#chris redfeild x reader

[tojisteddy]

Need to be able to grab on Chris’s man boobs real bad

[soulofthegoldsea]

hihihi i was wondering if you could do something with a reader that has hyperhydrosis (specifically in their hands) who is nervous about holding hands or like caressing their partner. and how the RE men (or women) would react/comfort them

thank youuu!!❤️❤️

Sure had to do some research on this because I had never heard of it before and I want to be accurate.

Y/n has primary hyperhidrosis

Leon S. Kennedy: You had grown up with something called hyperhidrosis mainly Palmar hyperhidrosis which means your hands are more affected by this and at some point you got tired of trying to explain to people why your hands sweat so much you can't control it. When Leon asked you out on a date you were so excited but very nervous and stressed so that made your palms more hyperactive than normal you want this date to go well. The date goes amazing Leon is such a gentleman but you won't let him hold your hand not sure how he would feel about your palms that you have wiped off on your pant legs more than once tonight but other than that everything has been good but Leon being the top DSO agent he is noticed all this.

Leon turns to look at you with a gentle look he speaks. Y/n it's okay I want to hold your hand badly.

Y/n plays with her fingers she speaks. Leon I can't control it my hands get so sweaty and I don't want to make you uncomfortable.

Before you can continue speaking Leon grabs your hand he gives your hand a gentle squeeze then you both continue to walk through the park this is when you realize you may have found your soulmate in Leon a man who wants to hold your hand no matter what.

Luis Serra Navarro: You have been dating Luis for a year now while Luis knows about your medical condition and why you never hold his hand or touch him for long but he want to hold your hand he doesn't care about the sweat he loves you very much and he will prove it. And it came soon Luis had taken you out on a date as you walk through the park Luis grabs your hand holding onto it and when you try to pull away Luis pulls you close to him.

Luis kisses the tip of your nose he speaks. Mi amor you are my everything my life and I wish to hold your hand no matter what there is nothing to be embarrassed about because you are beautiful and I love everything about you and don't you dare argue with me.

Y/n squeezes Luis's hand she speaks. Are you sure isn't it uncomfortable?

Luis brings your hand to his lips as he kisses your knuckles he speaks. No it doesn't not one bit.

Luis pulls you along with him gently resuming the walk holding hands without a worry it is a beautiful day and you are with a man with a beautiful soul and you couldn't be happier.

Chris Redfield: Chris has been seeing a woman named Y/n for about two months now everything is going good but the problem she won't touch him with her hands almost as if she's not sure if she should even after telling Y/n it's okay she still won't touch him. So Chris decided to have a gentle sit down talk with Y/n you know what they say contamination is key to a healthy relationship

Chris has Y/n over at his freshly cleaned apartment, this talk will be the first serious talk they will have in this relationship so Chris wants to be clear but gentle.

Chris has Y/n sit down on the couch Chris sits down next to her he speaks. Y/n I know we haven't been together for long but I want to talk about your unwillingness to touch me. You don't have to tell me everything but I just want to know why I'm listening.

Y/n rubs her palms on her pants she speaks. Chris I have something called palmar hyperhidrosis it stems from overactive nerve signals, genetic factors, or secondary medical conditions but for me it's overactive nerve signals. And it makes me nervous to touch others sometimes because I can't control how sweaty my hands get and in the past my exes have made it a point of why the broke up with me I just didn't want to lose another chance ya know.

Chris nods now understanding why Y/n wasn't touching him,Chris takes Y/n's hands into his own not caring for the slight sweat on them right now he wants to show her he supports her no matter what and sometimes words aren't what someone needs just knowing someone is there for them is enough. Chris speaks. Y/n thank you for trusting me enough to tell me this but do know this changes nothing about what I feel for you okay. I like you Y/n and I want to keep our relationship going.

Grace Ashcroft: Grace has been seeing Y/n for five months now and as someone with anxiety she understands sweating and everything along those lines, Grace had a feeling Y/n has palmar hyperhidrosis with how often Y/n rubs her hands off on her pant legs which is often and Grace understands it. So when Y/n finally tells Grace about it Grace is very supportive of her lover

Y/n mutters. Grace stop my hands.

Grace holds Y/n's hands looking at her like she hung the stars and moon Grace speaks. What about them hm I quite like how they fit in my hands gorgeous .

Grace has been spending too much time around Leon and no one can tell if its a good thing or bad thing

[kikischerrykisses]

Bruised Armor

|Disclaimers!: Everything is purely fiction and for fun only

|Summary: A drunk guy kisses you in front of Chris. While Chris is mad, he hurts you

The ambient noise of the crowded bar hummed around them, a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and bass-heavy music. Chris sat across the sticky wooden booth, nursing a beer, a faint smile resting on his lips as he watched you laugh at something he’d said. The tension between you two had been a slow-burning fuse all evening, comfortable and warm.

That was until a stranger, smelling heavily of cheap whiskey and bad decisions, slid into the empty space beside you.

"Hey there, gorgeous," the man slurred, leaning in way too close.

You stiffened, turning your head away. "Not interested, buddy. I'm here with my partner."

The man chuckled, dismissing your words entirely, and before you could blink or push him away, he reached out, grabbed your chin, and planted a sloppy, aggressive kiss directly on your lips.

Instinct made you shove at his chest, breaking the contact immediately. "Are you out of your mind?!" you snapped, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand in disgust.

Across the table, the air vanished.

Chris was already standing, the heavy oak table shifting violently against the floor. His eyes were wide with a sudden, overwhelming surge of protective fury—the kind honed by years on the battlefield, completely unsuited for a crowded local bar. Before you could even register the movement, Chris grabbed the stranger by the collar, hauling him up and throwing him back with enough force to send him crashing into a nearby empty table.

"Get the hell out of here," Chris growled, his voice a low, vibrating threat that made the surrounding patrons scatter. The man didn't wait to be told twice, stumbling out the door into the cool night air.

Panting, Chris turned back toward the booth, his chest heaving, jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked violently.

You stood up quickly, reaching out to touch his arm to ground him. "Chris, hey, look at me—it's okay, he just caught me off guard, I didn't—"

"Don't touch me," Chris snapped, his voice sharp and ragged. He jerked his arm away instinctively, his elbow catching you squarely across the shoulder and collarbone with the full, unfiltered force of a trained soldier's reflex.

The blow sent you stumbling backward against the edge of the booth, a sharp gasp escaping your lips as a dull ache radiated through your shoulder.

The silence that fell between you was absolute.

Chris froze, his hands hovering in the air as the adrenaline instantly drained from his system, replaced by sheer horror. His amber eyes widened as he looked at you, shrinking back against the table.

"Shit," Chris breathed, his voice cracking, stepping forward with his hands outstretched as if to check on you. "No—god, I didn't mean... I didn't see you there, I swear to God—"

You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, your heart aching far more from the rejection and the raw panic in his voice than the physical blow. You looked away, fighting the burn behind your eyes.

"Just... just take me home, Chris," you whispered, your voice shaking. "I'll wait in the truck."

The drive back was agonizing.

The cab of the truck was suffocatingly quiet, save for the low hum of the engine and the rhythmic slap of the windshield wipers against the glass. Chris kept his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his jaw aching from how hard he was clenching it. Every time he glanced sideways at you, staring silently out the passenger window with your arms wrapped around yourself, a knot twisted tighter in his stomach.

When he pulled into the driveway of your house, you were out the door before the engine even fully died. You walked straight inside, heading past the living room and locking yourself in the guest bedroom down the hall, needing a moment to breathe away from the suffocating weight of the night.

Hours passed.

Inside the bedroom, the house had gone completely still. Down the hall, Chris sat on the edge of the living room sofa, staring at the floor, absolutely tearing himself apart inside. The thought that he had hurt you—the one person he swore to protect above everything else—felt like a physical weight crushing his chest. He couldn't take the silence a second longer.

He stood up, his heavy footsteps muffled by the rug as he walked down the hall. He stopped outside the guest room door, raising a large hand and knocking softly, hesitantly.

"Can I come in?" his voice was barely a murmur through the wood.

When you didn't answer, the door slowly creaked open. Chris stepped inside, looking massive and entirely defeated in the dim light. He sat down slowly on the edge of the mattress, keeping a careful distance, looking at you with a gaze full of profound, agonizing remorse.

"I am so, so sorry," Chris whispered, his voice trembling as he reached out, this time slowly, letting you pull away if you needed to. When you didn't, his calloused hand gently cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that had finally slipped down your face. "I swear to you... I would never, ever hurt you on purpose. When I saw that bastard touch you... I lost control for a second. And I reacted like an animal instead of a man who loves you."

A fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes, and you let out a shaky breath, leaning into his warm palm.

"I know," you whispered, your voice thick. "I'm sorry, too. I tried to grab you to calm you down, and I just startled you... I hate seeing you like that, Chris. It scared me."

"I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice breaking as he leaned in, pressing his forehead gently against yours.

The tension melted out of the room, replaced by a deep, aching tenderness. Chris wrapped his arms securely around you, pulling you into his lap and holding you flush against his chest as if he was afraid you might vanish. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of cedar and rain, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt.

Later, after the tears had stopped and the raw edges of the night had smoothed out, you migrated together to the living room. Chris pulled you down onto the couch, burying you in a mountain of heavy blankets.

As a quiet drama played softly on the television, casting a warm, flickering glow across the dark room, Chris kept one arm securely banded around your waist, occasionally pressing lingering, soft kisses into your hair and against your temple. You turned your face toward him in the dim light, and he caught your lips in a slow, deep kiss—gentle, reassuring, and full of all the words they were too tired to say out loud anymore.

Safe in his arms, the outside world finally faded away.

[bythecherrymoon]

Word Count: 1569

Summary: You've been hooking up with Chris Redfield, who also happens to be your captain. Every time it happens, you both lie to yourselves that it won't happen again.

Warnings: fem!reader, smut, car sex, p+v, smut with feelings

Shout out to @booji-doll for reading this for me and encouraging me! LOVE YOU BESTIE!

MINORS DNI! NSFW CONTENT!

You would be the first to admit that fucking your captain was a horrible idea. Just because something was a bad idea didn’t make it easier to resist. Besides it’s not like either of you had planned for this to happen, or for it to keep happening. The first time was at one of the safe houses after a mission. You’d both been stressed and unable to sleep. You’d found him sitting outside smoking a cigarette and wishing he had a drink. 

“Can’t sleep?” he’d asked. 

“Not really,” you said. You didn’t tell him you weren’t asleep because you were worrying about him. Chris was a good leader, and he had made it known it was his job to take care of the squad, not the other way around. You still worried though. 

What followed the unspoken concern was one of those late night conversations where you both laid bare the fears too vulnerable to see the daylight. Then, you’d kissed him. It was a stupid thing to do, but he hadn’t pulled away. He kissed you back, and ended up pinning you to the wall and fucking you so good you could barely stand when he finally set you back on your feet. 

“That…” he swallowed hard as shame rose to his eyes. “Can’t happen again.” 

“Yes sir,” was all you’d said. 

It did happen again though. Not often. Certainly not enough for the rest of Hound Wolf Squad to grow suspicious. Just when the tension of a mission got the better of you both or your thoughts were too loud. Somehow you always seemed to find each other, and it always seemed to end with his cum inside of you and one of you whispering, “It won’t happen again.” 

Tonight it wasn’t happening again. 

You were sitting together in his SUV. He was smoking a cigarette, the orange glow lighting up his face and emphasizing the way his forehead wrinkled with his furrowed brow. His arm was wrapped around your shoulders, offering you a comforting touch. He puts his cigarette out, and looks down at you. It’s a world-weary gaze that feels heavy on your face, but there’s a softness there too. An affection he tries his best to keep hidden, but still manages to escape when you’re alone together. 

For the first time, he kisses you before you kiss him. It’s surprisingly soft, his beard tickles your face. You giggle as you pull away, but one strong arm hoists you across the console to his lap. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he says, his voice deep and gruff but not in the commanding way you’re used to. It’s almost playful. 

“Well, I was trying to be responsible.” 

He lets out a deep sigh as he rests his head back against the seat. “Fuck responsible. Just for now, let’s fully accept the stupidity of whatever this is.” 

Before you can argue, he kisses you again. This time there’s a demand behind it, just to let him have this. To let him have you. 

You sink into his embrace, relaxing in his arms as your lips move with his. His large, strong hands move from you waist to your ass, giving it a firm squeeze before tugging you closer to feel the half-hard length of him. You let a soft moan slip out in response, and you roll your hips against him. 

“That’s it, good girl,” he growls. His kiss moves from your mouth to your neck. He won’t ever admit out loud that he loves the smell of you, every time he catches a whiff of your shampoo his mind jumps back to all the times he’s had his face nuzzled against your hair while he buried himself inside of you. As he leaves kisses on your neck and jaw, he wants to bite down. He wants to mark you, but he knows that would be inviting trouble to the squad. This only works because it’s a secret. 

He gives your ass another squeeze before moving his attention. He makes quick work of your belt and button, then drops his hand down the front of your pants. You gasp as he rubs your slit through your panties, his fingers already finding the fabric damp. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. He pushes your panties to the side and drags his fingers over your sensitive clit. 

You move to make yourself more open to his touch, your legs spreading wider around his waist. Then, your back hits the steering wheel. The horn lets out a pathetic beep, but it’s enough to make you panic for a moment. Your body jolting from the sound, and your head snapping to attention. Chris laughs. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him laugh. 

“Maybe we should move this to the back seat,” he suggests. 

You hesitantly unwrap yourself from his embrace and crawl between the front seats. Chris is too wide to do this, so he braves the cold with a hard-on so he can hop in the back with you. 

Even in the back seat, it’s cramped. Chris’ imposing form takes up any spare space you might have had, but you don’t care. Neither does he, judging by how he pins you against the seat beneath him. He’s already shimmying your pants off your legs before you’re finished laughing at the predicament of having to move to the backseat. He tosses them onto the front seat. 

“Eager, Captain?” you ask him. 

“More than you know,” he growls. 

You hear his belt buckle, then the unzipping of his pants. You look down at him wrapping his hand around his cock. It’s thick and veiny, heavy drops of precum drip out of the dark tip. He notices you watching, so he strokes himself slowly and watches your eyes go darker. 

“You sure about this?” he asks. He always asks, always gives you an out. You always say yes. 

He pulls you closer and adjusts your legs so he can fit between them. The result is an awkward position. One of your legs is braced against the driver’s seat and the other is pinned beneath Chris and the back of the seat. When he starts pushing into you, it doesn’t matter anymore. 

“You’re so tight,” he groans as he enters inch by inch. He’s huge, and he knows it. Not in the overly cocky way that belonged to his youth. Now the knowledge leads him to be careful. He knows he can’t plunge balls deep no matter how bad he’s itching to. He can feel your walls pulsing around him, your soft whines as your cunt stretches to accommodate his girth. 

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe for me,” he instructs you. He leans down to kiss you softly, one hand moving down to rub your clit. It’s only when your walls start opening up to him does he finally bottom out. 

Your eyes roll back as he hits you deep inside. He pulls out until just the tip is nestled inside, then plunges back in. Over and over until his slow thrusts turn into frantic snaps. He nuzzles in the curve of your neck, his breath hot on your skin. 

“Oh shit, Chris…fuck,” you whine. 

The windows are covered in a thick layer of fog. The only light falling inside is the silver moonlight. It might be a cramped backseat, but right now it’s the only place that matters to you. Cheek to stubbled cheek with your captain. Your hands move down his muscular back and settle on his waist where you can feel every roll of his hips as he snaps into you. He grunts and growls softly against your ear. 

“You feel so fucking good,” Chris manages to say between hard thrusts. It doesn’t feel like enough to express how these indiscretions really make him feel. If things were different, he wonders if you’d choose to be with him. Not as a secret, not as late night comfort but something real. 

He drives his musings away by shifting positions so you’re riding him. His large hands dig into the fat of your ass, a grip tight enough to leave finger-shaped bruises. His head falls back against the seat to watch you above him, your face flushed and lips glistening from his kiss. 

You had felt your orgasm building, and you’d tried to change your pace to hold back because you know the feeling of you coming undone around his cock always pushes him over the edge too. So you tried to draw it out, wanting to stay in this cocoon with him. 

Your efforts only meant that when you reached climax you were as surprised as he was. You cried out his name and he roars when your walls clamp down around him. Your hips buck eagerly against him, riding out every bit of pleasure. By the time you begin to feel it fade, he’s already pumped you full of cum. He’s panting beneath you, one hand still on your ass while the other strokes your back. 

Usually after finishing, the lustful haze gives way to the two of you quickly dressing and cleaning up to get back to the safehouse. Tonight is different. Tonight Chris holds you against his broad chest and kisses the top of your head. He doesn’t let you go until the heat of your coupling fades and the chill of the winter night settles over you again. 

[k3nnfield]

hiiii i saw you were doing oneshot requests!! now hear me out…

civilian reader x chris redfield (any game or movie)… he’s been gone for weeks doing missions for the bsaa and hasn’t seen reader in ages. ik for a FACT that this man is a yearner and misses her so bad. could you write a scenario for when he finally comes home, even if only for a bit before he has to leave again?

i’m not picky. fluff or smut or angst or all three. pick your poison

Welcome Home

A/N: First time writing Chris! Sorry if it’s a little out of character, i also feel eh about the dialogue here, i suck at writing arguments sorryyyy!

C/W: Re8 Chris, use of (Y/N), established relationship, marriage, Chris is a canonical yearner, he’s a little softie, hurt/comfort, angst, barely suggestive of nsfw, tension kinda?

W/C: 1.3k

Your head hits the soft plush of the pillow, a loud huff sounding from your mouth as you gaze up at the ceiling. The bedroom is sitting in complete darkness, everything still in time, an uncomfortable silence filling your home. Something you've dealt with for the past few weeks now.

Left alone in the space of yours and Chris's house for 3 whole weeks, weeks which feel like they have stretched out to months and years. You have only heard from him maybe three times in total, brief messages containing sweet words like "I'm thinking of you." or "Miss you."

It never fails to put a smile on your face, though that quickly fades once the harsh reality kicks in after hours pass of no reply. The emptiness of the bed makes your heart ache.

He's told you endlessly how dangerous it is to be in contact with him during missions, how the people he's after could target you and track down your location just from a simple text message or phone call.

Chris has also explained how risky it can be for you to know anything at all about what he does when he's away on a mission with the BSAA, only informing you of sparse details once he's home. Even then, you have to use your imagination to fill in the gaps of what he's left out, and it isn't pretty.

That is exactly how you have spent the majority of your days, thinking of what Chris could possibly be doing right now, whether he's okay or even alive. You have faith in him, of course you do. You know damn well of his strength and what he can do out in the field, hell you'd even fear him if he wasn't such a suck-up, little sweetheart in your company.

It's bizarre how different he becomes the moment he's back home, gone is the big scary BSAA captain. You love to call him 'Alpha', because he certainly does not act as one around you. Oh but the moment his team or friends are around...different story.

The front door unlocks, heavy boots stepping inside with a tired sigh reverberating off the walls, forcing you out of your little daydream, the small smile you didn't realise had grown on your lips from the memories quickly wiping off your face. You can hear the thud of Chris's steps track around downstairs.

The house is entirely taken over by darkness, not a single lamp on, or any sound echoing from a TV or phone. He assumes you're asleep, it is 2AM, so it would make sense. He heads straight to the kitchen, fixing himself a drink of whatever he can find in the fridge. Making sure he's as quiet as possible to not wake you up.

Little does he know, you've silently crept down the stairs, leaning on the doorframe with your arms crossed over your chest. He only becomes aware of your presence once you clear your throat, causing him to flip around, already a guilty expression paining across his face.

"Hey...thought you were asleep.." He softly speaks. Wasting no time before he makes his way over to you, his arms closing around your waist and burying his face into the nape of your neck.

He pulls back after a moment, kissing your forehead. You keep your arms mostly by your side, only slightly lifting a hand to hover over his shoulder. "Yeah," You sigh, "couldn't sleep."

Chris hums, his hands resting on the tops of your shoulders. A comforting weight. "3 weeks." You state with your tone at a low volume.

His head drops, shaking slightly. An exhausted breath exhaling out of his nose. "I know, Baby. I know. I'm so sorry, there wasn't much I could do, and one mission lead right into another–"

"Enough." Your hands fly out, "I don't want to hear the basics, I'm sick of it. I hate not knowing the shit you face." Your voice comes out harsher than intended with laces of vulnerability beneath, cutting off his words.

"(Y/N), come on. Every minute I'm out there, I think of you. You're the reason I get through those missions. Hell, I never shut up about you. I drive the team crazy." Chris attempts to ease your mind, feeding you with reassurance.

You shake your head, eyes shutting as you wrap your arms around yourself in an attempt of comfort.

"You don't understand how hard it is for me to leave you." Chris tiredly speaks.

"Same here," You can't help but feel drained, deflated, exhausted. All sorts of things. But it's stupid to feel this way, when you know Chris has been through hell and back just to come back home to you. "You don't understand how hard it is to be in this house, alone for weeks not even knowing if you're alive."

"You knew this when you married me, (Y/N)."

"I didn't know how bad it would be at the time. I was young, freshly in love and excited to start a new beginning with you. But now that I've had years dealing with this...I realise how terrifying it is saying goodbye to you not knowing whether it's the last time."

"I won't let that happen." Chris's replies stay at a steady tone, calm and collected.

"You don't know that. Anything can happen out there."

"I make it my main priority to come back, whether I'm in one piece or not."

"I just wish things didn't have to be like this." You gesture at the space between you both.

"Me too." He grumbles, a hand rubbing over his face. You can see the tiredness etching into the creases of his face. Deep purple circles shadowing beneath his eyes, furrowed brows with enhanced crinkles marking his forehead.

"It's not fair to blame everything on me. I'm here, I've come back. That should mean something." He adds.

"Of course it means something!" You unintentionally shout. "I just feel like any ounce of hope I have left in me is stripped away each day I hear nothing from you."

Another beat of silence passes, Chris steps backwards and leans his weight onto the counter top, his hands resting onto the cold marble surface. "This isn't the welcome home I anticipated." He mumbles, shoulders dropping in defeat.

You plant yourself down onto the stool tucked into the counter. "I'm sorry." You breathe out, covering your face with your hands before raking them through your scalp, knotted strands of hair snapping between your fingers. "I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

"Hey it's alright, really. I'm sorry our life together is so much more unpredictable than we thought it would be. But I promise you, I love you with everything I have."

You sigh, already beginning to open your arms out as Chris dives straight back into your embrace. A better welcome than before. He melts into your warmth, hands running up and down your back and holding you close to his chest.

"I missed you." He whispers into your hair, taking in every second that you're here with him in his arms, breathing in your scent as if you might just disappear right before him. "Let me make it up to you, yeah?" he pulls back, looking down at you with such softness that it could melt your heart just from the sight.

"What did you have in mind, Redfield?" You whisper, your nerves easing from the previous argument.

"Hmm..." he trails off, a finger tracing the hem of your pajama shorts at your waist. "21 days apart..." Chris leans closer to your ear, pressing gentle kisses to the bare skin. "Should equal...21 orgasms?"

You screech in shock, recoiling your head to study Chris's face. He's dead serious. "21 orgasms!? Are you kidding me? I don't even think you have the stamina for that." You giggle.

"Okaaay...maybe we can split the total across the next few days?”

You let out a laugh, wrapping your arms around Chris's head as your lips meet his in a deep, passionate kiss.

A/N: my bad if this lowkey sucks, need to practice writing angst more i think. But im lovinggg all your requests!

If you want to request something, please read my terms!

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Taglist:

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[lanadelreyylover]

healing hands

Chris Redfield x Reader

You go over to Chris's apartment to nurse his wounds...

can be read with or without the smut at the end

based on this request

taglist: @cakeofhorrors @rainyxie @venus-in-roses @ghostieistiredd @jqsjournal @bloodysnow15 @sistinesarchives @jqsjournal

“Woof,” you say as Chris opens the front door in all his handsome, rugged glory with a busted lip and a black eye to match. “You look awful.”

“You always know how to make a guy feel good about himself,” he says with a strangled smile as he steps aside to let you enter. He didn’t ask for help, but with the beating he took yesterday, it wasn’t long after you cleaned yourself up that you ran to his apartment to see what you could do for the man. 

“Sorry,” you say, caressing his arm in passing before you continue on your way to the kitchen island to set down the six-pack of his favorite beer, the plastic bags of groceries, and a mega-size bottle of ibuprofen. “Go lie down.” You nod toward the sofa. “I’ll make you dinner.” 

He’s still lingering by the now-closed door, his back slouched, his shoulders heavy, his face scratched and cut. He opens his mouth, perhaps to protest, but his voice is too weak to breathe life into sound, so he capitulates, shuffling toward the sofa, gingerly lowering himself onto one of the cushions. 

His pajama shirt lifts just slightly as he lies back, revealing a patch of bronze skin, and the tail of a purple mark sprawling up his side. 

You walk over with a bag of towel-wrapped frozen peas in hand. “For your face.” He takes the poor man’s ice pack and rests it gently on his bruised cheekbone. On the other side of his face, the one not marred by the inky black bruise around his eye, there is a deep cut slicing through his brow. It looks untreated–a chasm of pink in his tan skin. “No one stitched that up for you?” 

He shakes his head. “The medic said it didn’t need stitches.” 

Maybe the medic needs glasses. 

“So you just walked away and didn’t let them at least put a bandage on it?” 

He sighs deeply, holding his eyes shut for a moment before he opens them again to glance up at you. “I just wanted to come home.” 

You nod. “Where’s your first-aid kit?” 

“Under the sink.” Chris gestures toward the kitchen behind you. Before you can move to walk away, he grabs your attention with your hand, squeezing it once. “Thank you,” he says weakly. 

“Of course. You’re always taking care of us. Thought I’d return the favor.”

You return to the sofa with the med kit in tow, sorting through the organized box of tap and gauze, rows of bandages of all sizes, and an ointment sure to sting before it heals. 

Chris scoots his body over, making room for you to sit on the edge of the sofa, right beside his torso so you can start nursing the wounds on his face. They have already been cleaned so, with a cotton swab and a gentle hand, you begin to apply a pain relief salve, watching the stripes of crimson turn pink. He hisses through gritted teeth as you press down on his skin to apply the butterfly bandages, making sure the adhesive sticks. 

Another ‘thank-you’. 

“Have you ever thought about leaving?” 

Not a scoff nor an amused huff. Just a nod before he closes his eyes, relaxing as you continue to patch the cuts. 

“Have you?” He asks, lids still closed. 

You tilt your head, preparing another swab to tend to the split lip. “I’m planning on it. Putting in my notice next week.” 

His eyes shoot open, and his head rises off the pillow, his neck straining under the weight. “What?” 

“Yeah,” is all you give. “Put your head down.” He obeys, and you lean forward an inch, hovering over his face as you inspect the slash on his bottom lip. “I’m not sure I can keep this up for much longer. It’s too destructive. Plus, my lease was up, so I figured now is as good a time as any.” 

The evidence is right in front of you. A man with so many cuts and gashes across his face and body, he looks like Tom whenever he gets into a fight with Jerry–cartoonishly injured as though whipped up into a tornado of claws and teeth. You want to explore what else life has to offer besides getting shot at and punched in the gut by BOWs and the greedy animals that control them. You want to date, to make friends that don’t wear the same fatigues as you, to maybe buy a house and fill it with flowers cut from your garden or giggling children or antiques you buy at the flea market you visit every Saturday. You want to work a boring office job, wearing pantsuits and clacking at a computer. You want your eyes to get sore from staring at numbers on a screen, not your back from being slammed against a metal wall by a lab-borne creature. 

“What will you do?” He asks. 

You shrug. “Nothing. For a while, at least. Maybe I’ll take a year off, go to the beach and just…do nothing.” 

“Sounds nice.” Chris smiles flatly, either because he’s disappointed, or because he doesn’t want to pull at the fresh wound on his lip. “You deserve it.” 

“You do too.” 

And with that, he grabs your wrist, stalling your movements, luring your attention from his lip to his eyes. “We’ll miss you.” A pause for him to clear his throat. “I’ll miss you.”

You smile weakly. “I’ll miss you…all too.” 

He sighs, nodding once–a hollow gesture laced with something akin to regret. You can see it in his eyes, usually glittering with joy despite any chaos or devastation around him. Now, they’re sunken and dry. 

“Will you send me a postcard from wherever you end up?” He attempts to laugh, the movement proving too difficult for what you suspect is a broken rib he’s hiding beneath his shirt. 

“Chris,” you half-chide, half-whine, as you lift the hem of his shirt to expose a map of mottled skin, the color of an autumn sunset, harrowingly dark. “This is bad.” It spreads across a vast expanse of muscles, taut and contracting with each breath he takes. 

He locks eyes with you as your fingertips start to chart the territory, lightly grazing the abdominal muscles that tense beneath your touch. You delight in his warm skin, the sinew under it, drinking up his masculine muscularity through the pads of your fingers. 

The point of no return rests at his navel, and as your fingers sink downward, toward the band of his briefs peeking out from under his sweatpants, you hesitate, pulling away. 

You slide his shirt back down, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

He breathes humorlessly. “At least kiss me before you go?” 

You look up at him. He arches a brow at you. 

Leaning forward, you hover just above his face, your lips brushing against his bottom pillow, scuffed and scraped. You press the lightest kiss onto them, and his brows furrow as he whimpers into your mouth. 

His lips quickly curve into a smile, a gesture you detach from as you pull away. 

“You call that a kiss?” 

“You’re hurt.” 

He cocks his head, a grin appearing at the corner of his mouth. “Make me feel better?”

“Shh,” you coo. “Let me.” You stand up to derobe, stripping every article of clothing until you’re bare at the edge of the sofa, above Chris who watched the show with attentive eyes. 

“You’re an angel.” He drinks in the sight of your naked body, lapping up every curve, every line, every mark or dimple or scar the job has gifted over the years. His chest heaves out heavy, labored breaths and his arms struggle to stay put, hands coming up to guide you onto his lap. It’s instantaneous–like the union of two magnets–how he slides right into you without help from any aiding hands. 

The stretch is immaculate, the way he pushes you to your limit, the pinprick of pain melting into pleasure like molten lava through cracks in the earth. It’s hot and plasmic, arousal dripping from your pussy as he completely fills you.

Chris tries to take over the movement, thrusting up into you from below, and it takes all the restraint you can muster to stop him, watching the way his face contorts into a wince.

“You’re hurt. Let me,” you repeat, sending power to your thighs as you lift and lower yourself onto his cock at the pace he previously assigned. “Try not to move.” 

“Shit,” he curses, his neck flexing as he struggles to stay still through the rush of euphoria coursing through every limb and vein. “I–I can’t.” And he wraps his arms around your waist, flipping you onto your back with a bit less than his usual ease. He whimpers, nursing his side if only for a second before he begins to plow into you. 

“Chris, your rib–”

“I don’t care,” he huffs out as his cock dives into you over and over, his length sliding against your front wall, his head bruising your cervix. The amalgam of pleasure from both sensations has your brain short-circuiting, like live wires engulfed in fire. “I’ve waited too long for this.” His words are punctuated by staccato breaths. 

Palms press into the backs of your thighs as he presses your knees to your chest. “Don’t go,” he cries, tossing his head back as he continues to piston into you at a punishing pace. “Don’t leave me.” 

You reach up to cup his face, pulling him down until your chests are married in a bond of sweat and lust, your legs spreading wide to accommodate his body. His forehead presses against yours, his eyes screw shut as he spits out another string of pleas. 

“I need you here.” 

You’re not the sharpest shooter, nor are you the strongest fighter, but you were the one who convinced him to live another day, to savor each breath, each moment of this life before there isn't another to take. 

“I’m here,” you say, pressing a kiss onto his lips. “I won’t leave you.” 

With one last thrust, he finishes inside without asking permission–not needing it as your legs are locked around his hips–and he collapses onto you. Once he garners enough strength, he lifts his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are milky and his lids are low. Cheeks flush rose.

“What beach are we going to?”

[theweepingangelofcas]

HEDS anon is back with thanks and a not so small request once more <3

(idk why im allergic to typing normal sized requests, im so sorry for the length of this again 😭)

I held off on thanks this time until i could catch my friends again and have them read the oneshot for my last request and all of them giggled like idiots just like i did when they read it, and i wanted to share that 2/3 were asking for your user so they could read more, despite being men and you only really writing for GN/Fem reader. (i actually questioned them on it and their response, in their words, was "We can be pretty princesses too >:(" 😭)

You're getting ready to write a chris multific so now felt like a good time to request something more chris related and obviously being the infamous HEDS anon i have to go down the chronic pain route. I was thinking maybe chris (Any era, Idk what era you're writing the series for so i wanted that to be your choice :] ) with a reader who's overdone it, kinda angsty kinda fluffy?? i accidentally overdid it the other day and ended up having to pull out my trusty old cane to help me get about but it did result in me breaking down over both the pain and irritation that i couldn't just have normal joints and not be chronically ill, and my friends accidentally made it worse by all telling me off for over doing it, so maybe chris getting back from mission, telling off reader over text and then coming home to a breakdown? honestly i wanted you to have almost full rein here im just word spilling at this point lol, but yeah, have fun with it i love your writing sm and i wanna see what you'll do when given pretty much full control on a pain related fic request as another member of the chronic pain crew :)

(random ps just incase: my friends did come over after telling me off to make sure i was okay, they stayed in my guest room and helped me out with basic chores around the house for a few days while my joints recovered which is when i got them to read my last request, they aren't assholes that just shout at me i swear 😭😭)

🫶🫶🫶🫶

Omg yes this was such a cute idea! Also, yes, your guy friends can be pretty princesses with us all lol. I really hope you're doing good! Coming from one cane user to another, it really can suck sometimes. (also I'm gonna bedazzle my cane this week!! I'm so excited!!!) Summary: You have chronic pain. Chris texts back at the worst times. Fluffy comfort ensues. Masterlist

That Bad? - Chris Redfield x Reader

When Chris comes home from his latest mission, he’s already exhausted.

It had been a hellish affair in Alcatraz. Hell, himself and several other had nearly died. But, by some miracle, he had been able to make it home. 

It doesn’t help that throughout his mission, in the spare moments he had, he had been texting you, and the conversation had gone worse than he wanted it to. It’s not that he meant to be mean. Of course not. But, between running for his life, fighting a monster the size of a building, and overall having a shitty time, it had been hard to show complete sympathy for your chronic pain flare up.

Baby <3: I overdid it today Me: Whatd u do this tme? Baby <3: Did a bunch of errands and didnt take a break. Really hurting this time. Me: Do u have ur cane? Baby <3: Ya but you know I hate using it Me: Then why tf did u overdo it? Baby <3:  Didn’t mean to. Me: Be more careful.

At the time, he had realized that he was being less than courteous to your pain, but he truly just hadn’t had the time to respond properly. There had been too much going on.

His heart drops when he steps into the bedroom, and hears quiet sobs. 

You’re in bed, curled up with your knees to your chest. Your cane is resting against the wall, metal shining dully in the lamplight. Even in the dim lighting, he can see the tears streaming down your face.

“That bad, hon’?”

Your head jolts up, alert instantly. “Chris! I’m sorry, I-” You take a deep breath, “I didn’t realize you were home”

His head tilts a little as he walks up, outstretching a hand to touch your knee. The flesh is warm to the touch. Ah, so it’s your joints then. They always feel hot when they hurt. He hums an affirmative before speaking again. “... You okay?”

You nod, but it looks like the action pains you. Your eyes are red rimmed, mouth twitching when you move. “I’m fine.”

Chris sighs, sitting beside you, careful not to jostle you on the bed. He’s quick to lean his head against yours, feeling your warm breath fan out against his cheek.

“... I reread those messages on the flight back.” He starts, eyes closing softly, “... I sounded like a real asshole.” 

He can feel you adjust your legs with a hiss. He can only imagine the pain splintering through your body right now.

“It’s fine, Chris. You’re right.”

He shakes his head. “No, no. I was a dick. I didn’t mean it the way it came off, okay?” He leans in, kissing beside your eye. It earns him a faint giggle in reward. “I just don’t like it when you’re hurting like this. You know that if you really need help, you can wait til I get home, and I’ll do it.”

You pout a little. “I wanted to to it myself. Be useful, you know?”

A nod, gentle. “And you are useful. But you gotta take it easy.”

Another tear streams down your face. He’s careful to wipe it away with his thumb, the liquid cool against the pad of his digit. Pressed close to you like this, he can feel the heat of your body. Shit, you’ve got to really be hurting.

Another kiss to your cheek. “Do you need anything? Water? Painkillers?”

“Both, please.” The way you say it is shaky, like admitting defeat. It makes him frown.

“Hey…” His voice softens, “It’s okay to need help. I need help all the time. Remember last week, when I couldn’t find the scissors? You helped me then.”

Finally, a laugh. It’s like the sweetest of music to his ears. 

“Yeah, because even though we’ve lived here for years, you still don’t know the kitchen layout.”

He’s slow to move away from you, gentle in the way his hands leave you. “You see? You are useful. You just need to take it easy.”

Chris stands, giving a final kiss to your cheek as he goes to fetch you your water. 

“Now, let’s get you some pain meds, and then we can finish that movie we started the other night.”

[soulofthegoldsea]

Stealing their uniform

Leon S. Kennedy: Leon thought hey I'm going to do my laundry before the next big mission so he did proud that he got a head of it. Leon had to leave to help Sherry with something and when he came back Leon heard giggling that belonged to his beloved so he follows the giggles to the bedroom and what Leon saw made him stop moving but did make his body react. You are standing in front of the mirror in one of his compression shirts on you even have his gun holster on like he usually wears it

Leon chuckles and speaks. Oh honey look at you I dare say you wear it better than me baby but I bet you would look even better without it.

Y/n giggles then runs because ya no you know that look in his eyes and you are in a world of chaos if he catches you.

Chris Redfield: Chris has been looking for his shirt that goes to his BSSA uniform and he can't find it he has damn near looked everywhere in the apartment ,Chris walks past his bedroom he shares with Y/n he stops dead in his tracks when he sees Y/n wearing his uniform shirt.. how does she make it look better on her then it does on him?!

Chris clears his throat he speaks. Really sweet pea come on now I need my shirt give it to me or do you want me to take it off for you?

Y/n giggles and runs and Chris gives chase ya he's not going to get it back for awhile.

Carlos Oliveria: Carlos knows Y/n is doing some spring cleaning going through stuff they don't need and all that but he didn't expect to come back and to find his wife wearing his old mercenary gear and she makes it look better than he ever did.

Carlos feels hot he shifts and speaks. Ah dios mio you look amazing my esposa you know what you do to me while I would love to see you wear my things all day I do believe it may kill me how about we get you changed hm?

Y/n smiles and speaks. Hm tempting but I like these so I think I will keep them on unless you take them off me but you will have to catch me first handsome.

Before Carlos could speak Y/n runs fast and he gives chase Carlos knows this will be a long chase

Jake Muller: Jake loves his leather jacket a lot he doesn't let anyone touch it well his girlfriend Y/n is allowed to she does take such careful care of it so he was a bit shocked but pleased to see her wearing it when he walked out of the bathroom after showering ya you are in danger there's no saving you.

Jake smirks and calls out. Y/n why are you running?!

Luis Serra Navarro: Luis had managed to save his leather jacket ya there is a stitched up hole in the back but hey he can still wear it and he does when he is not working. Luis comes home from helping Leon out to find his wonder lover wearing his jacket around their house she smiles when she sees him and that's when Luis knows he is a goner because he knows it will be a mini war to get it back but part of him wants you to keep it on because you make it look good really good.

Luis whistles and rumbles out. Dios Mio you look good enough to eat mi vida but you would look so much better without it on don't you say now hm.Why are you running no no come back don't run away?!

Piers Nivans: Piers can't find his BSSA uniform at all it was on the bed and now it's not there he was about to blow a fuse until he sees his sweet girl wearing his uniform his brain stops working. After a bit Piers moves closer and pulls Y/n close by her hips

Piers mutters. Doll I need my uniform now ya know while you look amazing in it but I really need it for work.