungraceful when you laughed at his nose grazing your jaw and neck. “Yes, it’s all for you Sukuna, I wouldn’t do this much for anyone else.” You turned and kissed the side of his temple and he smiled, “cmon open it.” You fed him and he hummed, his chin resting on your shoulder tilting it so it rested against yours.

You sat like this for while feeding him and yourself until the bell rang, he squeezed you holding you against him, “C‘mom even little miss perfect can take a break, let’s stay out here a little longer.” You reluctantly agreed and kept feeding him what was left of the box cake. Eventually he just held you there, smiling and laughing at how you told him your story of how you messed up and your poor parents who had to be taste testers.

Soon the last school bell rang, he opened his eyes just barely glaring at the intercom that played the obnoxious chime. One arm was tucked behind his head, the other around your shoulders holding you against him. He was sitting back leaning against the plum tree the school planted. Your head on his chest, eyes closed with soft breaths, arm draped over his chest. His school coat was over you, he almost didn’t want to wake you, but his back and butt were aching from being in this slouched angle for so long. So slowly he started to sit up, trying to gently wake you, your eyes opening to look up at him. He was so beautiful in the setting sun in your eyes, “What time is it?” Your question went almost unanswered until he pulled out his phone, “it’s time to go home is all that matters.” You didn’t look away from his face and he looked back at you, holding eye contact. “Happy Valentine’s Day Kuna.” Your small tires smile and sleepy eyes squeezed his heart. He leaned in nuzzling his head to yours, “it’s not your day yet but Happy Valentine’s Day Brat.” You closed your eyes smiling until you felt his lips, you were delighted to kiss him back before he sat up pulling away, “we gotta get up my ass is starting to hurt.” You laughed getting up with the help of his outstretched hand, “I guess you’ll just have to take these home with you.” You didn’t miss the flash of excitement in his eyes when you pulled out the gold box of Chocolates and red ribbon tied cookies. You smiled and he grinned like a mad man carefully stuffing them into his bag.

“Ya know brat, I never celebrated Valentines before…” he trailed off and you didn’t miss the hint of pink on his cheeks, it made you smile and take his hand. “Guess I’ll just have to spoil you next year too.” He scoffed looking away but you didn’t miss the way he held on tighter to your hand, “Good because if you think you can just leave your dead wrong.”

It was the full bloom of red on his shocked face when you kissed his cheek so innocently and said “If I leave anything it’ll be my last name,” that assured you in a way he wouldn’t fight you on that subject.

Tag: @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @venus-seeks

@cyder-puff @bofadeezs

@sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira

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stuckinthesun · 1 year

Text

༝༚༝༚ Tic-Tac-Toe ༝༚༝༚ — Part Two

Part One

Black suit mod!Leon x Fem!Reader

Warnings: nsfw mdni, drunk sex, p in v, semi-public sex, pet names, riding, spanking, fingering, handjob, unprotected sex (please wrap it jfc)

wc: 2.8k

Ashley got dragged away from you again by another group of people just dying to know about her experience. You honestly felt bad for your friend and you would’ve stayed with her, but with how much you’ve drank you couldn’t trust your mouth right now.

So instead you decided to get some air.

The cool night air hit your face the moment you stepped out of the banquet hall, instantly making your head feel clearer.

Well, almost clear.

It seemed no matter how many glasses of champagne you drank, you couldn’t get Leon out of your head. How good he looked in that dark suit, the sound of his laugh, the feeling of his fingers trailing up your thigh.

God, you’re blushing just thinking about it!

Subconsciously you look down at your leg, at the unfinished game of tic-tac-toe still marking your skin. The one X he left on you stands out against all your markings, and you brush your fingers over it.

“Hey, there you are.” A deep voice startled you, making you jump and turn around.

Leon stood there with an easy smile and a half-empty glass of champagne. He looked the same as before, except his tie was loose and his cheeks were tinted pink with alcohol.

So sexy and disheveled, great.

You blink at him for a second as his words sink in, “Were you looking for me?”

The pink on his face deepens, “Well, I wanted to know if you were up for finishing our game of tic-tac-toe. Would hate to leave it unfinished on your leg.”

You look down at your leg again before smiling at him, “Well I hope you brought a pen because I left mine back inside.”

“I have one in my car,” He shrugs, looking out into the parking lot of the hall toward where you assume his car is.

“Mr. Kennedy,” You say dramatically, pretending to be scandalized, “Are you inviting me to your car? Alone? In the middle of a party while we’re both intoxicated?”

Leon lets out a surprised chuckle and you notice the color on his face deepen more, “You’re making it sound like high school.”

That makes you laugh before you shake your head and smile, “Alright well, as long as you don’t plan on driving, then I’d love to join you in your car for some leg tic-tac-toe.”

“I promise I won’t be driving,” Leon smiled back at you before nodding his head in the direction of his car.

“I’m surprised you were able to escape the vultures inside.” You joked as the both of you snuck away toward Leon’s car drunkenly.

The blonde smirked, “I’m damn good at my job, Miss. If I couldn’t escape a bunch of drunk old men, then I wouldn’t have been able to save your friend.”

“I guess you have a point,” You hum, noticing the nice car you’re approaching.

Leon pulls out a set of keys from his dress pants before unlocking the vehicle. Stepping up to the sleek black car, he opens the passenger door for you.

“Thank you,” You blushed slightly before slipping inside, and you made sure your dress was completely in the car before Leon carefully closed the door.

You looked around the interior of the car as Leon jogged around to the driver's side, it was fairly clean. So clean in fact, it made you wonder just how often Leon was away on those scary missions like the one to save your best friend.

The car door slamming shut brings you back to the moment and you look up to see Leon placing his champagne glass in the cup holder, “Oh my god, did you steal that?”

“No? I’ll probably take it back,” He shrugged, opening up the middle console and pulling out a pen, “Besides we know the President, it’ll be fine.”

“This is true,” You nod and shimmy yourself in your seat so you can once again prop your legs up in his lap. The stretch across the console was uncomfortable but you would make it work, “Alright Kennedy, enough chitchat. It’s game time.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re competitive?” Leon raised an eyebrow as he popped the cap off the pen and grabbed your leg.

The awkward angle made it difficult for him to see the game of tic-tac-toe, so you tried to shift yourself again, “I’ve always been competitive, you just didn’t see it before because we were so rudely interrup- huh?!”

You were cut off mid-sentence by Leon, apparently frustrated with the angle of your legs, leaning forward to wrap an arm around your waist, the other around your leg, and pull you to straddle his lap.

“That’s better,” Leon hummed, quickly marking your skin with another X before looking up at you with a smirk, “Your turn.”

You stare at him, completely caught off guard by his actions. He just continues to smirk at you, pushing the pen into your hand as he indicates toward the game of X’s and O’s.

A blush heats your skin as you feel his hands on your thighs, his fingers once again tangling in your tights and making your breath hitch.

“This okay?” Leon asked, voice teasing but you could tell the question was genuine. If you said you were uncomfortable and wanted to get off, you truly believe he would let you without a second thought.

This thought brings you reassurance for some reason and you smirk back at him, “Course, just need to get comfortable.”

Leon doesn’t get to reply before you’re sitting up a little, and pulling the skirt of your dress out from under you. Honestly, it had been uncomfortable, the fabric pulling tightly against your skin since Leon hadn’t bothered to adjust it before moving you. Now the skirt of your dress pools around your waist, and your warm center sits on his lap only covered by your panties and some string.

His grip on your thighs tightens, making his fingers tug at your tights and tearing them ever so slightly. Your smirk just deepens, “That’s better.”

Finally, you take your turn drawing an O right below his, successfully cutting him off. You hand the pen back to him with a triumphant smile.

“Don’t get too excited,” Leon says, quickly drawing an X across from his previous one.

“Why not? I’m obviously going to win.” You quickly take back the pen and make your move.

“Oh you think so, do you?” Leon’s marking your skin again, the drag of the pen almost hurts.

“Yeah, I do!” You cry out as you draw a messy O and look up at Leon who’s already looking at you with something close to wonder.

Then suddenly, he’s kissing you.

Leon’s hands grab the sides of your face and tug you closer, smashing your lips together. You kiss back without a second thought, dropping the pen in your hand to run your fingers through his hair, pulling him into you.

The kiss is desperate, it’s exactly how both of you have felt since the first time you met inside the banquet hall. His tongue runs along your bottom lip and you're quick to give him access, opening your mouth and moaning at the feeling of his tongue against yours.

Leon’s hands slide along your body, feeling every curve of your smooth skin. Your hands slide down his shoulders, pulling his suit jacket with you. Understanding, Leon sits up without breaking the kiss and quickly shrugs out of his coat.

Flinging the article of clothing to the back of the car, Leon leans back into his seat. His hands glide up your back, following along the teeth of the zipper until he finds the handle.

You feel him start to pull on the small piece of metal, exposing your upper back, before he pulls away from the kiss, “Is this okay?”

It’s the same question he asked before, except the teasing tone is replaced by a breathy grunt. Your answer is the same as before too, just instead of answering verbally, you nod frantically as you tug his tie off from around his neck.

You throw the piece of silk into the passenger seat as Leon finishes unzipping your dress, letting it hang loosely off your shoulders as he kisses your neck. A soft sigh passes between your lips and you tilt your head to the side to give him better access.

“Oh fuck,” You moan, rolling your hips down against his and feeling his bulge pressing against your barely concealed center.

“Fuck baby,” Leon groans, his head thumping back against the headrest, “Don’t roll your hips like that till I’m inside you.”

“Then hurry,” You whine, reaching between the two of you to start undoing his belt. The straps of your dress slip from your shoulders as you do so, exposing your bra to Leon.

As you make quick work of pulling the leather strap from the metal buckle, you feel his large hand cup your breast. You whine again and push your chest out so he can get a better feel, and you can’t help but close your eyes when he squeezes.

“God you’re really beautiful,” Leon whispers, leaning forward to press open-mouth kisses against your collarbone as you finally pull his belt free from his dress pants, “I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you. When I first brought Ashley back.”

That has you pausing. You open your eyes and lean away from him furrowing your eyebrows, “Really?”

“Yeah.” Leon nodded, looking at you with lust-filled eyes, “I didn’t say anything for obvious reasons.”

“You didn’t even know my name earlier,” You pointed out, frowning even more.

“Like I said before, you never told me your name!”

“Yeah, but why didn’t you ask anyone or I don’t know get your spy people to look it up?”

“First off, I’m not a spy.” Leon said chuckling and you just rolled your eyes, “And second, I wanted you to tell me your name.”

Your eyes widen as your chest fills with a sudden warmth. A line like that shouldn’t be all that romantic, and yet for some reason you’re blushing.

Throwing the belt next to the tie in the passenger seat, you grab the collar of Leon’s shirt and pull him into a kiss. It’s messy and heated, much like the first one, but it doesn’t last as long. You quickly pull back, leaning away from the agent as he tries to chase you for another one, and beg, “Please fuck me.”

Leon stops in his attempt at trying to capture your lips again and smirks, “I will, sweetheart, don’t worry.”

Suddenly your dress is over your head and being thrown into the back of the car. You shiver a little, at both the air on your skin and the feeling of being exposed, before you pull his vest off.

His hands glide along your thighs as he kisses your neck and collarbone, stopping at your ass and squeezing. You moan, unbuttoning his pants and untucking his dress shirt.

You feel his fingers lace in between the wide gaps in your tights, and you barely have a second to realize what he’s going to do before he pulls. A loud ripping sound fills the car as you feel Leon rip the crotch of your fishnets wide open.

“Been thinking about doing that all night.” Leon hums, pushing your panties to the side through the gap he made, exposing your dripping pussy.

You gasp, rolling your hips to push back against his hand and you feel him slip his middle finger inside of you, making you cry out, “Already so wet and I hadn’t even touched you yet.”

“Please Leon,” You beg, rocking back against the digit inside of you.

“Need to get out of these pants first.” Leon mumbles, bucking his hips up as if to remind you that his cock is still tucked inside his pants.

You nod, leaning your forehead against his as you look down and begin unbuttoning his slacks. His finger inside of you begins to thrust, curling up just right and rubbing against your G-spot. You let out a long moan, your fingers stuttering against his zipper, causing Leon to hiss and thrust up.

“Come on honey, pull me out so I can get inside this pussy.” Leon says, pushing another finger inside of you and making you see stars.

Quickly you pull Leon’s cock from his dress pants, him lifting his hips slightly so you can pull both the slacks and his underwear down his thighs a little. Once he was finally free from the restraints of his pants, you spit in your palm before wrapping it around his shaft and pumping.

Leon let out a surprised groan, his grip on your ass tightening and his fingers inside of you suddenly reaching deeper, “S-shit baby. Won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

“Then fucking fuck me,” You huff breathlessly, impatient and so turned on.

A loud smack sound rings out, followed by a burning pain on your right asscheek that makes you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Leon spanked you. Leon just fucking spanked you and you moaned.

Leon looks at you with amusement, “You’re the one who wrapped your hand around my dick instead of your cunt.”

“I can’t exactly get your dick inside me with your fingers in the way,” You glare at him, squeezing the base of his cock just to see his face pinch in pleasure.

“Fine,” Leon grits, removing his fingers from inside you and pulling your hips to align better with his. Your hand fell away from his cock and you quickly gripped the back of the seat as Leon pushed himself inside of you without warning.

Both of you cried out, you louder than him, as he bottomed out, seating himself fully inside of you. Neither of you moved, you trying to adjust to the size of him, and him trying not to cum instantly at the feeling of your warm, wet cunt wrapped so tightly around him.

“There, that better?” Leon asked after a moment of silence and all you could do was nod. You felt his hands on your thighs again, rubbing up and down, every once in a while pulling at the fishnets and letting them snap back against your skin, “Yeah? Then why don’t you try moving those hips for me like you did earlier.”

Slowly you begin to roll your hips around his cock buried inside of you. Leon’s hands instantly stop to rest on the juncture between your hips and thighs, fingers squeezing into the meat of your skin and encouraging your movements, “Fuck there you go, good girl.”

The stimulation and the praise make you moan and ride him faster, your hands move to grip his shoulders as you begin bouncing a little. Leon curses and thrusts up into you, somehow reaching deeper and pushing against your cervix.

“Holy shit,” You moan when Leon pushes a hand between you and begins rubbing your clit, his other hand cupping the back of your head as he presses kisses to your jaw, “Leon, I’m gonna- fuck I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum baby, cum on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel.” Leon groans against your skin, his fingers moving faster against your clit and his hips thrusting up harder.

With a shout of the agent's name, you came, hard, your body tightening up and shaking from the amount of pleasure you felt. Leon fucked you through it, trying not to cum until he could pull out, but the feeling of your walls clamping around him was too much and he was tipping over the edge right with you.

You felt Leon’s hot cum spill inside of you, filling you up and causing another wave of pleasure to shoot through your body. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer and the two of you sat there together as you came down from your highs.

After a moment you pull away from the embrace and look at the man beneath you. Leon’s blue eyes were hazy as he stared at you and puckered his lips, asking for a kiss. You giggled and gave him one, hand sliding up his neck and cupping his cheeks.

“I have a hotel not too far from here if you want to get cleaned up,” Leon mumbled into the kiss.

You smirked, “You have an entire hotel? What exactly do they pay you?”

“I have a hotel room, smart ass.” Leon huffed, rolling his eyes and pulling away from you.

A chuckle escapes you, “Yeah I’ll go to your hotel room with you, on one condition.”

“Oh?” Leon raises an eyebrow, his hands resting on your thighs, “And what’s that?”

“We actually finish this game of tic-tac-toe.”

Taglist : @cassiecasluciluce @ymrai @admirxation @chessysourcandy @cinnamonminni @uriynne @rottenrosethorns

I did it guys I finally finished it!!! Hope it was worth the wait😭

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon re4 #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fanfic #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon resident evil #leon resident evil 4 mods #leon kennedy x y/n

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onecentwriter · 1 year

Text

dialogue prompts that give off ~chaotic vibes~

!!please credit me if you use any!!

"you idiot. now we're gonna die."

"american cheese. shitty yet addicting. kind of like my exes."

"everything would be a lot easier if you fucking sat still."

"careful. those aren't designed for idiots."

"tssk, tssk. what would jeff goldblum think of this?"

"if you're trying to manipulate me, it's not working."

"i'm about to say 'shut up' and if you respond with a ridiculously flirtatious 'make me' i will slap you."

"i congratulate you. to convince them is no small feat." *pause* "though you do have small feet."

"don't worry. it's not lethal. i think."

"hey, did you fall from heaven when you hurt--fuck."

"no, but i can speak greek. είσαι σκατά." [you are shit.]

"can i? of course. will i? nah bro."

"we're gonna die and your tombstone will be engraved with 'death by dumbassery.'"

"i had a cat once. his name was stewart. i trained him in the fine art of jiu jitsu."

"what do you mean most people don't carry multiple knifes on them at once?? what if there's an attack?? or an urgent need to cut lettuce??"

"i swear to god if you post this on twitter i will steal your kidney."

"ok. fine. maybe i am a dumbass. but you gotta admit i'm a hot dumbass."

"ah, canada." (that's it. that's the prompt)

"is. is that a grenade."

"abso-fucking-lutely not."

"you know, this reminds me of the time i met the president."

"sometimes, your stupid astounds me."

"yeahhhh no. we're not doing that."

"is there actually anything in your skull or is it just dust and dumbass?"

"gordon ramsay is such a mood."

"this would be romantic if you weren't you and i wasn't me."

"most people just send a text, you know."

"goddammit. how many fucking beans did you spill."

"the world could be ending and you'd still find time to livetweet the imminent destruction of reality."

"you look like shit."

"i can kill a man with my bare hands but i can't unscrew this goddamn jar--"

extra challenges:

use all 31 in one work.

write one prompt every day for a month.

use a random number generator and write 500 (or any set number of) words, and only that amount of words.

to add some spice to #3, set a timer!

if you like these prompts, check out my prompt blog!!

#prompt list #dialogue prompts #prompts #random prompts #writing prompts #writers #writing #dialogue prompt #writing dialogue #prompts list #challenges #writing challenge

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antiquarianfics · 2 months

Text

Accidental pt. 5

What happens when you accidentally kidnap the exact man you were looking for?

pairing: mob!bucky x reader

warnings: canon level violence, kidnapping, profanity

a/n: lol i updated this. it’s a little bit of a date and a—oh, what’s this—new conflict? hehe. (is this enemies to lovers? it’s a little enemies to lovers.)

note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.

You do not have permission to copy, translate, or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.

part 4

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

You take a few steps past Bucky, turn around, and walk back to the table. You stop right beside Bucky and hold out your hand. Bucky looks at your hand outstretched to him and trails his eyes up to you, and you watch as he carefully searches your face.

“Hi,” you say, smiling. “I’m Y/N. Mind if I join you for dinner?”

Bucky’s face breaks out into a grin as he takes your hand, grasping it firmly as he shakes it. “Bucky,” he greets, playing along. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”

—

“So, yeah. Maybe it was mean, but she deserved it,” you say, finishing a story about Ellie stealing your toys and you locking her in your closet for an hour as children. You take a sip of your wine as Bucky lets out a mirthful laugh.

“That’s brutal, Doll,” he teases you with a grin. You shrug.

“You’re one to talk, Mr. Mob Boss,” you tease him back. A thoughtful look crosses your face. “By the way, how did you become this kingpin of Brooklyn anyhow?”

Bucky scrunches his nose. “Firstly, let’s avoid the term “kingpin.” Wilson Fisk has taken to the name, and I have no intention of taking that from him. His title and Hell’s Kitchen is his.”

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, but you nod slowly in understanding. There is, you realize, more politics to the mafia than you’d previously considered.

“But, to answer your question, I was born into it. My father was head of our family and in this business for years, his father years before that. It was always their intention for me to take over when I was old enough, and they, ah, groomed me for the job.”

You frown. “That’s terribly sad.”

Bucky shrugs.

“Did you ever want to be anything different? Like, when you were a kid?”

“No, I never really thought about it.”

“Really?” You challenge. “You never wanted to be an astronaut, or a firefighter, or president? Oh! Or a police officer? That would’ve been ironic!”

Bucky offers you a sad smile but shakes his head. “No, I always wanted to take over for my father. It’s what he wanted, so it’s what I wanted.”

You frown. “You don’t see how sad that is?”

“I do.”

“If you had a child, would you bring them up the same way?” You purse your lips and feel your heart rate quicken. His potential answer scares you (like you might see a future with him? Wait! Stop it!).

“No. Of course not. All of this,” he gestures vaguely, “would be unfair to push onto a child. If I have children, I will make sure they have every opportunity to be whatever they want.”

“Even if it’s a police officer hellbent on taking down the mafia?”

“Even a police officer hellbent on taking down the mafia,” he agrees with a smirk. You giggle.

“What about you?” He asks. “What did you want to be when you were little?”

You feel your cheeks heat up as a blush takes over your face.

“Um,” you stutter. “Promise not to laugh?”

Bucky pulls a face. “Why? Is it embarrassing? Did you want to be a nun? Or did you want to be a super spy who kidnapped the head of the Brooklyn mob?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Okay, fine,” he raises his hands in surrender. “Fine. I promise.”

“I wanted to be…” you trail off, mumbling the end. Bucky leans forward, holding his hand up to his ear.

“What was that? I missed the end there.”

“I wanted to be a princessastronautpresident,” you say quickly this time, letting your words blend together.

“What?” Bucky asks again, but he’s smirking now and you suspect he heard you.

“I wanted to be a princess astronaut president, okay? Happy now?” You ask, reaching for your wine only to find you’d already drank it all. You frown. Bucky laughs.

“That career covers two different forms of government… in space?” He half states, half questions. You simply nod.

“And what about it? At least it’s legal,” you challenge. Again, Bucky’s hands go up next to his head in surrender.

“Well?” He asks.

“‘Well’ what?”

“Did you become a princess astronaut president?”

“No,” you say, dead serious. “I lost the election on Mars. I’m going to try Jupiter next time, though.”

Bucky laughs once more: you note he’s been laughing a lot throughout your date.

“So what do you do?”

“You don’t know?”

“I don’t know everything about you.”

“I thought you would have looked me up.”

“Maybe you intrigue me enough I want to learn about you naturally.”

“I’m an investigative journalist.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. He looks genuinely surprised.

“Really? That’s all?”

You quirk your head. “Yes?”

“Sorry. I just thought with your… erm—skill set—you were a Green Beret, or something.”

“You flatter me, Barnes, but all I did was hit you really hard in the head with a gun I bought scarily easily at a department store I buy my groceries and drag you to a building that’s been on the market for years. Nothing about that was exactly special ops.”

He hums and finishes his own wine.

“Doesn’t explain your interrogation skills.”

“I’m a journalist. I interview people for a living—particularly people who don’t necessarily want to be interviewed.”

“How’d you know where to find me?”

“I didn’t. You were an accident, remember?”

“You wound me,” he says. You shrug.

“Even so,” he continues, “you knew about my bar. You knew it was connected to the mafia—your sister’s disappearance. How?”

“Is this a date or an interrogation, James?”

“Professional curiosity.”

Irritated, you respond. “Still, I am a journalist. I knew about the connection because I had a good hunch. I’d been working on a piece that led me to the bar; I smelt a connection. Or, I hoped there was one.”

Bucky leans back in his seat, his blue eyes piercing your person. You shift uncomfortably. He seems to accept your response, though, but the subject is far from dropped.

“What’s your piece about?”

“Nothing.”

“Clearly it’s something.”

“You can read all about it when it’s published.”

“Why so defensive? Is it about me?”

“You flatter yourself, Barnes.”

He shrugs. You sigh.

“I received an anonymous tip not too long ago that the mafia was picking up promising prodigy students. 4 or 5 have gone missing in the last 6 months, and my tip told me they may be hanging around your bar.”

Bucky’s face is stoic, and you feel yourself become suspicious of the well dressed, charming criminal in front of you.

“I connected the dots between the situation and the location: the mafia. When Ellie went missing, too? Well, she didn’t quite meet the M.O., sure, but it was all I had to go off of.” You shrug.

“You think I’m kidnapping university students?”

“No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you… uh. Made them an offer they couldn’t refuse?”

“The Godfather? Really? A little on the nose, no?”

“Look, James. I was doing my job.”

“Where did the tip come from?”

“I don’t know. It was anonymous. Are you done interrogating me now?” Your tone becomes irritable, and you cringe slightly at the bite behind your words.

Bucky sighs, “Yes. Sorry. This evening has been lovely; I’m sorry for ruining it. I’ll take you home?”

You purse your lips and nod.

The two of you stand and gather your belongings before walking back through security where your weapons are returned to you. Bucky then escorts you to the car and drives you home.

After he walks you to the door, Bucky stops and looks at you, hands gently falling to your shoulders.

“Y/N, look. I’m sorry for the first degree; I really did have a good time tonight. I hope you’ll consider doing this again.” Bucky’s voice leaks sincerity, his eyes promise it.

You smile somewhat sadly and it doesn’t reach your eyes. “We’ll see, James.”

He nods. “I understand.” He pulls out a business card with nothing but a phone number on it and hands it to you. “My personal cell,” he explains. “If you reach out, we’ll do this again. If not, I’ll take the hint.”

You nod slightly as he leans forward and pecks your cheek. It’s soft, barely a whisper of a kiss. Then, he turns and returns to his car, driving off. You watch until you can’t see his car anymore. Finally, you turn to your door and fumble around with the key.

You turn the lock and hear your deadbolt unlock right as you hear a whoosh next to your ear, your eyes drift to the side where, stuck in the wood of your doorframe, is an arrow with a note tied to it. Carefully, anxiously, you pull the arrow out and unroll the note. You nearly choke on air when you read it:

I left the tip because Barnes messed with what was mine. Best not get cozy with the beast, sweetheart. I’d hate to think I mistrusted you—underestimated your usefulness.

»»———-———-———-———-———-———-———-««

@cjand10 @vicmc624 @mostlymarvelgirl @livingoutsidethetardis @onceithough @thedonswife13 @kaithesimps-blog @buckitostan @julvrs @unaxv @searchn0tfound @10ava01 @ordelixx @pinkpantheris @hi-im-fan-trash @bubblegumbeautyqueen

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #marvel x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x you #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky x reader #mob bucky #mob!bucky #mob!au #mob au #mafia au

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letorip · 3 months

Text

casual [ii]

"is it casual now? i know what you tell your friends, it's casual, if it's casual now"

===+++===

pairing: natalie scatorccio x reader

summary: you keep telling yourself it's casual, but it still manages to bother you so much when you realise nat is ducking you.

warnings: explicit sexual content, SMUT (nat recieving), drug use, alcohol consumption, mostly set up chapter, 'i love you' but in a sad way :(

word count: 7.7k

A/N: there will ALREADY BE A PART 3 FINALE ON THE WAY. amount of research i did on US schooling, US version of Windolene, and the 1996 US Presidential Election should be criminal.

***also to be clear because i know i was kind of confusing about it last time, Nat’s father is still alive, this is a no crash au, and there’s still about a week left to go to nationals, Lottie’s party is NOT the night before, for the sake of my sanity

===+++===

Dinner that night exceeded your expectations by far, or at least in terms of awkwardness. It laced the air in thick wafts that made you shift in your chair from time to time, out of need of something to do.

"So Julie," your mother said. She raised her glass with a distinguished elegance and sipped her wine. "I heard that last year you went to the state science fair." She said it with a glance at you over the lip and dramatic overemphasis, as if she expected you to stand and applaud. “You won first place?”

You took the hint and sent Julie a smile fixed in place, and then one down to her parents at the other end. These sort of set ups went better when you appeared to give them a good try. "Oh really?"

"I did!” The smile she had worn all night widened, veneers a crisp white colour that looked like the blank walls of a dentist’s office. “It was a project on sea turtles. My dad flew us out to Barbados to work with a research team.” If Julie had said any more on her project, you could not hear it.

There was a beautiful oil painting right behind her on the wall, in a thick copper frame that glinted in the dining room light. The portrait had hung there since you were a child, but from that angle it had felt mundane. A random portrait of a random woman your father had bought on a random business trip. Now, it was impossible for you to see the soft, beautiful blues of the woman's eyes and not think of Natalie's.

Perhaps that was karma. The conversation with Nat still hung over your thoughts in an ever-present guilt, and the longer you thought about it, the less you thought you liked yourself. Not that there was much to be done about that, of course.

A silence filled the room and you looked back to Julie, who stared at you with a blank expression. You glanced around the table, only to find everyone else’s eyes on you too. Shit.

“Sorry, what was the question?” you flushed. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Lottie stifle a laugh, and your father’s gaze down at the other end. His disapproval was thick in his eyebrows, and you rubbed the back of your neck, sheepish.

Julie continued to beam at you, and you shifted in your seat. “I was wondering if you also liked science.”

“Oh. I don’t really love—,” before you could finish, your mom took it away, interrupting and reaching over the table to clasp Julie’s hand in her own.

“Of course! (Y/n) here is the president of Science Honours Society at Wiskayok. Don’t let the bruises fool you, (Y/n) is a giant studier and scholar.” Ah, the bruises.

Your mom had freaked the hell out when she saw you, just as you knew she would. Her immediate reaction had been to cover them with concealer, and then she had almost cried when you could still see the purple and red skin underneath.

“(Y/n)’s also a giant nerd,” Bobby said. “Know-it-all, more like,” he corrected with a laugh, leaning towards her as if trying to steal the show. You wouldn’t have stopped him, if he was. He had mentioned finding her pretty, not that she seemed to be interested in him. Your other cousin, Trent, knocked him on the side of the head, before he went back to his food.

“Robert,” your father chided, before turning to Julie and her parents himself. “(Y/n) here will be Valedictorian, at the end of the year. Academics are important to us, and I assure you, science is part of that.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Mrs. Roosevelt said. “Do you know where you’re going to college yet?”

You shrugged, eyes on your plate. “Either Brown or Princeton.”

Your mom clasped her hands together, excited. “Mr. (L/n) and his mother and father, and his mother and father before him and so on, all went to and fell in love at Princeton. We donate money every year. And then, well, there’s Brown or Columbia, as options.”

“I was considering Princeton, too,” Julie said. “Of course, we have ties to Harvard as a family, but Princeton always piqued my interest.” At that, you hid what would’ve been a snort behind a cheeky smile. Nat’s ‘fuckin’ rich people,’ played back in your mind in a memory of the warm afternoon you had just spent in her bed. “We could meet at Princeton, right? Like your grandparents?”

You blinked, unable to compute the rather forward question into your brain along with the warmth you could feel spread out on your cheeks. Lottie watched you again, fork half in her mouth, amused and entertained beyond belief. But Julie Roosevelt, as nice as she was, wouldn’t be the one for you.

You cleared your throat, mustering an apologetic smile. “Um…yeah, it would be great to have other friends there.”

“Right…friends," said Julie, staring at you blankly. You didn’t need to look at her, to feel your mother’s disappointment. Bobby and Trent were staring, too. Lottie had her eyes on her food.

"So, did anyone ask Reginald what dessert tonight will be?" your father asked. He didn't look in your direction. You were grateful for it. He was usually the one to bridge the gap, and you had missed him when he was in Tokyo.

"I do believe he said it would be cheesecake," your mother replied. She turned her fork over in her salad, considerably less vibrant than before.

Trent nodded, sipping his water. "That'll be good." He turned to your father with a chuckle. "Did you hear that Buchanan's stepped down from the bid for president?" At that point you let the conversation go on around you, but were all too content to sit back and just observe.

===+++===

"(Y/N)!" a faint voice came into your bathroom. You blinked.

“Yeah?” But there was no reply. At least, not for a minute.

"(Y/N), GET DOWN HERE, NOW!"

You paused in front of the bathroom mirror. The toothbrush still hung from your mouth, and you furrowed your eyebrows, painfully so with the bruise on your eye, questioning if what you were hearing was real. It was all too early in the morning, for you to be running late.

"(Y/N), I'M NOT KIDDING AROUND, DAMMIT!" Your father yelled, and now you were sure you were awake. You furrowed your eyebrows at the anger in his voice and plugged your electric toothbrush into its holder, before sliding on your slippers and opening your door.

There was a whole bunch of commotion going on in the foyer below, and while your mom had held her tongue about Julie the night before, it didn't make sense for your father to be this angry you had turned her down, right? You ran your hand through your bedhead, in an halfhearted attempt to first xit as you still groggily came down the long set of stairs.

"What?" you asked. Your dad had his back to you, talking with Reginald, and Maribel was crying in the corner with a bottle of windex in her hands, but he spun around the moment he heard your voice.

"Don't 'what' me. Go look outside. Right now." His face was all red when he said it, like a scary tomato, and it somewhat snapped you out of your sleepy daze.

The front door was wide open, and there was a gardener who wasn't usually there until later, walking right on in with a wad of toilet paper in his hand. You blinked, then half-stumbled through your door and out onto the driveway.

Fucking hell.

Even from far away, you could smell the rotted eggs, splattered onto the windows of your house and dripping down the sides in clumps. They were everywhere, coating parts of your driveway and sitting in hedges. What was the worst was the white Rolls Royce your father had just bought, which had egg yolks covering the windshield and all along the fresh paint job from where it sat under the awning. Behind it, right on the garage door in spray-painted red letters was 'fuck you.'

Where there weren't eggs, there were reams and reams of toilet paper, strung from the red oaks and trimmed hedges. One or two rolls had unfurled down the length of your driveway entirely, reaching all the way to the end like some sort of demented breadcrumb trail for Reginald, who had apparently discovered the mess when he pulled into work and up the drive that morning.

Your father followed you out, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. "Do you, at all, happen to know why my lawn looks like this?" he demanded.

You swallowed. "No, I'm sorry.”

“You’re sorry? What the hell am I going to do with sorry?”

“It must just be someone from the high school pranking me." It wasn't. It didn't take a genius to make a guess, though. Nat had been pissed, but you didn’t think it would be this pissed.

"Well, whoever it was had access to our neighbourhood gate, (Y/n).” Your father pointed an angry finger at you, poking you harshly in the chest. “You didn't give the code to anyone, did you? We told you not to, unless it was approved by me or your mother."

You stared down at the ground. You were still in your slippers and silk pyjamas. "No, I promise dad, I didn't. I don't know how they got in."

His gaze was still heavy for a moment, eyes and eyebrows thick and heavy, as he scanned your face for the traces of a lie. He didn't find one, and when he didn't, he turned to Reginald, who stood in the doorway behind him, with a sigh.

"Can you pull the old Jaguar from the motor court? We'll need this cleaned up by the time I'm back for work."

Reginald nodded. "Right away, sir."

"Good," he said, and then he turned to you. "And you. I'll be changing our gate code as soon as possible. No giving it out. Your friends are lucky nothing was damaged— we'll sue no question."

"Yes sir," you said, keeping your eyes down.

"Good. Go get ready for school. Don't mention this to anyone."

"Yes sir." You couldn't get back inside fast enough, practically jogging in your slippers and up the stairs. You got about halfway up, before your mother called out to you.

"(Y/n), is that you?"

You froze, considering for a moment just going up like you hadn't heard her. You didn't get the chance though.

"Come down here."

"Yes mother." You turned back around, heading down to where she sat in the formal living room. It was closest to the door, and she must've been watching through the front window. In her left hand was a familiar bottle of wine, and she reeked of its contents. She didn't look too pleased, but with her it was more of a morning thing than the egging.

"Are you going to say good morning to me, darling?"

You nodded. "Sorry. Good morning, mother."

"There you go. Your eye still looks dreadful." Ah, the bruises.

Your mom lost her ever-loving mind when she saw you, just as you knew she would. Her immediate reaction had been to cover them with concealer, and then she had almost cried when you could still see the purple and red skin underneath and the Roosevelts would be arriving any minute.

It was a bit funny that your bloody nose was still visible, in a morbid way, but you knew better than to laugh about it in front of her, and moving your face still hurt in places. Lottie— who watched from atop the bathroom counter— laughed for the both of you instead, which earned her a shriek from your mother.

"It's going to, for the next few weeks. That's what Misty said."

She huffed. "Well, Julie was a disappointment, and we need you to get back out there, if you're going to have a date for prom. Your father and I can't have you going alone."

"I might not be going to prom," you replied, messing with the collar of your pyjama shirt. "The Yellowjackets might be going to nationals, remember? I have to go."

"Yes, well, at least get a date just in case. Everyone else in the neighbourhood will, and we can’t have you alone.”

“Lottie would also be alone.”

“Well I’m not Lottie’s parents now am I?”

“No.”

“Right, I’m not. Now, don’t cut my head off for this, but are you sure you like girls?" You glared and she waved you off. "Don't look at me like that, I just mean you're not having very much success with girls, is all. It's 1996, your father and I are very forward-thinking.”

It took all your energy not to laugh. If they wanted to believe they were forward thinking, you'd let them. The same could be said for success with girls. Instead, you shrugged. "All the girls you've picked are just so boring. There isn't a spark."

Your mother rolled her eyes. "There doesn't always have to be one. For me and your father, there wasn't. We met and then slowly worked towards a love. That instant-love stuff is for children who've seen too many Disney movies, and those soppy Democrats."

"Maybe spark was the wrong word, mother— I don't even feel a connection. They’re super ‘meh’ and stuff."

"Don’t say ‘and stuff’ you make yourself sound stupid. These girls are all from great families, (Y/n). I'm sure there are kids at your school who would love a chance to talk to Julie, or Margot or Sloane— god Sloane is in high demand. I think it's the cheerleading."

“Mother.”

“Yes— sorry. Go fix your hair, you look unkempt. And think about it. Julie wasn’t too bad, she made that joke about forks. Funny.” It hadn’t been.

“Yes mother,” you said, and you stalked away and back up the stairs without another word. You were already running late, with the whole egg thing, and you needed to figure out what you would do with your face the way it was.

===+++===

“Can we stop for coffee?” Lottie groaned, tapping her fingers along the sill of your passenger side window. “‘s so fucking early.” She was splayed out in the seat, with a backup blanket you kept in the second row thrown over her legs and cuddling up to her backpack. You scoffed, fingers on the wheel with an extra tightness.

“Hell no. We’re going to be late for the meeting.” But she just groaned again.

“I didn’t even want to be part of it. You were the jerk who made me.”

“You’re literally the treasurer. You’re on the club board.”

“And? I’m shit at french.”

“You’re shit at a lot of things.”

“And you’re shit at catching a ball with anything but your face,” she giggled.

There didn’t end up being anything you could do. Going to bed had only made the bruising worse, and your nose was a bright red while your eye sat at a deep, unnatural black colour with touches of purple on the outside. You were sure to get odd looks by anyone you passed, but you decided to just get it over with and wear it out.

At the light you turned, driving down the familiar street that led to WHS, and as soon as the coffee shop was in sight, Lottie smacked her hand onto the glass, dragging her fingers down and leaving prints.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, frowning. Lottie whipped around in her seat.

“Are you finally going to say what happened with Nat yesterday?”

You rolled your eyes. "I thought you'd never ask."

She laughed. "I mean, I was going to, in the car ride home. You just didn't say a whole word the entire drive. It was freaking me out, actually. I thought you were either brain dead from Carter’s throw-in or didn’t want to talk about it.”

"Sorry," you mumbled. Lottie shook her head.

"It's fine. I'd probably stop talking for a bit too, if I found out Jackie was right about something."

"It was reality breaking," you nodded with a smile. It took until you both stopped at the light for you to muster the ability to speak again. "Nat’s upset about me potentially seeing other girls.”

"That's what I figured," said Lottie. "Soooo…what now?"

“It gets worse,” you said, shaking your head.

“Delightful.”

“I think she egged my house.”

Lottie laughed for a moment in a giant burst, but she stopped when you just held your stare on the road ahead. “Wait— are you serious???”

You nodded. “There were eggs and toilet paper everywhere. My dad was pissed.”

“Nat wouldn’t do that, though. She’s not that kind of person,” she said, shaking her head.

“Who else would it be, Lottie? She wrote a giant ‘fuck you’ on my house. She’s the only one I gave my code to.”

Lottie furrowed her eyebrows. “Why’d you give her your code?”

“…My parents and Reginald were out of town in August. So…”

“Ew,” she scrunched her nose. “Got it.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll bet she’s on your dad’s shit list now.”

You frowned, remembering just how smooth her skin was against you. How she cradled your face in her hands like it was her whole world. “I didn’t tell him it was her.”

She stared at you for a moment, as if you had missed something spelt out in a bright neon sign that floated just above your head in a way you could never read it. Lottie shrugged, turning back to look out the window. “What are you going to say to her? I mean, it’s clear she wants your full attention.”

"Or that it’s over. She told me to ‘go to hell,’ Lot.”

“It’s because she cares about you. Like, a lot.” She gave you a more annoyed look, this time.

"What's the face for?" you whined.

"If Nat’s gonna be super mad at you, practice'll be awkward as hell."

"Probably," you said. "Nat asked me to go with her to your party. So, that too."

She sighed. “You just had to screw a Yellowjacket, huh?”

“Hey! I didn’t mean to.”

“It was an accident?” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“No!— ugh, you know what I mean…”

“I know.” Lottie crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in the car seat. "Maybe you could explain to her? Why it wouldn't work, and all?"

"Yeah," you huffed. "I'll just tell her she's considered trailer trash, and that my uppity parents want Miss Americana, who works in foreign countries with research teams for the science fair, and is at least four tax brackets above her. That'll go over great."

"Well don't say that," she rolled her eyes. Lottie thought for a moment. "…Do you at least like Nat, though?"

You frowned. "Would it even matter if I did?"

"Maybe," said Lottie. "Maybe it would matter." You pulled your car into your parking space, then pulled your key from the ignition. WHS always looked the same. Even in old photos your parents had shown, it had the same red brick and towering trees.

"Maybe I'll try to pull her aside…" you trailed off.

"That's probably a good idea," she nodded.

“Nat said Carter got detention?” You asked it as you grabbed your backpack from the backseat, tugging it over your shoulders while Lottie did the same.

“Yeah. Suspended from the team too,” she said, and you locked your car behind you both, as you headed through the old doors. French classrooms were on the opposite side of campus, down an older hallway that had yet to be renovated. Despite having two French teachers and a whole honours club, no one knew how to speak it.

The meeting had already started by the time you both slipped in, and Lottie awkwardly snuck along the wall to get up to the front where the leadership board was standing, who were less than pleased to see her late. Jackie waved you over to a seat in the back, and Jeff sat a few roads in front with his friends. Anyone who saw you stared for a second.

“Morning,” you mumbled, sliding into your seat.

“Morning,” she whispered back. “Your face looks terrible.”

“No, really?” you snorted. “I didn’t notice.”

“Stop talking!” came a voice from the front, and you could see Sloane glaring daggers at you from the front. She was the president of the club and she hadn’t liked you much since she dedicated a whole day to a date with you and you promptly refused a second.

“Sorry,” Jackie said, raising her hand to take the blame. Sloane shook her head, but went back to reading off of her notes. The moment her head was turned, Jackie leaned back over to you. “Boy, she needs the stick pulled out from her ass, huh?”

“It’s just ‘cause she’s French,” you whispered back to her with a grin.

“Yeah, well, she’s the only one. Besides, we all know it’s because Mr. Allard watches when she bends over.” You shook your head, stifling a laugh at the thought of the creepy old guy. Jackie nudged you in the shoulder. "Why was Nat pissed off yesterday, for the last bit of practice?"

You blinked. "What?"

"She came out all upset, like she was about to cry and stuff. Did you break her heart or something?"

"I don't know," you said with a frown. "I have no idea what we are at this point. I mean, I thought we were friends—"

Jackie scoffed. "Yeah right. You guys were friends, fucking in the back of your car. Real good friends, there."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying. You definitely let her run wild with her fantasies of you."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"Maybe if you're Nat. A kid who's top of the class, hot, prom court, varsity, and not a complete asshole? You're like Prince Charming. Or Mother Theresa.”

"You're kidding, right?"

"What, do you have the emotional depth of a kiddie pool? No!"

“Jackie! Stop talking!”

“Yup! Sorry.”

===+++===

Nat didn't show up to school, that day. You knew because you waited for her, right at the door to the cafeteria, down the same hall she always came through. She wasn't there. You waited for her after what would've been her Biology class, leaning on the wall and watching everyone but her file out when the bell rang. She wasn't there either.

You even waited at the back of the school, after the final bell, to see if she would appear, but all you got were weird looks from kids in band tees and a whole waft of what smelled like weed. Nat smelled like that sometimes, but she tried to cover it with perfume. You could still smell it on her, but it blended with the smell to be uniquely Nat. As silly as that was, you liked that you knew that.

From the far wall, you could see Kevyn watching you, surrounded by kids you had seen Natalie with. You didn’t know Kevyn too well, only in passing mention from Nat, or in a story. He was the reason you two couldn’t meet up sometimes, though you tried not to hold that against him.

It wasn’t a thought you were very proud of, but your fingers tightened on the straps of your leather backpack with gold plating. Any one of your friends would laugh at you for being back here, and you stood out like a white sheep in a field of sheep in black leather jackets. You didn’t know any of these kids, but you could tell they knew of you, from the glances and whispers.

It seemed Kevyn couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. He stepped forward and at least attempted to shove his hands into his jean pockets, but they seemed a bit tight on him and he gave up. “The hell are you doing out here?” he grumbled out.

“Have you seen Nat?” you asked with an awkward smile.

Kevyn’s glare sharpened. “She doesn’t want to talk to you. Nice face, by the way.” So she had told him. You winced.

“Look, I really need to speak with her. It’s super important and—”

“—I don’t think you heard me. She doesn’t want to speak to you,” said Kevyn, interrupting and crossing his arms over his chest. You frowned.

“Kevyn, please…”

“I'm not telling you, country club.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Kevyn took another step forward with a challenge. “It’s what you are, isn’t it?” You could feel even more eyes on the both of you.

“I just need to find her.” It was embarrassing, how your voice shook as you said it, but that didn’t make it any less true.

“But you hurt her.”

You looked down. Air did not want to come easy. “I know. I know I did.”

Kevyn stayed silent for a while. It was the both of you just standing there while he seemed to mull over his options. He sighed. “She’s not here today. Didn’t want to come. She’ll be back tomorrow for practice.”

You nodded, raising your hands in appreciation. “Okay, thank you,” you rushed it out, getting ready to jet. The stoners still made you a bit uneasy. But before you could go he spoke up again.

“Nat’s not as tough as she acts, you know.”

You stopped, turning back to him. “What?”

“She wouldn’t shut up about you. It was almost like bragging. She’s— she was actually proud of something hers, for once.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Your mother would be clutching the pearls of her necklace right now, if she saw where you were. She just might’ve died, the moment she smelled the weed.

Kevyn shook his head. “Don’t hurt her again. I fuckin’ mean it.”

You swallowed, managing to fix a smile to your face. It felt very hot out, then, and you turned around to leave this time. No one stopped you, but there were kids that watched you go.

The way he said it made you feel slimy. This would not be the triumphant lovers coming back together to be as one forever. That stuff was for kids who saw too many Disney movies. Maybe, though, she would let you sit skin to skin again in the warm, even if only for a little while. And that was perfectly normal for being casual, right?

===+++===

The sun was practically beating down on you, absolutely covered in sweat within the first ten minutes of being outside. You had gone to practice early, patiently waiting by the bench and doing up your cleats. It still felt weird. Since you and Nat had started the whole arrangement, you hadn’t gone a single day without hearing from the other. It set you on edge.

By the time the rest of the two teams had filed out onto the pitch, you already were kicking the ball around with Daniel DuPont. He always played with a smile, like Laura Lee, and you wished sometimes that you did too. A kick from you sent the ball towards him, and he booted it back so you caught it with your chest.

Your eye was doing better than the day before, but still looked violet and red, and your nose was still swollen, but you would’ve had to pry soccer practice from your cold, dead hands. On Friday afternoons your mother had her wine-tasting friends over and it was impossible to be less of a fan of the event than you were.

With the ball still bouncing on the grass, you kicked it towards Daniel, and he headed it back to you. "Here," he called it. You appreciated him being extra cautious with your eye injury, but he was playing as if you were a fragile package wrapped in bubble wrap, that needed coddling. You caught the ball with your chest, letting it drop to the ground.

"Pass!" Shauna called from the other side of the field, and you booted it in her direction, waving to everyone out there that you were off to talk to people. You took a singular step towards the benches when you saw her.

Nat stood with her back to you, fiddling with the plastic lid of her cup as if it was broken. Her hair looked especially bright in the sun, like it had in her room, or when you both went to the lake. Casual arrangements went to the lake, right?

You so badly wanted to go up to her and say something. Anything, really. But your feet were rooted to the ground and you were stuck watching her get ready. When she turned around, you weren't sure if it was better or worse than when she hadn't seen you. It was a hard stare to match, when she saw you and your eyes locked, even if it only lasted for a moment. They flew to your bruise right after, and then away. She was looking right through you with practiced indifference.

"Circle up!" Coach Martinez yelled to you all, walking right on the pitch and towards the centre. "Come on , we don't have all day!" Both teams slowly made their way over, but when enough had pooled around Coach Martinez and Coach Scott, Martinez pulled up his clipboard. "We're going to do some stretches, so just kind of space out."

===+++===

You didn't say anything to Nat the entirety of practice, but it was painfully obvious that you wanted to. You knew she could see you, staring at her and spacing out as you struggled to form the words you wanted to say to her. But she made no attempt to actually let you talk to her.

When you were on the drive home, Lottie nudged your arm. “So…Nat.”

“Yeah. Nat.” Your fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” she nodded. “What time are you coming over for the party?”

You shrugged. “No clue, to be honest. It depends when Jackie and Jeff plan on showing up.”

Lottie groaned. “Are they going to be annoying and have a whole drunk argument again?”

“See, that’s while I’ll probably ditch them for you and Shauna,” you laughed. “Last time they tried to get me involved on ‘who was smarter.’”

“But they’re both idiots.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

You dropped Lottie off at her house and then made the small drive up to yours. It was close enough of a distance where you two were technically neighbours, but not anywhere close to one that you’d willingly walk.

The moment you got home, you parked your car under the awning and hopped out, grabbing your backpack and your duffel bag and heading inside.

“Helllooo?” you called, up from the foyer and then making a beeline from the stairs. You had to get clean and dressed for Lottie’s party, and it didn’t help that you smelled from practice and were covered in sweat. Your father had flipped out when he had seen you first sweating on the leather of your car seat, but he had given up on convincing you to put a towel down first.

When you got to the top of the stairs, a voice called back out to you. “Hello, (Y/n).”

You leaned on the bannister, and Reginald appeared at the bottom with a smile. “Hey, Reggie.”

“Your parents are going out of town tonight. I think they aim to be back on Wednesday.” You raised your eyebrows.

“Since when?” you asked. It wasn’t unusual or anything, these trips were how they stayed married. If anything, it filled you with a rush.

“Since around 4. They’ll be in Monaco tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” you shrugged. “I’m going to a party tonight. Lottie’s.”

“You know I don’t mind,” Reginald said, tipping an imaginary hat and heading back towards the kitchen. “Just make sure you shower. You smell awful.”

“Thanks, Reggie.”

“Mhm.”

It took you about an hour to get ready, in a brand new outfit you had picked up with Lottie the weekend before. You stood by the armoire, sliding your rings onto your fingers and spritzing yourself, when your phone started vibrating in your pocket. You pulled your Motorola from your pocket, flipping it open with a groan when you saw the caller I.D. and realising what this was before you even needed to hear it.

“Yeah?”

“(Y/n),” Jackie said into the phone with the buzz of excitement in her voice. “Could you come and pick me and Jeff up for the party? I’d appreciate it, hubby.”

You laughed. “Sorry, sweetie. I’m literally next to Lottie’s house, that’s a whole bunch of driving I don’t want to do.”

“But Jeff loves your car,” she replied in a sing-song voice. “It’d make his day.”

“Nope,” you said, with a fond eye roll. “I have to help Lottie set up. I promised.”

“Terrible friend, then,” she joked. You shook your head.

“Mhm. See you when you get there, sweetie.”

“You too, hubby.”

===+++===

The party was all too much, for your liking. Rap blasted from Lottie’s speakers all across her backyard. A small fire you had started sat in the centre of it, with people standing around and drinking nearby.

On a truck someone had pulled back there, you could see Shauna leaning back against it in her jacket, and she sent you a quick wave. You wandered over, knocking your solo cups together and leaning with her.

“Not having fun?” you asked with a laugh.

“It’s definitely a party,” she replied, slinging a friendly arm around your shoulders. “Where’s Lottie?”

“This couple was having a giant fight in her kitchen, she’s calling them a ride.”

“Hm,” she hummed, looking out over the bonfire. “What about Jackie?”

“Her and Jeff ran off. I don’t even know where.” Shauna frowned. “Where’s Nat?” you asked, sending her a hopeful glance.

Shauna gave you a look. “You two are still on the outs, huh?”

“Something like that.”

“Well,” she said. You followed her gaze towards the other end of the fire, against a pine tree where an old, marble bench sat. It was somewhat obscured by passing people, but you saw through a gap in the crowd and your heart dropped out of your chest.

Nat was there, in a red plaid dress that hugged her body. Thrown over it was her leather jacket that she always wore. She looked beautiful. The way you had seen her in your dreams the night before. Until you saw that next to her was Bobby Farleigh, that was.

They were talking, leaned in together with alcohol in hand, and laughing. She had asked, when you started sleeping together, who else you had been with. You vividly remembered Bobby Farleigh being on the list, when you asked her the same question. He was a creep, and it made you sick just as it made you sick now. You stood up straighter.

“Yeah,” Shauna said. “Sorry.” You shook your head. Jealousy pooled in the pit of your stomach, but was normal for being ‘casual,’ right? Either way you didn’t like it. It was like a switch flipped in you. It didn’t matter how many people saw you or if they knew your parents. You couldn’t handle this.

“See you, Shauna,” you called back over your shoulder. You stormed towards the two of them on the bench with a glare, and you saw Nat look up at you coming over, watching you intently.

Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” She said. It was loud, and with it came the turning of heads. Next to her Bobby Farleigh hopped up to his feet.

“The fuck are you doing?” it came out harsher than you expected it to, deep from within, and you put your hands on your hips.

“Why the hell do you care, all of a sudden?” She challenged back as she too got to her feet. “I find that really, really funny.”

“We’re not talking about this here,” you said. “Come on.” You grabbed her arm, pulling her along with you.

“As if I’d go anywhere with you,” Nat scoffed, but she didn’t pull her hand from your grasp. She let you lead the way, up through the house. People parted like Moses and the Red Sea, watching you go, and though you knew there would probably be gossip about this on Monday, you were past caring.

You wandered into one of Lottie’s guest bedrooms, slamming the door behind you. You spun to Nat.

“What, do you need me to get you off again?” She asked, tone dripping with anger. “Did you pull me in here because you were bored?”

You had to ignore the question. “The fuck were you doing with Bobby Farleigh?”

“See and I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” Nat spat back at you. You scowled.

“Why the hell were you going to do that with him. He’s a bully and a creep,” you shot, crossing your arms.

“Y’know what, I don’t have to say anything to you. You made it perfectly fucking clear, we don’t owe each other anything.”

“It’s not even about me!”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh it’s not, huh? No, you don’t have a problem with it being Bobby Farleigh— you could give a fuck about Bobby!” She was yelling now. “You give a shit because it’s not you, and you’re a jealous asshole.”

“So what if I am?!” You yelled back.

“Then I’d say you have no fucking right to be! You do NOT for one god damn second get to be mad I’m sleeping with other people when I hear you’re playing The Newlywed Game with rich chicks.” You didn’t know what to say to that and Nat took it in stride.

“You can do a lot of fucking things, you rich, entitled asshole,” she continued. “But you can’t pretend for shit that we were just fucking around.” You clenched your jaw. “And to think,” she scoffed and you could see the edges of her eyes water, “that I used to think you were safe and good. Now I see you for what you really are— a fucking child with a silver spoon.”

In your arguing, you both had moved closer together, faces inches apart. Her lips looked so soft in the dim lighting of the bedside lamps. You swallowed. She was so close, and there was again that scent of perfume and weed. But Nat backed up, storming past you and heading for the door.

You didn’t know who closed the distance first, but your hand was on her arm, tugging her back against you, and then your lips were against hers. Her taste was so sweet, the same lip balm as always. Cherries.

You pulled her tight against you, feeling her hands go up to your hair, weaving in. You pulled away for a breath for a moment and then immediately kissed her again, this one more needy and ferocious than before you. She tugged at your scalp and your hands flew to her thighs, pulling her up against you and holding tight.

Everything felt so damn humid in there, and you slowly backed Nat onto the bed, pushing her down and crawling on top of her. You leaned down to reconnect your lips and then immediately went south, moving her blonde hair away gently with your fingers and then covering her neck in soft kisses while you tugged her dress down.

Nat let out a heady breath. “(Y/n),” she said in a huff. Your hands grabbed hers, interlocking the fingers and moving them above her head while your mouth did the work for you, sucking on a spot right under her jaw and then slowly down her neck to the exposed area that only her hair could cover from her father.

Nat’s skin was always a cool pale colour, and you pulled away briefly to see the bruises already forming along her neck. You weren’t exactly being soft, but you knew Nat could take it, and that she wanted it. She was staring at you with heavy-lidded eyes, and you silently tugged off your shirt, throwing it somewhere in the room.

Her hands went to your pants, tugging them down, and you moved to get them out from under your legs before discarding them too. She went for your underwear next, watching you with her blue eyes as she moved, but you stopped her, catching her by the wrist and lifting it up to place a slow, gentle kiss on her open palm. You just wanted it to be Nat beneath you.

You slowly dragged your mouth up her arm while you held her gaze, leaving a trail of where it had been. Your other arm came up to cup her breast through her bra, and she let out a full on moan, face flushing pink.

You moved away from her arm and to her chest instead, nipping at her collarbone and sucking on the skin there. Her hands came up to cup your head, fingers weaving in the hair at your nape and brushing some back from your forehead as she let out another shaky breath. Your mouth trailed lower and lower, and Nat threw her head back as you continued to palm at her breasts through the fabric, her hand leaving your hair and scraping down your back with her nails. It hurt, sure, but not in a bad way. In a way that made you want her even more.

“Can I?” you asked, as she writhed beneath you. Your knee went to the space between her legs, feeling her wet, dripping centre on the outside of her underwear. She rubbed down on it, trying to relieve some of the friction and cried out.

“Need— need,” she struggled to focus with your hand on her breast and hot breath on her neck. “Need you,” she whimpered. Nat usually put up more of a struggle for dominance, and fucking was typically far more playful than the pure desire her face expressed. You didn't need to be told twice, taking your fingers and skirting the waistband to dip even lower. When you felt how soaked she was you sucked in a breath.

You pulled her underwear down in a single fluid motion, thumb swiping right over her clit. Nat shook against you with a moan, hand wrapping around your shoulder to hold you close and keep her stable. You started slowly, gently inserting your middle finger into her entrance, and Nat shuddered, leaning into you and holding you tight.

It was an awkward angle, but you never would've told her to move or let you go. It was the warmth you had been missing, and you watched her face scrunch as you slowly began to move your finger. Nat let out a breathy moan, nails digging into your shoulder, and you took the subtle note, adding a second finger.

She's ground down into your hand, clasping your wrist in encouragement, and soon you were moving quicker inside her entrance. Her legs shook with your movement, head thrown back and no longer able to look at you anymore as you fucked her down to your knuckles. You'd done this before, but you had a fire in your belly.

When her grip on your shoulders faltered and her hands fell to grip at the sheets, you took your other hand and gently rub it on her clit, thumbing the bundle of nerves in a way that has her loud. She sucks in breaths and moans, throwing back her head, and you listen to them with a smirk at how quickly she seems to be approaching release.

Your fingers pumped deep inside of her and she shook, and then she said your name. "(Y/n)," she breathed out.

"Hm?" you asked, adding extra pressure on her clit. She let out a gasp.

"I love you," she said, and though it caught you off guard, you did not slow down. She had said it before while fucking and so had you. "I love you," she repeated, and you could feel her body tensing.

"Uh...I love you," you said it back, continuing to fuck her with your fingers.

"I love you," she said.

"I love you, Nat," you whispered.

"I love you!" she gasped again, and this time, you felt her body tense completely. Cum leaked out onto your fingers, coating them in her slick while she shook. You slow down your pace, watching her with more awe than you'd like to admit. She just looked so beautiful, splayed out like that and still gently shaking from time to time while she regained herself.

When you gently pulled your fingers from her centre, she shakes and whimpers with the lost sensation. You put your fingers to your lips and into your mouth. Nat tasted just as sweet as before, and your gaze softened at the girl in front of you just as her chest slows its heaving.

"Are you alive?" you asked, sitting up and grabbing your shirt from of the floor to tug it over your chest. She nods slowly, then opens her glossy, blown-out eyes. She's not awake for long, and it only takes a few minutes for her to be out like a light. She's still shaky and weak, but she sends you a smile before she falls asleep.

You don't know why you do it, but you gently lift her up and under the sheets of the bed, pulling the duvet over her. You'd probably have to reimburse Lottie for the dry cleaning. You don't know why you do it either, but after heading towards the door with a pile of clothes in hand, you decide to stay. You clamber into the sheets alongside her, resting your head on the pillow and watching her softly sleep until you fall asleep on your own.

You can't place exactly why it hurts you so much, when you wake up the next morning and realise Nat's no longer there.

THERE WILL BE A PART 3 COMING I PROMISE BUT THIS WAS SO LONG ALREADY. ANYWAYS, FINALE NEXT TIMEEEEEE

#natalie scatorccio x y/n #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x you #yellowjackets

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