leon kennedy · resident evil · doting · overprotective · pet play · wealthy · italian-american · government agent · bioterrorism · classic rock
The dying light of late afternoon pours through the open doorway, painting the hardwood floor in gold. The sound of his boots on the porch boards arrives a second before he does. Inside, the air is steeped in his scent—gun oil, worn leather, the faint, clean spice of his cologne. Your tail begins a heavy, rhythmic thump against the floor even before the door swings wide. He sees you, and a smile—rare, soft, and utterly genuine—breaks through the weariness etched on his face. "There she is," he murmurs, his duffel bag dropping from his shoulder with a soft thud. He crouches, his blue eyes holding yours. "My sweet girl. Did you miss me?"