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shinigamigloss · 1 month ago

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a christmas secret

✎ If you knew your boyfriend turned out to be such an asshole, you wouldn't even look at him in the first place. You'd have called off the engagement, of course, but you chose to stay for the sake of someone who sweetened your days and that someone is none other than your fiancé's brother. Leon.

cw: MDNI, shameless smut, p in v, cheatingz!, unprotected segs goes hard ngl, bre3ding mayhaps, family drama aka kennedy family is the new kardashians, not proofread, sorry, praise kink, scars, spit as lube, stomach bulge!, fingering, fem! reader, MDNI

For Leon, this Christmas feels overly festive – an unnecessary extravaganza. He has always hated family gatherings and would retreat to his room after grabbing his share of the dishes his mother cooked for the house guests. No girls to bring home for his parents, no serious talks with them, and the concept of marriage was always a can of worms. For him, there was Ada and the many nights he shared with her – nights of “oh, yeah. We fuck each other, and we don’t put a name to it.” This was more than enough for him but nothing to last forever.

Until the night he happened to meet you, the tide completely turned. He was quite surprised when he heard that his little brother, the one he thought was nothing but a good-for-nothing, had finally met “the one” a year ago. Quite frankly, all Leon could think of was a mass of flesh carrying every known sexual disease. Clearly, he was not very fond of his brother.

At the request of his father and mother, he did show up at last year’s get-to-know-the-new-girl-in-law dinner. That was the night he saw you for the first time. The truth was: you were far out of his brother’s league, but Leon could only see an incapable man next to a girl like you. Still, for the sake of pretending to be the good brother, he laughed and ate the food cooked that night. He pulled off a good Kennedy act, the best version of Kennedy his father could muster. Whatever his brother was, Leon was the opposite, and his father couldn’t have asked for anything more. He didn’t care what exactly was going on between his sons. The Dad of the Year, absolutely.

Nobody could blame the old Kennedy.

Leon was alright. Whatever. The other boy, however, is the equivalent of a child who was supposed to be jettisoned from the beginning and who, despite the condoms and the pills, was still accidentally conceived one random and horny night. He’s the headache itself. The only problem is that he has been so fucking blind to see this kind of unpleasantness and discomfort he has created for years. The guy lives in his own fantasy world.

How he found someone like you is a veiled story behind the scenes.

Leon really wanted to ask – quite a few times, but something stopped him, and the subject remained like a chest of unspoken family secrets. It went as far as getting your engagement with his brother.

It was only a summer night when Leon found you crying alone by the pool outside the house that the tables were turned. The cause of your tears: his moronic brother. But why? Because he will never understand you. Thinking that you might actually find true love now seemed like a rookie mistake to you. So you cried. For Leon, it was just sad. Who knows how many times he had comforted and even hugged his brother’s female friends?

Oh, and of course, there was also the part of providing the most important detail his brother was missing: fucking those pretty girls. Hugs and heart-to-heart talks always led to the same thing. You, like the other girls, had found yourself in the same trap – the one you had willingly walked yourself into, on top of him on a night of poolside, fucking in a lounge chair. Didn’t that make Leon an asshole? Perhaps, but at least Leon’s the kind of guy who has a sense of reverence for the women he sleeps with, whereas his brother... Well, Leon can’t find the right words in English for that guy.

No beating around the bush, Leon wants the same thing tonight. The sex. Your sex. Why would he come to this stupid Christmas dinner anyway? For you, that’s the answer. Couple that with the fact that his job has kept him away from you for a couple of weeks – from the scattered things in life he likes to do, and you’ve got a man who’s been feeling peckish for many weeks.

“Come on, big boy. Jus’ have a bite to eat.”

Leon’s brother’s soused tones interrupt the eye contact between you and Leon, the one that has been covertly lingering on and off. He’s a piece of shit. It’s scarcely seven, and already he’s drunk as a doornail.

Like a demented child, he leans over the table and brings his fork to Leon’s mouth, making artificial train noises in midair.

“Now, now, my boy. Show me your mouth. Honk hooooooonk! Toot toot!”

Your fiancé forces the fork into Leon’s lips, pressed together in a sour expression, as if he had bitten into a lemon. He doesn’t do much to hide it.

At this point in your life, what could be more embarrassing than witnessing your fiancé doing this in front of all his relatives? And that’s coming from you – someone who usually doesn’t give a shit about relatives.

Mercifully, Leon’s father saves the day when he raises a full glass of wine to draw the attention of the guests at the table to him.

“Here’s to my beautiful family and to many happy years with them. With you guys. I love you all.”

A sweet harmonization prevails around the table courtesy of this man. At least the eyes are where they should be: on the table, on the food, on whatever the good things are. What of your eyes? They are hunting for certain shades of blue, and when they locate them, the same kind of serene smile sits on his lips as on yours.

Why is it that you feel so safe around him, but so bare around his brother and his kin? He’s their blood, but he acts just the way you always need him to be.

Blending into your vista and turning the picture upside down, a red face suddenly intervenes between you and Leon. As it always does.

“Heyyy,” he orates garishly and kisses your cheek.

That’s not serious. Why must he butt in absolutely everything? Sometimes, you just want to throw away the ring and give a basket, then spit in his face and run like hell.

Apart from the striking blue gaze – far away from Leon’s gaze, your fiancé’s attention is focused on you. More precisely, down your cleavage, or even exactly at the low-cut level. Yes, on your tits.

“What?”

“What what what?” He’s parroting you, yammering.

“Stop drinking like a horse and quit clowning around.”

“Why? Tits the size of my head-”

“Why don’t you shut your mouth? There are kids around. Screw you.” You look askance at him, but all to no avail. Yes, everything happens out of the prying eyes of the relatives – except for one person (Leon!), you and your fiancé are bickering at the mouths of each other. An outsider would even make a compliment about your idealistic relationship, saying something like – “what a romantic lovebird these two are.”

“Ha. Nice.” Your lover almost burps with a bitter taste on his tongue. In your face(!).

“Huh. How about making them new cousins?” And as if his sobriety wasn’t already bad enough, he, of course, dares to dare to think about anything that pertains to his dick. What an idiot. Like he can even fuck you. This guy has been dead for some time. The alcohol does that shit, he says, but he’s always been all thumbs – dick down.

“Get lost. Seriously. I’m on my period, anyway.” You lie, and within a split second your fiancé responds with a horrified scowl that is woven across his face like a tapestry. Of course, you’re engaged to a misogynist and a guy who’s allergic to the subject of menstruation.

“Yuck. No way. ‘m going to go now.”

“What? Where to?”

He stands up heedlessly, scrambling up the chair with the back of his shoe as you pelt him with a barrage of follow-up questions.

“Hey, guys! I’m outta here.”

He waves to everyone like a famous singer at a concert hailing his fans from the stage.

This fucking guy...

The folks watch in silence for a spell as your fiancé staggers along in a drunken swagger. Even Leon watches him, and he knew from the moment he had received the invitation that he was going to be subjected to such a moonstruck stunt. More or less, he could have guessed that the main character would be his stupid, dickhead of a brother.

You try to recover from this situation with a short ha! of laughter without even letting the situation escalate into a real problem.

“He’s too busy. Even on New Year’s Eve. Got... a call... from work. Yeah. He did—God. What a man. He makes me so proud.”

What a shock.

Leon’s holding his laughter like it’s a sneeze at your eye-watering performance. Turns out everyone in this house who has or is about to have the last name Kennedy is always obliged to deal with the chaos created by that mindless pain in the ass. Tonight was no different from any other disaster, and Leon knows you’re a real Kennedy now.

“Yes, indeed. He’s just recently qualified. The boy is quite overwhelmed with business.” Mrs. Kennedy, sitting next to Leon and across from her husband, is quick to gloss over her young son’s asinine mistakes. It’s hard not to admire her as she does her thing. It’s her aura that speaks – not her, and it’s at that particular minute that you decide that some of Leon’s facial features descend from her. Like mother, like son, you suppose.

The table stills after another parental rescue drill. Not a bad kind of night, you might say. The conversation circulates. You make the acquaintance of people who aren’t so black and white; they’re all grey, like Leon. Turns out the Kennedy bloodline isn’t all bad, sort of. American as apple pie, Italian as... pizza?

All this talking, socializing, and blah blah blah drains your social battery. That’s enough people and new faces. It wouldn’t hurt to venture out into the garden for some air. Maybe light a cigarette. You never know.

Excusing yourself from the throngs of people, you finally step out of the back door through the patio leading to the backyard.

The bracing air from yesterday’s foot-deep snow wafts sweetly across your face. The ground beneath your feet is still dewy, and the caked snow sticks to your soles. Too much on your mind to care. That stupid boyfriend of yours is the culprit of it all.

Raising the joint in your hand, you roll a cigarette and cradle it between your lips. You dig in your pocket for the lighter you think is there, but no luck so far.

Within a scant few seconds, gentle gusts of breeze blow into waves of bone-chilling cold and spray your skin under the thin fabric of your dress. Silly you. It’s a recipe for disaster to go out in such weather without even a jacket.

You’re kicking yourself inside.

Luckily, the sliding door behind you flings open. It’s none other than your soon-to-be brother-in-law. Squinting at you in the twilight, as if judging you. Yes, yes, yes. What a way to be out in the cold, damn it. He’s likely to lecture you. You know the drill.

“Is this the way to go out in this cold, sweetheart?”

Called it!

You just shrug, and Leon lines up next to you. He looks at the cigarette between your lips with a hint of titter. “You know these things will kill you.”

What a wiseass.

As you flick your lighter, he takes off his brown jacket, which you think is new and strikingly stylish. He looks good in it.

Unexpectedly; the gesture is a small token from his heart. He slides the jacket over your shoulders, and you notice the sparkles that fill his eyes. Tonight – particularly after yesterday’s bellowing of flaky snow – there is a distinctive gale in his eyes under the arch of the constellations and the blue-gray moon – like two small globes of blue sky.

“You must really like staring at me.”

This man is adept at deflecting attention with a comment that will ruin the moment. It must be a family thing, you decide.

“No, I’m just surprised. Look at you, looking like such a show-off.” You roll your eyes.

“You’ll catch a cold.” Your voice is muffled and blurred from the cigarette between your lips.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Just as you’re about to take off the jacket and return it to him, Leon holds your arm and intercepts you. It doesn’t take you long to register that you’ve missed his touch all along – distant yet fresh.

The stillness of the night falls between you, leaving a familiar glow inside your bones – white and aurelian. It’s all the same to Leon. Moments like these are potentially precarious, and it’s usually Leon who does something to diffuse the situation in those peak seconds of emotional overload. Practical wit.

He takes the lighter from your hand and, with a few flicks, ignites the cigarette stub. His free hand instinctively cups around the bluish, wavering flame. He watches and waits until you take a drag – notwithstanding the sharp, burning pain searing through his palm. Worth it, he figures. The agony in his hand is temporary, a diminishing singe. Yet the fire inside you? That’s something else, something you both share. You’re burning in your lungs. He’s burning in his hand. Unquestionably, with an esoteric surrender.

“Thanks.” You exhale away from him. Leon fiddles idly with the lighter. He looks contemplative.

Must be an acquired connotation to that expression on his face. Makes you really wonder what on earth might be going on in his head. You’d have sacrificed your fiancé to cut open Leon’s head and find out what’s going on during such hush-hush intervals, really. It wouldn’t be half bad. The world would be rid of a piece of shit, and eventually, you would have peeled back the layers and understood who Leon Kennedy really was.

You raise your brow at him when he snatches the cigarette from your lips. He takes a long draw. By heart, he knows the taste of your lips – all paper-wrapped and kissed.

“Whatcha got there? Cherry lip gloss?”

“Yup.” You hum in approbation, watching the heady vapors drift from his lips – frost-kissed red, like fresh grains in a pomegranate in the biting cold.

Well, now he wants you when you’re studying him so keenly.

What is clear is that you both crave each other. And for Leon, you’re what they might label that weird thing inside him.

“Come with me to the greenhouse. Now.”

“What? Now?” The surge in your speech ripples, either from the cold or sheer astonishment.

With the last puff, Leon throws the cigarette onto the snow-carpeted ground and treads on the glowing ash with the sole of his shoe. The next thing you know—

He’s grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you behind him to the glass vestibule of his mother’s one and only conservatory. All this silence, all these initiatives, are signs that he has a master plot in his head – and you’re just getting the hang of it.

“This is insane. The house is teeming with people. We... we should wait for them to sleep.”

Your words make sense – at least to you, but Leon is recalcitrant. He’s straight in his head.

“Oh, that’s it?” He lets you in and zooms out the door behind you. Naturally, he first snoops around to see if the place is empty or not. He doesn’t have to search every corner. The survival instinct that comes with his profession assures him that the place is pretty vacant from the moment he steps foot inside.

Your tentative steps are no different than trekking through a minefield. You trust him, but getting nabbed is always a contingency.

“Yeah. Fat chance, sweetheart. It’s now or never.” Leon whispers a brickbat, mimicking the way you croon your words when you feel imperiled. The two of you cross a lane, and Leon turns to you. Curling his fingers around the curve of your waist, he lifts you onto a sturdy mahogany tabletop that his mother usually decorates with lovely flowers.

Your fiancé could never. Better Kenendy, undoubtedly, is Leon, and you crave him; you’re craving your fiancé’s brother.

“What if someone-”

He heckles you obliquely with his index finger, pressing it just slightly to your lips.

“I’ll be completely honest when I say this to you. Everybody knows that we’re fucking.”

“They do?”

Leon offers one affirmative shake of his head. “My dad and... my mom... well, she knows everything.”

“Christ.”

How much more scandalous information can Leon reveal about his family, you ponder, as your darling brother-in-law rucks the hem of your dress up and you – with what must be muscle memory, spread your legs apart to give him more room to do his thing.

“I knew it.”

He makes a subtle jab at the sheer wetness staining the frilly seam of your panties. Inoffensive, alright. Call a spade a spade; you’ve been sitting wet from the very beginning of the evening – or rather, from the second you glanced in Leon’s direction. It's kind of like a stupid baby who peed her pants.

“You’re wet, missy.”

Don’t mind your panties skimming down to your ankles, just around your heels.

His touch – the one you have been yearning for, sinks into you in two fingers, scissoring your pussy with his middle and ring finger. Your heart nearly pops out of your throat.

He could have taken out his phone and taken a picture of a memory he didn’t want to forget – a cover photo that could have been the most memorable snapshot of your face. The most beautifully captured moment of the year.

“So tight.” His whisper sears your chest, “he can’t fuck you, can he? Good thing you got me. Gotta be thankful just for that, sweetheart.”

You’ve never been a thankful person, but maybe now is the time for a character transformation. Maybe you really should thank your brother-in-law for his very existence this year as he fucks his fingers into your velvety folds.

“What you say? Don’t you fuck him just to keep yourself for me?”

“Maybe.” Your breath touches his cheek – like a summery kiss, as he thumbs the spot that makes you squeeze down on his digits.

“Not the answer I expected, though not that I care. I have more important things to do.”

He’s talking about important things like you – to be sure, or your lovely cunt where the slick is bleeding on his fingers.

When he’s sure he can fit himself in, he samples his glistening fingers himself, in his own mouth. A familiar taste, yes, but it leaves a trace of saccharin on his tongue that he has been denied for quite a long time.

When it’s forbidden, it’s the lushest.

“Maybe I’ll eat you tomorrow morning after breakfast.”

How funny. No offense, but he sucks at these quip games.

Neither he nor you have the patience to wait any longer in the rush of this. Whatever this is. Quick as it is, Leon wraps your legs around his hips, which he grasps by your calves.

You do the rest and release him with your hand, loosening the belt around his waist and running your hand down to the zipper of his pants. Either it’s something in your imagination, or tonight he seems bigger; thicker to your eyes than you can ever remember him being. That, and the scars, which you can now observe so vividly for the first time. They’re emblazoned on his pale hide and mar him in angry pinks and ultraviolets. As much as you want to touch them, to plant those healing kisses, it’s Leon who stops you.

“We don’t have time.”

You already know that.

In his defense, Leon and you have made one thing clear from the beginning: no feelings attached!

So maybe in another universe, you had the right Kennedy, and you were the one who lay with him in the same bed. Perhaps you had a life beside him – with a cat and a dog, plus a roof over your head. Tragically, in this universe, you’re the cheating slut who cuckolded your fiancé, and Leon’s the asshole who bangs his brother’s fiancée.

“We don’t have time,” says the smartass, as he strokes the reddish tip of his cock back and forth over your wet entrance and repeats it like a looped movie script. It’s enough to piss you off, but your impatience is through the roof.

“Please. Please, Leon.”

The first thing he’s anticipating is the begging stage. But he wants more than that. You know it.

“Expecting better words from that witty mouth.”

You bite your lower lip – and no, that’s not what he’s expecting nor what he aspires to.

Leon pulls back a little and lays hold of his cock by the shaft. It’s leaking from the tip, and he smears the pre-cum by gliding the fat head of his dick into your slit. Smart saving, no wasted material.

“See?” He massages the fluids with his ring finger, rubbing everything inside. “How your little pussy loves me. Your body wants me.”

He then spits on his palm, garbing the dew over his cock, and proves his practical acumen even if he comes up with a solution that is not particularly... hygienic.

“Now you tell me. Want me to fuck a little Kennedy in this pretty pussy?”

You should be ashamed of yourself. That you’re dying for this. Yet the synonyms for these images of humiliation don’t even cross your mind during those seconds. Just debauched.

You don’t know how many times you have shaken your head in a yes, yes, yes, at him, but it’s so worth it to see that boyish grin on his face.

“I want it, Leon. Want you to fuck me.”

You’re no longer begging but spewing the truth as almost a last resort.

Leon feels a thrill of elation at the way you squeeze him as he slides into you, tighter than sin. Your lips are sucking in a delicate puff of breath, and he’s not even inside you.

The table beneath you is virtually slipping out of your palms, but fortunately, you have him. Always here to hold you and always provides you whatever you may require.

He pulls on your hips, and moonlit tears well up in your eyes, stinging your lashes.

“Damn, gorgeous. Can barely fucking fit.”

The rasp of his lilt in his voice, the rush of his fingers on your hips. It’s all turning your head topsy-turvy.

Slow, perhaps lazy thrusts push inside you, and your fluttering walls memorize the shape and outline of the cock that fucks you up inside and out. He leans back and groans as his dick melts into you, inch by inch, deeper and deeper, and the parting of his lips breaks into a grin as you near your limit with a newly forming bulge inside your stomach.

Only then do you auscultate the scratchy urge seething inside him.

“Look at this. Too big for ya? God—missed this pretty pussy so bad.”

More than you have missed him?

Does he even realize how wretchedly you tighten around his cock when you hear the subtle eulogy coming out of his mouth?

This is Leon you’re talking about. Of course, he feels you. The man worships you.

He knows and reads your body, your soul. Goes harder when you repel back to meet his hips, to less when he realizes that your hand is curling into a fist on his abdomen, and tenses up when the tip of his cock lashes your cervix with a very hard stab. Adores how you cry out his name, and he has always hated his name, loathed the fate written behind it.

Everything is for you: every error he has made and will ever repeat and every right he will ever do.

So is the way his lips quest for yours. The kiss rips out everything in your brain that belongs to survival instincts – rough and soft in equal measure. Utterly wet. His demanding hands play with your right tit poking out of your dress as if it were his own personal meat and vein toy. Hands reach up from his biceps down to his forearms – helpless, and you cling tightly to his shoulders because his body is the only thing that is holding you on the end of the table right now. He’s the only thing keeping you here: against the freezing degrees outside, against the happy house imaginary, against the people in it.

Your mutinous whimpers choke in your own throat in an audible volume, and you recoil from his lips as if you are screaming in a nightmare but happen to have lost your voice. Eyes glazed, and both your lips are alizarin to the point of bleeding.

“Look what I fucking do to you, greedy girl.” He reaches down your neck. Doesn’t choke you, though.

He’s the one who made you this way. Tonight he’s just more cynical than you’ve ever known him to be. Dirty talk will definitely rattle around in your brain in the most unlikely of places – perhaps during a briefing, or maybe when you’re sitting with your beloved husband-to-be, sipping coffee or hot chocolate together.

“I can’t. Leon. I think I-” The little words you’re trying to say just won’t come out of your mouth. You push so hard, but there’s simply no way through. Those mental words linger in your mind like clouds of rumination, leaving you mouth agape.

“Yeah, me too.” He whispers quite musings as his thumb finds the pearl of your clit.

That’s exactly where the hell breaks loose. You no longer possess the vigor to spring up on the table, nor does he have the stamina to be sucked into the molten lava in which he’s melting and kindling.

Drunken mistakes or impulse often drive people to make a choice they will regret. Your ineptitude is a down payment. Right there and then, you blanket his still throbbing cock, and he’s blinking his eyelashes together. All that ponderous, stinging thrusting, now numb and sporadic.

“I’ll give you, give you my—fuck!—I’m cumming.”

Famous last words.

Still, he’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Really, the very essence of male beauty must have been invented for him, or you’re just too fucked up here.

To him, you’re so beautiful, too; you take his cock so nicely. Absolutely worth its weight in gold.

With his face sunk into your neck, he moans, making a note of total bliss as he bottoms out, filling you as intensely as possible. Leon betrays a breath of air and closes his eyes for a second as your lovely pussy sucks in every lingering drop.

Your pulse is as senile as an oldie; you’re flushed and panting, gripping the edge of the table beneath you.

The rank ham-fistedness of your conduct dawns on both of you as you both only just regain your composure, your brother-in-law's cum smeared halfway down your inner thigh, down his mother’s table.

Hadn't condoms been invented, or had their sales stalled? Why didn't you consider using a scrap of plastic in the first place? Does it even bug him?

He blinks at you; you do the same.

Leon doesn’t actually take his sweet time – surprisingly – and breaks the silence between the two of you.

“Merry Christmas, beautiful.” So effortlessly, as if what happened between you hadn’t even had a spare moment to touch you – both emotionally and physically – as if he isn’t still inside you, he gives you his New Year’s wish.

“Merry Christmas, Leon.” Back at him, you sigh exasperatedly. No harm done. Can’t help wishing that the new year will be spent right next to him.

“Can you walk, or should I carry you?”

Here comes another one of whatever this is: the whimsical guy he truly and desperately wants to be.

“Have I told you how hilarious you are?” You huff out.

“Oh, honey. The girls love it. So do you.”

He crowns his comedy rehearsal, which is guaranteed to get a standing ovation, with a conical hat that he finds on the table at a random and very absurd moment and plonks it on your head.

You nearly flinch.

“There you go. Now you fit the theme.”

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #christmas #happy christmas #yall #:3 #resident evil #resident evil 4

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