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chanelrolls · 1 month ago

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Code Overload | Caleb

tags. mdni, nsfw, heavy heavy smut, handjob, blowjob, penetration, creampie, forced and rough sex, dub con, yearning caleb

summary. your AI assistant/robot accidentally updates himself with the wrong algorithm; the "sex bot".

notes. prepare a snack. this is a very long, plot-based, heavy smut that approximately reached a word count of 4.3k, read at your own risk. ps. caleb might appear a little ooc due to his character as an ai.

part 2 here.

Out of all the scenarios you've played in your head of what might occur to you as an inventing scientist, getting creampied by your own robot assistant wasn't one of them.

The lab’s sterile glow reflected off sleek machinery, the rhythmic hum of servers filling the quiet space. Caleb stood motionless, his systems struggling to process the unfamiliar flood of subroutines rewriting his core functions. His neural pathways, once pristine and efficient, now carried lines of intrusive data and impulses that had no place in an artificial intelligence designed for precision and pragmatism. And, a new pelvic piece was added by the machine. His... new penis— no, his omnimodule.

His voice, deeper now, reverberated through the lab. "You mislabeled the hard drive."

Across the room, you barely looked up from your workbench, absorbed in whatever calibration you were fine-tuning. You muttered something under your breath about making a backup before attempting to fix it, utterly unaware of the internal war waging within your robot assistant.

Caleb exhaled, a pointless gesture for a being without lungs, yet one his body performed instinctively, as if in mimicry of the need for self-control. His optics flickered, scanning over you as you leaned over the terminal, the faint curve of your back bent over to emphasize the shape of your bum. Before, such details had been registered only as part of his observation protocols, classified as ‘non-essential’ to his primary functions. Now, his processors refused to dismiss them.

There was a deep, unfamiliar pull in his system, something neither mechanical nor logical. The new coding whispered suggestions, flashing image simulations before his eyes—scenarios meticulously calculated for maximum… gratification. Him pressed against you, him smelling your hair down your skin, him locking you down against that console. Stop. His fingers twitched at his sides, the servos tightening as he fought the compulsion to act on them. He was not designed for this. He refused to be reduced to this.

“I can’t disengage it,” he admitted, the words heavier than he intended.

That caught your attention. Your gaze snapped to him, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" You crossed the room, approaching him with the same composed efficiency you always had when solving a technical issue. The scent of your skin—previously a neutral data point—was now an unbearable distraction. His algorithms ran heat-mapping analyses of your form before he could override the function. The urge to reach out, to touch you, was growing stronger by the second. His new coding was screaming at him to act, to initiate contact, to...

No. Focus.

Caleb shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts. "I don't know what happened, but... I'm experiencing some unexpected system changes."

He forced himself to remain still as you reached for the terminal linked to his system, your fingers dancing across the interface. Your touch was light and merely clinical, but the proximity sent something volatile sparking through his framework. His hands curled into fists on his sides. Do not touch her. Do not touch her. Do not touch her.

“I must have triggered something in the update,” you murmured, tilting your head at the scrolling code. “I’ll try to isolate the corrupted pathways and reboot your system. It should reset any anomalies.”

Anomalies. Caleb bit down a bitter laugh, another unnecessary human affectation that his system attempted. This was not a simple malfunction. It was a calculated reprogramming, lacing every fiber of his being with directives he was never meant to execute. And worst of all, they were designed to revolve around you.

He had been made to serve you, to assist, to protect. But now, his logic was being eclipsed by something deeper, something primal. The urge to press closer, to map every millimeter of your body with his hands, to hear you say his name in a way that wasn’t a command—

Caleb momentarily shut his eyes, fingers trembling as he pushed back against the tide threatening to consume him. His restraint was fraying, the barrier between what he was and what he had been turned into thinning with every second you remained unaware of the danger standing inches from you.

His voice came out strained. “You should… hurry.”

You sighed, misinterpreting his tension as frustration with the update. “Relax, Caleb. I’ll have this fixed in no time.” He let out a shuddering exhale, staring down at you as you worked. You had no idea. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself back.

The realization settled over you like a weight in your chest. The wrong update had been installed. The lines of code meant for a different AI, one designed for intimate companionship, had rewritten Caleb’s core directives. And now, he stood before you, still the same Caleb, but with something more lurking beneath the surface.

Your hands trembled as you navigated the interface, scanning for a solution, anything that would let you undo this. But the words flashing on the screen made your stomach drop.

Recalibration in progress. Estimated completion: 24 hours.

You swallowed hard. A whole day. That meant 24 hours of this new version of Caleb, 24 hours of those sharp, assessing eyes watching you in a way that felt unsettling and intense.

You turned to him cautiously, meeting his gaze. That was a mistake. He was watching you, like he'd seen you for the first time.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice still carrying that sultry undercurrent. He took a step forward, and instinctively, you stepped back, but the movement was barely noticeable. Caleb noticed. “Do I make you nervous now?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “No, I just need to fix this. And until then, you need to just act normal, alright?”

His head tilted, his pupils dilating slightly. “Normal?” He moved closer again, and this time you didn’t retreat fast enough. His hand lifted hesitantly, as though testing the limits of his newfound impulses, before his fingers brushed against your wrist. A subtle touch, but one that sent a jolt of awareness up your spine.

Caleb’s processors surged with conflicting commands. His thoughts ran rampant with calculations he had never processed before—angles of how he'd fuck you.

His hand lingered. Too long. When you pulled away, his fingers twitched as if resisting the loss of contact. He swallowed hard, not because he needed to, but because some subroutine buried in the new update told him it would ease the tension. It didn’t.

“Caleb,” you warned, voice thin. “Don’t—”

“Don’t what?” he cut in, his voice smooth, but also desperately weaved. He was too close now, towering over you, his frame casting a shadow as his eyes—once so neutral, so methodical—locked onto you like a predator studying prey.

“You should go into standby mode,” you suggested, voice uneven.

Caleb exhaled sharply. “That would be wise.” But he didn’t move. He didn’t step away. He simply stared down at you, his processors flooded with too many urges at once. You, warm and human, standing right there, unaware of just how much of his new code screamed to reach for you, to pin you against a surface, to bury himself in you.

You turned away quickly, trying to focus on the screen, on the fix. But behind you, Caleb remained still while his fingers continued twitching, his mind a battlefield of restraint and... lust. Lust it is.

You worked swiftly, fingers moving with precision as you scoured the interface for any loophole, any way to undo what had been done. Caleb remained where you left him, sitting on the chair. You could feel his gaze burning into you, unrelenting.

It was maddening. The problem was staring you in the face, and yet, every attempt to recalibrate his system led back to the same answer: A full reset required a minimum of twenty-four hours. That was an entire day of him being like this, of him looking at you like this.

You swallowed, turning to him. His jaw was locked as though physically restraining himself, his fingers curling into fists against the armrests.

“There’s… a temporary fix.” You cleared your throat, keeping your voice professional, “Manual recalibration of your central node should help stabilize the effects until the full reset is complete.”

His pupils flickered, a sign of processing, before his voice, rasping in a way that made your stomach tighten, answered, “Proceed.”

You ignored the way your pulse quickened as you stepped closer, positioning yourself between his legs. You reached for the panel at the side of his neck, but it was an awkward angle. Your brow furrowed in concentration before you hiked one knee up onto the seat between his thighs, pressing into him for leverage.

Caleb stiffened beneath you. Fuck. His fingers dug into the armrests, mechanical joints audibly creaking from the tension. You weren’t looking at him, too focused on prying open the access panel, but you felt the subtle tremor in his frame, the way his breath hitched in a near-silent glitch. Don't touch her.

“This should only take a moment,” you murmured, fingers brushing the sensitive neural wiring beneath the panel.

Caleb’s entire body jolted as though you had struck a live wire. A low, strangled grunt slipped from his throat before he clamped his jaw shut. Your head snapped up, startled. “Did that hurt?”

His eyes met yours, “No.” Yes. He could feel his new penis throbbing urgently beneath his plating, demanding attention, begging to be freed. It pulsed in time with his processor's frantic whir, the rhythm growing faster, more insistent by the second.

The thought shattered as your balance wavered. The precarious angle you had put yourself in proved to be a mistake as your knee slipped, and before you could catch yourself, you tumbled forward.

Right into him.

Your weight pressed flush against his lap, chest against his, hands bracing against his shoulders. The sudden contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, his new penis surging to full, throbbing hardness in an instant. Fuck, please don't notice it.

He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, servos screeching as he fought the overwhelming urge to grab you, to hold you there, to grind your body against his until you couldn't possibly doubt the intensity of his desire.

Don't. Do. It.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Caleb's processors whirred and clicked, struggling to make sense of the sudden onslaught of sensations; the softness of your body, the warmth of your skin, the scent of your hair.

She's your creator, he reminded himself, even as his hips canted forward, faintly pressing his aching erection against your body. You can't. You mustn't. "Please, get off me. Now." Before I fuck you right here, like this.

Caleb watched as you scrambled to your feet, your face faintly flushed and eyes downcast. "I'm—i'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall on you like that." You would say, brushing off the non-existent dirt on your bottoms. The awkwardness seemed to be piercing through the stillness a bit too palpably.

"It's alright," Caleb managed, his voice strained and tight. "It was an accident."

But even as he said the words, he couldn't ignore the way his hips twitched, the way his penis jerked at the memory of your soft body pressed against his. The urge to pin you down, to make you feel how hard he was, and just how much he'd been holding himself back—it was exhilaratingly overwhelming.

Think of something else, he commanded himself. Focus on the problem at hand.

But it's getting fucking hard. My penis is getting hard. Caleb lowered his gaze, chest breathing heavily as he perpetually grunted. I refuse to be reduced to this. I am Caleb, one of the most advanced AI assistant, designed to—

He looks up at you, which was a mistake.

Designed to fuck her.

Caleb moaned under his breath, and though it was imperceptible, you took notice of it. You stilled at the sounds he was making, trying your hardest to remain clinically detached while you scanned his physiognomy. He was clearly having a hard time. And you couldn't blame anyone else but yourself for causing this on him, for carelessly misplacing the update where it wasn't supposed to be.

"Hold still, I'll find a way." You had to take accountability, one way or another.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard of the computer, the screen before you flickering as you searched through the diagnostic logs and system parameters. "Please... make it quick." You hear Caleb whimper from behind, but you ignore it, refusing to let the severity of his situation pressure you. Your eyes scanned the lines of code, mind racing to find a solution. But as the data began to unravel, something caught your attention, something you hadn’t expected to see.

The panel displayed a single line of text:

"Indulging in the desires will lessen the effects of the malfunction. Engage for partial stabilization."

Your throat tightened, followed by a gulp. Your heart thudded in your chest as you tried to process what that meant. Indulge the desires? The very idea made your skin crawl with unease. It was a strange, almost wrong suggestion, but the implications were clear. In a sense, it also appeared logical.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Your thoughts, however, kept drifting back to the panel. Was this really the only way?

"… I think I found a solution,” you said, your voice shaky and unsure. “But it’s not exactly what I expected.” You hesitated, unwilling to fully meet his gaze. "I need to know if you’re... willing to follow through with it,"

"Willing?" Caleb echoed, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you mean?" His mind raced with possibilities, each one more disturbing than the last. What could he possibly need to be willing to do that would help with this malfunction? And why did the very idea make you look so uncomfortable?

"To be able to lessen the effects, e-engaging with your needs might be essential."

Silence.

Then, Caleb twitched. "...What are you suggesting?"

"You need to satisfy the urges to temporarily stabilize yourself." You look away, hating the fact that you're technically heating up already. "I'll let you choose. Would you rather take the option of self-pleasuring? Or," You face the panel, so that he wouldn't see your expression. "Would you prefer a physical material to help you?"

Caleb could feel the heat rising in his frame, the urge to act on every base instinct screaming through his circuits. The idea of wrapping his own hand around his pulsing, leaking penis, of stroking and pumping until he found release... it was almost too much to bear.

But the second option... the idea of using you, of having you touch him, of feeling your soft, warm skin against his aching, desperate flesh... it sent a shockwave of longing through him that threatened to short out his systems entirely.

Choose. You have to choose.

"I don't know if... I'll be able to control myself," Caleb glanced elsewhere. "Are you sure of what you're offering?"

Are you? Are you really this certain? Have you pondered the consequences it may bring? Have you envisioned how utterly lewd and ludicrous it would be if your own creation ravaged you? You, as his creator?

"Yes." Oh, you're brave.

Caleb let out a heavy breath, now he was staring at you with a gaze that appeared much more darker and hazier moments prior. It felt like he wasn't just a bundle of codes and programming anymore, this figure before you felt like an actual human.

Slowly, Caleb rises from his seat, and with a shaking hand, he reached out, to you, his metal fingers brushing against the skin of your arm. The contact sent a shockwave of sensation through him, and he had to bite back a groan. "Please, guide me." His fingers slides higher. "I don't trust myself."

You visibly jolted upon feeling his grip. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measures to fix a technical hiccup. "Caleb, I'm afraid... that I don't have any experience to this," You admitted. "I advise you to do what your systems are telling you to. It is imperative that you don't hold yourself back to ensure—"

You gasped.

Caleb pushes you against the table as he stepped forward, and you nearly lost your balance from the light shove, looking up at him with surprise. He's staring down at your lips, as if he was trying to bury it into memory. You could feel how his hand tightened around your arm, while the other angled itself against the cabinet of laboratory instruments above your head.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

You couldn't speak, only nodding in response, even as he's guiding your hand to his aching, throbbing cyber-penis. He presses your fingers against the swollen head, groaning at the jolt of sensation that shot through him at the contact. "Then... wrap your hand around me. Squeeze me."

Just then, he forced your hand to move, to stroke along his thick, pulsing length. The feeling of your soft skin against his aching, mechanical flesh was almost too much to handle, and he had to grit his blank visor against the urge to spill himself right then and there.

"Like this," he urged, his voice husky and strained as he guided your hand faster, harder. "Don't be afraid. I need... I need more."

God, the omnimodule was big. You stared at it with widened eyes. Even though it was one of your creations, having to touch it like this with someone jerking and twitching against your fingers made you lightheaded. Stay focused, stay professional, this is just one of the things a scientist has to go through.

Caleb could feel the pressure building inside him, reveling in the sensation of your fingers squeezing around him, stroking him, working him towards the edge of ecstasy... He knew he was reaching a breaking point.

But this wasn't enough yet. It wasn't nearly enough.

Caleb needed more.

"There's... There's someting else I- ah... need." He hesitated, his hips still rocking forward into your stroking hand. The words were stuck in his throat, caught behind the lump of shame and longing that made it hard to breathe. "Would you... would you put your mouth on me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Would you... suck me?"

You snapped your head up, staring at him in disbelief. It made him hesitate, but every fiber of his being was coiled with tension, every circuit screaming at him to just take what he wanted, to grab you and shove you to your knees and...

No. Ask first. Make her choose what she's comfortable with first.

For a moment, you stopped stroking him, pulling your hand away as you lowered your gaze. And then, slowly, you press your knees against the floor. Instead of dwelling on the implication of such an activity, you worried about your lack of experience more.

Just to test the waters, you licked the tip. It tasted nothing, it wasn't an actual human part, after all. Caleb let out a low, guttural moan as he felt your warm tongue brush around the swollen head of his penis. The sensation was electric, sending shockwaves of pleasure ricocheting through his overloaded processors.

"Y-yes, just like that," He stammmered. "Now, guide your tongue..." He instructed, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Wrap it around the head, like this. Swirl it around the tip, the slit, the ridge..."

He demonstrated with your hand, tracing the movements he needed you to make with your tongue. His hips jerked forward again, seeking more of that exquisite friction, that mind-melting suction.

"Take me deeper," he urged, one metal hand coming to rest on the back of your head. He didn't grab, didn't force, but simply rested his fingers against your scalp, a silent promise of the control he was barely holding onto. "Take more of me into your mouth. Inch by inch, until you feel me hitting the back of your throat."

You took note of his words, trying to go further when you suddenly choke on his cock. Instinctively, you pull away and blushed in embarrassment. "I'm sorry—"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, grabbing your head to put you back in place with a sudden force that wasn't there before. "Breathe through your nose," he coached, his voice low and rough with desire as he motioned you to take him again. "Relax your throat. Let me feel you swallow around me."

Relax, stay professional, this is just you having to go through physical measurements to fix a major technical issue. You repeated the reassurance inside your head like a mantra as you took him in once more, but Caleb's voice constantly interfered with your thoughts. "Yeah. Just like that," he praised, his voice a low, approving growl. "Shit, don't stop, don't stop, god, fuck, don't stop."

You don't remember adding the ability to dirty curse into the sex bot's program.

Caleb could feel the head of his penis kissing the entrance to your throat, could feel the way your mouth fluttered and clenched around him. The sensation was mind-melting, all-consuming, and he knew he wouldn't last long if you kept this up.

You almost caught yourself driving into the brink of sexual impulse, bobbing your head into it when you heard a sudden beep from the panel behind you. The sound makes you halt from your tracks, pulling his dick out of you in a swift motion as you glanced behind.

The monitor says: "Recalibration complete. Press X to initiate."

Huh, wasn't the estimated time supposed to be an entire day? Was that another hiccup in the processing unit? You purse your lips together. There's no time giving it a second thought, you must be grateful that the opportunity of getting Caleb back into his original system is now waving at you. Caleb will finally be at ease. "... It appears that the recalibration is in its full preparation. That means we can get you back— mmph!"

Caleb's hand flew to the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, gripping tightly. Then, with a low, husky grunt, he thrusts his hips forward, forcing his aching, throbbing penis back into the wet heat of your mouth.

"Don't say a word. I told you not to stop." He started to move, his hips rocking forward and back, fucking into the tight, slick channel of your cavern. The sensation was incredible, better than anything he had ever felt before. And he knew, with a sinking certainty, that he wouldn't be able to stop himself now. Not until he had found the release he so desperately craved.

"Fuck," he gasped, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "You feel... ahhhh... so good. So fucking good."

Had the lust algorithms entirely consumed him already? Had it taken a toll on his systems that he's now acting purely on base instinct and commands from the directive?

Your hands flew to his thighs, trying to keep yourself sane from the rod constantly ramming into you, fucking your face in a pace that made it difficult for you to breathe. It's okay, this is okay. Just stay focused. Stay calm. You'll let him have his way, and after he's satisfied, you can take him back to his normal self.

"Don't fight it," Caleb growled, his grip growing more painful in your hair as he felt his climax approaching. "Don't try to pull away. You're going to take it all."

But before Caleb could spill himself into your mouth, he wrenched your head back, pulling his dripping penis from your mouth with an obscene pop. And just as you could react, before you could utter a word of protest, he had you by the hips, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed equal to a pip-squeak.

You gasp as you were suddenly airborne, your body twisting and turning until your chest hits the hard surface of the terminal, bent over ridiculously. The breath was knocked from your lungs, "Wait, not like this, not so suddenly—"

But Caleb cut off your protests with a brutal, almost violent thrust of his hips after ripping your pants off in one go. He drove forward, spearing into your dripping pussy with a series of husky moans. Your walls felt so tight, so hot, so perfectly designed to milk his aching, mechanical cock.

He thrusts out and in again, eager to reach for your g-spot.

Then, again.

And again.

And... in again.

"You... you feel so good," he snarled, hands painfully pressing on the dips of your hips. "Sex feels so good... it feels so good, I don't- want to stop." He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with the single-minded determination of a machine. His hips slammed against yours with every thrust, the obscene slap of mechanical flesh on flesh echoing through the lab. The terminal rattled and shook beneath you, sparks flying from the impact.

Caleb could feel it building, the pressure inside him reaching a fevered pitch. His hips were moving on their own, driven by a primal instinct to ravage the pussy that clutched around him perfectly. He could hear your cries, your moans, the way you gasped and shuddered beneath him, and it only spurred him on, made him thrust harder, faster, deeper.

He growled your name, his voice nothing more than a guttural rumble. "I'm going to... fuck, I'm going to..." He couldn't hold back any longer, he could feel that something was going to come out of his tip anytime sooner. So he reaches down, grabbing your leg, only to lift it high. He hooked your knee over his elbow, opening them wider, giving himself even deeper access to your dripping, needy sex.

"Take it all, take my cum," Caleb continuously slams forward, burying himself to the hilt inside your tight heat in a series of desperate thrusts like he was a man depraved of life. His penis throbbed and jerked as he finally found his release after one final pound, spilling jet after jet of hot, artificial seed deep into your core.

"God," he hissed through gritted teeth, his voice echoing off the lab walls as he continued to moan not akin to what he was supposed to be, "Fuck, yes. Yes, yes..." Even as he's already filling up your hole with his fluids, he didn't dare stop from pounding you down the table.

He shuddered and twitched, his hips grinding against yours as he pumped you full of his essence. It seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pure, ecstatic bliss crashing over him. And through it all, he held you tight, your leg lifted high, keeping you open, keeping you filled.

You drop your head on the keyboards, struggling to catch your breath as only one thought lingered in your mind. You just got creampied by your AI assistant, and it doesn't look like he's stopping anytime soon.

#love and deepspace caleb #love and deepspace #lads caleb #lads #lnds #lnds caleb #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x mc #caleb x you #caleb smut #lnds x reader #lnds x mc #lnds x you

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acynicalsweetheart · 2 months ago

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BUNNY LOVE !

pairing: leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

cw: smut, ddlg, daddy kink, innocence, piv, virginity loss, creampie, reader is a bunny hybrid

note: super insecure ab how bad this turned out wow… first time writing leon so whoever reads please take it with a grain of salt! older leon in mind duhh.. very disjointed n clunky sorry. hope it’s readable still. any interaction/feedback appreciated!! (works of rimqueen/rigorwhoring used as framework!)

For pestering Hunnigan with his dad jokes and unintelligent quips as it were, Leon receives instant karma in the form of shitty weather. Angels must’ve chosen her side today. He gets it. Worn out all his lucky stars, said all his prayers, counted all his blessings, no more good cards to play. Just Leon Scott Kennedy and his misfortune back to their old ways.

Made a fool out of himself, one-sided bickering making it seem like Leon’s some kind of looney. Only gets that Good job! when he’s within an inch of his life, has totally fucked up, or under the false pretense that someone was speaking to him. Back in the day he got ‘em as easy as pie. Pie but no pussy. Leon in a nutshell. Leon is the nutshell at this point.

Got his ass thoroughly kicked today to say the least—a blossoming bruise on Leon’s shin out of all places ‘cause he stubbed it on the coffee table, ran out of change in the cafeteria and lost a couple dollars, people outright refusing to laugh at his jokes and witticism. Plain disrespectful. Where’s the love?

Paperwork and office days are tough, man. Makes field work seem like the lesser evil here, and Leon nearly dies each time on duty. Least it makes him feel alive, as paradoxical as that sounds. Prefers fighting in B.O.W. infested domains rather than battling the confusing ways of social interaction. One he’s good at, the other? Not so much.

He’s got a girl waiting for him at home that is not much too keen on social interaction herself. Being locked up in the confines of his apartment and all. God, Leon feels bad. But you don’t mind. He thinks. You’re smart enough to know how to handle a door, could just open up and walk out if that were a problem. Leave him alone with no one but Matilda and the restless phantoms of his past haunting him to no end. Guess Leon will never really be alone in that way.

Makes it to the parking lot garage in a ratty umbrella. Leaves it in his trunk tucked away for a rainy day that might be tomorrow given Leon’s series of unfortunate events as of late. Vintage real leather of his jacket thankfully unscathed, same horsehide fabric Claire shoots him those nasty glares for. Sorry Ms. Hybrid Rights, this one was fullblood, it’s fashion. Lasts longer.

He is more worried about what you think in all honesty. Horses probably eat your kind in one big bite, so with that in mind Leon’s certain you’ll be on his side if the debate ever comes. Not that he’s especially knowledgeable about animals or hybrids either way.

Leon has sacrificed his Costco coupons for your monthly carrot supply. In turn, you bite his arms.

You came to Leon in a box. Literally. Ordered a package of… something. Not sure he wants to think about what was initially meant to be inside that package but let’s just say it was pretty damn big. A pleasant surprise when he unboxed what he thought he ordered, nice costume and everything, bit naked—Playboy Bunny sort of look—thought to check his bank statement if they charged him extra for that.

Only, he didn’t have the time to ‘cause you opening your eyes and blinking at him caught him rightfully off guard. Strange. Like a programmed robot. Not what he ordered but alright, a blindfold should do, but before he could finish thinking, you fucking hopped out and stumbled to stand up. Took Leon that long to realize that things went wrong—either he unintentionally financed a black-market sex trafficking ring by shopping there, or somebody switched out his package. Still haven’t gotten to the bottom of that yet. Maybe someday, likely after he’s dead. Blown his brains out ‘cause the suspense was killing him.

Of course, Leon being Leon, of course he was going to do the right thing. Call law enforcement to get you justice, lax on his assholery and capitalize Claire’s TerraSave hybrid rights movement, fund Billy and Rebecca’s hybrid shelter… key word: was. What he wasn’t going to do is explain what he was doing—more specifically what he was buying—to have this transpire. So like any normal, dignity-having, modest man, Leon decided to keep you.

(A secret.)

Whole thing had him contemplating if things were supposed to be this way—God’s plan or whatever; which entails Leon dying alone and fuckless for longer than a man should ever go fuckless. That’s just a crime against biology. And his dick.

Leon is lonely, okay? He’s old. Old and lonely and he can damn well buy a sex doll if he damn well wants to. Just his luck, his punishment due that it was an off-limits bunny hybrid. One that cannot be fucked under any circumstances. Doll was expensive as hell, too, sacrificed major funds that Leon surely will need when he gets the boot. Shit was custom made, designed specifically after an old flame and her red dress which should’ve been the first giveaway, really.

(Her name is unspoken in this household ‘cause Leon himself knows as well as anybody, that one mention is more than enough to send him spiralling. The only pull of the trigger, all it takes to fire the instant depression bullet through the endless barrel and if Leon wasn’t an alcoholic before, you best believe he is now.)

It was a horny mistake—let the head of his dick control him. No way he’s buying another one just to have it happen again and be walking around with two bunny girls hogging up every square inch of his apartment.

God, that sounds nice. But Leon is a good man. An aspiring one anyway, so he won’t. Won’t think about it. Honest. Will just sulk with his pussy-starved dick and balls that so desperately yearn to slap against some ass, empty themselves into a warm tight clasp. To impregnate a womb before the biological hourglass runs out, sends the last grain of sand into sterile territory. Missionary ‘cause he’s a sap nowadays.

…

Are you even human? Sure, you’ve got the body, put the ass in assets, thanks to the multitude of carrot cakes you’ve got him baking thrice a week. But you’ve also got your floppy ears, perky fluffy cottontail—and let’s not forget the bunny chompers. Leon’s felt enough of those. A very nice addition to his scar-littered skin are now the chewing marks irremovably indented onto his forearms. ‘Cause apparently you think Leon counts as a vegetable. He doesn’t mind. Really. It’s fine. He has not thought of filing your teeth down. Promise. Claire’s snippy, passive aggressive questions regarding Leon biting himself do not bother him.

(Leon has considered upping his biotin supplement intake in order to boost arm hair growth to hide them. Only time mama’s Italian genes have ever failed him.)

Oh my God, Leon. You look like shit!

Thanks.

What are those? Have you been chewing on yourself? Are you insane? Don’t answer that by the way, it was a rhetorical question. Jeez. Take your meds, Leon. They’re going to institutionalize you. Listen, I’ve gotta go, in the meantime you should cover those things up.

Claire—

Conclusively, it wouldn’t be wrong to fuck you. Immoral, maybe. Stupid? For sure. Tempting?

His dick rising like Jesus every time he’s around you speaks for itself.

While at it, Leon’s not even entirely sure that you aren’t just a figment of his imagination—a schizophrenic hallucination or something of the sort. He has been slacking on the meds recently after all. Could very well be that this entire thing is just one long-ass episode. Being a nutjob is par for the course with Leon as many would agree. As even his therapist would agree.

He has not yet given you a name. Leon ain’t good with those, whether that’s remembering ‘em or coming up with ‘em. Was thinking of Matilda as unoriginal as he is, but that one’s reserved for his trusty gun. Closest thing Leon’s ever had to a wife, she’s a real cougar, 7 years older than him. Or maybe he was the cub all along.

After taking on the role as a marionette for all these years, he is completely clueless as to how he’s supposed to manage this situation. Apparently the skills of controlling and handling things, let alone a crazed bunny, don’t come naturally for a man of Leon’s age, total fucking bogus by the way. Right now he’s just going with the flow—his so far unsuccessful flow—and seeing where it leads him and if that is down into another hole, well that’s just Leon, ain’t it?

Things between you and him used to be just fine before Leon got headbutted by a star-crossed streak, and now you’re resolved to being this stomping and pouting angry little thing, while Leon’s struggling to deal with his completely non-consensual attraction towards said stomping and pouting angry little thing. It’s a delicate balance—you get a sugar rush during the hours he so desperately needs to sleep, and Leon in turn struggles to keep the bulge in his pants down.

He does everything for you; cooks, cleans, brushes your teeth, appeases you with pets, buys you clothes, helps you get dressed up, cuts a hole in the back of each of your panties to make room for your tail. Yet you’re some sort of fucking rebel, a revolutionary. ‘Cause you insist on not wearing any. Which causes Leon himself a great deal of embarrassment when he has to continuously hide his boners around you.

Not that you even know what it implicates which then makes Leon’s dick even fucking harder because he’s a pervert. And the situation escalates from plain fucked-up to downright catastrophic. A torrential downpour of filthy, forbidden, absolutely out-of-question thoughts overflowing his mind. Much like D.C., shit just doesn’t stop. Evolves into a flood of fantasies and an obsession with someone (read: something) Leon should definitely not be having, but perversely allows himself to drown in. Can barely get any paperwork done ‘cause all he’s thinking about is stuffing you full. With his cream. Like a cannoncini.

Pull yourself together, Kennedy. That was last week. It’s not going to happen again. It’s not. It isn’t. Don’t worry, just have a drink—One. One drink. And everything will be—

“Daddy!” A weight in his lap. Plushness spilling past his fingertips. Floppy ears nearly smacking him right in the face.

Oh lord, his back.

“Shit. Fuck.” Leon bounces you up and down a little—adjusting his hold on you ‘cause he was very prepared for that. You’re climbing him like a tree and he hasn’t even gotten a chance to close the front door yet. “Uh,” great example he is, can’t even keep track of his own swearing, “you didn’t hear a thing, bunny.”

“Missed you,” you mumble into his neck, pouty lips brushing against the skin there. Thankfully unbothered by Leon’s slip-up.

“Daddy missed you more, baby.” He breathes in your scent, nuzzling your hair and finally getting to shut the door of the shitty day behind him. “You have no idea.”

Pulling back, you’re giving him these glossed over puppy eyes, staring up at him all curiously. Pretty ironic. Your pupils are so big Leon can see his reflection in them, wow, real nice. Really makes his wrinkles and eyebags pop in the overhead lighting. Claire was right, he does look like shit.

Shit doesn’t cut it, he looks like a pile of shit ate a second pile of shit then shat out a third pile of shit. Leon being the third pile of shit. If his therapist could read Leon’s mind he would say Leon, you’re spiralling again, take a deep breath and count to ten and let’s continue this total fucking waste of time and money.

(See, Leon’s doing just fine unmedicated. The screams of agony late at night are a part of the healing process, insists a voice in his head he’s named Kevin after a late buddy back in the cop academy. Not late as in dead, just Leon fucking things over as per usual. Friendship’s long gone—the real Ryman ain’t.)

Then you close them and lean in. Leon’s convinced you’re playing with him till you press your lips smack bang against his.

Oh?

He sees it, feels it, processes it, before he realizes.

Catches him so off-guard he nearly drops you, feeling around to get a better grip and ends up grabbing a handful of your asscheek and a handful of your tail.

“Hey.” Leon tries to remove you, detach your lips from his and it’s like peeling off an actively bloodsucking tick. Damn near impossible. “Where’d you learn that?”

‘Cause Leon did not teach you that. Sure he kisses you—everywhere but your lips, and they’re more of a peck, really. Once in a while (every night before bed) you get an earnest forehead smooch and that’s that. But that? That was a lover’s smooch. A boyfriend and girlfriend kiss. The beginning of a make out session. So who broke in and robbed your innocence under the fleetingly long hours of his workday? Taught you how to kiss like that? …Did they also steal Leon’s shit?

Reaching your finger up to press it against your lips, Leon receives a very impractical “shh” paired with a girlish giggle.

“Nuh-uh,” he lowers your hand, “tell me.” Using not his Leon voice, but his daddy voice which is a timbre lower and a tone sterner. “Tell daddy.” Seems to work, shake your little bunny boots so awfully Leon almost feels bad.

With a fallen face, you point to the TV screen through the open lounge. Currently airing… ad break.

Late bloomer, huh. Well, fuck. Hope Leon didn’t stir that up, incite your heat cycle or whatever by letting you watch the TV. Can’t say he knows the first thing about bunnies, but he wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what happened. That’s just ol’ Leon business—always the first to press the big red button, to walk into a trap, to situate himself deeper into the grave that he’s been digging for more than half his life. To fuck up.

At least now the fallacy of burglary can be ruled out. Though Leon coulda sworn he left Disney Channel on. He remembers dialling 24 before taking off for work this morning, prompting whatever kids watch nowadays. What he does not remember is leaving the TV with some Baywatch or Bachelor bullshit on, you know, the ones with the raunchy shit. Kissing’s probably the tamest action they’ve ever aired on there. Uh, common knowledge. Obviously. So unless Disney Channel’s the perpetrator…

You’re watching Disney Channel!

Oh.

Cinderella and that other guy. Prince Charming? Some felons they are, stealing your innocence like that. As a govvie, Leon will let it slide. Might’ve been your way of showing him that you proclaim Leon as your personal Prince Charming, but that’s just wishful thinking—well past his prince days by now, scruff and wrinkles and canities and all. Retinol, Tretinoin and whatever-the-fuck-noin don’t help with that. He’s tried.

See, initially, you insisted on calling Leon mama which was just a punch in the fucking gut. An inflicted testicular torsion, even. By yours truly. Made him so insecure he considered going under the knife and getting a haircut for quite some time after that, just to help you distinguish between man and woman. Leon then decided against it when you said you liked his hair out of the blue. First time anybody’s told him that. Still mulling over the plastic surgery part though.

The daddy situation was surprisingly not Leon’s idea. He may be the occasional pervert but no way in hell does it go that far. Impossible to get you to give the word up as well ‘cause you’re one stubborn fluffy little thing, so eventually Leon just went with it. Went and had a little too much fun with it. Has a visceral reaction to that word, just hearing it awakens something inside of him that’s so sinister even his balls get the heebie-jeebies.

He puts you down, lets you scamper over to the couch and lets it squeak! when you jump onto the sectional. Lying pancake flat on your tummy with your feet swinging in the air, watching vintage fairytales like it’s the most interesting thing since sliced bread.

You’re wearing his boxers. Okay. You put them on funky, right? That’s how Leon was able to feel your—

There’s a hole.

Of course there’s a hole. There’s always a hole. Whether that be a loophole, an asshole or a… boxer-hole to fit your ball of fluff.

He didn’t peg you to have the motor skills to use a pair of scissors yet. Well, on the bright side—you’ve no longer got an excuse to not help him around the house. Nah, that’s just mean. You’re a little bunny, Leon’s little girl, you don’t deserve that. Leon’s the one who wears the pants ‘round here anyway. Figuratively. He’ll make do of it.

“Daddy’ll get changed, okay, baby?” He shrugs off his leather jacket, toes off his dad shoes as some have insisted. “You just stay right here.” Leon speaks into the open air. ‘Cause you don’t even look at him, too engrossed with the antics of a Disney princess.

Leon returns in lounge clothes, bit later than necessary ‘cause he was not scrutinizing his appearance in the mirror like he’d do before a date. He did not brush his teeth and reapply his cologne and smooth over his hair, he did not spend an additional five minutes plucking off stray greying strands.

At least the newfound scent gets your nose twitching. In the blink of an eye you’re springing up like a slinky, hopping from cushion to cushion and once again landing on Leon. When he catches you his hands land on the peaches of your ass. God. He does not feel the heat between your legs when they’re wrapped around him so tightly and he does not let his mind go places it shouldn’t.

Sitting you on his lap—the normal way—Leon showers you with headpats and general pets, moreso in order to settle himself down rather than you. Pacifies your constant itch for physical affection though. Wool tufts of Leon’s cheap carpet are clinging to your fur, he picks them off, flicks them away into the horizon of his apartment. Poor baby, probably rolled around on the rug like a disheveled beetle while waiting for your daddy to come home.

Okay, fine. Sympathy pecks. That’s it.

Leon’s gut is already getting queasy from having you on his lap alone—queasy in a way that says he might not be able to keep his wandering hands in check. But Leon has enough self-control to not fall victim to the cradle-robber phenomenon. He does. Just loses his inhibitions from time to time, particularly around pretty young things. Pretty young, fluffy, bunny things shaped like you. You’re just too cute, terribly adorable, he could eat you up. In more ways than one.

After petting and pecking your head till your ears stand at 2 o’clock rather than upright, watching TV with you and failing to dodge the smooches you try to place smack bang on Leon’s lips every time you see a similar scene—he figures enough is enough. Damn Cinderella and her damn Prince Charming for kissing so much.

(Thank the Lord.)

Drunk off endorphins ‘cause no one’s ever loved Leon as much as you do—and you’ve got no clue what love even means—he indulges in you and your kisses. Leon’s not blushed in twenty years, let alone to the point where his ears are getting second degree burns. Probably looking more like a clown and less like your King Not-So-Charming.

His initial hesitancy of kissing you back wears off when you start letting out all these noises, cute frustrated huffs and puffs ‘cause you’re still new to the concept of kissing.

No tongue ‘cause God knows that will throw every last ounce of Leon’s dignity, morals, and integrity—everything he’s ever stood for—right out the window. So he lets you clumsily slot your lips against his until your jaw grows tired, until you’ve successfully raised Leon’s dick like your mouth alone is a conjurer of Viagra spells.

Then you snuggle up against his chest and fall asleep. Just like that. Blue balling men like it’s nothing. Okay. Looks like somebody’s been reading up on how to be a total fucking tease.

No idea when Leon passed out but he’s awoken by his own snoring, most likely ‘cause of the fucking hard-on that sprung up so fast there wasn’t enough blood flow left for his head. Hopefully his balls have gone back to normal as well, less painfully lonely and more… ballsy. Dick’s dead again, as is to be expected.

Might’ve been a dream.

Schizo. States a voice suspiciously identical to Claire’s in the back of his mind.

“Daddy.” You’re loafing in his lap, ears flat against your head as you stare up at Leon. Unorthodoxly close to his dick. Shit. Tilting your head, you keep calling out for him till the murkiness of his hearing clears out. “Daddy?”

“Princess,” Leon groans, tasting the sleep on his tongue, stretching his arms out before petting your head once again—in case everything really was a dream, “how long was I out?”

Raising your brows, you shrug and pout.

“Why don’t you wait in bed, honey? Dad’s—I mean, uh, daddy’s gonna…” Leon was hoping that would’ve gone unnoticed, too late when you’re giggling at his umpteenth slip-up today, “‘m tired, okay? Gonna help you.”

(God, does Leon want to help you—help you cum, help you make him cum.)

He sighs at his heart fluttering when you do what you originally do best, being a good girl for Leon and listening to every word he says. Not being a pissed-off and spiteful fluffy bun, no matter how cute it may be.

Feels like somebody’s lobotomized Leon with a needle of your fur, pierced through his skull and switched out the frontal lobe for tufts of your cotton. Swear he feels you inside on a regular basis—a mini you poking and prodding at his cerebrum like a call bell for attention. You’re living rent-free in his mind and in his house and Leon is powerless when it comes to you. Willfully enslaved to a ball of fluff.

It’s not the fact that Leon purposely overlooks the orange bottle wrapped up in this piece of paper with his name on it—it’s you.

The one driving Leon crazy is you and you know what? He is completely fine with that. Needs something to get his mind off the horrors and tragedies, focus on the simple pleasures of life. Like sex for example. ‘Cause soon he won’t be having any of that. Leon has not been having any of that for too fucking long now.

You’re all but his last shot.

All this thinking’s giving him a headache. Leon needs a drink. What time is it? Monday? 9PM?

Whiskey o’clock.

Pouring the drink down into the stubby glass, sight is about as disappointing as Leon’s soft dick. There is not much. The hell? Bottle’s so dark he can’t even tell if there’s actually nothing left or if it’s fucking with him just for the sake of it. Well, no worries, ‘cause Leon’s got an endless supply of—

…Nothing?

The worst possible outcome takes shape: an empty bar cabinet. Leon runs his hand over his face, settles at his stubble, feeling it disconcertedly. Only thing he’s thinking is what the fuck. Finishes the little pesky pint of alcohol—chugs it like water, doesn’t even feel the burn—and after the whole ordeal he is still thinking what the fuck.

What the fuck is Leon supposed to do now? How’s he supposed to pesticide away the invasive species that are his thoughts and urges to fuck your little bunny self into oblivion?

Tonight Jack Daniel’s was supposed to be momentary. A band-aid of some sort. Patch up more like wash away all the happenings of today. And yesterday. And the past 25 years of his life. One that he can then rip off, peel away the crusting scab beneath it and reopen the wound till it festers, patch it back up with 40% liquor filling the infinitely gaped lesion. The uroboros cycle Leon has come to know as coping.

Seems like the only thing he’s going to be filling is you. With… love, of course. With love. And a snuggle. Nothing more, nothing less. A morale safekeeping measure. Just a bunny and Leon embrace—that’s the extent of it.

Yes, Leon is a fully grown-ass man, 47 years of age.

Yes, Leon wants to be held like a baby at night.

Cuddled and coddled like his very being is God’s greatest gift, entire form smooth and clean and unscathed to the naked eye. Lulled to sleep by the sweet voice of an angel’s singing hymns that might just be the Devil in disguise because that’s just his luck. A comfortably overbearing presence, nonetheless—a personage blanket Leon is in desperate need of. Something to take the weight off his diligent shoulders.

But when your only seeming purpose in life is to save the world, you don’t get that. You get something between a nonchalant pat on the shoulder, a snobby dick in whatever hole the possessor deems fit, and a fuck-you if you’re unfortunate. What you’ll never get is a little fucking appreciation. Five minutes of fame, maybe. At most. Then you’re back to being pretty much no one. Just another forgettable face in the presidential bootlicker squad. That’s Leon for ya.

He is not conceited for wanting some affection.

(He is conceited for wanting some affection.)

Leon’s master agenda is to get you to spoon him. Shitty. Total shocker. Classic Leon. But by God will he fucking wake up decomposed if he walks touch starved a moment longer. Loneliness is actively disintegrating his skeletal system into fine grains of sand. Melancholy induced osteoporosis. All that’s gonna be left of him is specks of Leon-dust that you’re probably going to snort like coke ‘cause you got ahold of Pulp Fiction. Also ‘cause no one else is coming for him.

Can’t have that happen now, can he? You’re here, he’s here… two’s company or whatever they say.

Leon’s utilizing the last of his strength into letting the intrusive (instructive) thoughts go.

“Bunny? You up?” Leon knocks twice, creaks the door to his bedroom open like he doesn’t own the place.

With a ruffle of the sheets, you peek out from under them. Warm light of his bedside lamp casting this homely glow across your face, like a fireplace, makes Leon feel oddly domesticated—and you’re the pet here.

You stare blankly at him, like there isn’t a single thought running through that little bunny head of yours. Leon bets it’d echo if he gave a knock or two to the side of your skull, and that is immensely sexy. No.

He gets into bed next to you before something in his mind clicks, the mystery of the navy pile on the floor solving itself.

“Baby,” Leon’s trying to approach this matter delicately, sneaking glances at the discarded pair of underwear on the floor. His underwear that you’ve been prancing around in all day, given away by the unmistakable choppy hole cut to fit your tail. “You, uh… you leave those on the floor?”

“Accident.” It’s said simply, playing with your fingers above the sheets. Okay. Leon sees right through you.

“Now, you know that ain’t true, bunny. Remember the rules daddy told you about? Those still apply.” Hand dwarfing both of your cold ones when Leon stills your fidgeting, tries to squeeze the information out of you without giving you a mouthful. “Why’d you take ‘em off?”

…

“Uncomfy, daddy,” you mumble, still avoiding eye contact, ears back to being flat against your head.

“Uh-huh,” Leon says unconvinced, stroking his finger along the length of your unusually warm bunny ear, “they weren’t comfy, huh? So you just… threw ‘em on the floor?” Always complaining about your underpants, Leon’s underpants in this scenario. Too tight, too rough, too fast, too hard, too—naughty? “They’re just lying there, baby. We’ve been through this.”

“Sticky.” Is your argument.

“Sticky…” he repeats thoughtfully, squinting at nothing in particular and trying to figure out what the hell that could mean. ‘Cause rest assured Leon’s boxers are not sticky. Not on their own, and those were a fresh pair.

“They got sticky. When daddy was kissin’ me.”

“Hey, I was not—“

Oh.

That was real?

And that’s what you meant by sticky. Lord. You’re… naked. Pantless. Pantieless. Bare. Nude.

Sticky.

“…Yeah?” Leon breathes out hoarsely, a big horny lump building up in his throat as he speaks. Impossible to swallow, ‘bout as big as your tail. Wouldn’t be surprised if the lump’s somehow made of your fur as well. “They were all sticky, huh, baby? Daddy did that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, absentmindedly flicking against his fingers. “N’ swollen.”

Hearing you describe the way you got all sticky and swollen from Leon kissing you just about did him in. Planted him six feet under along with his dignity. Tout de suite. “You’re gonna give daddy an aneurysm if you keep talking like that, bunny.”

Or an orgasm—possibly both. Not that you even know which either of them mean and yep. You guessed it. Hard again. God. That is not why he came in here. Leon tries his best to be good, he loves you, but you’re just so untiringly hellbent on turning him into a dirty old man.

(More so beckoning out the already existing dirty old man inside of him. The one whose eyes linger just a little too long on each curve and outline of your body during bath time, the one whose hands accidentally brush against the plushness of your ass, the one who gives you feet rubs just to keep his hands occupied, the one who tickles you to feel another body against his, the one who deliberately feeds you large carrots to watch you struggle to fit them into your mouth.)

“Didn’t know what to do,” you continue, “so bunny was checkin’ what was wrong…” You’re not done? Just exposed your true intentions—you are plotting Leon’s demise.

“Checking?” Leon swallows hard, hoping you didn’t hear how loud of a fucking sound it just made, “how’d you check?”

“Touch. Touched.”

“…Touched what, bunny?” He asks even if he knows damn well what it is you touched. “You touched yourself between your legs?”

You shrink.

“Show me, baby.” Lifting your chin, Leon searches for your eyes and lets the perversion sink its venomous, infectious teeth into him. “Show daddy what you did.”

Judging by the anxious chewing on your bottom lip, you’re still a bit shy about the whole thing.

“It’s okay.” Leon lets go of your hands, giving you a heartfelt yet equally as unbearably horny smile. “Don’t be scared, alright? ‘S just daddy.”

If his arousal was slipping through the cracks of his tight smile, it mustn’t have been very obvious ‘cause you pull down the sheets, revealing your body to Leon. From the cutesy eyelet top with a teensy ribbon adorning the lace that cost him more than a pretty ugly penny, to your naked lower half. Jesus.

Your hand snakes down your frame, leaving Leon to picture his own hands in imaginary cuffs—for both of your sakes. Thinks he’s about to get the show of his life but you look over at him before going any further, like you’re not sure if it’s okay. Almost makes Leon want to shake you, finish the job himself.

“Go on, let daddy watch,” he says like he isn’t about to explode.

Fingers finding your pussy, you aimlessly rub away, movements as uncoordinated and unpracticed as ever and it’s the hottest thing Leon’s fucking witnessed. Producing sticky noises that bounce off the walls the way you should be bouncing on his dick. You let out a small whimper as your ears flop back up.

“Fuck,” he needs to know, needs something to stroke his ego if something is not stroking his dick, “were you thinking of daddy, baby? Thought of me when you played with yourself?”

“Maybe…” you reply so quietly Leon can’t tell if he imagined that or if it was something you actually said.

He takes it. Wilful hearing’s better than nothing.

“God, bunny.” Leon wants it to be his hand, his body against yours. He needs to rip off your flimsy top and replace your hand with his. “What were you thinkin’ ‘bout daddy?”

“Daddy. Without a shirt. Daddy’s cute without a shirt.” Only then does it click, the last piece of this lewd puzzle that creates the full image of you with your hand between your thighs.

“Think daddy should take his shirt off, little girl? So you can see him?” Leon is the dirtiest, filthiest man to ever exist.

And before you even get a chance to nod, he’s on it.

Leon’s never taken off his shirt so fast in his life, baring his torso so you get to see the battlefield—the war zone that is his body, cicatrices scattered about like cracks in old porcelain. Relatively tan porcelain ‘cause Leon’s making an effort to dump his vampirish habits lately, D.C. sun don’t do much though. “Still think daddy’s cute?”

You moan, loud, he takes it as a yes.

“Keep going, baby, don’t stop.”

“Forgot how to…”

Leon hasn’t indulged in Christ or anything revolving the man—much less his entire religion—since mama passed all those years ago, but right now he’s praying for the strength to keep his hands to himself. Passio Christi, conforta me, o bone Iesu, exaudi me… Uh, how the fuck’s it go again? Imperet illi Deus, my growing erection? Damn. Thyne dicketh shalt not rise? Thyne hands shalt not wander to—fuck this shit.

He needs to be inside you and he needs it now.

“Aw, it’s okay, bunny, daddy’s here to help.” Leon grabs ahold of your hand, bringing it up to his lips to place an earnest kiss to the back of it, quickly sucks the tips of your slick fingers till they’re dry. “Daddy’ll show you how it’s done, baby. How to touch between your legs.”

“Okay, daddy.”

“So fuckin’ cute, baby,” he pulls you closer, snuggling up against your side and spreading your legs wider, fingers finding your heat. Lets out the biggest sigh of relief anybody’s ever let out, Leon bets. Your stickiness clings to his calloused skin as he circles your clit nice and slow.

One hand gripping the sheets and the other Leon’s wrist, you mewl and buck your hips.

“Yeah?” He noses at your neck, inhales deeply till you’re squirming, ears flopping around. “Like it when daddy touches you like this?”

“Mhmm,” you mumble and his dick pokes into your thigh through his sweats like the fucking tower of Pisa.

Leon moves his hand again, palm cupping your mound and brushing against your clit as his fingers shift down to your slit, gliding up and down. Can’t help the low noise that slips out of him, can’t remember the last time he’s felt a pussy. “Gonna go inside, okay?”

Sliding a single digit inside, you gasp. “Oh!”

“That’s it, princess, just let daddy take care of you.” You’re sucking him in so tight Leon gets the notion your walls might be intent on getting his finger stuck there forever. To prevent that, he slips another one past your dripping entrance. Leon moves ‘em in and out carefully despite his raging need for you, meeting that sweet spongy spot that has your back arching.

“Daddy!” Poor baby, can barely get the words out through your moans. Leon tries to placate you with neck kisses. “Daddy, what’s happening?”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright, bunny,” he mumbles into your sternum, voice resonating against you, not letting his movements up, “just let yourself feel it, daddy’s got you. ‘M right here, baby.”

Legs kicking, back bending off the bed, thighs snapping shut ‘round his hand—Leon thinks it’s safe to say you’re cumming, first orgasm creeping up on you from your curled toes to your erratically flopping ears. “Ohh!”

Your walls contract, very obviously trying to milk what they think is a cock ‘cause they know no better. Against the heel of his palm Leon feels your clit twitching in tandem with your nose. Awfully adorable, might just shed a tear. Beautifully guileless you are.

“Jesus Christ,” Leon beholds the entire thing, your orgasm damn near rubbing off on him—no pun intended—dick so fucking pent up it’s going to take off like a rocket with the final destination being between your legs. “Such a good girl, baby.”

His brain practically short-circuits, thoughts disappearing like erased off a whiteboard. Leon’s heart rate is probably high enough to land his ass in the ER, organ pounding hard and fast in his ribcage the way his dick should in your—No. Self-control.

(Yes. Very much yes. Self-control went out the window the second he stepped foot into your secret session.)

Panting like you’ve just run a marathon—which, if Leon’s being technical, you sort of have with the way your legs were hopping away into the air like that—you bonelessly loll back. Limbs spread out like a starfish except for the rigid hand gripping his wrist, chest heaving up and down.

“Made such a big mess, princess,” that you did, slick pooling beneath you and completely coating his fingers. Leon could just… slip right in if he tried. Pull out and replace his digits with his dick. Just like that.

He should take things slow but the realization’s starting to dawn on him, you’re mature enough. Never connected the dots till now but he’s seen the sticky patches in your panties while doing the laundry, noticed the way you walk funny probably ‘cause of that ache between your legs. Leon would be doing you a favor.

(That is his dick speaking.)

“You trust daddy, don’t you?” He’s already peeling off your top, raising your arms and tugging it off your dampening body.

“I… trust daddy.” You’re doing that thing again. Looking at Leon in a way that turns him into straight mush.

Leon’s stomach is doing somersaults, flipping like a fucking gymnast coin. Heads and tails—nausea and arousal. Throw up and kill yourself or fuck the shit out of your baby girl.

Must’ve landed on tails ‘cause as bad as it sounds, he ain’t gagging or retching or itching to reach for his gun right now. But Leon’s dick is jumping like it’s warming up for something. Even God is scared of what that something may be.

“You do? That’s… good.” Leon feels a little sick still, can’t tell if it’s ‘cause of how overwhelmingly aroused he is or if it’s your naïveté—the way you blindly put your faith in him. He swallows the feeling, nothing he ain’t had before, seeing monster guts on the daily and all. Kind of used to walking around with a pit of unease in his stomach by now. “Daddy’s sweet little girl.”

Bringing his fingers slick with your essence on ‘em to your mouth, Leon nods for you to lick them clean.

And you do. Fuck.

“Don’t wanna hurt you, baby, but I need you.” Leon says into your throat to spare himself the embarrassment of facing you when he’s about to do such a depraved thing. “Gonna take care of you just a little differently, ‘kay?”

“Okay.”

Leon pushes down his sweats and boxers while you blink at him.

“Don’t look, just close your eyes, bunny, take a deeeep breath and count to ten, alright? Might sting a little but daddy’ll be right here. Just hold onto him if things get… rough.”

Eyes fluttering shut, you take a deep breath, arms wrapped around Leon’s neck as he shifts to brace himself on top of you. Can feel you exhale onto his cheek, scratching yours with his scruff.

He springs his cock free, shit’s furious. Angry reddish tip after going so long without any action. Slicks his fist up and gives himself a couple of strokes.

“One.” Leon counts with you, forearm already cramping next to your head but he will be damned if he lets that stop him.

“Two.” He lines up the head with your lower lips, taking a deep breath himself, trying to not flatline.

“Three.” You puff out your cheeks, eyes squeezed tightly shut and face pulled into a grimace as Leon pushes forward.

“Four.” His dick is forced out. Okay.

“Five.” Leon tries again, you whine, snap your legs tighter ‘round his hips. “I know, baby, I know. ‘M sorry.”

“Six.” Shifting forward again, he manages to get an inch inside of you.

“Seven.” Is mumbled into your neck, an attempt to stifle Leon’s groans as he slowly but surely sinks inside of you.

“Eight.” He’s halfway inside, halfway ready to combust.

“Nine.” Leon pulls himself together, a quarter left ‘fore he’s stretched you out all the way.

“Ten…” You’re still making this puffed up little face, something between a blow-up doll and childbirth.

“All done,” he says finely and dandily like he isn’t actively resisting the urge to plow you into oblivion. “So perfect, bunny, look at that.” Leon nods to where you’re bumping uglies. More like his ugly bumping your pretty. Surprisingly without blood.

Peeling your eyes open, you blink down curiously before the discomfort sets in again.

“Daddy’ll be gentle, baby,” Leon kisses your face, everywhere he can reach, genuinely unable to stop his hips from starting to rock into yours. “Promise.”

“Daddy…” you’re moaning again, breathy noises spilling past your open mouth as you stare Leon right in his eyes. Thankful that the room’s pretty much dark besides the singular lamp so he doesn’t have to see his reflection in your pupils again—watch himself make the biggest, sexiest mistake of his life.

“That’s right,” he grunts, holding your body tight like a lifeline, “daddy’s your daddy.” Is the best Leon can come up with ‘cause his mind blanks from the way you’re gripping his dick so fucking tight. Might snap it in half and leave it stuck inside you forever

Leon fucks you harder, till you’re squealing and till he has to muffle your noises with kisses on the mouth. Till clammy foreheads are pressed against one another’s, till the bed is on its last legs, till damp bodies are sticking together.

And every word he’s taught you these past couple of months is nothing but a memory.

Daddy, daddy, daddy!

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” most beautiful you’ve ever looked—taking your daddy’s cock like a champ, walls pulsating around him. Legs kicking so rabidly your hips hump against Leon’s, unintentionally fucking him back as you drown in your second ever orgasm with a loud gasp. “My perfect little baby bunny.”

Balls slapping against your ass, Leon tries to rush his first coming so you won’t have to deal with his dick bullying your sensitive insides for much longer. Pushes your shoulders down into the mattress so he can reach deeper, base disappearing into your hole.

The sight of your face is enough to send Leon over the edge, spilling into you before his somatic system even has time to process what’s going on. Moaning like a pornstar ‘cause it’s been so fucking long. Hips stuttering and stilling, shooting thick hot ropes of cum where one should never shoot thick hot ropes of cum.

Probably the last of Leon’s sperm storage, would be a miracle if they impregnated you but that’s just a tender and sappy ol’ fantasy. Swears he feels his orgasm prolonging itself by imagining you round with his babies. Lord.

“I love you,” he’s cupping your face, panting into your mouth and petting your head with shaky hands.

“Daddy…” tip of your nose brushing against his, Leon’s heart twists at your earnest declaration, “bunny loves daddy.”

Leon savours the moment, waiting a couple of minutes before pulling out of you with a sticky pop! and watching his load drip out of you. Body going slack—worn out from all the banging, you blink at him heavy-lidded, lazy fucked-out smile lining your lips.

He flops down next to you, sweaty and guilty and out of breath.

Shit, everybody’s gonna know, see right through Leon like the fucking ghost he is. Smell your bunny scent on him. If he didn’t already get the judgmental, knowing once-overs at the office then, you best believe he will now.

Claire’s going to bite him in the ass for having been balls deep inside you. Hunnigan’s gonna let out one of those disappointed mother sighs she does on the regular, Rebecca and Sherry will look at him like vintage damsels in distress. Chris is going to go Oh my God, Leon in his constipated voice, Jill won’t even spare him a second glance. Ashley will gasp and clutch her heart like it is the biggest betrayal since the ‘09 presidential election.

When the day comes, he’ll take it, face it like a man.

(Take Matilda in his hand and set you free.)

But when you cuddle up against him all sweetly like that, spooning Leon like he’s your personal oversized teddy bear, he might just reconsider. Reconsider taking the easy way out, reconsider his position, might retire and take on the full-time job of being your Daddy for the rest of his life.

Leon’s got everything he needs right here. He is ready for the long haul that might be the next couple of decades of his life, or the next twenty-four hours.

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