#domestic!chris

[hothammies]

should we get carrots tomorrow?

[minminyoonjii]

Thinking about having a movie night with Chan and you laying on the couch with your head in his lap, he's bored with the movie but sees that you seem to be into it but after a while he gets annoyed so he starts fingering you while keeping you on the you back on the couch and uses his other hand to let your hair before getting bored and pulling your hoodie up playing with your tits and still fingering you

-🖤🐺 wolfy

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

🕯Summary: All you wanted to do want watch a movie. You warned him, you told him it was slow. It's all his fault that his cock took over his brain.

🌹CW

Oral Sex|Squirting|Multiple Orgasms|Oral Fixation|BlowJob|Praise Kink|Wet & Messy|Fingering|Dirty Talk|Daddy! Bang Chan|Headspace|Degrading Praise Kink|Hand Job|Desperate Orgasm|Aftercare

💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 1.3K

"Channie, hurry the movie is about to start," you said, patting the seat next to you. Chan chuckled, "Okay, okay. I'm coming, princess," he said, pulling you close. You nuzzled into his chest, engrossed in the movie, "Are you sure you wouldn't get bored with this? I know it's a bit of a slow burn," you said, tracing over his clothed abs. He kissed the top of your head, "You seem to forget that I'd do anything for you," he reassured, stroking your hair. "Thank you," you whispered, flustered by his honey-dipped words. 

Chan cooed, loving the domestic feeling warming his chest. "Don't mind me, alright? Just pay attention to the movie," he said, shifting your head onto his lap. You squirmed, getting comfortable with your head on his thigh. Chan rested his hand on your hair, fingers running through them as he mindlessly zoned into the movie. You were right about the movie being a slow burn. Chan furrowed his eyebrows, trying to keep up with the storyline but to no avail. 

He sighed through his nose, hiding his disdain when he noticed your focused expression. His mind started to wonder, the feeling of your cheek pressed against his firm thighs, the way your hair looked so adorable framing your pretty face. Chan smiled, tucking your hair back, to have a good look at your gorgeous side profile. "Such a pretty girl," he whispered, pressing his tongue against his inner cheek. He tilted his head back, a smirk etched on his lips, "You can't be serious Chris," he whispered, in disbelief at how turned on you made him feel. 

Chan gulped, subtly moving his hand from your waist to your hips. You shivered, feeling ticklish at the gesture. Chan bit back a moan, trailing his hand towards your bare legs. He smirked, feeling only your cutesy panties covering your cunt. "You're going to kill me one day, princess," he said, patting your head with his other hand. You raised an eyebrow, looking up at him, "Huh?" you asked, confused by his sudden declaration. Chan chuckled, shaking his head, "Just pay attention to the movie," he said, gently tugging down your panties. 

"But," you mumbled, shivering at the chill air hitting your warm skin. "But nothing, princess. Daddy's just going to take his fill, okay? Watch the movie for me, hm?" he coaxed, stroking your cheek. You melted into his touch, relaxing back into his hold. Chan cooed, "That's my good girl," he praised, cupping your drippy pussy. You rolled your hips, rutting on his palm. "Now, now. Did Daddy say you could do that, princess," he chastised, lightly smacking your inner thighs. 

Your body jolted, "I'm sorry, Daddy," you whispered, focusing your attention back on the movie, ignoring the throbbing need in your abdomen. Chan chuckled, "It's okay, princess. Daddy knows your needy little body couldn't help it," he purred, easing a finger into your warm walls. You bit your bottom lip, trying your hardest not to clench. Chan noticed, slipping his thumb between your lips, "Suck," he instructed, pressing down on your tongue. You hummed, sucking on his finger earnestly, drool dripping down the corners of your lips.  

"My good girl, all mine aren't you?" he asked, easing another finger in, scissoring your tight hole. Whimpers spilt from your lips, tears brimming your eyes from the pleasure burning under your skin. "That's it, pretty girl, can you hear that?" he teased, plunging his fingers in and out of your squelching cunt. You hiccuped, rolling on your back for easier access. Chan grunted, curling his fingers upwards to press against those sensitive nerves of yours, "Such a well-trained girl," he praised, rubbing circles around your neglected clit. 

You bucked your hips, head clouded with arousal, "Daddy," you mumbled, looking up at him with a fucked-out look. Chan growled, clenching his jaw, "Fuck, princess. If only daddy could make your pretty face his wallpaper," he rasped, quickening his thrusts. You moaned around his finger, eyes rolling back at the thought. He laughed, feeling your ribbed walls clench around his fingers, "Oh, you'd like that, yeah? Like being daddy's display slut," he mocked, pulling out his fingers to flick your throbbing clit. 

A muffled cry echoed within the room, your legs quivering from his precise touches. Chan hissed, cock aching beneath his loose sweatpants, "Wouldn't you like something bigger to suck on, princess?" he asked, tugging down the hem off his sweatpants till his precum pooled cockhead slapped against his torso. "Please, please," you pleaded, keeping your hands to yourself in fear of touching without permission. Chan groaned, lightly smacking your clit as he wrapped his hand around his cock. 

You whimpered, "Da-daddy, please," you hiccuped, slipping between headspaces. "Aww, my pretty princess. Daddy's got you, yeah?" he growled, manhandling you on your side. "Open wide," he instructed, pushing his girthy cock past your lips. You whined, eyes crossing at the sheer stretch of his cock filling your throat. Chan groaned, holding the back of your head as he bottomed out. You preened, melting into the pure sexual bliss. 

Chan hissed, tensing his thighs when you swallowed around his cockhead, "Shit, your mouth feels so good," he rasped, rubbing your pulsing clit. Your body trembled, so close to the edge and Chan knew that very well. "I know, princess. Daddy knows," he cooed, slipping his fingers back into your stretched-out cunt in tandem with his thumb rubbing your clit. A broken cry vibrated up your throat when your orgasm snapped. 

Chan growled, pumping his fingers at a relentless pace, "Fuck, fuck. That's it," he gruffed. You sobbed, choking around his cock. Tears and drool soaked his sweatpants. Chan tossed his head back, huffing out heavy breaths, "My perfect little girl," he grunted, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. He eased his cock out of your mouth, letting you take a breather. You sat up, coughing when the air finally entered your lungs properly. 

Chan cooed, "Lay back down, princess. Daddy still hasn't cum yet. Don't you want to help him cum?" he asked, wiping your messy face. You sniffled, laying back down on his thigh, "Wan' help Daddy," you slurred, sucking the base of his cock. Chan hissed, petting your hair, "You can always say your safeword, okay?" he said, slightly worried about taking things too far. You nodded, licking a stripe up towards his frenulum. He groaned, pushing his hands up your hoodie, "Thank you, princess," he grunted, groping your chest between his fingers. 

You stroked the tip of his cock as your mouth sucked and licked around the base. Chan growled, using his free hand to graze your sensitive cunt, "You're going to cum with daddy, yeah? Daddy's good girl," he moaned, instantly pumping your hole with his fingers. Your body tensed, babbles bubbling against your tongue. Chan grunted, knowing it wouldn't take you long to get as close as he is, "Keep stroking, princess," he groaned, shutting his eyes tight, succumbing to the feeling of your breath and hands around his cock. 

You hiccuped, clenching hard around his fingers, "Daddy," you keened, arching your back. "Cum with daddy, princess," he gasped, bucking his hips when your ribbed walls squeezed hard. You wailed, digging your nails into his inner thighs, squirting around his arm. Chan huffed, staring at your cum covered lips, "Messy messy girl," he chuckled, booping your nose. You gulped, exhaustion surrounding your aching body, "Tis' is your fault," you slurred, sulking at his cocky smirk. Chan smiled, lifting you, "Yes, yes, princess. It's all daddy's fault, hm?" he said, rubbing your back. You nodded, "Ahm, horny daddy's fault," you mumbled, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Chan chuckled, "It definitely is, princess," he hummed, preparing a bath for the both of you.

[bigtreefest]

Whatever You Need

Pairing: Ari Levinson x Reader

Summary: You want nothing more than couch cuddles with Ari after a long day

Word count: 1,628

Content/warnings: non-sexual nudity, sad vibes but it gets better, comfort, fluff, Ari being so sweet and understanding, soft glances, minimal dialogue

A/N: Literally after two days at my big girl job, I feel dead. This is what I wish I had. Dedicated to all my besties out there who relate.

Comments, likes, reblogs, and asks are so appreciated. Thank you for reading!!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist

You walked through the door Friday evening after what felt like the longest day ever. It wasn’t even a particularly hard day, but you just felt like it was dragging on and on and on, unending, which led to suffering.

You threw your keys unceremoniously on top of your bag, which you had let slip off your shoulder and drop onto the floor, too tired to move with grace. Your shoes had been toed off and kicked any which way, askew in the hall and nowhere near their usual spot.

Without even looking at Ari, you went straight for the bathroom to freshen up and wash your face, clearing the film of the long day away. The small reprieve was hardly a match for the way your feet were swollen from the long time on them, or how your hamstrings ached from the periods of sitting on a chair that seemed to be designed by satan himself in between.

Nothing all day had been comfortable, and at this point, that was all you wanted: comfort. Moving from the bathroom into the bedroom, you stripped each piece of clothing off, leaving them strewn in a path to the dresser where you tried to find something to wear that wouldn’t make you want to try to wiggle and writhe your way out of existence. Something actually comfortable, and soft, and not scratchy, and not tight. As you searched through the drawers, it felt like every single article of clothing you owned was ready to start a fight right now.

At this point, the potential of feeling fresh and clean began to seem elusive, so you dragged your feet over to the hamper, plucking out the oversized sleep shirt from the night before that was still laying on top. You were pleasantly surprised when you gave it a sniff to find it still decent, smelling like your sheets, with a small remnant of Ari from the way you clung to him in bed.

You slipped it over your head, a small glimmer of contentment seeping into you body, along with a fresh pair of undies and socks.

Ari hardly heard you shuffle into the house over the sizzling of the skillet in front of him. Usually, he’d be inclined to treat you to going out on a Friday night, but from your uncharacteristically short texts when leaving work, he knew leaving the house once you got home wasn’t in the cards. He didn’t mind making dinner at all, then, so it would be just about ready as you got home. All he wanted to do was care for you, cater to you on days like this.

As you walked through the door, he turned away from the stove, watching you walk in and drop your things, not even sparing him a glance as you made your way down the hall. He only turned back around to quickly switch off the burner as he waited for you, hips perched against the island and arms crossed, hoping you’d emerge soon. He knew sometimes you just needed time and space, so he would give you for now.

When he heard the soft padding of your socked feet move from bedroom and into the living room, his eyes continued to follow you. He watched you flop down onto the couch, still completely disregarding him. Seeing your legs fly up as your face smashed against the cushions was what he took as his signal to finally approach, very carefully.

Ari walked around the side of the couch, crouching down next to your sprawled form, your one arm and leg hanging off the side, while your face was nuzzled in the crack between cushions. He figured you could hear his steps towards you, but just in case, he took a deep breath and gently placed a large hand on your back as to make you aware of his presence in a non-startling manner. He began rubbing slow, warm circles against your back, over your shirt until you finally tore your head from its hideout and faced him, immediately dropping it back down.

You could see the soft smile on his face that you assumed was an attempt to conceal the worry underneath. His eyes lit up just slightly when they met your one that wasn’t smushed against the plush material.

“Hey, sugar. You okay?”

You lips had been shut from your silence since you’d left work, making you reluctant to unsettle the concealment, so you simply nodded, even though it was far from accurately conveying your true feelings. You watched as Ari’s brow furrowed, belief in your reaction almost nonexistent, but he didn’t verbally say anything, although his face said it all. The corner of his mouth turned up in a tight-lipped quirk, halfway to a grimace of concern. You watched as his deep blue eyes searched your face in contemplation of what to do next. He hated seeing you like this, and the solution to it depended on the day.

“You want dinner? Would that make you feel better? You need to eat?”

This time you actually shook your head, before lifting it once more and turning back to smush your nose flat against your face into the couch. You words came out from the corners of your mouth, slightly muffled but not enough that he couldn’t decipher them.

“No offense, because I’m sure it’s delicious, but I absolutely cannot stand the smell of the kitchen right now. Food is the last thing I want.”

He nodded, his thumb still slightly rubbing your shoulder, hoping the physical touch was doing something to soothe you. What was the next move of things you’d want when you got like this?

“Okay. I can pack it up. We don’t have to eat that. And especially not right now. You want a bath? I can get it started.”

Another shake of the head.

“No. Don’t wanna be wet. Don’t wanna move.”

Ari hummed in thought. You still hadn’t complained about his hand that was now rubbing up and down the expanse of your back.

“Okay, give me a second.”

You simply grunted in recognition, unmoving from your spot as he went to clean up the kitchen and return. You hadn’t even shifted, as he heard no movements besides his own in the quiet house. Ari returned to your side, but didn’t crouch this time.

“Alright, sugar. Turn over.”

He could see you slightly tilt your head towards him, your only visible eye squinting skeptically with a tilted brow, but you complied. Ari moved smoothly, but slowly along with you, lifting your arms up and over his shoulders, and tucking his own hands under the small of your back, trapping his arms against the couch. He moved his hips in between your legs and snuggled in on top of you, placing his ear against your sternum. His head bounced slightly with your scoff of amusement. Good, that meant this was working.

Your arms moved from his shoulders, one going up and the other sliding down until you were petting over his silky hair and scratching his back. It was more of a self-soothing practice than for his enjoyment, although he’d never complain about the feeling of your fingertips roaming over him.

You could feel the rumble of Ari’s chest against your lower stomach as he spoke up again.

“Is this better?”

You just nodded, even though you knew he couldn’t see the reaction, but hopefully he could feel the slight movement that came with it.

Your roaming hands began pulling up his shirt, dipping underneath and caressing the the broad, muscular expanse, needing to feel his skin against yours more than you realized. He didn’t judge you though, instantly raising himself so you could pull the fabric the rest of the way off over his head. Sitting on his knees between your thighs, he looked at you again, eyes filled with softness.

“You want me to make you feel good?”

Your response was almost totally wordless again as you shook your head, before you sat up just enough so he could have room to help you remove your shirt, too, your body heavy with reluctance to peel away from the cushions. After he shimmied the soft material over your head, you put your arms under his, pulling him up your body and closer to you. You broke your silence once again, your voice hardly projecting from your throat in a rasp.

“No. Not like how you’re thinking.”

You pulled him down more to settle against you again. This time, his head was tucked into your neck, beard scratching slightly in contrast to the way the soft, bare skin of your torsos was pressed together.

Your hands slid down his back, until they met two plump butt cheeks you were delighted to squeeze. You held them for a second before contentedly drumming in a rhythm only you knew. Ari huffed a laugh, the breeze moving against your hair.

“I don’t think anything could make me feel better than this, right here.”

Your hands traced upward again, one between his shoulder blades, the other scratching his scalp, rewarding you with deep rumbles and soft groans in your ear. It’s not like Ari had anything else planned for tonight, but even if he did, he’d be more than happy to cuddle on top of you with his head tucked in your neck if that’s what you needed.

As he continued to make the delicious moans of satisfaction, a smile finally started creeping onto your face. Feeling him relax in your hold caused you to do the same.

As your eyes finally started fluttering shut from the comfort, no longer blankly staring at the ceiling, you sighed in relief, almost. “Yeah, that’s the stuff.”

Bonus A/N: Am I ready to start my first full week of my job? No. Will posting this make me feel better? If you comment, then yeah, probs.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[phoenixmetaphor]

bonus:

[mossyivy]

This thought just came to my head and I couldn’t help but giggle.

Imagine Chris invites Leon over to watch football on Sundays, and have a bomb ass barbecue of course; like all dads do on the weekends. But you didn’t really mind, it meant the kids would get off your back for a few hours and you could gossip with Chris’s wife.

The two of them would totally be standing by the grill, bud lights in their hands as they watched the TV outside on the patio, yelling at the players like they could hear them.

They’d hit that signature dad pose. Legs slightly spread apart, standing, arms crossed, you know which one I’m talking about.

Also they’d literally compliment each other on their barbecue and stuff. They’d spend hours just trying to smoke a brisket or something, having the typical bro talk while doing it.

- Anon! 🎀

(Chris looks like a Giants fan. No I will not be elaborating further.)

Literally can't decide which apron Chris would be wearing so here's all the options

With the middle one he'd definitely pat his wife's ass every time she walked by. She'd just stop and stare for a second and he'd point to the apron. She'd just nod and keep walking, use to his bullshit by now.

The wives would be talking about bitchy moms at the PTA as the kids play on the Redfield's giant playset. (Like think about a McDonald's play place and old chuck e. cheese playgrounds together. Just minus the child vomit and mildew smell). They're drinking wine, talking among themselves when they overhear their husbands talking.

"She's a beauty! Doesn't throw fits. Let's me do whatever I need to and I don't even need to put in much effort." You two life your heads, listening to Chris until Leon speaks up.

"Where'd you find her?"

"Street corner!" Chris's wife stands up, about to walk over until Leon's wife grabs her arm and forces her back in the seat.

"Some guy was moving and selling the old girl so I scooped her up and brought her home."

He's talking about the fucking grill...

Chris's wife sighs in relief. Feeling her heart return to her body as she chugs the rest of her wine. She was fully ready to knock some sense into that man...

Eventually Lulu walks over and wants to help her dad cook. He'd grab her little apron and make her stand by the side of the grill on a chair and hand his cheese slices for the burgers. Her apron:

To which Leon looks at Violet and asks her why she doesn't help him grill at home while she's getting one of the barrel juices from the kids cooler.

"You gonna pay me daddy?" He's stunned for a second and stares at her.

"What? Why would I pay you?"

"I was told to never do a job for a man who didn't pay me what I deserved."

"Who told you that?"

"Mommy." Leon looks up at his wife who's sipping her wine. Daring him to say a word. He just ruffles Violets he hair up.

"Good advice. Go play." His wife nods, going back to her conversation while Violet runs off.

I'd imagine the game would be a massive deal to the both of them. Like it's their teams against each other and they have a bet going. The game goes into overtime and eventually Leon's team wins and he's so excited he goes to cheer but sees his two girls are out like a light inside the living room of the house so he just tries keeping in his excitement so the kids can sleep until they finish packing up to go home.

[ziorite]

what’s gayer folks, doing it in the ass or arguing with another man about how he abandoned you and your son in the middle of a grocery store?

bonus: buck trying to discuss visitation like he’s christopher’s dad and not just eddie’s friend

[twelverriver]

[ayeforscotland]

10/10 from the National.

[daffi-990]

I’m in that weird, mood? I guess, where I don’t want to read fan fiction … I want to watch it.

[eddiegettingshot]

Also have we considered that Chris has never lived in a functional 2-parent household? He probably at this age barely remembers when Eddie got home and Shannon left (he was what, 4/5 at the time?), and she was only back for a few months before she died and even then her and Eddie were arguing about how to care for him, and Abuela was chaperoning Shannon and Chris' days out.

Even when Anna was there during the blackout, Eddie wasn't and when he came back, he immediately asked her to leave. Marisol was babysitting while Eddie ran around with Tommy.

What is Chris going to do when Buck and Eddie work like a well-oiled machine? When he suddenly has 2 real parents (not just whatever nebulous thing Buck is now) working together and on the same page?

YES!!! all of this!!!!!!!! so delicious!!!! i want them to contend with THIS!!!

[bludhavensbirdboy]

okay what if buddie happens and we don’t get a big realisation of feelings or sexuality crisis from Eddie. I mean Eddie ‘never dealt with a single feeling in his life’ Diaz perhaps might just be like okay this is how it is now, i kiss men or i kiss buck and that’s okay. I don’t know i think it would be very in character to just not question it if buck and him kiss before they discuss their feelings.

[coffeebrownn]

[fridayiminlovemp3]

normal person: omg i love chris brown did you know he has a lisp haha crazy right?? you can kind of hear it in his songs

me trying to hard to get along with them: no i don’t know that because i haven’t listened to a chris brown song since he tried to beat rihanna to death in 2009. anyway i have a fun music fact for you as well! pete wentz recorded the spoken word outro to get busy living or get busy dying (do your part to save the scene and stop going to shows) in the recording studio’s tiny washroom because he was too embarrassed to do it in front of people

normal person: what is pete wentz

[wil-o-wispy]

The Wife, the Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 2

Chris Redfield x FM! Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 (you are here) | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Synopsis: It's the morning after Chris Redfield took care of you and things are oddly... domestic?

Includes: MDNI - NSFW, fluff, banter, angst, oral (FM reader receiving), porn with plot, use of pet names (sweetheart, good girl, pretty girl, baby, gorgeous), minor reader injury from previous part, reference to drinking in the previous part. Reader is referred to as 'Doc' otherwise. Reader is the wife of (dead) Albert Wesker and is a former Umbrella scientist.

A/N: WOO this took so long to get out. I can't write linearly to save my life and my writer brain wanted to work on plot stuff taking place after this chapter. On the bright side the next few parts should get done quicker. Hopefully. This is also my first spicy writing thing so have fun!

wc: 6.5k+

The first thing you notice when you wake up the next morning is the pounding headache behind your eyes and a throbbing in your foot. You lift an arm over your face and groan, the cheery brightness of the morning sun still too much for your blurry eyes to properly accommodate to. For a few precious minutes, you just lay in bed trying to string together a coherent thought other than, ‘I’m never drinking whiskey again,’ because you know that promise won’t last the month.

Then it all comes back to you. The almost-bar fight. Chris driving you home. The broken glass. Chris comforting you. Bits and pieces of the previous night stitch themselves together and you are both relieved and embarrassed of its events.

It feels like a monumental weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Sure, the dirty looks would stay along with your reputation, but Chris Redfield doesn’t think you’re a monster. However, the relief is almost overshadowed by a creeping sense of embarrassment. You never show that kind of vulnerability in front of anyone. Not even Albert after the Mansion incident.

Despite the conflicting feelings, you’re thankful that Chris had the foresight to put you into your bed and tuck you in. Everything after crawling into Chris’ lap and crying your eyes out is hazy due to your alcohol consumption, but you do have a distinct memory of being lifted off the ground and carried by a pair of strong, warm and comforting arms past a broom propped up on the doorway to the kitchen.

The broom. The glass. Your foot. There’s still blood and glass in the foyer that you have to clean up.

With a groan, you roll out of bed, stretching to relieve some of the tightness in your muscles that accompanies a bad hangover. It’s at this point you realize you’re wearing a sweatshirt that you hadn’t worn the night before. Your heart stops in your chest until you lift the hem of it and see you’re still wearing the nice shirt you wore to your D.S.O. interview the day before.

Chris. Always the gentleman.

You take stock of what you’re wearing; oversized sweatshirt, nice shirt, nice pants, no socks, but a sizeable amount of gauze is on one foot. While you take stock of yourself and your surroundings, you also notice a couple aspirin and a sports drink on your bedside table that you know you didn’t have in the house last night. Chris cared both about your comfort and boundaries while intoxicated, as well as the aftermath of it. He even went out and bought you items to help with your hangover.

Another event to add to the overflowing list of reasons why you don’t deserve him.

Or do you? He doesn’t fault you for your dead husband’s actions. He goes to bat for you when the B.S.A.A., D.S.O., or any other anti-bioterrorism organization is up your ass. He listens when you need to vent and drink your sorrows away. He’s kind. He’s considerate. He’s a good man. He’s everything that Albert wasn’t.

Stop it.

You pop the aspirin in your mouth and wash it down with the sports drink, dismissing any other thoughts on how good Chris had been to you. Things in your life were already too complicated. No use in entertaining far-fetched fantasies. He’s got to be this considerate with anyone, right? You couldn’t recall a specific instance comparable to last night that would justify that thought, but you try to think of one as you strip off the clothes from the night before and throw on some clean loungewear. You opt to wear some sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

As you get dressed, you rediscover an offer letter that you’d forgotten to reject. Even though your last name gave you a reputation, numerous branches of the B.S.A.A. requested your transfer every year due to your expertise in bioweapons research. After all, who would be better at combatting these threats than someone who witnessed their creation and aftermath? This one was more tempting than most; an offer to work in B.S.A.A. Europe HQ in Germany, Head Researcher position, fully furnished apartment included and competitive salary.

You crumple the offer letter and toss it in the trash. Tempting, but stability is on the top of your list of priorities at the moment. An international move is the opposite of that. You go into your bathroom attached to your bedroom and do your morning routine, opting to worry about a shower later.

You go out into the hallway, hobbling a bit with the injured foot but staying upright without trouble. The aspirin is starting to kick in and you’re already feeling a bit better. You make a list in your head of things to get done before burying yourself in blankets on the couch; sweep up the glass, mop the foyer of the remaining blood, take a shower, make a greasy breakfast, binge watch something.

Your mental list is interrupted by sounds coming from your kitchen. Confused, you turn down the hall and see Chris’ car keys still on the table in the entryway. You also see the floor is devoid of glass, blood, and the medical supplies from the night before.

Chris hears you pad into the kitchen and flashes his signature grin as he turns bacon on your stove with a fork. There’s a plate with finished bacon pieces on a paper towel next to the stove, as well as two plates with toast.

“Morning Doc.”

“Morning. You stayed the night?” Your tone is cordial. It’s not accusatory because, oddly enough, you don’t mind Chris sleeping over. At any point before last night, you would have been miffed and probably would have given a speech arguing you could take care of yourself and that he had a lot of nerve spending the night considering your history. But Chris making you breakfast still stirs up that guilt of him doing more nice things for you to add on to the laundry list of favors he’d done for you over the years. But you can’t deny the smell of what he’s cooking makes your mouth water.

“Yeah, I took the couch. You had a lot to drink. I just wanted to make sure you woke up okay.”

You snort. “Right. You sure you weren’t just avoiding having to sleep in the barracks last night?”

Chris chuckles at your joke and holds his hands up in playful surrender. “You got me. Can’t pull the wool over your eyes.”            

You return the smile and hobble next to Chris by the stove, leaning on the counter next to him just watching him cook. You have to make a conscious effort to focus on the food, and not to stare at Chris’ battle toned forearms for too long.

“Now I can accept you making sure I don’t choke on my own vomit, but this-” You gesture to the stove and the entryway, “-is crossing the line. You’re in my house. I’m supposed to take care of you. Not the other way around.”

“What? I can’t treat my host to breakfast and a cleaner house?” He’s still jovial when turns his attention back to the stove and turns the bacon.

“That’s reverse hospitality,” You quip.

“Then consider me a reverse guest,” Chris answers.

You let out an exasperated sigh and your body slumps. “Chris, seriously you didn’t have to do all that-”

“I wanted to.” Chris stops looking at the bacon in the pan and looks you in the eyes.

You two stare at each other in silence, gazes locked in a battle of wills.

“You don’t have to do everything yourself.” Chris says softly, with a hint of authority in his tone.

“I know that.” You bite back, challenging him.

Chris raises an eyebrow, and you see a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Do you?”

More silence. You let out another sigh and you break from his gaze to stare at the floor instead.

“You’ve already done more for me than I could ever hope to repay. I don’t need to owe you more favors for something like last night.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“Bullshit.” You look back up at him in disbelief; mouth open and eyebrows knitted together.

“No bullshit. I’m serious.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but Chris shushes you and places a cup of hot tea in your hands before you can protest. You didn’t even notice it sitting next to the stove. You feel the comforting warmth of his fingers ghost over yours as he guides your hand to take hold of the mug handle.

“No bullshit, you have my word. Now sit down, rest that foot, enjoy your drink, and let me handle everything else.”

You open and close your mouth, trying to articulate a response. There’s not much you can say to argue against that, especially when his gentle touch is making your brain go haywire. The captain is a man of his word. Those perceptive eyes of his hold no hint of deception, only genuine kindness like you saw the night before. Not to mention there’s something undeniably attractive about him wanting to take care of you in such a gentle, authoritative manner. You relent and take a sip of tea trying to calm your racing heart.

“Thanks.”

Chris’ face lights up and he flashes another smile. “Thatta girl. How do you like your eggs?”

You try to ignore the butterflies erupting in your stomach when he says that. “I’m not picky, however you’re having them.” You push yourself off the counter, snatch a piece of bacon from the plate and hobble over to the barstool sitting area at the kitchen island behind Chris.

“Save some for your meal.” You hear Chris smiling as he says that.

“I’m making sure it’s crispy enough. Sue me.”

Your conversation goes on in that comfortable rhythm all throughout breakfast; casual conversation with witty remarks thrown in followed by a joke that starts the cycle all over again. Chris sits on the stool next to you, and you both enjoy the two plates of toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon that Chris had made.

“You’re going to spoil me at this rate.” You say with a grin.

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“It kind of is. You’re going to make me miss having you around to clean up my messes and make me food.” You eat your toast, keeping up the playful banter.

“And what if I am?” The way Chris says that doesn’t make it sound like he’s joking, but you brush it off and roll your eyes, munching on the last of your bacon. “I’d call your bluff.”

“Why do you think it’s a bluff?”

You sit there just looking at your fork for a beat, trying to think of the best way to phrase your thoughts. You can’t think of anything, but you turn your gaze back to Chris and answer him with a question. “Because why would you care if I miss you?”

“Because who wouldn’t want the attention of a woman like you?” Chris’ expression shifts from that kind expression you’re used to, to a more wistful and romantic one.

Your mouth goes dry and your heart races in your chest. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. “People with half a brain and a shred of common sense.” The statement is said with your signature dry sense of humor, but there’s also an edge of something akin to a warning. It doesn’t deter Chris in the slightest.

“Ouch. At least I’ve got my looks going for me,” he quips with a smirk. It amazes you that he’s still joking about something you think is so serious. It makes you want to wipe that sexy smile right off his face. Whether it’s with a kiss or sharp words is still up for debate.

“Chris-” You warn sharply.

“Doc-” Chris says, pleadingly.

“No. It’s a bad idea. End of story.” Your tone comes out much gentler than you intend. You pick at the last of your food, not wanting to look at Chris and betray your true feelings that you’ve tried so hard to suppress over the years. He killed your husband. Your evil, narcissistic, psychopathic husband. Despite who Albert was, it felt like you would cross some sort of moral boundary you couldn’t come back from if you indulged in those thoughts. But the longer Chris looks at you with that wanting gaze, the less imposing that boundary becomes.

“You know me. I love bad ideas.” As Chris speaks in a low, romantic tone, your mind runs wild and your cheeks flush red with all the possible interpretations of his words.

You hear the barstool next to you squeak, Chris’ hand comes into your vision, rests delicately on your cheek, and tilts your head back towards him. His face is dangerously close to yours. You see every detail of his face; his dark hazel eyes, the small mole under his right eye, the stubble on his jaw, the subtle hair growth around his mouth and chin, and finally his lips.

You don’t know who leans in first, but one moment you’re committing Chris’ face to memory, and the next your lips are against his. Your eyes close and time stops. The kiss is slow, methodical and fills you with a pleasant warmth that makes your stomach flip and heart skip a beat.

You can’t remember the last time you had a kiss like this, and you don’t want to. All you want to do in this moment is experience everything Chris has to offer. Everything.

It feels like an eternity has passed when you both finally break for air. You breathe in a shaky breath. Shaky from how weak in the knees the kiss made you, as well as nervous energy from crossing that boundary you’d made for yourself. You just kissed the man who killed your husband and you liked it. Not only that, but that kiss stirred something lustful inside you that makes you want even more.

“Look at me pretty girl.” Chris whispers. His hand still holds the side of your face while his thumb caresses your cheekbone.

You open your eyes, and you see Chris smiling at you. It falters and switches into something much more concerned when he sees your conflicted look.

“We can stop if you want to. I can leave and we can agree this never happened if that’s what you want.” You can feel his hot breath on your face as he murmurs in a low tone.

Maybe it’s the residual feeling of safety due to the events of the night before, an accumulation of repressed want from years working alongside each other, or maybe it’s just the need to feel someone else’s loving embrace. Morality be damned. Maybe it’s the pounding of your heart drowning out all common sense, but you crave the man in front of you more than anything in the universe right now. Your next words come out in a wanting murmur.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

This time, it’s you that leans back in to kiss Chris’ incredulous expression, but he immediately melts back into your lips. Once it’s established that this is something you’re craving, Chris earnestly returns the enthusiasm. Sweet kisses morph into fervent tastes for more as your lips intertwine with Chris’. Tongues dance in a teasing duel for dominance that you are all too happy to lose just so you can feel how eager Chris is to feast on your sighs of pleasure. Bask in your shivers of ecstasy. Relish in your desperate pants for oxygen from him taking your breath away.

The only thing you can even comprehend with his inviting tongue intertwining with yours is that it’s not enough. You want more. You need more. More of his warmth, more of his lips, more of him. The heat that Chris awoke in you has grown from mere embers to a growing, starving flame that wants to savor and devour everything that’s yet to come.

It doesn’t take long to know Chris feels the exact same way. Committing your pleasure to memory with his hands and lips won’t do. With how far you were leaning into his embrace, you were halfway to touching his lap already, but Chris eagerly expediates the process. His hands abandon your cheek and neck to claim your hips and guide you to sit on his lap where you belong. You take a sharp intake of breath and clutch Chris’ shoulders for balance from the change in position, but Chris is quick to soothe your concerns while keeping his lips on any inch of your skin he can reach.

“Don’t worry baby I’ve got you. I’ve got you…”

You reposition yourself on his lap so you feel more secure in Chris’ grasp, but you accidentally grind against his crotch. A deep groan is released from Chris’ lips and he kisses your skin with more fervor. Being positioned the way you are on his lap, it’s difficult not to notice the growing hardness underneath his jeans.

“All that for me?” You try to be sultry, but don’t do a good job of it because you can barely get any discernible words out with how hard you’re breathing.

“Have you seen yourself sweetheart?” Chris leaves wet kisses from your collarbone to your neck, then captures your lips in a ravenous kiss. “Fucking gorgeous with your cheeks all red like that…”

Chris lifts you up off his lap effortlessly and you gasp and hold onto his shoulders as he places you on the counter in front of him. Once you’re secure, his hands are quick to wander and caress everything he can reach; from your hips, to your ass, to your thighs, then hips, then ribs, lower back then repeating the pathing again. Eagerness and patience are at war with each other as he alternates between greedily clutching each soft feature and methodically caressing every one of your curves as if trying to commit them to memory.

You’re breathing heavily when he rips his lips away from yours and starts kissing you down your jaw to your throat. He feverishly leaves open mouthed kisses along the curve of your neck, kissing and sucking at the skin tenderly yet enthusiastically. You can tell he’s savoring every part of you, clearly eager to do more but wanting to enjoy every detail of your physique first. It takes no time at all for him to find the spots that make you squirm and pant in his embrace. When his teeth lightly graze your pulse point, your legs reflexively tighten around his waist, but you accidentally bump the barstool behind Chris with your injured foot with a loud clunk and curse. The throbbing in your foot is back with full force, making you wince. Worse, Chris pulls away from your neck and stares at you intensely with a worried look. Slightly flushed cheeks and labored breath.

“You alright?” He looks behind him and sees the scene of the crime, and lightly scoots the barstool a safe distance away with his foot. Chris moves to lean down and examine your foot, but you’re quick to grasp his face and lovingly bring it back to yours. You kiss Chris’ cheek and give him a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.” You lean back in to kiss Chris, ignoring the shooting pain from your injured foot and getting lost in the intoxicating taste of his lips. Chris’ worried expression melts away somewhat, but he still speaks lowly between breaks for air.

“You need to rest that foot on something.”

“Later,” You whisper, going back in to capture his lips again.

The captain slides one of his large, calloused hands on the back of your head and strokes the hair there, and you think you’ve convinced him to drop the subject. Oh how wrong you are.

In one moment, you’re getting lost in the feeling of Chris’ hands on the back of your head and shoulders, and the next Chris has pushed your plates to the side and laid you swiftly, but gently, on your back.

“Chris!” You whine as you try to sit up, but you’re stopped by a large hand putting weight on your ribcage and fleeting kisses down your neck and chest. His voice is muffled from how close his face is to your trembling body, but you hear him speak in that authoritative, husky voice again as he continues to kiss further down your chest. “Uh uh, you stay put.” You’re about to protest the change in position, wanting nothing more than to keep Chris’ lips on yours, but his lips on your inner thigh make your words die in your throat. Chris lightly sucks the area while his darkening gaze is honed in on your face.

“I meant it when I said you need to rest that foot…” Chris places another lingering kiss on your inner thigh slightly closer to your aching core. “…so be a good girl and put those pretty thighs over my shoulders.”

The effects of his words are immediate; blood rushes to your cheeks so quickly that you feel lightheaded, the heat in your abdomen that was kindled by his touch burns hotter, and your lips part in silent shock and anticipation of what he’ll do next. For once, your brain has short circuited, and you don’t have anything to say. All you can do is gape and nod as you hook your knee with the injured foot over his shoulder.

“Good. Now I want you to relax and let me take care of you. Okay?” The low vibrating timbre of his voice is so close to your aching clit that you arch your back and whine, nodding.

Chris continues to be a paradox of patience and eagerness as he coaxes more and more delicious sounds from you. His large hands greedily grasp the flesh of your hips and thighs, but don’t grope close enough to give you the stimulation you crave. His mouth worships the space between your thigh and groin but never dares venture further than the rolled-up edge of your night shorts where you’re clenching around nothing. He never stimulates what is begging to be loved underneath despite how much both of you crave it.

“Chris…please.” You beg, eyes clouded over with lust and need.

“Hmmmm… I don’t hear you say that a lot.” You can practically hear the shit eating smile in his voice as Chris keeps kissing you the same way as before, but one of his fingers teasingly traces the hem of your shorts. He’s right. You don’t. That little comment would infuriate you if the wetness between your thighs and throbbing clit weren’t on the top of the list of things on your mind right now. If you have to say please to get Chris to take care of you, you’ll relent and do it.

“Please just to-oooh!” Your desperate request is cut short by a moan being released from the back of your throat.

Chris keeps kissing the sensitive spots between your thighs, but two of his fingers have slipped under the edge of your shorts by the groin and is lightly rubbing the fabric over your engorged bundle of nerves. He experiments with different speeds and pressures until he finds the ones that make your back arch, eyes roll to the back of your head, and thighs close around his face. Just when you’re bucking your hips into his hand and you feel your pleasure building, you feel his fingers retreat.

“Chris!” You whine, body relaxing back into the counter but desperate for more of his touch.

“I know baby, I’ll take care of it.” Chris assures you as he hooks his fingers into the crotch of your shorts and underwear, pulling them to one side then practically diving into your dripping folds. His mouth is greedy when he’s finally between your thighs where you want him to be. Chris’ tongue laves at your entrance with long, languid strokes at first, but quickly devolves into him thrusting his tongue into your cunt so deeply that his nose is bumping your clit with each plunge of his tongue and you writhing and panting in pleasure as your climax quickly builds back to where Chris’ fingers left off.

He tries to be patient and draw it out for your sake, he really does, but you taste too good. Your moans and whimpers of ecstasy sound too pretty. The way you’re grabbing his forearm arm that’s caging your hips to the counter for dear life that so obviously signals how close you are is the biggest turn on. His mouth gorges on your release and he swears it’s his new favorite meal.

That starving flame in your abdomen that Chris has been feeding this whole time is so close to overtaking you, but you need more and Chris can sense this in how you tremble around him and desperate cries of his name tumble from your lips. He replaces his tongue with one of his fingers and he keeps up the same speed and intensity while his lips latch on to your clit, gently sucking on the sensitive bundle of nerves and tongue making purposeful, salacious strokes that makes your face contort in delight.

You fall apart in mere moments. Your back arches as you feel your orgasm crash through you like a tidal wave and the pleasure is almost overwhelming. You cling to Chris’ forearm as you ride out the powerful sensation. Even with your thighs closing in around his head, his lips don’t let up their assault on your clit until you’re bordering on being overstimulated and trying to push his head away. Your thighs twitch from the aftermath, your cunt and clit throb from the greedy attention of Chris’ lovemaking, and you’re pretty sure you have breadcrumbs in your hair from the toast in the long forgotten breakfast that was made for you.

Even with all of that, it still leaves you with a warm, comfortable sense of pleasure and a blissfully hazy mind.

Chris gently laps up the mess between your folds with his tongue, both determined not to let a drop of you go to waste as well as to prolong your pleasure while you come back down to Earth. With a final quick kiss to your clit that makes your hips twitch into his mouth, Chris tenderly moves the crotch of your panties and shorts back over your pelvis. He uses the collar of his t-shirt to wipe your release from his chin, and licks his finger clean.

You feel boneless when he sits you up. You’re breathing is shallow, but slowly returning to normal when Chris brings you to his chest. You rest your head on his shoulder and lazily wrap your arms around his waist. His hand is under your shirt at your lower back, hand pressed against your spine and rubbing the area firmly while his other hand cradles your head at the back of your neck. For the first time in what feels like years, you feel wanted and loved. The warmth of his hands and arms as well as his breath in your ear feels so addicting. You don’t want him to let go.

“You still with me gorgeous?” He whispers into your ear.

“Yeah…” You mumble, smiling into Chris’ neck as he cuddles you. A deep chuckle vibrates in Chris’ chest, and he plants a soft kiss on your temple. Then another one on your cheekbone. Then another next to your ear…

You giggle and close your eyes, “Someone’s eager.”

“Hard not to be with such a beautiful woman in front of me.”

After a few more kisses Chris gently moves you off his shoulder so you can sit up and look at him with half lidded eyes. For a moment you just sit there blinking slowly at him relishing in his embrace, and he’s just smiling at your fucked out expression. His hand slides from the back of your next to your cheek. He rubs the skin there with his thumb for a moment, then leans in to kiss you properly.

Just when Chris is a breath away from tasting your lips, a jarring ringtone cracks through the air and brings you back to reality. It’s Chris’ phone, but he doesn’t make a move to answer it. He only pauses at the first ring and captures your lips in a sweet kiss on the second.

“You’re not going to answer that?”

“They’ll call back if it’s important.” Chris murmurs against your lips and goes back in for more, seemingly drunk off the taste of you and your affection as you chuckle and kiss him back. After a few more seconds, the phone stops ringing only for it to resume again almost immediately after.

“I guess it’s important.” You sigh against Chris’ lips when you reluctantly pull away. Chris lets out a frustrated breath and pulls back, still not making a move to answer the call. His gaze darts from your eyes to your lips like he’s thinking about ignoring it again. You know better. The captain is a busy and well-respected man. You’ll be damned if that gets ruined because he can’t keep his hands off you. You smile sympathetically at him and kiss his cheek.

“I’ll clean up while you take care of that.” You move to get off the counter, but Chris’ strong hands at your hips stop you.

“I told you that you need to rest your foot.”

“You can convince me to elevate it again after you deal with that soldier boy. But until then-” You lean to the side to grab Chris’ phone, remove his hand from your hip, then plop the phone in his palm. “-duty calls.” You reply cheekily, giving the speechless captain a smirk before lowering yourself off the counter to collect the plates.

Chris shakes his head, smiles, presses a button on his phone and lifts it to his ear. “Hello?” You turn on the sink and begin washing the plates. You hear Chris reply in a more serious tone, and turn out of the kitchen to take the call in the living room. “Yeah, this is Captain Redfield.” Over the sound of the water you can’t hear who’s on the other end, but you can gather this is a serious conversation. You just hope it isn’t notifying Chris of a new outbreak, or something else that would require his immediate attention. You’d hate for it to disrupt such a pleasurable morning.

After you finish washing the plates, you turn off the tap and begin drying them. The speaker on Chris’ phone isn’t loud by any means, but in the silence of your little house you can clearly hear the conversation in the living room from your kitchen sink. And on the other end of the call, you hear a familiar, grating voice.

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach. It doesn’t take a genius to know that it’s the D.S.O. agent from your interview the day before. From the sound of it, the agent still had a stick up his ass and seemed to be grilling Chris with the same intensity he was questioning you. You can make out the tinny voice of the D.S.O. agent, clearly not liking Chris’ answers. “You want to know what I think captain? I think you’ve been soft on her.”

You can hear the scowl in Chris’ voice when he answers the agent with the same level of disdain while also remaining professional. “And I think you’re being harsh because you’re trying to see things that aren’t there. Aren’t government agents supposed to practice due process? She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Her husband almost destroyed the world. You really expect me to just take her word that she didn’t help?”

“She has been nothing but cooperative since then. Every bit of information she’s given the B.S.A.A. has checked out. Plus, her work after the fact has prevented more outbreaks than I’m cleared to talk about. There is no reason to suspect her of bioterrorism.”

There’s silence on the other end of the call, then the sound of a throat being cleared. “Well captain I called to inform you that I need to bring in a third party to verify your claims. No hard feelings of course, but I do believe your history with her is clouding your judgement.”

A range of emotions hits you all at once when you hear that. Anger at this asshole for being thick in the head. Annoyance at the fact that you’ll probably have to do yet another pointless interview about Africa. Then finally, a paralyzing uneasiness at the agent’s implication against Chris. You’ve been too soft on her. Chris’ high professional opinion of you alone results in distrust.

“Yeah, you do that. We done here?” You hear Chris reply cooly, but the rest of the conversation in drowned out by your inner turmoil.

Chris being in close professional proximity to you already turns heads, and not in a good way. Sure the people who can understand your work respect your intellect and appreciate the help, but everyone else sees the shadow of Albert’s memory.  

All is takes is someone breathing the name Wesker and the seed of distrust is already planted. Chris being in your corner alleviates some of that, albeit with bewildered looks and reluctant agreement.

You working with Chris is already unusual, but people respect him so they go along with the strange dynamic you two have. Would that respect remain if people knew you were fucking him? Would his team still follow him with full confidence into battle with no questions asked if they knew he was making you cry out his name after the mission was said and done? Would Chris still be sent on missions to clear up the loose ends of Umbrella’s misgivings if his superiors knew he was coming home to you, who literally slept with the enemy? In your mind, absolutely not.

How could you be so reckless? So selfish? You know you won’t be able to salvage any of Chris’ reputation by your own volition. Only taint it. In your mind, there can easily be a future where you and Chris are together, but the world slowly falls apart because of the distrust of you and the once infallible captain. True, Chris isn’t the B.S.A.A.’s only veteran, but he’s undoubtedly one of the most revered.

Before you can spiral further, two calloused hands grip your hips and a pair of lips tenderly kiss the space behind your ear. You can hear a smile and a suggestive mischievousness in Chris’ voice.

“I have to head out soon to handle a few things, but I’m going to make sure that foot is nice and elevated before I go.”

You heart flips and you can feel your cunt throb hearing his offer. You momentarily consider letting Chris have another taste of you, but instead you stick to your resolve. “You can head out now. This isn’t going to work out the way you think it will.”

You feel Chris’ grip on your hips soften and wait for his response. You can clearly envision him connecting the dots in his head of why you had a change of heart.

“Don’t let one asshole ruin something good for you.” Chris’ voice is soft, soothing. Pleading. One of his hands leaves your hips and tries to lace itself on top of your hand gripping the sink. You snatch your hand back and move away from his addictive embrace so there is an appropriate amount of space between you two. Your voice is serious and even. You look at Chris head on. His previously captivating eyes are confused.

“That’s not the point. You are so lucky people look up to you. I’m not going to ruin that by entertaining this.”

“I think that’s a joint decision-” Chris starts, but you’re quick to shut him down.

“No. You don’t get a say in this. You need to go, and we are going to forget today even happened.”

“Doc, that’s just one agent-”

“Among dozens more who think what he’s thinking but keep their opinions to themselves, so they don’t speak out against the B.S.A.A.’s golden boy.”

Chris looks like he's carefully picking his next words but you speak out before he has the chance to form a compelling argument. “I refuse to drag you down to my level. End of discussion. Leave.”

Chris is standing a few paces away from you next to the sink, still looking like he wants to keep insisting on a potential partnership that you know is doomed to fail. Your shoulders slump and you try a different tactic.

“I really do appreciate everything you’ve done for me, but I changed my mind. I don’t want you here right now. Please respect that.”

Chris processes your words. He nods his head and heads to the door. “Alright.”

You see him put his hand on his keys on the entryway table, but he doesn’t pick them up. His wanting eyes dart over to you one more time while you refuse to meet his gaze.

“I’ll check in on you next week. Do you need me to get your car picked up?”

Your car is still broken down in the parking lot of the bar from the night before. You sigh in frustration. “Thank you for reminding me. I’ll handle it. Drive safe.”

You can’t look at the front door. You’re not too sure if it would happen, but you don’t want to risk your resolve crumbling if you get a glimpse of Chris’ face. His infuriatingly kind, tempting face.

After a long pause, you finally hear Chris pick up his keys in the entryway and the front door open. “Keep that foot elevated, will ya Doc?”

“Will do.”

Another long pause, and you hear the front door mercifully close. A moment after, an engine starting up, and a large vehicle driving away.

In the silence of your kitchen, solitary living suddenly feels suffocating. Your mind is still racing. Even after being pushed away minutes after eating you out, Chris still wants to do things for you and it makes your heart ache. As strong as your resolve is right now, you’re unsure if you’ll be able to hold out and it terrifies you.

You need distance. Not just emotionally. Physical distance. You know the solution immediately.

In a matter of minutes, you dig out the offer letter from the trash and call the number on the header. When someone finally answers, you’re cordial. Calm.

“Hello, this is Dr. Wesker. I’m calling to learn more about your transfer offer.”

In the span of an hour, your escape plan is set. Europe HQ has booked you on a red eye flight to Germany for later that evening, a work visa is expedited, your new apartment keys are waiting for you across the globe, and you're throwing everything you can't replace in Germany into a suitcase without much throught for organization.

They were surprised to hear you wanted to transfer so quickly, but they were quick to accommodate your reasonable requests. And when they asked if Captain Redfield would still be checking in with you, they were more than understanding about you wanting a local agent to look after you.

Chris Redfield always tries to save everyone.

It’s your turn to make sure you save him from yourself.

_______________________________

Thanks for reading!

AO3 link for this part.

[mossyivy]

Domestic Chris and his Wife

I'm so sorry 🤣

[1asbrightasthestars3]

Eddie calling buck 'Evan' can be something so personal.