Thinking About Amnesia Eric From Season 4… He Was So Softtt

a) the quality is terrible

b) I’m going to hell

SEX EDUCATION

re2!leon kennedy x afab!reader // 2.5k words

summary: You tell him that you need to practice a certain set of skills, and he's more than happy to oblige. His lack of experience is simply a... bonus of the arrangement.

warnings: 18+ only. heavy corruption and praise kink. reader is a weirdo but everything is explicity consensual.

+

You sink to your knees before the couch, between the wide spread of Leon's legs, and a ruddy blush blooms out along his cheeks. Timid and tender, the color of ripe cherries painted beneath the skin. You know he would taste just as sweet.

“You've really never done this before?” you ask, question absent of accusation, fingers massaging his upper thighs through the fabric of his jeans. A simple up and down, thumbs digging into the muscle.

He shakes his head, eyes glassy and reverent, hands white-knuckling the edge of the cushion. Hasn't even pulled his cock out and he's already trembling, hips twitching when your touch wanders too close to the crease of his thighs. You do it on purpose, again and again, just to watch him squirm.

The rush of power triggers something dark and miasmic inside your brain. A lurking, infectious thing with its heart set on ruining the man before you, feeding on his innocence. It opens its maw and gnashes its teeth as you palm him through his unzipped pants, mouth watering at the hardness beneath your teasing fingers.

(”You've done more than I have,” he huffs, pointedly ignoring the weight of your curious gaze. “Not sure if dry humping on your girlfriend's couch even counts.”)

Poor, needy thing.

You've had this sickness in your gut for a while, an infectious miasma that grew and grew alongside your relationship with Leon. An infatuation years in the making, brought to climax when you shared your troubles regarding a non-existent sex life.

He gasps a stuttering breath, eyes fluttering shut when you slip a hand beneath his underwear. Already, the tip slicks wet with precum. Twitches heavy against your hand, seeking, a primal plea rooted deep in his DNA.

(”Haven't sucked a dick in so long I think I've forgotten how.” Catalystic words, grumbled on the same couch he's spread out on. A simple act of testing the waters, splashing your feet around to get a feel of the temperature.

He looks over at you all wide-eyed, an eagerness stamped down by his fear of rejection, the neck of a fresh beer strangled beneath his fingers. Condensation drips down the glass, a perfect circle wetting the thigh of his jeans.

You can think of a better reason for those fingers of his.)

His cock springs up when you tug down his underwear, and a long moment passes of shuffling before his pants wind around his ankles, stuck on his sneakers. You sit back, hands resting on the inside of his knees, a steadfast, calming pressure as you take him in. Muscular legs dusted in fine blond hair, thickening as you close in on his groin. The pretty curve of his cock, the flush-pink head. You swallow down a rush of spit that fills your mouth, already anticipating the taste of him on your tongue.

The sudden sound of him clearing his throat stops your starting.

“Ready?” you ask, leaning in close, nuzzling at his lower belly through his shirt. He smells good, like the fresh pine of body wash and clean, flower-pressed clothes.

How sweet of him.

“Yeah.” His voice breaks on the word, hips twitching forward on the cushion.

Cute cute cute cute—

“Stay still for me, okay?” A test to see how well he follows directions, your smile soft, tender at its seam.

His little mutter of, “Yeah,” ignites a wave of heat down to the pit of your gut. So obedient, driven by hindbrain desperation. Fit to burst down the middle.

You start out slow—a trail of loving pecks up the underside of his cock. Ghosting your lips over the skin, depriving yourself of your urges to taste him. To sate your appetite. In turn, whatever resolve he managed to collect shatters at your touch. He gasps like he's been stabbed, hips locking at the last second to avoid disobeying your request.

Spit pools in your mouth, settles in the little divot your tongue makes when you curl it, only to be spread over the vein that runs underside his length. It pulses against your touch, jerks toward his belly when you circle over his frenulum.

“Where you going?” you ask, lips spread into a teasing smile.

A second passes before he breaks into a laugh, head collapsing against the back of the couch, and all the tension is vacuumed from the room. Easy to pretend that this arrangement is long-followed routine, more for his sake than yours.

When the giggles have settled, you take him into the wet heat of your mouth. You hum at the taste of him, the salt-musk of precum, the cleanliness of his skin—

The beast settles, bares its belly from within the cage of your chest.

“Oh, fuck.” Leon reaches up to grip your shoulders, fingers fisting in your shirt when you hollow out your cheeks and swallow him down. “Shit—please—”

He babbles as you work him over, languid bobs of your head that leave him shivering, each inhale a shaky gasp. A lightning-strike fire of unused nerves, impossibly sensitive.

Each reaction from his body licks over your ego, whispers to it sweet nothings, strokes you between the legs with a timid finger. You knew he would be good (so, so good for you) but you never could've imagined this. A sweet little thing, fully ripe, tasty. Skin and all.

When your nose meets his groin, cockhead lodged in the sheath of your throat, he cums without warning—hips grinding against your face, knees locking against your shoulders to keep you in place; the poor thing reduced to basal instinct, rationale fried by orgasm. He attempts some semblance of one, a pitiful whine that dies in his throat, but it doesn't bother you.

You swallow it all anyway.

A tinge of sadness curls in your belly. If only you could have tasted him.

You pull away from him with a wet pop, eyes darting up to his face. You're no better than him. No less a kneeling dog, hungry for validation.

It was good, right? Didn't I do good?

He dips his chin toward his heaving chest and meets your gaze, eyes lidded and watery, cheeks flushed. Pretty. So so pretty.

“That was… fast. I'm—”

“Don't. I liked it.” You crawl up next to him on the couch, hand soothing the skin of his thigh. “And besides, we can always work on it.”

He blinks at you, sluggish in his haze. Can only say, “That was… Jesus. Good.”

Inside, you preen. “Guess I didn't need the practice after all.”

“Fuck no.”

He dissolves into a fit of giggles. Exhales a deep, relaxed sigh. Turns his head to grin at you, and your heart swells to the point of sickly-sweet pain.

Yeah, you can work with this.

.

.

.

He looks at a wet pussy for the first time and forgets how to act.

Sat on his knees before the couch, your legs spread out atop the cushions, he flushes red from the tops of his cheeks down to the neckline of his shirt, eyes alert and searching.

(”Can you teach me how to… ya know?”

You don't know, but then his eyes dart to your lap, a nod of his head following.

Oh. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. Quite the opposite given the well of heat that rises in your belly.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “I don't want you to feel like you have to—”

“No, I want to.” His cheeks redden, a shy smile stretching his lips. “A lot.”)

You bite back a smile, adjusting your hips to balance on the edge. “You can touch me, ya know.”

He gives your face a glance, shoulders unfurling from around his ears at whatever expression he sees (no doubt one of anticipation, expectancy). Curls his fingers around your hips, touch gentle, almost wary in the way his thumbs soothe a path over your skin.

His lips twitch into a wincing smile. “I don't really know where to start.”

Something black and viscous twists in your belly. The source of your wickedness—why your insides clench at the plight of his innocence; why you fight the urge to grin at the smallness of his voice.

“Just give it a little kiss. Try different things.” You brush a hand through the silk of his hair, smile loose on your lips. “There's no rush, okay?”

He nods, and a warm breath of air washes over the slick of your cunt. Relief at your relaxation. You reach down and part your inner labia with fore and middle finger, your other hand stretching over the crown of his head to coax him closer.

When his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, your muscles clench around emptiness, a gnawing ache that pangs in your belly. A great chasm of need begging to be stated.

Baby steps. Patience stretched thin for the end reward.

“Have you ever seen a pussy up close?”

He shakes his head, hums his dissent as his eyes dissect you between the legs. You must look a needy mess, slicked up and spread open for him, ready for feasting.

“What do I—” He cuts himself off with a thick swallow, a blink, before the wet muscle of his tongue licks a slow path from hole to clit.

Poor, lost baby. So ready to please, to make you feel good in spite of his inexperience. But you'll teach him. Show him how to properly eat a pussy.

Your hips jolt, a low moan punched from your chest. On instinct, your fingers twist in the silk of his hair, fist a steady weight against the back of his head. He shifts, hands moving to grasp the back of each thigh, opening you up as his tongue licks over your cunt.

He lacks rhythm and just misses your clit on each upstroke, but you applaud his tenacity. The wet squelch each time his tongue dips into your hole, a tease that makes your hips jolt.

When you catch his gaze (his eyes so pretty as they look up at you, puppy-doggish, the blue swallowed by a central sea of black just begging for praise), your teeth catch on your lower lip.

“How's it taste?” you ask, free hand rising to pluck at a nipple.

He sighs against you, pulls away a moment to groan, “Good,” before diving back in.

For all his eagerness, you refuse to cave easily. He needs to earn your pleasure, learn for himself what makes you feel good. But he's observant, malleable. Internalizes your reactions, files each of them away until he hits his mark. Unfortunately, he doesn't understand the importance of consistency just yet.

His desperation keeps you engaged, indefinitely on edge. An anxious bird flitting between trees, never settling in one place—the nest is right there, swollen and sticky and so so sensitive, and if he'd just touch it—

You end his torment by grabbing his face, palms cupping his jaw, a cooing voice that says, “Here, baby.” A finger ghosting over your clit, a map for his tongue to follow.

A jolt shocks your spine when his lips seal around your clit, fingers dimpling the fat of your thighs, and he sucks. Mouth impossibly hot, drooling down the seam of your cunt. The hum of his groan leaves you fisting his hair between your fingers, pulling him closer.

You trap him there with both hands on either side of his head, orgasm unraveling from the base of your spine, a slow spill of sticky molasses. A long-played game of accidental edging wore down your resolve.

He whines against you, suckling in uneven spurts that, in any other circumstance, would leave you groaning in frustration, but his eyes stare up at you all wide and wet. Pleading. Starving for it.

(what a sweet, pitiful thing he is; how could you not wish to keep him?)

The dark miasma of your need rears its ugly head, a steady purr vibrating your ribs—

You cum with a sharp jerk of your thighs, a tightening of your abdomen, and everything burns white-hot in the blackhole darkness behind your eyelids. He grips you hard enough to hurt in an effort to tug you closer, and pleasure-pain grinds your hips against his face.

And then everything stops. You sag against the couch with a heaving sigh as he licks his tongue over your cunt, cleaning you much like a dog would a wound.

Your very own obedient little puppy.

“Good boy,” you sigh, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. “So, so good.”

Behind him, you swear you see a ghostly tail begin to wag.

.

.

.

The following weekend, he lets you fuck him. You only ask the question once, phrase it as polite as possible lest his brain leak out through his ears—

(”Ya know, you're missing out on the whole sex thing.”

“Is it really that good?”

“Yeah. I can show you, if you want.”)

You seat yourself on his cock and admire the honey-silk stretch, the tautness of his belly beneath your fingers, the shine of his eyes as he stares up at you. His hands suspended in air next to your waist, body frozen as all rationale drains from his brain down to the pinpoint pleasure of velvety heat.

He cums after the fourth bounce of your hips—long, languid pumps that swallow him from root to tip. The squelch from your cunt overwhelms the hush of your bedroom, following each involuntary clench of your muscles.

It took nothing to get you wet for him: the mere thought of being his first, a bit of kissing, his fumbling touches beneath your shirt. A tangible devotion. A need to impress.

How pretty he looks spread out on your bed is just a bonus.

It's the cutest thing you've ever seen. How he reaches for your hand (he needs the comfort you suppose), bucks up into you, moans high-pitched and whiny. Head pressed back into the pillow, blushed neck on full display. You wish to sink your teeth into the thrumming pulse, taste blood in the back of your throat. A gift for the occasion.

But you don't. Can't scare him away just yet—not when you've made so much progress.

You stay seated until his breathing evens out and his eyes flutter open, and then you catch them in the reflection of lamp light: a line of tears that disappear into his hairline.

“Ohhhh, poor baby. It's okay.” Your hand cups his jaw, lips pressing soft to his forehead. “You did so well.”

“I didn't last,” he whines pitifully against your shoulder.

And yet you still ache. A bottomless pit of need, the thing inside you more ravenous than ever. An ache so great you could cry, too.

But you have plenty of time to get yours.

“Then we'll have to do it again, won't we?”

He grunts in response, big hands grabbing your hips. The air thickens as if your bedroom holds its breath, waiting on a decision.

When he rolls you onto your back and crawls down the bed, your legs part on instinct.

Why are his proportions so good. Why is his chest and ass so nice.

Rick finding out ur into choking which leads to rough sex? 🤭

18+ mdni

“You like that?”

Rick scoffs, referring to the hold he had around your neck— courtesy of you.

You grabbed his arm and allowed him to wrap his fingers around you and dig his fingernails into your skin.

You loved it.

How you could see the cocky smirk on his face, you loved that he had the power and could do whatever he wanted. It only made the arousal between your legs grow and leak onto the bed.

Meekly nodding, you tighten your grip around the man’s wrist, a sign for him to continue and go harder.

He did. Squeezing his fingers around your neck, that combined with his rough pounding made you see stars.

“Mmgh, Rick!”

The man chuckled coyly, a stupid smirk on his face, “You’re pathetic, baby.” He cooed, his thumb reaching up to tauntingly stroke at your soft cheek.

By now your face was turning a shade of crimson due to his harsh hold, fat tears forming in your eyes and begging to drip.

Rick's thrust only speed up, getting more aroused at the sight of you— laid beneath him, completely at his mercy, his hand around your throat and those big eyes that stared into his. God, he loved you.

Yes! Don't you ever ever ever feel bad about wanting the classics. One bed is hot and will never go out of style ✊

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

Commonwealth diner Waiter: What would you like?

Y/N: A chocolate milkshake with two straws, please.

Daryl, blushing: I—

Y/N, putting both straws in her mouth: Watch how fast I can drink this!!

Daryl: …

you know where to find me

and i know where to look

Ddlg Chris, this, ddlg Leon that... They're good, but mommy Ada is what im looking forrrrrrr (I already KNOW you'll get me kennykins)

mhm i'm picking up what you're putting down hehe

ada wong x fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, mommy kink, thigh riding

tags: @nexysworld @d10nyx @pupthepokemonenthusiast

"Come closer for me, babydoll," Ada purrs as she guides you across the couch into her lap.

Her plush lips meet yours in a series of soft kisses. Soft fingertips glide over your thighs to your hips. The swell of her chest pushes against yours. She's all you can smell, and it's absolutely intoxicating.

The two of you had been lounging around the house, both not wearing much to start with. Fortunate for you, only wearing panties on your lower half makes the rush of pleasure that much more intense when you roll your hips down on her leg.

She huffs out a laugh and pulls back a bit, taking in the sight of your swollen, wet lips.

"Greedy girl," she coos teasingly, coasting her thumb under your chin, "Wanting more already?"

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you nod.

"Yeah? You'll need to use your words for me then, baby," she says.

"I want more," you say softly, eyes timid as they connect with hers.

"I already know you want more," she taunts. Her hand sweeps back down to squeeze your waist in tandem with her other one. "You can beg for me better than that."

A whine falls from your lips, but that doesn't cut it. "P-please," you begin, "I wanna feel good."

Her smile grows, but she doesn't say anything to imply you've satisfied her command.

"I wanna be good for you. However you want. Please?" you continue.

"Please what?" she asks in response to your pathetic display.

How could you have forgotten the magic word?

"Please mommy?" you whimper.

"My smart girl," she says, her voice low and seductive.

She pulls you closer on her lap and adjust you so only one of her thighs is slotted between your legs. You get a few more kisses as she pulls you down on it.

"I think I need to teach you some self-sufficiency so I don't have to coax everything out of you," she whispers against your mouth, "I want you to make yourself cum."

Your eyes blink open. You whine softly and reach for her hand, wanting her to make you cum instead.

"Ah ah," she tuts, "Maybe later if you put on a good show for me."

The promise of her hands on you later was enough to convince you to start rolling your hips like you'd been doing before. You grind yourself down against her thigh, letting your clit drag against her.

"C'mon. You're a big girl. You can do better," she teases and leans back. Her hands remain on your hips, giving you little guidance. "I can feel how wet you are. I know you want to move faster."

So you do. As was typical in your relationship with Ada, she spoke it and you obeyed her words as if they were enchanted. Your hips rut against her, displaying an accurate representation of the passion inside her. You moan and your head tilts back as the pleasure blooms within you.

"There you go," she coos, "Such a good girl for mommy, doing what your told. I suppose this is pretty natural for you. Like a needy puppy in heat."

You gasp, feeling your face heat up. In your present condition, words weren't an option. Your mind had been reduced down to a haze of need and desire. All you can do is lean forward and bury yourself in the crook of her neck. Your hips keep rocking the whole time.

"My baby," she chuckles. Her hands slide around to your back and rub it soothingly as if trying to calm you down. You pant against her smooth skin, nuzzling it like an affectionate puppy.

"Feels so good," you whimper, practically drooling on her throat.

"I can tell," she says.

Her palms leave your back and snake between your two bodies to fondle your breasts. The sensation draws more mewls from you and makes you hump her leg faster, chasing that blissful edge that was just in reach.

"Mommy," you whine, "Can I cum soon?"

"Look at you, actually remembering to ask for permission," she praises and plants a kiss on the side of your head.

"Can I?" you whine again with desperation. You had asked in advanced because you knew she would draw this out, but the brink of ecstasy was still quickly approaching.

"Look me in the eyes when you ask," she says.

You force yourself up and look into her eyes.

"Mommy, can I please cum?" you say, making sure to include any words she could tack on to make you ask again.

"Can I?" she mocks.

"May I? Fuck," you whimper. Your hips sputter as your release is impending.

"Yes," she says with a small laugh, finally permitting you to topple over the edge.

You come apart on top of her, bucking your hips wildly as euphoria crashes over you. Your head returns to its spot against her neck. You ride out the pleasure until it dwindles down to a fizzle.

When you're done, she guides you to look up at her, rubbing her thumb across your lips.

"Such a good girl," she coos. She then smriks, briefly dipping her thumb between your lips. "I think I offered you something if you put on a good show."

Her other hand dips into your panties.

"I'd say you've earned it."

STARRY-EYED!

MDNI, puppy hybrid!leon kennedy x fem hybrid!reader

word count. 4.5k

cws. puppy hybrids, p in v, unprotected, knotting, creampie, breeding, rebecca n billy are married because i push that agenda 25/8, humping, heat cycles, marking/biting, mentions of spaying/experimentation, slight age gap,

note. this is the first fic without dark content that i’ve written in a minute so pls bear with me if it’s mid lmao. not proofread but we ball!!

tags. @argreion , @d10nyx , @sqiim , @shiawaseorii , @valslullaby , @dollita-fawn , @arminsbf , @fairry1 , @localkiss , @angelstargel , @littlemissloser

You weren’t an old girl. Really. Jaded, sure, but that came with your time in the force. Rose-tinted glasses tend to fall off when head scratches are replaced by police drills. On paper, you were in the prime of your life — this was the strongest you’d be, the healthiest you’d be. You couldn’t help being a homebody after so many years in the RPD.

You were a police dog, born and bred. Hybrids today were as much of a craze as they were a controversy, but in your time, your use was strictly professional. Private experimentation and sacrilege surrounded your birth in the absence of loving fervor — your embryo was lab-crafted, perfectly manufactured to give you a canine’s senses and a human’s mind. You’d joined the force while you were still a pup, ate from the chief’s hand and slept in one of the locker rooms. And you were a damn good cop. The best of ‘em. You had to be — until a gunshot wound to the knee rendered you achy and less mobile than required for the force.

There were thousands of embryos that perished before you, but you were amongst the first to survive — to prevail — and now, you spent your days barking at people outside and napping with your cheek on Billy’s thigh. It wasn’t a bad life, far from it. But it wasn’t your life. That left you somewhere between puppy and midlife, suddenly purposeless and painfully awkward when you tried.

Still, you hadn’t processed it as a bad thing. That’s just how you were. It had been two years since your discharge — two years of sleeping in on the foot of your owners’ bed and cushy vet visits. Comfort was still largely foreign to you, and the affection often advertised with modern hybrids had seemed to wedge itself out of your DNA. Perhaps intentionally. No point in a coddling police dog. You weren’t manufactured to cuddle up to criminals. But it didn’t really occur to you that Rebecca wanted you to feel like you were natural until your second annual checkup.

She’d chatted away with the vet as you’d zoned out, about the circumstances of your adoption and the sharpness of your canines. You’d heard it a million times over – first flattered, then offended, now indifferent. Your floppy ears didn’t perk up till you heard the word puppies, suddenly tilting your head to the side in confusion. The vet raised an eyebrow, chuckling at your abrupt interest. 

“Yeah, puppies. You’re not pregnant, are you?”

You had to resist curling your lip into a snarl at the idea, wrinkling your nose instead – shaking your head out of sheer pettiness. You saved your voice for people who didn’t ask you questions like that. For people who didn’t look dumbfounded by your reaction.

“Is something wrong?” Rebecca chimed in, instinctively shifting closer to you – as if you needed protection from the vet, and as if you weren’t more capable of protecting her. You locked eyes with the vet as she shook her head, folding her arms like you were a disease. 

“Just never seen that from a hybrid before,” she chuckled – albeit manually. “You’ve not been spayed, have you?”

Rebecca shook her head instantly, face soured in fervent distaste. “Goodness, never,” she said, drawing out the never as long as she could without starting a fight. You huffed in relief when the vet took the information in stride – for as long as she’d known you, she’d advocated for rights you’d never really considered having. She’d threatened to quit a few years back when some of the higher-ups had insisted on sterilization. They’d accepted that they’d needed a medic more than you’d needed surgery, so she’d gotten her way. Heat cycles were annoying, but you’d ultimately appreciated the gesture enough to come home with her a couple years later without a fight. She still got real stubborn when she fought – but now, any sign of her distress made the fur on your back stand up straight. That included spats at the vet’s office.

“Suppose I’m just surprised. Hybrids this young normally jump at the opportunity,” she shrugged, reaching to rub behind one of your ears. You allowed it for a couple of seconds, overtaken by thought. She had a point; canine hybrids were natural sluts. Especially puppies. Males would pop a knot half the time just by looking at you – back when you were around hybrids enough to see males, anyway. Puppies in heat fucked worse than the bunnies you’d seen on occasion. You’d never known if it was intentional – if they’d intended for you to breed like a bitch, or if heats were just a side effect they couldn’t quite weed out, but you did know that you weren’t quite exempt. You’d just gotten good at self-control – a pillow between your thighs was your lifeline, and you kept yourself pent-up enough for it to work.

“Well, she’s at the age where it would be best for her to have puppies – hybrids just typically wind up pregnant before then. Does she have any friends with them?” the vet continued, and Rebecca shook her head immediately. Not like she had to count; you didn’t have any friends.

“No, she’s always been more interested in my husband and I. She usually growls at other hybrids,” Rebecca laughed, and you nodded in affirmation. Other hybrids were threats before they were friends – and you’d not found one to be a viable friend. But the vet hadn’t shared your amusement.

The vet went on that day, about social delays and anxiety and some other bullshit you’d angrily ignored. You’d tried to dismiss it. Puppies were ridiculous. Friends were ridiculous. You would look ridiculous, inserted into that life. You’d assumed that she’d dismissed it, too, out of courtesy – if nothing else. But she hadn’t, and that’s what led to him.

In the middle of your foyer sat a floppy-eared puppy hybrid, tail thumping against the carpet at the sight of you. You growled when Rebecca crouched beside him, waiting to lunge if he got any closer to your owner – and luckily, he’d cowered immediately, knowing his place before you had to spell it out for him. You straightened up in pride, brow furrowing when you were scolded rather than praised.

“Calm down, alright? This is Leon – he’s here to live with us,” Rebecca introduced him, drawing her words out as she coaxed him to come closer. And he did, albeit a little slower than before – eyeing you with caution. You growled again at the prospect; he flinched like clockwork.

You sat on your haunches, completely dumbfounded – jaw slightly agape as you looked from him, to her, to him again. “Why?” you asked, throat dry, words hoarser than you’d anticipated – weaker than you’d ever be comfortable with. Shock was seldom felt by you, and you were less than pleased to waste it on a stray.

(The stray in question was well-groomed, freshly collared, and wet behind the ears — but you wanted him to be a stray enough to disregard that.)

“He’s your friend,” she said, as if your distaste was absurd. You might’ve insulted him in response if glaring at him hadn’t preoccupied you. As if your efforts would compel him to turn and run away forever. He was cute enough. Probably could get by batting those pretty blues and whining on welcome mats. That’s likely what had lured Rebecca in to begin with – she was never very good at avoiding something that needed to be taken care of. You leaned in close enough to make him back away on instinct – except, his instincts didn’t work quite right, and he stayed right in place, ears perking up like you were trying to play. Either he had an IQ of 5 or a memory span of 5 seconds. Bottom of the food chain. Maybe he was beyond Rebecca’s help.

Seeing that you weren’t going to respond, she sighed, patting down one of the blond cowlicks on his head. He was cute, sure, but even that pissed you off. Your owners weren’t supposed to be the type to adopt puppies sat nicely in pet store windows. Straight from the breeding mill – one of the hybrid ones that had faced the scorn of local news lately. You assumed that Leon’s idea of hardship was being weaned too early. He didn’t belong in the same room as you, as Rebecca, or as Billy as he stepped in – to your relief.

Billy took in the sight of Leon, blinking in disbelief – mouthing something to Rebecca. You couldn’t really make it out, but you doubted that he could, either. Something akin to ‘Why is there another one in my foyer?’ with a dash of ‘We’ve talked about this.’ She bit her lip, looking at him to avoid looking at Leon.

“He was picked to fill her old position in the RPD a few months ago,” she explained, nodding to him, then to you – like she was trying to connect you two already. “But they got rid of the program. It’s banned to use hybrids in the workplace.”

Admittedly, you knew that was a good thing, but you still visibly scowled. You hadn’t been paid, hadn’t been allowed rest during the day, and worked longer shifts than everyone – without being recognized as an employee. Shit was exhausting. First thing you did when you were adopted was curl up and sleep for thirty hours straight. You couldn’t tell if you were jealous that Leon had gotten out young and unscathed, or if you just wanted him out of your house. 

“So why is he here?” Billy asked, voice laden with the judgment that made you smile. Not for too long – Leon smiled when you smiled, so forced your brow to furrow and your canines to reveal themselves. As if you’d actually bite him – you’d get scolded, and he’d probably taste like the RPD.

You’d hoped he’d still put his foot down, that he’d send him back to whatever section of the RPD he’d been kicked from with a note and five bucks tied to his collar, but he didn’t. Even though you’d been a hard sell when Rebecca first brought you home. Owning a hybrid meant sharing your space with something between a puppy and a coworker. Said a lot about a person, he used to say – before you’d shown up with a limp and nowhere to go. You were a special case, he still justified. You weren’t the sort of hybrid that pissed in the house and played with rubber balls. You lazed next to him when he turned on the television and could hold a discussion about the military.

But Rebecca had real pretty eyes. So did Leon, but Billy could’ve cared less about that. So they fluffed up a bed for him, right next to yours – even though yours had fallen out of use when they’d allowed you to curl up at the foot of theirs – and ordered a collar with their address. His address, now.

For the first time in months, you were kicked to your actual bed for the night. Not that you stayed. You sulked over by the door — beyond whining and pawing for their attention, but not above eavesdropping. You knew them well enough to know that when they laid down, Billy would say something about how you should be at the end of the bed, and Rebecca would sigh and turn on the light. And you were right — a soft glow in the crack of the door was your cue to spy.

You ended up zoning out most of their conversation. Bad habit. Your hearing had dulled a little after a lifetime of bullets whirring past your ears, and it was too late to bother with the mumbled parts behind the door. But after the initial excuses of Leon’s need for shelter, you caught the underlying reason behind his adoption: you.

“She’s fine,” Billy argued — and you would’ve argued with him, if not for the door. And your exclusion. “We hang out every night. Seems socialized to me.”

“Hybrids are supposed to play, Billy, not follow the lottery,” Rebecca sighed. “She’s still here, I just don’t want her missing out. Wouldn’t it be lonely, not knowing how to socialize with people like you?”

You had to step away when you heard that, irritated beyond belief. Back to square one. You’d thought they’d moved past taking pity on you. You didn’t take pity on yourself. All socializing with other hybrids led to was puppies and chase. You made the viewpoint apparent when Leon padded down the hall to follow you – turning away before he could get a word in.

The days passed, and your schedule reconstructed itself to fit him. Not that you welcomed the flexibility.

You used to get up at your leisure; now, Leon pawed at you till you opened your eyes around nine. The second you sat up, he moved to lick your cheek or nip at your ear or some other puppy bullshit, and you’d snap your jaws, forcing him back long enough to blink the sleep out of your eyes. He’d glue himself back to your side at breakfast, wave goodbye to your owners alongside you as they left, try to nestle up to you during naps, and paw at you when you spaced out, and tug at your ears in some halfhearted attempt to get you to play with him. It never worked, just like his jokes never made you laugh, but Leon had a thing for trying the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. He probably had a thing for you, too, but the thought of that made your nose wrinkle in revulsion – even if most of it was an exaggeration.

He liked Rebecca enough, and reciprocated the indifference Billy managed to offer him – but you were the primary object of his affection. He looked at you with a strange, unrequited fondness behind his pupils, and you couldn’t bring yourself to gaze back. Something to do with irritation. Pride, maybe. Rebecca condoned it readily – he’d not been around other hybrids before. (Neither had you, and you weren’t acting like that.) He was still a puppy, albeit an older one. (You didn’t act like that when you were a puppy.) Well, you were brought up differently. (You couldn’t retaliate that.)

Leon never really knew when to shut up, so you ended up learning just about everything there was to know about him. Granted, if you had your way, he’d never speak again, but you’d always take an occasional anecdote over his daily oversharing. He wasn’t brought up in a lab like you were – most of those puppies had gone off to actual homes, and most of those scientists now littered the spectrum between retirement and prison. Leon had a mama, at some point, but his dad made himself scarce shortly after he was born – sort of like how you wanted to. But his mama belonged to somebody who still didn’t want to admit their hybrid had been defiled, so he bounced between homes till he ended up in the RPD’s clutches, over a year after your injury and a couple months after the last hybrid’s retirement. 

You knew it was hardly a life to envy, but you still did. He’d been acquainted with the concepts of mamas and breastfeeding and friends. Even if it was brief. It wasn’t the sort of envy you felt comfortable admitting to yourself. It was the sort you forced your mind to redirect from. It hurt to think of the motherhood you were robbed of, just like it hurt imagine providing it. 

You didn’t recognize the underlying fondness you’d developed for Leon’s awkward clinginess until it suddenly stopped. Like the faucet had been switched off. You noticed it the morning you finally got to sleep in, not taking the opportunity without suspicion – following his scent to the hall closet.

“Leon?” you asked, after a moment of consideration – not wanting to disrupt your own peace. “You alright?”

“M’fine,” he answered quickly, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. You’d never cared for that tone. Heard it too many times during your days on the force. So you opened the door without knocking – because what the hell could he be doing in a hall closet?

Your hand froze against the knob as you stared at him, tears beaded at his waterline, pretty thighs settled on either side of one of your bed’s pillows as his fat cock rutted into the fabric. Your jaw fell agape as his did – though his was likely out of ecstasy rather than shock. You bit into your bottom lip, involuntarily wetting it with your tongue – noticing the way you were abruptly salivating. Even as your brain urged you to scold him for fucking your property, your body disallowed it, the words disintegrating in your throat. Heat pooled at the pit of your stomach as he tried to prevent the way his hips stuttered forward, muffling his leaky tip uselessly into the fabric.

Salivating over one cock didn’t make you a whore, you justified. And really, you weren’t. You’d only gotten dicked down once, some years before your adoption – and it’d been so underwhelming, you squirmed away before the knot could swell. It didn’t mean you stopped craving it – just meant you forced yourself to forget it. You weren’t pent-up, you’d repeat during heats, thighs squeezed around your aching cunt. You could control yourself better than that.

But it was a little harder to forget a cock as it wept for your attention, displayed prettily just beneath you. You came to the realization that he’d decided to isolate himself in heat, and blamed that for your shallow breaths and racing heart.

“Don’t be mad, m’sorry,” he started, forcing back a whine as his dick throbbed under your gaze. “Didn’t mean to, please–”

“Leon,” you sighed, as if you were a disappointed mother and not an abruptly cock-crazed whore, “I’m not mad…” Your words trailed off as you refused to commit yourself to the bit, skin hot. “Have you… dealt with this before? Being in heat, I mean.”

He nodded, ears going flat against his head as he made some attempt to cover himself, albeit with the same pillow. “Yeah, uh… yeah,” he cleared his throat, skin flushed. “They explained it to me when it happened at the station, ‘cause it was my first heat… just wasn’t this bad.”

“First one usually isn’t…” you muttered, more sympathetic of his circumstances than you’d been since his arrival. “It’s kind of silent, right? Inconvenient at worst. Doesn’t make you dizzy and sticky.”

Leon nodded, brow furrowed in slight confusion. Wasn’t like you to converse back. Wasn’t like you to get out of bed on your own, either – evidently, he’d relied on that a little too much, expecting you to stay asleep till his cock went soft. “Sorry,” he said again, words breathy and tone verging on a whine. “I couldn’t take it, didn’t wanna bother you, but your pillow smells like you, s’good–”

You raised a hand to cut him off, unsure what to do. On one hand, this most certainly wasn’t how Rebecca would want you to socialize with the new hybrid. New-ish. He’d been here long enough to map the rooms and the quickest ways to get treats. On the other hand, you were horny beyond belief. Horny enough for your clit to pulse faster than your heart. If that was possible. Your cunt stuck to the thin panties beneath your shirt, slick gathering between your thighs as you stood. Wasn’t this as good of a chance as any? Wasn’t it beneficial to help a puppy out during his first real heat? 

You came to the entirely unbiased decision that yes, it would be beneficial to him, slowly running your hand from his thinly-clothed abdomen to his v-line. Through the fabric, his skin remained hot to the touch, glued haphazardly to his stomach by a thinner layer of sweat. He yelped when your thumb grazed his hip, the pads of your fingers nearing his cock – staring up at you with wide eyes.

“Are you sure you wanna help me?” he asked tentatively, still unadjusted to your sudden tolerance. You nodded a little too eagerly, a little too much like him, a little too desperate to put much thought into it. He smiled, albeit briefly, and for once, you thought he looked prettier like that – half-lidded and blissed. 

So you let your hand fall flush against the pillow, fingers grazing his cock – watching another bead of precum dribble down the tip. You slid the pillow away, palming the base as the length slapped against his abdomen, leaking uselessly into his skin. You bit your lip as he whined, hips bucking forward as your grip solidified, desperate for the friction you’d briefly deprived him of as you considered your next course of action. You figured a handjob wouldn’t be enough to cool him off, and you didn’t particularly want to find out what cum tasted like – but it wasn’t a good idea to let him fuck you, as much as you wanted it. As much as he wanted it. 

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t almost fuck you.

“Stay still,” you muttered, tugging your panties down your thighs, stifling a grin when you heard his tail thump emphatically on the carpet behind him. At least your cunt was pretty. As much as puppy horniness vexed you, it was flattering, in its own right. So you parted your thighs a little wider, easing the plush of your ass onto his thighs, facing him as you sandwiched his throbbing cock between your folds. You had to pause with him for a moment, breath stilling in your lungs, thighs trembling against his.

“Fuck, just… just move,” you panted. “Don’t fuck me, just move.”

If you couldn’t give him credit for anything else, you could give him credit for being obedient – even when it was brief. If you told him to sit, he’d stay till you said it was okay. If you told him to back off in the morning, he’d go bother one of his toys. And when you told him to let his hips stutter upwards, sliding against yours, he obeyed – head tilted back as a groan rose from his chest.

Your cunt pulsed around him, clit throbbing as he rutted between your folds. Every uncontrolled jerk of his cock pressed his leaking head to your clit, slick dripping down from your hole to his balls. You leaned in, tip twitching against your swollen bud, pressing a kiss to his adam's apple – nipping at the skin till you’d imparted enough saliva to feel satisfied. He whined as he rutted harder, fingers twitching – desperate to pull you closer, well aware that you weren’t to be grabbed.

“You like being marked up, huh?” you asked, voice huskier than you’d intended it to be. Like someone else was speaking for you. Someone who was used to taking puppy cock. He opened his mouth to respond, failing – tilting his head back as you sank your canines into the dip between his neck and shoulder, feeling him uselessly roll his hips upward. Like nothing else mattered. Your lips were pressed to his neck – your tongue, your teeth, the marks you left behind. Why should anything else matter?

“G’na cum–” he whimpered as you sucked a bruise into the hollow of his throat, sliding your cunt down his length at an attempt of gaining friction. You nodded, surprised he’d managed to last at all. Surprised you’d managed to last at all. 

“S’okay, just cum for me,” you murmured into his skin – and like a good boy, he did, cumming a line up from your clit to your navel, dick still hard enough to ache as his knot swelled against the underside of your clit. You bit your lip, unwilling to come undone in front of him, grinding involuntarily against the swell – not that it was enough. Not that your pussy stopped throbbing. Not that he went soft.

“Need more,” he whined, to your relief. “Wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah?” you hummed, laughing breathily as he pressed his still-drooling tip between your lips. “Yeah, you wanna knot me? Wanna give me puppies?”

You didn’t really know where that came from. Still felt like a voice foreign to your conscience, but it wasn’t one you protested against as he eased himself into you, needy enough to bottom out within seconds. Your eyes widened at the stretch, humming as he pawed at your chest. He whined till you tugged up the hem of your shirt to rest at the top of your tits, face immediately pressing flush to them.

“You’ll let me?” he panted, pumping his cock into you as he nipped a visible indentation into one of your tits. “Wan’ me to breed you?”

You found yourself agreeing, enamored by the prospect – languidly rocking your hips with his, feeling his cock twitch desperately inside of you. “Yeah, want it,” you mewled, breath hitching as he bit down on your tit a little harder, quickly mending the pinch with saliva. “S’okay if my tits get swollen for you, Leon.”

Every time you spoke, he had to refrain from nudging his tip into your cervix. Last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. That was no way to treat someone you ached to pump a litter into! The thought alone made him whine, pressing his mouth to your chest again to take the pressure off, heat flaring in his lower belly at the thought of knocking you up. Like his instincts took over any cognition he had left around you. 

“Please, lemme–” he choked out, and you never really got to know what the request was, ‘cause he pumped you full too fast, his knot swelling back up fast enough to make his head fuzzy – like every part of his body was dedicated to you. And he’d allow it to be – as smitten with you as you were smitten with dick.

You didn’t move, for once, allowing yourself to be knotted and bred, cunt clenching around his knot as you came on his cock. You slowly brought your lips to the top of his head, nose resting against one of his ears. More velvety than you’d expected. You’d have to nuzzle into them more often.

“They’re gonna be pissed…” he mumbled into your breast, slowly looking up – eyelids still droopy. You couldn’t exactly reassure him – your owners would be pissed, mostly at him. Probably. Hopefully. It’s not like you could do much but lay against him till he wasn’t swollen inside of you. Didn’t you deserve a moment of impulsivity after all you’d been through? Didn’t you deserve to get pumped full of cute puppies?

Besides, you’d brought it up before – all socialization between hybrids leads to puppies or conflict. You’d just given up on the latter when you found a way to tire him out.

Masterlist

Daryl Dixon

Matchmaker Merle: Smut

Missing Matchmaker Merle: Smut

Teeth and Pearl Earrings: Smut

Teeth and Pearl Earings P2: Smut

Stars in the Dark: Smut

Fingers in your Mouth: NSFW

Three-hour Drive in Two: Smut

Teasing will get you Somewhere: Smut

God Bless the Horny French: Smut

Rick Grimes

Trophies: Smut

Rick and Daryl

And There was only One Bed: Smut

Note

In all of these fanfics the reader is on birth control and none of the characters have STDs because it's my perfect universe and creampies are the bomb dot com.

I don't like writing fics involving pregnancy or kids, but I'd be willing to if the idea is good enough.

Some fics will contain drug and alcohol use, but consent is never an issue in that aspect.

If you want to be added to my tag list, you can comment here, to make it more organized!