captaincredfield

[captaincredfield]

Light in Death.

Chris Redfield x afab!reader.

In the wake of Jill's death, Chris seeks comfort.

Minors DNI! 18+, GIF not mine, credit to the owner.

Warnings: Death, swearing, established connection (not a relationship), illusions to smut, no use on Y/N, use of she and her, brief description of sex.

Word Count: 1984.

The kitchen was dim, bathed in the soft glow of a single light above the sink. Chris stepped into the space, his footsteps almost soundless, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. He was wearing only sweatpants and a tank top, his broad frame hunched in exhaustion, his eyes clouded with grief.

She sat on the counter, her legs dangling lazily, her oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder. She wasn’t asleep—neither was he. The silence between them spoke volumes, both of them caught in the turmoil of their own thoughts.

Chris stopped in the doorway, his gaze catching hers. “Can’t sleep,” he muttered, his voice rough, as though it had been worn thin from the weight of too many nights just like this one.

Her eyes softened as she watched him, knowing all too well the torment he was hiding behind his stoic expression. “Me neither,” she replied quietly, her tone calm but laced with an understanding only they shared.

For a moment, neither spoke. The grief, the loss of Jill—it hung between them, unsaid but understood. Chris stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. When he reached the counter, he stopped, towering over her, his body radiating tension.

“Chris,” she said, her voice softer now, almost a plea. “You didn’t fail her.” He shook his head, a grim look crossing his features. “It never feels like enough,” he muttered, the pain too raw to hide. He clenched his fists at his sides, staring down at her. “It never will.”

Her heart ached at his words. She wanted to say more, but she could feel the weight of it all in his eyes. Instead, she remained silent, watching him, waiting. There was something else between them, something unspoken—a bond forged from years of shared missions, loss, and survival. It was a bond that could never be fully understood by anyone else. And right now, it felt like all she could offer him was the silence that allowed him to feel whatever he needed to feel.

Chris moved closer, caging her in against the counter. His hands planted on either side of her, leaning in just enough to trap her in the space between his arms. As his body neared hers, his dog tags swung gently from his neck, catching the dim light. His eyes fluttered slightly at the soft touch of her hand resting on his chest. It was the first time tonight he'd felt something other than grief.

She didn’t flinch or try to pull away. They were too familiar with each other for that. Her fingers grazed over his dog tags, her thumb brushing the raised metal of his name, a small, intimate gesture that made Chris’s breath hitch for a second. His eyes searched hers, as if looking for an answer to a question he couldn’t quite voice. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms.

She hesitated for only a moment before wrapping her arms around him, her cheek pressed against his chest. She could feel the weight of his sorrow, the way his body tensed with every breath. She stayed quiet, holding him, letting him know he wasn’t alone. In this moment, it was all they had—just the shared comfort of each other’s presence.

She tightened her thighs around Chris's sides, her body pulling him closer, as if she could somehow hold him together. Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers threading into the nape of his hair, keeping him anchored to her. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t just physical; it was the kind of quiet connection that spoke volumes, one built from years of shared pain and understanding.

Chris inhaled deeply, his chest rising against hers, trying to steady the turmoil brewing just beneath the surface. His hands rested on her back, but the way he held her was fragile, as if one wrong move would shatter him entirely. His heart was a storm, grief and guilt threatening to drown him.

Her voice cut through the haze, soft but firm, like a tether pulling him back from the edge. "She’d be proud of you, Chris."

The words landed like a weight on his chest, something deeper than just a comfort—they were a reminder, a raw truth that pierced through his defence. He closed his eyes for a moment, his breath hitching as the emotion he’d been holding back threatened to flood him. His entire body tensed, the fight to stay composed becoming harder with each passing second.

Chris clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on her just a little, as if holding onto her was the only thing keeping him from unravelling completely. "I don’t know if I can…" he whispered, the words barely escaping, his voice thick with restraint. But he didn’t pull away. He stayed there, pressed against her, fighting to keep himself from breaking, knowing that in this moment, he didn’t have to be strong. Not for her.

The kitchen was swallowed by the dead of night. The only sound was the steady breath of two people tangled in the quiet, each lost in their own thoughts. The dim light from the overhead bulb flickered faintly, casting shadows that stretched long and uneven across the floor, just as the weight of grief stretched heavy between them.

Her thighs tightened around Chris’s sides once more, pulling him closer, as if she could hold him together just by being there. Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers buried in the soft, ribbed fabric of his tank top, holding him as if the world outside no longer existed. His chest rose and fell against hers, but it wasn’t steady—there was something wild, something fragile beneath his calm exterior, and she felt it in every breath he took.

He didn’t say anything. His hands found her exposed thigh, rough and urgent, his fingers flexing into the soft flesh as though he were trying to ground himself in the moment. The pressure of his touch was almost too much, but it was also everything he needed. His breath hitched as he felt the kiss she pressed against the bare skin of his shoulder. It was a soft, fleeting touch, but it was enough to bring him to the edge.

His hand flexed on her thigh, and for a moment, she felt the tremor in his body. He wasn’t hiding it anymore—he couldn’t. His lips brushed her ear, his voice thick with restraint. “I can’t… not tonight…” The words were barely a whisper, the vulnerability in his voice raw, as if he was finally letting go of the last thread holding him together.

Her grip on him tightened, and the silence between them was charged with a kind of darkness neither of them could outrun. Her thumb traced the line of his dog tags, and she kissed him again, softer this time, against his neck. It wasn’t an answer, not really—it was just her way of letting him know that in this moment, he didn’t have to be strong. He could break, and she would stay.

The tension in Chris’s body flickered like a live wire, his breath shallow as his hand flexed on her thigh once more. His gaze dropped to her, eyes heavy with a mixture of grief and something else—something darker that had been growing between them for too long. He didn't pull away; instead, his fingers dug deeper into her skin, as if trying to anchor himself to the only thing that felt real right now.

The connection between them was raw, untamed, and there was no space left for anything but what they were in this moment. It was just the two of them—no one else. The world outside didn’t matter. The ghosts of the past didn't matter. Only the fire between them, the crackling heat of grief and something unspoken, but undeniable.

“Don’t…” His voice broke for just a second, his forehead pressing against hers. “Don’t leave me broken like this.”

She didn’t need to say anything. She didn’t need to fix him, didn’t need to promise him anything. Instead, she held him tighter, clinging to him in the darkness, both of them tangled in the unspoken understanding that in the dead of the night, this was all they had.

Chris’s hands gripped her with urgency, pulling her closer. The grief, the loss, the suffocating weight of everything he'd been holding in—he couldn’t keep it together any longer. His best friend was gone, and all he wanted was to feel something real again.

Her legs tightened around his waist, and he didn’t pull away. There was no hesitation this time. His grip on her shifted from careful to possessive, his fingers flexing against her skin as if she could somehow ground him in this chaos.

"Fuck it," he muttered under his breath, the words raw, desperate. His mouth found hers, crashing into her lips with a hunger that had been building for too long. It wasn’t gentle. It was a desperate, need-driven kiss that left no space between them. His hands roamed over her body, pulling her even closer, feeling the heat of her against him.

There was no tenderness now, just the heat of urgency, of two people clinging to each other in the midst of their shared pain. His fingers dug into her thighs, his breath ragged as he pressed against her, needing her like he needed air. In that moment, there was nothing else. Just the two of them, bound by a raw, undeniable connection. And in the silence of the kitchen, they drowned out everything else.

Chris’s hands were on her once more, lifting her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he moved through the dark hallways. The quiet of the base felt deafening, but in his arms, everything else faded. The weight of the world, the loss of his best friend—it didn’t matter now. All that mattered was her. The warmth of her body against his, the way she clung to him as if she could give him something to hold onto in this storm of grief.

He reached his room in a blur of motion, the door crashing open as he carried her to the bed, his hands trembling with urgency. She was everything to him, in this moment and every other. He needed her. He needed to feel alive again, to feel connected to something that made him forget the hollow ache that death had left inside him.

As he hovered above her, their bodies pressing together, Chris could barely think straight. His lips found hers, the kiss deep and desperate, a frantic release of everything he had been holding back. His hands roamed over her, needing to feel her skin, her warmth, as if she could heal the raw wound in his heart.

He took her then, the passion between them intense, a shared need that burned through the quiet of the room. His hands flexed against her, his breath coming in short, jagged gasps as they moved together, lost in each other. In the throes of it all, in the overwhelming tide of need and raw emotion, Chris’s voice broke free, his words hoarse with feeling.

“You are my light when death follows everywhere I go,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear as they moved together. The words were an echo of everything he felt—the way she was his anchor, his solace, the only light in a world that had been swallowed by darkness.

She responded with a kiss, deep and gentle, holding onto him like she would never let go. In that moment, he felt like he wasn’t alone. In the space between them, in the shared intensity of the passion, they were both clinging to the same fragile hope.