✙ — KEEP HIS NAME CARVED WITH A HEART IN MY UNDERWEAR DRAWER . . .
꒰ 𝓵𝓾𝔁𝓮. ꒱ ♥︎ ◞ she-her. eighteen. asian (filipina).
the people’s most perverted daughter. tender-hearted pin-up girl. melancholy eyed. vulgar princess. spoiled puppygirl. in’cest la vie connoisseur. dddne / taboo content blog. minors + antis do not interact.
leon doesn’t necessarily have a fixed music taste despite what ppl say i honestly think that it’s very flexible and can sort of depend on what his girl is into LMAO… like sure he’d listen to a rotation of lana del rey and alice in chains and nine inch nails who gaf
Leon Kennedy x female reader | MDNI!! 18+ | dead dove do not eat, incest, dad-daughter incest, dubcon, smut, female reader, guilt, coercion, blowjob, balls sucking, worshipping, pregnant sex, vaginal sex, implied alcoholism, creampies, nipple play, teasing, implied domestic violence, implied past rape, petnames, dirty talk
summary: Despite throwing away his tightening cross on his neck long time ago his indulgences are as simple as he is: whiskey, a perfect lip glossed heart shaped lips pressing onto his cheek and a good daughter's pussy.
notes: haiii dad Leon summer lives!!! not really proofread bc i was editing it over and over lol so dont mind mistakes there and there. it is a reupload so ugh yea!!! and big thanks for my beloved @tugonmypigtails for rereading my stuff and sharing opinion of ittttt :3 reblogs, asks or comments and any kind of interactions are really appreciated:3
tags: @melanchol1cs @nekkiotine
"I haven't seen her for a while, Leon." Claire stops at the doorstep, like a tick sticking to his skin, her eyes questions him. "Your daughter, where is she?"
"Ah, well…" Leon exhales. "She is with her friends, summer break." Right now Leon sweats worse than a whore in the church. Heatwave, probably. Absolutely. "She likes her friends more than her dad."
A lie. A believable one, he hopes. At first glance, Redfield doesn't really seem to catch it for once or she has been taking acting lessons behind his back, a pretenseful kind smile just to call cops on him as soon as her boot would cross the doorstep of her house. Perhaps even sooner, in the most terrifying scenario.
"Well, I'd keep an eye on her," Claire says. "You know young men are stupid and end up knocking up poor girls and ruining their lives."
"Young people are stupid, sure."
"No, young men."
"You think so?"
"You never know what a man has in his brain." Claire stares at him; mysteriously alcoholism haven't killed his sperm so surely nor he became dumb. Leon is just worried, fathery worry the kind of a man has for his balls. And what Claire does even know about kids? Never gave a birth — not a mother. So Sherry doesn't count.
Her hug pulls him out of his head, worries vanishes in a pat on his back. Everything is alright and nothing has changed. "Take care, Leon." She pulls away, a last, slow evaluating glance as if to imprint him in her memory. "And don't do anything stupid."
A bike is dear to Claire as a kid to a mother; thoroughly taken care of like it is a new toy to play there is not even a visible scratch. Even a nun doesn't hold that much onto the cross. Her ponytail disappears beneath the helmet, igniting engine with an usual familiar turn of key, leaving Leon standing on the doorsteps until the roaring is replaced by silence.
The American dream, a mowed lawn surrounded by a white fence, big house and kids and dog and a cat — that's what his late parents' dreams encapsulated, woven into wish for their son the best possible life. Six feet under now, he got it all. Although the death doesn't stop their generational pride swells up in his heart every time amount of zeros shines on his paychecks like a documented evidence of his…no, their triumph.
Leon is Italian as much as an American can be; ciao instead of bye, Italian next to American funks it up. Oh, of course Leon has the right to use it — bounded by blood. Even if it doesn't guarantee a foreign language to spawn in his brains. He tried, really. It would be defaming to say otherwise, all to blame his schedule which doesn't have room for lollygagging by guessing object's genders. And to say bluntly it was easier to drop. And his broken Spanish is not so far away from his nonexistent Italian. And they sound the same, anyway.
There is too much shit on his shoulders. Since and before his first day of job he didn't have one lucky day — the unluckiest man alive, one would call him. His girlfriend jilting him is the beginning of a long black strike in his life of 1998, as a reward there is the first grey strand found in the boot camp's bathroom. American smile on the national hero, Leon's pearly whites shine brightly for every possible hypothetical occasion; cloying pretenses for another fucker with pristine tie, after another suicide mission and in front of another businessman addicted to golf on Sundays. He crumbles easily when it comes for his daughter.
The basement is not a luxury room with silky sheets kissing your skin, instead his American dream is shattered by you sitting on the old mattress affectionately placed by your daddy the dearest. The cement floor wouldn't help with your predicament. And his mama said it can cause infertility. Not really applicable to you anymore with your rounded belly which strains against the ectoplasmic fabric of your baby-doll; like overfilled cup, your chest craves to burst out. Perhaps not the best choice of clothing for pregnancy. Doesn't matter, as long as it is a candy for his old eyes, filling his dick with blood and expectancy of a hypothetical (and very exciting at that) risk for them to spill your swollen nipples.
"Sorry it took so long," Leon whispers, not expecting any answer from you. There will always be some kind of sacrifice, that's a well drilled knowledge. More for himself, his hand comes to intertwine with yours. Soft, lacking any callouses his job has given him. "You can come out now."
"I missed you." He helps you to stand up, your eyes lighten up at his words.
"You did?"
"Sure, it is empty without my girl." Leon nods.
Slowly leading you from the basement, your bare feet slap softly onto cold steps. A hard swallow, the image of you slipping to roll down hits his trunk like a lighting; as to shield, his hand tightens around yours despite the possible relief, freedom for you. For himself, it would be so easy, a little hearbreaking accident would end up with a miscarriage. A heartbreaking accident would end up with him fucking your cunt without an evidence of mistake. The baby.
Or your death. Oh no-no, that's terrifying. That's fucked up, Leon fucked up already but this would be out of his league. No fucking way.
"Be careful where you step." And you nod.
Don't do anything stupid.
The bed creaks with your weight. Was it always so loud? His ears seldom caught that on the nights were usually busier with your moans than the creak of the bed. Leon opens his eyes just for you to take position on fours, translucent baby-doll intensifies his guilt as it urges naturally to find path to your rounded, big and milk-filled chest, the nylon drapes across your curves, eyelashes curtains your irises while slowly crawling towards him like a cat about to pounce. His little femme fatale.
"You know this is wrong, pumpkin?"
You stare at him like he hung you a moon. "I'm pregnant," you say. "Not really a time to ponder on choices, dad."
"I know, I—" his hand stays in the air, pointing at you. Too far into pregnancy there is no way back, unless he'd pull it out with a hanger. Leon winces, that would be a lot of blood. Cruel. Abortion was supposed to be considered the moment you pulled out the stick with dreadful two red lines.
Your head rests onto his thigh, cuddling his leg like some sort of teddy bear, with your dolly big eyes staring at him, a kitten waiting for her dad to caress.
"I don't want you to end up like your mom." Pop a baby and jilt him, the half of you is your mother after all. His hand reaches towards your hair, a soft caress washes away his turmoil.
"Excuse me? I won't leave you." Oh really? "And mama doesn't understand anything." Sure, she doesn't. Over twenty one — you are a big girl, you take your alcohol better than your peers could ever, that's your daddy's genes. You take his cock even better, that's your mother's genes.
This is wrong, he wants to say. Really. It is on the tip of his tongue, but your plush mouth caught up. "I want to make you feel better."
And who is he to deny himself that?
A neccesity knows no law. And your hormones made you hornier, eager to shamelessly tug lower his sweatpants and scoot up to his yet clothed dick, captivating your eyes instead of his face.
Don't do anything stupid, Leon. Claire's words would be more suitable for you than to your dad. A terrible one as a thought to cut down your frivolity never flashed, on contrary laissez-faire attitude never brought him issues with you, more benefits if he dares to think. With his help, boxers are out of your way, there is no barrier for your lips to pepper with kisses to his soft dick.
"Give it a kiss, pumpkin," Leon exhales. A best remedy for his guilt.
A loud smooch on the spent tip, every kiss trails you lower and lower while your hand higher and higher until it coils around its girth in a careful grip. The focus is not onto his dick, as much as he'd like, he loves your mouth to be onto his balls even more. That's why there is no attempt to pull you back to his slowly hardening flesh, instead he throbs as your tongue presses flat onto sensitive ballsack, from top to bottom tracing the seam that makes his eyes roll back into his head. A loud moan, his throbbing dick slowly hardens in your fist, gliding up with a short buck up of his hips.
With age he became more demanding, that's on middle life crisis Chris said once, Leon calls this simpler and more realistic; experience. Yes, much more preferable. Porn with blown out blondies gargling on man's ballsack doesn't get him hard as much as in college times(less things get him going, the cons of alcohol). So naturally, your kitten licks across his balls are not enough, as a matter of fact Leon likes it messier, completely opposing to your steady relaxing pace your lips stretch around one of his balls with a forced push, a pretty flutter from eyelashes and, like sucking on a sour candy, drool leaks out of corner of your lips.
You try your best, you wouldn't be his daughter otherwise.
Still there is a little defiance in a shy lurch to the side with your tongue, just to ease the stretch. You come from him, from the same wrinkly flesh you are mouthing onto with tears welling up from the burning persistent stretch — impossible to fool. As your dad it is the best to discipline this perverse caprice and a slap is enough for your poor daft head to come back to reality. A sloppy moan (as he deciphered could be a sorry, dad) sends throbbing bliss in every icnh of his body, urging him to push you tighter. Do as your dad wants, specifically worship him. Your tongue keeps curling in a caress along sensitive wrinkled flesh, popping it wetly before quickly mouthing onto it again.
"Take it all, will you?" Leon needs more actually, a push trying to force another one for you to take just to feel you splutter all over his ballsack, pulling away with tears welling up on your lash line.
"Sorry."
"That's alright." Silencing you by his thumb in your mouth, gliding across your tongue as he guides your gaze back to his hard dick. "Come on, focus on unfinished business."
Focus on the most important. On your dad's pleasure.
A stroke along hard dick craving the same attention you were giving to his balls, another pump as telling him this is going to be fixed soon. He throbs for you to envelop your saliva glossed lips. Already swollen, plushier than before. They jutt out around his tip, gliding across it in cotton-like fashion, before peppering with loud smooches making his leaky dick twitch.
Kitten licks join on the tip trailing wet path from top to bottom until your worshipping reach the base. And then again, licking up any rolled down precum with eye contact dizzens him like whiskey would never — a tolerance trained by years of I-really- need-this-last-glass (or alcoholism, but Leon would never admit that!). You burn his senses like pure absinthe on the first try, kicking out oxygen by replacing it with a burning need to shove his dick down your throat.
As your lips return to his head, you envelop it like a lollipop, your tongue not forgetting to flick across the sensitive underside of his tip, and with a slow sink you take him deeper(as deep as your skill allows you). A little buck up would knock his dick right into your tight throat with a sweet beloved gag reflex that would make you squirm, sending vibrations intensifying his pleasure.
Tonight he just feels bad. A good dad to his pregnant daughter tonight.
And the sight of your drool oozing along his length is exquisite. Straight out of porn, the girls are just better at deepthroating — you weren't born to be one, you'd get fired on the first day after throwing up onto guy's cock. Not a bad thing, that's what your dad is here for!
The wet unintentional mess ending up as miserable attempt of keeping spit in you is a sweet big-big failure, only successfully make his dick throb. Little bubbles pop as he pushes deeper, trying your absolute best to improve your dad's mood until you splutter more along it; a concoction of spit, slipped tears and his precum thankfully void of bile coming from your throat that squeezed around nothing. Good girls learn from their mistakes and you are the epitome of gold star girl.
A phantom sensation: that nothing should have been him. Clearly you can't swallow him whole and that's not really good for his mood.
Every disappointing half-done bobbing doesn't end up with his dick deep in your throat. Leon still loves you, thankful you never used your teeth. A hussy-pussy wouldn't need guidance as a matter of fact all roads lead to whoredom on tatty piss-cum-stained bed, but paying for sex while his daughter is here? Outrageous. Immoral even.
"Relax your jaw and throat." A grip on your hair — not too tight nor too loose, not getting to fuck your throat is not bad and your daddy has a tonful of experience, oh you know this so well. No way he will end up as a starved man, angling you perfectly for his spongy tip to grind onto your soft and wet inner cheek.
His mama said patience is a virtue and Leon is a patient man at least when it comes to you, the best teacher you could ever wish for. A pretty rounded bump forms together with teary eyes from increased pressure against the tender surface. A buck of his hips and he slips out of your mouth with a loud pop, saliva stretches from his dick to your lips in glittery spiderwebs, messier than before he doesn't hesitate to slip it back in a rough, impatient shove.
"Hungry for your dad's dick so much, come on, keep it wet and warm," Leon says. "You wanted to suck your dad so much, you can't keep it in your mouth anymore or what?"
A whine is muffled by his dick popping out again, mouth hangs open with a gaze like you were drinking all night instead of sucking your dad's cock. A slap on your cheek wakes you up before Leon pushes himself back into your gaping mouth. His dick slips out after another rough buck up, instead of another shove his hands grip your cheeks.
"I think that's enough," Leon mutters.
"Huh?" You didn't even come is on the tip of your tongue, instead you ask, "That's it?"
"No-no." A loud smooch on your lips. Bitter and salty, his precum and your tears. "Dad just needs something new. Just get on me."
Without question, your position switches as Leon pulls you up, now on top of him with nipples clearly hard from just worshiping him, fueling the urge to pinch and twist them until milk leaks prematurely. Focus, Leon, that's for the later! So his hands slip up around your waist to lift you for an easier penetration. It doesn't work, with a push onto his chest he is forced to glance into your face. And that is enough for Leon to halt.
"What's wrong?"
"I—I'm not so sure," you say. Brows come together as a divot. "You promised we wouldn't do this anymore."
Leon is a man. Despite throwing away his tightening cross on his neck long time ago his indulgences are as simple as he is: whiskey, a perfect lip glossed heart shaped lips pressing onto his cheek and a good pussy. Every man likes when his dick gets wet and yours was made for him. By him. A good daughter is supposed to bring a cup of glass to her poor-poor dad.
"Did I? I don't remember that, pumpkin," Leon says, raising his eyebrow.
"You did that last time."
Of course he did, but does it matter now? "Can you do this for your dad, mm? You are so pretty and such a hardworking girl." His hand caresses your rounded belly. "You want to make me feel good, right? And a good fuck will improve my mood sooo much." One hundred percent. "You know that, pumpkin." You don't seem so convinced. "And it can help you with labor too."
"Help with labor?" you echo, unsure if this is even true.
Either way, natural childbirth was never mentioned, not even once. C-section is the best choice, baby, I can't risk you dying (and your pussy becoming looser, but Leon keeps that to himself, not a useful knowledge for your daft head) you know childbirth is so risky, right? Just a worried dad. Through and through. Usually pulling you closer to his side on the couch with no space for a divergent answer (other than a nod) exists.
"Yes, silly, I thought you already read that on your beloved phone." Leon smiles. The conflict wafts away slowly as your focused gaze awaits for him to speak up again. "Nothing bad will happen." From the belly, his hand slips between your dough soft thighs for two fingers spread your fat lips. Bless your hormones, 24/7 if not 25/8 dripping, your slick coats his digits without any effort.
"You should trust your dad more, I want only the best for you, I wouldn't be your father otherwise." And he wanted the best when he slapped you, that's just discipline — his dad put him on the dry peas for two hours, a slap is nothing.
"It won't hurt the baby?"
"You turned out fine and healthy," Leon teases.
Well, you both could try anal — if he had a mood for your whining. A flick onto your swollen clit shuts you up for good, only eyelashes flutter like butterfly's wings as the loud squelching sounds fill the room, retorting would not be the smartest choice. In the end your body wants this more than you ever know, can't deny it as all evidence are smeared on his fingers.
"See? So wet for me, you can ride me and if something goes wrong then you can easily hop off." Leon doesn't plan this to happen, your cunt is conjoined with your head more than your brain is with itself. And if you try something funny a slap on the cheek or more will put you in order. It always did.
To butter you up more, his fingers keep flicking across your clit which is enough for the sight of fading conflict from your traits metamorphosing into ecstasy blown pupils. Digits easily glide, painting an exquisite sight dedicated only for his eyes; jaw tensed, eyebrows curl up and chest undulates in erratical waves with involuntary mewls. You have no shame. Your hips roll against his hand gushing worse than a whore, even them wouldn't be so wet around their dads. And thankfully it doesn't stop your legs from straddling his hips, now slotting his dick between your swollen folds.
"Good girl, you are dad's pride."
Of course you are. Every bump of his thick tip against your clit provokes your back to arch, seeking to prolong the pleasure with a roll. The teasing doesn't last long, as much as it is loved by your sopping folds and by him. Tonight your begging for him to get you off by humping is not on the to-do list because Leon needs a real thing. The kind that frequently brings a risk of a baby(not in your case). A real thing that would squeeze away guilt and doubts.
Your cunt hovers over his dick while his gaze is focused onto your chest bouncing captivatingly whenever a sultry exhale falls off as your hole swallows his length inch by inch. A sweet stretch is replaced by a growing pleasure budding in every corner of your body as his mouth catches around one of your nipples. Can't really help with that. His tongue rolls across the sensitive bud, suckling onto it before letting go with a loud pop. Hard and tender, more than ever sensitive to his teeth grazing on it — he can tell by walls tightening around his half-way through dick and breathy mewls you like this too much. Overwhelmingly.
"Daa—d!"
A slap onto your ass, your perky nipple pops out his mouth, hard from the withdrawing warmth. "Come on, kid, you can do better."
A hiss of pleasure escapes from his lips as his dick takes his sweet time pushing through, until he kisses your cervix in a light grind forcing your walls to grip tighter. Successfully but sluggishly you take throughout care to raise your hips before plummeting down. Your clit grinds onto his trimmed pubes soaking him with your slick, glittery fluid clings to his silver pepped, but still dark curls, better than any skin-slap.
Frankly, even before he knocked you up your cunt was sucking him in sweetly, clinging to his dragging dick like molasses. First man in your life in every milestone. The expectancy of something new was low, he had pregnancy sex before with your mom — not a letdown, but free and riskless creampies what mattered. Rather average. Perhaps sordid adoration in his heart to his only child is to blame, Leon can't get enough of you. Leon knows your cunt the best and she only became snugger than she has ever been even. Wetter too, extra juicy, addicted to keep his dick deep inside you whenever he could. Through and through.
His hips jerk up, greedily burying with a wish to go over possible soft barrier and ruining your careful pace. Poor thing, afraid to end up hurt, almost insulting to his ego; don't you trust your dad? You lose your rhythm, no matter how many times you try to keep up with his thrusts.
"Such a good fucking pussy," he exhales, relishing in your cunt squeezing his dick so sweetly every time his tip knocks your cervix. "Squeezing me so tight. Fuck, you like your dad's cock so much? Dad's going to fuck you dumb."
So his dick splits you open in quick rough pace, how Leon loves, slick drips down across flesh magnifying wet snaps onto your rounded ass whenever you take him fully. You can feel every vein of his throbbing against your tight walls, pressing onto spongy spot with rough deep thrust. Harder. And so much deeper you swear you feel it in your lungs. A perfect explanation for incoherent sounds coming out of plush lips shape into a pretty O; probably begging him to stop, to be gentler, but your dad is not a stupid man. A simple he is, but his head is not full of air as yours, Leon knows what your spasming cunt wants: rougher, harder, to dumb you even more until your thoughts are flooded about his cock.
"Too bad I can't knock you up again." Leon tosses his head back with eyes closed, his senses narrowing in a tunnel of your muffled moans as his dick slides in and out with quick rhythmical wet tiny clicks. "Made to be barefoot and pregnant by your dad."
With pregnancy you are even more sensitive. Responsive like a cat (instead of trill you moan) arching into his hand which is not shying to play with your swollen nipple. Leon can't really help with himself, always reaching to play with your tits 24/7. Anyone would do the same, your nipple is a button for your mouth to part in a sweet moan while his palm squeezes your heavy breast until its fat spills between his kneading fingers while his hips erratically swing up into you.
And you are a mess. Clinging like a newborn kitten to a mother, your incoherent words with eyelashes curtain full blown ecstatic pupils is enough for Leon. You are this close to come on his dick. Like every night before you got knocked up, like the first night he raped you on the same bed. The same one he conceived you more than twenty years ago, on the same one he put the baby in you. In every scenario, you were milking him shamelessly.
With a loud mewl, like a wave it hits you narrowing to his thrusting dick. Every swing magnifies the coiling pleasure, forcing your mouth to gape and nails dig into his shoulders erratically looking for relief. Never enough. You want to pull away but his hand pushes your hips back, no space to recover from orgasm only prolonging it with quick slams. Your cunt gushes heavily around him, sickeningly wet, this can be squirt or piss or your water breaks prematurely. Doesn't ruin his fun, only urges to drive harder into you, to prolong your ecstatic drunk expression.
"That's it, baby," Leon moans. A snap into your spasming cunt meeting him in grinding motion. "Like that, let your hole milk my dick."
Your cunt takes every thrust feeling the curve of his dick press inside you, overwhelming you more and more. A miserable attempt to worm out fails, nor escaped whines full of pleas to stop change anything: Leon is focused on his approaching orgasm.
You can't blame him after all dad taught you man's pleasure is on the first place. And oh how much he needs that. It is unmissable by his dick delving deeper and deeper as it keeps building up by quickened pace of him bullying your insides, not afraid to overstimulate you by gyrating his hips searching for additional friction.
"Daaa-aa-d ughhh!" Arching into him makes it only worse, his dick pushes on every corner of your overstimulated insides. Like a snake around its prey, something coils in your chest. Are you about to get a heart attack? Oh feels like that. Fuck! Surely, of course, and die because of your dad's dick. You thrash with tearful sobs, "Oh my god, I can't take this!! I'm going to die, dad, please!"
Terrifying, embarrassing, but it never comes.
"Shh, good girl, you can, so good, just let me keep using you." His stubble grazes against your cheek in brief peppered kisses. "I'm so-so-so close."
There were many thoughts that crossed his mind. Leon could pull out to spill his sperm across your swollen belly, but it gets kicked out as your cunt keeps sucking him in, leaving space for only one thought: come inside. To fill you with his sperm without it taking the root — riskless, sweet creampies into your hot sopping hole. You can't get double pregnant, he can bet all his money on that. And if impossible happens you'd make your dad a white trash. With a breathy groan, his throbbing dick buries inside you to the hilt in a last thrust and last sweet grind against your cervix that makes his eyes roll back before he spills the warm load inside you.
Claire's words are the kind of personal epiphany that should have hit him when his dick got wet by you for the first time. A waking up slap, perhaps enough for him to pull the trigger. Unluckily for you, they are too late to echo in his mind. By months late. Surely a grave mistake was made. Leon fucked up badly.
That's okay. It doesn't matter anymore as your quivering body falls on his, at the verge of sobbing from throbbing pleasure. Even half present, half recovering, Leon's hand soothingly caresses your back, murmuring how good you are, his pride and joy, of course there is no need for anyone else other than his big and most hardworking girl, no one can take him as well as you and no one can do this as well as you. He kisses your forehead, burying remains of the guilt six feet under.
"You are alright, sweetheart?"
You bury your face against his neck, murmuring,"I feel disgustingly sticky."
"Give me a little bit of time." Leon pats your back. "I am too old now, I need to recover. Then I wash you, okay?"
