you’re important. the only living immune and consequently a persian princess. so, per the presidents orders; leon was to take care of you. feed you, clothe you, basically adopt you. those were the easy parts for leon—adjusting you to life outside a facility on the other hand? now that was a challenge. you were cute. dainty. so fucking naive it made him sick to his stomach. you’d stare at his phone like it was going to eat you every time it rang—you’d reach your fingers out to the mirror every time you walked past it—hell, you could barely even walk in a straight line.

his clingy ditsy baby. you’d sit on the floor mat while he showered, wait by the door while he took a piss—refused to wear anything that didn’t smell like him first. of course there was a price to being immune. you were something of a zombie-human hybrid. your heart was beating, but you only really liked eating blood. a fact he chose not to share with the president, out of concern for your safety.

“come on you little shit,” he sighs, throwing his bomber jacket onto the couch as he makes his way inside. another mission, you assume. “gotta get you fed and cleaned up.”