windbreaker characters & their perverted, nasty habits pt.3 (last one)
author’s note ; okay now serious topic, empty blogs, pls update at least something in your blogs - age, some info like “here for fics/reblogs/etc/“ or at least some pfp, otherwise i will recognize you as bot blogs and will block you, thank u!
tw : sexual topics, somnophilia, darcryphillia, bondage, hard dom, power play, mastirbation (m! receiving)
incl. : sung kwon, juhwan, hyouma, ryohei, mahon (honorable mention of kazuma and sangho🤭)
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sung kwon - somnophilia
he likes when you stay at his place, especially when you wear his clothes and fall asleep during watching movies. you look so cute, snuggling into blankets and pillows, in weak warm lights of lamp near his bed and lights from tv. his shirt on you is pulled up, revealing a perfect view of your ass and tummy. as usual, you pulled one leg higher and stretched yourself on pillows. it always seems so sexy to sung, you are relaxed and calm in your sleep, bonus points if you open your mouth sweetly and your lips look even more attractive and welcoming. and sung being good boyfriend he is, don’t want to wake you up from your sleep, but that last scene from movie was too hot, and your position look too sexy and welcoming, he can easily extend his hand to your tummy and then directly in your panties, while rubbing his hips on your ass. and he always growl harder when he hears your sleepy moan. he likes to slowly pulling down your panties, trying not to wake you up, slowly rubbing your bare pussy with his big palm, then use only two fingers to find your clit, to make you even more wet, while his chest pressed against your spine, and his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder, listening to all your small, sleepy moans. sung likes to slowly pulling his dick in your wet crack and trying his best to be gentle and quiet, but gosh you squeezing him so tight and warm that he loses himself and end up waking you up with enormous thrusts and a low growls. another his favorite thing - wake you up with his tongue between your legs. sung is master of using his tongue especially when it comes to your pleasure.
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juhwan - nursing handjob
there was something about the way you sat on the side of the bed, squeezing his cock in your hand while he payed extra attention to your boobs, sucking and squeezing them desperately. juhwan doesn’t care about your boobs size, they can be big, small, different forms, he doesn’t care, as long as he can suck them, while looking up at you, while you slowly jerk his dick off. bonus points would be practicing - if you tell him what a good boy he is, juhwan would moan more desperately and push his hips faster. as many warm words he hears as closer he is to cum.
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hyouma - power play/dacryphillia
everything is simple - he is huge and he knows it. and he knows you enjoy it. the fact is that he actually enjoy tower over you, making you feel smaller and weaker, it boosts his ego. when you have sex hyouma almost never have a mercy for you, until you say safe word. of course he spent some time to properly prepare you, but as soon as your first orgasm from his tongue and fingers hits you, be prepared to be hummered into the mattress with monstrous power. but hyouma have his moods sometimes, so he can make you stand up and fuck you from behind, holding your hands behind your back, while he can see your sweet, tear-stained -from overstimulation- face in the mirror and feel how your legs start to tremble with each strong thrust. if you start whimpering that your legs are shaking too much and you can't stand anymore, he will hold your body by wrapping one arm around your waist and putting the other onto your shoulder, forcing you to slam on his dick harder. or in this position he may let go of your hands to grab your hips so hard, that there will be traces of his fingers on your smooth, soft skin. or if you in bed in missionary position and he push your knees almost to your head. hyouma enjoy to lean on you with all his weight, making you feel how helpless you really are in this situation. he can’t explain it, he just feels feral during the sex and sometimes get lost in his pleasure, but the second you say safe word he will stop.
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ryohei - bondage
he enjoy control, and it spreads to your bedroom as well, same to his fetishes. he also capable to find and admire beauty in everything, and he find red ropes over your body really beautiful. the way how it squishes your body in places, how it provides all control over you to him, and how ropes leaves red and pink traces on your body. he likes to set intimate atmosphere in your bedroom with warm, dim lights, maybe some overpriced wine - just to set some mood. honestly, i think he enjoys the process of putting ropes over you more then actual sex, the idea that you trust him so much to let him tie you up during such emotional moment as sex is fascinates him. ryohei is service dom, so ropes maybe a little bit too tight, but all your other wishes is a command to him - he controls you physically now, but you have his mind, heart and soul, and the moment of sex he considers as an equal action - you both sacrifice something, give something to each other to receive something in return. for ryohei sex is a very sensual and emotional state, so he will do everything for his partner, and will expect the same return in return.
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mahon jo - cuckold
seriously, you can’t say that he wouldn’t enjoy seeing you fucked by kazuma or sangho in gym during one of their trainings. and if in case with kazuma it would be more like a threesome, caring, sensual and sweet, as kazuma accept that mahon was a sun who shine, and three of you shared romantic feelings towards each other, and you would be first ones with whom mahon learned that he actually enjoyed watching as his lover being fucked by someone else. as i said all three of you would be emotionally close to each other and during sex it would stay the same - kazuma is really sensual and passionate lover, so he would give the whole show to mahon by slowly undressing you, kissing you passionately, touching you in all right places, while making you look into mahon eyes and price both you and mahon. with sangho its whole different story. it would be more like sangho would fuck you from behind, making mahon look at two of you, not letting him touch you, or comfort you while he hummering his hard dick into your plushy pussy. mahon was fully aware that sangho was jealous over the fact he was better in cycling, but he hadn’t even thought about that sangho was jealous about you, such a sweet girlfriend mahon had, always coming on their competitions to cheer mahon’s team up. and mahon would lie if he would say that he don’t like sight of you under his teammate bending over some exercise equipment with your skirt up.
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juhwan part was kinda short😭😭
and i tried to make ryohei all romantic and passionate during the sex.
ed. writing it half asleep so don’t hesitate to point on mistakes💗🎀🩰🫧
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The Wife, The Lover and the Bastard Son - Part 1
Chris Redfield x Reader
Part 1 (You are here) | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Synopsis: After a long day of being interrogated about Wesker's work in Africa, you try to drown your sorrows in liquor. Too bad it won't work out as planned with Chris Redfield watching your every move.
Includes: Minor reader injury, excessive drinking, vaguely referenced unwanted advances from a stranger, spoliers for RE5, my first time posting my writing publicly. Enjoy!
Hurt/Comfort with plot. Reader is referred to as 'Doc.'
wc: 3.8k+
“I had it handled.” Your tone was matter of fact and icy. You were not the best fighter by any stretch of the imagination, but you were positive you could have taken down that wobbling drunk with a good kick.
Chris kept his eyes on the road. From the streetlights outside the car that came and went as Chris drove his hummer towards your home, you could see his stony expression illuminate and darken.
“You were just about on the receiving end of a right hook.” His hands tightly grip the steering wheel. Not in anger, but in frustration at the situation you’d found yourself in.
“And I was preparing to counter just like Jill taught me. Your point?”
“My point? You almost got in a bar fight! Why were you even in there at this time of night?”
Your mouth falls open. “Oh so it’s my fault some small-dicked idiot doesn’t know what ‘no’ means?”
“That’s not what I said-“
“And you didn’t have to! I’m a grown ass woman. I can handle my own problems. I don’t need you playing hero for me. And if I want to drink myself into a coma on a weekday, I have every right to do that without getting chewed out by you.”
You look at Chris with a withering glare and he shuts his mouth and keeps driving. A tense silence overtakes the car. In truth, your night getting cut short by a drunk asshole then Chris intervening on the almost fight was just the final incident after a long day that made you see red. You shift uncomfortably in your carefully curated, business casual outfit. A minute later, you let out a tired sigh.
“I’m sorry. If you must know, I had a tough day and I didn’t want to drink alone.”
The captain tilts his head, still keeping his eyes on the road. “The D.S.O. interview?”
You could feel your eyes getting hot. When you had married Albert Wesker all those years ago, you couldn’t imagine that your life would be like this; living under the protection of the B.S.A.A. and questioned on yet another aspect of Albert Wesker’s work every few months. It’s days like this when it feels like Albert isn’t actually gone. Even in death, his stain on the world of bioterrorism still found ways to torment your existence. You being a former Umbrella scientist didn’t help your case either, regardless of the fact that you never participated in Albert’s schemes.
“More like interrogation… but yeah.”
Chris’ expression softens. “What was it about this time?”
You take a deep calming breath, debating on keeping the details to yourself as usual. Chris wasn’t your friend. He was your designated agent that gave you assignments whenever another virus made itself known (which was more often than you would think). You made a point to keep things professional between you two. Anything more felt taboo given the circumstances of your relationship. The will to keep it that way had worn thin with the day’s events, so you relented but kept the answer short.
“Africa. Again.”
More silence. You notice Chris sigh and look annoyed, but don’t draw attention to it. Africa was a sensitive subject for both of you. It marked the explosive conclusion to your marriage with Albert, and the beginning of your strained alliance with his murderer. You didn’t hold it against Chris in the slightest. You really didn't. Deep down you know Albert would have ended humanity with a smirk plastered on his face. You’d already mourned the loss of the man you married long before his heart stopped beating. Since then, Chris had surprisingly and unwaveringly advocated for you. He even worked out a deal on you becoming a consultant on viruses for the B.S.A.A. in exchange for protection. He’d helped you so much over the years. More than you could ever hope to repay. That debt continues to grow with every kind gesture. You hated it.
Tonight for example: after Chris grabbed that drunk’s arm on the backswing and pinned him to the bar counter, both of you got kicked out. You didn’t even get your drink. You’d already had a rough day, so you yelled at Chris about him being a stalker and an asshole as you stomped back to your car. A comical insult considering knowing your whereabouts was a part of his job. All you wanted to do was go back home, resigned to drink alone, but lo and behold your car wouldn’t start and Chris noticed. He had every right to leave you to fend for yourself, but instead he insisted on driving you home.
“You’d think after three years they’d run out of questions to ask. The government keeps hiring investigators more stupid than the last. It’s incredible really.” You quip with some annoyance after a moment, trying to ease the tension. Chris still stares at the road in silence, so you keep going.
“They demanded a lot of answers about why we helped each other that day. That was a fun trip down memory lane. Don’t be surprised if someone calls you to verify that I told them the truth.”
Chris takes a deep breath, shifts in his seat and his posture relaxes slightly. “You know you can talk to me, right?”
“I am talking to you.”
“I mean beyond the one-word answers. I know there’s a lot on your mind. You can talk to me.”
You roll your eyes and go back to looking at the streetlights go by out the window.
“Right. Because you’re so unbiased about this subject.”
“I’m serious. I’ll just listen if you need to vent.”
“You’re already driving me home. I don’t need any more favors from you tonight.”
“It’s not a favor. I just want to help.”
You think about it for a moment. This wasn’t the first time Chris tried to get you to open up to him. But instead of brushing it off like before, you consider it. And the more you thought about it, the more it made sense that Chris would be the perfect person to weigh in on your interview with the D.S.O. He worked under Wesker at the R.P.D., knew nearly every single thing there was to know about him from tracking Wesker down over the years, and he’d witnessed Wesker’s possessive treatment of you the day he died. He didn’t look at you with disdain like most of the B.S.A.A. He saw you for who you were. The only person who could even be remotely as qualified was Jill, but she was still getting back on her feet after what happened in Africa. Plus, you doubted she would willingly listen to a rant about anything remotely associated to the man who brainwashed her.
Plus it would be nice to have someone listen to your complaints without looking at you like you were the scum of the earth.
Eventually, Chris pulls up to the small house that the B.S.A.A. had put you in for witness protection. It was an older one story house with a few problems here and there, but it was inconspicuous and you had managed to make it feel more like ‘yours’ with the handful decorations and plants you had accumulated over the last few months.
Chris pulls into the driveway and puts his hummer into park. Both of you just sit in silence for a few seconds, with Chris staring at the steering wheel and you at the sad excuse of a flower bed leading up to your front door.
“Doc-”
“Sure.”
Chris looks at you, confused. “What?”
You turn your gaze from the window to Chris. “I’d… appreciate having someone to vent to.”
You unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car. You lean your head back in the car before you close the door with a cheeky smile. “Care to join me so I don’t have to drink alone?”
____________________________________
If nothing else, Chris Redfield proved to be a great drinking buddy. He took what was offered to him, drank without complaint, and took care to keep both of your glasses full throughout your animated storytelling of the day’s events. Although he did limit himself because he had to be sober enough to drive home, which you understood.
You on the other hand, had enough drinks in you to cause the vibe of the room to feel fuzzy, your social filter to disappear, your shoes and socks to be discrded in the corner, and to have any soft surface to feel like the most comfortable thing in the universe. You had completely relaxed laying out on the end of your sofa by the side table where Chris opted to sit in the armchair caddy cornered to the couch next to you, listening intently to your retelling of the days events.
“…then this pencil pushing government lackey asks me if I personally had anything to do with the development of that plaga strain that popped up in Africa.”
You motion your empty glass to Chris, and he reaches over from his spot in the armchair to grab the whiskey bottle on the coffee table to pour more into your glass while nursing his own drink.
“Thank you. And when I told him no, he started going on this tirade. And if he’d read any further than the last name at the top of the damn page, then he’d know my specialty isn’t parasites. It’s viruses! Yet this half-assed excuse of-”
You hiccup and take a moment to compose yourself after the hiccup before continuing while Chris makes no attempt to hide his smirk at your drunkenness.
“-half-assed excuse of a government agent goes on this rant of how I had to have been involved. There was no conceivable way that I wasn’t at least consulted on the development of the new plaga. So I tried to break down the differences between a virus and a parasite to him, and by the end of that little lesson I was convinced he didn’t know his ass from his elbow!”
You down the whiskey is one clean chug. Chris let’s out a light-hearted laugh at that, much to your annoyance.
“It’s not funny,” you admonish while wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
“It isn’t, but the way you’re telling it is.”
“Well, I’m glad my suffering is entertaining to you.”
“Go on, what happened next?”
Your face grows a bit more serious.
“The bit after that isn’t as funny.”
Another charismatic smile. “Go ahead. I want to hear it.”
You look at Chris, and the look on his face is so genuine, so kind, that you find yourself speaking before you can stop yourself.
“He started questioning me on what I was doing if I wasn’t helping create these things. He was asking why I stood by and did nothing. Why didn’t I try to contact anyone, sabotage the work, try to leave… that kind of thing. And how many deaths could have been avoided if I just sucked it up and called someone.”
In truth, those questions that the agent asked you prompted a well of guilt that you’d safely tucked away to return with a vengeance. In reality, there was very little you could have done to influence the outcome of anything Wesker was involved in, and there was nothing that could have been done to stop Uroboros before Chris and Sheva were sent to Africa.
But there was always that little pit of guilt haunting the back of your mind: If you were cleverer, you could have gotten a radio sooner. If you cared more, the subjects for those experiments wouldn’t have died. If you weren’t so afraid you could have stolen a phone or a laptop and ended Wesker’s reign of bioweapon terror years sooner.
That last one weighed heavy on your mind long before the D.S.O. interview.
You feel tears start to prick your eyes and you remember why you wanted to drink in the first place. You can’t be consumed by guilt if you’re too intoxicated to remember it.
“Top me off will you?” The request comes out in a mumble, laced with a false jovialness that not even you are convinced of. You don’t even hold up the glass in Chris’ general direction. You only stare mindlessly into it from your perch on the couch.
“Hey…look at me.”
You look up from your glass and become slightly startled from Chris’ close proximity. You hadn’t even realized Chris had gotten up from the armchair on your right to kneel in front of you at the end of the couch. You can feel the heat of him he’s so close. His concerned and comforting look and tone brings you dangerously close to shedding tears. Suddenly, Chris’ presence in your house feels suffocating and his gaze makes you feel exposed. You look to the side and stare at the rug.
“I’m sorry this was a bad idea. I think you should go.”
You move to get up from the couch and Chris mercifully backs up and gives you room to walk. Calling your movement a walk at this point was generous. You shuffled like the undead trying to head to your front door; unbalanced yet somehow still walking upright.
“Doc-”
You call over your shoulder back to him. “I’ll escort you out. Do me a solid and forget this happened.” You start to turn back towards the door and you feel your foot catch, stomach drop and body lurch forward.
In the moment, you forget about the little wooden divider between the hallway to your front door and the living room. Thankfully, by throwing your other foot forward and flailing your arms you catch your weight and you don’t fall to the ground. But the shock of suddenly almost losing your balance causes the grip on your glass to loosen. Before you could stop it, the glass in your hand slips between your fingers and shatters in the little hallway to your front door between your kitchen and living room. In your drunken and vulnerable state, the symphony of glass sounds like a death toll.
“Oh.. shit I’m sorry about that. Just… just get out. Watch the glass.”
You didn’t know why you were apologizing to Chris for breaking your own things. You felt like you were being viewed under a microscope and every little thing was being analyzed by Chris, who still wore his worried demeanor under a decisive mask of calmness.
“Hey it’s alright. You go sit back down…” His voice is so infuriatingly calm.
Chris’ body starts to try and move past you towards your kitchen, presumably to find something to clean up your blunder for you. The very idea of having this man do any more favors for you made your chest tighten and you to move to clean up the mess before he does too quickly.
“No this needs to ge- mph!”
When you stepped towards your kitchen to get a broom, you felt an agonizingly sharp pain in your foot. You instinctively lift the injured foot and lean on the archway, but drunkenness and balance rarely ever agree with each other. Your hand doesn’t gain enough purchase on the wall, so your arm slides past its target and you gracelessly and painfully crumple to the ground. It was a kind of fall that knocked the wind out of you for a moment.
“Shit.” You breathe out heavily, trying and failing to hold back your tears and attempting to get up. Chris is quick to act before you make much progress. He kneels down in front of you, gently grasping your shoulders, taking care to step around the glass in the process.
“Where does it hurt? That sounded painful.”
“I’m fine.” You grit through your teeth.
Once you’re sitting upright on the ground, Chris takes one look at your foot, and you see a slight shift in his expression where his eyes get just a tad wider. You can physically see him shift from concerned friend to authoritative captain. He speaks with soft authority.
“Stay put. Don’t get up.”
Before you can say anything, he disappears into your kitchen. You lift your leg and tilt your head to get a better view of your foot and you see red. Your foot is smeared with blood and bits of glass. You instinctively go to pull a larger glass piece out of your foot, but even with all of the whiskey you drank, it hurts like hell and you hiss in pain. You hear hurried footfall from the kitchen.
“Hey! Don’t do that.”
Chris gently removes the hand that’s trying to pick out the glass from your foot, places a wet rag in your hand, then moves it back to your foot, lightly clasping his hand over yours and your foot for a moment and you wince. He watches you with kind eyes.
“Keep that on there, ok?”
“I don’t want your-”
He doesn’t give you a chance to finish before you see him return to the kitchen. A moment later he reappears with a broom and a first aid kit. Chris tosses the first aid kit beside you and quickly sweeps the glass into a small pile by the arch so it’s out of the way of foot traffic and haphazardly leans the broom on the wall. Smudges of blood remain on the floor, but Chris ignores it in favor of sitting down next to you and digging supplies out of the med kit; disinfectant, tweezers, gauze.
“Stop! Okay? You really don’t have to do that…” You hear your words slurring together.
Chris ignores your protest and gently, but firmly, wraps his fingers around your ankle. He pulls it towards himself and you let go of the wet cloth as he perches your ankle on his knee.
“I do, actually. You’ve had a lot to drink and this glass isn’t going to pick out itself.”
“Will you just stop? I can bandage myself up.”
A lie. You’re too drunk and you know it. He knows it. You weakly try to pull back your foot, but there is resistance from Chris’ grip. You looks at you with a soft, but exasperated look.
“You’re drunk and you’re bleeding! Just let me take care of you.”
“And why the fuck do you even want to?” You’re angry. Angry at yourself for letting yourself get friendly with Chris. Pissed at Chris for being so nice after your repeated attempts to keep him at arms length. Heated from him ignoring your requests to stop helping you because you sure as hell don’t deserve it.
Chris looks at you and answers straight away, gently pulling your foot back towards him by your ankle.
“Because I’m not going to leave you when you need help!”
You just looked at Chris with your puffy eyes, flushed face, and tear-streaked cheeks. You two sit there for a long moment looking at each other. You’re frozen in your spot from his words.
“Why the hell are you of all people still trying to help me? You should hate me.” Your tone is incredulous and quiet.
You knew for a fact that your presence at the B.S.A.A. as a consultant instead of criminal at Chris’ own insistence caused far more trouble than it was worth over the years. The attempted kidnappings, the death threats, the extortion attempts and countless other events that occurred as a result of your proximity to Wesker and the B.S.A.A. caused, at best, a headache for the captain. Wasted time, wasted resources, wasted manpower, wasted anything that could be used to fight bioweapons instead of bad actors that wanted you dead at worst. Chris had absolutely no incentive to keep helping you after Africa, yet here he was. He had every right to look at you with disgust for sleeping with the enemy, yet he’s always tried to befriend you.
The silence stretches for an uncomfortable amount of time while Chris picks the glass out of your foot. It stretches through Chris disinfecting the wounds. It ends when he starts to bandage your foot with a roll of gauze.
“Your only crime here is falling in love with the wrong man.”
Chris wraps the final bit of gauze around your foot, and looks back up at you with a reserved playfulness.
“Last I checked, you get left off with a warning on that one.”
“People died because I didn’t do enough-”
“People died because Wesker was a psychopath. That’s not your fault.”
You look at Chris in silent shock.
No one in the years after Wesker died had told you that you weren’t at fault for what he did. You were always met with suspicious glances, strict professionalism, or outright disdain when you were forced to talk about him or any projects he was related to. You thought you deserved it. Even Jill still held you at arm’s length when it came to being vulnerable about what happened with Wesker. This was the first time that anyone had shown you genuine compassion and absolved you completely of guilt. And it’s devastating.
You can’t do anything except burst into tears.
Your vision goes blurry and before you can even think about stopping it, your body is wracked with sobs and you cry. Still unbalanced from your drinking, you lean on the wall facing Chris.
There’s a moment where Chris isn’t sure of what to do. But he knows that he can’t leave you like this. Chris tentatively reaches out his hand towards your shoulder, carefully watching you to gauge whether or not you wanted physical comfort.
“Hey, you’re okay. You’re okay…” Chris’ voice falls over you like a weighted blanket. The heavy soothing tonality of his voice cuts through guilt that had been plaguing your mind and you can’t help but lean into his touch when his hand rubs your shoulder.
You don’t fight him when he pulls you into his lap. His embrace is warm, comforting and everything that you didn’t know you needed up until the moment you had it. One of your hands grab a fistful of his shirt for support, and you bury your face in Chris’ neck as you continue to sob.
“It’s alright, let it out…”
The captain’s tone never wavers outside of that low, soothing timbre. Chris uses the hand that’s not wrapped around your torso to rub comforting circles between your shoulders. His touch is consistent and methodical. It takes a long time, but eventually your breathing starts to even, sobs morph into sniffles, and rigid muscles relax into Chris’ embrace.
“Do you need anything? Anything at all?”
You hesitate for a moment, but nod your head. You let go of Chris’ shirt and maneuver your arms over his shoulders and squeeze. Chris gets the message immediately. Chris wraps his arms around you in a tight and comforting hug. The heat of him engulfs you fully and for the first time in a long time, you feel like everything is okay.
There’s no Wesker, no D.S.O., no bioterrorism organizations intruding on your life.
There’s only you and Chris.
And for once, that’s enough.
_____________________________
Hopefully this will be a full series but we'll see if that happens with my work schedule. Thanks for reading!
AO3 link for this part.
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