Another intense mission. 76 hours of stealth, fighting, research, and risking your life because you had the misfortune of being good at your job. The only good thing? Chris by your side. Barely. Well, try the other way around. You were barely by his side. You were barely conscious, beyond spent from the loss of blood, the physical exhaustion, the fact that you likely had a concussion—again.

On the helicopter ride back to the BSAA HQ, Chris had to keep you and himself awake. He kept you tucked into his side, your head curled against his shoulder. "We're going back to HQ and we'll get you patched and fixed up soon, okay? Come on. Just stay awake. Please?" He tried to push, shifting so he could push you to sit upright so he could look at your side, where he was monitoring the poorly cleaned and wrapped wound in your left side, just below your ribs. Once confirming the bleeding hadn't gotten worse and ensuring its semi-cleanliness, he moved on to check your other wounds. Your eyelids fluttered slightly, and his heart jolted in the worst way he ever could've felt.

He came to a scary thought when he saw how hard you were fighting to stay awake. You could be on the brink of death for all he knew. His heart raced, looking toward the pilot. The pilot held up a number with his hand, and Chris' brows furrowed. "Find the nearest hospital. HQ can wait. Something is wrong." Chris demanded. Being captain had its perks—the pilot listened for that reason alone.

Within half an hour, the helicopter was landing on a helipad at the roof of a hospital. Chris was quick to hoist you into his grasp. You'd lost consciousness by now, which pushed him further to make his way into the building. He didn't even try to greet the two doctors and the nurse who came to guide him from the roof. He ran. He stumbled down steps, cursing every higher being as he was told the elevator was out. Once he got you down to the floor instructed by the doctor, he was told he needed to part. Reluctantly, he handed you over to a nurse, watching as she'd laid you in a bed and her, along with a doctor, began properly analyzing you and taking in your injuries, figuring out if surgery or any special procedures were necessary.

Chris was escorted to a lobby area, but he had to wait outside. Because of his panicked, restless state, a nurse stayed with him to ensure he didn't send himself into his own medical emergency. Upon seeing some of his own scratches and bruises beneath a cut in his shirt and his rolled sleeves, the nurse suggested—cautiously, as if talking to a stray dog—that Chris be checked out as well.

"Sir, I think you could benefit from a quick look over as well. Those scratches look deep.. and the cut—"

"Tell me they're giving her more than just a 'look over'." He snapped slightly, watching the younger nurse jolt at the aggression.

"Yes, yes, of course they are. S-she has more immediate needs. I assure you she's being taken care of." The man said carefully, swallowing the nervous lump in his throat.

"I'm.. I'm sorry." Chris exhaled heavily, leaning against a wall at the outside of the building.

"Come inside. We can get you cleaned up and maybe even get you some water. And possibly an IV. You... don't look too hydrated." The nurse softened, still nervous, but clearly understanding.

Chris, although reluctant, nodded and followed the young man back into the building. He was glad he left all his gear—and yours—in the helicopter to make the run easier. He was easily cleaned up, given stitches for the gash in his back along with the cut on his bicep. He was given a new shirt and some painkillers. It was at least an hour of his off and on care—doctors coming in for both physical and mental checks, clearly a little worried with how he'd originally come in. By the end of his care, he was released and let back into the lobby, and he spent another hour thinking, waiting, basically praying.

Only as he was giving in to exhaustion was he interrupted. He was nearly asleep in the lobby, uncomfortably hunched over in the small chair, when the same female nurse from before came to greet him with a hopeful look on her face. He jolted awake slightly, blinking and pushing himself upright.

"Is she okay? Is she awake? Can I see her?" He rushed her with questions, and she held up two hands to ease him.

"She's resting, she's okay, and you can see her. She needed quite a bit of cleaning, stitches, and relocation of her shoulder. She does also have a mildly sprained ankle, so if she wakes up and tries to leave without support for the ankle, don't let her." The nurse explained as she led Chris toward your hospital room. "If you have questions, the doctor will be in the check her vitals shortly."

"No concussion? No internal troubles? No surgery?" Chris asked, hesitating outside of your hospital room.

"No. None of that. She'll be okay." She reassured once more before opening the door and gesturing him in, leaving him alone with you.

He was quieter than ever as he brought a chair up to your bed. Even quieter than he was on stealth missions, if that was possible. He held his breath until he was sitting at your bedside, a shaky hand resting over yours. Cliché, he knew. But he couldn't help it as he felt tears well in his eyes.

"Fuck." He exhaled shakily. "Fuck. I'm so sorry." He choked quietly, his hand engulfing yours as he brought it to his lips and felt over your wrist gently, searching for your steady pulse. He didn't trust the machines beeping. He had to feel it himself.

Silence fell except for his shaky crying. It was uneven as he muttered incoherent pleas for you to forgive him for not being there to take the hit, for not getting you out sooner, for not knowing better. That went on for twenty minutes before he scooted closer and let himself fall asleep finally, exhaustion overtaking him now that he could feel you were alive and okay, his head gently pressed against your hip as his fingers remained settled on your pulse point.

Chris was pulled from his slumber about two hours later when a doctor came in to check on you. His head flew upright, eyes wide and immediately on the door as it clicked open. Seeing the doctor, he eased, turning forward to you, and freezing momentarily when he saw you were awake, just watching and waiting.

He didn't say anything as the doctor came over to you, asking a few questions, taking some note of your vitals before he began disconnecting you from the machines and the IV in a careful process. The doctor explained that you could leave soon, discharge papers were ready to be signed, but he had to get you a small kit of things to properly clean and take care of the stitches you had to take care of and monitor. You thanked him, nodding and watching as he left you two alone.

You looked back down at Chris, hand lifting from his. "You don't trust the machines, do you?" You asked quietly, referring to how his thumb hadn't left your pulse point.

"No." He exhaled, his hands coming to wipe at his face and stretch, yawning. "Thought I was gonna lose you."

"Oh, captain," you smiled tiredly. "You can't get rid of me that easily. A little blood loss never hurt anyone." You jokingly waved a hand dismissively, only for your face to drop when he didn't show appreciation for the joke like he usually would.

"It almost hurt you." He said, his tone a little too firm. "How are you feeling? We can wait to leave. They'll probably take another 45 minutes to get your discharge papers anyway." He tried to joke about how busy the hospitals always were, but it came out flat.

"We can go once they give us the stuff. I'll be fine." You sighed, slowly, very carefully easing yourself to sit upright. Chris pushed forward to support your back, palm pressing gently so that you didn't have to strain so much. "I can sit up on my own." You insisted, slowly moving to swing your legs over the side of the bed.

"Uh—fuck—" He panicked for a moment, standing in front of you with his hands out. "Your ankle is sprained. The nurse told me not to let you walk around yet."

"Well, can you get me a crutch or something? I need to pee." You frowned. "Or—no, just help me." You said, taking his hands.

"Which ankle is it?"

"Let's find out together." You joked. In your defense, you hadn't even noticed any ankle pain, given your other injuries. So you actually didn't know which ankle was sprained. You stood, holding onto Chris as you found your footing. You applied pressure, rolling your left ankle carefully. You tried to do the same to your right ankle, only to hiss and freeze up, slouching at the pain.

"Right ankle?" He asked. You nodded with a stifled whimper. He shifted to your right side, one hand supporting your waist and the other holding your hand. "Lean into me. I got you." He soothed quietly. A softness in his voice that you thought you hallucinated.

"I'd hope so." You listened, letting him take the weight of your right side as you made your way to the bathroom attached to the hospital room.

It took a minute, a few stops, but you made it eventually. He got you close enough, and you used the sink for support once Chris stepped out and closed the door, waiting for you. The doctor came back while you were in there, so Chris stepped forward and accepted the papers and the bag of supplies for you.

"She'll wanna change the bandages for her stitches every 24 hours at a minimum unless they get wet or too dirty. If bleeding comes back on its own, monitor and come back if needed. Other bandages can be changed the same, and they can all be cleaned every 24 hours or so, or twice, if she feels it's necessary." The doctor explained smoothly, handing over the papers and a bag of stuff. "And this is for her." He handed over a crutch that was tucked under his arm. "I see you helped her to the restroom, but she needs this for independent use. Ensure she puts weight into the crutch, not her leg. We don't think she'll need a brace, but if pain persists or worsens, bring her back, and we'll get another scan of the ankle."

"Okay. Thank you. We should be out shortly. Is there any chance you'd have a change of clothes for her? The gown is... less than ideal for her. And her old clothes were quite dirty." Chris spoke low, lazily searching the bag and reading over the papers.

"Yes. We can bring her a new outfit. The nurse will come with it shortly." The doctor nodded and smiled. "Anything else?"

"No, thank you."

The doctor left, door clicking in the silence. He turned as he heard the bathroom door click open, rushing back to the door. "Relax." You held a hand up, almost immediately reaching for the crutch as you leaned on the doorway.

"Easy for you to say." He scoffed.

"You might be my captain, but I'll still kick you for giving me attitude." You glared. He handed over the crutch, helping you adjust it until it fit nicely under your arm, his hands hovering around you as you hobbled over to the bed and sat back down with a heavy sigh, holding your side as you leaned back and closed your eyes.

"Does it hurt?" He asked, standing over you as he reached to place his hand over yours.

"No, I'm just making sure I don't move too fast." You mumbled.

"Right. Good idea." He exhaled. He sat back down. "They'll bring you a change of clothes. There's already transport waiting for us to take us back to HQ, you just gotta sign the papers." He said, realizing he still had the papers tucked under his arm. He reached and handed them to you, along with a pen he'd found by the bedside table.

It was quiet as you read through the papers and signed, the hospital lights and electricity buzzing incessantly as you tried to focus on the sound of Chris' breathing, hoping not to overwhelm yourself with the noise of the hospital. Chris exhaled heavily, head falling to his head as he rubbed his eyes and closed them, head still in his hands.

You leaned back, quiet, too tired to do much more in the moment. "I'm alive, Chris. Stop stressing yourself out." You blurted out, making him lift his head. You looked at him. "You do this every time I get hurt. Every time someone gets hurt on a mission. You think of what could've happened. What has happened. But you don't think of what is happening. Can't you do that for just this once?"

"No. No. It's different. I came too close to losing you. You could've—" He stopped, exhaling sharply.

"I could've died. You could've died. Our pilot could've died. Everyone dies, Chris. It wouldn't have been your fault." You said firmly, sitting upright once again—slowly.

"Everyone dies, but you can't. I can't lose you." Chris' brows furrowed, lump forming in his throat as his chest swelled with unspoken frustration, too much held back.

"You'd be fine." You scoffed, looking off to the side.

"No. No, I wouldn't be." He spat, rising to his feet. "You think it's simple. You think losing someone is simple. Death is death. It's inevitable."

"It is! It's inevitable. It's hard, I know, but you have to—"

"Don't tell me to come to terms with it. Death means the end. And if the end came too early, I don't think I'd ever move on from you."

His words made you pause, mouth opening, then closing as you looked back up at him, blinking cluelessly. "Move on?" You mumbled.

"It's wrong. It's against the rules. You're my partner, technically subordinate. It's wrong, but realizing how close I came to having you gone forever, I can't deny that I care in a way that could get us both in trouble." Chris confessed, almost sounding out of breath with how he wasn't taking any pauses to breathe or let you think.

"Chris—"

A knock startled you, followed by the door creaking open. You turned. A nurse came with a smile. "Hello. Just came to give you these. You got those papers signed for us?"

You stared at the clothes in her hand, only to clear your throat and nod as you handed her the papers, accepting the clothes.

"Lovely! Well, I'll let you two be on your way. Have a lovely day." She smiled, exiting the room swiftly.

"I'll.. wait outside for you." Chris sighed, leaving no room for interruption as he walked out, the door closing loudly behind him.

You sighed through your nose, eyes closing for a moment. It took a while, but once you were dressed, you gathered your belongings and piled everything into the extra bag they gave you, shuffling and hobbling carefully with the crutch as you found Chris waiting down the hall. You two left in silence, Chris leading the way as he kept slow pace for you as you adjusted to using the crutch. You knew it was gonna be a long, awkward trip back.

And you were right. The entire ride back was excruciatingly silent. Neither of you acknowledged what Chris had said, ignoring the fact that he basically admitted that he was in love with you. Arriving back to HQ was even worse. Usually, Chris would hover around you for a while, insisting that you relax before you dive back into the paperwork, but he didn't this time. He dove right into it himself. Of course, you had no say once your superior saw your condition—you were put on desk duty for a month. On top of you already having to fill out and file your own reports. That news put you down faster than you'd ever imagined. Sure, you were hurt, but you've been hurt before! They argued that it was worse this time, and you could get worse if you tried a mission.

"If you want to be part of a mission so badly, we can have you guide Redfield for his next one." You groaned inwardly at the compromise but couldn't argue. You shook your head, declining the chance politely as you hobbled out of your superior's office and down to your little work area that you'd be stuck at for a whole damn month.

What came next was a long, exhausting week of silence. The office was quiet. You didn't spend a lot of time there besides filing reports, training, and waiting for assignments, but now you spend full shifts every day Monday-Friday, sitting at a desk, staring at a screen with nowhere near enough mental stimulation. Your only sanity saver? Your breaks. You had mandatory breaks to move around and ensure your ankle wasn't getting worse, and ensure you could properly move and walk and function without hurting your stitches. So, you'd hobble around the building, often landing in the break room to hide from the torture of the screens.

A week into your punishment—that's what it felt like, at least—you were in the break room, slumped back in a chair as you snacked on a protein bar you'd found in your pantry earlier that morning. It was still early, so employees and agents were coming back and forth for coffee and food and quiet. What made you look up was the familiar footsteps of Chris, who you hadn't seen in days. Your head lifted, and you visibly tensed. Instead of trying to talk like you should, you pushed yourself upright, limping and stumbling as you grabbed your crutch, only to hastily leave the break room. Before you could get through the door, struggling with pushing it open properly, Chris pushed it open for you, holding it so you could limp your way out.

"You struggle opening doors all the time?" He asked.

"No. It's harder when I can't put pressure on my other foot to push against the heavy doors in this stupid fucking building." You grumbled, stumbling your way down the hall.

"Well, it should be healing soon. It wasn't a severe tear, so keep taking care of it and in a couple of weeks, and you should be fine." Chris said as he followed you. You glanced back at him.

"Why are you following me?" You blurted out, brows furrowed as you paused and turned around.

"We're going the same way."

"Okay, why are you talking to me? You've avoided me for a week." You scoffed.

"I've been busy." He countered firmly.

"Bullshit." You spat. "I saw Jill the other day. She came to bring me a snack and a tiny flower arrangement. Jill hardly ever stops by to talk, let alone bring gifts."

"Well, forgive me for having things to do."

"It's not my fault you're ignoring me because you conf—"

"Shut up!" He whisper-yelled, shushing you as a few coworkers passed by.

"Wha—ugh! You're infuriating!" You shoved past him and made your way down the hall back to your work area, sitting back down. Chris groaned inwardly at himself, hands wiping down his face before he followed you back down.

He pressed a hand to your desktop, leaning over to look at you. "Okay, listen, I know it's been a long week—"

"Yes. It has. So you should go finish the week by yourself like you've chosen to spend the rest of it." You didn't even bother looking at him, brows furrowing.

"I'm trying to find a day for us to talk. Clearly, you're upset, and I need to explain myself." No response. Quiet. He exhaled, eyes closing. "Please. Just let me come over and explain."

"You've got a lot to explain." You finally looked up at him.

"I'll bring food." He offered, softer, quieter. "Aaand maybe some drinks?"

"No drinks. You get clingy when you drink." You grumbled. "Fine. Tomorrow night. Bring me good food and have a damn good explanation for why you've been ignoring me and making me feel like a curse because you've got a thing for me."

"Okay. Harsh." He frowned. "But.. yes. I'll be there. Say... five o'clock?"

"Six." You said.

"Okay." He nodded, pulling back. "I'm.. I'm sorry."

"Save it, Chris." You huffed, waving him off. He padded away, and your eyes closed, head falling with a groan.

The rest of the work day was as calm as it'd get. You finished work and made your way home. The wait for the next day to come was exhausting. The day went normal—clean the area of your stitches, ease your ankle into some more movement and exercises, along with stretching the rest of your body. You kept yourself busy with minor cleaning, some TV, a book you've been reading, and eating throughout the day.

The time came. You laid lazily on your couch, face down, thinking in the silence of your apartment. You wondered if Chris meant it. If he truly did have feelings for you. And worse, you knew you liked him. You knew you loved him. You'd had similar moments that he had—realization that he was more than a captain. More than your partner. More than a friend. He filled a void, and he didn't even know it. The routine of seeing him, working with him, it fulfilled you in a way you'd never felt.

You groaned into the couch cushion, only to roll over carefully as you heard a measured knock at your door. "Chris?" You called out loudly.

"Yeah, it's me!" He responded, shifting on his heels.

"Come in. Doors unlocked." You called out. "Lock it on the way in!"

He stepped in carefully, closing and locking the door. In his hands was a bag of food—a bag from the burger place you two liked. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, watching him set the food on the coffee table.

"You still feeling okay?" He asked, separating the food and the bottled drinks he grabbed from a small, cheap corner store near your apartment.

"Yeah. Just... annoyed." You moved to sit up against the back of the couch, but Chris stopped you.

"You can stay laid back. I'll prop you up with some pillows."

"Chris, I can still move and sit upright. It just takes a minute."

"You slouch. It won't be good for your stitches if you end up cramping while eating. You twitch too much when you cramp."

"Fine." You kept yourself elevated slightly, allowing him to slip a few pillows beneath your back so you could eat properly and avoid slouching. Chris handed you your food and went to sit down. He didn't ask you to move your legs. He lifted your feet, sat down, and placed your legs over his lap.

"I know you're mad." He spoke up.

"Do you know why?" You asked, shoving a fry into your mouth as you stared at him.

"Don't question me like I'm a toddler who broke you TV." Chris grumbled quietly. "But yes. I do know why."

"Good." You leaned your head back and closed your eyes. "You've got 60 seconds. Starting now. 60, 59—"

"You're tiring." He sighed heavily, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Listen." He turned to you, hands gently holding your calves and letting his thumbs shift absent-mindedly.

"49, 48—"

"Stop counting!" He reached out and grabbed a handful of fries, shoving them into your mouth. You snickered, overly satisfied with his annoyance.

"43—"

"Okay! Alright. I know what I said. I know what I did. I basically confessed that I'm in love with you hours after I thought you were gonna die from blood loss or a concussion or something we couldn't see, and then I ignored you for a week. I get why you're mad."

"35, 34, 33—"

"But I meant it. I've had the honor and curse that is falling in love with you. It's an honor because you're.. you're you. You've done things to me that I never thought possible. It's a curse because of what we do for work. At any given time, one of us could be on a mission, and death could come knocking, and if one of us is dead, I don't think I'd be able to ever forgive myself—for leaving you or for letting you die." He paused, exhaling slower this time. He stared at you for a moment. "And it's another kind of issue when I know it's strictly forbidden for us to be together. Workplace romance is firmly frowned upon."

"17, 16," you weren't looking at him now. You were staring down at your lap, unable to look at him without getting emotional.

"I'm in love with you. It took me far too long to admit it, but watching you almost not make it, watching the color drain from you, the energy fading from your being, your—your breath.." he paused, regaining his composure as he tried not to let himself fall into the memory of how he saw you in the helicopter. "I knew then that I couldn't go on alone. I can't live without you. It wasn't just losing a partner, a coworker. It would've been losing a piece of me and being left with a void that not even my wildest dreams could fill."

"Zero." You mumbled.

"Good enough?" He murmured, almost begging quietly.

"Good enough to be considered." You exhaled, staring down at your food in your lap. Your gaze flitted up slightly, stopping where his hands were rubbing subconscious circles against your ankles, the hand on your right ankle not fully grasping or pressing down, just hovering. Your eyes felt bleary. Your breath hitched in a small effort to hold back tears. Chris tensed.

"Wha—woah, woah, hey," he shifted closer, reaching out to lift your chin. You kept your head down, so he retracted his hand as he heard you sniffle. "I'm sorry. You don't have to respond now. You don't have to ever if you don't want to. I just... I said it in a burst of emotion the other day, and I feel like a piece of shit for ignoring you over my stupid words."

"You really care that much?" You sniffled again, looking up finally, eyes brimming with bright, shimmery tears in the light of the living room lamps. "You care so much you couldn't live without me?"

"This week alone was torture I put myself through." He whispered. "You're lucky. Claire had to deal with me and my complaining." He admitted with a low, humorless chuckle.

"And you love me. Not just because we're always mission partners. Not because we work closely. You love... me." Your voice shook faintly.

"All of you. Inside and out, good and bad."

You tried not to blink, but tears came rushing down your cheeks, a small cry leaving your lips. Chris panicked again. A small curse left his lips. He hesitated, but scooted closer and ever so gently pulled you in closer, supporting your back so you didn't strain to sit against him.

"I know it's a lot. And it's sudden. But I promise you, all of it is true. Every last word." He reassured again, cupping your cheek and letting your head fall against his shoulder.

"I don't think I've ever had someone speak so... gently about me." You mumbled, sniffling a little bit.

"That doesn't sound right." He chuckled. "You're one of the best people to speak gently about." Another cry fell, and he just exhaled, closing his eyes as he kept you close, tucked into his side.

"Promise you won't ignore me like that again? Ever? Even in death?" You lifted your head, and he shifted, hands cupping your face. His thumbs wiped gently at your tears.

"Promise. Even in death." He nodded.

"Then I guess I can admit that I've also been in love with you." Your gaze fell, lips pursing slightly.

"What?" He stared at you, lifting your head so you'd look at him.

"Your hearing is fine, you heard me." You muttered.

"Oh, come on! I give you a whole speech about how I'm in love with you, you cry, and now you won't even repeat yourself?" He scoffed, feigning annoyance.

"I'm in love with you, too, stupid." You repeated, leaning back in to lay your head in the crook of his neck with a heavy exhale. You finished wiping your cheeks completely dry.

"So. Does that... does that mean this is a secret thing? At least secret to our job."

"This being...?"

"Us."

"Who said anything about us being a thing?"

"Ugh, you really are infuriating." He rolled his eyes playfully. "Do you want me to ask you properly?"

You nodded simply, shifting to sit upright and look at him. "Go on. Ask like a man."

"Will you let me be your boyfriend?"

"You sound like a teenager." You snickered, sniffling a bit.

"Come on, I've been really vulnerable tonight!" He laughed, leaning back to get a better look at you.

You leaned back in, following his shifting and pressing your lips to his stubbled cheek. "Yes, you can be my boyfriend." You muttered, head dropping to his shoulder.

"Good. I was afraid you'd say no because I was a dick." He sighed, audibly relieved with the outcome of the conversation.

"Almost did." You shrugged.

"Just eat your food." He huffed.

"Whatever you say, boyfriend."

he listened to your day, rubbing your back as you sobbed into his chest, getting all the emotions out knowing once you finished, you would feel a whole lot better. you’ve cried a handle full of times in his arms, and each time without fail he would comfort you and help you, giving you advice and guidance. afterwards, he kissed you passionately as you melted into him, his scent calming you down knowing no matter what, chris is always there for you.

fast forward now, you are curled against him, after eating from your favourite pizza takeout restaurant which chris ordered from whilst you went to the bathroom to freshen up.

he wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to his chest as you nuzzle into his warmth, your eyes fixated on the movie playing on the tv. chris adjusts the blanket over you both, kissing the crown of your head softly as you briefly peck his stubbly jaw.

"your so warm" you mutter, gleaming up at him as he chuckles, his hand resting against your hip drawing lazy circles.

"mhmm and you are always so cold" he smiles down at you, kissing your nose causing you to let out a giggle.

chris with his free hand brings popcorn up to your lips every now and then as you subconsciously opening your mouth to eat it. you relax into him, feeling your eyes grow heavy as you begin to zone out from the movie playing. chris runs his fingers gently through your hair, making you feel even more sleepy as he places multiple kisses on your forehead.

"sweetheart, I was thinking, why don't you spend the night here?" he softly says, causing you to sit up as your eyes loom over his. you can see the faint redness appearing on his neck as he scratches the back of his head. "you are tired and had a bad day. plus it's late and I don't want you to drive whilst feeling shitty. and I have a spare bedroom that is totally fine to use of course if don’t wann-" he rambles fast nervously, darting his eyes away from you.

"okay chris if you insist I'll spend the night here." you cut of his ramble, a small smile tugging on the corner of your lips, seeing chris nervous as he normally never gets like this. he sighs softly, meeting your gaze as you beam at him, leaning and placing a soft kiss on his cheekbone.

you have never spent the night at his, usually it's him who's in your home which you never minded. In fact you loved having him over in your space, his presence made you feel safe and comforting.

"I want to shower first and then I'll sleep." a yawn escapes your lips as you stretch your arms your voice laced with fatigue. chris hums, getting up as he extends his hand out to you. you lace your fingers with his, feeling the roughness of his palms as you get up, following him as he leads you upstairs.

"here baby. do what you need to do, im going to tidy and lock up downstairs okay? shout if you need anything." chris hands you a spare towel as you nod, pecking his lips. he kisses your forehead as he leaves closing the door behind you, whilst you hang the towel up, turning the shower head on and starting to undress.

steam curled around you as the hot water cascaded down your skin, washing away the remnants of the awful day as the tension in your shoulders began to wash away. of course he uses 5 in 1 shower gel you chuckled to yourself lathering on the product, the scent of chris engalfing the air.

by the time you finally stepped out of the shower, your muscles felt loose and your eyelids heavy. you wrapped the towel around yourself and dried your hair as best as you could before peeking out of the bathroom, trying to hear signs of chris pattering around. however the hallway was quiet with no signs of him. he was probably still tidying up and locking everything downstairs you thought to yourself as you emerged from the bathroom, heading to his room to look for something to wear.

you flicked on the light, the warm glow illuminating chris's bedroom as your stepped inside. your eyes wandered around the space, taking in the familiar neatness as everything he owned had a particular space in his room.

you pulled open one of the drawers, digging in the layers of fabric until your fingers landed on a soft dark t-shirt at the bottom. pulling it free, you noticed the faint wrinkles creasing the material. It looked like something he hadn't worn in quite some time perfect to borrow.

after drying off, you slipped into it, the material engulfing your figure, the sleeves hanging loose around your arms while the hem fell well below your knees. You couldn't help but laugh quietly at the sight.

his shirt completely cocooned you in warmth and comfort. yet the material settled naturally on your hip dips, outlining the curve of your body beneath the loose fabric. you glanced at yourself in the mirror, twirling slightly as the oversized shirt swayed around your legs.

"I thought I heard the water stop do you-" chris pushed open the bedroom door, his hand on the doorknob as the rest of his sentence frazzled in his throat. he froze completely, his eyes landing on you through the mirror.

"I - I didn't want to wear the dirty clothes and I couldn't find you to ask so I thought I would borrow your clothes." you explained quickly, suddenly feeling self conscious as chris stood still his mouth slightly parted as his eyes wandered down on your figure.

"sorry I should have asked, I can take the shirt off actually. i can wear my old clothes." you ramble on, heat flustering your face as the awkward slience stretches between you two.

"no!" he exclaims quickly, breaking away from his trance as he steps closer eyes widening. his hands slide carefully along your sides, fingertips grazing the fabric of his shirt hanging loosely on your body. goosebumps ripple down your spine at the touch.you glance up at him, catching the faint pink dusting across his cheeks.

"do you even know what you do to me?" he whispers, his thumb creasing your cheeks before gliding it across your bottom lip. you melt into his touch instinctively, eyes fluttering shut as you nuzzle against his hand, savoring the warmth of his touch.

"you look so...so perfect." he coos, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulls you in, your hand lands on his chest, and beneath your palm, his heartbeat stumbles fast and uneven.

"you drive me crazy." he mumbles, covering your hand with his own holding it there as he gazes into your eyes.

"you are so perfect...my perfect baby." he whispers into your ear, before kissing you deep slowly, taking his time to taste you. a soft sound escapes you against his lips, and he smiles faintly into the kiss. makeup free, smelling like him, hair damp, and to top it all off, you in his clothes, he’s never seen you look so angelic in his arms.

"so you don't mind me taking your shirt?" you mumble, as you pull away, resting your forehead against his. chris lets out a quiet laugh, his breath fanning your mouth as he pecks your lips.

"mind?" he repeats softly, "sweetheart take all my shirts if that's how you look in them. Fuck. take everything I own... it's all yours anyway." he mumbles back, his blue eyes peircing yours affectionately as you giggle, a grin spreading across his face.

"wow you really have gone crazy." you joke back, pulling away from his forehead as you twiddle with his fingers.

"only for you my baby. only for you." he smirks, lifting your hand and placing a kiss on your knuckles earning another giggle from you.

he stares adorably down at you again as if he's trying to take a mental picture of you, memorising every curve in his clothes. you beam up at him the look on his face making your chest ache, fascinated by something this small has got him wrapped around your finger.

lacing your fingers tighter with his, you rise onto your tiptoes and press several quick kisses to his lips, each one making his grin grow softer. reminding him you are completely his and he is completely yours.

before you can pull away, he slips an arm around your waist, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, as he carries you toward the bed. he pulls back the duvet and gently sets you down before climbing in beside you.

you curl into him immediately, one of your leg wrapped around his torso as exhaustion finally begins to settle in.

"thank you for taking care of me" you mumble, pressing lazy kisses along his neck as your eyes begin to get heavy. he hums softly in response, fingers tracing soothing circles against your back.

"you never have to thank me my angel... I'm the lucky one to have you" chris whispers against your hair, his voice low and full of affection "sweet dreams."

wrapped safely in his warmth, he gently plays with your hair, soothing you to sleep while the steady rhythm of his heartbeat hums beneath your ear. looking down at you with a soft smile as quiet snores slip past your lips, you wearing his clothes, his scent, his warmth.

he realises that since meeting you, he has never been more certain that he’s in love. and for the first time for a while, the ache in his heart begins to heal, your presence gently filling the parts of him that he thought would always remain broken.

chris presses a gentle kiss to your temple as you shift subconsciously in his arms, holding you a little closer. he closes his eyes, his mind quietly overflowing with thoughts of you and the future together.

✎ᝰ. masterlist

notes :- thank you for the request anon!! this was so cute and fluff !! I added towards the end he realises he’s in love with you for the first time ! hopefully you liked it 💗

also the penguin is so cutee I saw it on pinterest randomly and my first thought was chris

“You know what I just realised?” you ask a couple of days after that disastrous pregnancy reveal, as you're lounging in bed next to Albert, all cuddled up to him while he looks up parenting books to order online on his tablet.

“Hmm?” Albert hums as he keeps scrolling, though you can see his eyes briefly flicking down to regard you for a moment.

“I've never seen you with a beard. Or at least some scruff. Not even a measly five o'clock shadow. Why is that?”

Albert snorts and finally sets the tablet down, abandoning that task for now, and gives you his full attention. Your chin is propped up on his pec as you look up at him through your lashes with a smile that is probably much wider than the situation calls for but you can't help it. Ever since you found out you're carrying twins you've been on cloud nine. You're just so utterly happy you feel like you could float, like nothing will ever be bad in the world, like nothing could ever ruin your happiness. Knowing that Albert is just as excited as you are and that he'll be here with you every step of the way is just the cherry on top.

“Because I shave every morning and you're usually too sleepy or horny to pay attention to my stubble,” he answers bluntly, smirking when your cheeks warm up at his description. It's infuriating that he can still make you blush. You're pregnant with his babies, for fuck's sake! And yet…

“Is it even visible, actually?” you ask, lifting a hand to run it over his smooth cheek as if you can see those blonde hairs if you just squint hard enough. Funnily enough, you can almost feel tiny little hairs here and there if you run your finger over his skin just right, but you've never paid much attention to it before. Eight months of being together and you're only just now discovering this about the man you love.

He shakes his head softly, careful not to dislodge your hand. He's been doing that a lot lately – being careful with you. It's not that he was forceful before (not unless you wanted it in bed, naturally), but ever since your announcement, Albert has been… softer with you, almost. As if your revelation made something click in his brain and it unlocked something in him that was previously kept locked away. It makes you glad to see it because that means he's finally letting you have access to all of him without fear or hesitation.

“Not for a few days. Why? Do you want me scruffy, sweet girl?” Albert questions in a low, seductive tone as he leans closer to you, hand grasping your chin and pulling your face up until his mouth is level with yours. His eyes, molten orange and half-lidded, seem to keep you trapped in their orbit but you gladly let yourself be caught in their snare.

“Just curious…” you breathe out, breathless, as you only slightly lose your train of thought. “I was just thinking…”

Albert pulls away then, the tease, and smirks at the quiet disappointment in your eyes as he settles back against the pillows propped up against the headboard.

“You were thinking?”

You give yourself a shake and remind yourself to focus on the present. Right, you had been thinking of something that led you to asking him about his facial hair in the first place.

“You said you want to marry me and well… Wives give their husbands a shave sometimes, don't they? Shouldn't I… practice now? So I can help you when we're married, like a good wife?”

Albert's eyes soften as they look at you and the hand that cups your cheek and squeezes it before it slides in your hair is not a surprise. This time, he kisses you for real and it's slow, tender, loving. There is no intention for more, no filth slipped in, and it makes your chest ache with a foreign feeling – you hadn't realised how used you were, how quietly resigned, to just being a sexual object for Albert in lieu of the love and care your soul was craving until he slowly started handling you differently.

You know this started as a one night stand. It was probably meant to be nothing more than that for him when he entertained your clumsy flirting at the bar that night. But he stayed and he kept coming back and next thing you knew he was living with you. The transition came so easily, so seamlessly, that you barely noticed when he stopped leaving in the morning before you woke up. But you did notice when his touches started being about more and less than just sex – when a hand on your waist was placed there just to hold you and remind you that he's there, when cuddling happened in the middle of the day, both of you fully clothed, watching something together or simply enjoying the silence with your eyes closed while your breathing mingled and your heartbeats synced.

You know this relationship is not conventional –  it wasn't at the start and then it only got ‘worse’. And you know that things are moving fast – pregnant with twins and talking about marriage after only eight months? Sounds insane.

But you're also a firm believer in ‘when you know, you know’. Albert is it for you. Nobody else could compare. If there is anything resembling soulmates in this world then you and him are it.

“You don't need to do anything to be a good wife, darling. There is no right way to go about it,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away, his mouth brushing against yours with every word he speaks and making your lips tingle from his touch. You're so enamoured with this man it's ridiculous. “But if you want to learn… I can teach you.”

Your eyes and smile widen in excitement at his words and you rear back so you don't accidentally headbutt him in your enthusiasm.

“Really?! You'd do that for me?!”

Albert chuckles at your joy, shaking his head in disbelief at the disproportionate reaction, but it's a fond gesture. He pulls himself up until he's sitting upright instead of leaning back on the pillows when you jump out of bed and twirl excitedly in front of him as you try to contain your enthusiasm at the prospect.

“If that's what you want, yes,” he answers in amusement. “Though we need to get some new shaving cream, I ran out of mine this morning.”

“You stay here and get everything ready, I'll run to the corner store quickly! Oh, I'm so excited! I've never shaved anyone else before!”

“Somehow, those words aren't as comforting for me as you might think, darling,” Albert calls out to you while you run around your room, pulling a clean pair of pants to drag over your legs and hopping around like a neurotic bunny on cocaine.

“It'll be fine! How hard can it be, right? Teenage boys do it all the time,” you dismiss, too excited to be anxious about possibly cutting his face to ribbons, and pull him into a quick kiss after you're finally dressed and ready to head to the store. “Anything else I should grab while I'm gone?”

“Actually, yes. Get me another set of razorblades. This brand.” He sends you a picture to ensure you get the right kind before he reels you in for another kiss before you can turn around and leave the bedroom. “And don't forget you were craving fruit this morning. Get some while you're there.”

You huff, amused, and a smile pulls at your lips again while you put your shoes on, but you confirm that you'll look around and see if anything piques your interest.

Phone shoved in your pocket, keys in hand, and reusable bag tied around your wrist, you yell your goodbye to Albert then leave your apartment quickly, nearly bouncing with every step as you exit your apartment building and start walking towards the nearest store.

You don't know why the idea of doing this for Albert excites you so much – maybe it's just the prospect of doing something so silly with him for no other reason than because you want to. Or maybe it's the fact that it's such a… domestic thing for partners to do. You don't know what couples do in practice, having never dated anyone properly before Albert and having no examples from your dad's life. But you always fantasised about it and imagined what it would be like; and in every one of your fantasies, a couple did things like this. Shaving each other or braiding each other's hair, cooking for one another, baking, grabbing the other's favourite takeout on the way home to surprise them.

Acts of love. Quality time spent together. Being seen and seeing in return.

You know why, too. I mean, how could you not? You can't remember the last time you and your dad spent any significant amount of time together, let alone the last time he knew you well enough to do something nice for you that isn't just generic gift giving that could be for anyone else instead of you.

Albert, though… He knows you. He knows what music you listen to, what your favourite colour is, if you like flowers and what kind, what you'll devour if put in front of you and what you'll play around with if it's on your plate before dumping it on his. He knows you and that is more than you can say about ninety percent of the people in your life.

So yes, of course this little moment of domestic silliness has you so excited – it's an opportunity for you not only to spend time with him, but to also learn something new about him. Maybe one day soon, you will wake up before him because he's exhausted after staying up too late to soothe the twins to sleep, and you'll be able to do this for him: sit his exhausted ass down on a chair in the bathroom and shave his face for him while he catches a few more minutes of sleep while pretending he's just resting his eyes.

The mental image is enough to make you want to rush back home and get started on siblings for the twins already.

You spend a bit longer than planned wandering around the store, mainly because finding Albert's exact brand of razors is like finding a needle in a haystack and you know that you can't just grab something else because he'll throw a fit otherwise – he's very particular about certain things and you've learned by now not to mess with his system. Then, it's you who is too particular about your choices because you spend, on the clock, five whole minutes just going from fruit to fruit and trying to decide which kind you want more or if you even want fruit anymore. In the end, you go for the safest bet – your favourites – and finally head to the till with your small purchase.

The teenager behind the register gives you a tired smile – you always make it a point to leave her some extra bills with every purchase you make because you know how hard it is to work in customer service – then rings your stuff up and wishes you a good day. You wave merrily at her as you walk out, then adjust your grip on your bag and head home. But as you approach your apartment building, something odd catches your eye.

A car is parked in front of the building that wasn't there when you passed by on your way to the store. And not just any car, no. It's your dad's car.

You throw an anxious look around, hoping you can spot him loitering around, waiting for you like the emotionally constipated creep he can be sometimes, but you're fresh out of luck – there is no sign of him. Is hoping that it's a coincidence that his car is parked here a step too far?

Worried and wondering what the hell Chris thinks he's doing by showing up uninvited after you told him to forget about you, you hurry your step and almost trip in your haste to climb up the stairs faster, foregoing the elevator entirely in your mad rush upstairs. You're still hoping for a miracle – that it wasn't actually your dad's car, that he's here to visit someone else who just so happens to live in the area, hell, even that he somehow got inside the building and is simply waiting for you at the door. Anything but him being in your apartment right now, alone with Albert.

It's no secret that Albert doesn't like your dad. He made his disdain known from the first moment you opened up even slightly about your relationship with Chris and its many complications, but ever since that relationship-ending brunch he's been even more angry whenever the topic of Chris has been raised. And for good reason. You aren't exactly jumping for joy whenever your mind drifts towards your dad either.

But as you hurry up the stairs to reach your apartment, all you can see before your mind's eye is your boyfriend fighting your dad in the middle of your living room. You can't imagine Albert getting into a physical fight but, oddly enough, you can imagine him ending one perfectly fine.

And you know your dad's temper, especially recently, well enough to know that if anyone is starting anything, it's him.

Despite your wishful thinking, when you finally reach your floor all of your dreams are dashed as you see your apartment door left wide open as if taunting you while loud, angry voices drift out into the hallway from inside your house and make you freeze in place for a moment. With your heart in your throat – or perhaps lying somewhere at your feet – and your hands trembling as they grasp your shopping bag like it's a lifeline, you take hesitant steps towards your door and brace yourself for whatever awaits you.

As you approach, you finally start to make sense of what the voices inside are actually saying.

“-your filthy hands off of her, Wesker!”

The way your dad yells those words makes it sound like… like he knows Albert. There is history and feeling behind the way he says Albert's last name that doesn't come just from hating the man your daughter is dating despite never officially meeting him in person.

“Bit late for that, isn't it?” Albert taunts, sounding cruel in a way you only ever heard in the beginning when this thing started between you. But even then, there was softness when Albert spoke to you, gentleness in the way he handled you. Now there is nothing there but mean spirited glee. “Where was this a month ago, huh? Didn't mind letting me keep touching her with my ‘filthy hands’ for that long.”

“You know damn well why I didn't do anything,” your dad grits out angrily. You stop outside the door, a few paces away, and just listen. You can barely breathe as you wait to hear what comes next.

“Is it because you have finally accepted that you are weak and useless where I am concerned, Chris? I didn't even have to do anything for her to stop talking to you – you did that all on your own.”

“As if you really had nothing to do with that!” your dad yells and the volume makes you jump, heart rate kicking up a notch, but you will yourself to stay here and keep listening. “She never yelled at me like that before you came along!”

“Oh, you mean that she was never taught to stand up for herself? Sure, I'll take the credit. But she was bound to realise how abysmal of a father you've been eventually even without my help, Chris. Let's be honest here.”

“You are nothing but a cancer upon this earth, Wesker. And now you've gone and infected my daughter with it!”

At those words, you gasp without a sound as your stomach twists and you stumble away from the door with a mix of horror and pain swirling in your gut.

“What did you just call my children?”

Your hand flies to your stomach, still visibly unchanged from the last time you checked, yet the knowledge of what is housed within your own body makes all the difference every time you touch it. You think about the ultrasound you had with Albert next to you and the excitement that coursed through your veins when the doctor gave you the news. You think about how overjoyed you were in the car that you just broke down in tears over it because you didn't know how else to react.

You think about how you wanted nothing more than to call your dad when you first got the news that you were pregnant.

And here he is… calling your children cancer. A disease. Something that is infecting you.

“You heard me, Wesker! It wasn't enough for you to fool my daughter into sleeping with you by hiding who you really are, was it? You just had to go and make her love you only to then… to… to taint her with your evilness! Can she even contain those parasites inside her? Will they tear her apart like the monsters they are – monsters just like you? Do you even care? Or are you that depraved that you'll happily watch her love those abominations and insist on keeping them only for her to die giving birth? After all, you did threaten to kill her once if I even thought about getting her away from you.”

You don't hear Albert's response to your dad's horrible words and accusations because your ears start ringing and you get so violently sick you have to turn around and throw up in your neighbour's potted plant before you can throw up all over yourself instead. Your loud, pitiful retching must finally alert the two men inside to your presence because not even a minute later, strong, familiar hands grasp your shoulders and rub soothing circles on your back while you spit bile into the pot, grimacing at the sight and the foul taste in your mouth. You'll have to apologise to your neighbour and replace their plant soon.

When you finally feel like you won't throw up an entire intestine, you wipe your mouth with your sleeve and straighten up, shrugging those arms off even if they leave you feeling cold, and turn around. Albert is next to you, brow furrowed in concern and eyes pulsating red, while your dad is not far behind him, looking every bit the tall, muscled, menacing man he can be when he's really angry about something.

You can't look at either of them but you gesture angrily for them to follow you inside, since you don't want all your neighbours to hear any more than they already have. Once they're both inside, you slam the door shut and whirl on them.

Your dad opens his mouth to say something but you cut him off before he can utter even one more word.

“I can't even look at you,” you snap, voice trembling from anger and tears both. “First Claire tells me to abort my baby, now you call the twins horrible names. Cancer, parasites, monsters, abominations. Did I miss anything? I do want to give my children a comprehensive list of all the loving pet names their grandfather called them before they were even born when they grow up, after all.”

Chris looks at you with a conflicted expression on his face, torn between keeping his mouth shut to avoid digging a bigger hole for himself and speaking up to defend himself.

“I didn't think it was possible for you to hurt me more than you already have, dad. At this point, I do have to wonder if it's just me that's the problem. Is that it? Am I just broken? Am I not deserving of love? Of happiness? Like, okay, I get it, you didn't want me! I ruined your life when you got saddled with me and you've been resenting me ever since! That's fine! Not all children are loved by their parents, that's a fact of life. But why is it so bad for me to try to find that love somewhere else?”

“Princess–”

“Don't you ‘princess’ me!” you scream, voice breaking as you push Chris's hands away from you when they try to take you by the shoulders in a comforting grip. “I hate you! I thought I could forgive you, that maybe with time things would get better and I wouldn't feel so wretched every time we meet or talk. But this… This I can't forgive. They are my children, dad! Do you get that?”

“But they're not!” Chris yells, the words bursting out of him as an angry snarl comes to his face and he points at Albert, who's been quietly observing so far without saying a word. “They're his creation! Wouldn't surprise me if they're not even actual babies in there! God knows what that freaky virus of his is doing to your body!”

“She is perfectly safe, thank you very much! As if I would ever endanger her like that without checking first!” Albert interjects, full of offense.

“You threatened her life not even a month ago! You're a bioterrorist wanted by every government agency on the planet and then some! You are a killer and a monster and I don't believe a single word out of your mouth!”

“You… You what?”

You look between Albert and your dad, eyes wide and pleading for your boyfriend to deny it and say that your dad has gone round the bend and is making stuff up about him to tear you away from him. Your hands tighten at your sides and you're trembling while you wait for a denial that never comes. Albert takes a step towards you, eyes soft and full of a remorse you've never seen in them before, and your heart breaks instantly. You take a stumbling step back and it makes his jaw clench before he stops advancing towards you, his own hands balled into fists now.

“It's true. I was going to tell you the truth but I didn't want to upset you so soon after finding out about the pregnancy and the twins,” Albert confesses, regret and irritation both threading his voice as he shoots your dad a venomous glare before his eyes flick back to you, much softer than for your dad.

You swallow harshly but you don't get to say anything else because your dad is way ahead of you.

“And were you also going to tell her you've been using her to get back at me from the moment you met?”

“You shut the hell up, Redfield, before I–” Albert begins, looking so angry and dangerous that it even makes you scared for a moment, but your breath stuttering in your chest is so loud that it makes him stop in his tracks and look back at you with wide eyes.

“You know each other…?”

Here, both of them look guilty and hateful at the same time as they shoot each other glares.

“He was my Captain when I worked for S.T.A.R.S. in Raccoon City,” your dad answers sullenly. “He was a double agent for Umbrella and betrayed us all. I thought I killed him in 2009 but the bastard survived and decided to get his revenge on me by sleeping with my daughter behind my back!”

Your teary eyes jump from your dad to Albert as you ask, “Is that true?”

The pause before he answers tells you all you need to know.

“Yes. Initially. But–”

“Get out,” you cut him off, your tone pure steel even as you tremble with rage and grief and heartbreak. “Both of you. Right now.”

“Princess–”

“Darling–”

“I said get out! I don't want to see you, I don't want to talk to you, I don't want to know who either of you are! Just leave me the fuck alone! Since I'm nothing but a trinket to pass between you in whatever fucked up game of chess you've got going on! Leave me and my baby monsters alone! Maybe they will actually love me!”

Tears are streaming down your face now, endless waterfalls that make it hard to see, but you're grateful for it because you can't stand the sight of either of the two men in front of you right now.

“Get the fuck out!” you scream one last time, wrenching the door open and pointing angrily outside. Reluctantly, they both leave, though Albert turns back to face you the second he's crossed the threshold into the corridor as if to say something else. You don't give him a chance – you just slam the door shut and twist the lock viciously before you crumple to the ground against it and let yourself sob loudly and pathetically while hugging yourself as tightly as you can.

You can physically feel your heart breaking over and over again as those words repeat in your head.

What is it about you that attracts so much misery? Were you just born wrong? Is that why your mother abandoned you the second you were born? Did she know something you don't and decided she wanted nothing to do with you right then and there?

“I… hate… you…” you whisper brokenly between helpless sobs, banging your head against the door with every word, and you don't even know which of them you mean.

Your chest hurts so bad you feel like you're dying. If it was just you, you might even wish for it – anything to get away from this agony. But it's not just you… Two little lives, still nothing more than embryos, are depending on you – to be strong, to be healthy, to raise them right. Are you doomed to do that on your own, after all? Have all the plans of the last few days been nothing but sweet lies?

Just half an hour ago you were happier than you could bear and thinking that nothing could possibly ruin that. Now… Now you're crying yourself into a stupor.

You don't know how it happens, but you drift for an indeterminate amount of time, just sobbing until your tears run out, drying on your cheeks uncomfortably, while you curl yourself up into a small ball on the floor in front of your door. You might fall asleep, you might just check out while your gaze stays glued in front of you without actually seeing anything. You don't know. But your phone buzzing in your pocket pulls you rudely back into reality and you groan as you heave yourself up and fish for it in your pocket.

Albert's caller ID flashes on your screen.

Your heart twists and your mouth purses as you try not to start crying again. You want to let the call go to voicemail. Better yet, you want to reject the call yourself so he knows that you deliberately refused to answer. But something – stupidity, love, longing – makes you swipe your thumb across the screen and answer the call instead.

You don't say anything when you put the phone up to your ear.

“Get up off the floor and sleep in our bed, darling.”

“How do you know where I'm sitting?” you ask, narrowing your eyes as you try to figure out if he broke your trust even further by installing cameras in your apartment without your knowledge.

“I wasn't totally honest about my… infection. I am happy to explain it to you in detail later but what is relevant here is that my senses are heightened. I heard you collapsing in front of the door. I haven't heard you get up yet.”

You hum, glad that at least your boyfriend didn't go so far as to have you surveilled without you knowing, but it's only a small comfort.

“Why do you care where I sleep? I'm just a means to an end, aren't I? Were you even planning on sticking around for the babies or was that a lie too?”

Albert barking your name angrily is not something you expect and it makes you jump in surprise, your heart skipping a beat out of fear and alarm.

“Never and I mean never insinuate something like that ever again! I love you and I love our children and I will not have that questioned. Being upset does not give you the right to do that.”

Instantly, you feel bad. Because you know that, whatever he might truly feel about you, Albert's excitement about the twins was not feigned. You think you know him well enough by now to know at least that. You just wanted to hurt him back, make him feel at least a fraction of the pain you're currently being slowly drowned in.

“Were you really going to tell me the truth?”

“Yes, of course. I wouldn't lie to you.”

“But you already have!”

“Have I?” Albert retorts and it gives you pause. “Everything I've told you has been the truth. I didn't utter a single falsehood.”

“But you haven't been completely honest either. You deliberately left things out to manipulate me!”

“Yes. I did. I am not a good man, my dear. I thought that was plenty obvious without me having to spell it out. But things have changed drastically from the night we met and you know that. You've felt it.”

You sniffle, playing with a loose thread on your pants, and shrug as you lean your back against the door properly. He's right but somehow that doesn't make it better.

“I don't know if I can forgive you. I don't know how.”

“Yes, you do,” he replies and he sounds so sure it almost makes you angry at him all over again but it fizzles out before it can explode into anything substantial. “Don't let your father's words override what your heart knows, beautiful girl. You know me, even if you didn't know who I truly was until today.”

“But it's not about that! Don't you see?!” you protest, voice rising in desperation more than real anger. “I don't even care that you didn't tell me who you actually were, not really. You gave me your name and I got to know the person underneath everything else during the time that we've been together. That matters more than what you do and what you've done.

“What hurts is that, in spite of all that, none of it mattered. Not to you. You used me. I was just a means to an end to you, a way to get back at my dad, and once again I am nothing but a pawn in the games of the men in my life. I trusted you and I love you and I feel like an idiot for letting myself do that when I should damn well know better. That's why I'm upset. Not because you lied.”

For a long moment, there is silence on the other line. It's just your heavy breathing, your attempts to stop any tears before they can emerge, and the utter silence between you. You're convinced you won't get an answer – that Albert will either move past your words like you never said anything or that he'll hang up to avoid the conversation entirely. But then, you hear shuffling footsteps that echo strangely and you realise that it's because you can hear them in your phone speaker and right outside the door as well.

Then the knock at your door comes.

“Open the door, darling.”

The words echo as well.

You sit there for a minute, debating, but then you pull yourself to your feet and slowly unlock the door, pulling it open and looking up at Albert standing on the other side. He looks dishevelled, like he's been running his hands through his hair, and there's tension in every line of his body but when he looks at you, his eyes are soft underneath the hardness present on the surface.

He doesn't take a single step towards the threshold when he opens his mouth to speak, giving you your space but making sure that you're looking him in the eyes before he begins.

"If you think for even one moment that you do not matter, then I have severely overestimated your intelligence, my dear,” he starts. “Eight months of commitment to a charade is a bit long, don't you think? I want you, otherwise I wouldn't still be here. I love you.

“Things between us started as revenge, yes, I won't deny it. But they have progressed far past that for it to only be about that anymore. And you are mistaken if you think for even a second that I'm letting you go so easily now. You are mine, dear heart, or have you forgotten that? I don't let go of the things I own quite so easily.”

Albert's voice is even and quiet but there is firm authority laced in it that makes you shiver involuntarily as you gaze up at him and find those blazing eyes staring you down as if you're prey caught in a snare.

“And if I don't want to be yours anymore?” you ask, curious more than serious, wanting to see what he has to say.

Albert shakes his head as he leans forward – still without taking a single step further into your space.

“You don't make that decision. You gave yourself over to me, my love. You are pregnant with my seed, something you both wished for and adamantly insisted on seeing through even if I disagreed. You agreed to marry me. I think you know me well enough by now to know that I won't give up on you just like that after one single spat.”

“Don't my choices matter here?” you ask again, and again it's only because you want to hear his answer. Albert knows it too, you can see it in the way his lips curl up and the way he leans even closer towards you. His breath is puffing up against your lips now and you subtly take a whiff of his scent, feeling so much comfort as your lungs are flooded with his cologne.

“Of course they do. You can choose if you want me to sleep in bed with you tonight or on the couch until you feel better. You can choose how long to be upset with me. And you can choose how I'll fuck you when you're ready for makeup sex.”

“And if I run?” The last question and the most important one. You almost hold your breath while you wait for him to answer.

It's now that Albert finally takes a step towards you, then another, until he's crowding you up against the partially open door as he bends down and licks a stripe up your neck sensually. The feeling, his touch, his proximity, it all makes your head spin and your hold on the doorknob weakens pathetically fast under this assault on your composure.

“Then I will give chase and pin you down until you stop struggling,” Albert whispers, just loud enough for you to hear, before he bites down on your neck hard enough to draw blood and leaves his mark upon your flesh.

You whimper at the feeling of his mouth around your neck and his sharp teeth in your skin, and of course Albert is there to catch you when your knees nearly give out from under you because of his touch. He hoists you up into his arms and walks back inside with you, shutting the door behind him, then takes you straight to your bedroom where he gently lays you down on the bed.

“So will you struggle, beautiful? Or will you let me do what you really want me to do?” he asks softly, hand trailing up and down your side while the other has a hold of your chin. You look up at him and, despite everything, you still see the man you love. He's the same Albert he was yesterday and this morning. The same Albert from a few hours ago, who was reassuring you about what being a good wife entails and agreeing to teach you how to shave him.

He's your Albert. Your love. Your daddy. Your everything.

“I want you,” you confess, not nearly as ashamed as you should feel, and arch up into his touch when the hand at your side slips under your shirt and brushes against one of your nipples. “Just please don't break me, Albert. I don't want to ever feel as wretched as I felt today.”

His eyes, like smoldering embers in the middle of a blizzard, soften as he lowers himself on top of you properly and covers you with his body, letting you feel his erection and making you gasp at the feeling.

“I'm sorry I hurt you, sweet girl,” he murmurs sincerely. “But you don't ever have to question my feelings for you. You are the first person I ever loved. You and our twins are the only ones I will likely ever love for as long as I live.”

“Then I am yours.”

His lips fit over yours seamlessly, like a puzzle piece slotting into place, and you don't fight him anymore as you sink into the mattress and let Albert's weight pin you down, his warmth envelop you, and his kisses wipe away all the anguish you've been battling since you walked up those stairs and overhead a terrible conversation you wish you could erase from your memory.

You don't want to cry anymore. You don't want to second guess everything. You want to belong and to be loved and to love in return. Were Albert's actions excusable? Not by a long shot. But that regret in his eyes was real and you believe him when he says that he was going to tell you the truth. In a way, you both started this seeking to use the other for your own goals: Albert for revenge, you for the illusion of love through ownership. It morphed and blossomed into something else entirely along the way for both of you. Can you hold him accountable for seeking you out with revenge on your dad in mind when, in a way, you also did the same when your eyes locked with his in that bar? You're not even sure you would have run away from him even if you knew who he truly was that night.

Regardless, Albert remains the best thing you've ever had in your entire life. The way he lights you up from the inside and the soothing balm of his love as it washes over you could never be replicated by another. You are carrying his babies and are not going to abort them no matter what anyone says. How could you turn him away? How could you deny him your love and affection? Were you to do that, you would become a shell of yourself, forever yearning for his touch and regretting not forgiving him when you had the chance.

The feeling of something slithering up your leg under your pants and nudging at your panties makes you gasp into Albert's kiss and look up at him in surprise as your thoughts get halted in their tracks. He smirks down at you, teeth stained with blood from the bite he gave you earlier, and nips at your bottom lip before he tears your shirt off of your body so effortlessly it steals your breath away.

“I've been holding out on you, my dear, but I think that it's time you knew all of me now, wouldn't you say?” he purrs against your throat before he peppers a few kisses on his way to your chest where he bites down again and makes sure to leave painful marks into the skin that make you see stars.

When you focus your eyes on him better you realise what he meant by that as you notice a tangle of black tentacles, for lack of a better word, protruding from his chest and slowly slithering up and down your own body. One of them has already found your clothed pussy, as you realise now that is what you felt, and is nudging your panties aside to rub against your clit. You let out a moan at the dual feeling of that stimulation and Albert's teeth in your breasts, softly biting down to mark you up.

Another set of tendrils winds around your ankles and pins your legs down, spreading them as far as they will comfortably go, while yet another finds your wrists and wrenches them above your head so that they're held there with no wiggle room for escape or movement. Your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of utter helplessness, amplified by a thrill of danger and arousal that is so powerful your vision goes white for a second from the intensity when you look up at Albert and see him hovering above you, impossibly menacing and so utterly inhuman as he stares down at you with slitted, red eyes, tentacles erupting from his chest and holding you hostage.

That and the knowledge that he can probably hear every tiny, desperate inhale you let out and every skip of your heart as you realise how much this is turning you on, that he can also probably smell the arousal dripping from your cunt as that delightful tentacle keeps slithering around between your folds and wiggling against your clit… It's enough to drive you crazy.

“You think I don't love you?” Albert asks darkly then, his hands fitting around the waistband of your pants as he lowers himself until he's straddling your thighs. “You think you don't matter to me?” That tentacle prods at your soaking entrance and makes you gasp as it dips inside just slightly before retreating. “Let me show you just how utterly you belong to me, you little slut.” And then he just rips your pants off and leaves them in tatters around your body, tearing the panties away swiftly too, and sinks that girthy tentacle into your cunt all the way up to your cervix without warning.

“Ah! F-fuck, that feels so good, daddy,” you moan, helplessly sobbing as he sets a punishing pace and that tentacle fucks in and out of you without reason, without thought, without consideration for letting you adjust to it. It burns just slightly on the first couple of thrusts inside but it doesn't take long for you to soak the appendage in your juices and ease its way inside. Horribly loud, lewd squelching can be heard as you try to squirm and remember that you're hopelessly pinned down, and Albert grins down at you. What a pathetic sight you must make.

“Every inch of you is mine,” he murmurs, bending down to grip you by the throat and keep your head immobile too as he looms over you. “Your cunt is mine,” he growls then, and the intensity of that tentacle kicks up a notch, making your stomach tighten from how roughly it's handling you, “your ass is mine,” he continues, another tendril slithering up your body and prodding at your entrance there meaningfully and wiggling inside slowly and carefully while you moan without restraint, “these beautiful tits are mine,” another set of tentacles wraps around your boobs, squeezing them tightly and tugging on your pert nipples until they ache just slightly, “and this mouth is definitely mine.” A final appendage slinks up to your mouth and parts your already opened lips, shoving its way inside and starting to deepthroat you immediately.

Your moans are muffled by the tentacle in your mouth. You can't move even an inch in any direction. And Albert? He moves away from you until he's towering over your spread, naked body without touching you at all and pulls his cock out without taking a single item of clothing off, then starts jerking himself off with yet another one of his tentacles. His cock is leaking heavily, precum beading at the tip, and it spills over onto the slim, black tendril when it wraps itself around his shaft and starts squeezing and tugging.

“Look at you,” he moans, throwing his head back as his tentacle rubs against his sensitive cockhead while tugging on his balls. “All spread out like a feast, every hole stuffed full of my Uroboros. And you still believe you're not mine?”

Your pussy clenches around the slimy girth inside and you mewl around the one in your mouth when the two tentacles in your ass and cunt start fucking in and out of you intermittently, making sure you're always full no matter which way they go. Your nipples are still being tweaked, tits squeezed and fondled like they're Albert's stress relief toy more than anything, and your jaw aches from how far it's been forced open to accommodate the thick tentacle abusing your throat.

You look at him with tears in your eyes, feeling on the best side of overwhelmed, and shake your head in response to his question, barely remembering that he even asked it.

“You're going to have to speak up, darling, I didn't catch that.”

You try to say ‘no’ behind that tentacle in your mouth but all you manage to do is keen loudly and shut your eyes from pleasure when one of the tendrils squeezing your tits leaves its post to mess with your clit instead, pressing down on it and flicking it in a rough pattern that makes you tense up in preparation for what you know is coming as soon as it starts touching you.

Albert laughs at your predicament, enjoying the way you whine and try to squirm away while instead being forced to just sit there and take whatever he's doing to you and making your body feel. As the tightness in your belly gets worse and your breathing becomes shallow from an incoming orgasm, Albert picks up the pace as well: he jerks himself off faster, making his tentacle twist around the hard, leaking shaft in the exact way you know will get him to his peak as fast as possible, while the tendrils in your holes change the pace to a rough, brutal thing that makes you jolt with every thrust inside as they pound into you without mercy.

“Come all over yourself like the pathetic, needy little thing you are and show me how happy you are to be used by me, sweet girl,” Albert orders and you don't need anything more than that to let go completely and come so hard your vision whites out, soaking the bed with your squirting and drenching the tentacle in your cunt with your release. He keeps fucking you through it, only slowing down the pace so your pleasure won't tip into actual pain from the overstimulation, and when you hear Albert groaning next to you, you force your hazy eyes open just in time to see him spilling himself over your spent body, marking you up with his cum as it splatters over your belly and tits.

The sight is so erotic that it pulls another, smaller orgasm out of you, aided by the ongoing stimulation in your holes.

Slowly, the tentacles retreat, the one in your mouth pulling away after a parting squeeze to your throat, and then you're just lying in the middle of your bed, feeling comfortably used but empty. Albert gets there before you can feel too badly about it as he scoops you into his arms and pulls you back until you're lying on his chest, propped between his legs.

His arms around your torso, holding you in spite of the sweat and cum on your skin, are like an anchor that keeps you up above the dark, treacherous waters below. You close your eyes and sink into his embrace as you bask in his warmth and solidity.

“You are much more than just a means to an end,” Albert whispers eventually right against your ear before he kisses gently over it. “You are the only thing that matters. My beautiful girl, my future wife, and the mother of my children.”

You hum, bringing up your aching arms until your hands are hooked around Albert's muscular forearms, and cling to him with all your might.

“You still need to ask me properly. With a ring, preferably, though diamonds aren't necessary. And from now on… No more secrets, okay? You know me completely and I want to feel like the same applies the other way around too,” you murmur, your voice way too sleepy and wrung out to come out as firm as you want it to be, but Albert knows you better than you know yourself sometimes so you're sure he catches the seriousness in your words.

“Yes, beloved.” That's a new one. But you can't say you hate it, not with the happy, squirming feeling in your chest and the way Albert kisses your temple when he calls you the new pet name. “I will endeavour to keep no secrets from you from now on. And don't worry, the ring is coming. I want to see you dressed in white while heavy with my children so we have to make haste on the wedding front.”

The thought of walking down the aisle with a heavy, rounded belly full with your twins while Albert waits for you at the other end has your heart doing flips in your chest and you curl up into his arms properly until you're lying on your side, cocooned in his limbs and warmed up by his heat.