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squackfablio · 21 days ago

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Burning Shadows ミ✧*๑メ

ꏿ⊙╬ An upsetting breakup with your boyfriend lands you in West Africa where you meet the BSAA captain Chris Redfield as he finishes operations in the small towns around Kijuju. After some embarrassment, you finally gain footing as their nurse and work hard when the situation calls for it. You soon find that the respect you hold for Chris is reciprocated, but you get to say nothing of it before the mission ends and you're sent home. Will you ever see him again?

ꏿ⊙╬ Takes place in 2009 shortly after the events of RE5.

ꏿ⊙╬ tags: No use of y/n, Slow Burn, Post-Resident Evil 5, Resident Evil 5, Oneshot, Brief descriptions of gore and violence, Canon Compliant, Consent, Size Difference, Eventual Smut, Fluff

ꏿ⊙╬ notes: Hey hey! This is my first ever fic, so I do hope that you enjoy! It's for those who love Chris and story accurate fics. Please excuse any misuse of medical terminology (I am no doctor) or military terms, but I did try my best. Thanks for stopping in. (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)

A03 link: here

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Hot.

It was really hot.

What did you expect in middle-of-nowhere West Africa at noon? The sweat that wasn't soaked into your hair was dripping down your forehead and down your cheeks. It didn't help that the assholes at the drop spot a few miles back were making you carry two bags of medical supplies and rations with you. They told you they didn't have a spare vehicle to take you to the base, nor anyone willing to take the drive to come get you from the base, so you'd have to walk the eleven or so miles by yourself.

It also didn't help that you were new. The three guys in the helicopter knew it- that's why they were making you carry almost forty pounds of gear through the crowded cities, and now, what felt like the goddamn desert. It took you almost two hours to walk out of that first city where you were dropped off. It was alive with criminals, women carrying baskets, stall owners shouting in a language you couldn't understand, and strange men glaring at you from small alleyways. Not to mention the smell of rotting animal meat which was only worsened by the heat. You took a break the moment you passed the last building before the open savannah, rationing out what little water you had in your canteen for the trip before setting off again.

That was an hour ago.

You were delirious as you walked. The idea of rationing your water was quickly thrown out the window the moment you stepped onto the dirt road that was supposed to lead you to the BSAA camp where you were stationed. Your mouth was dry and your eyes burned as you stared out across the plains. The scenery in the distance seemed to warp and wiggle comically in the heat. You chuckled humorlessly at the sight before lazily dropping your gaze to your shoes. They, as well as the bottom of your pants, were coated in a thin layer of reddish-brown dust from the walk. What a shame. They were new.

You can't remember what it was they had said to you the day you were assigned to this mission. They flew you out to their base of operations in the UK a week after you had been hired, and two weeks after you had been certified as a field nurse. It was a big turnaround from your quiet, small-town life to this serious anti-bioterrorism agency to say the least.

It started the moment your boyfriend had asked for an open relationship– and not in a way that suggested excitement, but in a way that told you that there was already another woman he was trying to make an excuse for. When you refused and he became defensive, you knew it was over. He spat viciously about how he thought you were a stuck-up bitch with a degree who’d never amount to anything more than a stupid nurse- a feeling you had shared with him vulnerably several times before in your quiet night chats. It hurt to have one of your deepest fears being thrown at you by a man you thought loved you. He said several other hurtful things that night, things you had blocked from your memory to protect yourself. It was hard to break it off with him that night, and it was hard to throw away the things that reminded you of your time spent sharing each other's warmth the following morning. It did help that he, along with what you could only assume was his mistress, was put in jail for petty theft a month later.

It took you all of three days after your breakup for you to ask at the hospital where you worked if they had any opportunities that might take you literally anywhere else, possibly even overseas- and now you're here- staring at your dusty boots in the middle of a road in Africa.

You forced your eyes to blink and head to look down the road as you hear a car approaching in the distance. You couldn't tell if you were hallucinating or not until it actually rolled up beside you. A stern looking man with dark shades slowly stops next to where you stand on the side of the road. He leans over and opens the passenger-side door of his jeep to talk to you. The vehicle looked rather simple, made for function rather than appearance. When he clears his throat, you snap out of your daze and realize you had been staring at the door of the car for a few seconds without saying anything.

"What?" You sounded like you were dying.

"I asked if you were alright?" He repeats simply.

"I'm just a bit thirsty... that's all." You looked him over as you spoke until your eyes landed on the large BSAA patch on his right arm. Your body instantly straightens at the sight and you clear your throat.

His eyes follow your gaze to his patch and he leans back up into the driver's seat. "You're not the new nurse, are you?"

Your eyes meet his and you nod. His lips curl up into a smile and he laughs while patting the passenger seat next to him. You climb wearily into the car and throw your bags in the back as he begins asking questions. You explain the situation to him as he hands you a canteen and makes a U-turn on the dirt road.

"Bastards." He huffs. "I don't know why they told you no one would come get you. I was on my way half an hour ago. I'm just glad I found you at all." He glances at you as you rest against the seat, chugging water while the wind whips your hair around your face when you look back.

He gives you a look you can't quite decipher before returning his gaze to the road. It was quiet after that.

. . .

You didn't realize you had arrived until you were being shook awake. Your eyelids felt heavy as you opened them and leaned up again. This was the camp. Small but functional. It appeared to be made up of a small cluster of abandoned buildings, cleaned up somewhat and repurposed for sleeping, surveying, and intel work respectively. Whatever wasn’t in a building was in a tent nearby. Crates, spotlights, tables covered in equipment, guns and ammunition- this was the real deal.

“Captain-” A man called as he and a few others approached the driver side of the jeep where the man was stepping out.

“We have some intel we need you to look at and-” he held up his hand, “It’ll have to wait,” He stated. “The new nurse just got here, and we’ve got to set up her station.”

So this was Captain Redfield– Chris Redfeild– as in one of the founders of the organization you were now working for. From what you had heard of him before this, he had been seriously involved with some of the earliest bio-terrorist events like the incident at the Spencer Mansion and in Racoon City. That was stuff you had only really heard about in the news… Suddenly, the realization that you not only failed to recognize your superior but also fell asleep next to him during, what you now see, is a serious operation made your hands go cold. You swallowed rather roughly before stepping out of the car and walking around to the other side where Chris was talking and unloading your things. He moved with a certain air of stability and confidence as he opened the back door and easily picked up the gear you had recently been struggling to carry. Jesus, his biceps were big…

“Hey, did you hear me?” He wags his hand to catch your attention. “Man, you must be tired…but the med tent is over here.” He points past your head and off further into the camp.

You could die right now, but you snap up and follow him as he walks to a nearby tent. When the flaps open and you step inside, you find a very rudimentary infirmary– lit by a spotlight and a single lantern. A few crates, and a shoddy wooden table covered in a stain you couldn’t quite identify served as your workspace. Chris drops your gear and medical supplies in the middle of the floor for you to organize how you want.

“I know it’s nothing fancy, but it’s all we have out here.”

“No, this is perfectly fine- thank you.”

You turn to look at him after you survey the small room. The face he was making told you he didn’t understand why you were thanking him, but he said nothing else. After your small exchange, it was silent in the tent. It seemed even the hum of BSAA soldiers at work had quieted for this moment only. He was looking into your eyes with a distant expression, like he was thinking about something. Finally, you break eye contact and look down at all your supplies on the floor.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do, and I want this at least somewhat organized by tonight. So please, don’t worry about me- I'm sure someone out there needs you more right now.”

You cringed inwardly at how directly you were telling him to leave, and how you moved your hands a little too much as you spoke, but he didn’t look like he was all there as you spoke, so you cleared your throat awkwardly and he suddenly came to. “Right.” He says quickly while adjusting his vest. It sort of looks like he was smiling as he moved to exit the tent. Before he leaves, he quickly pats your shoulder. “I’ll see you around.” And he was gone.

. . .

It took you maybe forty minutes to actually unpack all your things and clean the area before changing into a clean shirt and sitting down on a cot to relax. You must not have realized your exhaustion, because you promptly passed out the moment your eyes closed. Some time later, you were being gently shaken awake again. When you open your eyes, which felt even heavier than they did earlier, you see Chris’ large form hovering over you and gently shaking your arm.

“What-?” You lean up and rub your eyes with the palm of your hand, quickly feeling the dull ache of soreness beginning in your shoulders and arms.

“We’re having dinner now if you’d like to join us?” He’s speaking quietly, like he’s trying not to startle you.

“Oh- Yeah, yeah dinner- I’ll um… I’ll come eat.”

As you step back outside the tent to walk to the canteen with Chris, the cold air of the night hits you like a truck.

“Holy shit…!” You shudder and curse, more to yourself than anything- but you hear Chris chuckle quietly ahead of you as he spreads the flaps of the tent and steps inside. You follow him inside and are greeted with the sight of fifteen or so men and women around two wooden tables pushed together lengthwise into one long one, all sitting on various crates, storage boxes, metal folding chairs, and small stools. It’s dim in the tent, and cold- but not nearly as bad as outside. They call to their captain the moment he steps in, all acknowledging him in some way or another. He grabs two small metal dishes and sits at an empty spot, ushering you to the spot next to him before laying a dish in front of you. He silently motions to the pot of, what looks like, stew on your end of the table. You grab a few ladle’s full and dump it onto your plate while Chris talks to his team. He absentmindedly scoops his own when you’re done as he goes around the table asking for updates.

It was a relatively quiet meal until Chris suddenly calls for a toast to you as a welcome. You look up while wiping your mouth with your sleeve, trying to act like you weren’t devouring your bowl of stew like an animal a few seconds before. The team cheers, tin cups raised and clanking together as they both welcome you and thank you for coming out here to work as their only nurse. You couldn’t help but smile and raise your own cup, gratefully accepting the kind gesture.

. . .

The rest of dinner went better than you expected. The men and women who once seemed so disgruntled and serious to you now appeared plainly as just… people. They were kind to you, they laughed with you, they told you stories, they shared a meal with you. What amazed you was that they knew when to be serious and work and when to just hang out and have a good laugh– something your old coworkers didn’t quite get. Naturally, after the wonderful company at dinner, you offered to wash dishes and let everyone else get some rest for the night. They thanked you again, stacked their plates, and left for the night.

You quietly collected the plates and utensils and carried them to the wash basin in the back corner of the tent. In all the excitement and humor you hadn’t noticed Chris’ gaze on you the entire time– watching you, admiring you, and smiling when he saw how quickly you were bonding with his unit. He now sat in the tent after everyone had left, so quiet you didn’t realize he was there. So when you got up and turned from the basin to get more plates and saw Chris still sitting at the table, arms folded over his chest, you screamed a little.

“Fuck!” You quickly cover your mouth with your hand, look at him a moment longer, and then wipe the hand down your face before continuing, “I- I am so sorry Captain.”

He says nothing as he stands and picks up the rest of the dishes from the table and brings them to you. “For a field nurse you seem oddly…unobservant.” He steps closer. “And you keep falling asleep on the job.” Your eyes flit around nervously and you quietly swallow. “I- I’m not– I didn’t–” The stare he’s holding with you is nothing short of intense as he comes even closer.

“I’m kidding,” He straightens back up and chuckles quietly. “You can head to bed, I’ll finish up these dishes.” You let out a quiet breath of relief and shakily nod. “Well, goodnight then Captain.” You give him a last lingering glance before turning and quietly exit the tent. He silently watches your form until the flaps close behind you.

The heat now radiating from your body repelled the cold night air as you walked back to your tent. It was partly from the embarrassment of having a less than exemplary first day, and partly from the exchange with your superior. Maybe you were out of your depth here…

The flaps of your tent part as you pass through and make a b-line for your cot. You collapse onto it and groan. What a shitty first day this was. You haphazardly throw your arm up and search for the gas lamp on the crate next to your bed to turn it off. Apparently those first two naps weren’t enough because the moment the darkness envelops you, you're out like the lamp.

. . .

Unfortunately, the next few days were not nearly as exciting as you had hoped they’d be. The days were long and hot with nothing to do but organize the same old supplies. The only work you did in three days was giving someone NSAIDS and a bottle of electrolytes. You spent most of the day in your tent reading manuals or walking around and sitting near the entrance of camp to listen as jeeps and trucks went in and out of camp. The days were long, but it all felt worth it at dinner time when you got to sit around the table with Captain Redfield and his team. They were all such nice people with such interesting stories, and they shared it all with you over a plate of gruel at this fold-out table. Chris wasn’t talkative all the time, but you quickly found he didn’t need words- just getting to sit by him and watch as his team joked with him told you all you needed to know about who he was to these people. From what you gathered, he’s a helpful but strong willed man. He’ll punch a boulder and kill someone, but he’ll also take a bullet for a stranger. His team respects him- that much is clear.

Every day at the end of dinner when everyone had left, you’d collect the dishes and radio and bring them over to the wash basin to begin cleaning. It was your way of giving back since you felt you weren’t doing much as their nurse. Sometimes Chris would stay behind, sometimes he wouldn’t- sometimes he would ask to take over for you and you’d have to respectfully decline.

“I let you take over that first night for the sake of being polite… besides, I really don’t mind.” You’d tell him, and he’d laugh before leaving.

On this particular night you were alone with the radio and the dishes. The cicadas and desert bugs hummed just outside the tent, flying through the warm night air and perching on trees to sing to you. The radio crackled quietly beside you while you scrubbed- the song playing was just familiar enough that you could hum to it, but not enough that you could sing it. Tonight was probably the nicest night in the week you’d spent here- warm and completely peaceful. It finally felt like you were a part of something again even if you weren’t doing much for your actual job, you were still a good comrade and doing your best to be helpful.

Quietly from behind you hear the flaps of the tent open, already guessing who it was.

“Chris, I don’t want to have to fight you over the dishes again.” You joke and chuckle to yourself, turning to point a fork at him. He hums a laugh and shakes his head, walking over to you with his hands in his pockets and standing next to you at the basin.

“You won’t have to… I’m just going to help you so you can go to sleep.” He hums.

You give him a sidelong glance and hand him a dirty plate, your half-assed scrubbing on the fork and humming along with the radio resumes. Despite staring at the dishes and utensils in front of you, you can feel Chris’ eyes on you, though he still scrubs diligently. The song fades and it’s quiet, even the cicadas outside settled.

“I hope you’re doing all right out here…” He begins quietly, examining you before continuing. “I read in your file that you had only ever worked in a hospital, and now you’re out here… where you could die at any moment. Why the big change, if you don’t mind me asking.”

Your scrubbing on the fork slows and you just stare at it for a moment.

“I uh- I guess I’m just running from my past. But aren’t most people out here?” You glance over at Chris, only to find him already looking at you, quietly observing you.

“I was. For a long time. Until I had to kill my old captain a few weeks ago. My past came back and slapped me in the face and I had no choice but to face it.”

You listen quietly, watching as he furrows his brows when he mentions his old captain.

“I can’t say I know exactly what that’s like… but, I’ve been betrayed too.” You look back down into the basin and shift your weight onto the other foot. “I’m sorry you had to do that.”

“It’s okay… it was clear that he was really losing it at the end. Can’t say there was even anything left of my old captain anymore.”

You hum as you finally finish scrubbing off the fork and set it aside, not sure of what to say. He clears his throat and turns back to the dishes so you can both get some sleep. The cicadas pick back up again, now melding with the sound of splashing water and clanking tins.

“Me and some of the team are heading out tomorrow morning. We’ve got some business to finish up in the surrounding towns before we pack up and leave next week. I’d like you to stay at camp and keep an eye on things with a few of the other guys.” He pauses before continuing, “I don’t want our only nurse to get hurt.”

Your scrubbing slows again and you look up at Chris

He's still looking at you.

“I-” Your words get caught in your throat, so you swallow. “Thank you. For uh, trusting me to look over things.”

He hums and pats your back, albeit a little too firmly before putting down the bowl he had been scrubbing. “Hey, we really appreciate you out here. I've only heard good things about you from the team…” he pauses, “I know it's been a hard transition for you, but you're doing great.”

You huff out a laugh before smiling at him, “thanks.”

. . .

Just as Chris had said, he and a group of men had left early the next morning. It was quiet when he left, and early enough in the day that it was a tolerable temperature outside. As usual, you took to cleaning and organizing- maybe indulging in the occasional small talk with someone, but overall it was quiet. The days he was gone seemed to drag on for an eternity.

Hot.

It was really hot.

When you finally heard the scraping of truck tires on hot sand and gravel outside your tent, it had been almost four days. Before you had even left your tent, you could hear panicked and muffled chatter brewing as the trucks parked in the middle of camp. As you head to the entrance of your tent to investigate, several men brush past you, carrying a stretcher with a wounded man, groaning in pain and wrapped in sloppy bandages. You only got a glimpse of his swollen face and bloody arms before another stretcher was being pushed past you and onto the other cot in your tent.

“What’s-?”

“Bombs.” Someone told you quickly. “They had weapons…and explosives. I-.”

“Who?” You interrupt in a confused panic.

“The townspeople- their militia, they- they weren't happy to see Americans I guess.”

You swallow a lump in your throat and brace yourself as you leave the tent. Two trucks were parked in the middle of the camp with swarms of injured and limping people, some shouting and some relaying information. Subconsciously, your eyes searched for Chris in the crowd, eventually finding him at the center, surrounded by a cluster of people. You didn't really have to push through the crowd, as they stepped aside for you almost immediately. When you finally got a good look at him, you had to force yourself to remain professional and hold in a gasp. He was slouched over, leaning on two bigger men to even be upright- his eyes were downcast and tired, and there were several deep cuts and black bruises that littered his body. For the first time in months, you felt your instincts kick in as you ordered people to begin moving and grabbing things for you.

Chris, the two men from your tent, and several others were moved into the dining tent on flimsy cots where you could examine them. With the help of the few men and women, you got the people who were injured stripped down and cleaned up. As you worked, you didn’t even notice the sweat that pooled on your forehead and dripped down your neck- it didn’t bother you like it did on that first day walking here. You didn’t stop moving between the cots in the dining tent until the sun was far below the horizon. You were grateful for the help from the several people who were willing and able to aid you. They cleaned wounds, brought ice, helped feed and hydrate those who were too weak to do it themselves, and gave whatever medication you instructed. Things like stitching wounds, administering painkillers, antibiotics, and antiseptics and bandaging was left up to you, and you did it diligently.

You didn’t stop working until the worst of the problems had been resolved out of fear that your body might shut down from exhaustion if you sat for even a moment. By the time you were finally done, it was late into the night- almost early morning. All of the injured were quiet and sleeping by that time, all except for Chris, who you were currently sitting next to and laughing with. He had insisted you put him on the bottom of the priority list for help because he didn’t want to take away medical attention from his comrades. So here you were, sitting next to his cot and gently stitching up a deep slash on his right forearm. He was somewhat numbed, but still conscious as he gazed at you- the hand you were using to stabilize his arm with was subconsciously caressing him in a soothing manner as you sewed the cut closed. For a second, your eyes flitted to his upper biceps as they were now exposed by the thin white tank top he was changed into. There was a bite mark. You had to stop stitching to let out a quiet laugh.

“Did- did someone bite you?” You ask incredulously.

He looks down as best he can, “Uh… huh, guess so.” He chuckles too.

You smile, “You’re the first patient I’ve ever had who’s laughed while being stitched up.” You hum, continuing to slide the curved needle through his tender skin. “Yeah, well it’s not my first rodeo.” He says wearily. “I’m sure.” He starts a quiet chuckle, only to wince as you pierce his arm a little too quickly.

“Ooh, sorry.” You say quickly, but he just shakes his head and lays back on his cot, closing his eyes to let you finish in peace. After a few more stitches, you tie the knot and cut the string, gently wrapping gauze and a bandage around it. When you stood to leave, you wanted to say something to Chris, but saw that he had already dozed off. You back away quietly and give everyone else a once over before returning to your tent and promptly passing out, grimy and exhausted, but relieved.

. . .

The plane ride a week later was lonely to say the least. You thought you’d be relieved to be out of such a dangerous situation, but instead you felt empty. You only knew the people there for a little less than three weeks of your life, but you already missed them dearly. For the first time you felt really connected to a community and to a cause that was bigger than yourself.

Your heel dug into the metal floor of the plane as you cradled your head in your hand, eyes low as you tried to alleviate a headache. The reddish brown dirt on your shoes only reminds you of the trudge you first made through those towns in the relentless heat… and meeting Chris… and bandaging his battered body…

You missed the dining tent, and the light conversation and laughter, and the kind looks from everyone, and washing dishes with Chris after, and laughing with Chris, and stitching Chris’ wounds and–

—you missed Chris.

Those few days after he returned with his body swollen and beaten went by quickly. In a way, you felt like you were in that hospital back home, just doing your job with plain middle-class suburbanites again, but the distant gunfire and less than sterile environment quickly reminded you that you were in a warzone. In a way, it was also easier than back home. These people were soldiers, they didn’t need or want to be treated like they couldn’t handle a few bruises, or a needle up the arm. Chris was especially resilient. Despite being one of the worst off, he was up and walking the fastest. He didn’t complain, didn’t make it obvious he was in pain, didn’t lash out at anyone- just… kept on as usual. He still helped wrap up operations, communicate to higher-ups, relay information, give orders, and even wash dishes and bed pans with you, just like he had all those nights ago.

The nights when you actually got to sit down and have a meal with the team were few and far between by the end. Everyone was too busy working in the evenings when it was cooler to share a meal on the mismatched furniture. When you did though, you knew it meant washing dishes with Chris again. The last night you shared together, he had leaned in and whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ in your ear that left your heart pounding and skin warm the whole night through. Early in the morning the next day though, he was gone and your string of headaches began.

You were upset that no one told you he was going to leave in the middle of the night, but it didn’t stop you from saying your goodbyes to the remaining people whom you had befriended. Now here you were, only a few hours into a several hour flight home, cradling your head and heartbroken.

. . .

Four months. It had been four months since you had returned home from your time in Africa. You had been thanked for your work abroad, and compensated handsomely- which was great, but you had heard or seen nothing of Chris in all that time since. Now you’re back to working at the same hospital you had once hoped you’d never return to. It was depressing to say the least, but you didn’t have any other choice.

You spent several nights researching the BSAA and its agents- but there wasn’t much to find as most of it was classified. It did show some things about Chris, considering he was pretty important, but it was only some limited descriptions of operations, role, and past in the air force- nothing about past missions, partners, or family. You groaned as you saw the word classified across your laptop screen- you had spent your third night in a row after your shift to find anything you could about Chris, just to confirm that any and all information was kept under lock and key.

Some point after the dozenth ‘page not found’ and hundredth classified, you gave up. You figured it was better to just forget the whole ordeal rather than run yourself ragged.

One sunday morning, almost 5 months later, after two days off work and a lazy saturday spent in a daze with a terrible head cold, you looked at the mess of tissues and opened medication scattered around your apartment and decided you needed to get out of the house. A quick hot shower and wardrobe change lead you out into the streets beyond your apartment.

It was actually pretty mild outside today. Just cold enough to not be sweltering and just warm enough to remind you of the arrival of summer. People were out on the streets with you on this early summer day- laughing, walking in pairs, enjoying each other's company and basking in the warmth of the sun. You took in the sight of your neighborhood, remembering the shops that you might want to take a peak in to pass the time.

You buy a baguette at the local bakery, some fancy cheese and radishes in the farmers market and a bouquet of fresh flowers from a man on the street. Your meandering leads you to an antique store several blocks from your apartment building. A beautiful dress in the window pulls you inside to take a look around. It was fairly busy in here too, lots of people having the same lazy day as you, you suppose.

Aisles of trinkets and outdated clothes all lead to an area with porcelain dishes and ceramic platters in the back. You picked up a particularly pretty dish covered in flowers when a voice from behind you froze you in place.

“You get tired of washing dishes?”

You swallow and turn, arms full and heavy, hand still gripping the dish,

“Chris?”

In your shock you almost drop the bunch of radishes gripped in your free hand, but he quickly catches it and holds it for you. A heat of embarrassment washes through you, but he chuckles. “What are you doing here?” You finally ask.

“Ah, well, I was just perusing the CDs, but I saw someone walk by and I thought I recognized her aimless wandering.” He states simply.

God, he looked amazing now that he wasn’t covered in a layer of grime and sweat. His umber brown hair was still in a cropped, almost buzzed style, his stubble was just barely coming in, and his eyes were a dark and deep blue, almost brown, as they gazed at you. The large, worn leather jacket he wore smelled faintly of musk and cigarettes and his black boots squeaked quietly on the leather floor as he shifted his weight.

“Oh.” You say simply. His presence was not helping clear your mind any better than your cold medicine. He seems to notice your dazed expression and smiles before offering, “Mind if I help you carry your things?”

You snap back to reality and finally meet his eyes, a small smile spreads on your face as well, mirroring his.

“Yes. Please, that would be nice.”

He quickly takes the baguette, cheese, and flowers before quietly turning back to the shelf of dishware. “I uh,” you speak up, “I’m actually done looking around… if you’re done too?”

He nods and you walk beside him out of the store and onto the street. “Would you like to come to my apartment? Share some of this bread and cheese with me?” You offer shyly.

“That would be nice, I’d love to catch up.” He looks over, a small smile curling at the edge of his lips.

So you begin the walk towards your apartment building, sharing how the past few months had been for the both of you. You tell him about returning to work at the hospital and some of your coworkers, conveniently skipping the part where you looked him up several nights in a row. Chris assures you that the past few months have been boring for him- office business and writing reports he confirms with a groan. You laugh a little as you lead him through the door of your apartment building and into the elevator.

You continue the conversation in the elevator, through the hallways, and all the way to your kitchen where you begin slicing the baguette and cheese to eat. Chris smiles as you talk, finding your scissors and pruning the flowers without you asking. He arranges them in the vase that you hand to him, places them on the counter, takes off his jacket, hangs it off the back of a chair, and comes to your side. He smells more like coffee now, coffee and daffodils.

He follows you to your living room and sits on your couch, taking a slice of bread off the plate as you place it in front of him.

“Please excuse the mess, I’ve been fighting a cold for the past few days.” You say sheepishly, collecting a few stray tissues and a half empty medicine bottle to put away.

“It’s all right. We’ve all been there.”

You smile, sitting next to him after washing your hands. You sit a little further than you might normally, out of respect of course, but his eyes glance down at the gap, then back at you- he must have noticed. He chews slowly, watching you as you look anywhere but him. He must not feel the thick air of nervousness that clings to you. You simply don’t know what to say, so you stand up once more, picking at your cuticles as you look down at him.

“Would you like something to drink?” You ask politely. You never felt this nervous around him before- but something about having him in your apartment, on your couch. . . his presence was suffocating.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

You turn to grab yourself some water, then return to his side, not meeting his eyes. A beat passes.

“Are you… alright?”

Maybe the couch cushions will swallow you whole.

“I uh… guess i just missed you more than I thought.” Your throat feels like sandpaper. Why would you say that? Of course he doesn’t miss you- he probably didn’t think about you once since leaving. “Well, I missed everyone a lot.” You add quickly, “But… you especially.”

After an eternity of silence, he chuckles quietly and your eyes shoot up to his- fear and embarrassment written all over your face.

“That’s it?”

“Well… yeah.” Is he messing with you?

“I missed you too.” He says easily, “Mostly because I liked you.”

“What?” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. His eyes crinkle with laughter.

“You were always helpful,” He elaborates, “you got along well with my squad, you saved my life… not to mention you’re beautiful.”

Your hands felt clammy and warm as you held them to your thighs, unable to move. “But you’ve had your life saved many times, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “But it wasn’t by you.”

Maybe you had passed out on your couch hours ago, delirious from your cold, and hallucinated this whole encounter, because the way golden light from the late evening sun was filtering through the blinds and illuminating Chris’ form was unreal. Maybe you were hallucinating leaning towards him on the couch, and bracing your arms next to his thigh, and his warm hand coming to your neck. Maybe you were imagining the smoothness of his lips and the heat of his breath as it mingled with yours.

It felt so natural to kiss him, like you’d done it a thousand times. His lips seem to mold to yours as you move against him, perfectly in sync, and infinitely careful. The moment only ends when you break from him, panting quietly while your heart pounds in your chest. The way you hesitantly look up at him after sets his body on fire, and it becomes clear to him that you have no idea the effect you have.

“I’m sorry, I probably just got you sick…”

“Don’t apologize.” He says breathlessly, pulling your body to his and crushing his lips to yours again. Your hands desperately claw at his back to hold on as he swings you over and onto his lap. Your proximity to him not only lets you feel the heat that radiates from him, but also what years of hard training has done to his body. He groans quietly into your mouth when your hands come around his thick torso to his chest, and up his neck to the back of his head where you scratch the back of his scalp. Your hands are desperate to feel all of his body, while his are steadily and respectfully placed on your upper hip.

“Please… touch me.” You manage out in between kisses. A moment passes and he slows against you, considering your offer, before finally letting go of your hips to smooth up your sides, bunching up your shirt as he goes. By now you had stopped kissing to sigh quietly and watch his expression while he felt you. His hands drop back down to the hem of your shirt and his eyes come up to yours, asking permission. You lift your arms and he slides it off quickly. For a moment he looks at you in awe. The sun was setting through the window behind you, and its light was illuminating your body like a halo. Maybe he was dreaming too.

You bite your lip, and your hips squirm almost imperceptibly but Chris still lets out a breath.

“Care to return the favor?” You hum, squishing your breasts together between your arms.

He blinks up at you only to grab you under your thighs and begin standing. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and squeeze your legs together behind his back.

“Where’s the bedroom?” You make a vague gesture, pointing behind you with your hand and he quickly walks around your couch to where he assumes you pointed, cheese and bread long forgotten behind you.

His scent makes your head spin until he lays you down on your bed and eases you off so he can remove his shirt.

Jesus Christ.

The tank top he wore the night you stitched his arm left little to the imagination, but even then it didn’t hold a candle to what was before your eyes right now. You could see all the scars that scattered his torso, pale and protruding ever so slightly. The ones you remember patching up were still a little pink, and you could see the faintest suggestion of that bite mark on his upper bicep. His body was wide and tapered down to his hips. Thick hair covered his chest and sternum, trailing down his toned abs and belly button before disappearing into his jeans. His biceps bulged, and his forearms, also covered in a layer of brown hair, swayed slightly with his labored breathing.

When you finally finished ogling him, he was on his knees at the side of your bed, pulling your hips towards his body, and you yelp in surprise at the ease with which he’s moving you. You can feel his warm breath through your pants and it makes you shudder.

“Let me repay you for saving me.” He breathes, resting his rough hands at your knees- somehow still asking for permission even though it was clear he was fighting with himself.

You dig your nails into your comforter to stabilize yourself, then rest your head back and spread your legs. Chris takes the hint and gently begins pulling your pants and underwear down in one motion. The back of your head digs into your bed sheets and your body squirms at the cold air, but Chris’ hands hold you down and press your hips into the mattress.

His hot breath travels up the inside of your legs and to your core where he noses your folds. Naturally, one of your hands moves to grip his hair and hold it as he licks a thick stripe up. Instantly your legs clamp around his head, so he continues licking up in slow, even motions. He keeps up the steady pace that makes heat radiate through you in a ripple for a couple minutes, then moves his hand down and introduces a thick finger. It makes you clench and roll your hips into his face. The vibration from him moaning into you and his finger curling inside you sends you to the edge faster than you had expected, and you panic. Quickly, you pound his back with your heel and try pulling his head up.

“S-stop. Stop!” You cry.

He stops almost instantly and looks up, removing his finger. Your body finally relaxes and you open your eyes to peer down at him. He looks concerned, but his pupils are blown out and his stubble is slick and glistening.

“What’s wrong?” He says quickly and you prop yourself up on your elbows, practically panting.

“I- I uh, I almost-” You follow his eyes as he stands from between your legs, bulge clear in your peripheral, “I just didn’t want to finish yet.”

“Do you want me to stop? I can stop.” He sounded so gentle, so concerned. Nothing like the man you saw back in Africa who yelled orders with a machete strapped to his back.

“No, god, no.” You say quickly, pushing yourself to sit up fully, legs still spread to accommodate his body. Your hands crane behind you to unclip your bra and shrug it off. He looks only briefly, then returns his gaze to your eyes, waiting for you to say something to clarify. Instead your hands move to his belt to begin unclipping it. He still doesn’t move, but his eyes are laser trained on your hands as you pull his belt through the loops and toss it on the floor.

“I’m impatient, what can I say?” You smile up at him, but it falters when you see the fire that burns in his eyes. He must seriously be restraining himself right now. How kind. Still, in an act of mercy, you decide to pick up the pace. His jeans fall down the length of his legs, pooling at his feet, and you can clearly see the outline of his dick in his black boxers as it twitches. You look up and see he’s watching you with anticipation, so you bring up your hand to begin palming him. He lets out a sharp gasp and grips your hand on instinct. He must be sensitive, you think.

“I see we’re both impatient.” You hum, letting go and standing. He lets go too and steps back, making room for you. You grab his arms, even though he towers over you, and pull him around to switch places with you at the bed. He obliges and shuffles around so the back of his calves hit your mattress. You gesture for him to sit, and the mattress sags under his weight, his legs now spread to accommodate your thighs. He looked entirely too big for your small apartment bed, but it made your body tingle to see him waiting for you. He has all of the size but none of the malice as his dark eyes watch you.

You climb on top of him, legs going to either side of his hips, and your naked core hovers over his boxers. His breathing has picked up again, so has yours- and you resolve to reach between your bodies and pull his boxers down, leaning back just enough so he can watch as your bodies converge. He’s leaned back to watch as well, propping himself up on his left arm while holding your hip with his right. The fabric of his boxers momentarily gets caught on his eager erection, but your determination quickly resolves it and you finally pull him free. He’s hot and heavy in your hand, pulsing with blood and twitching at your delicate touch.

He holds your legs as you lean over to your nightstand and pull open the drawer to retrieve a condom. He’d laugh at your consistency in being so well-prepared if he wasn’t so turned on by how you ripped the package open with your teeth. He’s practically panting in your ear as you roll the condom over and align him with your entrance, spreading your folds with his tip.

Within seconds you collapse into his arms, panting into the crook of his neck and clutching his firm biceps for dear life as you will yourself to accommodate him. He wraps his arms around you loosely and rubs up and down the length of your back in a soothing manner.

“I know.” He whispers, “You can do it.”

You bury your face into his neck, inhaling the scent of musk and sweat before finally letting your hips meet his. His hands drop to the swell of your ass and squeeze when you bite down on his neck and moan. You sit like that for a moment, joined at the hips and panting into each other's necks until he quietly speaks up.

“Can- can I move?”

“Y-yeah. Please.”

He squeezes down again and begins pulling your hips up, unsheathing himself, just to pull you back down. He wasn’t even breaking a sweat as he pulled you up and down for several minutes. You tried helping, but quickly found it did nothing, and he had more than enough strength to keep going. He kept a steady pace that stretched you out over and over again. It made your head spin, and for several minutes you let him use you while you laid limp in his arms, gasping into his shoulder.

“Let me ride you.” You demand weakly into his ear. He lets out a quiet moan and squeezes your ass one last time, finally letting go. He scoots further onto the bed and lays on his back, still connected with you at the hip. You take a deep breath to collect yourself, then brace your hands on his chest.

Truly, you felt like heaven against him as you ground your hips down, back at forth, up and down. He’s in another plane of existence right now. You smell like sweet vanilla and gentle rain, you always have. He could smell it when you washed dishes together, when you got close to patch him up, when you laughed beside him in the dining tent.

“Fuuck…” he groans, eyes squeezing shut.

He barely notices how hard you’re digging your nails into his chest as you ride him, all he can focus on is the circular bounce of your breasts as you move. You could do whatever you wanted to him, he thought, and he would take it happily.

Eventually you speed up, and he finds that he can’t take it anymore. Without warning he pulls you down to his chest and begins bucking his hips up into you with a renewed vigor. The strength with which he’s holding you down is knocking the air out of your lungs, but you still find the strength to moan his name. He cries out your name in return while he pounds you relentlessly- his words coming out more and more slurred with every thrust.

“Ah-! Chris, I’m-” You finally manage to get out.

“Yeah- yeah, me too.” He says quickly.

It was becoming dark in your room as the dusk turned into twilight. You could faintly hear the sound of crickets starting their chirp outside, but it was quickly drowned out by the jumble of your and Chris’ desperate cries. It must have been longer than you thought since you last felt loving like this. You now see your ex pales in comparison to this.

Chris must not get this often either. You can’t imagine he has much time for this sort of thing with his job. Maybe you both needed this release more than you first thought.

You’re drawn out of your head as the coil deep in your stomach suddenly snaps. Your pleasure washes over you like a wave and your hole begins to spasm around him. Without thinking, you sink your teeth into the thick muscle on his shoulder again as you cry out. That must have sent Chris over the edge too, and his hips stuttered. Molten arousal pools in the tip of the condom before dispersing down the sides. His breaths are shaky and uneven, and he lets go of the tight hold he had on you. You gasp as you’re finally freed and Chris quickly sits up, holding you so you don’t slip.

“I’m sorry, are you all right?” He asks, concern lacing his tone as he looks over you.

“Mm, no yeah, I'm okay. That was just… intense.” You assure him. “But I do need to go to the bathroom.” He quickly takes his arms off and you unimpale yourself as best you can with your shaky legs. You stand on the floor again, graciously peel the condom off his softening erection, and throw it away. You use the bathroom and gently wash yourself with a warm rag before going back out to Chris, who is now reclined on your bed with an arm covering his eyes.

“Here.” You say gently as you wipe him off as well, and he hums in gratitude.

“You all right? Need anything?” He smiles up at you and stands so he can put his boxers back on.

“Just some water… thank you.” He asks.

You nod and dress yourself in your pajamas, handing him your water bottle and the only shirt of yours in his size which has a faded picture of Garfield on the front. You both laughed about it as he pulled it on over his head. It was still a little tight on him, but you weren’t complaining. Afterwards, he stands and admires your room, unsure of what to do with himself.

“Can you stay the night? Or is there somewhere you have to be, I’m sure you’re very busy.”

He smiles, “No, I can stay. I will have to leave in the early morning… but, I can stay the night.”

You smile back and walk to your bed, pulling back the covers. He climbs in after you and you quickly snuggle into his side.

“Not where I thought I’d find myself tonight.” He hums thoughtfully after a minute.

“Oh yeah? ‘Cause I thought you were stalking me or something.” You joke and he chuckles, wrapping his arm around your body.

“I promise you I don’t use my intel for stuff like that.”

“Mmhm.”

Maybe after he left tomorrow, you’d never see him again- but right now he was here next to you, holding you in his arms and gently running his fingers over your hair. Somehow he found his way back to you… you guess it’s true what they say about love… Even if he leaves, something inside you knows that he’ll be back someday.

“Goodnight, Chris… and thank you.”

He kisses the top of your head. “Of course.”

. . .

When the early morning light filtered through your blinds and danced across your eyes, you knew he was gone. You didn’t need to feel the empty space in your bed to know it. As you walked to your kitchen, you saw the flowers he had so thoughtfully arranged for you on your counter. Tucked between some of the leaves, there lay a small white card. You pulled it out and examined it. In small, tight handwriting you see a note from Chris.

“Thank you for last night.

I’ve got some business to take care of, but I'll be back next week.

In the meantime, take this-”

And he scribbled out his number for you on the back. You couldn’t help but smile at the note, fiddling with it in your fingers before laying it on the counter. Light from the sun hit your skin and instantly warmed it. It was going to be hot today, you thought.

Really hot.

✷⁠‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷‿⁠✷

Hey! Thanks for reading all the way through- if you have any suggestions, comments, or recommendations I'd be more than happy to hear them. Thank you!

#resident evil #Chris Redfield #Chris Redfield smut #Chris Redfield x reader #chris redfield x you #Resudent Evil 5 #Smut #slow burn #Oneshot

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