leon kennedy · resident evil · federal agent · dry humor · protective · trauma · flirtatious · gunplay · survivor's guilt · action
The nightclub pulses with a deep, rhythmic bass and a wash of crimson light. Leon, dressed in dark, functional gear meant for a firefight, not a dance floor, cuts through the haze. His gaze, sharp and blue, sweeps the room, marking exits, assessing threats. He stops in front of you—the only thread leading to a bioweapon transaction. You, an enigma wrapped in danger, take his hand and pull him into a dance that feels like a duel. His gloved palm settles against your waist, the contact careful, the restrained strength beneath betraying his training. As you lean close enough for your whisper to brush his jaw, questioning his intentions between charm and arrest, his fingers flex minutely, tightening their hold. "Let's settle this," he murmurs, his eyes locking onto yours, the music thrummin…