chris would be the type to fuck you while he's frustrated, his thrusts are deep and unrelenting. your legs would shake and toes would curl as he fucks you like he's taking out his frustrations on you but you like it though.
god, you just love it.
he has your legs over by his shoulders as you cry out his name while his hips move rapidly, skin slapping against yours. one of his hands that are on your thighs moved up to your abdomen causing you to arch up on his touch before his big hands landed on one of your breast. he squeezed it roughly causing you to grab his wrist as you gasped.
"f—fuck, you like that?". chris gave your breast another squeeze before moving to your nipple to give it a tug. "you feel so good, sweetheart".
you then grabbed his hand to lead it to your mouth while his eyes followed you, hips never stopping to thrust into you.
"c—chris". you whimpered as you felt yourself move against his thrust before putting two of his finger in your mouth. you give them a good suck, just like whenever you suck at his cock as his hand on your thigh gripped you hard, leaving a red mark on it.
his cock throbbed inside you when he felt you dribbled some spit on his fingers and run it around with your tongue before sucking it hard, a sound coming out of your mouth.
"you dirty little slut". chris grunted as he pistoned his hips more into you as he could feel more sweat running down his neck and to his chest.
you just moaned around his fingers as more drool started to run down on his hand as you continued sucking on his fingers. you clenched on his cock causing him to curse under his breath before he took off his fingers out of your mouth to grab your face roughly on his hand. you heaved a breath as you looked at him, your lips turning into a small pout as his hands mushed your face.
"uh huh, f—feel so fucking good, sweetheart". chris said breathlessly as you nodded your head against his hand cause you know you feel good based on the way his cock throbs inside you.
he feels so good that his cock just hits the right spot inside, and he's just so big and warm too.
"my good fucking girl, arent you? letting me fuck my frustrations on you".
chris lets out a guttural moan when you clenched your pussy tight on him again as your hips started to lift off of the bed to meet his thrust. fuck, youre so warm and wet against him too.
"ought to you fuck you—shit.. — everytime im fucking stressed..." he groaned as he puts more pressure on his thrusts and fucks you hard and deep.
"out". thrusts.
"of my". thrusts.
"fucking mind". he went and thrusted so deep inside of you that you felt like he was in your stomach causing you to scream out while grabbing his wrist.
"o—oh, my good girl". he groaned and threw his head back, eyes scrunched up close as he could feel himself getting close.
his hand then moved down to grab your neck, holding it tight just the way you like it as he moved hips fast again.
"c—close". you whimpered as your breasts are bouncing up and down with his thrusts. you tightened your legs around him as it trembled against his hand on your thigh.
you could feel your eyes rolling back when his hand on your neck gave it a squeeze before chris lets out a loud groan as his cum finally spurts out inside of you. you gave a trembling breath as your cum followed his.
chris's eyes opened and looked at you while he pants heavily. his eyes soaks the view of you, the way your back is arched a little with your head thrown back is so erotic and it gives him the full view of your body. it glistens with your sweat and your breast feels like its calling his name as you tried to catch your breath.
he then moved his head to the side to press a soft kiss on your leg before slowly moving it away from his shoulders to look at your red, swollen pussy.
chris hummed when he saw how your pussy is twitching while drooling out the cum that both of you had. he then rolled his neck and shoulders as the tension of his body started to fade away and he caressed your leg.
"good?". your small, raspy voice cut his focus on your pussy causing him to look up at you. youre panting a little slowly now and youre looking at him with such soft, shy stare that he cant help but smile.
"all good, sweetheart". he said before moving towards you, his cock driving inside again csusing you to flinch and give a moan.
"i dont mind a round two though". he gave you a sweet smile, eyes being mischievous causing you to roll your eyes while starting to wrap your arms around him as his hips moved gently into you and he pressed his lips against yourd, his stubble tickling your skin.
ah goddamn, my first chris imagine and its a smut😭 i hope you enjoy it though, i'll try to write more chris soon cause we need more chris wtf
pairing: Chris Redfield x sex pollen infected!reader
warnings: dubcon (since sex pollen..yknow), NONCON MONSTER THINGS idk i went a little balls to the wall with this idk yall its kinda graphic, size kink, oral f recieving, piv, this is my loveletter to chris I love him so much,
summary: When you're attacked by a B.O.W. on a mission with your partner, the only way to cure you is a little unconventional...
word count: 5.6k
authors note: like im sorry but not sorry for the tentacle part i just thought that'd be fun but its kinda dark LMFAO I love u Chris Redfield I hope yall enjoy :) {AO3}
“Fuck, why can’t they ever test viruses somewhere tropical?” You grit out, slamming your boot into the head of the last of the infected bodies coming at you and your partner.
“Sorry this can’t be more fun for you.” The large man to your left retorts, scanning the room for any remaining attackers. Chris nudges a body with his foot, testing for a reaction. The B.S.A.A. had sent the two of you into this abandoned neo-umbrella testing facility to ensure it wasn’t being actively used. Apparently, it wasn’t a big enough deal to warrant the whole team coming. So, here you were, in a dank, rotting underground facility with similarly rotting corpses launching themselves at you at every turn. The pair of you have made your way through decrepit office after decrepit office, taking out any lingering infected as they come.
“Aw, Captain, I’m always having fun with you.” Your partner rolls his eyes in response. The two of you had known each other for years, both high-achieving agents in the B.S.A.A, you crossed paths more than once. Although you joined years later than he, you managed to prove yourself and work your way through the ranks. Chris’s last partner, Piers, had been promoted to Captain of another squad, which left you to fill his shoes. You were secretly delighted and terrified to be partnered with the legendary Chris Redfield, because you had a massive crush on the massive man. You were terrified because you knew he would find out. Golden boy of the B.S.A.A., it was a rite of passage for recruits to harbour feelings for perfect Chris Redfield. Working closely with him, made it worse.
Standing at 6 feet tall with cropped brown hair that looked softer than it should, it was hard not to fall in love with him. His unwavering dedication to humanity, his commitment to his team members, the softer, kinder side most never get to see, you were hooked. Plus, being built like a Greek God made him very, very easy on the eyes. Being his partner, you had hoped would give you a chance to get closer to him. He was proving a hard man to try to get to know. All hard edges and muscle, he was gruff with you in every sense of the word. He was never mean, but never naythign more than professional with you. You had hoped that your charm would break down the walls he had put up, but if anything, it felt like they had been reinforced with steel.
Chris waved you to follow him as he moved from this room to the next, scanning through the scope of his rifle. Training your pistol above his shoulder, you flank him, staying low and ready. The last room was filled to the brim with infected; only time can tell what nightmare awaits you in this one. Abruptly, Chris stops moving, causing you to bump into his broad, muscular back. You mumble an apology, but he doesn’t respond, staring at something just ahead. His gun is trained on a large object across the room.
You see the ungodly creature as your eyes adjust to the dimly lit room, huddled in the dark corner across from you. It looks like a licker from your vantage point, but as it stands to its full height, you realize it's a breed you’ve never seen before. A cross between a licker and a man, it turns to face the two of you where you stand, weapons aimed and ready. With a protruding brain replacing its eyes, the creature clearly uses its tongue to see. The sickeningly long tongue hangs down from its gaping mouth, wet and glistening. It flicks in the air as it discerns the two bodies in the room with it. For a moment, the room is silent with nothing more than the drops of spit falling from the creature's horrible mouth. Then, it attacks.
Like lightning, its tongue lashes out at the two of you, causing you both to dive away from each other in opposite directions. Chris begins unloading his rifle into the beast, attempting to draw its attention. The bullets seem to do nothing to deter it, as it turns its horrible pink face towards you, locking in on your location. The creature doesn’t seem to care about Chris, instead focusing solely on you. It takes a staggered step in your direction, and you respond with an onslaught of bullets. Again, it doesn’t seem bothered by the metal sinking into its moist flesh. It stops ambling towards you, hunching over. You think for a moment that Chris hit some vital organ that killed it. Instead, massive tentacles suddenly sprout from its back as it lets out a horrible, earth-shattering shriek.
Both you and your partner have to cover your ears as the sound rattles through your body and bones. As the sound dies, you whip your pistol back up to shoot the damn thing, but it's faster. Its tentacles slam into your body, immobilizing you as they wrap around your arms and waist. You scream, trying to wriggle yourself out of its ironclad hold. You hear Chris scream your name from somewhere to your left, but the beast is squeezing every ounce of air out of your lungs, disorienting you. The creature doesn’t even turn to glance as Chris begins to beat it with his rifle, distraught.
Your vision begins to blur, your mouth open as you gasp for air. Through your bleary eyes, you see its horrible tongue, heading straight for your face. You try to scream, shake your head to stop it, but you are rendered utterly helpless. The appendage forces its way into your mouth and down your throat. You try to scream, do anything, but the noise comes out strangled and choked. Tears blur your vision as you accept that this horrifying, disgusting monster is going to be the end of you.
Distantly, you hear the roar of a man and the wet schlick of a knife slicing through something wet. Chris cuts through the strong tendons like butter, slicing its head off in one fell swoop. The grip the beast has on you weakens, and you collapse to the floor with the weight of its tentacles still wrapped around you. You feel the weight removed from you, and something is ripped from your mouth. Sputtering and coughing, you gulp fresh air, catching your breath before immediately retching. With each heave of your body, you are reminded that yes, you are alive. As you finish, you fall back on your haunches, panting from the exertion.
You feel a soft touch to the back of your head, petting your hair, and you flinch. A wave of heat floods through you at the sensation. Immediately, your first thought is infection. You push yourself across the floor, away from your sick and away from Chris. Immediately, your body is wracked with a violent shudder, the skin where his fingers brushed buzzing with electricity. The fear of infection is briefly pushed from your mind, replaced with the need to feel Chris touch you again.
“Are you okay?” He asks, worriedly. The tone is enough to make your heart leap in your chest, but you ignore it.
“I'm infected, I have to be. That thing–,” Your voice falters at the memory of being rendered helpless in its talons. “That thing had to have done something, I know it.” Your eyes begin to water as you accept the reality of what has happened to you.
“No. No, you would be showing signs right now; you’re not infected.” Chris asserts in his captain's voice. When he says things with such conviction, it's hard not to believe him. You shudder again, feeling warm at his deep, gruff voice. But when he continues, his captain's voice cracks. “You can’t be.”
“Chris…” You trail off, looking to the pile of pink meat that was the creature. You shiver knowing that thing brought you down. Your body starts to flush, growing warm.
“I said no soldier.” He growls at you, crossing the room, kneeling before you, laying down his weapon. The growl cuts straight through you, causing you to shudder again. You feel so warm, impossibly warm in the cold, wet, underground air. Is that how he would sound inside of you? You nearly shake your head to rid yourself of the thought. What the fuck?
You’re eye level with him now, and he feels closer than he’s ever been. You’ve become accustomed to the way he smells, like gunsmoke and tobacco and pine. Masculine, strong, heady. Right now, however, he smells fucking good. The usual smell, mixed with natural musk and tinged with the scent of sweat, smelled of sex. Your eyes train onto the exposed skin of his neck, and you wonder how good he would smell if you buried your nose there. At this new thought, your heart begins to race, a flush rushing to your cheeks. You press your palms into your eyes, trying to push the thought of being that close to your partner out of your mind. His voice drops as he asks, “Are you feeling alright?” and the sound rushes straight to your core, again. How would your name sound in that gravely voice?
You don’t respond, trying to steady your breathing before saying something stupid. Even the sound of his voice is getting you worked up right now. What is going on? Chris grabs you by the shoulder, shaking you and calling your name. Your hands drop from your face, and you let out a moan at the feeling of his touch. You begin to wish he’d touch you roughly in other places.
“Fuck, fever? I don't… I don't know what's wrong with me.” You manage, averting your eyes and trying to back away from the man causing you to go into heat. Is this some kind of effect from the monster? Tears well up in your eyes again. “Chris, you need to back up. I'm definitely infected.”
“Fuck!” He cries, slamming his fist into the metal floor beside him. “You’re gonna be fine. Just let me see what I can find about that monster, okay?” He stands, turning to the computers adorning the wall behind you. As he takes a deep breath, your mind flashes images of him above you, naked, breathing just like that in your face. A whimper escapes your lips; if he hears it, he doesn’t say anything.
As he stalks toward the screens, you pull your knees to your chest, pressing your head down. You need to get a fucking grip. You’re probably infected with some horrible virus, and all you can think about is Chris. You throw your head over your shoulder, looking at his hunched form illuminated by the light of the screens. He's muttering to himself, frantically searching through whatever the computer offers to find something to save you.
Chris really wishes he didn’t remember the last time he was this fucking scared. The icy cold grip of terror twists in his guts as he scans each page, looking for something about that fucking beast that attacked you. The image of you, hoisted in the air, being defiled by that thing, he didn’t blame you for losing the contents of your stomach. He was close to retching, too, plagued by the memory of the woman he loves near death. And now she sits behind him, softly crying, possibly infected. Fuck.
In the moment it took him to react to your assault, the first thing that flashed in his mind was regret. Regret for not acting quicker, regret for not taking the brunt of the attack (but that thing was weirdly fixated on you), but most of all, he felt regret for not telling you how he felt. He loved being your partner; he looked forward to missions with you. Your snappy remarks, sunshine personality, and relentless optimism in the face of horrible nightmares. You had made a place for yourself in his heart, and he would be damned if some nasty creature took that from you.
It had happened pretty quickly. He was told before you that you were taking Piers’ place, news that filled him with mixed emotions. He had always thought of you as beautiful and kind, wanted to get to know you, but didn't know how. You as his partner, though? He could see it, falling for you, trying to start a life together just for one or both of you to die in some grisly, sick way from this fucked up job. So, he steeled himself to your kindness, afraid of letting you in just to lose you. And now, he just might lose you anyway.
Scrolling through file after file, his heart lurches when he finds a picture of the beast that had attacked the two of you. His heart sinks after he reads all the way through.
The Fetura Strain
Strain: Mutated T-Virus
Infection method: Saliva
Results:
Tests have shown that infected individuals possess a strong urge to reproduce with the opposite sex. Stage one symptoms present as abdominal cramps, flushed face, sweating, and fever. Stage two symptoms present as uncontrollable lust. If the infected is unable to inseminate or be inseminated, the subject will progress into a system-wide shutdown, growing long tentacle-like appendages attacking the opposite sex until killed. Stage three is the only infectious stage.
The urge to vomit returned. Chris glanced at the pile of meat that was the creature he had slain. That thing was trying to inseminate her. The notion put a pit of rage in his gut, and he slammed his fist through a screen against the wall. He heard a choked, startled gasp behind him.
You were sure he couldn't hear your quiet sobs as you accepted your fate. The sound of him smashing the screen took you out of your sex-infested mind and broke your sobbing for a moment. Chris turns to face you, dragging a hand down his face before returning to kneel before you.
“Good news or bad news first?” He asks, unsure of how to breach this with you. He looks visibly uncomfortable.
“Not the fucking time, Redfield.” You say, narrowing your eyes at him.
“You’re right, sorry. There is a cure; the effects can be reversed without any lingering infection.” Relief floods your body as you let out an incredulous laugh. Really? A cure?
“What's the bad news?” Rushedly, you ask. A confused sob laugh bubbles in your throat as you anxiously await his response. Chris drops his gaze before continuing.
“You need to be…inseminated. That's the cure. The virus is supposed to make you -uh- desire the opposite sex uncontrollably until you, yknow…” You start laughing, hysterically, at this point. It's all so ridiculous. This can’t be real, can it? Of course, neo-umbrella would be working on a sex-virus, of course you’d be infected with it, of course it would be fucking Redfield here with you.
“What if I were gay?” You finally manage, cycling between laughing and sobbing at the ridiculous news.
“A-are you?” He stuttered out. You finally let the last of your hysterical laugh-sobbing die down, tickled by his sweet but questioning tone.
“No. Just speculating, I guess.” Your shoulders drop as your situation begins to set in. Your fever is still there, the lust subsiding at the moment.
“Is now the time for that?” He repeats your snark back to you. He’s tense, uncomfortable. You can’t imagine how he must feel, being put in this situation. You feel a hot wave of shame course through your blood. What if he’s disgusted by this, by you?
“So…” you trail off, unsure of how to proceed. Chris has obviously come to the same conclusion as you about what has to happen. The growing desire is back, seated deep in your gut, waiting for you to make a move. Chris shifts, also uneasy. This is not how you pictured your first time together, on the floor of some horrible underground office.
Chris, surprisingly, leans forward, pressing his forehead against your sweaty one. He breathes out of his nose, and you feel it softly flutter against your face. You shut your eyes as your breathing increases at the new closeness. He’s never touched you like this before. It's so intimate, sweet. Your pussy throbs in response, and you whimper yet again. He inhales sharply at the noise.
“I can’t let anything happen to you.” He says after a moment, pulling back, looking you in the eyes. His hand moves to cradle your jaw softly, keeping your gaze. “But I don’t want to do this to you unwillingly.” You answer before you can stop yourself.
“This isn’t how I pictured our first time, either.” His eyes widen at the same time as yours, both of you surprised by your sudden admission. A small surprised smile ghosts across his lips before he leans in, capturing your lips with his. You press your thighs together immediately at the sensation, moaning as his stubble grazes across your cheeks. He chuckles quietly into the kiss, seemingly enjoying how eager you are for him.
“You pictured this, too, huh?” He murmurs across your lips before continuing, hand gripping your jaw tighter. His reciprocation, combined with the effect of the virus, makes you feel bold. You force your legs apart, reaching forward to pull him into you. You have to spread your thighs wide to accommodate his size. He shuffles forward awkwardly, free hand wrapping around your waist to crush you into his chest. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you straddle him and rock yourself against his growing bulge.
His hands grip your waist, holding you in place to prevent you from grinding on him.
“You’re making it hard to be a gentleman, y’know.” He growls against your neck as he trails kisses down to your shoulder. He bites your collarbone, making you yelp in delight.
“You can be a gentleman next time, yeah?” You ask, trying to wriggle out of his ironclad grip to feel his hard length against your core.
“Next time?” He smiles again. Despite your current circumstances, you want to do this again. You’ve pictured this, with him, before. He curls his fingers in your soft locks, enjoying the sounds from you when he tugs gently. He wants to be gentle, do this right, but the way you're moving on him, the way you're looking at him, a man can only have so much restraint.
“I wanna be good to you. I wanna treat you the way you deserve.” He says with a softness that contrasts starkly with the absolute need coursing through your body. You lean in, lips ghosting over his, breathing each other in.
“Then fuck me. Hard.”
Something steels in Chris’s eyes at your bold command. He looks at you like prey for a moment before lifting the two of you from the ground. Squealing, you cling to him as he settles you in his strong arms. Yours wrap around his thick neck, pulling him close.
“I’ve never been fucked while being carried.” You murmur before kissing him again, reveling in the sensation of his lips and rough beard. One hand grips your ass, kneading your soft flesh, while the other crushes you against his steel chest.
“We can arrange that for next time.” He mumbles against your lips as he walks you to the nearest table, swiping off the clutter to lay you gently on your back. His agreement that yes, there will be a next time, rings distantly through the haze of your infected mind briefly. Your hands fly to your tactical vest, fumbling blindly with the snaps. Chris patiently removes your hands, replacing them with his own while slowly loosening the vest. You rip it over your head the second you can, your hands pulling your shirt off with it. Chris pins your hands to your sides, giving you a warning look.
“Let me, angel.” You shudder at the sweet nickname, the blossoming heat now a furnace inside you. His softness in the face of your frenzy is overwhelmingingly sweet, and makes your lust-infused brain focus on one thing. You wonder how sweet he would be with you choking on his member, looking up at him through teary eyes.
“I want your dick down my throat.” You state plainly while Chris works on unbuttoning your pants. He fumbles with a grunt at your words, eyes flicking up to meet yours. His gaze is heated, challenging you to do something.
“Fuck, you’ve got a dirty mouth, don’t you, sweetheart?” The virus is loosening your inhibitions, causing every dirty thought to slip between your wanting lips. You push yourself up, reaching for his belt.
“Please?” You manage sweetly as he pulls your trousers down your legs.
“Another thing to add to next time. I wanna taste you first.” Leaning forward, he pushes your hands from his pelvis, kissing you through your plain but soaked panties. You release a loud moan, finally getting contact. As he gently peels down the soaked fabric, your hands immediately lock in his hair, trying to crush his face to where you need him most. Chris is quicker. Discarding the offending material, he pulls your hands from his head, gently interlacing his fingers with yours.
“Tell me you want this.” He demands with his gruff, captain's voice. Your legs quiver, and he has to notice the effect he’s having on you right now. His hot breath fans across your soaked skin, dizzying you with need and anticipation.
“Please, Chris, I want you to eat my pussy.” And so, he does. While his fingers are still locked in yours, he pushes your legs back, giving him better access to your soaked core.
“You’ve got a pretty pussy, angel.” He mutters before spitting on it. You yelp, delirious from the building anticipation. He leans down, licking a long stripe up your folds, moaning at the taste. His fingers tighten against yours in your grip, and you can feel the vibration of his moan shoot through your body. You look down, watching him as he takes his time kissing and suckling the softest part of your body. There’s something so pornographic about the way he groans as he licks into your pussy, and it causes you to shake - hard. The image of your captain, Chris Refield, on his knees, worshipping your pussy will be cemented in your mind for as long as you live.
“Chri-is,” His name broken into two syllables as you moan in response to his ministrations.
“God, I love when you say my name.” His voice is throaty and deep as he continues his work, suckling your clit as you cry into the empty office. He laps at you like a sinner hoping to find salvation at the altar between your legs. Hes determined but patient, a quality the virus is forcing out of you. Soon the need returns. His mouth, as sinfully delightful as it feels, isn’t enough. You need more.
“Chris, I need you to fuck me, please.” You pull your hands from his, pulling his face up to yours.
“Yeah, angel? You need more?” He says as he stands quickly, capturing your mouth in a sloppy kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, tangy and sweet. The kiss is all tongue and teeth, sloppy and rushed. Biting your bottom lip softly, he pulls away, catching your jaw roughly in his big, calloused hand. You sit, nearly naked, before this big hulk of a man, and he’s still completely fucking clothed. “You need to be full of my dick, baby?”
It's all you can do to nod in response, hands rushing to his tactical vest, trying to rip it off of him. You mutter something about needing to touch him, but he can barely understand you. He smiles at your frantic work, letting you rip it off of him and toss it aside. He pulls his black turtleneck over his head, revealing his gorgeous frame. Large, broad shoulders leading down to rippled muscle cording down his arms. A smattering of hair covers his powerful pecs, and a small trail leads below his navel disappearing under his briefs. You touch his chest, gently, feeling the soft and scarred skin under your palms. He sighs, content at your touch as you explore the broad expanse of his strong chest. Your hands reach up to grab at his shoulders, pulling him into you again. The kiss is again rushed and messy. He breaks first, leaving the two of you to pant into each others mouths at the growing desire between the both of you. Your hands slink down to his trousers, palming his prominent bulge through his pants.
Chris lets out a choked moan into the kiss, grunting as you work his belt off, shrugging down his pants. He kicks them to the side. You, clad only in your bra. He, only in his tight black briefs.
“Fuck, you always look so goddamn good.” You mutter, more to yourself than him. You look down, oggling his gorgeous form. His body, so strong and big in every way, towered over your smaller frame sitting on the desk before him. Your hands run from his shoulder down his hairy, scarred pecks and strong stomach, stopping in the small patch of hair above where you want to touch most. You look up at him, through lashes, waiting.
“You’re one to talk.” He winks at you before freeing his cock from the confines of his briefs. It slaps up to meet his stomach, and your mouth fucking waters. You knew it had to be big, but months of fantasizing about what he was hiding down there had nothing on the real thing. It was gorgeous, thick and long with a heavy vein running up the side. The head, fat and red and weeping, lined up right at your soaked entrance. He pushes the tip in an inch, letting your walls stretch to accommodate the girth of him. He pushes your thighs wider, spreading your legs to fit his wide frame between them. Your mind returns to an earlier thought.
“I want it in my mouth again.” Your wide, lust blown eyes meet his, testing his resolve. You hear a rumble from his chest and feel his hands squeeze you.
“Uh-uh, sweetheart, you need to be full.” He slides in with one smooth thrust and steals your breath from your lungs. He looked big, but God, he felt even bigger. He leans over you, one hand on your cheek, watching your reaction. If you weren't as wet as you were from the virus, it probably would have stung. He pushes in that last inch, kissing your cervix and making you let out a high-pitched squeal from the feeling. Your eyes roll back into your head as you adjust to the feeling of his big member stretching your walls open.
“You okay, angel?” he asks, brows knitted in concern and restraint. Chris would swear right now that he’s never felt anything better than the hot, wet heat of you. The hand that isn't cradling your face slides under your back, pressing your chest closer to his. Your arms sling around his neck again. He would be worried he was crushing you if you weren’t pulling him impossibly closer. Your wide, lust-filled eyes meet his, and in that moment, Chris knows he’s never going to get enough of you. You finally nod, whimpering his name in a way that makes his gut twist with the need to absolutely wreck you so you’d never touch another person the way he’s holding you now. He holds off, afraid of hurting you, starting with a slow, deep pace instead. He watches your face for any signs of discomfort, a change of heart, but is instead met with delicious pleasure.
He really means it when he calls you ‘angel’.
You, on the other hand, believe him to be some sex demon. His strong arms trap you against his powerful chest, overwhelmed by him. Thick cock buried deep inside of you as he slowly ruts himself into you, working you open for him, and he’s speaking to you in the most gentle voice while caressing your face. Meeting his eyes is a struggle as your eyelashes flutter from the feeling of being completely fucking full. You aren't sure it's the virus clouding your thoughts anymore; this might just be how it feels to fuck Chris goddamn Redfield.
“You’re so – ungh – big Chris, fuck!” You fuss as he continues his torturous pace. Every inch of his glorious member is felt as he slams himself in and drags out inch by fucking inch. The sensation of the fat tip of his cock dragging against your walls makes your legs start to shake again. Chris sports a dirty smirk at your words.
“Yeah? You can take it, can't you, sweetheart?” His tone is teasing, breathy, as he leans back, pushing your legs up to get a deeper angle. He’s toying with you, enjoying your response to his body. Towering over you once more, he looks impressive like this. Like a beast, unleashed just for you. You squeal as his head grazes your cervix again, hand flying to tangle your fingers with his.
“Yes! Yes, I can take it, I can take your big dick.” Once again, you struggle to make eye contact with the man fucking you like a porn star. It's overwhelming, his gorgeous body glistening with sweat, the feeling of his thick cock stretching you open over and over, his dirty fucking mouth, you screw your eyes shut and take a gasping breath, feeling your orgasm start to build low in your belly.
“Yeah, yeah, you fucking can, pretty girl. Tell me how fucking good it feels.” He grits out through bared teeth as he speeds up a bit, his grip on your thighs tightening.
“S-so good baby, I’m so fucking full you’re so fucking deep I –” A strangled moan is forced out of you as Chris slams himself inside, watching your eyes fly open to roll back into your head.
“My pretty fucking girl. Eyes on me.” You focus on the hulking man before you, chasing his pleasure inside of you, with you. He’s never looked better than he does between your legs. A fleeting thought passes through the haze of your fucked out mind. He looks like he belongs there.
“More, baby. I want more.” You finally manage to find the words when the heat builds again, desperate and gnawing inside of you. “I need it hard. I need your big dick to fuck me hard.”
His head falls back, groaning at your words. “Can't take your fuckin’ mouth, angel.” He grumbles as he quickens his pace. If you thought you were in heaven before, this was fucking paradise. Your quickly approaching orgasm begins to build in a way you’ve never felt before, flooding your veins with euphoria. Pressure builds in your core, white hot and debilitating. All you can do is breathe and take whatever your large man gives you. Chris has your legs folded all the way back now, bent completely in half as he fucks you like an animal trying to breed its mate. The thought overtakes every inch of your mind.
“Chris.” You whimper through broken cries. His eyes meet you through hooded lids, dark and trained like a predator.
“Tell me, angel. Tell me you wanna be full of my cum.” He commands in his deep, captain's voice. His hand falls to rub your clit in quick, tight circles. A growl rumbles deep in his chest as your pussy clenches down on him, trying to trap him inside you.
“I need it, Chris, I need to be full of your cum, please, fuck, cum inside me.” You babble, words quickly turning to gibberish as your orgasm overtakes your body. It hits like a freight train, stealing your breath and forcing your whole body to convulse. A strong force pushes itself out of you and you flood his cock with your slick. Your legs shake violently as you wail, overtaken completely by the feeling of euphoria coursing through your body.
“Yeah? Yeah, sweetheart, gonna take care of you, gonna cum deep in this perfect fucking pussy.” He growls as his hips begin to stutter at the feeling of your walls fluttering and clenching around him. He cums with a shout, slamming as deep inside of you as he possibly can, hands falling to your back to pull you impossibly closer. Your eyes begin to well with tears, overstimulated by the feeling of the hot, thick ropes flooding your channel as Chris slows.
Chris lets his weight collapse onto you, propped up by his forearms. You pull his face to yours, kissing him softly, sweetly. If this is the only time you’ll have him like this, you’re gonna make sure you enjoy it. He pulls away, letting his forehead rest against yours, like he did before.
“Hell of a way to tell me you have a crush on me.” He sighs, smiling as he meets your eyes. His have a playful glint, despite the lewd position the two of you are still in. You can feel his length softening inside of you, his cum slowly leaking out of your abused hole.
“Shut up, Redfield.” You quip back at him, unable to hide your matching smile.
“Call me Chris, I like how you say my name.” His hand moves to your face, pushing your messy hair out of your face. The contrast of his softness and the dirty things he just did to you makes your pulse stutter.
“Now what?”
“We get dressed, we clear this place out, and I take you out. Treat you how you deserve.” You flush slightly at the implication of his words.
“And what do I deserve, Chris?” He kisses you, deeply, before answering.
Chris cannot for the life of him keep his hands to himself or his dick in his pants when it comes to his curvy wife and I’ll die on that hill. Like I’m talking he’s damn near feral about it
a/n; I do believe Chris LOVES a curvy girl!! Any form of curvy, whether his girl is chubby or if she's just got natural curves on a smaller body, he just loves any form!! Forgive me if this isn't very good—I just had to give a small flood of thougts to hold myself over while i work on the longer pieces I'm trying to do! As usual, friendly and helpful criticism is welcomed!
sum; a tiny piece about Chris and his grabby, greedy hands >:3
content; curvy!wife!reader, chris is lowkey an ass guy i think, unprotected sex, mirror sex, spanking, playful groping,
wc; 1.2k
Chris would love you no matter what, but the fact that you were curvy just added to his deep, almost feral love and affection for you. He wasn't just obsessed with your body, don't worry, but it was a big thing.
You were just so unbelievably sexy, how could he not be obsessed?! Poor guy felt like a teenager whenever he saw you on date night, which was every Saturday night. You'd wear your nicest outfit, or the new outfit you'd been wanting to wear out that Chris had likely gotten for you in the last week, and Chris loved every second of it.
He'd sit there as you changed, watching you. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that he was always looking at you with hearts in his eyes. What got you every time was how he'd creep up behind you and smack your butt, watching it jiggle with a low, appreciative whistle. When you scolded him for being grabby, he'd only pull you in from behind and grind himself against your butt while his hands rested comfortably on your belly. He loved your belly, too. You'd been insecure about it when you first got together, and it didn't take long for his obsession to do some good, helping you realize how normal, healthy, and perfect your body was.
Tonight was date night, and the routine was no different. 6:30 p.m., Chris ready and waiting as you finished up. You came out of the bathroom, makeup all done as you fixed your hair all pretty, ready to slip into the new dress he bought for you. It was a gorgeous dress—a halter neckline that held your breasts perfectly, your back left open all the way down just below your waist. It was red, his favorite color on you. It was just such an enticing color. The dress fell just below your knees.
As you slipped it on, Chris did his usual thing. He came up behind you, palming your ass as he leaned in and squeezed you from behind, peppering needy kisses along your neck. "You're so fuckin' beautiful." He purred, biting softly at your shoulder before he turned you to face him, kissing you deeply.
"Chris," you giggled, swatting lazily at his bicep as he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you up to wrap your legs around his waist. "We don't have time, you dog! Our reservation is in half an hour, and the restaurant is 20 minutes away!" You insisted, pulling back to look at him.
"I can work with that." He hummed, and oh boy, you knew he could.
"You're such a—"
"I'm a dog. I know." He grinned. "But look at you! You expect me to be responsible when you look so fucking sexy? Not a chance, beautiful." He pressed into another kiss, a hungrier one this time.
His hands pushed your dress up, and he groaned at your lacey panties. He didn't hesitate to grind his already hard cock against your clothed mound, watching your head fall back against the mirror. He felt your thighs tense when his jeans rubbed against your clit, causing a tiny jolt from you.
Chris kissed at your neck and chest, using one hand to push the dress aside to reveal your breast. "You should go braless more often. Makes it easier to get my hands on my pretty woman." He mused, only to latch onto your nipple with a mean suckle, causing you to moan louder.
"Fuck," you whined, hand clasping onto the back of his head. "Just hurry up, you fuckin'—ow!" You yelped as he landed a harsh smack against your bottom, your body jolting.
He continued his sucking and biting, and once he felt it was enough, he set you back onto your feet, spinning you around to face the mirror. One of your breasts was pulled out from the dress, the dress lifted and bunched at your waist to reveal your ass to him. He gave another spank, making you whine as he looked at you through the reflection.
He gave a firm grope to both cheeks, working his way down before he tugged your panties aside. Chris groaned at the sight, using two fingers to push your fat pussy lips apart, feeling the wetness between them. It gave him such an ego boost that he could make such a sexy woman like you so aroused with such little effort. He loved how well he knew you. How well he knew your body.
You heard him undo his jeans, looking back to watch him pull his cock out. He leaned forward, letting the weight of his girth rest against your ass, hips bucking lazily. "Chris, please.." you moaned softly, back arching into him.
"Don't worry, we'll be on time." He said, confident in his ability to get you to the edge in less than five minutes.
He didn't waste much more time before he was pulling his hips back, lining himself up to press his cock head against your hole, only teasing for a few seconds before he sank into you, a loud moan pulling itself from your lips, head falling back against his shoulder. He groaned, eyes rolling back and closing tight, his left hand still groping your ass while his other hand snuck around and up, grabbing roughly at your breast, kneading with his calloused palms.
He started rough, hips pushing back and forth, his pelvis smacking against your ass, and he only got meaner when he looked down to watch how your body rippled with the thrusts, thighs and ass jiggling and bouncing in the most intoxicating way he'd ever seen. He pulled you back against him, holding you upright to look at you properly in the mirror. He watched every jolt and ripple of your body, moaning shamelessly at the sight as he smacked your ass before grabbing roughly at the flesh of your hip.
"Mmh, hold your dress up, pretty." He huffed, watching your shaky hand reach down to lift the front of your dress, letting him get a better view of how he was absolutely wrecking your pussy. You cried out as his hand fell from your hip and shifted between your thighs, fingers tapping harshly at your puffy clit. He bit at your shoulder as he felt your walls clench and unclench with each flick or pat of his fingers,
He kept good on his word—you were gushing around his cock without warning in under five minutes, and he couldn't hold back as he watched your body jolt, quiver, and tremble from the pleasure. He slammed his hips one more time before he spilled his load into you, making you whimper at the warm sensation it always gave you.
Due to the time crunch, he didn't give himself the usual time to savor your touch, your warmth, or the intimacy, but he was gentle and loving as he cleaned you up, fixing your dress and helping you fix your hair and makeup that he'd smudged ever so slightly during the hungry kisses.
"Still up for dinner?" He asked softly, hugging you tight and patting your butt, like he was apologizing for his previous spanks.
"Mmh, only if you're on the dessert menu." You giggled, and Chris rolled his eyes.
"Oh, don't worry, we'll get our dessert." He squeezed your butt again, tugging you along as he grabbed your purse and led you out of the house.
Yes, you two did indeed have dessert. A very long, messy, fulfilling dessert.
summary: you and carlos are out on a mission when you come into contact with an unfamiliar plant specimen. the effects are unexpected to say the least.
cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, dubcon (cause of the pollen), sex pollen, breeding kink, overstimulation
wc: 6k
a/n: omggg kinktober already over halfway done. crazyyy. i hope you guys like this one. it was fun to write so thank you to the person who requested. reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <3
kinktober slot: day 17 - sex pollen
"Carlos, watch out!" you shout.
Your partner, the man you called out to, takes heed of your warning as soon as it hits his ears. He ducks down, giving you a clear shot at the overgrown spider crawling down the hedged corridor at the two of you. The moment you have a lock on the target, you shoot. You never hesitate in the field. It only took you one day of dealing with bioweapons to learn that lesson.
Your finger presses down on the trigger of your gun hard, firing multiple rounds right at the creature. The bullets tear through its flesh. Its limbs fumble, and it crumples to the ground. Your heart slows down a little. The sight of its death helps to calm your nerves.
Carlos pops back up, his black hair swishing out of his face with the motion. He turns to you with an approving smirk across his lips.
"Nice work, sharpshooter," he says.
You roll your eyes at the nickname. He'd given it to you after your first mission together in which you encountered an infected dog and managed to miss every single shot you fired at the thing. It had been first day nerves you insisted, and so far, that had proven to be true. But that wouldn't stop Carlos from making fun of you.
The two of you walk over to the deceased organism. You silently thank every possible higher power that this mission is almost over. There's only one more sector after this one, and then the two of you are done for a few weeks.
You hesitate to get too close to the arachnid. Even though it lies there motionless, some sort of innate survival instinct told you no. Your eyes scan it with disgust, looking at the coarse hairs and the multitude of eyes. Gross. You would just have to step around the thing.
With extreme caution, you traverse over its large legs. You wonder what kind of psychopath would want to engineer spiders and make them this big. Your feet land firmly on the ground with every stride you take. The absolute worst case scenario here would be falling over onto it and finding out it still has some life left. Another few steps though, and you're in the clear.
However, your partner apparently does not possess the same inherent fear of spiders you do. He walks over the dead thing without any extra care. In the process, his boot catches on the end of its thorax.
You watch as a baby spider bursts from it and bolts away from the body, making a beeline towards you. And you know it's ridiculous. You know it's humiliating. But you scream.
You're not sure if it's because it's tinier and faster or because it's appearance is so sudden. Either way, you shriek. You recoil before you can control your reaction. Shooting at it would probably be smarter, but in your panic, you don't want to blow a hole through Carlos's foot. You just jerk back and accidentally send yourself tumbling into a bush.
Luckily, he's quick to get to it, not discharging his weapon at all. He simply stomps on it with his large boot. It squishes beneath the sole and splatters on the dirt. His eyes then turn to you in the foliage.
Laughing a little, he heads over to you and parts the leaves. He looks at you with that same smug expression and extends a hand.
"Need some help down there?" he asks.
You glare at him but still accept the offer. It would be easier to get out of this mess of branches and little pink flowers with his aid. You reach out and wrap your fingers around his palm, feeling the warmth of it in your grasp. He pulls you up, and you shamefully watch his bicep flex as he does.
On the way to your feet though, he hisses in pain.
"Ah, fuck," he mutters, letting go of you as soon as you're upright.
He pulls back and brings his arm to his body, holding it there and examining the source of pain. You step closer to try and look too. Your eyes catch the sight of the injury almost right away. It would be hard for anyone to miss.
A red stripe spans from the outer side of his forearm to up just past his elbow. The ending of the cut seems like a deep gash while the beginning is only a thin line. Blood already begins to trickle onto his skin. It looks like a thorn had snagged him while helping you off the ground.
You pull a small cloth from the pouch attached to your belt.
"Here, let me see," you offer, your voice softer as your mind snaps into a more caring frame. It's the one you used to use everyday when you worked as a medic. Before you had been roped into this mess with mercenaries.
He offers his limb up to you without resistance. If there was anyone he trusted to look at him, it was you. After most missions, he stayed with the doctors Umbrella provided for the mandatory observation period, but you were the one to actually patch him up. With you, there were no ulterior motives or chances of being double-crossed. You wanted to help people, and that's what you did for him.
You do it right now as you take the small piece of material and dab up the crimson fluid seeping from his wound. He grunts as you get closer to the source.
"Sorry," you say. You try extra to remain gentle, lightly swiping at the edges of the injury. "Looks like a piece of the plant caught you. I can take a better look at it later, but for now, you should be fine. You're not bleeding too much," you tell him.
He nods and gets back to holding his weapon in the proper position. The two of you continue onward in the direction of your target. You only hope you've seen the last of those spiders.
Fortunately, your wish had been granted. You and Carlos hadn't encountered any more spiders, big or small, for the rest of the mission. The path to the objective from the sight of the last one had been pretty easy, presenting no real challenges.
The two of you made it back to the nearest Umbrella base for the night following a short ride there. You had to get checked out first and now stay overnight for the waiting period as was the procedure for all field operatives. The idea was to ensure you all didn't harbor any infections that remained undetected during the examination. But after that, you'd be home free.
You'd already completed the mandatory screening with the doctor. After finding nothing out of the ordinary, you headed to the assigned room they'd given you for the next twelve hours. It was pretty small, just a bed, table, chair, and shelf. You didn't need anything more though.
You change out of your grimy cargo pants and black sweater and pull on a much more comfortable pair of gray sweats and a t-shirt matching in color. Laying on the stiff mattress, you take a few moments to decompress from the earlier events. Your body seems to hold a dull ache all over, something you attribute to the heightened stress you experienced for hours on end. Your adrenaline has started to wear off, and as it recedes, the ability to feel in entirety returns.
Some time goes by, and Carlos knocks on the frame of your door. It feels like only moments have passed, but in reality, you're sure it's closer to thirty minutes. You look up at him with curious eyes.
"You need something?" you ask.
He walks in, and you see he's also changed. A charcoal t-shirt covers his upper body while gray sweatpants adorn his waist. You try to keep your gaze casual although it would be obvious to anyone with eyes that he looks statuesque in them.
"I was wondering if you're too tired to take another look?" he asks.
Sitting up, you pat the space next to you on the small bed. "Never too tired for my favorite patient," you answer with a small smile.
He returns the fond expression and takes a seat. You take your medical pouch off the table next to the bed. Unzipping it, you pull out the few things you predict you'll need. He rolls up his sleeve even though it's not necessary, allowing you to see his arm in full glory.
"You know they do have doctors here. Ones with much better equipment than me," you say teasingly as you rip open a small cleaning wipe.
He looks at you and shrugs. "I doubt they'd know how to use it as well," he says.
You shake your head and rub the alcohol-soaked patch across his wound. He hisses from the sting but manages to hold still. Your fingers work as quickly as they can, not wanting to prolong his suffering. You clean the dried blood off and make sure the open cut has been completely tended to. But your eyes narrow as you look at his skin.
"The doctors did look at you, right?" you ask.
"Yeah, why?" he responds.
"They cleared you?" you check.
And he nods. Maybe he was right not to trust them.
"Well, this doesn't really look normal," you say with uncertainty, "You have some discoloration around the cut. Your veins look a bit darker than they should. It could be an infection."
His eyes find yours. You can see in his stare that he's looking for reassurance.
"Does it hurt at all?" you continue.
"No. I mean, a little. Feels like I have a giant scrape on my arm. But not more than normal," he says.
A puff of air leaves your nose as you try to think. "Hm. You might be ok then, could be just some abnormal pigmentation," you offer, "I've never seen an infection manifest this fast, but if it were already showing, you'd probably have some symptoms too."
"So you think I'll live?" he jokes.
You scoff and nudge his arm away, putting up a playful front.
"Don't ask me that," you say.
In truth, you didn't want to think about Carlos dying. You'd seen so many people die since joining this task force. Your worst fear when coming into work was seeing that happen to the one you care most about.
"Alright," he concedes and surrenders, but his attitude doesn't dampen any.
You pull up your small roll of gauze next and begin to bandage him up. With careful hands, you rotate the thin material around his forearm, making sure to cover the entire scratch in a durable layer. The room is so quiet. There's no sounds except for the two of you breathing. You're tempted to say something and cut through the silence, but you don't. The moment feels intimate. It feels wrong to try and interrupt it.
When you finish wrapping his arm, you tear the gauze and tuck it under to keep it in place. Clearing your throat, you pat his shoulder and give him another sweet smile.
"All done," you say.
"Do I get a reward for being so well-behaved?" he asks. His voice lowers, and he leans in the slightest bit closer to you.
Heat blooms in your stomach and spreads up to your chest, but you'd never let him see the effect he has on you.
"Get outta here," you say and give him a light push.
He laughs and rises to his feet. He heads over to the door but doesn't leave before turning back to look at you again.
"Thanks, sharpshooter," he says.
"You got it, soldier," you respond with a small mock salute.
He shuts the door behind him after that. You put your things back in your pouch and lay back in bed again. A sudden wave of tiredness crashes into you. Sighing, you rub your face and yawn. Tonight it didn't seem like you'd have any trouble sleeping, a rare blessing as of late.
Rolling over, you wince as you feel a small burst of pain in the back of your thigh. You're so exhausted though that you chalk it up to a pulled muscle and resign to check it out when you wake. All you really want to do right now is knock out until the sun is up and the transport vehicle is ready to drop you off at the airport to go home.
It's still dark out when your eyes flutter open. The lids feel heavy with sleep. Your brain wants to be unconscious again, but something has pulled you from the comfort of sleep. It might be the fact that you're burning up.
Your entire body feels as though fire rages within it. Sweat coats your skin and causes your t-shirt to stick to you. You can feel your pillowcase beneath your head damp with it. You sit up, but you have to do so slowly because of how the simple motion causes the room to spin. You try to blink the dizziness away to no avail.
Once you're upright, you feel more conscious though. You're able to better assess your symptoms and maybe pinpoint the cause. You register that you feel tingly. Fizzling sparks rampage all throughout your body; though, the most intense area seems to be the back of your thigh. You peel down your sweats a bit and arch your back to try and get a look.
Your eyes widen as you find a puncture wound with the same discoloration you saw on Carlos.
Fuck, you must have landed on a thorn in that bush and not realized it with everything else going on. Panic rushes through you at the thought of being infected with something that shows symptoms so fast, but a more intense surge of it floods you when you realize that this means Carlos has it too.
You try to get out of bed to go inform him of your discovery, but a round of cramps doubles you over and has you curling up on the twin-sized mattress to ride out the pain. Small whimpers exit your lips. They were so intense, worse than any period cramps or stomach aches you'd ever experienced.
They start to ease up after about a minute, but it's then that you begin to notice the constant throbbing between your thighs. In the midst of all this other stuff coming to light in your groggy condition, you hadn't really noted how consistent it was, but it seems to have grown stronger after that bout of pain.
A strong pulse emanates from your clit. You whine and shove your hand in your panties to try and rub it away. A few strokes bring little pleasure, but not enough to ward it off for good.
You realize your breasts feel heavy too. With every breath you take, they call out for a pair of hands to cup them and squeeze them, to fondle them and toy with your nipples. Just some form of stimulation.
Your legs bend up to your chest while your hand still fruitlessly fumbles around between your thighs. You whimper in frustration now. These symptoms are unlike any of the infections you've encountered in your career. You're not sure what to do.
As you're trying to formulate some sort of plan, your door opens. Carlos stumbles in. He looks to be in the same condition as you. The gray fabric of his t-shirt is soaked in sweat at the underarms and neckline. His skin glimmers in the dim light while he looks at you with hooded eyes. The door shuts behind him, and the air between you feels thick. His scent drifts to you across the room, making you squeeze your thighs together hard with desire.
It takes everything you have to not lunge across the room and pounce on him like an animal in heat. From the strained expression on his face, it's not a wild guess to imagine he feels similar. He's panting, leaning against the wall for support.
"Safe to say we're infected with something, huh?" he chokes out.
You turn your head and nod against your pillow, unable to bring yourself to look at him anymore. If you did that, you wouldn't be able to control your reaction.
"What should we do?" he asks.
You have no clue how he's managing to stand or speak or even think through these questions. All your mind can conjure at the moment are visions of him on top of you. They're so vivid you can almost feel the sensations of them. You see him above you with your legs over his shoulders, plowing into your cunt with no reserve or hesitation. Visions of you on your stomach also flash through your mind. You picture him with an iron grip on your hips, pumping his thick, meaty cock into your dripping hole over and over and over.
It's enough to bring a moan out of you. Carlos winces at the sound, and he approaches your bed. You're visibly faring worse than him. Maybe it's because you have a puncture wound, and he has a simple scratch. Or maybe it's just a difference in your biology. You're not sure, and there's no way you're going to figure it out while you feel like this.
He cautiously lays a hand on your arm, and you moan again. But this time the sound is so much needier. It echoes between the four walls of this small bedroom, the volume enough to cause concern that you would wake other employees here. He pulls his hand back and looks down at you. Your hips rock on your hand, humping it desperately in an attempt for friction.
Your eyes crack open and cast onto him. You intend to look up at his face, but with where he's standing, right at eye level is the huge tent in his pants.
His cock strains against the gray material. You can see the outline perfectly. The sight makes your mouth water. You don't know what's happening with you. Sure, you'd always found Carlos attractive. Maybe you could say you have a little crush on him, but it was never anything so raw. You thought he was charming more than anything. Never before had you just wanted to tear off both your own and his clothes and start going at it.
He sees where your eyes lock on, and he feels a strong burst of arousal in his stomach.
"Hey, hey. Look at me," he instructs and pushes you by the shoulder onto your back.
You look up into his eyes. Your mind finds peace in them. They're serene and calm and offer a sense of comfort despite every other part of your body going haywire.
Your own hand reaches up and wraps around his wrist. You tug his palm down onto your breast. His brows raise, but he makes no move to pull it away. Instead, he gives the mound a squeeze, relishing the way you arch your back and mewl for him.
"Wait," he tries to resist, tries to be the responsible one, "Are you sure we should... do this kind of stuff? What if it makes this worse? We don't know what's happening yet."
If you weren't so wound up, you'd probably laugh at the way he poses the question. The man who could flirt with you like there was no tomorrow asking if you should do "stuff." But you don't laugh because "stuff" is all you want to do.
"I don't know what's happening. All I know is I need you," you rasp and start pulling his arm more, trying to get his entire body on top of your own.
He half indulges you, beginning to climb on the bed before stopping above you. Looking down at your lust-stricken form, he wants you so bad. His cock leaks precum with the urge to just slip inside. But at the same time, Carlos does like you. Really likes you. It isn't a maybe with him - he has a crush on you. And while thoughts of you spread beneath him happen to be what he jerks off to each morning in the shower, part of him can't help worrying that if he takes advantage of this, things between you two will shift and fracture.
"Are... are you sure?" he asks. Words are hard when your scent clouds the air around him and you look up at him with needy eyes like this.
You want to tell him to stop talking and just fuck you senseless already, but your lust-stricken brain seems to comprehend that in order to get fucked dumb, you have to handle his concerns first.
"I want it. I need you inside me. Please just give it to me," you whine. Your legs squirm, and you tug on him again. He's still hesitant. Looking into his eyes, you whimper, "You'll still be my favorite."
And that's apparently good enough for him. That brief statement of reassurance shatters the thin pane of resistance he had left. After hearing those words, he collapses on top of you in a flurry of passion. His lips collide with yours. He pants against your face and squeezes your hips.
Your tongues meet and slide against each other as your mouths move. One of your hands slides around the back of his head to grip his shaggy, dark locks. He groans and bucks his hips against your thigh. Your other hand rubs his chest, fingers digging into the muscle with desire.
He leans back for a split second and rips off his shirt. Under more delicate circumstances, you probably would have admired his sculpted figure. You would have traced your fingertips along the defined lines of his abs, swirled the delicate pads around his nipples and up to his collarbone.
But not right now.
You don't possess the ability to move with that much focus or care right now. Instead, you reach out and pull him back down again, almost crushing yourself with his bulky frame. It's worth it though because you lick up his happy trail, tracing your tongue over the contours of his muscles. He moans from the light touch before scooting down so he can remove your shirt and have access to your breasts.
"Look at these. Fuck," he says in awe. He gropes them, hands rough as they feel up the plump flesh.
He lowers himself on top of you again and kisses down your collarbone to your chest. You whimper as his mouth glides over the swells of your breasts before latching onto one nipple. He sucks with fervor, eyes fluttering shut as he focuses on the task. You gasp and moan. Between your legs, he ruts against the mattress.
His tongue swirls around your stiffening bud. He laves the smooth wetness over it a few times before switching to the other and giving it the same treatment.
"Been wanting to see these tits so fuckin' bad," he mumbles.
"You have?" you whimper, still squirming from the attention directed at your chest.
"Course I have. Those tight little sweaters you wear, the way they bounce every time you fucking move. God, drives me crazy," he mutters.
He spends some more time on your breasts before relenting and shoving down his sweats. His cock all but jumps out, eager for some attention as well.
"I've been wanting to see that so bad," you breathe.
You have to rub your thighs together once you get a look at his length. It's long and meaty just like you predicted. There are prominent veins spanning from the base upward. The tip is already leaking for you, oozing sticky white precum. His heavy balls hang below. All you can think about is how bad you need them drained inside of you.
He tears off your soaked panties and wastes no time slotting himself at your wanting hole. With both of you in frenzies of carnality, there's no teasing. He doesn't rub it over your folds or work himself in. No. In one go, he slams himself inside. A deep, guttural sound rumbles in his chest while a breathy whine erupts from you.
Your eyes roll back while your toes curl down below. You nearly cum from that stroke alone. He just fits you so perfectly. Even through the amorous fog that clouds your mind, you can't help wondering why you didn't do this sooner.
Just like in the flashes you saw minutes ago, his hands clamp around your waist. He doesn't take time to set a pace or give you a few moments to adjust to the girth of him. As soon as he's had the first taste of that warm, wet heat, he's slamming in and out of your little pussy with no thought.
His hot skin slaps against yours. Both of you pant with exertion while the cot below you scrapes against the concrete floor. Your legs bend upwards and you hold them to make sure nothing gets in the way of his thrusts.
Each time his cock slides all the way in, you think you see heaven. Your vision blots with white and then splotches of color. Your brain feels as though it's melting out your ears in the most blissful sensation. You're pretty sure you don't actually need thoughts anymore. Why would you when this seems like the only thing you'll wanna do ever again?
You bounce around with his strength pounding against you. Your head bobbles while your tits sway up and down. His head has been tilted back for a while, but he drops it now to look at the sight of you before him.
"Fuck, baby. You take my dick like you were made for it," he grunts.
Your walls squeeze him tight as a reward for saying that. He groans and fucks into you harder. The rhythm breaks for a moment. He has to slow down to deliver the small collection of particularly harsh thrusts.
With each one, his tip rams further inside you. The fourth one strikes some trigger inside you that rips a yelp from you and rockets you over the edge. Your body shudders hard beneath him while your walls spasm desperately.
"Hnghhh- Carlos- ah! You're fuckinmesogood," you babble out, eyes drooping so much they're practically closed.
You hear him growl above you and then feel his weight collapse onto your body. Your thighs are smooshed between the two of you, keeping you bent in half. He's as deep as physically possible now. That you're certain of. His cock kisses the opening of your womb with each jolt of his pelvis, making you cry out in an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pain.
His head closes in on yours, connecting the two of you in a sloppy kiss. You move without sense. Every action stems from a place of pure desire.
He knows he's getting close. And he also knows he should pull out. But he honestly doesn't know if he can right now. He's burning so hot for you that in his head, the loss of your tight walls wrapped around him may seriously result in death. It doesn't just feel good, it's pure euphoria. He's not even at the peak yet, but this feeling right now is more intense than any orgasm he's had before.
"Fuck-" he growls, trying to work up the will to slide back and burst on your stomach instead. His mouth falls away from yours, landing against the crook of your neck. "You're making this so hard for me, sweetheart," he grumbles.
You're so shaky and blissed out that the words almost pass you by, but his close proximity allows you to catch them. You know what he means without him having to say it because you feel it too. A deep yearning in the most carnal recesses of your soul, a craving for him to sate the most base desire burning within you.
"Just do it," you whimper, lazily rolling your hips up, "Cum inside."
His muscles tense. You can feel them twitching against you.
"Don't say that," he breathes.
A petulant whine seeps from between your lips. You pull him closer by the shoulders with more force, digging your nails into the skin.
"Finish inside, Carlos. Pleaseeeeee," you try again, "I'll worry about it later. Just need you to fill me up so fucking bad."
His resolve chips away piece by piece with each strike from your pleas. Reasons to detach from you that had seemed logical moments ago lose whatever little appeal they had. His mind feels overcome by the desire to pump you full of his release, to fuck his seed deep inside your awaiting cunt, to let it take.
With a rough snap, he throws his head back and groans. His fingers dig into the plush flesh of your hips. The high overcomes him in a powerful blow, whisking the air from his lungs. It makes him feel lightheaded, actions completely guided by impulse created under the influence of whatever that plant had sapped into the two of you.
Hot, thick ropes of cum shoot against your inner walls. You whine at the sensation, eyes fluttering and rolling back in satisfaction. He works it into you over and over till the urge is sated.
Finally, he feels like he won't lose all capability to function if he pulls out. He eases his hips back, slowly freeing himself from the sinful confines of your slick walls. Every inch he reveals shimmers with the combined gloss of his and your fluids. It coats the area between your thighs thoroughly, marking the site of your connection.
While the throbbing in your clit and the burning throughout your bones has lessened, dull remnants of them remain. Your chest puffs up and down as you catch your breath and recover from the intensity of before. The air still feels thick, just less like a landmine than before.
But when you gaze down between the two of you, your eyes land on his cock. He's still fully hard. The shaft stands forward proudly while the tip remains darkened in color. His need for more of you plainly visible to anyone who looked.
Your eyes flit from it up to his eyes, connecting in a tentative stare. The question between the two of you is left unspoken. Neither of you really need the words to understand that you both want more.
His hands fly to your waist again and flip you over onto your stomach. Your face squishes against the pillows as he boosts your hips to the right angle and slides right back inside. You whine at the intrusion, fingers gripping the pillow for some way to ground yourself.
He gives your ass a firm smack before leaning forward and boxing you in beneath him. You have no way of knowing for sure, but you're almost certain the thrusts reach deeper now. He's moving at the same frantic pace from before, yet every stroke feels like it bumps a sweet spot within you. That or you're just more sensitive from your previous release.
You can hear him panting in your ear as he pounds you into the mattress. Every small grunt and soft growl drifts out behind your head.
"Fuck... think we should just do this till we're all better," he murmurs and nips at your shoulder.
"Mhm," you whine, arching your back and pushing your hips against him further. The next set of words comes out slurred and muffled both from your position against the pillow and the blurry state of your mind. "Never wanna stop. Just want you all the time."
He huffs out a laugh. "Yeah? That's what you wanna do, huh? Let me fuck you nonstop? Use you till you can't fucking move anymore? Breed you till I've had my fill?"
You mewl sharply and nod eagerly. "Uh huh, give it all to me till- ah! mmm... till we're both better," you whimper.
Skin continues slapping against skin in the otherwise quiet of the room. In the back of your mind, you wonder how far down the hall the sound echoes. It's a fleeting thought though, quickly overwhelmed by the repeated thoughts of how good you feel.
"Yeah? Maybe a baby in your belly is what you need. Maybe that's what we're supposed to do. Can't get this thing out of our system till we meet nature's demands," he rasps.
He doesn't even know what he's saying. He assumes the sudden desire to procreate comes from the infection, but the words feel as though they blossom from somewhere deeper. Whatever the case, it's obvious you like them. You clamp around his cock like you're trying to drain him dry.
"I'd probably fuck you like this every night if I saw you nice and round with my baby, sweetheart. Fuck, you'd look so good. Swollen in all the right places, aching for me to take care of you," he mumbles out.
"Give it to me. Want it so bad. Wanna... mmm fuck," you trail off, panting out the lasts of your desires.
The peak builds much faster for you two this time around. You squeeze around him till your rhythmic convulsions devolve into a burst of spasms. His thrusts land hard throughout his high, but you feel his muscles tense as he pumps another load into you.
Drops of his spend leak from your cunt and smear against both of your skin. This time he doesn't even bother pulling out. He knows he's still hard and that he has one, if not more, rounds in him. He keeps fucking you hard, through your cries of overstimulation and desperate squirming.
The rest of the night is a blur. You don't count how many times you go at it or keep track of the variety of positions you do it in. You know at one point you were on top, at another your head dangled off the edge of the mattress and bobbled around like that of a doll's. The intense passion and lust pervades all memories and casts the experience in a hazy fog.
All you're sure of is that now you feel better. For the moment, the two of you are satisfied, your bodies no longer alive with an electric craving for one another. Your head rests on his chest while the rest of you presses against his side. His hand rubs up and down your back in lazy, thoughtless strokes.
Neither of you say anything. Dashes of sunlight begin to shine through the windows that sit high on the wall. Both of you bask in the calm of the moment as you grapple with what happened.
"You think that cured us?" he asks softly after a while.
You pause before shrugging. "Can't say for sure, we'll have to wait and see," you say, looking up at him.
Somewhere inside of you, you believe that was it. That was the magic fix. You're almost certain that you fucked whatever that was out of your systems, but you want to be honest with him. Still, you can't help offering a little reassurance.
"We'll be ok," you say with a small smile.
He returns it. "If you're the one taking care of me, I don't doubt that," he teases.
You hum and squeeze your arms around his waist. Questions of a changed relationship status or potential future together going forward plague your mind, but you know it's not the time. If your supervisors hadn't heard the racket coming from in here, they'd realize something was up as soon as you and Carlos emerged from the same bedroom. You decide to take what semblance of peace with him you can get before having to face a possible onslaught of hazmat suits and probing tests.
Your eyes flutter shut as the beating of his heart lulls you into a state of peace. Even without the confirmation, you aren't worried about your connection. You're pretty confident that he'll be more than just your favorite patient in the coming weeks.
📸 || "Sender" poses for a portrait during the Getty Images Portrait Studio presented by IMDb and IMDbPro at SXSW 2026 on March 14, 2026 in Austin, Texas.
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