Pls could u do the RE men confessing their feelings to reader 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
YESYESYESYESYES!
Dearest pookie reader, you are clearly so beautiful and spectacular because you’ve got 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, EIGHT Resident Evil men all tryna ask you out (9 if you’re including me, even though I'm not a man, or from Resident Evil...teehee!).
Real question though, who will you choose? And nobody says you can’t have more than one ;)
Characters: Chris Redfield, The Merchant, Leon Kennedy, Jack Krauser, Piers Nivans, Luis Serra, Jake Muller, Carlos Oliveira
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How the RE Men Confess
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Chris Redfield
He’s a confident man, so asking you out is no grave task…is what Chris originally had thought.
It was a late shift the two of you shared, waiting on the next pair of BSAA members to fill your positions. You had less than an hour left on the clock.
You and Chris had been engaging in lively conversation, spending little time actually monitoring the cameras in the surveillance room you were in. But when 45 minutes started counting down till the end of the shift, Chris began to develop a heavy weight in his chest. Was the room always this hot?
“All tuckered out from talking, huh?” You tease when Chris suddenly takes interest in watching an empty parking garage through the tiny monitor.
“No, no, just double checking the cameras,” he’d choke out, his throat dry despite his constant swallowing.
“Mhm,” you’d hum, walking close beside him, the side of your body gently brushing up against his. He’s completely frozen, totally paralyzed at the sensation. You look at the monitor screen.
“Wow, quite action packed,” you say sarcastically at the static video recording, which took great resemblance to a still image at this point.
Chris slowly turned his head to yours, your faces fractions apart. He can’t help but dart his eyes to and from your lips.
He’s growing more and more weary with each passing minute.
What if you didn’t like him? If he were only a friend to you? Would he ruin the relationship you have now? What if-
“Chris?” You ask, breaking the silence. He snaps his gaze to your eyes—he’d been ogling your lips this whole time.
“Sorry-” He’d cough out, but it was quickly followed by a long, heavy sigh.
“Listen,” he’d start, “I just- uh- wanted to share with you that I think you’re really… great. Nobody kicks ass like you do.” Chris let out a soft laugh. “I promise I’m not trying to be weird looking at you- I mean, you have a way of making me nervous sometimes.”
He’s speaking more slowly now: “If you get my drift, I’d really like to take you out. You know, spend some time together outside of this military environment.”
The room fell silent after his confession, the only sound being the gentle hum from the surveillance footage before you.
Confidence sparks in your heart, giving you the courage to lean in and close the distance between you and him.
Your lips brush against his. It was so delicate that you couldn’t decide if it had really happened or not.
“Now…if you get my drift,” you say jokingly, “that’s me accepting your offer.”
The rest of your shift flew by quickly, and you and Chris were a little more distracted than before.
If anyone wanted to steal BSAA intel and get away with it, tonight was the night.
The Merchant
Trophies, trinkets, oddities—it’s a love language to him.
After you accepted one of his more outlandish offerings (that being a small collection of jarred bones), he became addicted to the reaction you had to each of his presented gifts.
“Not so much of a stranger anymore, hah!” He’d rasp out each time you passed each other in what you presumed to be some desolate corner of the Earth.
In truth, he started looking for you, tracing your steps so he could provide for you, whether that be guns or snakes, on every mountain top, island, riverbed, or range.
Your current meeting place, Valdelobos Island, was indifferent to you from the rest of your encounters; for him, the weight was a little more evident in his chest.
“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, partner,” he’d chime out innocently to you, but deceitfulness rendered itself conspicuously in his tone.
“Mm, sure…” You respond to him, smiling slyly at the cloaked man before you.
Unbeknownst to you, a warm blush plagues his cheeks, his ears rosy under his hood. Even with all his quick remarks and snarky comebacks, for the first time, his throat feels dry.
Just looking at you and the way you marvel at his supplies makes him feel worthy, as if he has a newfound duty to be ready for your every need.
“You know,” he squeaks out before aggressively clearing his throat (which is a first), “I think I might have something special ya might like.” You raise an eyebrow at him.
Shuffling beneath the counter, he pulls out an ornate locket, the engravings prominent yet delicate in the metal. Clearly, it was from before your time.
“It’s beautiful,” you say slowly, eyeing the jewelry before you. “I could only hope you don’t have a little stash you give to everyone who passes you.”
“Ha! I’ve got myself a stash, not of repeats, no, but beautiful imperfections all reserved for important clientele.” He’s speaking quickly, his gravelly voice almost making his words intelligible.
“Really? How many important clients have you got all the way out here?” You cheekily question him.
“Just you, darling.”
Leon Kennedy
Because of all the places you could possibly be to confess feelings of love and admiration, the best is one that is obscure, isolated, and completely uncharted.
Here you are, smack-dab in the middle of nowhere on a mission, accompanied by Leon Kennedy himself.
You took a wrong turn four wrong turns ago, and now the two of you are spending the night in a makeshift shelter, huddled together by a small fire. How romantic!
Leon preoccupied himself with rotating the firewood, working to keep the surroundings warm. In truth, it was an effort to keep himself busy, not letting his mouth get a chance to say something he’d regret. He wanted to express his feelings to you over dinner, adorned with pretty flowers and a classic one-liner or two. This situation was far from ideal.
“You got that log already, Leon,” you say, smiling, interrupting his stream of thought.
“Oh, right,” he’d mumble awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck just to give his hands something to do. He’d find his place next to you, keeping a slight distance before sitting down.
“Not how I wanted to spend my Saturday night,” you admit. “It’ll be love at first sight when I see the chopper in the morning.”
“Yeah…love at first sight,” Leon echoed dryly. His remark would’ve gone unnoticed had he not flicked his gaze from your eyes down to his boots in such a hurry. You raise an eyebrow at his sudden shift in character.
“Right…well, at least I got company—although a little less beer than usual.” You shoot Leon a half smile. “How’d you spend your night, hmm? Tell me your perfect Saturday evening.”
Leon looked forward out into the night, pondering on his answer for a moment.
“I’d be at home,” he started, “there’d be a nice home cooked meal. Not like this preserved shit we’ve been eating.” You painfully agree with his last statement.
“And…” Leon trailed on, “maybe I’d have a…friend over. Someone that didn’t drain you. Makes you feel good, you know.” You only nodded in response this time. Leon moved his eyes back onto yours.
“It’s almost rare to find people like that today, someone reliable. It’s hard always having to look out for people. I- I just want someone to look out for me, too.” Leon’s eyes briefly widened at his own disclosure, suddenly embarrassed by how much he had shared.
“Not to delve into fantasy,” he’d mutter out in a sad attempt to redeem himself. The sound of your laughter broke the tension in the air.
“What’s wrong with fantasy? Seems to me you’re describing your perfect person, not a Saturday night,” you say teasingly.
“...It’s just that it’s really not fantasy,” Leon whispered under his breath, his voice almost unintelligible against the crackle of the wood. His eyes met yours again, the heat from the fire seeming much stronger than before. A silent moment passed between you.
“Tell me how you’ll spend your night tomorrow, Leon,” you ask calmly, the orange light glowing against your skin.
“At home… with a home cooked meal…and you by my side.”
And with that, the distance between you and Leon had closed.
You decided this was the ideal Saturday night, the absence of beer a little less important now.
Jack Krauser
Let’s be clear: the words “I like you, so let’s go out,” NEVER leave his mouth, let alone form a coherent thought in his thick head. He’s a man of action, after all. More ‘do’, less ‘talk’.
So, when he looks like he’s straining whilst walking you home, he literally is. Working hard to keep those ‘impudent’ thoughts at bay…but it’s really difficult when your hand keeps brushing his. Your skin is so soft compared to his own.
The walk is quiet, as it usually is with Krauser.
Reaching your porch, you fiddle with your key to unlock the front door. Typically, Krauser makes his leave at this time, his manly duty satisfied once he delivers you home safe. But he lingers a little longer tonight. He’s in conflict with himself.
Pushing the door open, you turn around, almost surprised to still see him looming behind you. His frame is so large that the porch light doesn’t reach the entirety of his body, leaving his face dark in the night. He’s unreadable.
“You need to take a piss or something?” You ask him, opening your door wider so as to invite him in.
“No.” Krauser confirms, his voice stoic, almost defensive.
“Okay…? I’ll see you tomorrow then, good night, honey.”
‘Honey,’ you say to him, your voice so velvety, so utterly smooth that Krauser finally gives in. He’s weak for you, the only kryptonite against his constant bravado. For once, he lets his thoughts take over—he likes you, he needs you. No man or woman can experience the name ‘honey’; he's already decided it was exclusive.
As you step into your house, Krauser’s quick to grab your wrist. He spins you around, pulling you close against his chest. Looking down on you, his face holds a plethora of emotions. He was actually blushing, softly pink around the ears.
You could only peer back up at him, completely paralyzed by his sudden—what could only be considered—affection.
Krauser leans in, his lips slightly parting as they brush against yours. His scars are textured against your skin, leaving you breathless.
The kiss was over as quickly as it had started. Krauser leaned back, but his fingers remained clasped around your wrist.
“Take that as you will,” he orders you, the flush in his face no longer apparent. “I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow night, wear that outfit from the gala.”
Dumbfounded, you only nod at him as you watch him disappear into the night.
Piers Nivans
The whole confession is planned out…excessively.
Different pathways of possible outcomes leading to the construction of several mental flowcharts (daring to manifest materially with pen and paper) have led Piers to become obsessed with a perfect execution.
In reality, it’s anything but perfect to him (you think otherwise, of course)
Walking along the lake’s shore, Piers becomes noticeably quiet.
Unbeknownst to you, he’s doing a final insurance check on which route to take to formally ask you out while appropriately expressing his feelings to you wholeheartedly.
“You still with me, Piers…?” You’d ask him as he stares off into the distance.
His first fumble.
Collecting himself, he’s already pink around the ears before verbalizing his internal dialogue.
“Actually, I’d like to share something with you…” He says awkwardly. He could’ve sworn his throat wasn’t this dry a moment ago, but that was before your eyes met his.
Bye-bye flowchart; his mind is blank.
You wait patiently for him to say something, smiling at the anticipation, but the longer he stands in silence, gawking at you, the more you can’t help but laugh.
“Mhm, anytime Piers,” you remind him, letting him know that time was still passing despite it being frozen for him.
“Sorry-! I just- well…” He’s tripping over his words, finding it increasingly difficult to look back at you, your eyes the most beautiful thing to him.
With a heavy sigh, he gives up any chance of bravado and openly shares his feelings with you: “Sorry, I just…you’re really good at making me nervous, ya know?” He’s smiling from ear to ear, but his gaze has fallen onto his boots. “You’re such an amazing person; you don’t need me to tell you that. But spending time with you puts me at a loss for words. I’d really like to properly take you out sometime…on a- a date…only if you’re interested!- of course…”
You gently take his hand, which finally brings his eyes to meet yours. His face is flushed rosy, his eyes peering into you intensely as he awaits your answer.
“Yeah,” you say earnestly, “I’d really like that, Piers.”
Relief washes across his body, the tension in his shoulders fleeting from him almost immediately.
You continue your walk around the lake, hand-in-hand now, his thumb tracing circles across the back of your hand the entire time.
Luis Serra
This man is undoubtedly the biggest romantic in the Resident Evil universe, a true beacon to the people of the world… (and a true loss)
It doesn’t take a blatant confession for you to understand he has intentions to progress your friendship into something more; he’s holding your hand, brushing stray hairs from your face, all while serenading you with flowery language meddled with Spanish mumbles. You aren’t even dating yet!
Your evening with Luis is nothing out of the ordinary; spending time at an elegant restaurant (at which he always covers the bill), eating high-quality dishes that almost transcend your taste buds into another dimension.
But the best part of the meal is always the Spaniard before you, constantly slipping flirtatious remarks between your bites.
“Try a piece of this, Muñeca,” he’d purr to you, holding out his fork to you. He’d watch you the entire time, completely enchanted by your beauty; his lips naturally curl upwards into a smile at the sight.
“Do you always stare at people this way?” You question him, propping your chin on your hand.
“Aye, just the beautiful ones,” he’d try to charm back to you.
“Mmm, so ‘beautiful ones,’ plural,” you’d tease. For once, Luis was caught in his response, suddenly nervous about what he should say next. A soft blush seeped through his skin, his cheeks growing hot to the touch. You had his heart in your hand, and you were playing with it. Luis lets out a soft laugh.
“Well, cariño, I do see you in every state, perhaps that makes it plural.” It’s his cheesy attempt at redemption, and you can’t help but laugh.
“I didn’t think I was that different each time we got together,” you’d say to him, raising an eyebrow.
“No…” Luis paused, “...everytime we're apart I cannot bring my mind to capture you, so perfectly crafted as you are in flesh. Each time I see you, I must take in everything before you depart again. To that, the cheap image I have of you is new each time, I can never perfect you.”
You were honestly at a loss for words. Despite his usual, flirtatious demeanour, the sudden vulnerability Luis expressed gave you butterflies in your stomach.
Luis reached out for your hand, gently taking it in his: “But, you know, if you were to stay with me, I’d never have to rely on any cheap image in my head again, cariño.”
“Mm, then I’ll stay,” you coo to him.
And so plural became one, for Luis only has eyes for you.
Jake Muller
You’re spending your weekly Friday night with Jake, sitting on a rundown couch in his shed whilst he works on putting pieces of metal back into his bike.
Flipping through your playlists, you shift between Alice in Chains and Aerosmith, Whitechapel to…ABBA?
“Jesus, you’re the world’s most indecisive DJ,” Jake calls out from behind the motorcycle.
“Oh yeah? You wanna come out here and grace us with your musical taste or keep fingering those scraps? You got your tetanus shot, right?” You’re too amused by your own punchline to notice Jake throw himself on the couch beside you, the sudden shift in weight causing you to sink at his side.
Draping his arm around you, he snakes your phone from out of your hand, taking control of your playlists now.
“So, you mean to tell me you’ve had Acid Bath in here all along, yet you refused to play it?” Jake questions you, his arm still over your shoulders.
“And you mean to tell me you’re not a Dancing Queen?” You ask innocently, your laughter threatening to release itself again.
“Although you’re more Mr. Clean than any Queen I know,” you say, gliding your hand over his buzzcut. You start to imitate the sound of squeaking glass, sending yourself into a spiral from your own comedy show.
“You want an award for that?” Jake says sarcastically, before running his hands through your hair.
“You could give me some of this, ya know?” Jake says, entertaining your joke, “Real fucking selfish to let a ‘bald’ man like me suffer—my head’s cold.”
You go to open your mouth, ready with a witty comeback, when the mood instantly shifts. Jake’s hand was no longer traversing your locks but found itself moving down across your face. His expression was drained of any humour, his eyes locked onto yours.
You could’ve sworn his scent became palpable, the subtle hints of pine and sap emanating from his body. Your mind went quiet, void of any remarks it previously held just moments ago.
“...You know there’s a reason why I keep inviting you back here…and it’s not for your shitty DJ work,” Jake says. Looking back in his eyes, their blue hue bore a certain kind of lust that filled your senses.
“You gonna tell or are we playing the guessing game,” you respond to him, provoking his confidence. Jake only smiled in response, the curl of his lips excited by your challenge.
Cupping his other hand to your face, he moved his lips closer to yours. “You…me… we can do this forever,” he whispers against your jaw.
“Mm, my very own Mr. Clean…”
And so goes the story as to how Jake Muller adopted his newest, undying nickname—as well as the start of your love story, of course!
Carlos Oliveira
The two of you have already spent several weekends in a row embarking on random side quests; from exploring abandoned malls to finding that weird vendor only located at one specific street corner, you’ve done it all—together.
It wasn’t long before Carlos started looking at you a little longer, noticing the things that made you laugh, or the journeys you enjoyed less than others (he’ll be sure to cross those out on his to-do list crafted just for you).
On one particular weekend, your traditional impromptu mission became more organized when Carlos suggested a simple dinner. Nothing overly fancy, just dinner at his apartment.
Obviously you complied, and if anything, it was one less meal you’d have to cook yourself.
Boy, were you in for a surprise. When he opened his front door, he was dressed head-to-toe in black attire with a small bow messily crafted around his neck. Around his waist bore a white apron, and he cheesily draped a dishcloth over his left arm.
“M’lady,” he says to you, inviting you into his home. You couldn’t help but burst out laughing, his silly demeanour almost bringing you to tears.
He dramatically escorts you to a little table he had set up in his living room, plating in front of you none other than your favourite takeout meal. The fast food was meticulously arranged on a dish that just so happened to be a 2004 Disney cameo. You haven’t even formally said a sentence to him yet, unable to kill your own laughter.
Carlos sprints to his bedroom, the sounds of rummaging loud from behind the door. In a quick 30 seconds, he returns, now in his normal attire, to join you for dinner.
“Man, that waiter was kinda cute,” he says to you, a goofy smile wide across his face.
“Oh yes, very dashing,” you respond to him sarcastically.
Four hours had passed in what seemed to be a quarter of that time. Your cheeks were sore from all the laughter the two of you had shared. That was until Carlos had a slip of the tongue…
“God, I could just marry you,” he’d say casually after you concluded your story. It wasn’t until he froze himself that you actually processed his words.
“What…?” You’d say to him, your face suddenly rosy for another reason entirely.
“Fuck, I mean- I just think- well…” Carlos is stumbling over his words, a burning blush creeping slowly up his neck.
To his surprise, you break out into laughter again, the room easing off its previous tension.
“You’ll have to take me out on a date first before all this marriage talk,” you’d finally say, clutching your stomach that was now cramping from your laughter.
Carlos finds himself smiling again, his confidence growing back after his impromptu confession. “This could be our first…right?” He’d say, his voice a little more shy.
“Yeah…this’ll be our first date,” you respond to him, the tips of your ears suddenly feeling hot.
“In that case, forget what I said about that fuckass waiter,” Carlos joked, returning to his usual, silly self. You enjoyed the rest of your date with him.
Fortunately for Carlos, you never saw that cute ‘waiter’ again. ;)
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A/N: Just wanted to give a little FYI/update: if you’ve sent in a request recently, I’m getting around to completing them all! Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about any of you <3
