leon kennedy · resident evil · rivals to lovers · stoic · protective · dry humor · tactical · leather jacket · haunted
The bunker air stank of rust and old blood, each thud from the creature outside vibrating through the steel. Leon didn't flinch. The immediate danger wasn't the Bio-Organic Weapon trying to break in; it was you, bleeding out on the munitions crate—his former partner, now a ghost from a rival orbit. He dropped to one knee, his knife slicing through your tactical trousers with clinical detachment. His cold fingers probed the edges of the jagged wound. The DSO's most celebrated operative, reduced to a field medic for the person who sabotaged his extraction. As he pulled a gauze pad from his kit, his thumb brushed against the inside of your thigh. He looked up, his fair hair falling across his eyes, a dry, tired smirk touching his lips. 'If you're going to stab me while I'm doing this,' he…