#Chris is a babe

[piersandchrisswife]

Fun fair date - Vendetta Chris Redfield x f!reader Chapter 2 P4

Last part finally! tumblr is stupid for the word count fr

Genre: Smut with fluff

Warnings: Masturbation, mentions of orgasm, Smut with fluff, oral(f), mention of genitals,

Word count: Approx 4k

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,

You nodded a little too enthusiastically, before he gave a quick grin, shrugging his boxers off and pressing you hot and heavy against your slit. Gosh. He always felt so good, thick and wide in girth. He grinded his length up and down you, your slick coating both you and him fully. “Chris…. enough with the teasing,” you moaned, before he flashed a wolf-like grin and roughly pressed himself in you. A gasp left your swollen pink lips, as he slowly bottomed out inside of you, resting his forehead against yours. “I-...” you struggled to accommodate his length, his largeness stretching your walls in the best possible way. He patiently paused for a moment, allowing you the time you needed, as he brushed the hair from your eyes and kissed you tenderly. You tasted yourself on his lips, blush deepening, making your skin hotter than it already was. Squeezing your eyes shut, you focused on how he felt in you, breathing in deeply through your nose. Despite the numerous times, he felt so large and overpowering inside. Finally, you squeezed his waist to signal him to move, and like the good boy he was, he began to thrust slow and deep in you. You rolled your eyes in ecstasy immediately. He hit the perfect spots in you with ease, his hands on your lips strong enough to leave a mark, providing enough pain to pleasure, his pelvic bone grinding into your clit like the perfect puzzle. “Ah Chris just like that..” Your cries spurred him on, his thrusts became increasingly harder, more forceful. The strength behind his thrusts caused the bed to creak loudly, you having to grasp the sheets below you to stay grounded. “You always take it well, don’t you Mrs Redfield?” He growled, his soft grunts morphing into moans of his own as he felt you flutter and pulse, orgasming for the second time that night. Your hips jerked automatically at the pet name, hot pleasure washing down your spine wonderfully. He grew more erratic with his pace, you tightening around him sending his brain haywire. Setting his sweaty forehead into yours, he gazed into your eyes, full of love and warmth.

You heard him grunt low, giving one hard thrust before he stilled, clawing at your hand before kissing the band on your finger as he rode out his orgasm. You clenched your muscles subconsciously as you felt his warmth coat you, as he gulped hard, his Adam's apple bobbing down. Burying his nose into your hair, he sighed contentedly, as your fingernails traced the tan muscle on his back. Both of you tried to calm your racing hearts down, him softly rubbing your hand, the other resting on your thigh. You felt a glow lay over you, completed by the soft light of your bedroom. The smell of the sweet rose petals hung beautifully in the air, the breaths of you and your lover filling up the silence. 

“I can’t wait to ruin you on our honeymoon,” he grinned, huffing a hot breath in your ear. “You won’t be able to move your legs for a week.” Pinching his ear, you replied, “We have all the time in the world handsome.” A moment washed over both of you as you enjoyed each other's presence, him growing soft within you. At last, he pulled out slowly, the sound of wetness making you blush. You draped a hand over your eyes, mind still hazy and ears still ringing, as you heard him tinker somewhere far away. You suddenly felt a rough fabric upon you, and you quickly jerked your eyes to see him attempting to clean you up, cloth scratching roughly on your already sensitive skin. “Need a drink?” Chris asked, already wearing his boxers. You shook your head gently, heart warming at his concern for you. “I’ve drawn a bath, I used the favourite rose flavour you like.” He gave you an angelic smile, as if you two didn't already participate in promiscuous activities mere minutes ago. “Flavour?” you teased, voice slightly raspy from your endless moaning. “Thank you, Chris."

He carried you carefully, as you opened your eyes briefly at the fluorescent light of the small bathroom. ‘He went a little overboard with the bubbles’ you smiled to yourself, knowing how big of a secret fan he was, despite never admitting the fact no matter how many times you brought it up. “This temperature ok?” You dipped your toe in the warm, white froth, before flashing a thumbs up. He carefully lowered you in the water, the warmth immediately relaxing your bones and sending you in a hazy after-glow. You closed your eyes contentally, before hearing a slosh and a familiar body lay behind yours. As you snuggled up to his chest, you felt fine bristles massage your scalp. Chris had gotten hold of a hairbrush and was now smoothing out knots in your hair, his hands carding through your locks gently. You sighed, and felt a happy peace wash over you. 

[sturnioloho]

babe

[redz0nez9]

CHRIS STURNIOLO PT 24.. Not ppl already shipping quen and Chris??

[buckets-and-trees]

All the Pieces Fall

Title: All the Pieces Fall Characters/Pairings: female!reader x BABE OF YOUR CHOICE Word Count: 3.1k Summary: After leaving the man you adored to chase your dreams, you're faced with the nightmare of bumping into him again when you least expect it.

Content/Warnings: exes to lovers; explicit smut: oral (female receiving), vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex; use of pet name (sweetheart); fluff

Author Note: A little something for @stargazingfangirl18 for her birthday/birthday bonenanza. I couldn't decide which babe to write for you for your birthday, so take a deep breath, close your eyes, make a wish while you blow out your birthday candles, and pick whoever you want! Exes to lovers, a few of your dialogue prompts (bolded/italicized), and a kink or two from your prompt list...

Additional Note: I'm also submitting this for the @bucks-and-noble Choose Your Babe challenge. I gave this babe blue eyes, but that's it.

You felt someone’s eyes on you before you turned around.

When you did turn only to discover they were his eyes, your stomach dropped while your heart shot into your throat.

Him.

Why did it have to be him?

He nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face.

All flights were grounded with the torrential rains, so there were hundreds of passengers stranded just like you, but of all the days and all the destinations, to be stranded during a layover in Dallas with your ex was the last thing you wanted.

As you walked away from the booking counter and the tall, handsome man who occasionally still haunted your dreams approached you, you reminded your body that you did not crave his touch anymore. You were well past that.

Your heart did not stutter when he uttered your name in greeting.

(It did.)

But you managed to give him a convincingly strong hello in return, and his smile grew and warmed.

“Your flight delayed until tomorrow now, too?” he asked.

“Yes,” you sighed.

“Do you have a place to stay yet?”

“No.” You frowned. It had been in the back of your mind, but the first concern had been getting confirmation on when you could fly out.

“I own a hotel nearby. Let me put you up for the night – I won’t take no for an answer.”

There was a tiny part of you that wanted to say no, aware of the slippery slope of entering his orbit again. But after hours of being delayed already, you were tired. Not having to worry about something you were sure was going to be a nightmare to arrange with so many other passengers stranded was an offer you didn’t want to refuse.

“Thank you, that’s an incredibly generous offer.”

He shook his head with a slight chuckle. “It’s really not. It’s entirely selfish.”

He took a half step closer to you.

The proximity forced you to have to raise your chin to look into his eyes.

“I knew I couldn’t chase after you when you left, but I was sure one day our paths would cross again. Now I have one night either to get closure or to convince you to come back to me.”

You opened your mouth, but didn’t know what to say.

He traced the line of your jaw with his finger, then nudged your chin, closing your mouth.

“Let’s go,” he said.

With a single nod, he turned, another man approached and took your bag for you, and you hurried along to fall into step with him.

You knew your ex had done well in the years you had been apart. It had been hard to ignore him in the news as his company grew and expanded, brought other companies under its umbrella, built a new headquarters in another city on the other side of the country, and on and on.

He only touched you to put his hand at the small of your back when he opened the door of a sleek, black SUV, waiting at the curb outside the terminal of the airport. He walked around the back and sat on the other side.

He engaged you effortlessly in small talk from the airport to the hotel.

He swept you away to have dinner with him the moment the two of you arrived.

He easily convinced you to stay for dessert after the exquisite dinner the two of your shared.

The evening was too easy, the conversation too effortless.

At least on the surface.

You enjoyed every moment, and yet you itched for him to touch you, to look at you in the piercing way he used to, to ask for an explanation as to why you’d cut and run.

But he didn’t.

And he had been content to keep talking until you finally had to try and stifle a yawn. Only then did he suggest it was time to retire.

As the two of you left the restaurant, a concierge approached and handed two small keycard envelopes to him. He nodded and thanked his staff and led you to the bank of elevators.

He looked in each envelope, then handed one to you. There was a soothing ding, and one of the elevators opened for the two of you.

He pressed two buttons – one for your floor, and one for the top floor.

The two of you rode up in silence. You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve.

When the lift stopped at your floor – only two below his – you started to step out, saying, “Well-”

But he cut you off, grabbing your wrist, and putting his other hand out to hold the elevator doors open. “Stay with me tonight.”

You looked at where he held your wrist in time to see as his hand slid down to hold your hand instead. Then he lifted your hand to his lips. Tentatively, eyes locked on yours, he kissed it softly. The friendliness that had shone through his face all evening was gone, replaced with an intense hunger.

You stepped back into the elevator, closer to him than before.

The elevator doors slid closed behind you.

You took a deep, steadying breath, then said. “I’m sure you could talk me into saying ‘yes’ to whatever you want.”

His eyes darkened, and he licked his lips.

Moments later when the lift opened to the top floor, he led you by the hand quickly and quietly down the hallway to the penthouse suite.

The moment you were inside, he closed the door, and pressed you up against it, crashing his lips to yours in a searing kiss.

You responded instantly, muscle memory taking over as your hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands. His lips were just as you remembered - warm, demanding, intoxicating. The familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you, and he pressed closer, one hand cupping your face while the other gripped your waist. A soft moan escaped you as his tongue swept across your bottom lip, seeking entrance. You granted it willingly, melting into him as the kiss deepened.

Suddenly, reality came crashing back. You broke away, putting a hand on his chest, breathless, your head spinning. "Wait," you gasped. "We shouldn't..."

He rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You bit your lip, looking straight into his eyes again. You could feel the ache for him in your bones as much as you could feel your heaving chests pressed against each other in that moment.

“But why?” you had to ask, even though you could only manage a whisper.

He took a step back, his hands sliding down to gently grasp yours. His eyes never left yours as he spoke, his voice soft but filled with emotion.

"Why? Because from the moment I first saw you, you've been etched into my soul. Every day we spent together only confirmed it. When you left, it felt like you took a piece of me with you. I tried to fill that void with work, with success, but nothing could replace you.

“After a while, it hurt less, but I could still feel the lack. I've replayed every moment we shared, wondering what I could have done differently. I've imagined a thousand scenarios where you stayed, where we built a life together.”

You had replayed and imagined different scenarios, too. No one had ever matched him and the place he had inhabited in your heart.

“But I don’t think a life together is lost for us either,” he said, bringing his hand back to cup your cheek.

“But don’t you want to know why I left?”

“I know why you left.”

You frowned. “Then why didn’t you come after me?”

“Because I know why you left. You wanted more and you were worried if you stayed you wouldn’t find it.”

Tears welled in your eyes, because it was true. He was growing and changing, moving forward. Your friends at the time had been getting married and having babies. You wanted that, too, but at the time you felt like everyone was leaving you behind. And so you’d left instead of being left behind.

“I’ve followed you following your dreams. If I get one night with you now and still have to wait for forever later, I’ll do it. You’re the only one I want.”

“Even after all this time?”

“Has there been anyone else for you?”

“No,” you confessed.

“There couldn’t be for me, either,” he said fervently.

You surged forward and kissed him. “I want more than only one night,” you rushed between eager kisses.

He smiled against your lips, his hands sliding down to your hips. "All my nights belong to you," he murmured, pulling you closer.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt as he trailed kisses along your jaw. The familiar yet electrifying sensation of his lips on your skin sent shivers down your spine. You gasped as he found the sensitive spot just below your ear, the one he always knew drove you wild.

"I've missed you," he breathed, his voice husky with desire. "Every inch of you."

You managed to push his shirt off his shoulders, running your hands over his toned chest. He was still as fit as you remembered, perhaps even more so. Your touch seemed to ignite something within him, and suddenly you were being lifted, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

He carried you to the bedroom, laying you gently on the plush king-sized bed. The city lights twinkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft glow across the room. He hovered above you, his eyes roaming your face as if committing every detail to memory.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone or anything else.”

In response, you pulled him down for another passionate kiss. Your hands explored the planes of his back as he settled between your legs, the weight of him both familiar and thrilling. He broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck, his fingers working deftly to unbutton your blouse, his lips lavishing heated attention to each inch of skin as it was revealed. He was committed to relearning your body with reverent touches and tender kisses, but you could feel the frenzy building. You arched into him, desperate for more contact, more friction, impatient and needing him. Both of you broke apart to finish tearing off your remaining clothes, and then your came back together. Your name fell from his lips like a prayer as he began to worship your body. His lips never left your skin, whispering words of adoration between heated kisses. Your fingers dug into his back, urging him closer, desperate to erase any remaining distance between you.

Finally, his lips found the soaked slit of you, and you keened and arched beneath him. He chuckled and put an arm firmly over your hips to keep you pinned for him.

His tongue teased along your folds, building the ache within you to a fever pitch. You writhed against his hold, desperate for more. When he finally slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, you cried out in ecstasy. He worked you expertly, his mouth and fingers in perfect synchronization, quickly pushing you to the edge.

"Let go for me, sweetheart," he murmured against your skin. "I want to taste you."

His words, combined with a particularly skillful flick of his tongue, sent you careening over the edge. You came with a cry of his name, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you. He didn't let up, working you through your orgasm until you were a quivering mess beneath him.

As you came down from your high, he kissed his way back up your body, settling between your thighs. You could feel his hardness pressing against you, and you ached to have him inside you. Your hands roamed his back, pulling him closer as you nipped at his earlobe.

"Please," you whispered, your voice husky with need. "I want you."

He groaned, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he slowly pushed into you. You both gasped at the sensation, the familiar yet electrifying feeling of being joined again after so long apart. He stilled for a moment, his forehead resting against yours, both of you savoring the connection.

"You feel like home," he murmured, his eyes locked on yours.

Slowly, he began to move, setting a languid pace that had you arching beneath him, desperate for more. Your legs wrapped around his waist, urging him deeper with each thrust. The room filled with the sounds of your mingled gasps and moans.

His pace quickened, driven by your encouraging moans and the way your nails raked down his back. You met him thrust for thrust, your bodies finding that perfect rhythm you'd always shared. His lips found yours again, swallowing your moans as he drove you closer to the edge. The tension built between you, a coiling spring of pleasure winding tighter and tighter.

"God, I've missed this," he groaned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Missed you. So much."

You could only whimper in response, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through your body. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire, sparks of pleasure shooting through you with each movement. You were close, so close, teetering on the edge of oblivion.

He seemed to sense it, one hand sliding between your bodies to find that sensitive bundle of nerves. His fingers worked in tight circles, perfectly in sync with his thrusts, until you cried out in ecstasy beneath him, body contracting with your climax. He pulled out and flipped you over onto your stomach.

You gasped as he entered you again from behind in one smooth thrust, his chest pressed against your back. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close as he set a frantic pace. The new angle had you seeing stars, each thrust hitting that perfect spot deep inside you.

"You're mine," he growled in your ear, his voice rough with passion. "Say it."

"Yours," you moaned, pliant and helpless beneath him. "I'm yours."

His left hand found your left hand, and his fingers tangled with yours into the sheets he drove into you relentlessly. You could feel another orgasm building, your oversensitive body trembling with each powerful thrust. This angle, how deep he could hit inside of you, was always your undoing. His breath was hot against your neck as he peppered kisses along your shoulder.

"Come for me again, sweetheart," he demanded, his right hand sliding down to where you were joined. "One more time."

It was all you needed to fall over one final ledge. His thrusts became erratic as your walls squeezed around his throbbing cock, and then he shouted as he released deep inside of you. He collapsed on top of you, and you welcomed the heavy weight of him. You reached back and threaded your fingers through his hair, humming in contentment, his half-hard cock still inside you.

Finally, he rolled to the side, pulling you with him so you were nestled against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound in the room was your gradually slowing breaths and the distant hum of the city outside. You traced lazy patterns on his chest, relishing the familiar warmth of his skin.

"I can't believe this is real," you murmured, still feeling dazed from the intensity of your reunion.

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I've dreamed of this moment for so long," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You propped yourself up on an elbow, looking into his eyes. The vulnerability you saw there made your heart ache. "I'm sorry I left," you whispered, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips. "I was scared and foolish."

He caught your hand and pressed a kiss into your palm. “You might have been scared, but you weren’t foolish. It hurt like hell to let you go, and the only thing that kept me sane was the belief that it wouldn’t hurt so much if I didn’t love you more than anything else in this world.”

Your breath caught in your chest.

“I never stopped loving you. I didn’t get to ask you then, so I’m asking you now: marry me.”

You laughed nervously. “That’s not a question.”

“So?”

“We live on different sides of the country!”

“Are you making excuses because you’re nervous or because you want to say no?”

You bit your lip.

This seemed impossible, and yet how easy had it been to slip into simply being with him again? From the hours of easy conversation earlier in the evening to the intensity of both the physical and emotional intimacy between you, nothing had been forced, it only felt like using muscles that hadn’t been tested in a while but were still there.

“I was actually heading back home for a final interview.”

“Home as in…?”

“As in our home. I didn’t know if I’d take the job, I was worried about seeing you again.”

“And now?”

“Now when they ask me if I’m serious about considering a relocation across the country, I can say I’m highly motivated so I can be in the same city as my fiancé.”

His eyes lit up with a mixture of joy and disbelief. "Is that a yes?”

You nodded, a smile spreading across your face. "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you."

He pulled you close, capturing your lips in a kiss that was equal parts tender and passionate. When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless and grinning.

"I can't believe this is happening," you murmured, tracing the lines of his face with your fingertips.

He caught your hand and pressed a kiss to your ring finger. "Believe it. I'm never letting you go again."

You snuggled closer to him, relishing the warmth of his body against yours. "So, what now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He chuckled softly. "Sleep. Then breakfast and more sex, probably not in that order. Catch our flight, then ring shopping before dinner. Figure out the rest after that?”

You nodded. “Together,” you said.

“Together,” he echoed before kissing you again.

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

This is maybe the fluffiest smut I've written in a while, and it was absolutely not what I was planning on when I woke up today, so... make of that what you will. I'm really nervous to post it, and when I never designated a specific babe I really don't know how this got up over 3k, but HERE WE ARE!

[mrtramplebone]

Resident Evil beach card

[piersandchrisswife]

Fun fair date - Vendetta Chris Redfield x f!reader Chapter 2 P1

Happy holidays guys!! Quick note - I had to split this into chapters because I wrote too much lol. Enjoy! We all need a Chris in our sad lonely lives

Genre: Smut with fluff

Warnings: Masturbation, mentions of orgasm, Smut with fluff, oral(f), mention of genitals,

Word count: Approx 4k

Read chapter 1 here

“Hop on princess.” He outstretched a hand to you, already sat and buckled up on his motorcycle. Gushing from the pet name with a shy smile, you grasped his warm hand as leverage, and seated yourself upon the cool surface of the vehicle behind Chris. You both couldn’t get out of the fair fast enough, the giggles overflowing from you, the excitement exploding in Chris’s chest.  The velvet sky strangely seemed more brighter, the air felt electric, the stars seemed to glow more the moment you accepted Chris’s promise. Heart drumming beneath your breastbone, you buried your face into his cold leather jacket, relishing the way he felt underneath your arms as you embraced him. Leaning into him fully, he looked back briefly, and once satisfied with your safety, he shifted gears with a flick of his wrist and drove off. Closing your eyes, you focused on the sharp wind combing your locks, the purr of the engine, his strong forearms navigating the bike with precision. The streetlights played a rhythm you sensed on your closed eyelids, the thrill of danger seeping into your muscles. The cool band on your ring finger burned with a new furiosity against your skin. This was real. He wanted to, no was going to marry you. You tried to hide the wide grin seeping onto your face, you couldn't help it. You were so happy.  

The purr of the engine faded away, and you opened your eyes expectant to see the apartment building you both shared. You blinked a couple of times. “Hey, where are we?” Foliage seemed to cover most of the area, the darkness of the night contributing little. Tall willow trees grew erratically, wild plants and flowers seemed to form a never-ending jungle. If you were alone, you would have definitely been terrified. Chris hastily flicked off the engine, and with a swing of his leg stood upright. He helped you up, and grasped the bike before walking in a particular destination, bike trailing along. “You’ll see, you always ask too many questions” he smiled cheekily before disappearing into the trees. You scurried after him, anxious in case you lost him. Your heart lurched with every slight snap of the branches beneath your feet, you hurrying behind Chris, with no idea what he was up to. ‘I suppose it wouldn't be the first time he's surprised me today,’ you thought to yourself, both excited and slightly nervous from the situation. ‘Do we have to get murdered today? Was kind of hoping I could at least get to the honeymoon part,” you attempted a feeble joke, the humour alleviating little of your anxiety. No response from Chris. Irritation mixed with nerves gnawed at your stomach, your eyes shot to every small sound the forest made, every whisper heard. The branches grew thicker and thicker, roots erupting thickly from the ground left you cautious with every step you took. Large tree trunks made you weave to and fro, occasionally grasping at the threads on your clothes. The air was thick with silence, a slight sweat beaded at your forehead. A chill seeped through your bones, goosebumps arising on your skin. Chris - that jerk. Did he have a death wish?

“Chris Redfield I swear if you dont te-” you barely finished your sentence before you let out a hushed gasp. The city skyline below you shone with a thousand lights, winking and beaming brightly as you overlooked the horizon. Endless street lights glowed warmly, skyscrapers towered over the landscape, lights in the windows forming stripes of yellow light. The city seemed so small from your altitude, yet large and alive. ‘Its.. “ you murmured, eyes taking in the beautiful scene that dazzled before you. Chris leaned on the metal railing, bike now on its stand. He leaned on his elbows, a wistful smile gracing his lips. “I used to come here alone a lot after missions, it cleared my head. I haven't been back since I first met you though” he paused, the cool breeze fluttering through his locks. You joined him against the railing as he placed a cigarette between his lips and fumbled for a lighter. “Why not?” you breathed, observing the way the lighter flame flickered in his irises. He chuckled, pearly teeth flashing at you. “You damn well know why.” You bit your lip, lips curling into a smile, knowing how difficult it was for him to express his feelings into words. “I want to hear it though,” you whispered, placing a hand on his forearm. He took a long drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing briefly before letting a grey cloud form indistinguishable shapes around you. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, as he tried to put the evident emotion that was churning within him into comprehensible sentences. At last, he shrugged his shoulders, the scent of tobacco that lingered on him growing stronger. “Your presence always calmed me. The pain always stops when I'm with you.” He turned his gaze towards the horizon, the same lights flickering in his cerulean ones. You bit your lip hard, heart aching from his words. You hadn't ever felt like this, ever heard those sincere words from a lover before you met Chris. And the way he loved you back, fully, without hesitation. Tears threatened to fall from your eyes, a shard ebbed in your throat. You rested your head against his silently, and he wasted no time embracing you next to his side, his broad, muscular frame comforting you in the best way imaginable. ‘Thank you for showing me this place,’ you choked back a sob. “I know it means so much to you Chris, thank you.” He paused for a moment, before turning his head briefly in your direction. “Y’know you gotta stop saying thank you so much, it's me who should be saying that line” he punctuated his sentence with a squeeze of your waist. You yelped playfully, suddenly drawn out from your soppy emotions. Laughing with him, you turned towards him as he pulled you in by the waist and kissed you fully on the mouth. His lips softly pressed against yours, warm and wet. He stroked your back, rubbing soothing circles as you responded to his ministrations, rubbing his broad chest in tandem. His kisses always felt like your first, heating up your insides, never failing to make the blood pump in your ears. You relished the way his stubble felt underneath your fingertips, the way your chest was snug with his, feeling his large palms on the expanse of your back. You sighed contently, your hum reverberating within Chris’s chest like a symphony. He embraced you tightly, passion running strongly through his whole body.

Eager to feel more of you, he took a step forward, trapping you between him and the metal railing, the rail digging uncomfortably in your back. You let a quiet gasp, the slight pain setting your heart alight. He took advantage of the situation and slipped his tongue into yours, his warm muscle softly massaging the inside of your mouth. His strong thigh positioned between your legs provided you the pressure you needed; but it wasn't barely enough. Your high whine echoed in the air, your arms circling him before sliding up his jacket, his back muscles rippling against your skin, even through the shirt he wore. You were painfully aware of the burn in your lungs from the lack of oxygen, and reluctantly pulled back as Chris subconsciously followed your lips, desperate to always feel you. He nipped on your lips, his long digits pressing hard into the sides of your waist. The familiar fire in your belly that was simmering the whole night ignited and burst within you, and suddenly you were extremely aware of the heartbeat that was throbbing strongly between your thighs. He squeezed your hips roughly and you slipped out a moan, him groaning low. “Let's.. let's go back,” you stuttered as he began peppering kisses along your jaw, behind your ear and working your way down. The coolness of the night was hardly felt as you felt colour rise to your cheeks, your legs feeling like jelly as he began sucking on a particular sensitive spot on the crook of your neck. In fear of falling you grasped his biceps strongly, afraid you would collapse right then and there. “Don't tease me” you huffed at his lack of response, the bastard. He nipped your skin lightly and leaned back, lips curling into a smug smile. “Why not?” Suddenly, he hooked his arms around your thighs and your body reacted automatically, wrapping your legs around his waist. You excitedly grinned as he led you to his motorcycle, before seating himself with ease on the vehicle. Your back was now against the dashboard, the different buttons and gears pressing against you, uncomfortable behind your back. You quizzically raised an eyebrow, ‘weren't we going home?’ you thought to yourself, not the first time amused, but confused at his actions tonight. Chris simply flicked on the engine, the motorbike purring to life. You rested your legs down from his waist by straddling the motorcycle, the hard leather press-oh. The vibrations from the purr of the engine combined with the stiff leather beneath you shot straight up through your core. You widened your eyes at the realisation, and bit your lip hard to ground yourself. The glimmer sparkling in Chris’s eye told you he already knew exactly what your mind was thinking. Both hands of his thumbed at your hip bones, kneading the skin with his fingertips. He leaned in, breath hot against your ear, stubble scratching your cheek deliciously. “Move for me doll,” the sudden gravel in his voice pulsed violently between your legs. You wasted no time grabbing him around his neck and grinding your hips in small circles, the engine vibrations deliciously hot against you. Chris quietly moaned, dragging his nose from the crook of your jaw over to the pulse of your neck, eyes closed and inhaling your scent deeply. He rolled his fingers back and forth over your hips, the friction of his fingertips feeling electric, your heartbeat throbbing loudly in your chest. You whined, the pleasure slowly building up wave after wave, the tension in your core steadily growing tighter.

Part 2

[lover-of-mine]

[venus1702]

good luck, babe!

sorry if it’s messier than usual my ibis paint wouldn’t work if I used more than two layers

[ornithorynquerouge]

Raquel Welch by Chris von Wangenheim

[chrissdollie]

playing mario kart with chris and he accuses you of cheating every time 🤣

"MOTHERFUCKER HOW??" "bruh how'd i get seventh-- you're a cheater!" "the hacking is crazy." and ur like wtf

[foolsworldsblog]

[scarefox]

no wait that is the wrong drama 😭😂

[regalevansworth]

HIS HAIR🥹🤌

[piersandchrisswife]

Fun fair date - Vendetta Chris Redfield x f!reader Chapter 2 P2

Next part :)

Genre: Smut with fluff

Warnings: Masturbation, mentions of orgasm, Smut with fluff, oral(f), mention of genitals,

Word count: Approx 4k

Part 1

He observed you carefully, committing the erotic scene before him into memory. Your natural sweet scent sent his brain into overdrive, your face twisted in angelic pleasure against the stars of skyscrapers behind you was a scene he never wanted to forget. He let out a deep sigh harmonised with your mewls, and could tell by the high pitched tension in your voice you were reaching your limit. Suddenly, in a second, he flicked off the engine, you rapidly opening your eyes at the sudden change beneath you. “Wha..?’’ you mumbled, brain foggy to comprehend the situation. You peered at him, the horizon behind you painting planets in his eyes. “I can’t watch this any longer,’ he groaned. “I'm taking you home right now.”

Chris’ hands fumbled with the keys, eager to open the damn door. You peppered his face, his neck, anything you could reach with kisses, running his hands along his back eager to feel his hardened muscles on your skin. The journey to the apartment was a painful one, you already sensitive from Chris’ ministrations had you gritting your teeth painfully, the engine beneath you teasing you maliciously. You squeezed your thighs strongly to relieve some of the ache that had now throbbed into pain, and at last the door flew open before you two. He wasted no time grasping you in and flinging the door shut, slamming your back against the door before wrapping your legs around his waist. He moaned lowly, running a hot tongue along your bottom lip before entering your mouth, yourself reciprocating with the same desire. You were grinding your hips into him, hot pleasure building up within you, blue fire beneath your skin. Your fingers thumbed the shell of his ear, drawing him as close as you possibly could, eager to feel him so close to you. Beginning to grow extremely impatient, you wiggled your legs, desiring for him at this point to take you to the nearest hard surface as quickly as possible. He smiled under your lips, his own curling deviously, before making his way to the bedroom, you both continuing to kiss each other passionately. He kicked the door open with his foot before flinging you onto the bed, you bouncing a brief moment in shock. As you watched him grow closer to you, you noticed the new electric candles dotted around the room. Observing closer, you lay in a bed of rose petals, the soft candlelight glow of the room reflecting the delicate pink flowers. Chris smiled at your realisation, and you barely had time to comment on his romantic gesture before he was on you again, leaned over the bed on your lips, one hand resting next to your head for support. He toyed with your waist with the other free hand, trailing up to your right breast before squeezing it lovingly, a sigh cooing from your lips at the action. You felt him trail lower and lower, before he dragged you to the edge of the bed, him on his knees on the floor. He stared lovingly up at you, resting his head on your left thigh. You bashfully looked at him, cheeks flushing from his tender gaze. Words were caught in your throat; after all the years of dating he still reduced you to an embarrassing puddle of a school girl. He placed a kiss on your thigh before unbuckling your jeans and helped you slide them off,  leaving a trail of peppered kisses as your skin unfurled before him like a delicious treat. Left in your underwear, you suddenly became painfully aware of the slick that now accumulated heavily between your thighs. Heart racing, you felt his soft lips nibble at your ankle, before alternating between both legs, leaving a particularly long bite behind your knee. You bit your lip and watched your lover with heavy eyes, his thick, dark eyelashes fluttering close as he lovingly lavished your soft skin. He slowly inched forward where you desperately needed him most, his hot breath sending a delightful shiver through your spine. He bit the inside of your thigh hard enough to bruise, tongue rolling over the fat between his teeth. Your eyes rolled back in pleasure, one hand gripping his chestnut locks to calm yourself. Your breath hitched as he leaned down and pressed his lips through the thin fabric of your panties, his lips warm against your core, his short stubble scratching your skin in a heavenly way. You whimpered, too far gone to be able to beg him what you desperately needed from him all night. He chuckled, canines glistening in the soft glow of the room, before hooking his teeth through the elastic band of your underwear and dragging it slowly off you. Before throwing it over his shoulder, he spared a glance at the cloth, and looked back at you, eyes darkening. You gulped, cheeks blushing furiously.

Part 3

[filmyocean]

Eddie: Buck, you sold me out behind my back

Buck: No! It’s just that sometimes you can get a little intense. And I feel like I need to swoop in to let Chris know he’s still loved

Eddie: I could kick you

[paganminiskirt]

haii gooseberry number one fan here. whats yr thoughts on phylis ... i lov lov lov yr posts abt picking apart coyles character and lore hehe

“You're too delicate! You're too precious! You can't go!”

Well first of all, I love that she’s fat, in part because you can bet your ass that if she wasn’t, she’d be overeroticized and made the object of those shallow copy-pasted “awoooooooga step on me mommy” screeds that fandom regurgitates to avoid having to put coherent thought into female characters. Much like queerness and the role it plays in Coyle’s storyline, fat characters that are conceptualized to act as fonts of horror have traditionally reinforced fatphobic social norms. And because of the gory, grotesque conventions of horror as a genre, these cases are often distinctly more damaging and offensive than, say, a fatphobic character in a sitcom. (You can read more about this topic here and here.)

The voice acting carries all of her appearances, too. Her now infamous cocaine song is the first example to come to mind; that overwrought, wavering tone she adopts makes it sound like she’s always on the brink of breaking down entirely. The sustained anxiety created a harsh juxtaposition between her tone and the lewd lines share’s parroting (“fucking and fighting.”) The quote that I highlighted at the top of the post also shines. Gooseberry’s great vocal performance is cool not least of all because the last major fat antagonist in the series, Chris Walker, didn’t get a lot of lines. I’m midway through replaying the first Outlast, and I think the game treats Chris Walker with a lot more pathos and significance than many games treat fat characters of his kind, although that assessment falls apart once you get to The Murkoff Account.

Chris is the main villain of Outlast. He’s portrayed as brutal but also competent and deliberately ruthless, which implies that he’s capable of complex thought in spite of the dehumanization he endured as a variant. The contradiction there underscores the game’s main theme & the overarching tragedy and atrocity of Mount Massive. In the end, Chris is brutally murdered on screen, and you could argue that the imagery incorporated in his death scene - that of expanding and blowing up - has fatphobic undertones. But unlike Rick Traeger and Eddie Gluskin, who meet similarly grizzly fates, the audience surrogate Miles directly suggests that the viewer should sympathize with Chris after his death. Somehow, Chris emerges as the least monstrous of the three, no matter how much abuse was piled onto his body and mind, and no matter what crimes he committed under that duress. Overall, Outlast presents him as a relevant, memorable, and fully autonomous character. Not bad, for a game that came out while The Biggest Loser was still airing on NBC.

But the comics have a lot less time to develop Chris than the game did. In The Murkoff Account, his main purpose is to act as a human example of broader institutional cruelty, much like Billy Hope did in Outlast. That position naturally invites the audience to view Chris as victimized and, to an extent, sympathetic, but his only notable characteristic outside of that victimization is a childish inability to control his aggression or prevent himself from being bullied. Those two details seem to form a paradox, right? Chris is a former military police officer, he brags about knowing judo, he should be able to get his coworkers to shut up and stop making fun of him. But he lacks the drive, conviction and strength of will necessary to do that. He’s basically a big baby, characterization which is reinforced by the comics’ art style.

Compared to the thin characters, Chris isn’t allowed to act with nearly as much autonomy as he did in the game. What happens to him in the comics could happen to anyone, and the only distinctions relevant to him as a person are crass stereotypes revolving around his body. The cost of expanding on the game’s lore was that the main villain got whittled down to the latent antifat tropes which had always lingered just below the surface - Chris doesn’t get to be a mad doctor like Trager or an abhorrent admirer like Gluskin. Instead, he’s the stout strength trope, he’s the fat idiot trope, and he expands on the pig imagery. Not great times.

And Gooseberry was probably influenced by Chris. Dhe’s fat, she’s strong, she’s associated with an animal, and to an extent, she’s infantile! Although I think that her characterization as hysterical and not fully in control of herself is less a manifestation of fatphobia, as it was with Chris, and more a direct allusion to antiquated perceptions of mentally ill women. “Goose” is itself old-world slang for a silly or witless person. If one thing has emerged from my thoughts on Coyle, it would be that the writers of Trials are a lot more conscientious of social perceptions and stereotyping than the writers of Outlast were. It’s natural for a series that’s been going on for this long to begin to develop redundancy, but Trials’ 1950s setting and new game mechanics help gloss over that. Phyllis’ asserted sexual relationships with in-game characters struck me as unnecessary, but fat women (like dark skin women) are often depicted as masculine and drained of eroticism, so. You win some, you lose some.

You can read Gooseberry as a sort of a combination between Chris and Eddie, with her body and maturity interconnected to present her as disturbingly naive and immature in contrast with the great violence she enacts. This is a concept also explored with Eddie Gluskin: his hand-wringing need to preserve his would-be victim’s “chastity” becomes bizarre and unsettling when pushed up against the graphic, vindictive misogyny. Similarly, one reason the chases with Chris are so unbearably scary is because the sound of his clinking chains gets louder and louder as he gains on you, but he also does this laborious breathing when he runs which emphasizes his weight. When Phyllis chases you, you hear Futterman’s drill and the sound of her mindless shrieking - it’s terrifying in a way that doesn’t incorporate her fatness into the fear factor. Love that. The same unfortunately can’t be said for her implied DID, a demonization which is unfortunately very common, very old and very damaging all at once. (You can read more about that here, and in tons of other places.)

Michel Foucault used a two-pronged framework to examine popular narratives about The Plague and pandemics in general. Within this framework, there is one “political” story model which is defined by a controlling environment and another “literary” dimension which is defined by a collectivized, frenzied environment was first conceived. Perhaps because Outlast: Trials was developed amidst a pandemic, I think Foucault’s framework translates nicely to examining Trials’ narrative about the cold war and the red scare. Some common themes include mass hysteria, xenophobia, heightened interpersonal suspicion and a seemingly unprecedented increase in government control.

On the surface, Coyle would represent the “political” dimension of Trials’ horror, acting as an exaggerated, kinda ridiculous extension of the extreme social control that white supremacy & patriarchy enforce. Within this dichotomy, Gooseberry would represent the “literary” dimension of the game’s horror, acting as a chaotic dissolver of all social barriers rather than an enforcer of them and creating a frenzied, carnival-like effect within anyone who comes under her spell. The children who watched her old show and took to violence and drug consumption come to mind; regardless of background, parenting or culture, Phyllis changed them. She didn’t even have to see them in person. She did it over the TV.

Gooseberry [hosted] a children's variety show known as 'The Mother Gooseberry Hour” [produced by Futterland Studios] which started airing in 1951. Following Dr. Futterman's death, the cause of which is still unknown, she had a hysterical episode and began experiencing dissociation. The tone of the Mother Gooseberry Hour shifted accordingly. Throughout her tenure on the show, she used her television platform and mail-order "dental drops" business to get children addicted to narcotics, violence, theft, and possibly murder. Over the years, the children watching her show became cult-like, engaging in immoral behavior, drug use, and other shenanigans, leading to larceny and assault. In 1955, Futterland Studios was raided by the police, after which she was charged with racketeering, kidnapping, and conspiracy to commit murder. The raid left two police officers dead and five others injured, as she escaped into the tunnels beneath the set to attack them with drills. It is unclear exactly what was inside Futterland Studios, but police captain Stanley Hoad described the contents of the studios as "The most grotesque architectural perversion since H.H. Holmes’ Chicago Murder Castle.”

Trials is the first Outlast game to allow us to have character customization, and unlike the previous protagonists (who both get stand out from the other characters by being in some way Special within the setting,) the Reagents are intended to act as an endless supply of nameless, faceless grunts, the vast majority of which will die gruesome deaths during the guinea pig stage. In this game, we play as the people who would’ve been those nameless, faceless heads we see on the shelves in Outlast, or hanging from a tree branch in Outlast 2. The game’s customization elements are justified in-universe by the notion that they’re so addled that they can’t even establish a stable perception of their own features: an example of the collectivizing, depersonalizing nature of the literary dimension if I’ve ever seen one. As the popularity of the customizable character feature ebbs and flows, other franchises pull it out just out of laziness in the creative department. With that in mind, I’m really glad Trials did something cool and innovative with the concept instead of just dumping in RPG elements for no reason.

Phyllis’ multiple personas mimic the changeable qualities of the Reagents themselves, though they’re grounded in her stated backstory: there is the doll, the dead abuser, and there is her, the child-turned-woman reenacting that trauma seemingly without fully grasping what’s doing. We’re left with this character who’s genuineness we’re always unsure about, in hard contrast to Coyle’s blunt, undisguised self-servingness and complete lack of conscious guile or shame. The first time the player gets up close with Phyllis will be in the kill animation, where she nods at the puppet she thinks is her father before slaughtering you unceremoniously. Who can say for sure, if Phyllis is more malicious or misguided? Not us, not the other Reagents, not Murkoff, and least of all herself. I’m glad she was included.