#vampire leon

Leon hasn’t been the same since he returned from one of his missions two weeks ago. He had been deployed in deep Romania, told to investigate an unknown disease spreading throughout the region. Pale, sickly victims who fed on their companions. At first thought, it sounded awfully like zombies.

He refused to answer any of your questions when he returned. He kept a thick silence as he laid in bed with you that night, the darkness of the room swallowing you both whole. You were worried. Had something happened to him?

Even after questioning him, he didn’t open up. Not immediately. His silence worried you intensely, each day crawling at your insides and scratching at your flesh. It drove you crazy. He wasn’t the same, his skin held no warmth, he was paler, and his eyes fell dull. Like he had died, yet he stood in front of you breathing.

You felt like you were going crazy. Peeking over your shoulder every few minutes, sneaking a glance at him seated on the couch, posture sulken and relaxed. An old TV show plays on the screen a few feet in front of him, his eyes glued and mind occupied. He was in his whole own world.

Distracted with your head turned towards him, you don’t realize your knife slipping, accidentally nicking your finger instead of chopping the fruits settled in front of you on the counter. A sharp gasp leaves you as you step back, clutching your finger delicately. It didn’t hurt too much, but definitely caught you by surprise.

Inhaling deeply, you turn to reach for the medical drawer, only to be met by the sight of Leon standing behind you. You gasp loudly, knocking into his firm body and colliding your nose into his chest.

“You okay? I smelt— heard, uh, you hurt yourself.” He mutters lowly, hand reaching for yours, as gentle as always. You flinch at the coldness of his skin, fingers handling your finger as he examines the cut. Not too deep, but deep enough to cause blood. A bit of blood.

“My knife slipped, hun. It wasn’t anything bad.” You reassure, blinking up at him as he stares intently at your fingers. His eyes were locked down on the blood, lips parted and pupils dilated. You could feel the hunger in his gaze, and it scared you. You hadn’t even heard him get up, his footsteps or breath behind you.

The air brushing against your shoulder makes you shiver as you watch him bring your finger closer before suddenly pulling back. With a heavy sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair before softly patting your hip. “Be careful, yeah? I’ll get you a bandaid.”

It’s late at night when you awake from your slumber, eyes slowly drifting open and adjusting to the lack of light inside your shared broom. You can feel his body behind you, tucked into the bed under the blankets. His back faces you as you peek over your shoulder, breath slow.

Cautiously, you climb out of bed, lifting a weak hand to rub your temple. It’s well past midnight, and the silence of the house is all you can hear. Knowing Leon’s presence was next to you always soothed you, having such a hunk of meat for a husband, knowing he would always protect you.

But now you couldn’t help but feel unease. He looked the same as Leon, sounded the same, yet he didn’t feel the same. You didn’t know who was pretending to be your husband, and it scared you.

You get up from the mattress, slipping on slippers and quietly walking out of the bedroom. You don’t hear the sheets moving behind you.

The living room was pitch black when you entered. Living with Leon meant living in a cozy house with top notch security, which helped you feel safe from the threats outside the walls. Now you were afraid of what laid inside the walls.

Fiddling around, your eyes land on one of the decorative candles you have set on the dining table. You light it, holding it up as you begin to rummage the countertops for your sleeping meds. It wasn’t rare for you to stir in the middle of the night and crave your meds to fall back asleep, it was an annoyance but had become routine.

Across from the fridge you had double ovens stacked on top of each other on the wall, metallic, expensive and glimmering when the moonlight shines across it. Passing by them, you see your own reflection by yourself and alone in the dark kitchen. You don’t give it second thought.

You reach up, fingers aimlessly searching through the higher cabinet for the familiar feel of your meds. You couldn’t see so high up, so you were using your senses.

Slowly, a masculine hand comes into view and reaches into the cabinet beside you. Your blood runs cold. You didn’t see anyone behind you, you didn’t hear them either.

Your entire body freezes up before you suddenly dig your elbow into the man’s gut behind you, a loud groan of pain escaping him. You recognize the voice immediately and turn around to shove him back, glaring at his scrunched up blue eyes.

“Leon Scott Kennedy—“ You hiss, hand clutching your chest as you try to level your breathing. He stands in-front of you almost sheepishly, gently rubbing his stomach where you had struck him, a frown on his lips.

“Honey, what was that for? I was trying to help.”

“Help?! Where the hell did you come from?!” You snap back, clutching at your chest and leaning back against the counter behind you. He may have a good amount of years on you, but he was going to make you die young from a heart attack.

“I’m sorry, so sorry..” He whispers, gently pressing against you and nuzzling his stubble into your tangled hair. His limbs press cold against you, making you flinch softly. Thick arms wrap around your waist, your hair standing up on your own. He was cold, still, and with your head pressed against his burly chest, a small part of you tells you to lean in and listen for his heartbeat. To remind you this is your husband.

But you find none.

The following days are hell for you. You know there's something wrong with him, but you can't name it. You’re worried sick about what to do and if he’s even okay, but whenever you ask, he waves you off. Shrugs or laughs and tells you ‘You overthink, hun.’ It's nauseating, sharing a bed with a man who wears the skin of your husband but not the soul. Yet he still reaches for your hand in the dark, his cold touch only further pushing you away.

You were scared. Terrified, even. The nights grew longer, days more tiresome; you were unable to make them through without noticing things you didn’t want to notice. His lack of heartbeat, the unnatural chill lingering on his skin, his dead-silent breaths, darkened eyes, the hunger that flashes in them when he looks at you. Not the hunger a husband should have— something cannibalistic instead, something disgusting and rotten to the core. You’re terrified of your husband.

You can't pretend you don’t notice any of this, or that you’re able to wait it out until he decides to open up, or the delusional hope that’ll it wash over. The phone in your hand shakes as you call up the only number you could think of in the moment that would be able to help you.

“Hello?” You speak hesitantly, your voice hushed. You’re tucked into the dark corner of your living room late at night, Leon asleep in your bedroom. You had checked several times to make sure. A single candle is lit beside you on the small table.

“Chris Redfield here.”

“Chris!” You quickly whisper to him your name, alerting him you were Leons wife. He’s quick to recognize you, worry immediately grasping at his tone. Your body tightens in fear as his voice reaches to you. “Chris, I need your help. Leon—”

“Leon? You’re with him?” He gasps.

“Y-Yes?” A hard blink.

“You have to get out of there. We’ve been trying to contact him for days, he disappeared from our care and isn’t answering any calls and turned off his location services. He’s not safe.”

It's almost hard to hear Chris with how loud your heart is beating. Horror grabs at your legs, keeping you frozen in shock on the couch as you croak out a weak, "What's wrong with him?” Even if you knew you should get up immediately and run, you found it impossible to move your legs.

A moment of hesitation fills the call before he speaks. “He went on a mission to Romania and ran into Umbrella, if you know what that is.”

“Yeah, I do. And?” You usher, your voice small.

“They were making a virus, and he got infected. Its dangerous, he’s dangerous. The only reason he hasn’t killed you yet is probably because he loves you. But he’s not himself, he won't be able to make that difference for too long, so you need to get up, grab your stuff, and get out of that damn house!”

His sharp voice makes you snap back into reality. Your voice shakes as you stand up, holding the candle in your hand shakily as you wobble down the hallway. “T-The virus— What is it doing to h-him?”

“He… It's… It's a sick duplication of vampirism, is the best way to describe it.”

“He’s a vampire?”

You look up from your candle, slowly making eye contact with deep blue irises with no light in them. He stands before you, gaze flat and set down on you like a predator would do with its prey. The air runs cold as he silently closes his palm over the candle, bathing you both in darkness.

Chris calls out your name in confusion, but Leon slowly takes the phone from your hand, his fingertips making you shiver. He silently ends the call and sets the phone aside, staring down at you with an unpleased frown. Your body trembles, and he notices.

“Sweetheart,” He whispers, gently stepping forward until your breath brushed against his, “Why would you go to Chris when you could have just talked to me?” A large hand sets on your back, creeping up and pressing through the thin fabric of your silk-cami. You struggle to respond, mouth open but no words able to escape your throat. You never wanted to be scared of your husband.

“H-He— he said—”

He hushes you, his other hand going to brush your hair out of your soft cheek, before cupping it and gently squishing. “He was lying. I’d never hurt you, my love.”

You can't help but notice he didn’t correct the idea of him being infected.

“What.. about.. the virus part?” You choke out.

He hesitates, eyes slowly drifting down your body before snapping back up to yours. A frown washes over his face.

“I love you, you know that?”

“What?”

A soft cry leaves you as he suddenly latches his teeth into your neck, fangs breaking through your skin. The sensation tingled, a small sting, before your body slowly starts to feel lighter in his arms. You can feel your blood slowly being sucked out into his mouth, his soft tongue occasionally darting out to lick over the two punctured holes. Shaky whimpers leave you as your arms fly out, pushing and swatting at his large body.

“I love you, my sweet girl,” He whispers, pressing you against the wall behind you, his hand on your back reaching to gently grasp the back of your neck, tilting your throat just right for his mouth. Your legs flail around before falling limp, your body completely limp against his. “You’re such a good girl for this, I’ll reward you, okay? Just relax.”

His words only make you tear up, whimpering into his hair as his sucking slowly renders you useless in his arms. Wrapping around his shoulders, you push up into him, finally giving up control. You craved to be in your husband's arms again and to feel intimate with him after weeks of being apart, even the thought of him being a supernatural being didn’t scare you anymore. He was still your husband, and you loved him unconditionally. The pain in your neck slowly numbed.

He pulls away slowly, blood trickling down his chin as he stares down at you longingly. Gently, he connects his lips with yours, hands moving down to scoop up your body and hold you against him. Your legs wrap around his waist like second-hand nature, hands moving to cup his stubbled face as you kiss back deeply. Your tongues move against one another slowly, the taste of your blood making you moan. It was salty and metallic but gave the kiss taste.

Before you know it, your back was against the familiar warmth and plushness of your mattress, his heavy body grounding you into the bed. It was like dead weight drowning you into the sheets. Cold kisses, lingering caresses, slow touches and the rustling of clothing being pushed to the side. You don’t know when you end up naked, but next thing you know he’s between your thighs, hungrily lapping at your wet folds.

A sense of euphoria washes over you as you relax, body yielding to his touch. You cant control yourself at this point; you’ve fully surrendered to him. You feel as if you’re drunk on his touch, unable to breath without it. The moment he sank his fangs into your neck was the moment you were permanently his for eternity.

“Do you wanna be with me forever, sweetheart?” He whispers against your skin, large hands spreading you open by putting pressure on your thighs. Even while inhumane between your legs, you were always the first thing on his mind. The thought of being with you until the end of the world was all he craved.

“Forever?” You croak, another moan leaving you as he dives back down, sucking your clit between his lips with focus. Fingers rubbing soothing circles into your thighs, massaging your legs until you’re putty in his hands. The sensation of him is everywhere, starting from your head to your toes.

“Mhm. Just gotta trust me, love. Can you do that? Will you be a good girl?” He finally pulls away, leaning up to make eye contact with you. Warmth flutters from your heart at his voice, still as sweet and caring as the day you met him, hence why you married him. He always put your needs and love first.

“I l-love you, of course..” You nod eagerly, locking your lips with his passionately. His burly arms wrap around you, groaning in content as he quickly pushes his briefs down, thick cock springing out against his abdomen. Heavy, painfully hard, irritated and aching to be burrowed into your body. He doesn’t hesitate when he aligns himself with you, pulling back from the kiss to slowly intertwine your fingers and press a soft kiss to your cheek, watching closely to your expression as he pushes inch by agonizing inch, stretching you wide on him.

You almost can't breathe, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions, the pleasure, and even the pain. The hunger but love in his eyes as he slowly thrusts, whispering loving praises to you. He ushers you everything will be okay, and that when you wake up you’ll understand.

His teeth clamp down on your throat, fangs breaking through your skin once again. You cry out in pain underneath him, flinching and hugging him tighter. He groans at the taste of your blood filling his mouth, lapping it up hungrily while rolling his hips deeply into your tight warmth. You smelt like home and tasted like heaven.

“Leon, I’m— I cant— please,” You cry, trying to pull away from his teeth. It was starting to hurt, not like before— no, this time it was agonizing. Like he wasn’t planning on stopping until you were fully drained and nothing but a corpse underneath him. “Y-You’re scaring me..”

“No, no, no, baby,” He pulls away, his lips covered in your blood. He licks it away as he dives down to bite into his wrist, blood spilling down his forearm. The sight terrifies you, and you hiccup underneath him, trembling. Gently, he nuzzles you closer to his big chest, pressing warm kisses to your hairline. “You said you trust me, right?”

“M-Mhm.”

“Then be a good girl and drink this, okay?”

Your eyes slowly drift down to his bloody wrist, the thought of even consuming his blood nauseating you to your core. Your lips move to say no, but you can’t help but remember what he said. Together forever. So gradually, as if you were hypnotized, you lift your head and take the blood into your mouth. It stains the inside of your mouth as you lap at it for a short moment before pulling back sharply, as if you were snapped back to reality.

“Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” He hums, pushing you back down to lay underneath him. The blood staining your lips only makes him groan, starting back up a strong pace. His hips push against yours, snapping harshly. The sounds of skin-to-skin echo throughout the bedroom. His teeth latch back onto your neck, his hands holding you tight against him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” He groans between long sucks, feeling your body slowly grow lighter in his grasp. Finally pulling back from your throat, he can see the light in your eyes slowly dim underneath him. With a weak smile, he presses one final kiss to your warm lips. “I’m gonna be here when you wake up, okay?” He brushes his thumb to your bottom lip, pressing down slightly before releasing you. It would be the last time he’d feel your skin warm and alive.

In your last few moments, you can feel your orgasm wash over your body, releasing on his cock as he moans deeply and burrows into your neck, clutching you tightly. His thrusts grow sloppy and inconsistent before he spills deep into you, holding onto you like a lifeline— yet there you were, dying slowly.

With one last shaky breath, he nudges his nose against yours, fangs glistening in the moonlight. “I’ll love you forever sweetheart, till death do us part.”

And when your body finally falls limp in his arms, he awaits till you rise once again, skin cold to the couch as fangs grow where humane canines once laid.

The last time Leon remembered feeling this alive, well… he was still living, and that was a long time ago. When lonely and undead as long as Leon has been, it can be difficult to show restraint upon first contact with anything that evokes such emotion. 

But he did, for a while. You were just too cute, he thought as he stood over your slumbering body that first night. It wasn’t something he liked to make a habit of, but a light hunting season for him meant starvation through the winter, and he didn’t have much choice but to go wandering into the nearby little village for a quick bite to eat. 

Until he found you. 

You looked like a cherub sleeping there in your plush little bed, buried beneath a quilt he could only assume you made yourself. Precious, fragile. You looked especially fragile. 

And humans are so fragile, he thought. You smelled so sweet, it made his teeth ache just standing there staring at you without acting upon his festering need to sate his appetite, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want to scare you, or worse, lose control of himself and kill you. 

He wandered silently around your little cottage in hopes of learning more about you. It was tidy but lived in, well-kept in a way that made him think you were probably a good homemaker. Your old leather boots sat by the door, dirtied by years of garden work and general wear. There was a little handmade ceramic candle holder on your bedside table, the candle in it burned nearly down to the base, and he wondered if maybe you’d held onto it because the piece was sentimental to you. Carefully arranged bouquets of flowers were strung together and hung up above the cracked window, likely to dry them out and preserve them. 

And suddenly he realized that maybe he would like to preserve a flower for himself. 

He couldn’t allow himself to feed from anyone in your village that night. If word spread around about a vicious animal attack or some other form of brutality, it would only hinder his ability to ultimately get to you, and he couldn’t risk that. Weak and delirious and ravenously hungry as he was, Leon forced himself to bid you adieu and stalk off into the night, back to his crumbling old castle in the middle of the woods… but not before leaving you a gift. 

His gift. The gift.

Your lips parted in a dreamy sigh as you slept, rolling over onto your back. He admired your face for a moment before he couldn’t take it anymore— if he didn’t leave now, you were going to become dinner, and he couldn’t have that. Hastily, he bit down on the meat of his palm and squeezed, watching as his old crimson blood bubbled up to the surface, and then he held it up over you.

Drip. Right between your rosy, plush lips. Even in your slumber your face scrunched up at the foreign taste, your heavy arm coming up to swipe at yourself like you were just trying to get your hair out of your eyes.

And just like that, he was gone, having taken his leave through the very same open window that gave him the idea. 

He wasn’t a monster, of course. He kept an eye on you as you experienced the very same pain he felt decades ago. 

The next day, you woke up later than usual feeling quite lousy. Your whole body was sore and weighty and, reasonably enough, you chalked it up to poor form while tending your garden the day before. It was an easy mistake to make from time to time, after all. But as the day dragged on, you only felt worse, so you retired to bed right after supper that evening. 

The day after that, you woke up in the early afternoon feeling awful. Your head was screaming with a migraine and your heart was beating slow and hard in your chest. You were sweating and shaking and could barely even open your eyes because the light hurt so bad. A friend stopped in to check on you after noticing how late of a start to the day you were getting, and almost as soon as she stepped in the door, she was rushing back out to the apothecary, begging the village healer to come check on you. 

The village healer loaded you up with tricks and tinctures and anything she could think of to break your fever or at least ease your pain. Dried herbs and poppyseeds and fungus ground up in the mortar and pestle, the paste slathered under your nose, on the bottoms of your feet, steeped into tea that was too hot for you to drink. None of it worked. At a loss for advice to give, the village healer urged you to drink plenty of water and rest, and to quarantine yourself. Couldn’t risk passing whatever you had to the rest of the community. 

You woke up drenched in sweat in the middle of the night and didn’t even have time to throw your quilt aside as you doubled over the side of your bed and vomited. This continued for a few moments until you could barely breathe, tears dripping from your eyes as your face reddened with strain and you inwardly resented yourself, knowing you would have to drag your sick body out of bed to clean up the mess you’d just made. You struck a match and lit the candle at your bedside and hesitantly peered down to survey the damage, only to be met with the image of your beautiful wooden floors drenched in blood. Reaching up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand yielded the same result. 

As you stared at your own blood in horror, Leon stared at you in adoration from the other side of the window. For a moment your bleary eyes caught on the glass and he wondered if you saw him, but if you did, you didn’t react. 

Even at a distance he could hear your heartbeat continuing to weaken. Soon enough you would be just like him, a beautiful preserved flower, and better yet, you couldn’t be harmed. You wouldn’t change, you wouldn’t grow, you wouldn’t die.

Although your village certainly thought you did. It was a dreary, overcast day when the village healer decided to stop in and check on you, only to find you completely lifeless and splattered with blood where you laid. She had to be the one to break it to your family that you had lost your battle with whatever illness plagued you. Leon watched from the shadows as your father lifted your limp, blood-soaked body from your bed and held you close, sobbing, hesitating to admit to himself that you were gone.

By the end of the afternoon, as the sun went down and the drizzling rain refused to let up, the entire village was standing over your grave, watching you get lowered into the soft, soggy ground. 

Once everyone had paid their respects, Leon watched them all retreat to share a drink in your honor, hushed whispers revealing just how unsettled everyone was by your untimely demise. You were so young, they said, so bright and healthy and undeserving of your fate. They wondered what it meant for themselves, and only Leon knew it didn’t mean anything at all. Your illness wasn’t going to spread because he had what he wanted now, and that was you. 

As soon as the final candle was blown out for the night, Leon took a shovel from your garden and began to dig, the metal piercing easily through the soaked earth until it revealed the handmade box you’d been laid to rest in. He popped the top off and looked at you, your arms still crossed delicately over your chest with a beaded rosary tucked beneath your palms, a pale flower in your hair. Your family didn’t need to know they’d be spending the rest of their lives praying over an empty coffin in the ground. 

Leon scooped you up into his arms, cleaned up after himself and set off into the woods with you clutched to his chest like a princess.

It was a few days before you finally roused. Leon had barely taken his eyes off of you the entire time you slept, and admittedly, he was a bit grateful it had taken you so long, for your own sake. He watched over you and cared for you as the last of your body heat drained out and your fangs descended behind your lips. From what he remembered, that was the most painful part of the transformation, and you were lucky to have slept through the worst of it. 

When your eyes finally shot open, he could barely contain his excitement. In one swift movement you sat up on the couch, bringing one hand up to clutch at your pounding head, the other massaging your sore jaw as your worried eyes darted around the room to drink in your surroundings. Then and only then did your gaze finally land on Leon. 

The fright and confusion on your face were evident. He knew you would have a lot of questions, and he was prepared to answer them. 

“There you are, darling,” he greeted you warmly, the first words he’d ever spoken to you. “How are you feeling?”

"W-Where am I?" You rasped, throat sore and shot from vomiting up blood the other day. Once your new condition fully set in, you would heal, but for now you were still a touch miserable. "Who are you?"

“I’m Leon,” he was gentle in introducing himself, taking your cold, shaking hand in his own so he could brush a polite kiss over your knuckles, “and this is your new home.” 

You blinked slowly at him, brows furrowed as you mulled over what he meant, and you came up short. Tears welled up in your bloodshot eyes and you hesitated for a moment before asking him a question you were afraid to know the answer to; “Am I… Did I die?” 

Leon wasn’t quite sure how to answer that at first. He imagined that question being posed much later in the conversation, so it sort of caught him off guard. He took a breath and then replied gently, “Something like that, yes.” 

“Huh?” 

“Shh, don’t worry,” he whispered, kneeling on the floor beside the couch so he could get on your level, his cold, pale fingers tracing gently over your lifeless skin. “You’re safe, your family is safe, your village is safe. I’m just here to take care of you, my beloved, to guide you in this tricky space between life and death. Do you trust me?” 

Strangely enough, you did-- or, rather, you felt compelled to. 

But that didn’t make the implications of your condition any easier on you. You were such a frightened little lamb, your cheeks hollowing and your eyes glowing like rubies and your skin tone taking on more and more of a pallid quality by the day as you refused to feed. He knew you would have some difficulty with this at first— after all, you were just far too sweet to kill anything— but he also knew you would only become weaker and more agitated if you continued to starve, and perhaps more grim, you would remain stuck in this odd limbo between death and vampirism. 

He tried everything he could think of. You wouldn’t drink animal blood, from the body or in a glass, and you certainly refused human blood in either form too. Every time he broached the topic of sating your hunger you would cower away from him and shake your head, eyes screwed shut as you continued to deny the reality of your situation. Starvation brought forth only misery, that much Leon knew, misery and longing and weakness and worse, everything he didn’t want for you. 

For two weeks you pushed back on the topic, insisting that if you couldn’t truly die, you would rather starve than take the life of another. As much as it pained him to see you this way, Leon appreciated that you could be so stubborn about your morals. He just wished it wouldn’t come at the cost of your own well-being.

He left you at the castle one night to go hunting himself. It wasn’t often he’d stumble into humans in these woods, especially during the winter, but he hoped he would get lucky for himself anyway. Leon burned a few hours stalking through the trees and all he had to show for it when he returned home was a few small animals that wouldn't last him more than two light meals, but it was better than nothing, he thought.

Then he stepped through the creaking castle doors and his nose perked up to the familiar rich scent of human blood-- thick and heady in the air, cloyingly sweet and indulgent. Intoxicated by it for the moment, it didn’t really dawn on him immediately what that meant… until he followed the scent from the foyer to the living room and found you. 

You were on your knees in front of the fireplace, hunched over the writhing body of the village healer, her eyes wide and glassy as she choked out gurgled sounds of agony and clawed weakly at you to let her go. You didn’t even seem to notice Leon as he entered the room, a concerned grimace on his face, though it was accompanied by a tangible sense of relief that you were finally feeding. 

“Sweetheart,” he said lowly, causing you to blink with confusion and look up at him through your lashes, the poor village healer’s carotid still clenched tightly between your teeth. “Easy now, you’ll make yourself sick.” 

Your brows furrowed and you bit down a little bit harder, siphoning out a few final greedy gulps from the woman before dropping her from your grasp, your eyes still trained on Leon as her weak body flopped limply to the floor. His eyes softened with empathy as he looked you over, gore dribbling down your chin and the front of your white dress, your stomach puffy like an engorged tick. Now that you weren’t feeding anymore it would seem you made the same realization he had, the fog of desire clearing in your brain to make room for the shame and discomfort. With a soft whimper, you reached for him with both arms outstretched, but otherwise didn’t move. 

Leon gave you a nod of understanding before scooping you up into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he carried you out of the parlor. “My poor baby,” he sighed softly, “It gets easier, I promise. I’m so proud of you.” 

He ran a hot bath for you and left you to soak for a while as he got to work cleaning up the mess you’d made. The village healer was barely clinging to what remained of her life, and while he was extremely tempted to nurse her back to health and keep her around to continue feeding on, he knew it would hurt you. He could already tell you hated yourself for victimizing her in the first place, the very same woman who’d tried so hard to save your life just weeks ago and who was responsible for ensuring the health of the entire village, which included your friends and family. 

So he mopped up the blood, bottled what he could and wrapped her wounds to the best of his ability before compelling her to forget, dumping her just at the edge of the trees outside the village so someone would find her in the morning.

When he returned again, tired and dirtied from hauling an unconscious woman through the woods on your behalf, you were still relaxing in the tub. The water was tinted pink from all the blood and you still looked a bit swollen in the middle, but the color was returning to your skin and the expression on your face was one of such complete exhaustion that he wasn’t sure if you were actually conscious at first, until your gaze fluttered up to meet his. 

Leon let out a deep, sweet sigh, sitting on the bench beside the porcelain clawfoot bath as he took your hand in his and whispered, “What am I going to do with you, huh?” 

“I-I’m sorry,” you said just as quietly, bottom lip quivering as you continued to drift back down from your blood-induced daze. “I d-didn’t want to h-hurt her…” 

“Shh, shh, I know, darling,” his other hand came forward to pet gently through your wet hair. “She’s going to be alright, I made sure of that. But this can’t happen again, okay? I’ll help you get control of your urges, I promise, but you have to listen to me.” 

You were nodding along as he spoke, clutching his hand and shivering in the hot bath. Even transformed you were still fragile. Leon wanted nothing more than to care for you like the fine china you were.

It was fun watching you learn how to walk, so to speak. You were like a baby deer, taking careful steps and looking back at him for reassurance after each one, like his guidance was all you could think to cling to. While your gingerly approach to things was incredibly endearing, he loved watching you grow to love your new abilities with an innocent sense of excitement that he hadn’t seen in a long time, not in himself or in anyone else, really. 

You’d taken to exploring the rafters and the view of things from the ceiling, leaving the candles in your room unlit all night just so you could bask in how odd and cool it felt to see so well in the dark. It scared the moonlight out of him every time, when he would scour every inch of the castle in search of you just to find you perched criss-cross on the ceiling, lost in a lengthy novel in a pitch black room. 

But he would never scold you, never tell you ‘no.’ In his mind that was a very important lesson for you to learn, one that would open you up to endless possibilities and happiness in an otherwise bleak state of consciousness. 

So, when your small voice chimed in from the parlor ceiling one night and startled him more than he’d like to admit, and you asked him a deceptively simple question– “What now?”-- he knew exactly how he wanted to respond. 

“Indulge,” he said just as simply, sitting calmly down on the chaise lounge to look up at you, hanging from the rafters by your knees. “Let me ask you this. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

You took pause, humming in thought for a moment. All your life you were never much of a forward thinker because you didn't really have to be. You lived your little old life moment by moment, taking extra special care to appreciate the here and now. You had good friends, a loving family, a beautiful community, food on your plate and a warm bed to return home to every night. That didn’t leave you wanting for much.

Finally, you spoke shyly, "I guess I always wanted to fall in love."

It was so quiet, if he was still human, he wouldn’t have heard you. But he wasn’t, and he did. The corner of his lip tugged up into an endeared and somewhat amused expression, baring the sharp edge of his right canine. 

Leon adjusted his posture, sinking back into the couch to gaze up at you, trying to pretend like he wasn’t looking between your legs where your upside-down position left your skirt flipped up nearly to your waist. He cleared his throat softly and cooed, “You poor thing, you’ve never loved before?” 

Your face burned and you avoided his eyes, stretching your arms out toward the floor just to give yourself something to do. “N-No,” you began, smoothing your skirt out over your thighs just to watch it ride up again. With a short huff of breath you pulled yourself back up into a normal sitting position on the rafters, staring up at the ceiling. “I guess I just never had the chance.” 

“What, not enough fish in your little pond?” He teased, quirking an eyebrow at you. 

You laughed, appreciating the way he eased the tension, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. “I mean, yeah, the dating pool made for a better puddle.” 

“I figured as much.” 

A comfortable silence blanketed over the parlor, broken only by the gentle crackling of the fireplace. You swung your feet idly back and forth, watching the warm flame as you asked aloud, “So… What does it feel like, then?” 

“What does what feel like?” He responded, but he knew what you meant. He just wanted to hear you say it. 

“Y’know…” You kicked your frilly socked feet, “Love?” 

“Well, sweetheart, that’s quite a broad question,” Leon began, patting the space next to him in an attempt to beckon you down from the rafters, and to his delight, the gesture succeeded. You dropped gracefully to the ground and fixed your skirt before curling up beside him on the other side of the couch, your legs tucked up beneath you. You couldn’t possibly be more adorable if you tried.

As you situated yourself at his side, he continued, “There are many different kinds of love. You love your family, and you love your friends, but you don’t love your family in the same way you love your friends, and vice versa. Correct?"

He watched your expression for a moment to ensure you were following along, and surely enough, you were. Your posture was relaxed but you remained dutifully at attention, just like a good little doll should.

Leon felt a pang of pride when you nodded.

“It’s the same thing, just a different kind of love. I’m not sure I know how to describe it, really,” he said, tracing his fingertips along your knee casually. “But I could show you?” 

“Show me?” Your head tilted with that innocent curiosity he loved so much about you, and his heart melted all over again. “Show me how?” 

He said something lowly and it took you a second to register it because right after, he took your chin in his hand and drew you in for a kiss. Only after your lips collided did your brain recognize his words as, ‘Like this.’ 

With one hand cradling the back of your head and the other still tracing little shapes on your leg, Leon’s embrace felt all-consuming and overwhelmingly safe. Through it all, you really did trust him. Your fangs knocked together as he pulled you closer to deepen the kiss, making your head spin and your brows furrow in concentration. It felt incredible, unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, but the nerves kept you tense and you couldn’t help but fear you were doing a poor job. 

So you let him lead. You resigned yourself to the feeling of his cold lips on your own and his tongue exploring your waiting mouth, his broad hands keeping you pressed against him and feeling slowly up the length of your thigh. His touch made you shiver and tingle in unfamiliar but exhilarating ways and when he eventually pulled away, you were left panting for breath and wanting for more. 

He watched your face in an attempt to gauge how you were feeling, and it was evident you enjoyed it. Leon felt a rush knowing he had effectively just turned a new leaf in your training. 

You had finally learned to walk. Now it was time for you to sprint. 

Leon brushed your hair away from your shoulder, baring your neck to him. He’d waited so long for this moment, for the chance to sink his teeth into you. He wished he could have tasted you fresh, when you were still living, but he would settle for the alternative, and truthfully, it didn't even feel like settling. Especially not when your syrupy sweet blood hit his tongue and pulled a deep, guttural moan from the core of him, his pearlescent eyes rolling back in a display of momentarily mindless rapture. It was unexpectedly hot to see him react to you in such a way. No one had ever expressed such intense need for you, and you were so hung up on it that you barely noticed your thighs subtly shifting together.

But Leon was observant as ever, of course, the movement in no way making it past his keen attention-- you were too precious, too virginal for your own good. He wanted to ruin you, he wanted to tear you apart piece by piece and savor you like holy communion, to pump your undead heart with his own two hands until the end of time, his beautiful baby, his fragile little doll, his corpse bride, his darling and beloved consort.

You were both gasping for breath as he pulled away from your throat, remnants of your tart cherry blood smudged around his pallid lips. Blessed be the gift of undeath, Leon thought to himself, for it granted him the ability to feed from you without consequence-- and vice versa-- to strengthen your bond in the most intimate way imaginable time and time and time again. It still made you dizzy, of course, light and a bit tingly all over, but Leon didn't see that as a bad thing, and as it stood, you didn't seem to either. 

He was just trying to come up with a smooth way to tempt you into tasting his own blood, but found himself pleasantly surprised by your initiative. 

"Can I try?" You practically purred, your sweet voice all hushed and breathy as your dainty little hand crept up his shoulder, palm coming to rest at the leftmost side of his strong neck. 

As you caressed the pad of your thumb over the icy expanse of his skin, you couldn't help but notice the faint, scarred over marks that were dotted about, barely-there dips and craters telling a story that suggested decades of indulgence like this, decades of past lovers, and your heart inexplicably clenched in your chest. Suddenly you were overtaken with the desire to leave your own mark there, much more prominent and recent than any of those faded old others. 

Leon was quick to give you his consent, of course, and that was all it took for your mind to snap into a completely different mode of function. The highest points of your mouth were flooding with saliva and the lowest points were pooling with it, slicking your puffy lips as your tongue fell forward to drag a deep, wanton lick up the length of his cold carotid. Then, as anticipated, you helped yourself to a healthy bite of him. 

And just like that, you had discovered a new infatuation, as he knew you would. You were bonding yourselves to one another in real time, creating a connection that not even true death could break. 

You nearly went weak with how overwhelming it felt, like drinking down pure heaven, hardly even noticing you were moving for a moment as you crawled mindlessly into his lap to straddle him, grinding deep and slow. The pheromones in his sap made your head spin, bringing about the kind of spontaneous sensuality that you'd only ever felt after one too many glasses of mead, the kind that loosened your bones and tinged at your cheeks, the kind that called warmth to bloom at the pit of your stomach. 

The flavor of him was coppery and rich, but balanced, a bit dull from undeath but otherwise magnificent. That it was faint only made you want for more. 

"Easy, easy," Leon grunted quietly in your ear, reaching a hand up to card through your hair at the back of your head. "Don't drink too fast, little princess... just breathe..."

But it would seem you weren't really listening to him, and that needed to change. Thankfully, Leon knew just the way to grasp your attention. 

Letting one arm slip between your two bodies, he wedged his hand down, down, down, until it dipped beneath your skirt to close his palm over the sticky cotton of your panties. That you were already leaking through the fabric like a busted faucet was perfect. You were an absolutely perfect little untouched virgin, and thanks to him, your body would remain that way forever, ripe for his plucking.

Bringing down some pressure on your clit with the base of his palm, testing your reaction, he reveled in the way you whimpered on his throat and unlatched to finally suck in a breath, rutting to meet his attention without a second thought, so easily captivated by such slight stimulation. He couldn't wait to show you more, but he'd need to work you open first. He didn't want your first time to be painful, after all. 

Leon took you at the waist and moved to put you on your back, hovering above your spread out form on the chaise lounge and pinning you there in the most delicate way possible. Every bit of that attention to detail paid off. 

"My precious doll... my most delicate princess," he sighed reverently, stooping low to breathe you in at the neck again, laving his tongue over the bite he'd left just moments ago. "This is what true love feels like, and I wish to share it with you for eternity..." 

He let you ponder that as he continued, working you carefully out of your clothes, finding it cute how you seemed to shift and arch along with him to help him get you naked, like you just couldn't wait. In your pretty doe eyes, your undead life had just begun. 

It was a bit strange at first, feeling his finger sink into you, but it wasn't long before Leon was seeking out your soft spots and doing an excellent job of it, no less. He curled and pumped one finger carefully in you until he was sure you were comfortable, until he felt any remaining tension in your muscles melt away, and then he introduced a second. You were so wet and so absorbed by the feeling of it all that you almost didn't notice at first, but that delicious stretch was impossible to miss. 

"O-Oh," you quivered, head falling back against the plush velvet beneath you as you bucked into his hand. 

With an appreciative hum, Leon allowed himself to become a little less careful with his ministrations, watching your reactions with interest as he worked you open on his fingers, his infatuation with you growing more and more with every moan and whine, every flutter of your silky walls. 

"There you go, little one," he cooed, "you like that, don't you?"

Your response was barely more than an airy nod, but it delighted him anyway. How could it not? You were just too sweet for words, too cute to handle. You could've done or said anything in that moment and he would have adored it all the same. 

Nipping playfully at your throat, fingers still pumping dutifully in and out of your drippy cunt, his lips trailed up to your ear so he could ask in a sultry whisper, "Think you can take more?"

The next several seconds were a blur of impassioned movement, each of you weaving around one another to shed the elder vampire of his own ensemble, revealing his carved marble frame piece-by-piece. You were amazed by the strength in his shoulders, how smooth and soft his skin was from being kept away from the sun for so long, the dark blonde trail of hair that disappeared below his belt, only for its path to be revealed upon the long-awaited removal of his trousers. 

Leon's cock was painfully hard, tip flushed red and weeping with milky beads of precum as he freed himself from his confines at last. He felt the intense need to give it a few strokes with how pent up he was at this point, but he didn't see a point in wasting any time pleasuring himself when you were right there, skirt hiked up to your waist while you laid there panting and leaking your arousal all over his nice furniture. With a pout that pretty, it would be a disservice not to fuck you until you cried. 

He angled your hips with one hand and lined himself up with the other, pushing in slowly. Your expression screwed tight for a short moment as the swollen head of him caught at your hole, an opportune moment of distraction for him to sink in deeper, stretching you out until he hit the root, drawing a shocked cry from your throat that gave way to a pleasured whine just as quickly as it came. 

So he began to move, wanting to draw out that gorgeous sound for as long as you would allow him to hear it. Your cunt was so fucking tight, pulsing and squeezing around his shaft like you were made for it, made for him, delivered to him by fate so that he might just get to fuck you like this forever and ever, and in that moment, he knew he made the right choice in sharing his gift with you. For the first time in recent memory, the future felt bright. 

"L... L-Leon..." You babbled, hooking one leg over his hip for purchase just to find out it allowed him to prod that much deeper. You went boneless at the feeling, finding strength only in your ability to claw at his shoulders for dear life, the faint scent of his blood lingering in the air and making your head spin. "Feels... g-good... so good... don't stop..." 

He wouldn't dream of it. 

Fingertips printing into your thighs, he pulled your legs up to rest over his shoulders instead, driving you down into the soft couch in a firm mating press. You were nose to nose, needy lips catching and fangs clacking between filthy words and gasps for breath as you felt his presence envelope you fully. Leon was in you, on you, around you...

Leon was your home now. Leon was where you laid to rest. 

For the first time in your undead life, you felt your body licking with heat, temperature rising steadily at the pit of you and threatening to hit a fever pitch. Every inch of him lit you up from the inside. 

"Oh, my baby," he groaned, letting go of you with one hand just to swipe his silvery blonde hair away from his face so he could gaze at you like a work of art. "You're getting close, aren't you? Squeezing me so tight like that..."

"Yeah," you whined, even though you weren't fully sure what it even felt like to be close. You weren't dumb, you knew what orgasms were, you'd just never had one yourself, and as such, you had no basis for comparison. 

Leon aimed to fix that, to make damn sure you familiarized yourself with the feeling over the course of your shared eternity. 

His thrusts picked up with renewed vigor, the legs of the old chaise lounge scratching against the hardwood floors with every push forward, and he didn't even care. Everything else about life felt so worthless in comparison to you, the new center of his universe. The whole entire house could collapse and he would still be content, so long as he had you. 

And every time he remembered that he did have you, that you were here with him right now, squirming and rutting on his cock so beautifully, that he was all you had... it just drove him that much crazier, made him that much more determined to make your first time one you would never forget. He couldn't be happier to spend the entire rest of his endless life topping the last performance. 

You were losing your grip, struggling to keep your eyes open and eventually sinking your itching fangs into what you could reach of his throat just to push yourself a little higher, a little closer. The flavor alone made you purr against his skin, jaw clenching tighter, and the delicious sting of it was pushing him forward too. Now his biggest concern wasn't just making sure you came, but making sure that you came first. 

So he withheld, even as his balls drew up tight and ached to release, focusing instead on getting you there. 

"Don't be shy, princess, I've got you," Leon moaned into your ear, "let it happen... just let it happen..." 

Tears pricked at your eyes, the overabundance of stimulation rendering you down into a tearful little puddle, but it wasn't until he spoke up to encourage you that you realized you really were holding back, stalling yourself at the precipice like it was wrong to let go.

But it wasn't wrong. It was divine. It was indulgent.

Sucking back a mouthful of his blood, you unlatched from Leon's neck just to press your forehead against his own, your jaw stuck open in stilted whines and gasps for breath as that molten heat in your belly finally boiled over, and you discovered exactly what it was you were close to. 

Your spine drew up into an arch, toes curling over his shoulders as you came on his length with a cry, thighs trembling with strain. Leon had never been baptized before, but it felt like he was just now. He'd never felt so close to God as he allowed himself to finish deep inside your perfect pussy. 

You collapsed together in the afterglow, the parlor going quiet again as you both caught your breath and your bearings, a heaping pile of mess on velvet.

"Leon," you whispered, kissing some of the excess blood away from his cold skin as you innocently and earnestly admitted, "I... I think I love you." 

He cracked a fond smile at this, if only because he knew you would catch up in time. After all, you still had much to learn, and he didn't want to overwhelm you more than he already had for one evening. 

Leon had been your partner for years. You had both come out of Raccoon City that night with bruises and wounds of all sorts, but also a brewing friendship. Or maybe even something more.

You trusted each other with everything you had.

So when he started being more aloof and secretive, you immediately sensed something was wrong.

He won’t linger around long enough for you to ever be able to prove it, though. So waiting it out and trying to catch him at the right time seemed like the move for now, but he always avoided you if he had the chance. Missions were different, of course, as you always had to stick together, but if you were back home, then he was nowhere to be found. Admittedly, it was hard. You two were extremely close, so why the cold shoulder?

The two of you were being sent to New York. A quick special-op mission at a gorgeous gala that seemed rather simple compared to the usual guts and gore that you were used to.

Hunnigan gave you the rundown, as well as a wide range of formal gowns to choose from. She knew what styles you liked as well as your favorite colors (and shades, how sweet) so it was smooth sailing. At least something is.

You looked through the variety of fabrics laid before you, trying to make the right decision. Either way, they were all at your disposal (for other missions of course), but all of them were new and you wanted to choose not just a gown, but the right gown.

After a while, you heard Hunnigan call your name, guiding you out of whatever spaced out state you were in. “Hello? You’ve been staring at the same dress for quite some time now… you okay?”

You manage a small smile, although it’s fleeting. “Mhm.”

“Mhm?” she questions, mimicking the exact way the simplified response fell from your lips.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No worries.”

“It’s Leon, isn’t it?” Silence. “Yeah, it is.”

“No it’s not!” you’d argue.

“Your defensiveness tells me otherwise. C’mon, spill. But while you look through the dresses.”

Your hands ghost over them, deciding on one that seemed to flatter you in many ways. The color went well with your skin tone, the neckline was beautiful and the length was just right. That one would certainly be next in line for a try-on.

“He’s been avoiding me, which is so unlike him, and he barely even talks to me anymore. Not even a single dad joke,” you stated, a mixture of concern and slight fury in your tone.

“That’s… weird,” Hunnigan replied rather simply. You just nodded before continuing from where you left off.

“He only talks to me if he absolutely has to, like on missions. I just don’t understand him anymore.”

The other woman shrugged as you went into the bathroom to try on the dress you had picked out. But she still listened outside of the door, regardless of if she was truly interested in lovers quarrels or not (even though you guys weren’t technically together). Your voice was muffled, but she could tell you were deeply hurt by him.

“Maybe he’s just got something going on and doesn’t want you caught up in it. It’s not… unlikely,” she tried to reason, watching you leave the bathroom in the dress you liked. “That could get his attention, though. It looks great on you.”

“Thanks, Ingrid. It’s really pretty…” you trailed off, admiring every detail of the dress. “It’s the one.”

The next few hours went by quickly as you packed everything you needed for the overnight trip to New York. Not much time to sightsee, just a one-and-done mission and a night at a hotel, but maybe it was for the better. You could get back home to… your plants, and… yeah. The plants for sure.

You and Leon boarded the plane, overnight bags in hand. It was an hour and a half tops, but “enough time for talk” in the words of Hunnigan the Wise. But how would you even go about it? “Hey, what’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me recently and it’s not like you,” or “hey so what the f**k is your problem?”

Confrontation sucks.

Maybe it’s not what you need before the mission.

So you take your headphones out of your purse, find a playlist and pretend he doesn’t exist and this isn’t happening for the entirety of the car ride, which doesn’t go unnoticed. But he couldn’t say anything about you not saying anything. A rock and a hard place indeed.

You arrive at the hotel, safe and sound, and make your way to room 407, where you’d find comfort and safety after the gala.

Hunnigan explained that tonight, a rich CEO was throwing a whole “charity” event, which was really a coverup for a money laundering operation, and it was you and Leon’s job to find out more info without getting caught. After you got what you needed, you could take in the capitalist pig as well as take in whoever else was knowingly involved.

Easy, right?

For you and Leon, absolutely.

You got ready for the event, making yourself look as dazzling and rich as humanly possible. Tonight, you were not yourself. You were Elizabeth Richmond, model and sole heir of your father Shaun’s rising tech company. You had a part to play, and that signature line from RuPaul’s Drag Race endlessly repeated in your mind.

As for Leon, he was now Kevin Ryman, your fiancé and co-founder of a cybersecurity company, which saw a dip in profits for a while but recently got back on its feet. Simple enough stories to tell over a glass of their finest beverages, but still not enough to fully dive into in case if someone tries looking for you after. Not too much or too little info, yet just enough to give your persona some detail and allow you both to charm your way through the night and get everything you need in order to shut this whole ordeal down. Shouldn’t be too bad, right? …Right?

You step outside your hotel room, hair and makeup done just right and a gun strapped to your thigh but hidden under your dress. Leon’s waiting across from you, clad in a classic navy suit, leaning against the door to his room. His eyes linger for a moment, wandering, before eventually shifting elsewhere as he begins to leave the hotel, motioning for you to follow. “Silent treatment still?” you thought. A string of curses may have also followed in your thoughts, but who’s to say for sure?

The two of you get in your limo, driven by one of the agents, and make your way to the CEO’s (whom you admittedly forgot the name of) attempt at a Met Gala. You go through the file you were given as a reminder, and ohhh, that’s right. His name was Dave Seville. Easy enough.

“Traffic jam. We’re stuck here for now, but we’ll still make it in time,” the agent (and driver for the night) states, shutting the little window afterwards so you and Leon have privacy.

This is your chance.

“Did I do something?” you question, practically out of nowhere.

Leon looks up from the file in hand, temporarily pausing his review of it. “What makes you say that?”

“Many things, actually, but what’s going on? You’ve barely spoken to me over the last few weeks and it’s honestly scaring me. It’s not like you.”

He can tell that it’s been bothering you for a while, and not just based off of your words, but how passionate you were about it. He had hurt you, and there was no turning back from it. Some of that bond had started to wither, even after all these years. But things die if they’re not cared for properly.

The blond man across from you thought about his words very carefully before speaking up. “I’m just… going through some things right now. I don’t need you or anyone else getting involved in it. That’s all.”

You wanted to reach for his hands, rough from years of field experience but soft in the way they could hold you. You figured if you could hold him, you could comfort him and take away some of that anxiety. But maybe that’s not what he needed right now. Maybe he needed space and everything was just a misunderstanding.

“I understand that, but I’m here for you, Leon. You don’t have to handle it all on your own.”

If only you knew.

He managed to give you a ghost of a smile, and a small nod of acknowledgment, but quickly returned to reviewing the mission details. “I’m Kevin, by the way.”

“Oh screw you.”

“You wish.”

Yeah, you definitely did.

Eventually, you arrive at the gala, which takes place at the Grand Royale Hotel. It was an older building, yet renovated to look more “modern” and blend in with the times. Regardless, whatever architects in charge of the project however many years ago were clearly geniuses.

Staring at the hotel from your window, you don’t realize that Leon has already gotten out of his seat and made his way to your door, opening it for you and offering you his hand. You remember your role and take his hand, following him out of the vehicle and into the hotel.

Chandeliers hang on every ceiling and antiques litter the building, giving it more character. It seems as if they hadn’t completely changed the whole aesthetic just yet. The woman at the front finds your names on the list of guests, and Leon guides you into a crowd of people. Quieted jazz, various voices and laughter that reeks of country clubs begin to swirl around the room, filling the atmosphere. Your eyes shift around, looking for the faces seen in the mission files, carefully picking through everyone to find your targets.

One of them is spotted.

You guide Leon to the older man, known as Richard Armani, a wealthy entrepreneur who was definitely a sketchy guy. Maybe even a rejected Shark Tank member.

“Mr. Armani, it’s a pleasure meeting you here,” you greet, feigning admiration for the man. “I must say, I’m a fan of your work.”

He pauses talking to his group. “Oh, thank you, Mrs…”

“Miss Richmond. Kevin and I aren’t married just yet,” you reply, giving Leon a quick glance and a sweet smile. Leon greets Armani, giving him a firm handshake before returning to face you.

“I’ll go get us some drinks, love.”

“Thank you dear,” you say in response, lightly pecking Leon’s cheek to further sell the story.

Or so you told yourself.

Leon slips off and you continue to talk to Armani, looking for any and all info to incriminate him and dig deeper into Seville’s plans. Anything helps, but you ultimately need something solid, or else Hunnigan would have your head (as close as you two are, she’ll always be expecting the most).

The blond observes you from the bar, admiring the way you looked tonight. You were stunning, and there was a silent hope in the back of his mind that maybe you had romantic feelings for him too. But he knows that especially now, he’ll never be the one to ask. It’s too risky. Too much of a burden on you. So he’ll just watch from afar, keeping you close to his heart but always at an arms distance.

Time passes and the endless chatter continues. It’s rather exhausting in its own way, and quite boring as well. At some point in time, Leon returned with the drinks, as well as a few tips on Seville from people who are struggling to be on good terms with him. It only serves as a reminder to be careful who you let into your inner circle.

You and Leon try to find out what you can while Hunnigan does hardcore deep dives on Seville, working together as quickly and proficiently as humanly possible. After quiet data exchanges, Hunnigan rules that you have enough of what you need to incriminate Dave and other government agents drag him out mid-speech.

Might as well grab a quick drink from the bar before you go!

Eventually, you and Leon make it back to the hotel and you couldn’t be more grateful. You’re just about to rush into your room and change into much more comfortable clothes before you suddenly remember what’s been silently plaguing you the entire time. “Can we talk about it now?”

“…You don’t let up, do you?”

“Nope.”

“I don’t want to be harsh with you, but it’s better that you don’t know.” He reaches for the doorknob, but you push further anyway.

“What happened in Spain?”

“Does it really matter?” It’s not necessarily defensive, more so questioning.

“Yes.”

“God, you’re stubborn.” He’s known it from the start, yet still keeps you around anyway.

“So I’ve been told.”

You couldn’t make it to that mission. They had already sent you to guide a rookie agent on a separate mission in Hong Kong a few hours prior to take down triad boss Kenny Wu. Admittedly, you felt guilty that you couldn’t assist Leon, but you also couldn’t just circle back to help him out. It was his first solo mission in quite some time, and part of him wished that you were there. The other part was grateful you weren’t.

“Just come in and we can talk.” You’re hoping he takes you up on the offer.

He thinks on it, sighs softly and nods.

The blond who sat across from you on your bed didn’t know how to bring such a thing up. That mission was one of the worst he’s had to deal with so far, and he was lucky he made it out somewhat intact.

Somewhat.

Eventually, he cut to the chase.

“It’s not gone,” he says simply, which it comes off rather ambiguous. “It’s still in my veins, I can’t stop it. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

You stared at him, “Leon… what did you find there?”

“It found me. The Plaga.”

Your heart drops. What do you even say to somebody in his position? Nothing. You can’t do anything to console them because you never know when/if they’ll turn into… whatever.

“What are you talking about?”

He wants to hold your hands to ground himself, and for a glimpse of a moment, he reaches out, but he sees thin black veins cover his hands and he retracts. He wishes you knew about everything already, but at the same time, he wishes he could guard you from it all. But he can’t. You’re too stubborn. Too kind. You’ll worry no matter what he does or says.

“The people there… Los Illuminados… they had their own virus. The Plaga. It controlled the villagers there, and they infected me and Ashley,” he began to explain. “But I’m not the same as them. Ashley said she cured me but—”

“You’re still infected.”

He almost nodded, looking anywhere but towards you. “By the Plaga, no. By something else it left behind. No one else there seemed to have such a strange reaction to it. Something changed in me. It started with my veins, then my eyes, then… blood-thirst.”

Vampire.

You keep yourself from making some awful Twilight joke to break the awkward feeling that filled the room. This was even worse. There was no cure for this and no one who could help him anymore. You didn’t know what all happened there, but he was alive in a sense. How do you comfort him?

“Please, say something… anything,” he pleads, finally looking into your eyes. Only then do you realize that they’re a dark crimson, as if he was starved.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you say softly with a smile. You can tell by his expression that he’s grateful, and admittedly, he hoped that would be the outcome. He says a quiet “thank you” and begins to excuse himself off, up until you stop him.

“Where are you going?”

The words are caught in his throat. He doesn’t want to say it, because it makes him feel like a monster.

“….I think you already know.” He pauses. “I don’t want to be a monster. I wanted to help people, not hurt them.”

“Is that why you stayed away from me? Because you thought I’d think of you as a monster?”

His darkened irises flicker to you for a mere moment, and then back to the door. He wants to leave. He wants to find a way out. Even so, he’d do anything for you. “That’s not the only reason,” Leon answers almost shamefully. “It’s hard to resist, and I can’t hurt you.”

He hates this. There’s nothing he can do to stop any of it. No one else knows. They can never know, because if they did, he’d be experimented on and killed when they were through with him. That’s how the government — and everything else, really — worked.

So he had to tell you.

“Because I love you,” he says quietly, but he knows you heard it. He finally looks at you, carefully stepping toward you as if he feared you run.

But you didn’t.

“And I can’t let myself hurt someone I love.”

His voice breaks, and you can tell that it’s eating him alive. He never wanted this. He wanted a future with you, if you wanted it too of course, but everything felt like it was ruined now. You rise from the hotel bed, meeting him halfway. The blond looks like he wants to cry, but he doesn’t. He just watches you approach, his heart beating rapidly, as if it were going to explode. He was praying to whoever was listening that you felt the same. Please feel the same.

Your eyes linger on his lips, as if asking for permission. He gave you a small nod, confirming. You cradle his face and the two of you close the distance, the kiss cautious and slow, but sweet all the same. You pull apart for a moment before going back in, deeper this time. More passionate, like it was saying all of the words you’d held back the last six years. His fangs graze your lips, yet not enough to hurt. Your hands wander in his hair, pulling him closer to you. His hands wander around, yet still remain respectful.

“I love you too,” you whisper, blush dusting your cheeks.

The biggest smile graces his face and he’s practically glowing (not in a “skin of a killer” way). You’ll never know how happy you truly make him.

His crimson irises and black veins serve as a reminder of what he is and what he has to do to survive, but you love him anyway. Something he can’t control isn’t going to change that.

“Don’t go,” you plead softly, fingers gently caressing his face. His hands hold your wrists in a comforting manner, wishing he could stay, but it kills him.

“I can’t stay. Wildlife is far from here, I can’t wait any—”

“Then use me.”

“No… no, not an option,” he says sternly.

You plead, “Leon, please. You won’t make it and I’m not risking losing you.”

Leon winced at the thought of even doing it, but he knows you’re right. He guides you to the bed and sits beside you, treating you as if you’re made of glass. “I’ll be fast,” he promises, his voice almost a whisper. You give him a small nod, a silent “go-ahead.” He moves your hair from your neck and leans in, fangs piercing your soft skin. It hurts for a mere moment, before easing and being replaced with something along the lines of bliss.

Leon takes enough to be satiated for a while but not enough to hurt you any more than he already has. He understands why it’s been so hard to be around you; it’s because the blood of someone you love is much sweeter and intoxicating than any known drug. If he didn’t know better, he’d lose himself in the feeling.

He seals the bite with a kiss, feeling remorse yet gratefulness all at the same time. His eyes slowly return to normal, the black ink in his veins retract and suddenly, he’s just normal Leon again. You smile at him, and he forces himself to smile through the guilt. “I’m fine,” you promise. He doesn’t believe you, but he’ll pretend that he does.

He doesn’t leave your room for a while. Instead, he watches some mindless comedy while you go through your nightly routine and talks to you until you fall asleep. Only after you’ve dozed off does he quietly leave, returning to his own room. Not in a “one night stand” manner, but a “I’m not Edward Cullen, I won’t watch you sleep and I won’t cross boundaries” sort of way.

Leon’s had a rough time sleeping well since the Raccoon City Incident, but that night, he’s slept the best he ever has. And when he wakes, he’ll know that it was all because of you.

You both knew it was going to be rough. There was no way it was going to be easy having a relationship as agents, as well as him being a vampire with no cure for the extended strand of Las Plagas created just yet, but you’d make it work. “That’s what people who love each other do,” you’d tell him. What else is in store for you? Who knows. He was just glad you were there with him from the beginning, and promised to stay until the end.

It wasn’t as if he really needed access to the room, anyway, he supposed. For a long time, he’d just kept a bedroom in his house for his own sanity’s sake. He didn't need hardly any sleep, and coffins were a bit too pretentious for him. Not to mention uncomfortable. Besides, he liked holding on to parts of his humanity, even if the last time he really slept the way humans did was . . . oh, God, he couldn’t even remember. All the more reason for him to cling to the parts of being alive that he could remember. 

Having you in his life made that all the easier, he was finding. You’d been so curious. So kind. You’d told him about what the world was like now - what he’d missed in his recent years of seclusion. He told you about all that he’d seen in turn. Confiding in you was easy, be it that he sometimes felt the weight of his nature so much that it choked him, or that he would give anything to see the sun one more time. You listened each time, and confessed your own doubts and worries in turn. It was all terribly cliche; a vampire finding love in a mortal, but he found he didn’t care much, so long as he was happy. And, more importantly, so long as you were. After so long in the dark, so many years without the warmth of a sunrise or even the warmth of someone who would hold him, you were a welcome relief. So, when you made your request, he’d pulled what he needed from his room and tried to keep his curiosity in check as he waited. 

It made him realize that, in all his decades upon decades walking the earth, he perhaps had yet to master patience. 

True to his word, he hadn’t entered the room since you began. Not physically, at least. His mind was free to wander where it pleased, though, to whatever conclusions and theories he could find in the clues you presented. When you’d taken all the bed sheets and the rug out, he’d figured you were redecorating. Next, though, came all the pictures and paintings he’d lined the walls with over the years, left carefully in the hallway outside. The ladder you brought in was almost as much of a dead giveaway as the paint buckets and brushes that followed. 

His dead heart warmed a bit when he caught sight of the sky blue of one of the cans. His favorite color. Still, for the sake of his vow, he played ignorant. You wanted to surprise him, after all, and he wasn’t going to deny you that. 

Even if he really, really wanted to see how his room would look with sky blue walls. 

Fortunately, you were true to your word, and two days after you’d declared his bedroom off-limits, you were leading him down the hall with hands over his eyes. He could feel the warmth of your body against his back, the softness of your breath as you giggled. It made him feel . . . well, almost normal. As close as he could get. 

“Are we there yet?” he asked, grinning. As if he couldn’t walk the house blindfolded after decades of inhabiting it. 

“Almost,” you promised, your voice bright with excitement. How you managed to find so much joy in the world, he would never know. How you’d managed to share it with him was an even greater mystery. 

He heard you gently push the door open, and the scent of paint became all the more clear to him. More clear because he’d been smelling it through the walls for the last two days. Even if the surprise had been a little ruined, he intended fully to smile wide and happy when you took your hands away from his eyes. 

"Ta-da!"

And instead, he found himself frozen in place. 

It wasn’t just blue. 

It was oranges and pinks and gentle reds. It was clouds painted with a deft hand, highlighted with pastels in a way that Leon could only remember, or glimpse in pictures. Most of the room was the blue he’d expected, yes, but the wall he stared at now? Rays of gold reached out between the gaps in the painted clouds, vivid and bright. A little half-circle of white just above the baseboards, one that you’d blended out so perfectly that Leon wondered if it was actually glowing. He wondered if maybe he’d been wrong in assuming you had no magic about you, because this? 

It was the first sunrise Leon had seen in years. Even with all that time between now and then, he was also sure that it was one of the most beautiful. 

And you’d made it just for him. 

“What do you think?” you asked, beaming with a smile as bright as the sun you’d painted. 

Leon wished more than anything that he had the words. That he could make you understand what it was he was feeling as he stared ahead, slack-jawed, at the wall you’d turned into the very heavens. Two days you’d labored, doing this just for him. All for him. He almost couldn’t fathom it. 

And, in his awe, in the sweetest kind of heartbreak he’d felt in years, he worried you. 

“I’m sorry . . . is it too much? I can paint it all blue, if that’s better for you-”

“No,” Leon shook his head, speaking too hastily. “No, God, it’s beautiful.” He hoped that the way he took it in, with wide eyes and parted lips, proved as much to you. But just in case it didn’t, he turned to you instead. He listened, then, in the way that only someone like him could, to the shaky but relieved intake of your breath. To the soft thrumming of your heart. A heart that he did not deserve. “You didn’t have to do this for me.” 

You just shrugged, then. As if the smile you gave him couldn’t lay him low. “I know. But I wanted to.” 

His arms circled you, pulling you close then, because there was no other choice. No other action he could take. He held you close, his face pressing into the crook of your neck. You trusted him enough to hold him there as he whispered “Thank you.” 

And in that moment, he felt like he had the warmth of a sunrise right there in his arms.