Chris Redfield Would Fight My Dad For Me - Tumblr Posts

Warnings: Mentions of abuse (not specified), drug use (not specified), mental breakdown

Summary: This is a vent of mine. Chris Redfield finds you high in the shower after not speaking to him for a couple days. He thought you were done with drugs, but discovers you got high because you were having trouble with your PTSD and abusive father. He then helps you feel better.

Viewer discrestion is advised. Take care of yourselves.

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Chris moved up to the door. You hadn't been answering his texts or calls for days. That never meant anything good. Fiddling with his key ring for the spare key you gave him for emergencies, he noted to take off the keys he didn't need anymore once he left your place.

Finally finding the right one, he jammed it in the lock and unceremoniously shoved his way into your apartment. The lights were off, but he could hear a shower going in your bathroom. He took a quick peek at your current living space. Things were everywhere, the sink was crowded with dirty dishes, he guessed it had been like this for a little bit.

"(Y/n)?" He called out. "Hey, it's Chris. You uh, you didn't answer any of my texts or calls and I was getting worried."

No response. The shower continued. Growing suspicious, he made his way to the shower. He knocked once, twice, thrice, and right when he was about to knock a fourth time, your raspy voice sounded quietly through the door.

"Come in."

He did, and saw your curtains open. You were fully clothed but drenched head to toe. You looked tired, your lips were chapped, and your skin was pale.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" He reached over and turned off the water.

"No, turn it back on...my fucking..." You trailed off.

"Come on, let's go." He bent over and slung one limp arm over his shoulders before hauling you up and out of the tub. "What the hell were you doing?"

"Bad trip...thought...cold shower would help." Your head slumped, and when Chris tried to stand you up, your face just smashed into his chest.

Chris sighed. "Lets get you dried off, yeah? What even prompted you to get high? I thought you quit that."

"I did...but my fucking...my fucking dad came by..."

Chris knew that was the culprit. Your abusive father. Nodding, he helped you into your room, picked some oversized clothing for you to throw on (that absolutely weren't his) before handing you a towel. Nothing needed to be said, Chris knew well enough by now.

After changing into dry clothing and drying yourself off the best you could with a towel and high off your ass, you tried to stumble into the living room. More lights were on and it was fucking with your vision. Chris was putting some of your dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

"Oh no, no, don't do that...I can..."

"It's fine, you go sit down." Chris turned and gave you a charming smile over his shoulder.

You hesitated. Chris clicked his tongue. "Want company?"

You hesitantly nodded, not entirely sure. If you started having flashbacks again, you didn't want to get violent with your only source of comfort. But, before you could finish your thought process, Chris had abandoned the sink and guided you to your couch.

"Cuddle or no?"

"..." It suddenly hurt to speak.

Chris waited patiently for you to speak, or give him a hand signal. When you tapped his shoulder, he nodded. You just wanted to sit shoulder to shoulder. Chris patiently waited for you to talk, or not. He would wait for you forever if that's what you needed. He'll sit here as you begin to breakdown and cry, all of your worries and PTSD-ridden thoughts come spilling out. Chris listens, and listens, and listens. He doesn't say a single word. He just slowly begins to envelope you in a hug, giving you plenty of time to back out if you wanted to.

When his arms finally cage you in, you feel your tears begin to stop. You aren't close to calming down, but it definitely feels better like this. When you're done, Chris gives you a moment to see if you have anything else to say. When you're silent, he only says a sentence.

"I'm here, I've got you."

And do you feel damn safe in those fucking arms.