#꒰͡₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ chris redfield ily !!

[leonsbunny]

No Alarms And No Surprises ( Please ) ♡

( Re8!retired!Chris Redfield x GN!reader || retiring is harder than he thought ♡ retired!married!au , some angst w/ comfort ofc ♡ mentions of minor injuries/guns but nothing too graphic )

Chris flinched slightly as you dab ointment onto his palms. Instinctively, he puts his thumb in his mouth after you put ointment on it. He spits, gags a bit at the sterile taste of ointment on his thumb. His face sours at the taste. He had no idea why he did that or why he decided grabbing flowers from a nearby bush was a good idea before coming home.

Cute idea, bad execution. At least he tried. It's the thought that counts, right?

You sigh softly, holding the back of his hand in yours as you watch his whole ordeal unfold right in front of you. “My god Chris- be careful next time- don't put your thumb in your mouth-” you cut him off before he tries putting his thumb in his mouth again to sooth the cuts on the pad of his thumb. He freezes in place, stiffening up like a statue in his seat.

“Sorry…” He says in a low voice, apologizing for no reason at all. It wasn't his fault, in your eyes. In his eyes, it was his fault. For making you worry. Worrying for the worrywart didn't suit you. Doesn't suit you, at least in his eyes.

His eyes fall onto the bouquet of flowers on your coffee table, hastily put together with a somewhat rushed muted pink bow tying the whole thing together. He did what he could to make them look pretty. Chris wasn't the best at tying bows. Or putting together bouquets. He wasn't made for this type of life. At least, that's what he thought.

Domestic life didn't suit him, he told himself. He stares down at his hands, all cut up with a somewhat shiny sheen from the ointment you put on them. Cut up from picking flowers, not from fighting. Not from using guns.

“I just thought it'd be nice if I brought home flowers for you - I didn't know they had thorns, okay?” He says, looking over at your worried face. Seeing you looked so concerned for him hurt more than the palms of his hands. Stung more than the feeling of thorns pricking his skin.

“Still.” You get up from the floor, sitting next to him on the couch. His hands rest in yours, his much larger hands face up towards the ceiling. Yours support his, underneath the warmth of his hands was yours. Under his calloused palms were your soft ones.

“You still should be careful.” You look up at him, eyes filled with worry for your husband. “I'd rather you come home empty handed than with cut-up hands and roses for me, Chris.” You glance down at his hands, frowning softly. He didn't like seeing you like this either.

“I'm sorry.” He frowns, repeating his words from earlier in a more soft tone.

Domestic life was scarier to him, scarier than the things he's seen on the field. The warm feeling in his chest scared him, and it felt like something was blooming in his heart the more he looked at you. This feeling of comfort was foreign, a feeling that he didn't think he deserved.

Retiring was scary. He didn't know what to expect now. Everything was calmer. Softer. That scared him.

“You don't have to apologize.” You lean closer to him, lowering your head to look directly at him. The way your eyes softened on him made him feel something he couldn't really put into words. Safe? Loved? You made Chris feel a lot of things.

“I know but-” Chris cuts himself off, thinking it'd be for the best if he just shut himself up. “Flowers or not, I'll still love you.” You lean in for a kiss, softly pressing your lips against his cheek. “You don't need flowers to win me over again and again, you know that? I'll love you no matter what.” your words make him smile to himself, stupidly feeling your kiss linger on his cheek.

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