algea

He cracks the door open before pushing it open to reveal his perpetual uniform of a tight short-sleeve shirt and sand-colored cargo pants secured with a metal belt buckle that glistens beneath the dim light of your office. Two faint lines between his brows give away the fact that he's stressed, or confused, or both. He narrows his dark eyes at you.

“It’s seven o’clock. Why are you still here?” Chris asks, glancing back into the near-silent hallway at all the empty cubicles and offices that surround yours. “Everyone else has gone home, it looks like.”

“I have to finish up this report or it’ll never get done. I figured I’d stay late and tough it out. You know, I could ask you the same question. You don’t even work in this building, what are you doing here?”

He laughs, throwing up a hand in defeat. “Got me. I’m looking for Leon, do you know where he is?” 

Ugh, Leon. The man who broke your heart into a million pieces yesterday, his harsh words still sizzling on your skin, the knife of his apathy and disinterest still twisting in your gut. Truth be told, this report didn’t need to get done tonight, you just couldn’t bear the idea of going home to an empty apartment to sob over old photos and memories, wine-drunk and pitiful. The mental image of you sitting on the couch, ugly-crying into a pint of ice cream while scrolling through your camera roll makes you nauseous. No thank you. Spreadsheet and vending machine food it is.

"In his office, probably," you sigh. "Check the third floor." 

"I did and he's not there. Why I came down to you. Thought you'd know where he is, being his girlfriend and all." 

Leon must not have told him what happened.  

You relinquish control over your computer mouse. "I don't know, sorry. As of…" You peer down at the dainty watch on your wrist. "…twenty hours ago, I am no longer apprised of Leon Kennedy's comings and goings." 

"Uh-oh." Chris steps further into your office, shutting the door behind him before taking a seat in one of the plush upholstered chairs across from your desk. He's so massive you're always surprised to see him completely dwarf normal-sized objects. He's almost cartoonishly too large for the chair, limbs sturdy and long, trying to find a comfortable position. His thick forearms, faintly peppered with dark hair and brown freckles, drape over the armrests. Dense thighs spread as he settles onto the cushion. "That doesn't sound good. Mind if I ask what happened?" 

You raise an accusatory eyebrow, hesitant to divulge to you of his closest friends the details of your and your ex-boyfriend's messy break-up, but his face just looks so sincere and concerned, you can't help but spill. 

"We broke up last night. Two-and-a-half years down the drain," you sigh, letting your shoulders fall, leaning back against the mesh of your rolling chair. "Difference of opinion, I guess." 

"And what opinion would that be?" 

Dying to find a distraction, your fingers fiddle with the cuffs of your silk blouse as you fight back menacing tears that threaten to fall and smudge your makeup. You can’t have yourself looking like a mess in front of Chris just in case he goes behind you back to Leon and tells him just how devastated you are without him in your life now. Truthfully, Chris isn’t the type of man to act so juvenile, but you still would rather keep your composure in front of a mutual friend. 

"I thought we were good together and he…didn't. Said he couldn’t see a future with me." 

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry to hear that, (Y/N)." Chris's eyes fall, if only a moment before he glances back up at you with a slight toothless smile, sympathetic and warm, and a breathy chortle leaves his chest. You blink at him, perplexed by such an odd reaction. "Actually, I'm not sorry to hear that. Really, I’m kind of glad." 

He stands up, thirty-eight-year-old joints popping at the shift in movement. Walking to the other side of the desk, stopping right in front of you, he kneels down on one knee, left elbow resting on left thigh, hand slack. You can't believe your eyes, trying to find some sort of curtain to pull back and reveal what is truly happening because this can't be reality. 

"Chris, what are you—" 

His other hand slides between your knees, not moving, just staying still, sandwiched between them. Dark blue eyes are glued to his hand, to your flesh surrounding it. 

"I always thought you were too good for him. He didn't deserve a woman like you—always leaving you without saying where he was going, coming back from missions only to ignore you for days and binge drink at some bar instead of being at home with his lovely girlfriend." 

"Chris," you murmur, his name falls off your tongue like a pleading prayer. The warmth of his calloused palm on your skin sends a dangerous flutter between your legs and a puddle spreads across the fabric of your panties. Such arousal at the hands of your ex-boyfriend’s best friend feels like a betrayal, and you have to remind yourself of the harsh words he spit at you last night, of the two years he wasted being a shitty partner, of the nasty confirmation he gave when you asked whether he was walking out of your life forever. You no longer belong to him, or any other man.Thus, you’re completely free to let Chris Redfield’s hands explore your legs. 

"Shh," he hushes, looking up into your eyes with blown pupils and a gaze that says a thousand things all at once. "Let me show you how I'd treat you if you were mine. Will you let me?” 

You nod, already choking down a moan that begs to be released into the air. Goosebumps rise beneath the pads of his fingers as he gingerly touches the hem of your pencil skirt, slowly pushing the fabric up your thighs until it’s bunched at your hips. Two fingers play with the fabric crotch of your panties, and a lightbulb goes off behind Chris’s eyes as he touches the growing wet spot soaking the lace. 

“This better not be from thinking about Leon,” he warns, tauntingly, fingers pulling aside your panties until his fingertips can roam freely around your slick cunt. 

“It’s–no,” you gasp, shaking your head. Nails dig into the armrest of your desk chair, leaving crescent indentations in the black plastic. “It’s not, Chris.” 

“Then tell me who got you this wet already,” he commands, teasing your needy clit by touching every other spot but the one that needs the most attention. “Tell me who turned you on so much you can’t stop shaking.” 

“You did.” 

“Yeah, and who’s gonna eat your pussy until you cum so hard you won’t be able to take it from another man without thinking of me?” 

“Y-you,” you stutter, teeth chattering. “Chris.”

“Yeah, me.” In a sudden jolt of energy and burning hot need, Chris stands up and yanks you off your chair, pulling you to the ground beneath him. One hand rests against the back of your head to cushion the landing, a merciful gesture in an otherwise rough, forceful siege. His fingers hook around the band of your panties, and with a quick tug, he has ripped them clean off of you, leaving your slobbering pussy exposed to the vent above which churns out icy, manufactured air. It nibbles at your wet flesh, sending a child through every vein. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Chris curses, spreading your legs to get an even better view of the glistening mess seeping down your lips. “All this from teasing you a little, huh?” 

“Mmm,” you moan, lids fluttering open to glance up at his face. You see a reckless hunger in his eyes that scares you. He looks absolutely feral and frenzied, like a rabid animal, like a starving lion sneaking up on its prey, plotting an attack.

“I’ve been thinking about this since I met you” his hands press down on your knees, keeping you wide open for him. “Since that asshole introduced you to me. Fuck, I could kick the shit out of him for hurting you.” 

You know he probably doesn’t mean it, not really, but the sentiment tickles you in ways you wish it didn’t. The image of Chris beating up his close friend and colleague for your honor sends a hot flush to your cheeks and a bolt to your clit.

You push yourself up onto your elbows and press the ball of your foot onto Chris’s shirt, increasing the pressure until the fabric bunches beneath your toes and begins to ride up his abdomen. He gets the message, loud and clear, yanking off his skirt in one swift tug. 

Your mouth gapes open at the sight of his immaculately sculpted form, a vision so insanely beautiful you doubt for a second his humanity. No one looks that good. Not even Leon, and he was damn-near perfect.

“Now stop talking about Leon and start following through on those threats.” A challenge you’re sure Chris will accept.

His eyes flash to yours in a moment of hot recognition, and he obeys your command, immediately bending down to attack your clit with a heavy tongue. A starving cat lapping up milk. Mouth practically salivating, he slurps and sucks on the longing bud, eliciting from your heaving chest the most disgusting, porno moan you’ve ever heard leave your lips.

Almost instantly, just mere seconds under the passion of his mouth, you feel the buzzing beginnings of an orgasm crest on the horizon. 

“Ch–ri–s,” you mewl, his name coming out broken, each sound prolonged out of sheer inability to force them out all at once. “Don’t. Stop.” Panting and huffing, you grab onto the short strands of his hair to keep yourself tethered to this dimension, and stuffing his face further into your pussy. 

He growls a beastly growl, starving hands reaching up for your waist, fingers buried into the flesh of your hips as he continues his ferocious assault on your swollen, pleading cunt. Needing something denser to grab onto, you plunge your fingertips into Chris’s sinewy shoulders, nails meeting pure muscle. 

A thick finger dives into your pussy, crooking against the spongy spot behind your pelvis that makes the edges of your vision go blurry. You can no longer control yourself as he presses another finger to meet the first. Your back arches off the scratchy carpet, your hips spazzing beneath his grip. 

“I’m so close,” you yelp as your climax approaches. Walls clench and grip his fingers. Core tightens. You cry out as the sweet release washes over you and Chris’s tongue remains flat and heavy on your overstimulated nub, moving down to your entrance to drink up every last drop of your gushing orgasm.

“Fuck,” he hisses, coming up to meet your mouth, the taste of your pleasure still hot on his lips. They pull off yours with a smacking pop, and he smiles a wide, toothy smile. The almost boyish look on his face makes your already weak legs feel like jelly. He looks so proud of himself, as he should be. You’ve never cum that hard in your life, and it was all because of his tongue. 

He pushes back and stands up, extending a hand. Surely, he’s not serious. 

“No, Chris, I can’t,” you whimper, knowing for certain that if you tried to stand up, your legs wouldn’t be able to support you. “I’m still shaking.” 

He shakes his head, unwilling to take ‘no’ for an answer. “C’mon. I’ve got you, honey.” After a split second of hesitation you already regret, you slip your hand in his and he pulls you up to meet him, his capable arms holding you steady against his body. After giving you a moment to get your bearings straight, Chris flips you around, shoving his clothed erection onto your bare ass, skirt still bunched up at your waist. “Hands on the desk,” he commands, ever the soldier. With one hand over each of yours, he guides your palms to the cool wood surface littered with sticky notes and loose leaves of paper, pressure growing on your knuckles until one second it’s just gone.

Behind you, the sound of a zipper hissing. 

“You’re so perfect,” Chris growls, smoothing down the ends of your hair that waterfall down your back, then moving to grab a handful of your ass. “I’m gonna fuck you until you forget the name of any other man that has touched you. Got it?” 

“You better,” you whine, leaning onto the desk as his hands slither around your hips, supporting your weight. The tip of his cock teases your slit, threatening to enter and you turn around to get a better look at the beast. He’s huge, you knew he would be. “Um, I don’t know if that’ll fit.” You gaze into his eyes and he gives you a cocky, up-to-no-good smile. 

“Nah, it’ll fit perfectly,” he retorts with a wink. Arching your back so that he can find the best angle, your lip trembles in sweet anticipation as you feel him line up the wet head of his cock at your entrance. He takes his time and every moment he’s not inside, filling you up, you grow more manic for him.

“I need you inside,” you plead, salty tears prickling the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. You hear him chuckle darkly behind you, fingers digging into your cheeks, cock sliding between your swollen lips. 

“Chris, please. Fuck me until I forget Leon’s name, just like you said.” 

That did it. He plunges his entire length into your gushing cunt, causing you to yelp out in a masochistic pleasure. The stretch of his thick girth is equal parts painful and pleasureful, satisfying your aching need to be torn apart by this mass of a man. 

He pumps in and out in a melodic rhythm, hands roaming your back and waist as his pelvis smacks your cheeks, moving to gently circle your raw clit with his forefingers. 

“Harder, Chris,” you beg. He obliges, hitting you with more force, grabbing harder at your flesh. Still, he’s holding back. It’s not enough. You want to be fucked so hard you worry you’ll be split right down the middle. You know he can do it. 

“Leon,” you moan, tempting Chris with his rival’s name on your tongue. 

“No,” he bellows in pure fury, thrusting harder than he has before. His raw dick slams into you, knocking you further onto the desk. 

“Leon,” you provoke again, cooing with a saccharine song that harmonizes with the groans coming from Chris’s chest. 

“Don’t you dare,” he warns, the hand not digging into your ass coming up to your jaw to pull your ear back to his lips. “Don’t you dare say his name.” 

“Then fuck me harder,” you dare him, the vibration of your chuckle reverberating against the palm still wrapped around your throat. “Fuck me until I can never be with another man. Ruin me for anyone else.” 

“Fuck,” he barks, letting you go to bend back over the desk, holding yourself up with shaky arms. His body clashes so abruptly into yours you just might become one in the moment. Cock ramming into your pelvis with a completely new, unmatched pressure, you sense your arrival. “Like this, baby?”  

“Shit, Chris,” you mewl. “I’m so close. Keep moving.” 

He obeys, keeping the same devastating tempo that promises to send you over the edge with the next few thrusts. Contracting around his cock, he groans at the sensation of your upcoming climax clenching and releasing him.

“I can feel you’re close. Cum around my cock, and yell my name when you do.” 

The heel of his palm reaches around, drilling itself into your pubic bone as forefingers return to your clit, circling the pulsating bud. White specks dot your vision, and you can hear the faintest thump of your heart in your ear drums. 

“I’m fuck–Chris, I’m cumming.” You slam your palm on the desk, your other hand reaching around to grip his forearm. Core tensing, legs shaking uncontrollably, vision going black, your second wave of pleasure washes over you, forcing you backward into Chris’s arms. 

He struggles to keep up the pace, thrusts growing weaker, farther apart, before he finally lets himself erupt inside you, hot ropes filling you to the brim. You hear his labored breathing grow closer as he collapses against your back, one strong arm still lifting you up, keeping your chest off the table. 

Both panting out of sheer exhaustion and the aftershocks of your shared orgasmic release, you and Chris crash onto the floor, meeting that scratchy, plasticy carpet in an embrace. His chest rises and falls, breathing slowing, as you push yourself off the floor to rest on it, listening to his heartbeat beneath layers of sinew. 

“He’s such an idiot,” Chris spits, voice still shaky with fatigue. “If I had you, I’d never let you go.” 

Four heads snap toward you. Parker immediately looks guilty. Mike looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Zach is staring into his drink like he’d rather die than participate.

And Chris… Chris just looks vaguely curious, which somehow makes it worse.

You narrow your eyes. “Why are all of you staring at me?”

There is a beat of silence. Then Parker says, far too quickly, “Nobody’s staring.”

Chris looks between all of them with the expression of a man realizing he has walked into a trap. That alone makes you suspicious.

You set the ration bars down slowly. “…What is going on?”

They say nothing. Which is apparently an answer. Chris turns around from the sink, drying his hands on a towel. His brows pull together a little when he takes in the scene.

“What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Parker says at the exact same time Mike says, “Everything.”

Chris looks immediately more concerned. You look more irritated. “This is not helping.”

Zach clears his throat so hard it sounds painful.

Parker, under absolutely no duress, blurts out, “We have a betting pool.”

Silence. Chris blinks. You blink. Then, you turn very slowly to look at him. “A what?”

Mike folds both arms and points at Chris with zero mercy. “Captain thinks we don’t notice when he starts smiling at his phone.”

Zach mutters, “No offence, Captain, but you’re not being subtle. We know you’ve got some girl back home! Just tell us, already.”

Your eyes move to Chris. He goes still. Very still.

At the beginning of your relationship to him, you two had made one rule: No one can know. Not because it’s forbidden exactly, there’s no official rule against dating inside the unit, but because both of you agreed that if the squad found out, you’d never hear the end of it.

So. No PDA. No pet names. No weird favoritism. No one needed to know that Captain Redfield sleeps with his face buried in your shoulder whenever deployments get bad. Simple.

Apparently, not so simple.

Parker gestures vaguely at the table. “It started as a joke.”

“It is still a joke,” Mike says. “Just an expensive one.”

Chris closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, there is already the beginning of something dangerous in his expression. “…How expensive?”

Nobody answers. You glance at the table. At the crumpled paper under a half-empty mug. At the numbers written in aggressive marker. At the names. Odds, you realize.

Your mouth falls open. “Oh my God.”

Parker points at Zach. “He started it.”

Zach immediately throws both hands up. “I did not start it. I merely-”

“You made a spreadsheet!”

“I made a predictive model! You know I was a stats guy before all this-!”

“Enough!” Chris is bellowing now, hand pinching the bridge of his nose. 

You stare at the paper again. Chris, to his credit, actually looks offended now. “You people have a spreadsheet? What the hell even gave you these ideas?”

Mike tilts his head. “Well, let’s see.” He starts ticking points off on his fingers with the air of a man presenting evidence in court. “You stopped smoking. You’re always texting someone. You shaved! We haven’t seen you shave in months!”

Chris opens his mouth. Closes it, almost like he’s too exasperated to speak.

Mike keeps going. “You smile at your phone every time you text.”

Your mouth twitches despite yourself. At least they don’t seem to realize it’s you. You’re the ‘mystery woman’. You’re the person he’s been texting.

Chris just sighs.“For the record,” he says slowly, “none of you have any right to comment on my personal life.”

There’s a mixture of sighs and groans as the Squad drops the conversation.

Little did you both know that this was not going to be the end of this. 

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.

The betting pool somehow gets worse. Not bigger, necessarily. The men aren’t stupid enough to include other units in the bet. But it gets worse. Because now that the idea has entered everyone’s heads, they start seeing evidence everywhere. Unfortunately, they are very bad at pattern recognition.

It starts two days later. Another deployment. This time, the weather is cold. Everyone’s miserable, yourself included. The mission itself isn’t awful, but it’s one of those long ones. Hours of waiting followed by twenty minutes of absolute hell. By the time everyone gets back to base, nobody’s in a great mood. You peel your gloves off and immediately start rubbing at your fingers. They’re numb and cracked from hours of freezing dry air. You assume that no one notices your discomfort.

Chris apparently does. You’re halfway through unpacking when something heavy and blissfully warm lands on your shoulders. It feels soft against your skin, and you could recognize the scent coming off of it anywhere.

His jacket.

You blink. Chris doesn’t even look up from checking his weapon. “You’re cold.”

“…You’re also cold.” You roll your eyes, tugging the fabric tighter against your body.

His shoulders lift. “I’m fine.”

Then he walks away. You slowly look up. Three squad members are staring.

Parker squints. “…Captain’s weird.”

“WAIT.” Zach nearly leaps out of his seat. All heads turn in his direction, your own eyebrows lifting. He lowers his voice. “…Maybe she’s a doctor. Maybe his girlfriend is one of the medics!”

Mike frowns. “…What?”

“Think about it. He quit smoking!”

Parker gasps. “Oh my God.”

“YOU THINK HE’S DATING A MEDIC?”

You decide not to interfere.

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They do not forget their theory. In fact, they get worse. By the end of the week, the theory has evolved. Not only is Captain Redfield dating a medic, he’s apparently deeply in love.

You find this out while cleaning one of your weapons. Parker is sitting nearby with all the confidence of a man who has never once been right in his life.

“It makes perfect sense.”

Mike nods seriously. “It really does.”

“Think about it!” Zach gestures with his fork.

You do not want to think about it. He continues anyway. “He stopped smoking. He started sleeping more!”

You blink, confused. Chris sleeps the same amount he always has. Which is to say not enough.

Zach continues. “He started shaving.”

Mike gasps. “MEDICAL INFLUENCE! She’s making sure he’s healthy!!!”

You nearly choke. Across the room, Chris is reading over reports. His eyes flick up once. “…What are you idiots talking about?”

Mike points at him accusingly.  “Your girlfriend.”

Chris pauses. The man’s eyes widen a little. “…My what?”

Parker leans forward. “Captain.”

Chris slowly lowers the papers. “…No.”

“You don’t have to tell us.” Mike sighs. “We support you.”

Chris stares. “…Support me through what?”

“Your relationship.” Parker shrugs.

Silence. The man in question slowly turns, eyes locking onto you. You immediately look away. He narrows his eyes. You pretend not to notice. Chris looks like he’s about to say something, to spill the proverbial beans, when Mike speaks again.

“We know she’s a medic.”

Chris freezes. A beat. Then, “…What?”

Zach looks smug. “Everything lines up. We’ve figured you out, Captain!”

Chris blinks once. “…That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” He rubs a hand over his face. In the meantime, you’re struggling to suppress your giggles. Before any other shenanigans can occur, the clock strikes noon.

That means that the mess hall is open for lunch.

Wordlessly, everyone gets up, and heads for the kitchens. 

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You grab your tray, and load it with everything that’s offered, before sitting down at the table again.  Chris sits beside you automatically, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. No one pays any mind to it, really. It’s normal for the Captain to sit beside his team.  Nobody notices. That is, until Chris reaches over. He takes your spoon, lowering it into some of the food that you were about to eat. He takes a bite, and makes a face.

You know him too well. You know what he’s thinking.

Too salty.

Without a word, he puts the spoon back, and starts eating from his own tray. The entire table freezes.

Parker slowly turns, eyeing everyone in the room. A long pause. “…Captain?”

Chris glances over. “What?”

Parker points at your tray. “…Did you just taste her food?”

He frowns. Looks down. Looks back. “…Yeah?”

“…Why?”

“…She always over-salts things.” The man just shrugs. As if your soul didn’t just exit your body. As if you two didn't just get caught. The table goes dead silent.

Chris takes another bite. Doesn’t notice. Then, casually,  he pushes his water bottle over to you. “You should drink water.”

Your entire body locks. Slowly, all three squad members turn toward you. Fuck.

Nobody says anything. Zach quietly reaches into his pocket. Pulls out a folded paper. Crosses out: MEDIC.  And writes: Y/N.