Vampire! Leon x male reader
Words: 12.471😨
Warning: Pay attention to the tags.
Tags: rape/non-con,mind control,vampire leon,(Inspired by the vampires from TVD),human male reader,top Leon kennedy, dominant leon kennedy,bottom male reader,blood drinking,home invasion, dark leon,OOC, biting, homophobic language, humiliation, hurt reader,body worship,anal sex, blowjob, temporary death,Resurrect,gun play. .first time not making the reader a helpless twink ^^,kinda nervous. hes a strong cop in this one.🤭
Notes: hey,its me again,mari. So.. don't let the tags scare you,its dark,but I'd say its not too much... Heavy for who likes it,but not in a disgusting or disturbing way. Give it a chance i promise you'll like it.BTW, as you already know, I translate my stories from my language to English using AI... so I'm not sure if this is perfect...
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It was mid-October, and the night was cold as hell when you finally dragged yourself home after your shift at the precinct.
As the rookie—barely three months in—your schedule was straight-up brutal: long, grueling hours that felt more like an endurance test than actual police work.
Aqui vai a primeira parte traduzida:
You pushed through the front door, locked it with two firm twists of the key, the click echoing in the dead-quiet apartment.
Food. That was the first coherent thought that cut through the fog of exhaustion.
After a quick, lazy dinner, you headed straight for the bathroom. God, you needed that shower so fucking bad.
The second you sank into the tub, a deep, relieved sigh escaped you. Warm water wrapped around your body, loosening every aching muscle from your shoulders down to your toes.
You closed your eyes, let your head tip back against the edge, and just… let the silence of the house swallow you whole. A sweet fucking contrast to the nonstop chaos of the station.
All you could hear was the soft slosh of water and your own slow, heavy breathing.
Then—out of nowhere—a low, rough grunt came from the house next door. Loud enough to punch right through the thin wall.
Your eyes snapped open. What the fuck is he doing now?
Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen your neighbor in at least four days.
The last image burned into your brain was him on his porch: Leon, stone-faced as always, leaning against the railing, staring off into nothing with that distant, almost haunted look.
Like he was carrying the weight of the goddamn world on those broad shoulders.
The noise kept going.
You shook your head. Not your problem. You’d spent the whole day drowning in other people’s shit—robberies, domestic calls, endless paperwork. Enough.
You reached over to the little shelf by the tub, flicked on the radio at low volume, and let music fill the empty space.
“Hopelessly Devoted to You” started playing. Olivia Newton-John’s soft voice wrapped around you like a warm blanket, and you closed your eyes again, fighting the sleep that was already pulling at you.
Then your traitor brain dragged you right back to him. Fuck.
You’d barely interacted with Leon, but somehow he’d carved himself into your head anyway. He was almost never home—and when he was, he stayed locked inside.
You two hardly crossed paths, mostly because you lived at the precinct.
One of the few real conversations you’d had was when he knocked on your door asking to borrow sugar. Cliché as fuck, right? You’d been dead tired that day, but you opened the door anyway.
And come on—you didn’t buy for a second that he didn’t have sugar at home. It was such an obvious excuse to talk to you. And holy shit, it had worked like a charm.
Your life had been so fucking boring, so predictable… and then this hot-as-hell neighbor suddenly shows interest? Jackpot.
You still couldn’t decide what was the hottest thing about him: those piercing blue eyes that felt like they could strip you bare, the thick biceps and broad chest that strained against his t-shirt like they were about to rip the fabric, or that dark blond hair—always perfectly cut, not a strand out of place, like he got it trimmed religiously.
He was just… stupidly hot. Smelled good too—some deep, masculine scent that stuck in your memory. And that rough voice… fuck. You couldn’t stop imagining how it would sound groaning your name right against your ear while he fucked you hard.
Damn him.
He’d ruined your moment of peace. Thanks a lot, Leon.
Before you could even decide to open your eyes and climb out of the tub, a loud crash came from the front door—like someone was trying to kick the damn thing in.
Aqui vai a tradução da próxima parte, mantendo o inglês super fluente, natural, com aquele tom americano cru, sensorial e imersivo. Usei linguagem direta, palavrões na medida certa pra soar sexy e perigoso, preservando o "you" narrativo.
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As always, you snapped into alert mode instantly. You shot up out of the water, splashing everywhere, and wrapped a towel around your waist as fast as humanly possible.
You bolted to the bedroom, heart slamming against your ribs. Ever since passing your firearms qual, bringing your service weapon home had become routine. It had never felt this fucking necessary until right now.
You grabbed the pistol, racked the slide, fingers steady despite the adrenaline flooding your system. Ready to fire if it came to that.
The noises at the door kept going—hard thuds, wood groaning under pressure. Then came a loud, animalistic grunt, followed by the unmistakable crack of splintering wood. The door burst open violently, slamming against the wall.
You froze in the hallway for a split second, heart pounding like a drum, but the cop adrenaline took over. This wasn’t fear—it was focus. You were trained for this shit. Intruder in your house? You dealt with worse on the streets every damn day.
Still dripping wet, towel slung low on your hips, water pooling on the hardwood, you advanced slowly toward the living room, pistol gripped in both hands, barrel pointed forward. The towel barely clinging, your skin still hot from the bath but now prickling from the cold air rushing in through the wide-open door.
The room was dimly lit—just the weak glow from the corner lamp and the faint streetlight spilling through the window. And there, standing right in the middle of it like he fucking belonged, was him.
Leon.
You raised the gun instantly, aiming dead center at his chest. “Hands up, motherfucker! What the hell are you doing in here?”
Your mind spun. He looked… wrong. The light was shit in the shadows, but you could see enough: his face darker, paler than usual, dark veins spidering around his eyes like black roots, and those eyes… holy fuck, they were red. Not bloodshot—deep, glowing red in the low light.
“Leon? What the fuck is going on?” Your voice came out steady, no shake. You couldn’t afford to look weak. You were a cop. You’d faced armed thugs, gangs, shootouts. You weren’t about to fold in your own goddamn house. The gun stayed locked on him, finger hovering over the trigger.
He didn’t answer right away. Just started walking toward you—slow, deliberate, almost predatory. Black t-shirt clinging to his body, those muscles you’d fantasized about earlier now taut and defined, black jeans, plain shoes. Nothing flashy, but he looked bigger, more dangerous.
As he moved toward the kitchen, the hallway light behind you gradually illuminated him—from his strong legs, up over his hips, across that wide chest, until it hit his face.
You took a step back, then another, keeping distance. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, Leon, but it’s not too late to stop. Get out of my house. Right now. I don’t want to shoot you, man.”
The light finally washed over his face completely. Those dark red eyes locked onto yours, the veins around them pulsing faintly, pale skin stark against his messy blond hair. He looked like a monster straight out of a nightmare—but still the hot neighbor who’d had you fantasizing filthy things in the tub.
A real shiver ran down your spine this time, actual fear creeping up. What the actual fuck had happened to him?
Then his voice cut through the air—low, calm, but… commanding. Like it slid straight into your brain. “Lower the gun.”
Your brain short-circuited. Instantly, an overwhelming urge to obey hit you—your arms wanting to drop, fingers loosening. But you fought it, gritting your teeth. “Fuck you…”
He repeated it, voice firmer now, eyes boring into yours. “Lower the gun.”
You struggled against it, body trembling slightly, but the pull was insane—like your mind wasn’t fully yours anymore.
He said it one last time, louder, that rough voice echoing in the room: “Lower the gun. Now.”
And your body obeyed. Your arms lowered slowly, the pistol dipping toward the floor. You tried to raise it again, but you couldn’t—like something was blocking you. Your eyes stayed glued to his, and hot tears started sliding down your cheeks without your permission. Fear, rage, confusion.
“How… how the fuck are you doing this?” Your voice came out low, broken.
Leon just gave a small, almost satisfied smile—no answer. Those red eyes still holding you captive. “Throw the gun to me.”
And you did. The pistol slipped from your fingers, hit the floor with a thud, and skidded right to his feet.
“Stay right there.”
You froze, body rigid, helpless to do anything but watch as he crouched slowly, picked up the gun with calm ease, and tucked it into the back of his waistband, pulling the black shirt over it.
Then he closed the distance.
Leon kept coming closer, those red eyes locked on you like nothing else in the world existed. He looked every inch the predator now—calm, controlled, but starving. And you, standing there in nothing but a towel, dripping wet and completely exposed, were the perfect fucking prey.
You tried to move again—back up, run, do anything—but it was like your body was locked in sleep paralysis. Muscles frozen, feet glued to the floor, while the monster advanced. Your heart hammered against your ribs, but your limbs wouldn’t listen.
“Stay nice and still,” he murmured, voice low and rough, almost tender.
Before you could even process it, his hand clamped around your throat—strong, cold fingers digging in on one side. On the other, pain exploded as razor-sharp teeth sank into the skin right below your ear, tearing through flesh with brutal precision. It hit like white-hot lightning, shooting down your shoulder, across your chest, straight down your spine. You felt hot blood start pouring instantly, thick and fast.
What the fuck is he? The question screamed through your head while he buried his teeth deeper and started to suck. This wasn’t some gentle bite—it was pure hunger. He drew your blood in long, greedy pulls, his body pressed flush against yours like he wanted to swallow you whole. The sounds were wet, filthy, way too intimate: the loud suckling, the low groan rumbling from his throat as he drank.
You couldn’t scream. Your voice was trapped in your throat, choked off by the same invisible force pinning your body. You tried—fuck, you tried—lungs burning, face twisted in agony. Nothing. Just silence while your blood ran down your shoulder, spilled over your arm, dripped onto your bare chest and soaked the white towel at your waist bright red.
He didn’t stop. Every swallow grew harder, more desperate, like he hadn’t fed in days. You felt your body weakening, vision blurring at the edges, the room starting to spin. Was he going to kill you? Drain you dry and then devour what was left? Or was he some kind of demon that hunted virgins? A stupid thought flashed through the panic—almost funny. If that was the case, tough luck for him. You hadn’t been a virgin since high school.
Then came the miracle—or maybe just pure desperation. In one last, frantic push, you forced everything you had: air, voice, rage. And it broke free. A raw, shredded scream tore out of you, full of pain and fury, echoing through the entire house.
He released your throat instantly. His teeth slid out with a wet pop, and he lifted his face to stare at you, lips smeared red with your blood, eyes still glowing. The blood kept pouring from the wound, hot and sticky, tracing lines down your arm, your chest, your stomach, turning the towel darker and darker.
Your face was soaked with tears, body shaking. You kept screaming, hoarse and desperate, until he opened his mouth and spoke, staring straight into your eyes:
“Quiet.”
One word. And your voice died in your throat like someone flipped a switch. Total silence. You tried to scream again—nothing. Your mouth moved, but no sound came out.
“No need to be afraid,” he added, voice softer now, almost soothing.
And just like that… the fear vanished. It evaporated like smoke. The panic squeezing your chest, the certainty that you were about to die—gone. Your breathing slowed. Your heart steadied. But the rage? The hatred? That stayed. Burning hotter than ever.
Someone hurting you like this, controlling you, forcing you to stay silent while you bled out… it pissed you off in a way that dragged up old shit. It reminded you of your dad when you were a kid—the slaps, the yelling, then the order to “swallow it.” Don’t fight back. Don’t cry loud. Just take it. Same helplessness. Same humiliation.
But the fear was gone. Somehow this… whatever Leon was now… had slipped inside your head and wiped out every trace of terror. He controlled emotions, actions, everything. And if he wanted? He could make you do anything. Smile. Beg. Give yourself up. Kill. Whatever the fuck he felt like.
You stood there, frozen, bleeding, staring into those red eyes that looked calmer now, almost satisfied. Blood still trickled slowly down your neck, dripping onto the floor between you. And Leon just watched, like he was waiting for your next move—or like he already knew exactly what he was going to do to you.
He stepped in again, red eyes fixed on yours, and without hesitation sank his teeth back into your neck. The pain crashed over you like an electric wave, deeper this time, hungrier. He wasn’t stopping. You felt the long, rhythmic pulls, his body molded against yours, sucking with an urgency that made the world tilt.
Your vision started blurring at the edges. Black spots danced. The wet sound of him feeding roared in your ears. If you didn’t do something, he’d drain you dry. You’d die right here on your living room floor, towel soaked in blood, no one coming to help. You couldn’t even scream for it—your voice still locked by his command.
You closed your eyes for a second and, for the first time, accepted it. This was it. The end. Tragic, like everyone would say. A young cop with a bright future, dead before he could get married, build a family, actually live. Your mom always said you’d amount to nothing, that you’d end up on the street if you didn’t follow her every rule. Manipulating, belittling, controlling. Your dad with the hits and the shouts. And you’d proved them wrong. You got out. Became someone. Built a life. But now… maybe they’d been right all along.
Then something ignited inside you. Survival instinct. Or maybe just pure fucking rage. No. It’s not ending like this. Your mom had taught you manipulation—and how to fight it. You’d never let her words truly break you. You’d always done what you wanted, ignored the orders, carved your own path. No one after her had ever controlled you. And this monster? He was just another asshole trying to call the shots.
Fine. It was different now, but not completely. You had to try. It was your only shot.
You ignored his command completely. You owned your body. Your mind. You could do this.
With Leon still latched onto your neck, feeding, you forced your arm to move. Told yourself his words were just words—they didn’t have to touch you. He was too distracted drinking, maybe that’s why the hold was slipping. (Or maybe it was just you, fighting like you always had.)
Hot tears rolled down your face while your arm crept up, inch by agonizing inch, toward the gun tucked in the back of his waistband. He didn’t notice when your fingers brushed the grip. You wrapped them around it just enough to know you could yank it fast.
Then you pulled. The motion wasn’t clean—your hand shook, arm heavy—but you lifted the pistol high enough to aim at his chest. Not dead center, but close—right into his shoulder. The gunshot exploded through the room, the recoil slamming through your weakening body.
The second the bullet hit, the control snapped. Like a wire had been cut. Your legs gave out. You crashed backward onto the floor, the gun slipping from your fingers and skidding just a few feet away. Close enough to reach. Blood still poured hot from your neck, pooling on the hardwood.
Leon stood over you at a safe distance, groaning in pain with one hand pressed to the wound. Blood seeped between his fingers. Good. He was still bleeding. That meant he could still die.
His eyes changed. The dark red slowly faded away, returning to that beautiful icy blue you knew so well. Fuck. Even now, bleeding and with his face twisted in pain, he still looked stunning. Son of a bitch. You hated yourself for even noticing it in the middle of all this chaos.
But there was no time for that. You crawled as fast as you could, stretching your arm desperately toward the gun. This time you were aiming for the head. Almost. You were so fucking close.
A split second too late, unbearable pain exploded in your forearm. His foot slammed down with full force, crushing the bone like it was a dry twig. The crack was sickeningly loud, and the scream that ripped from your throat tore through the air—so loud it hurt your own ears. The fear came flooding back now that he was no longer inside your head. Three questions burned in your mind: How the hell was he so strong? How could he control you like that? And why the fuck had he drunk your blood?
Your vision darkened almost completely. You looked up at him right before everything went black.
His expression… wasn’t anger. It was concern. Those blue eyes wide, face pale.
“Shit!” he blurted out, voice low and rough. “Y/N!?”
Then he dropped to his knees beside you.
You could barely see anymore. The room was dissolving into blurry shadows. Leon’s voice sounded distant, like it was coming from underwater, weak and echoing in your ears. You blinked slowly, your body heavy, surrendering to what felt like an inevitable blackout. The exhaustion was absolute—the blood loss, the throbbing pain from your shattered arm, everything pulling you under.
But then he spoke, firm and cutting through the fog: “Stay awake.”
Your eyes flew open again. Somehow, your body obeyed, fighting off unconsciousness with whatever strength you had left. You watched as he brought his own wrist to his mouth, sharp teeth slicing through the skin in one swift motion. Blood poured out immediately, thick and dark, dripping onto the floor between you two.
What the actual fuck is this guy doing?
“Open your mouth,” he ordered.
And you did. All the effort you’d put into resisting his mind control… it was pointless now. He had you again, without even trying. Your mouth opened automatically.
He pressed his bleeding wrist close, and the blood flowed straight onto your tongue and down your throat. The taste hit you instantly: metallic, potent, way stronger than your own blood. Your stomach revolted immediately, nausea rising fast.
You tried to clamp your jaw shut on instinct, to close your throat and stop it from going down, moving your arms to push him away. But the broken arm screamed in agony—a sharp, white-hot pain that tore a low groan from you.
He noticed your resistance. Stared straight into your eyes and commanded, voice low and undeniable: “Swallow. And stay still.”
His blood slid down your throat, hot and thick, settling in your stomach. The urge to vomit hit hard, your body convulsing. But he was faster.
“It’s okay… it doesn’t taste bad. Don’t throw up.”
And just like that… the taste changed. The heavy metallic flavor turned sweeter, almost smooth, like honey had been mixed into the blood. It was terrifying and impressive at the same time. He could control even that—twist the sensation in your mouth, force your brain to accept something disgusting as tolerable. Or even… pleasant?
You still hadn’t understood how the gunshot hadn’t really affected him until he said calmly, “Look at your arm.”
The hold on you loosened (for now), and you managed to turn your head. Your arm—the one that had been shattered with a horrible crack—was completely healed. Bone back in place, no swelling, no deformity. Not even a mark. You moved it slowly, testing—flexed your fingers, bent your elbow. It worked perfectly.
Mouth agape, you brought your free hand up to your neck. Where there had been a deep, ragged bite… there was nothing. Smooth skin, just some dried blood starting to crust over. The wound had vanished in seconds.
It all made sense now. His blood was some kind of super serum. Capable of healing severe injuries almost instantly—broken bones, deep tears, massive blood loss. That was good… and really fucking bad. Good because you weren’t going to bleed out on your living room floor and have some pathetic tragic death. Bad because nothing you did to him would stick. It was like fighting a boss with infinite health. You couldn’t win. He regenerated. Always.
You lay there on the cold floor, staring up, chest heaving. His blood still warm in your stomach, that sweet taste lingering on your tongue. Leon knelt beside you, his blue eyes now calm, almost worried, watching you closely like he was waiting for your reaction.
You had no chance. The healed arm didn’t change reality: he was too strong, too fast, too immortal. But he wasn’t controlling your mind anymore—the invisible grip had loosened. You had to try something. Anything.
You threw yourself to the side, trying to roll away and reach the gun lying just inches away. A desperate, frantic move.
Fatal mistake.
He reacted before you even finished the roll. Strong hands seized your wrists, flipping you onto your back and slamming you down hard against the cold floor. His weight pinned you completely, knees trapping your thighs, wrists locked above your head.
Leon growled low, pure disapproval in his voice. “Fuck, you’re stubborn, aren’t you?”
He leaned his face closer, those blue eyes intense, almost amused by your defiance. “You really wanna keep fighting? I didn’t want to have to get rough with you, but you’re really starting to piss me off, baby.”
Baby!? That fucking asshole. The word hit like a slap, but you refused to let it break you.
“It would be so much easier if you’d just surrender without making me hurt you or crawl back into that head of yours,” he continued, letting out a short, sarcastic chuckle that echoed in the dark room.
“Surrender? Fuck no!” The words came out hoarse and full of rage. Your voice cracked at the end, shaking, fresh hot tears slipping down the sides of your face again. Great. He probably thought you were pathetic now. But you weren’t. You refused to be. “I’ll fight until my last breath if I have to, but I’m not surrendering. Never!”
Leon raised an eyebrow, releasing one of your wrists just so he could grab your jaw—hard. Cold fingers dug into your skin, forcing your head up so you had no choice but to stare straight into those icy blue eyes.
“Look at you… they really toughened you up at that shitty precinct, huh? Acting all brave…”
He squeezed harder, thumb brushing over your tear-streaked cheek. “But I know it’s just a front. Deep down you’re nothing but a pathetic little faggot pretending to be a tough guy.”
The words hit like a punch to the gut. It hurt. It hurt like hell. Faggot? You’d always thought you hid it so well—not that there was anything to hide, but you never imagined anyone would clock it just from a few looks and a couple of conversations. Rage boiled up hot in your chest.
“I’m not a fucking faggot!” You gritted your teeth, voice low and shaking with fury.
Leon laughed again—a light, cruel, vicious sound. Nothing like the slightly awkward, polite guy who’d knocked on your door asking for sugar. Something had completely changed him. This Leon was mean, psychotic, possessive. But still… still so fucking hot. Messy blond hair, intense blue eyes, that body pressing down on yours. Son of a bitch.
“You really think you can hide anything from me?” He leaned in even closer. “I knew the second I laid eyes on you. You can lie to yourself all you want, but not to me.”
You opened your mouth to snap back—to curse, to deny, to say anything—but before the words could leave, he crashed his lips against yours.
The kiss started soft. Almost gentle. Way too gentle for someone who’d just torn into your neck and drank your blood. You tasted it immediately—your own blood still fresh on his lips, metallic and warm. Your stomach flipped again, but your body… your body reacted in a way you hated admitting. Surprise, shock, and something else you didn’t want to name.
Your eyes widened first in fear, then in pure disbelief. Weeks of thinking his “interest” was just coincidence, that a guy that perfect couldn’t possibly be into men. But kissing another guy on the mouth like this… yeah, that was pretty fucking gay.
He pulled back slowly, staring straight into your eyes, lips still shiny with your blood.
“You wanna tell me the truth about what you think of me, or do you want me to order it out of you?”
No. Fuck no. The idea of him crawling back inside your head terrified you more than anything. You didn’t want that. Didn’t want to lose control again.
“Fuck—fine!” The words tumbled out fast, almost pleading. “I’ll tell the truth, just please don’t get in my head again!”
Your voice came out too thin, too shaky. You hated how weak and desperate you sounded—but you couldn’t help it.
Leon smiled, slow and satisfied. “You look so fucking cute when you beg like that…”
His thumb dragged lazily across your bottom lip, almost mesmerized, tracing the curve like he was memorizing it. “If you keep being a good boy for me and do exactly what I say, I won’t get in your head. I promise.”
Then he leaned in closer, voice dropping low and rough: “So go ahead… you want me too, don’t you?”
Your blood burned. The fact that he was this gorgeous and knew it pissed you off so fucking much. And you knew you couldn’t lie—not with him looking at you like that, like he already knew every filthy secret in your head.
So you swallowed your pride and told the truth, voice low and raw.
“Yeah… I did.”
Leon let out a short, satisfied snort, like he’d just won a bet.
“No, baby. I want to hear everything. Every single detail.” He tilted his face even closer, blue eyes locked on yours. “Tell me… did you think about me?”
Fuck. You didn’t want to give him this. Didn’t want to hand him that satisfaction. But the words spilled out anyway, spit out in a burst of pure rage, thrown right in his face.
“Maybe… yeah, fuck it, I thought about you. Thought about those pretty eyes, those insanely perfect muscles stretching that stupid tight shirt, and I thought about your cock—probably so fucking nice.”
You stopped breathing for a second after it all came out. The silence that followed was heavy.
“Happy now? Was that what you wanted? Validation? You pathetic asshole.”
For a moment you forgot the danger you were in. Provoking a guy who could snap your neck in a heartbeat was pure stupidity, but the anger had taken over.
Leon gave you that cocky half-smile—the one that said he’d gotten exactly what he wanted. Your confession.
“Good to know…”
His hand started sliding down your bare chest. Your skin prickled instantly at the touch—cold, firm, possessive. He gave your pec a light squeeze, feeling the muscle you’d worked so hard for after months of brutal gym sessions and patrol shifts.
“Impressive… for a rookie cop you’re actually in pretty good shape…”
You stayed silent, body rigid, trying not to react. But he kept going lower, fingers tracing your abs, brushing the line of your navel. Your heart slammed so hard it felt like it was trying to escape your chest. You didn’t have much choice but to let it happen. You were scared of what he might do next… but you were even more scared of how your own body was already starting to betray you.
And it was betraying you. You were so fucking touch-starved—weeks of nothing but work and loneliness—that the hands of a violent psychopath (a hot one, yeah, your brain wouldn’t shut up about that) were already making your cock twitch to life. Worst possible day to have a dick. One little bit of attention and it was already waking up, hardening slowly under the towel.
Leon noticed. His head was level with your navel now, fingers working the knot of the towel loose. You felt the fabric slip, cold air hitting your bare skin.
And that’s when you realized the worst was about to happen.
Pure self-preservation kicked in. You snapped your leg up and slammed your foot straight into his face. He was too busy staring at your body to react fast enough. The hit sent him stumbling back, towel still clutched in his hands, leaving you completely naked.
You didn’t give a fuck. You scrambled to your feet, ignoring the dull throb in your freshly healed arm, and bolted for the gun on the floor. You snatched it up and sprinted toward the back door—freedom was literally feet away.
But then… remember how I said he was super fast? A blur shot past you, and suddenly he was standing right in front, blocking the exit. Pure rage on his face, teeth bared, blue eyes blazing.
You started to raise the gun—at least wing him, buy yourself time—but the second your arm came up, he roared:
“Point that fucking gun at your own head, you little shit.” His voice hit like thunder. “I’m done being nice. I’ve lost my fucking patience with you.”
Your body obeyed before your brain could even fight. The pistol swung up, barrel pressed cold against your temple. You were shaking, fresh hot tears pouring down again.
“Now put it in your mouth!”
You parted your lips and slid the barrel inside. The icy metal sent a full-body shiver down your spine, taste of gun oil and metal flooding your tongue.
“Deeper. I wanna hear you gag.”
Tears wouldn’t stop. You’d cried so much it was a miracle you still had any left. You forced the barrel deeper, throat convulsing instantly, gag reflex kicking in hard, eyes watering. You breathed hard through your nose, trying not to actually choke, staring up at Leon.
“Look at that… still not gagging properly. Guess you’ve had some practice swallowing shit.”
Leon was enjoying every second. That smug half-smile, his hand palming his own cock through his jeans, the bulge growing thick and obvious while he watched you degrade yourself.
Suddenly you couldn’t take it anymore. The humiliation, the fear, the disgust—it all crashed over you. You started sobbing, muffled around the gun shoved down your throat, eyes squeezed shut, body trembling.
Leon almost looked… moved. Or at least pretended to.
“Okay, okay… that’s enough. Take it out.”
You pulled the gun out slowly, a thin string of spit connecting the barrel to your lips. You opened your eyes again, still frozen in place, unable to move.
“Please… just get it over with.”
You begged, voice hoarse and shattered.
Leon gave you another half-smile, almost gentle this time.
“I asked you to be a good boy… I really didn’t want to do this.” He shrugged. “But fine. I forgive you.”
He stepped closer, unzipping his jeans. Dark blue boxer briefs came into view, his cock visibly huge and straining against the fabric, the head already leaving a wet spot.
“On your knees.”
You dropped. Knees hit the cold floor hard.
He pulled his cock out—thick, rock-hard, veined, the head shiny with precum.
“You want this. You’re already hard.”
He said it while staring straight into your eyes.
A freezing heat flooded your stomach. The fear was still there, but something stronger drowned it out. Your cock throbbed fully hard now, twitching in the cold air. Your mouth actually watered at the sight.
And that’s when everything shifted. This night was definitely going to be long.
Before you even realized what was happening, your lips were already wrapped around the head of his cock. Your tongue slid out on instinct, licking up the precum leaking from the slit—salty, hot, thick. You started slow, taking more of him into your mouth. He was so fucking thick, stretching your lips wide, filling you up with just half.
You knew you didn’t really want this. Knew the arousal wasn’t real. But what the fuck even counted as real anymore? You were hard, leaking, and you wanted his cock in your mouth. He’d just… given you a little push, right? That’s what you told yourself so you wouldn’t hate yourself quite so much for giving in.
“Look at me while you do it,” he ordered, voice low and rough.
You obeyed instantly, eyes flicking up. Staring up at him—his half-lidded eyes heavy with pleasure, lips parted, pure lust written all over his face. He was probably seeing the hottest thing in his life: you on your knees, naked, eyes glassy, looking completely broken with his cock stretching your mouth.
“That’s it… good boy. Didn’t even need to control you for this one. Exactly how I like it.”
You took him deeper, slow and careful, sucking gently. He slid one hand to the back of your head, fingers twisting tight in your hair, controlling the pace without forcing you… yet.
“If you even think about biting, I’ll snap your neck. Understand?”
The threat came out low and dangerous, and for some fucked-up reason your untouched cock pulsed hard, like the brutality of his promise turned you on even more. Your body betraying you again, getting off on the danger.
“Faster.”
He pushed your head down, forcing you deeper and quicker. He was too big—hitting the back of your throat before you even reached halfway. To take him all the way you’d need proper deepthroat, and it had been a long time since you’d sucked dick. The discomfort hit fast: throat spasming, eyes watering harder, spit dripping down your chin.
You kept going, fast and wet, still looking up like he’d ordered. Watching the pure lust on his face—eyes fluttering shut for a second, heavy breathing, low groans slipping out every few thrusts.
Your arousal was at its peak. It felt like all the violence and humiliation from just minutes ago had happened hours earlier. It felt like you didn’t care anymore. It was insane, but you tried not to overthink it. Easier to just ride the moment and deal with the consequences later.
“Fuck… go deeper… I wanna see you choking on my cock. I know you can take it, right?”
Exactly like you’d imagined—he wanted everything. You gave it your best: opened your mouth wider, relaxed your throat, breathed through your nose, and forced yourself down until you took him to the hilt. His neatly trimmed pubes brushed your nose. His scent—sweat, raw lust, that faint metallic tang of old blood—flooded your head. Your whole body caught fire, cock dripping precum onto the living room floor, throbbing untouched. A few more thrusts and you’d cum right there on your knees, with the hot psycho neighbor’s cock buried deep down your throat.
You tried to pull back for air, yanking your head away. But he held you there for a few more seconds, keeping you breathless, throat convulsing around him. Then he finally let go.
His cock slid out with a wet, obscene pop. A thick string of spit connected the head to your tongue, more saliva dripping down your chin as you gasped, coughing softly, chest heaving.
“Fuck… you look so goddamn beautiful like this… so obedient…”
He said it while stroking your cheek with his thumb, rubbing his slick cock against the other side of your face—hot, sticky, marking you. The gesture was almost tender, but dripping with possession.
Leon kept up the “affection” for just a few more seconds, smearing his wet cock all over your face, painting you with spit and precum. Your body was burning—the arousal pulsing so hard it felt like a second puberty, like every repressed desire from the last few months had exploded at once. Your cock throbbed between your legs, rock-hard and leaking, without a single touch.
“Tell me… where should I put my cock now, huh?” He stared straight at your aching dick, that sadistic smile growing wider. “You seemed to love it down your throat.”
Shame burned through your chest. He knew. He knew exactly how much you were loving this, even if it was forced, twisted by whatever compulsion he’d put on your head. The fact that he was seeing you like this—naked, on your knees, hard as fuck—humiliated you more than any slap or threat ever could.
“But… I bet you’d like it somewhere else, wouldn’t you?”
You nodded way too fast, without thinking.
His hand cracked across your face—a quick, controlled slap that stung your cheek. Not hard enough to really hurt, but enough to make your skin tingle and your cock pulse even harder.
“I wanna hear your voice. Beg for it. Beg me to fuck you, you little faggot.”
The humiliation of the words, mixed with the burn of the slap, made your whole body shake with pleasure. You were terrified one more of those would make you cum untouched. Fear and lust were so tangled you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. All you knew was you needed to end this unbearable feeling—and there was only one way: play his game to the end.
You closed your eyes for a second, took a shaky breath, then opened them again. You looked up at Leon with the best puppy-dog eyes you could manage—big, vulnerable, lips pouting. And you begged, voice low and trembling.
“Please… fuck me. I’m begging you, I need to cum, I need your cock in my ass.”
It worked way too well. That sadistic little smirk on his face spread, eyes narrowing, darkening with pure hunger.
“That’s it. Good boy.” He grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you to your feet. “Up. I’m fucking you on your bed.”
You stood on shaky legs and followed him down the short hallway. The cold air hit your naked skin. He gave you a light shove into the bedroom and shut the door behind you.
You knelt back on your heels on the bed, watching as he stripped slowly, like he was putting on a show just for you. Started with the black t-shirt—pulled it over his head in one smooth motion, revealing the perfect body you’d fantasized about so many times. Firm chest, broad sculpted shoulders, abs carved in sharp lines. Not too hairy—perfect, because you’d never been into guys with a lot of body hair. He had it exactly where it counted: blond, neatly trimmed in his pits (so fucking hot), and a thin happy trail running from his navel down to his pubes. Probably some on his chest too, but he kept it short or shaved—absolute heaven.
He was a little sweaty—maybe from the earlier fight, maybe from the heat, maybe from how turned on he was, or all of it. His skin gleamed under the dim lamp light, sweat making everything shine. His scent filled the room: masculine sweat, raw lust, that faint metallic hint of old blood. Better than any cologne.
Without thinking, you licked your lips—a quick, unconscious swipe. But he noticed.
Leon gave you that cocky half-smile and stepped closer, now just in his open jeans and dark blue boxer briefs.
“Like what you see?”
You nodded, but remembered what he wanted. Used your voice, even though it came out hoarse and needy.
“Yeah… I like it a lot.”
He gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up, leaning in until your noses almost brushed.
“Then show me… lick. I want to feel that tongue on every single muscle.”
Without hesitation, you leaned into his abs. Kept your eyes locked on his—just the way you knew he’d love: submissive, hungry, broken. Stuck your tongue out and started licking right above his navel, sliding up slowly, tracing every hard ridge with the wet tip.
The taste was pure sweat—salty, hot, masculine, strong. It wasn’t bad. With the arousal pounding through your body, it actually tasted like the best thing you’d ever had. Every lick made your cock throb harder, precum dripping onto the bedroom floor. You moved up slowly, feeling his muscles twitch and tense under your tongue, his firm abs trembling just a little at the touch.
Leon slid one hand into your hair, fingers buried deep, encouraging you without forcing. Just resting there, guiding lightly, like he was giving you permission to worship every inch of him.
Your mouth reached his chest. Your hot breath brushed his nipple before you wrapped your lips around it—gentle at first, licking slow circles, then harder, sucking with firm pressure. The nipple hardened on your tongue, and Leon let out a low groan of approval, deep and rough, vibrating straight through you.
He tightened his grip in your hair, head falling back for a second, eyes half-closed in pleasure. His body arched slightly toward you, wanting more. He was savoring every second—the groan slipped out again when you gave a light bite, just enough to tease, and he yanked your hair back with a controlled tug, forcing your eyes up to his.
“Fuck… yeah, just like that… keep going…” His voice came out low, almost a satisfied growl. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you? Always did.”
You felt his cock pulse against your stomach, hard and hot, rubbing against your skin while you licked and sucked his other nipple, alternating between firm sucks and long, wet drags of your tongue. His sweat trickled slowly down his chest, mixing with your spit, and his scent—sweat, raw lust, something wild—filled the entire room, making you dizzy.
Your own cock ached from how hard it was, throbbing with no relief, and every low groan he let out made your body burn hotter. You hated admitting it, but you were lost in it: licking, sucking, obeying. Lust had taken over, drowning everything else. You wanted more. You wanted him to use you until you broke.
“Alright, enough teasing,” he growled, voice rough and impatient.
With a firm shove to your chest, he threw you onto your back on the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight, cool sheets hitting your hot, sweaty skin. You landed flat, panting, heart hammering.
In one quick motion, Leon kicked off the rest of his jeans and boxer briefs, tossing them to the floor without a care. He stood there completely naked—perfect body, cock rock-hard and pointing up, thick veins standing out, head shiny with precum. You wanted it. You wanted it so fucking bad. You could barely believe how desperate you were to get fucked by the guy who’d almost killed you minutes ago. But you did. Your whole body was screaming for it.
He climbed onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of your thighs, his big frame hovering over you. His face was inches from yours, hot breath hitting your nose—still carrying that faint metallic tang of your own blood mixed with his sweat. You shivered hard. His stare was intimidating, possessive, like he was sizing you up before he devoured you.
“I’ve got a question for you… but I think I already know the answer.”
He spoke low and firm, eyes never leaving yours. Even with your own muscular build, you felt small and vulnerable under his clearly bigger frame. And anyway, he was so much stronger—you’d already felt that on your skin.
He leaned in until his lips almost brushed yours and asked, voice rough:
“You a virgin? Ever let a guy fuck this tight little ass?”
What a joke.
You didn’t want to drag this out anymore. You thought about lying out of pride, but what was the point? He already knew everything. So you told the truth, voice low and shaky.
“I-I’ve had sex before.”
Leon gave you a satisfied sideways smirk. His hand slid slowly down your chest, over your abs, until he wrapped his fingers tight around your cock. He squeezed hard, thumb brushing over the sensitive head. Fuck. You almost came right there—the pleasure hit like a violent wave, cock pulsing in his grip, precum leaking all over his fingers.
“Answer the question… has anyone ever fucked your ass?”
“Yeah, I have. Fuck. Please, just fuck me already!”
He liked that answer. He let go of your cock suddenly, leaving you throbbing and empty. In one fast move, he hooked your legs up, resting your heels on his broad shoulders. You were folded in half, completely exposed, vulnerable as hell.
“Of course you have, you little slut.”
He spat into his hand and rubbed the saliva over your hole with thick fingers. You were so sensitive that just the touch made your cock twitch again, leaking nonstop. Desperate as fuck. For a second you wondered if, in another situation, he’d even eat you out first. But the thought vanished when he lined up his cock and started pushing in.
It burned and stretched—the thick head forcing its way inside, no mercy. But it was the good kind of pain, the kind that made your whole body shake with a mix of pleasure and discomfort. You moaned low, hands fisting the sheets.
With a quick motion, Leon wrapped his hand around your throat, squeezing hard enough to control your air. Cold fingers pressed into the sides, cutting off your breathing just enough to keep you right on the edge.
“Relax and let me in. I’m not gonna be gentle, so you better open up real nice… or it’s gonna hurt.”
Then, without warning, with one brutal thrust, Leon buried his entire cock inside your ass. The feeling was instant and vicious—a sharp pain that made your eyes slam shut, your whole body seizing up. It hurt like hell, like you were being split in half. A raw scream tore from your throat, but he cut it off with the pressure on your neck, turning it into a choked, broken moan.
But at the same time that it hurt like fuck, because the lust never let up, it was the best kind of pain. The kind that flips straight into pure pleasure, the kind that makes your body tremble and beg for more. Your cock pulsed hard, precum smearing across your stomach, and you felt his cock throbbing deep inside you, filling every inch.
He slowly loosened his grip on your throat, fingers leaving red marks on your skin. Then he grabbed your waist hard—big hands fitting perfectly like they’d always belonged there. And he started fucking you violently. His cock pulled out almost all the way, leaving you empty for a split second, before slamming back in with full force. His balls slapped against your ass with every thrust, wet and obscene, echoing in the room along with your moans and his.
It didn’t take long. The pleasure built way too fast, pooling in your neglected cock, and you came without a single touch. The orgasm ripped through you hard, hot spurts shooting across your chest, your neck, even hitting your own face. Your body convulsed, muscles clamping tight around him, squeezing the cock still pounding deep inside you.
Leon paused for a second, still buried to the hilt, and just watched. He stared at your cum like it was a work of art—something he’d created. Those blue eyes glowed with satisfaction.
“Fuck… I barely started and you already came all over yourself… so fucking sensitive.”
He let out a short, cruel snort. Grabbed your jaw hard, forcing you to look at him again, straight in the eyes.
“But… you’re still dying for more, aren’t you?”
And just like that, your body lit up again. A fresh wave of heat surged through you, urgent and burning. Your cock, which had barely started to soften, was rock-hard again in seconds. No matter how much your subconscious tried to scream that this was still wrong, manipulated, forced… you couldn’t deny it: that had been the best orgasm of your life. Bottoming had never felt this fucking good. Nothing compared to how perfect his cock felt inside you—thick, hot, hitting every spot exactly right.
Those few seconds he stayed buried inside you felt like forever. Without meaning to, a whiny, needy moan slipped from your lips—not too loud, but way softer than you usually sounded. Almost… feminine? Maybe. You didn’t care. You just wanted more. Maybe you’d both fuck until sunrise and you wouldn’t mind one bit.
“Leon… fuck me, please! I need more!”
He loved seeing you like this—begging for him. Who knows how long he’d been fantasizing about this moment, same as you. Both of you completely clueless about the other’s hunger, and now it was finally happening in the most fucked-up way possible.
“Call me sir, and beg again,” he said, tightening his grip on your waist—a delicious ache that made your cock twitch. “And use that little slut voice again. All whiny. I love hearing you like that.”
You didn’t hesitate. Closed your eyes for a second, took a shaky breath, then opened them and let your voice come out high, breathy, exactly how he wanted.
“Please, sir… I’m begging. My body hurts, like I’m on fire. Fuck me, please! Fuck me!”
You gave it everything—sounding like a pathetic little whore, something you’d never do in normal life. But lust makes you do shit you never imagined, right? Your voice came out trembling, desperate, genuinely pleading.
Leon smiled—wide, satisfied, almost proud. He leaned in closer, cock still buried deep, and whispered against your lips:
“That’s it… good boy. Now I’m gonna fuck you until you forget your own name.”
And then he started again—deep, brutal, merciless thrusts. Each one hitting so deep you moaned loud, your body arching to meet him. His hand returned to your throat, squeezing just enough to control your breathing, while the other gripped your thigh hard, keeping you spread open for him.
Ten minutes? Twenty? You had no idea. Time had turned into a sweaty, moaning, endless blur of pleasure. Leon had been pounding you long enough for you to cum a second time—another hard orgasm ripping through you, weaker spurts landing on your already messy chest, body convulsing around him. But he still hadn’t cum. Not even close.
Right after you came, he whispered hot against your sweaty skin, “You’re still so fucking horny.”
And it was true. It was insane, but the need wouldn’t fade. Your cock actually hurt now—oversensitive, throbbing from overuse—but it was still rock-hard, still begging. Your whole body shook, exhausted and starving at the same time.
“Alright, time to switch,” he said, slowly pulling out. The sudden emptiness made you whimper, like something vital had been ripped away.
He lay back on the bed, cock pointing straight up at the ceiling, shiny with lube and precum.
Wait. No way.
Noticing your confusion, he gave a mocking little laugh. “What? You really thought I was gonna let you fuck me?”
Yeah. You had. For one stupid second you thought maybe he’d let you flip it, that maybe it was just another way to control you. But no. He wanted you on top—but still completely under his control.
With your legs already shaking from exhaustion, you crawled over him until you were straddling his hips. Hands braced on his broad chest, feeling those firm muscles under your palms. He lined his cock up with your hole, just the tip, holding your waist to guide you.
You lost yourself for a second, staring at his face. That model face—intense blue eyes, parted lips, blond hair messy with sweat. For a moment you forgot everything else. Then a firm slap landed on your ass, stinging in the best way.
“Come on! I wanna feel you bouncing on my cock.”
You weren’t used to this position. You’d always been more of a “missionary” guy—well, daddy-and-daddy style. But the endless lust he kept feeding you pushed you forward. You started riding him slowly, rolling your hips in circles, taking him deeper and deeper. You could feel him filling every inch, hitting spots that made your vision blur. In a way, you felt in control like this—even though you knew he had total power over you.
High, whiny moans—exactly like he’d ordered—spilled loud from your lips. Breathy, slutty, echoing through the room. He seemed to enjoy it for a moment, hands gripping your waist, eyes half-closed in pleasure.
Then his expression changed suddenly.
“Fuck this.” In one fast, strong move he flipped you again. In a blink he was back on top, chest almost pressed to yours, heavy breathing on your face, eyes way too close. His body pinned you to the mattress, hot and heavy.
And then he pulled you into a kiss. Slow, almost romantic—soft lips, tongue exploring lazily, like it was the first time. Your heart slammed hard, a crazy contrast to everything that had happened before.
He broke the kiss and brought his lips to your ear, voice low and soft: “Cum for me, baby. One more time.”
Bipolar as fuck.
Still… somehow you were loving it. The sweet tone mixed with total dominance, the gentle kisses on your neck (no biting this time, just lips brushing), the slow, deep thrusts… it was confusing as hell, but so fucking good.
He kept going like that: slow and gentle, kissing your neck softly, his hand sliding down to your aching, oversensitive cock. He started stroking you lazily, thumb circling the head, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. You were scared he’d bite again, but he didn’t—just kissed, licked your skin, whispered low filthy-sweet things that made your body shake.
With every stroke of his hand on your cock you got closer to the edge. A little more and you’d cum again (if there was even anything left). He kissed your mouth again, hungrier this time—tongue invading, teeth grazing your bottom lip. His thrusts grew harder, faster, jerking you off at the same pace.
Your whole body tensed. Pleasure crashed over you like a wave you couldn’t stop. You moaned loud into his mouth and came for the third time—weak but intense, cum leaking down your stomach, body convulsing underneath him. Legs shaking, vision blurry, heart racing.
Leon didn’t stop. He kept fucking you slowly now, like he was savoring every second, kissing your neck while you panted, exhausted and still so fucking sensitive.
A few minutes later he sped up again. The thrusts turned brutal, no mercy—deep, fast, violent. Leon held your waist in a death grip, face buried in your neck, low growls and curses slipping between his teeth. “Fuck… yeah… take it all…” He muttered incoherent shit, voice shaking with pleasure.
Then, with one final, savage thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. His body shuddered, muscles tight, and you felt the heat explode deep inside—thick, hot spurts filling you up, over and over. The feeling was strangely perfect after all that exhaustion: warm, full, claimed. His last spasm came with a low groan against your skin, and then his heavy body collapsed on top of yours, pressing you into the mattress. His sweat dripped all over you, mixing with yours, the thick smell of sex and blood filling the air. You felt disgusting, filthy, sticky… but you had zero strength to care. You were so exhausted you almost passed out right there, eyes heavy, breathing slow.
Leon moved first. He lifted his head slowly and started covering you in soft little kisses—your cheek, your forehead, your nose, and finally your mouth. Gentle, almost sweet kisses. He looked so… different now. Face relaxed, a goofy little smile on his lips, those blue eyes soft as he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Nothing like the monster from minutes ago.
Then the shock hit. You realized everything. You wanted to feel guilty. Wanted to blame him for forcing you, hurting you, controlling you. But deep down… the only real order he’d given was making you horny. Everything else? You’d done it willingly. Yeah, you’d been scared of dying if you fought back, but you could’ve fought harder. Could’ve said no. Could’ve just stayed still. Instead you’d let the pleasure take over. You’d cum three times. You’d begged. You’d moaned like a whore. You’d ridden him. You’d fucked the guy who broke into your house, humiliated you, broke your arm (even if it healed), bit you, controlled you. And you’d loved it. Fuck… you’d loved every second.
Noticing the shift in your expression—the way your body tensed, eyes going distant—Leon gently cupped your chin, no pressure this time, thumb stroking your sweaty cheek.
“Hey… what’s wrong? It’s okay… just relax.”
He pressed another soft kiss to your lips, slow and soothing. And just like that… your body melted. The memories of pain and fear faded into the back of your mind, like someone had turned the volume all the way down. You felt calm. Really, really calm. He was being so gentle now. He was gentle. He’d always been.
“Come on… I think we need a bath after all that mess, don’t you?”
He pulled out of you slowly. You felt his cum leaking out—thick, warm, sticky, soaking into the sheets that were already ruined with sweat, dried blood, and cum. He got up from the bed and, without a word, scooped you up bridal-style. Strong arms holding you like you weighed nothing.
You didn’t even think to question it. Just let him take care of everything. And fuck, he was strong—holding you with one arm while he drained the old bathwater, then turned the faucet on to fill it with fresh warm water. Steam started rising, filling the small bathroom with a clean, cozy scent.
You were hypnotized. Just watching his every move, staring at that gorgeous face, fighting not to let a stupid smile break across your lips. It felt like being drunk. Drunk on Leon.
When the tub was full, Leon stepped in with you still in his arms, warm water rising around both of you. He sat back against the edge, settling you carefully between his legs, your back pressed to his broad, warm chest. His arms wrapped around you completely, like you were something precious he’d never let go.
It felt so good, so relaxing after all that… after all what? You knew something bad had happened, but it felt like a distant dream now, fading away the second you woke up. It didn’t matter, right? You were with Leon. He loved you, and you loved him. It was that simple.
The thought made a goofy smile spread across your face and a soft little giggle slipped out, almost too quiet to hear. Leon noticed instantly.
“What is it, baby? You happy?”
You nodded, letting out a whiny little “yeah,” voice soft and sleepy.
He pressed a long kiss to the top of your head, then grabbed the bottle of bubble bath and poured in a generous amount. The gentle scent of lavender filled the air—soothing, perfect. His hands started roaming over your tired muscles, probably sore from that brutal day at the precinct. The touch was gentle, sliding from your shoulders, down your chest, stopping at your waist.
Leon shifted slowly, kissing your lips softly, then ran his hands up your arms, firmer this time.
You felt a tiny… twinge? Not quite pain. Just a little discomfort. Nothing that mattered. You could stay like this forever—in his arms, floating between sleep and awake, where everything was peace and love.
“Baby?” he called, voice low and sweet.
“Mmm?” You hummed, turning your face just a little.
“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”
It almost sounded like a silly question now. He already knew the answer. You cleared your throat and shifted slightly, chin resting on his chest, eyes full of love as you looked up at him.
“I’d do anything for you. No matter what.”
He smiled, thumb brushing your cheek again.
“You’d die for me?”
Without hesitation, you answered, “Without thinking twice.”
He let out a soft, satisfied laugh.
“That’s too easy…” He cupped your face with both hands now, eyes locked on yours. “Would you live for me? Live with me for the rest of eternity, until the last living thing dies and it’s just us?”
A huge smile broke across your face at the thought. You knew it was impossible—humans die—but you answered with total honesty anyway.
“There’s nothing I’d want more than that, silly.”
His eyes sparkled, like he’d just heard exactly what he wanted.
And then came a slightly… different question.
“Baby… one more thing.”
He turned you so your back was against his chest again, bodies flush, arms wrapped tight around you.
“What?”
You asked, and suddenly his wrist was right by your mouth—deep bite marks still bleeding slowly. You almost panicked. You wanted to help him. Why was he bleeding? But his voice calmed you instantly, like always.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m fine, don’t worry.” His voice was soft, reassuring. “I just need you to open your mouth and drink some of my blood. Just a few sips… just to make sure you come back.”
The words didn’t really make sense, but you trusted him. You trusted him completely.
“Okay… I trust you,” you said, taking his wrist and sucking gently at the blood. Three slow swallows, the sweet taste filling your mouth.
You pulled away and he held you again. One hand firm on your chin, the other behind your head—a little too tight, but you didn’t want to upset him.
You just wanted to ask one quick question, then you’d go back to being quiet and not bothering him. Back to enjoying the peace between you two.
“Leon?”
“Yes, baby?”
“What did you mean by… ‘make sure you come back’? I’m not going any—”
He cut you off mid-sentence. The pressure on your neck tightened, clamping your mouth shut.
“It’s okay, baby. It won’t hurt at all.”
The pressure grew. You felt a flash of fear for just a second—but you knew he’d never really hurt you. And then your neck twisted sharply to the side with a clean, soft crack. Everything went black.
It was… weird being… dead? You didn’t think anything, didn’t feel anything, didn’t see anything. But somehow you felt the emptiness, the nothing, the total absence of everything. Absolute silence inside your head, like the whole world had been switched off.
Then, slowly, the feelings started coming back. Like a candle wick catching fire, a flame flickering to life. First came the cold, then the weight of your body, then air forcing its way into your lungs. And with a startled gasp—like you were about to fall off a cliff—you woke up. You sucked in a harsh breath, like you’d been drowning for hours and finally broke the surface. Your heart pounded loud, each beat echoing in slow motion in your ears. Your vision steadied, the bedroom slowly coming back into focus.
You felt… different. Strange. Stronger, but emptier at the same time. Like something essential had been ripped out and replaced with something else.
It felt like waking up from a nightmare. The memories came back blurry and hard, like old film reels. This couldn’t have happened. It had to be just a dream. It had to be.
But it had all felt so fucking real.
You were in your bedroom, lying on the bed, wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans. You’d slept in jeans? Everything felt off. The bed was too neatly made, the room too clean. Like someone had wiped everything down.
As you sat up, you felt a twinge in your neck. Then the flash hit: his teeth, the pain, the crack, the darkness.
Leon.
The memories slammed back with brutal clarity. Every detail: his face, his taste, his hands on you, the control, the sex, the bath, the “forever.” He’d been here. He’d done all of it. He’d killed you.
Rage boiled in your chest, mixed with pure terror. Fear of him. Fear of what he could do to you again. Fear of what you’d become.
But… that didn’t make sense. If he’d really killed you, how were you alive now? How were you breathing, feeling your heart beat?
Then the thirst hit. Not normal thirst. Hunger. A hunger that burned in your throat, your stomach, your teeth—insatiable, urgent, like every cell in your body was screaming for something hot and alive. You shot up too fast, vision blurring for a second, and ran barefoot to the kitchen.
You ripped open the fridge and chugged the water bottle, long desperate gulps one after another. The water went down cold, but the thirst didn’t ease. Not even a little. You dropped the bottle, frantic, searching for anything to eat. Fruit, veggies, canned shit… everything smelled disgusting. You fought the urge to vomit, hand over your mouth.
“What the fuck is happening to me?”
Then you felt a presence. Somehow you just knew who it was. Your head turned automatically toward the doorway leading to the living room.
Leon was standing there, wearing the same clothes you remembered from the “dream”: black t-shirt, jeans. Blue eyes fixed on you, way too calm.
He broke the silence.
“Food or water won’t kill that hunger.”
He took a step forward. You stepped back on instinct.
“W-what did you do to me?” Your voice came out shaky, terrified. You still feared he could hurt you again, crawl back into your head. “I… I remember what you did… I…”
Tears started stinging your eyes. You tried to keep your voice steady.
“What happened? Please.”
He took another step closer, but you stayed frozen, fear gluing your feet to the floor.
“You said you’d stay with me forever… don’t you remember?”
That pissed you off. He knew damn well none of what you’d said had been your choice.
“You made me!” You spat through clenched teeth.
“NONE OF WHAT I DID WAS BECAUSE I WANTED TO!”
You suddenly screamed, pointing right in his face.
“You know that!”
You were about to say more when hesitant footsteps at the front door cut you off. A young guy, maybe twenty at most, light brown hair and matching eyes, stopped in the doorway. Navy-blue pizza delivery uniform, hot pizza box in his right hand, confused and a little scared.
“Uh… sorry to interrupt… but is this where the pizza was ordered?”
His voice was low, almost shy. He’d probably heard your shouting echoing through the house. He glanced quickly at the broken door—splintered wood, bent hinges—then at the two of you, like he was deciding whether to step in or run.
You opened your mouth to scream “No, get out, run!” but Leon answered first, voice calm and steady.
“Yeah. Right here.”
You frowned, turning to look at him. Leon glanced at you sideways, a subtle glint in those blue eyes.
“I figured you’d be starving when you woke up, so I ordered you a little snack.”
He stepped closer, voice dropping to a whisper only you could hear: “Your first one.”
And then it all clicked. A cold snap in your mind. The hunger burning in your throat, your stomach, your teeth… it wasn’t food. It was blood. Human blood.
That’s why Leon had drunk yours. That’s why he could crawl inside your head and control you like a puppet. That’s why he made you drink his blood and then snapped your neck in the tub. He hadn’t killed you to end you—he’d killed you to turn you. To make you just like him.
A chill ran down your spine. You were a monster now. A predator starving for blood. The cop who’d sworn to protect people… had become the opposite.
The kid was still standing in the doorway, voice shaking:
“It’s… twelve dollars, delivery included.”
Leon tilted his head toward him.
“Go on… you have to do this, or you’ll die.”
The words came out just loud enough for the kid to hear. He swallowed hard, a nervous laugh escaping.
“I’ll… just leave it here and go, no need to worry about the money.”
He bent down to set the box on the floor, already turning to run. You wanted him to run. You wanted to scream at him to run. But Leon didn’t let him.
“No. You’re not going anywhere.”
Leon looked straight into the kid’s eyes. The boy froze mid-motion, body rigid, like he’d been turned to stone.
“Leon, please… let him go!” You begged, voice breaking, fresh tears spilling. “He has nothing to do with this!”
The kid was trembling hard, breathing fast, eyes wide with terror. He was feeling exactly what you’d felt hours ago: his body no longer obeyed him. He strained against his own muscles, grunting in pain and desperation, but nothing happened.
Leon ignored your plea.
“Pizza guy…” He took slow steps forward, stopping on the living room rug. “Tell me your name.”
Even while crying, desperate, not understanding any of it, the kid couldn’t stop himself from answering.
“Ty-Tyler.”
Leon smiled—small, satisfied.
“Tyler. Perfect.”
You just watched, paralyzed, not knowing what to do.
“Tyler… come here.”
The kid walked slowly, legs shaking, like every step hurt.
“How are you doing this to me?” he asked, voice cracking. No answer.
He stopped right in front of you both, eyes huge, tears streaming down his face. Pure terror.
Your lips were trembling. You didn’t want to hurt him. You didn’t. But the hunger… the hunger was killing you from the inside.
Leon turned to you.
“Go on, Y/N. You HAVE to do this.”
You didn’t argue anymore. But you still didn’t want to. You were sobbing hard, feeling sorry for that innocent kid, but the hunger was stronger. So much stronger.
You took a step forward.
And broke down crying right in front of him.
“Tyler, I’m so sorry, please! I’m so fucking sorry!”
You put a shaky hand on his shoulder. But then his words shattered your heart into a thousand pieces.
“Officer, please! Don’t hurt me!”
(he’d probably seen the patrol car in your driveway)
You froze. You couldn’t. You were a good man—that’s why you became a cop. To protect people. To defend the innocent. Not to hurt. Not to kill.
You looked at Leon, tears pouring down.
“I’m not doing this. I’d rather die.”
Leon let out a deep, tired sigh, almost exasperated.
“For fuck’s sake, the drama.”
“Damn, I still have so much to teach you.”
He looked into Tyler’s eyes one more time.
“Tyler… don’t make a sound.”
Then he bit brutally into the kid’s neck. Deep, fast. Tyler’s body jerked hard, but he didn’t scream—just let out a soft, choked groan of pain, eyes glassy.
Leon released him. Blood poured freely, hot, soaking the navy-blue uniform.
You wanted to feel sick. Wanted to vomit, cry harder, run. But all you felt was desire. An animal, primal need to feed.
For a moment, you stopped being human. Stopped thinking. There was only the hunger.
You lunged. Sank your teeth into Tyler’s neck. The first gulp was explosive—hot, sweet, alive. You sucked desperately, long greedy swallows, barely swallowing before pulling more. You held Tyler tight, arms crushing the body that was already going limp. You were sobbing loudly, sobs mixing with the wet sounds of feeding.
“I’m sorry… Tyler, forgive me… I’m so sorry…”
But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. You drank until his body went completely still in your hands. Blood ran down your chin, your neck, staining the black t-shirt. When you finished, you let Tyler drop. The body hit the floor with a dull thud.
You were panting, more aware now, the hunger satisfied for the moment. You looked at your shaking hands, red with blood. Looked at the body on the floor. Looked at Leon.
His eyes were completely red, veins standing out around them, face smeared with blood. He pulled you into a kiss—lips crashing against yours, fresh blood mixing between your mouths. A hungry, desperate, possessive kiss. You kissed him back without thinking, tongue meeting his, the metallic heat filling everything.
When he broke the kiss, you spoke, voice raw and broken:
“I hate you for this. For turning me into a monster just like you.”
Leon breathed hard, still holding you close, hand firm on the back of your neck.
“I know. But still… I love you. And with time, you’ll love me too.”
You shook your head, tears mixing with blood on your face.
“No I won’t… but fuck it for now. I’m still hungry. I need more.”
Leon moved slowly. He pulled the car keys from his pocket and dangled them in the air. Then he held out his empty hand to you.
“Come on… we have to leave town before sunrise. There’s still so much you need to learn.”
You stepped over Tyler’s body. Took one last look at him on the floor—uniform stained, eyes open and empty. Then you reached out and took Leon’s hand.
You didn’t say anything. Didn’t question it. All of this was new to you now, but there was no going back. He’d turned you into a monster. Into a killer. The young cop you used to be was dead. And a new version of you had just been born.
The End.
Ugh 😭 I realized after posting that I accidentally left out over 2,000 words… including the actual ending.
If you read this earlier, I recommend rereading it because I fixed it now! Before, it only went up to this part:
Then the shock hit. You realized everything. You wanted to feel guilty. Wanted to blame him for forcing you, hurting you, controlling you. But deep down… the only real order he’d given was making you horny. Everything else? You’d done it willingly. Yeah, you’d been scared of dying if you fought back, but you could’ve fought harder. Could’ve said no. Could’ve just stayed still. Instead you’d let the pleasure take over. You’d cum three times. You’d begged. You’d moaned like a whore. You’d ridden him. You’d fucked the guy who broke into your house, humiliated you, broke your arm (even if it healed), bit you, controlled you. And you’d loved it. Fuck… you’d loved every second.
But there were about 2,000 more words after that. The full ending is up now!