#Resident Evil 5

[calina-alda]

give me your post-viral wesker physical/bodily hcs please. what's he look like in there... do you have any pg67 function headcanons. the masses must know! (if you want to share, of course... i saw biology and i ran in here)

Okay so first of all congratulations, because with this question you accidentally triggered two of my fixations, resident evil lore and biology. So naturally I spent way too much time thinking about this at a molecular level, and emerged with a little manifesto on 'what the virus does to Wesker'.

Okay, lets get into it!

The virus inserts viral DNA directly into the host’s genome, permanently altering Wesker's genetic code. It targets specific stem cell populations to overwrite genetic instructions. These new genes code for synthetic proteins that give his body enhanced abilities. The virus functions similarly to an engineered gene therapy vector, but instead of fixing a mutation, it adds entirely new capabilities:

Healing Factor

• Wesker’s body heals stupidly fast. Bullet wounds seal up in real time. It’s not just fast, it’s efficient. No scar, no bruise, just gone. That’s because of proteins, that promote extreme tissue regeneration by accelerating transcription of growth factors.

• The viral DNA triggers production of proteins that upregulate mitochondrial efficiency. So his cells are constantly in overdrive, replicating and regenerating at insane speeds. That kind of process would literally melt a normal person from the inside out, but the virus keeps him juuuuust stable enough to survive it.

• That means he burns through nutrients and energy at an insane rate. But he still eats very little because his body has learned to metabolize efficiently.

• Because of this, he doesn’t get sick. Like, ever. No flu, no fever, nothing. His immune system probably nukes bacteria before they finish replicating.

Strength

• A key viral protein might mimic myostatin inhibitors, increasing muscle mass without bulk, think insane strength in a lean frame.

• He could punch a hole in reinforced steel if he wanted to, but the scary part is that he doesn’t. He holds back all the time. He can crack a man’s ribs with one hand, or gently zip up your jacket without pulling the tab off.

• His control is off the charts. He’s not just strong, he’s precise. Every movement is calculated.

Eyesight & Senses

• He sees more than most people. Infrared, low light, motion trails, his vision is layered. The world probably looks like a high-contrast heatmap half the time.

• That’s why he wears sunglasses 24/7. Not just for the aesthetic (though let’s be real, it’s working), but to help with light sensitivity. Without them, he’d probably get visual overload in a well-lit room. (Okay, Gojo Satoru)

• His hearing is sharp too. Not supernatural, but he can pick up your heartbeat if you're close enough. It makes sneaking up on him borderline impossible.

The PG67A/W Serum

• The serum is a lifeline. The virus is unstable on its own, the host cells try to over-replicate or misfire signals, leading to cellular death or mutation.

• PG67A/W likely acts as a suppressor or regulator, binding to specific viral receptors or feedback loops, controlling gene expression and inhibitory enzyme systems to keep certain proteins from overexpressing.

• He doses every 6 to 8 hours. He keeps spares on him at all times. If he’s on a mission, he builds his entire schedule around those injections.

• He hides injection sites on his inner thigh, shoulder, or hip, places easy to reach but not visible. Places that are easy to reach but won’t get seen.

Body Temperature

• His body runs hot. Like, unnaturally warm to the touch, like 39°C on a normal day. You could probably use him as a space heater.

• He doesn’t sweat much, but if he’s pushing his limits, the heat builds up fast. He’ll disappear for a cold shower or just stand in front of an AC vent for five minutes without saying anything.

• Resting heart rate? Low. Like athlete-low, sometimes around 40 bpm. But if he moves into combat mode, it spikes instantly. Controlled tachycardia, probably tied to the virus.

Time Perception & Reflexes

• The virus likely alters neurotransmitter uptake and synaptic plasticity, enhancing reaction time and cognition. It increases dopamine and norepinephrine sensitivity, creating hyper-alertness without overstimulation.

• Neural conduction speed may be boosted by: enhanced myelination of neurons. Modified ion channels that allow faster action potential firing.

• The result? Time feels slower to him. His brain processes information so fast that everything else seems like it’s moving in slow motion. That’s why he reacts before you even finish blinking.

• But it’s also exhausting in a subtle way. Conversations feel slow. Meetings drag. He lives in a world that’s slightly out of sync.

Mutation Risk

• He’s constantly on the edge. The virus wants to take over, it wants him to evolve into something monstrous. He keeps that in check with raw willpower and serum, but it’s always there.

• He has nightmares about it. Not dying, mutating. Losing himself.

Aging

• The virus triggers production of novel proteins that tabilize telomeres.

• His aging basically stopped. He should be pushing 50, but he still looks like he’s in his late 30s at most.

Touch & Intimacy

• His body doesn’t regulate hormones quite the same anymore. He can feel arousal, desire, etc., but it’s slower to build and hits harder when it does.

• And his stamina...He doesn’t get tired, doesn’t lose focus, and has total control over his body. He can go for hours without so much as breaking a sweat, and he’s frustratingly composed the whole time

Pain Response

• The virus likely alters his nervous system, especially the nociceptors.

• Instead of fully shutting off pain, it modulates the intensity, filtering it through a “useful or not” lens.

• So he still feels pain, but it’s dulled. A knife wound feels like pressure. A gunshot is just an annoyance.

• He can weaponize it too. Take a hit, stay standing, stare you down without even flinching, smile on his face, it’s terrifying. And he knows it.

Anyway. That’s the gist of what I think is going on inside Wesker’s terrifyingly efficient, (incredibly attractive) body. Please note:

• I did have microbiology, but I’m studying environmental science.

• I am not a virologist or Umbrella scientist (tragic, I know), just someone who thinks too hard about fictional men with god complexes.

• Also, I had to use a translator for like 40% of the fancy terms because my English science vocab just noped out halfway through. So if something sounds too text book, blame the language barrier

Thank you for enabling me, lol

[belataylorr]

I changed my program so I’m trying new brushes

So I use laboratory rat wesker

[chrysalmora]

daily reminder!

[ficfield]

First Time Together

Request: Mayhaps we can get a Chris who is looking forward to being intimate with reader for the first time, but it’s also reader’s first time ever, with anyone, and they’re nervous?

Chris Redfield x Fem!Reader Word count: 2085

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of a single candle casting flickering shadows on the walls. The air was thick with anticipation, a heady mix of desire and nervousness that hung between them like an unspoken promise. Chris stood by the window, his broad shoulders squared, his gaze fixed on the woman sitting on the edge of the bed. She was young, her skin pale and smooth, her long hair cascading over her shoulders like a river of midnight. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her knuckles white, a clear sign of her unease. He knew she was nervous, and the knowledge only deepened the tenderness in his heart.

Chris took a slow, measured step toward her, his boots quiet on the wooden floor. He was a man accustomed to command, to leading from the front, but tonight, he was anything but in control. Tonight, he was at the mercy of her innocence, her vulnerability, and the love he held for her. His blue eyes softened as he knelt before her, his large hands gently taking hers in his. "You're trembling," he murmured, his deep voice a soothing rumble.

"I- I am," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her eyes, wide and dark, met his briefly before flitting away, as if she couldn't bear the intensity of his gaze. "I've never... I don't know what to do."

Chris smiled, a gentle curve of his lips that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You don't have to do anything," he assured her, his thumb brushing the back of her hand in a slow, comforting rhythm. "Just let me take care of you. Let me show you how much I love you."

She nodded, her breath hitching as she looked up at him again. "I- I love you too," she confessed, her voice trembling. "But I'm scared, Chris. What if I do something wrong?"

He chuckled softly, a warm sound that eased some of the tension in the room. "There's no wrong way to love, sweetheart. Just trust me, okay?"

She bit her lip, her eyes searching his for reassurance. Slowly, she nodded, her hands relaxing in his grasp. Chris stood, pulling her gently to her feet. He was tall, his muscular frame towering over her slight figure, but he moved with a careful grace, as if she were made of the most delicate glass. His arms wrapped around her, drawing her close, his hairy chest pressing against her soft breasts. She shivered, her hands coming up to rest on his broad shoulders, her fingers tracing the ridges of his muscles.

"You're so warm," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear.

"You make me that way," he replied, his lips brushing the top of her head. He held her for a long moment, savouring the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin. When he finally pulled back, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

She nodded, her eyes shining with determination. "I am. I want this, Chris. I want you."

He smiled, a genuine smile that lit up his rugged features. "Then let me make this special for you."

He stepped back, his hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. Slowly, deliberately, he began to undress, his movements unhurried, almost ritualistic. She watched, her breath catching as his shirt fell open, revealing his broad chest, the scars that marred his skin, the thick mat of hair that covered his pecs and trailed down his abdomen. He was a man who had lived, who had fought, and survived, and the evidence of his past only added to his allure.

As his shirt fell to the floor, he reached for the buckle of his belt, his fingers moving with practiced ease. She swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on the bulge in his pants, the promise of what was to come. He was hung, she knew that, had seen the outline of his erection through his trousers more than once, but the reality of it was both thrilling and terrifying.

"You're beautiful," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, a spark of desire igniting in their depths. "You're the beautiful one," he countered, his voice rough with emotion. "And I'm going to show you just how much."

With his pants unbuttoned, he stepped out of them, kicking them aside. He stood before her in nothing but his boxers, his body a testament to years of military service, his muscles honed by discipline and hardship. She felt her cheeks flush, her heart pounding in her chest as she took in the sight of him.

"Come here," he said, his voice a husky command.

She stepped closer, her hands trembling as she reached for the waistband of his boxers. He placed his hands over hers, stopping her. "Let me," he murmured, his lips brushing her forehead.

He gently guided her hands away, his own moving to the elastic band. Slowly, he pulled them down, revealing himself in all his glory. She gasped, her eyes widening as she took in the size of him, the thickness, the veins that stood out prominently along his length. He was indeed hung, and the sight of him sent a rush of heat through her body, a mix of excitement and apprehension.

"You're- you're so big," she breathed, her voice laced with awe.

He smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes. "I'll go slow," he promised, his hands moving to her shoulders, guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed. "I won't hurt you, I swear."

She nodded, her trust in him unwavering. He knelt before her, his hands moving to the hem of her dress. Slowly, he pulled it up, his fingers tracing the curve of her thighs, the softness of her skin. She shivered, her breath coming in short gasps as his hands moved higher, his touch sending sparks of pleasure through her body.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his lips brushing her inner thigh. "So perfect."

His hands moved to the back of her dress, his fingers deftly unzipping it. The fabric fell away, pooling at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her bra and panties. She felt exposed, vulnerable, but his gaze was so full of love, of desire, that she couldn't look away.

"Stand up," he instructed, his voice gentle but firm.

She did as he asked, her hands moving to cover her breasts, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment. He shook his head, his hands capturing hers, pulling them away. "Don't hide from me," he murmured, his eyes raking over her body, taking in every curve, every inch of her skin. "You're stunning."

His hands moved to her bra, his fingers working the clasp with practiced ease. The fabric fell away, revealing her breasts, her nipples tight and peaked with arousal. He groaned, his hands cupping her, his thumbs brushing her nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice husky with desire.

She nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. "Y-yes," she managed, her voice barely audible.

He smiled, his hands moving down her body, his fingers tracing the curve of her hips, the swell of her belly. His hands moved lower, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down slowly, deliberately. She stepped out of them, her legs trembling as she stood before him, completely bare.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his fingers brushing her folds, his touch sending a wave of pleasure through her. "So ready for me."

She moaned, her head falling back as his fingers moved lower, his thumb brushing her clit, his touch sending her spiralling into a world of sensation. He took his time, his fingers exploring, his mouth following, his lips and tongue tasting her, teasing her, driving her to the brink of ecstasy.

"Chris," she gasped, her hands tangling in his hair, her body arching into his touch. "Please, I need-"

"Shh," he soothed, his lips brushing her ear. "I've got you, sweetheart. Just let go."

His fingers slipped inside her, his touch gentle but firm, his thumb continuing to stroke her clit. She cried out, her body tensing as pleasure washed over her, her first orgasm crashing into her like a wave. He held her, his arms strong and steady, his mouth whispering words of encouragement as she rode out the storm.

When she finally came down, her body trembling, her breath ragged, he pulled her into his arms, his lips brushing her hair. "You did so well," he murmured, his voice filled with pride. "Now, let me show you the rest."

He stood, his hands moving to his cock, slowly stroking himself. She watched, her eyes wide as he stepped closer, his erection standing proud, his length thick and veined, the head glistening with pre-cum. He was indeed hung, and the sight of him sent a fresh wave of desire through her.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

She nodded, her hands reaching for him, her fingers tracing the length of him, her touch sending a shiver through his body. "I'm ready," she whispered, her voice steady despite her nerves.

He smiled, his hands moving to her hips, guiding her to the bed. "Then let me make you mine," he murmured, his lips brushing hers in a tender kiss.

He laid her down, his body hovering over hers, his weight careful, his hands bracing him as he positioned himself at her entrance. She reached for him, her hands guiding him, her breath hitching as the head of his cock pressed against her, the sensation both thrilling and intimidating.

"Relax," he whispered, his lips brushing her ear. "Just breathe."

She did as he instructed, her body relaxing as he slowly, gently, pushed inside her. She gasped, her eyes widening as he filled her, his length stretching her, the sensation both pleasurable and overwhelming. He stilled, giving her time to adjust, his hands moving to her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

She nodded, her hands moving to his hips, her fingers digging into his skin. "I'm okay," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Just- just keep going."

He smiled, a gentle curve of his lips that sent a rush of warmth through her. "I will," he promised, his voice a husky rumble.

Slowly, he began to move, his hips rocking into hers, his cock sliding in and out of her with a rhythm that was both gentle and insistent. She moaned, her body responding to his, her hips lifting to meet his thrusts, her hands moving to his back, her fingers tracing the scars that marred his skin.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice rough with desire. "So tight, so wet."

She cried out, her body tensing as pleasure built within her, his words sending a rush of heat through her. He quickened his pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his hands moving to her hips, holding her steady as he drove into her with a force that was both tender and relentless.

"Chris," she gasped, her voice a plea, her body on the brink of another orgasm.

"Come for me," he urged, his voice a husky command. "Let go, sweetheart."

She cried out, her body shaking as pleasure washed over her, her second orgasm crashing into her like a wave. He followed, his body tensing as he thrust into her one last time, his seed spilling into her, his groan of release filling the room.

He collapsed onto her, his weight careful, his arms wrapping around her, his lips brushing her hair. "You were amazing," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder.

She smiled, her hands moving to his back, her fingers tracing the scars that told the story of his past. "I love you," she murmured, her voice soft but steady.

He smiled, his lips brushing hers in a tender kiss. "I love you too," he replied, his voice a husky rumble. "And I always will."

They lay there, entwined, their hearts beating in unison, the candle flickering out, leaving them in darkness. But the darkness was warm, filled with the promise of a future together, a future where they would face the world as one, their love a beacon in the night.

[babybinko]

I drew all the Resident Evil games in WigglyPaint

Bonus ↓

[bluue-hour]

RE4 20TH ANNIVERSARY

A bit late but happy 20th anniversary to my most beloved childhood game! Thank you og Leon for turning me into a sassy sarcastic person like yourself 😙

[cenorii]

Art born from a crazy idea and inspired by The Last Supper Every stage of life

[ashesfordayz]

RE5 basically

Saw this meme on Twitter and just had to draw it as Chris and Wesker LMAO

[prim42]

Based on the panels in Gokushufudou

[tiredsurvivoronmain]

Been playing RE1 again and this painting was eerily familiar...

In the plane scene Wesker aims for Chris' head while Chris aims for the chest...

I'm sure it's purely coincidental but damn

[jillvalart]

Resident Evil 9 Lore 👩🏾‍🤝‍👩🏼

[pencil-n-pen]

Princess ⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

⊹‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

leon kennedy x fem!reader

Summary: Being an independent woman and a full time student is all fun and games until final’s season. Luckily, your not-quite academic rival Leon Kennedy is there to pick you up when you fall.

next

cw: Female pronouns and description used for reader but nothing detailed (no skin color, eye color, hair type, body type, etc.) This is basically just an x reader for my independent eldest daughters who do nothing but their absolute best all the time everyday and deep down want a hot guy with beefy arms to let them relax for a minute. So i guess expect the related issues that come with being an eldest daughter?

Tags/tropes: hurt/comfort, dom! leon if you squint, leon’s very touchy, leon being a gentleman!! probably ooc, i kinda struggled finding his voice :/

wc: 3.3k

a/n: wowee so i’m not rlly looking to be a full time author or anything but i could NOT get this idea out of my head and i figured i could give back to the tumblr fic community <3 here’s to everyone who wants hurt/comfort without smut, incest, or a needlessly specific reader! hope everyone’s recovering well from finals!

— ‎ ‧₊˚ 𓂃౨ৎ

The first time it happened, it honestly, truly, was an accident. A mistake, if you will. You would never willingly fall asleep on a random guy at a party. That is all kinds of bad for a number of reasons.

However. There were some… extenuating circumstances.

Finals. They’re a make-or-break for the first semester. Mostly just a break. In the sense that you contemplated how upset your parents would be at you if you dropped out and if the subsequent disowning would be worth it.

You did finals the same way you did everything. You worked. Studied. Borderline obsessed over it. Romanticized it so you could push through when the other’s resolve started dropping. Stayed home. Your friends bemoaned your “no-fun attitude” but they’re crying over their grades and you’re not, so.

Well. Actually you’re definitely crying over your grades, almost every day in fact. But not because they’re bad. Just because you’re tired. Really tired. The kind of tired that makes people have public breakdowns. But you can’t afford to have a public breakdown because you have to succeed at college and you have to work in order to stay on top of your bills and be able to send some money home to your family and make sure you have time to call your parents and make time for your sister to call you and vent because you didn’t have a you at her age and you wish you did so you have to be there for her and your friends need you to be there for them not to mention planning for how you’re going to use your degree after you graduate and—

Most of the time you try not to think about it.

So finals were over. And everyone wanted to celebrate. And you did, you promise. You’re totally the party girl type. Totally. (Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll come true?)

You don’t hate parties. You like dressing up and going out. It’s fun! It’s just… not your idea of an unwind. Not after you nearly ran yourself into the ground for a month straight for the sake of academic validation. You’d prefer to sleep for 72 hours straight. And maybe watch a movie at home in the sweatshirt you cried over your textbooks in. Maybe over a glass of wine? You’re not really sure. Relaxing never really goes well for you. It’s either depression-bed-rotting or full productivity.

Needless to say, you weren’t exactly thrilled to find yourself at this party. You’re not really sure how your friends convinced you.

But you’re here, in makeup and an outfit you like (you’re thankful this isn’t one of the ‘put on a tight dress and dance’ parties) and you just honestly want to go to bed. It’s a house party, so it’s not nearly as crazy as some of the other parties you’ve been (read: dragged) to, but still.

You’re on the couch, ignoring the smell of alcohol in the air and pretending the pounding baseline of the music coming from the speaker in the kitchen isn’t starting to give you a headache.

Ada Wong, a girl you’ve hesitantly dubbed your party friend, is sitting on your left, while the guy you can never quite tell what he is to her, is sitting on your right.

Leon Kennedy.

On a good day, Leon Kennedy is a smart, brooding, annoyingly capable guy who you share some of your classes with. On a bad day, he’s the bane of your existence. On a really bad day, you fantasize about all the ways you could kill him and turn the experience into a really good term paper.

It’s complicated. You’re smart. He’s smart. You tend to clash because neither of you like backing down from a challenge.

But right now, in this moment, at this party, the only thing you can think about is how fucking tired you are and how warm he is.

The music is so loud it drowns everything out in your brain. The few thoughts that make it through the overwhelm of sound are fuzzy and staticky. The cling and slip around in your head like syrup. The worst parts about parties are, funnily enough, working to cancel out the main reason you can’t fall asleep in your own bed at night: overthinking.

That and the fact that you haven’t sleep in forty-eight hours. An energy drink and an iced coffee count as a full nights sleep, right? You’re sure the heart palpitations are normal.

You manage to keep up with the steady flow of the group conversation, but as the night wears on, talking becomes harder and harder and just plain processing the words being said slowly turns into an impossible task. At some point, someone else squeezed onto the couch— you think it might be Chris? Ada did say he was coming late— so now you’re pressed against the one and only Leon Kennedy, and he’s radiating heat like a furnace.

Like you, he opted for a slightly more casual approach to the house party. Of course, he’s a guy, so his wardrobe was probably never that big, but still. It’s nice to see someone else in a sweatshirt and jeans.

You at least put on your favorite jeans! You call them your hot jeans, for self explanatory reasons. So what if you’re wearing an oversized sweatshirt? It’s cold!

You jolt in place, not realizing your eyes had slipped close and the conversation had continued on without you. Something prickles in the back of your head. An instinctual sort of thing.

Don’t fall asleep in public places.

Don’t fall asleep at someone’s house you don’t know.

You know the owner of the house, you think. You’ve been here once or twice. But you don’t know everyone at the party and where your friends have gone because they’re not in the group talking here and you should probably stand up soon, to wake yourself up, don’t let your friends down, don’t be that girl who falls asleep at the party, don’t—

You jolt again.

Wake up. You tell yourself. Leon’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye, but you ignore it.

It feels like a record skip. You’ll blink, and the conversation isn’t the same as when you first closed your eyes. The song isn’t the same. Were the lights always this bright?

“Whew!” Ada whistles from above. When did she stand up? “Someone’s got final’s exhaustion written all over their face!”

The group laughs and you do too, but it sounds different. Leon doesn’t. Why isn’t he laughing?

You jolt again. Harder this one. A full body shake. You wince as your knee knocks into Leon’s.

“Sorr—“

“Stop that.” He grumbles, and oh. A warm, solid hand snakes around your waist and pulls you closer. Closed to that warm, stupidly comfortable side.

This is wrong. It’s Leon. It’s Leon. You can’t. And this is a party, and your friends are here—

“Stop being stupid,” You can feel his chest rumble from where your cheek is pressed flush against it, and when did that happen? He picks up your left arm and drapes it across his stomach, then picks up your right arm and wraps it around his lower pack. “Squeeze.”

You listen, and wow. Who has time to go to the gym this much and be an academic rival? You feel like you’re slacking. Maybe you need to make time to get some—

“I can hear you thinking,” He says, voice deep and rumbly. It’s honestly a miracle you can hear him over the music. It’s probably because your face is pressed against his chest. If you strain, you can feel the dull thud of his heart.

“You have a heart?” You say, half-delirious with exhaustion. It comes out more as a question than a statement

“Mhm,” He rumbles. “I am in possession of one. Great observation princess.”

You frown into his chest. “Why are you always so mean? You call me that stupid name. I’m not a princess.”

“I’m not mean. Whoever said princess was a mean nickname? You decided that on your own.”

“Then how come you call me that?”

“Because,” He huffs, repositioning to a more slouched position that’s more comfortable for your neck. The arm tightens around your waist.

It’s nice. It’s possessive. Protective. No one’s ever really done that for you before. Usually it’s you doing the protecting.

You don’t want to relax. You can’t. You can’t.

“Because,” He continues, “Princesses need to be taken care of. Especially smart, stubborn princesses who never pause for one second. Not even when they should.”

You should get up. Apologize for how weird you’re being. Have another coffee or energy drink. Join the party. Do something that isn’t this.

“Go to sleep,” He says, his voice like a warm blanket settling and slipping into your mind. “Nothing‘s going to happen to you while I’m here. No one is going to be mad at you for sleeping. And if they are, I’ll kick their ass. Go to sleep.”

It’s easy to give in after that.

You sag, boneless. Like a puppet with it’s strings cut. You inhale deeply, breathing in the deep, rich scent that’s distinctly Leon.

Just for a few minutes. Because Leon’s watching. He won’t let something happen to you. Just for a few minutes. You’ll get up soon. You will.

He tucks you closer to him. “Sleep.”

You’re out like a light.

—

“No way, she’s actually asleep?”

“Holy shit Leon, did you drug her?”

“I did not.”

“Well, thanks, for whatever weird magic-spell you cast. Seriously. We’re all starting to get worried about her. She doesn’t take any breaks and she doesn’t let anyone help. Last week a librarian found her asleep on the printer. Fully standing.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m going to start inviting you to our apartment if it means she’ll actually get some fucking sleep. It’s unsettling finding her in the same position as when I left like, six hours beforehand.”

“Don’t worry. She’s in good hands.”

—

It’s horrific, running into him in the library.

What makes it more horrible is the fact that you’re ugly crying silently in the English textbook section, because it’s always empty. You’re ugly crying in the English textbook section of the university library and Leon Kennedy just walked into the aisle.

You sniff, lifting your head from your knees to stare up at him from the ground. He has a knack for finding you at your lowest, it would seem.

“We’ve got to stop seeing each other like this, princess.”

“Oh?” You sniff hard, running a hand across your face as if that will clear up your red rimmed, puffy eyes, the tear tracks on your face, or the flush on your nose. The action at least wipes away the snot. “I wasn’t aware you ever fell asleep on me at a party. Did I ever find you crying in the English textbook section of the library?”

He tilts his head. “Why the English textbook section? It’s one of your best subjects.”

“It’s the emptiest section. Plus, anyone looking for an English textbook at this hour isn’t going to bat an eye at me.” You wrap your arms around your legs and hug them to your chest. “What are you doing here?”

“One of your roommates called Ada. They said you haven’t been home since this morning. They thought you might’ve been at hers, or with me.”

You snort. “It’s like they don’t even know me.”

He rolls his eyes. “I think they were hoping you’d be there. I think anyone who knows you knew you’d be here.”

“Crying in the English section?”

“In the library, dumbass.”

He stalks forward, leaning back against the bookshelf across from you and sliding his hands into his sweatpants pockets.

“Tell me. Is your pathological avoidance to asking for help conscious or not?”

You kick out, one shoed foot catching him in the shins. “Dick.”

He shrugs. “Just want to know. I can’t exactly gloat over scoring two points above you if you’re not in top form. I want a fair fight.”

“Is that what you're here for?” You ask suddenly, everything in your body going rigid. “You think this is funny?”

“No,” He says calmly. “I’m here because you’re being stupid again. You know what’s not healthy, or smart?”

He gestures to you. You, sitting on the floor, tears drying on your face. “This. Going out to parties to make your friends happy when you should be at home, sleeping. Studying for so long you end up looking like your boyfriend of eight years just broke up with you. Come on, princess. Where’s those brains you brag about?”

“They’re up here,” You tap your forehead. Against your will, your eyes burn, tears welling up, your face tightening. “And they’re tired.”

You drop your head into your hands, forgoing your silent crying of earlier in the place of open mouth sobbing. You can’t help it. You’re just so tired. So done with it all. With trying to keep up, with trying to make space, with trying to make time. With doing your best and it not being enough. You’re tired of being tired.

“Annnd there it is. Come here.”

He lowers himself to the floor next to you, tucking you close in a similar fashion as that night at the party.

“Come on, same thing as before. Hold onto me. Give yourself a minute.”

You wrap your arms around his middle, same way as last time, burying your face into his shoulder. Someone could see. Someone you know might see you crying and think—

He reaches a hand up and pulls the hood of your sweatshirt over your head.

“There. Now no one can see your face. Stop worrying. Just cry, princess.”

You sniffle. “I’m getting snot on your sweatshirt.”

“It’s had worse on it.”

“Gross.”

You can practically feel the eye roll. “Can you stop being dirty-minded and focus on something productive? Like crying? Or not crying, if that would make you feel better.”

You shift, so your head is lying against his shoulder instead of smashed into it like before.

“Why do you care if I feel better?”

Why do you care?

He shrugs against you.

“Told you,” He pushes your hood back a bit, tapping you on the forehead with his pointer finger. “My competition’s no fun if she’s not taking care of herself. How else is she gonna kick my ass?”

“I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need you to swoop in here, Leon.”

“Mhm,” He says. “And i’m sure you do great at it, considering you’re still alive and kicking my ass at those stupid socratic seminars. Consider this… self-care. In the face mask, getting your nails done way.”

“Who taught you self care?”

“Ada. We have face mask nights.”

You jolt up. “Is she—“

“She’s not my girlfriend, we’re not fucking, no she’s not going to be upset or care in any way about this. Calm down.”

You begrudgingly settle back against him.

“If anything,” He continues. “She’ll be excited to see you at more parties in the coming months.”

You frown. “I never said—“

“You only go to parties if your friends physically drag you or when you feel confident enough in your grades and the general state of your life. It’s really easy to tell which version of you shows up to the party. It’s the way you dress.”

“How so?”

He shifts slightly. Guilt twinges in your stomach as you realize how uncomfortable he must be.

“You wear your pick-me-up pants when you’re dragged there. The ones that make your ass look great.”

You sit up with a gasp. “My hot pants?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that what you call them?”

Your brain catches up to the rest of what he said. “Hold on. Did you just say—“

“I said what I said. I’m assuming there’s a reason you call them your hot pants.”

He smirks, and you flush.

“Moving onto more pressing matters,” He tilts his head at you. “You have two options this evening. Either I take you back to your place and you sleep in your own bed, or you come to my place and we binge watch the Oceans movies until you fall asleep.”

“How did you know I like the—“

“The icebreaker for club thing. You said they were your favorite movies.”

You look up at him. “You remembered?”

“You were wearing your hot jeans.”

“You’re the worst.”

He scans your face for a moment, eyes sparking with mirth and a little something less innocent. “Maybe.”

You sigh and lean back against him, exhaustion from all your crying hitting you at once.

“Nuh-uh, no sleeping here. You gotta pick one. My place or yours?”

You frown into his shoulder. “Ugh. Fine. Yours, but only because I wanna watch the Ocean’s movies. You better not have a disgusting frat house.”

“I do not. I do have popcorn and ice cream.”

“Ada bought those, didn’t she?”

“Nope,” He says, nudging you with his shoulder to stand. You clamber in gracefully to your feet, your head starting to pound. “Chris likes to have movie nights. It pays to be well stocked.”

Your cheeks warm as a large, steadying hand finds its way to the small of your back. “How many of my friends are you friends with?”

“I was friends with them first.”

“Ass.”

He chuckles incredulously. “For having friends?”

“Yes,” You say, letting him pull you to his side while you walk to your table where you left your stuff. Probably not the best idea to leave your entire net-worth unattended, but whatever. You were going through it. “How dare you.”

“Mmm. I see. My apologies, princess. I’ll tell Chris and Ada.”

“You get on that.”

You can’t help but smile as he helps you pack up your things, passing you items across the table and carefully zipping up your pencil case.

“Don’t touch my papers, I have a system.”

“Is the system absolute chaos?”

“Shut up.”

Once everything is packed up, you zip up your backpack, but before you can sling it on, Leon’s arm darts out and snags it right out from under you.

Your expression grows pinched. “I can carry my own bag, Leon.”

“I know you can.”

“Give me my bag.”

“No.”

You groan. “Why do you want to carry my bag?”

“See, there’s this thing called chivalry—“

“Oh my god, shut up. When have you and chivalry ever been synonymous?”

He shrugs. “Ever since I met the girl in the hot jeans who regularly kicks my ass academically.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Mmm,” He hums, wrapping an arm around your waist and walking you towards the doors to the library. “And you’re stubborn. Come on. Brad Pitt and George Clooney are waiting for you.”

You sigh dramatically, hiding a small smile in your hand.

Maybe you could get used to this.

masterlist | next part

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

[heisenbergs-magnetic-dick]

whenever I need motivation for anything I look at this photo

[ficfield]

Jealousy on the Rocks 

Request: can i request going to a club or a bar with chris as friends but some guys (or even their ex idk) starts to hit on reader and chris get absolutely pissed (bc hes jealous obv) so he decides to do something about it?? call me unoriginal but i like it when my mans a lil possessive ykyk

Chris Redfield x Reader Word count: 570

You hadn’t seen Chris unwind in… well, maybe ever. So when he actually agreed to a night out, real drinks, real music, no tactical gear, you pounced on the opportunity.

The bar was dimly lit, pulsing with deep bass and low amber lights. People moved like shadows, laughter spilling like whiskey across the floor. You were dressed just a little nicer than usual, a smirk playing on your lips as you leaned toward Chris. 

“You’re actually having fun,” you teased over the rim of your glass.

Chris chuckled, low and soft, a hand gripping his glass of bourbon. “Don’t get used to it.” 

You grinned. “Too late.” 

Somewhere between the second drink and the third, Chris got up to grab another round, and you were left nursing your cocktail near the bar. That’s when they showed up. 

Two guys, one confident, one clearly riding on the other’s energy, sidled up next to you. Typical bar types. One had a grin that tried too hard.

“Hey there,” the bold one said, leaning a little too close. “Haven’t seen you around before.” 

You gave a polite smile. “I’m here with someone.” 

“Doesn’t look like it.” His eyes scanned your frame a little too long. “That guy in the black shirt? Pretty sure he’s just your body guard.”

“That’s Chris,” you said, and your tone hinted at warning. 

The guy didn’t take it. “Then he won’t mind if I buy you a drink, right?”

You were about to reply when a shadow fell across the guys shoulder, and Chris was right there. glasses in hand, jaw tight, eyes blazing. You’d seen him pissed before, in combat, on missions, but this was different. 

“She said she’s with me,” Chris said, voice low and sharp, like a blade sliding from it’s sheath. 

The guy turned, clearly sizing Chris up, and regretting it instantly. Chris didn’t need to flex. His presence was the flex. 

“Hey man, chill, we’re just talking-“ 

Chris stepping in closer, shoulders squared. “I wasn’t asking. Move along.” 

The two guys slunk away, muttering under their breath, and Chris turned back to you with a storm still in his eyes. he set your drink down and leaned in, closer then he had all night. 

“You okay?” he asked, eyes flicking over you, checking. Protecting.

“Yeah,” you said, heartbeat not entirely from the encounter. “Didn’t know you could get that territorial.” 

He let out a breath, trying for calm but his voice was gravel. “They shouldn’t be touching what’s not theirs.”

You blinked. “What’s not theirs?”

Chris met your gaze, eyes dark under the club lights. “You heard me.”

For a beat, the music faded, the crowd dulled, and it was just you and him, close, warm, the air charged.

“You’re just my friend,” you said, softly. Testing.

His jaw clenched. “Maybe I don’t want to be just that anymore.”

Your breath caught. This wasn’t the whiskey. This was him. Real, raw, and standing right in front of you like a storm ready to be weathered.

So you leaned in, fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt, and whispered, “Took you long enough.”

He grinned, wide and crooked, like he’d just won a battle he never admitted he was fighting.

And when his arm slid around your waist, holding you just a little closer than necessary, you let him.

Because maybe, just maybe… you liked it when your man was a little possessive too.

[odabuddha]

biblically accurate treat for wesker

[letjonstewartsayfuck]

what is resident evil even about