s.t.a.r.s. chris redfield x reader
soooo basically (forgive me why do i love this trope) reader is rpd or s.t.a.r.s. secretary yayyyy and i know that rebecca is not on alpha team but like i wanted to include her đ
i wish chris was real you guys
the little bell above the coffee shop door chimed softly as chris stepped inside, a rush of warm air immediately chasing away the morning chill clinging to his jacket.
outside, raccoon city was only just beginning to wake up. a couple cars rolled lazily down the street, people hurried along the sidewalks with paper coffee cups already in hand, and somewhere down the block someone was unlocking the front door to their little bookstore for the day.
chris liked mornings like this.
he glanced up, offering the barista an easy smile.
he wandered toward the counter while they started making the drinks, hands tucked into his jacket pockets as he watched the espresso machine hiss softly to life.
he was still half asleep, honestly.
his brain hadn't quite caught up with the rest of him yet.
he'd barely taken his wallet out before two cups were already being slid across the counter in one of those little cardboard drink carriers.
one medium vanilla latte.
"thanks," he smiled, fishing a couple bills from his wallet before grabbing both drinks.
the cold greeted him again the second he stepped back outside, but the warmth from the cups seeped into his fingers through the cardboard carrier.
started walking toward his truck.
he didn't think anything of it.
somewhere over the past few months it had simply become part of his morning.
wake up, get dressed, stop by the coffee shop, grab his coffee, grab yours. head to work.
it was routine. comfortable, easy.
the station was already buzzing by the time he pushed through the front doors.
phones rang somewhere deeper inside the bullpen, officers called back and forth across the room, paperwork shuffled endlessly between desks while someone complained loud enough for everyone to hear that the copier had jammed again.
before he'd even taken another stepâŠ
his eyes drifted toward the front desk.
already sitting behind the reception counter with a small mountain of reports spread neatly across the desk, carefully sorting them into little organized piles while quietly humming something to yourself.
the morning sunlight spilled through the front windows, catching against your hair.
his eyebrows pinched together.
where the hell had that come from?
he rubbed the back of his neck.
without really thinking about it anymore, he wandered over.
you looked up almost immediately, your whole face brightening the second you saw him.
that was probably the best word for it.
like somehow the station always felt a little less grey whenever you smiled at somebody.
he set the vanilla latte beside your paperwork before taking a sip of his own coffee.
"i figured you'd want this."
your eyes dropped to the cup before looking back up at him.
he shrugged one shoulder.
his hand found the back of his neck again
that tiny smile on your face somehow grew even softer.
you paused thoughtfully before speaking again,
"you don't have to keep doing this⊠it's really sweet."
he wasn't trying to be sweet.
he was already stopping there anyway.
the coffee shop wasn't exactly on his way to work.
he had to drive a couple extra streets every morning.
ten minutes, maybe. fifteen if traffic was bad.
besides⊠seeing you wrap both hands around the warm cup like you always did somehow made those extra minutes feel pretty insignificant.
"don't mention it," he smiled.
"see you after the debriefing."
"good luck, the captain's been pretty prissy this morning." you laughed, gaze drifting to wesker's office where he was probably chewing out some poor assistant.
he laughed and gave a small wave before disappearing toward the hall
he didn't notice jill watching him the entire time.
"hey rebecca," jill started, still looking at chris.
rebecca looked up from where she was sorting through medical reports.
jill didn't answer right away.
she just watched chris disappear through the office doors before quietly glancing back toward you.
you were smiling down into the vanilla latte, gently blowing across the top before taking your first sip
"âŠthat's been every weekday."
jill nodded toward the front desk
jill thought about it, tilting her head.
"âŠalmost three months."
rebecca's eyes widened just a little.
"i stopped counting after about sixty mornings."
"âŠhe still hasn't figured it out?"
the morning passed the way mornings always seemed to.
people drifted in and out of the bullpen carrying reports, answering phones, grabbing coffee from the break room only to complain five minutes later that it'd gone cold, same stuff everyday.
you quietly kept everything running.
chris had noticed that pretty early on.
everyone depended on you more than they probably realized, missing paperwork somehow found its way back to the right desks, reports got filed before anyone had the chance to ask, coffee was already brewing if someone looked exhausted enough, birthdays never went forgotten, you remembered everyone's names. you asked about weekends, checked in after difficult missions. it was the little things. things most people probably overlooked.
later that morning, he wandered back into the bullpen after finishing training.
his shirt clung slightly to his shoulders, damp from sweat, and his hair was a little messier than it'd been earlier. he was halfway toward his desk when he heard the smallest sigh. he looked over.
you were frowning down at the old copy machine again.
"âŠstill giving you trouble?"
"again. i think it hates me."
he couldn't help smiling.
he crouched beside the machine, pulling one of the trays open.
the kind that made the corners of your eyes crinkle just a bit.
he cleared his throat, trying to focus on the copier.
two seconds later it whirred back to life.
you leaned over, pressing the button again.
the old copier gave one reluctant whirr before the papers finally started feeding through like nothing had ever been wrong.
"âŠoh, thank you." you sighed dramatically, bringing the back of your hand to your forehead as if wiping away imaginary sweat. "my hero."
chris couldn't help laughing.
it was quiet⊠the kind that escaped before he could stop it.
he stood back up, brushing a little dust from his hands.
"wasn't doing anything important."
that wasn't exactly true.
wesker had definitely told him to finish writing a report before lunch.
it could wait five minutes.
he watched you smile at the copier like it'd personally apologized before heading back toward the office.
by lunchtime the station had settled into a quieter rhythm, people drifted toward the break room in little groups, conversations filling the hallway while someone argued over whose leftovers were taking up half the fridge.
you stayed at the front desk.
chris noticed. of course he did.
he wandered over, leaning lightly against the edge of the desk.
you looked up from another report. "in a minute."
"âŠthat's what you said an hour ago."
"pretty sure." he nodded.
you laughed quietly, setting your pen down.
"i just wanted to finish these first."
"âŠthey'll still be there in twenty minutes."
you hesitated, then smiled.
jill watched the two of you disappear toward the break room together. she didn't say anything, she didn't have to.
rebecca simply looked over,
"⊠doesn't he ask every day?" rebecca asked, contemplatively.
the afternoon passed much the same, normal. just like it always was,
at one point you struggled to lift one of the heavier archive boxes sitting beside the filing cabinets.
before you'd even managed to get both hands underneath it⊠the weight disappeared.
you blinked, and looked up. chris had already had it resting over one shoulder
he didn't wait around afterward, just carried it down the hallway like it wasn't anything worth thanking him over.
you watched him disappear around the corner.
he was being really was sweet. not that he'd ever admit it.
the rest of the afternoon slipped by quietly. reports came and went, phones rang, someone somewhere managed to jam the copier again. but chris didn't rush to the rescue like he'd done with you.
you were still at the front desk.
of course you were. chris couldn't remember a day you hadn't been
every now and then, he'd glance up from whatever report wesker had him buried under, only for his eyes to wander toward reception before he even realized what he was doing.
still smiling, still helping somebody, still somehow making the-
wesker stood beside his desk, his arms crossed.
he looked back down at the half-finished paperwork in front of him.
when had he stopped writing?
by the time evening rolled around, everyone was more than ready to head home.
barry stretched with an exaggerated groan.
"i'm too old for paperwork."
jill didn't even look up.
"you're too old for a lot of things."
"see? that's exactly the kind of disrespect i get around here."
chris laughed quietly to himself as he shrugged his own jacket back on.
his eyes wandered toward the front desk almost automatically. you were slipping your purse over your shoulder, carefully stacking the last couple reports into a neat pile before turning the lights above reception off.
you looked over, your eyes met his. that same smile appeared almost instantly.
his own smile answered before he even realized he was smiling.
"wouldn't expect anything less."
he watched you head toward the station doors, offering a quick wave to barry on your way out before disappearing into the cool evening air.
he kept looking for another second. maybe two.
until the door finally swung shut behind you.
he turned. jill was standing there with one eyebrow raised.
she smiled, picked up her own bag, walked past him.
"âŠwhat's that supposed to mean?"
just disappeared out the front door, leaving him standing there completely confused.
barry snorted loud enough for half the room to hear.
"you're just a little slow sometimes."
"âŠwhat is that supposed to mean?"
"âŠseriously, what is wrong with everybody today?"
barry just smiled to himself and headed for the door.
chris's apartment greeted him with the same comfortable silence it always did.
he kicked his shoes off by the front door, tossing his keys into the little ceramic bowl sitting on the kitchen counter before letting out a tired sigh.
he wandered into the kitchen, opening the fridge.
it looked⊠depressing. a couple bottles of beer, one lonely carton of eggs, half a stick of butter, three different kinds of hot sauce for some reason. and a takeout container shoved toward the back that he was about ninety nine percent sure could cause a new virus if ingested.
he really needed to start grocery shopping more often.
barry would probably give him one of his famous lectures if he ever saw the inside of this thing. something about "grown men needing vegetables."
"âŠguess that's tomorrow's problem." he muttered, closing the fridge.
he looked around his apartment. it wasn't exactly dirty, just⊠a little cluttered. some mail sat scattered across the kitchen counter, a sweatshirt was draped over one of the dining chairs, chairs that nobody had ever sat on. there were a couple books stacked crookedly on the coffee table that he'd been meaning to put back on the shelf for almost a week now.
might as well clean up a little, he'd thank himself later
he started with the laundry, grabbing yesterday's jacket from where it'd been hanging by the door, he reached into one pocket before tossing it into the washing machine. keys, loose change. a receipt.
he barely glanced at it before setting it on the counter.
then reached for another jacket.
he frowned. same coffee shop, different date.
he looked a little closer, large black coffee, medium vanilla latte.
he reached into another pocket, another receipt, exact same order.
okay... that was a little weird.
he walked back toward the kitchen counter, absentmindedly scratching the side of his head while he unfolded the tiny slip of paper.
different date, same order. large black coffee, medium vanilla latte.
he opened the junk drawer, he figured he'd throw them away.
instead⊠he froze. there were more. way more.
apparently, at some point over the last few months, he'd gotten into the habit of stuffing old receipts into the drawer instead of actually throwing them out.
one by one, he started pulling them out
little white slips slowly covered the kitchen counter until there were far too many for him to ignore.
his brow furrowed, and he picked up another receipt.
then another, turning them over like maybe one of them would suddenly explain itself.
"âŠwhy am i buying a vanilla latte every morning?"
the question echoed around the quiet apartment, there wasn't anyone there to answer it, he stood there for another long moment. the receipt still pinched between his fingers, trying to remember.
when had he started doing that?
he honestly couldn't. there wasn't some big moment. no⊠conversation, no promise.
one morning⊠he'd apparently bought you a coffee.
until somewhere along the line⊠it had stopped being a decision altogether.
wake up. get dressed. stop by the coffee shop, the one that he knew you liked. grab his coffee. grab yours. head to work.
he leaned back against the kitchen counter, looking down at the little pile spread out in front of him. his own black coffee, your vanilla latte. every morning.
"âŠwhen did that happen? when did i start doing that?"
the receipts sat scattered across the counter like tiny pieces of a puzzle he'd somehow never noticed he was putting together.
he picked one up again, looked at the date, looked at the order.
then quietly laughed to himself, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
"âŠwhy am i buying her coffee every morning?"
he still didn't have an answer.
