Note: Just finished first half of season five and wanted to write more for our eldritch pookie. Reader is also bespectacled. Could be read as a sequel to this.
Imagine meeting Mr. Whatsit and accidentally breaking his glasses by sitting down on his face too hard.
The glass could’ve gotten embedded in your backside, Mr. Whatsit admonished. You muttered an apology.
“Good thing you have thick jeans,” he replied, patting said denim-clad backside with both hands.
His girlfriend was straddling his midriff, while throwing embarrassed glances over her shoulder. Best view he’d had in a long time. Over a year. If he’d been capable of mustering any anger towards you, your pout would’ve completely dissipated it. It wasn’t like he actually needed glasses. They were just part of his disguise. To make him appear nonthreatening. It was an added bonus you seemed to like his eyewear.
Besides, he could just ask where you got yours. He smiled at the thought of you helping him try on different frames. A date at the optometrist’s. Too bad one couldn’t help him with his second sight, which seemed off today. His other five senses were working perfectly. It was his sixth sense that needed checking.
While he was pondering why your mind was closed off, you were thanking God you’d taken the keys out of your back pocket. Otherwise you might’ve bruised Henry’s pretty face.
From accidentally plopping your entire ass on it.
Rushing into sex hadn’t been your plan. Not this time. Henry’d gotten dressed up. Like a date. A proper date. Not just a two person “gang bang” where he’d allowed your eager holes to get acquainted with his tentacles. Switching it up. Pumping in tandem in your pussy. Near one climax, you’d gotten so wet Vecna had been able to slip his cock between two pistoning flesh-vines. That was the only time you’d shown any reluctance. And he’d withdrawn his auxiliary phalluses before fully entering you vaginally.
You wondered how he’d managed PIV, with a seemingly Ken doll physique. Then shook your head. You’d been transported back and forth between dimensions. What was a little penile sheath between boy- and girlfriend?
Still lying casually supine on the bed, Mr. Whatsit tilted his hat back.
Is this another illusion?
Each time you had sex had been a dream. Not just because you loved it, his tentacles and promises of letting other monstrous appendages—other monsters’ appendages—tongues, more tentacles, intermittent organs, and any combo of the three—in your orifices. Your lover hadn’t stepped foot out of the Upside Down.
Henry isn’t much of a monster, is he? Just looks like one. Not now, though.
Kind eyes, obscured by cracked lenses, and a cushiony smile.
Meanwhile, Henry was internally debating whether or not to ask you to turn around. God, he missed your breasts. They were perfect for him. The only way they could be better was to add a bit more softness, make them sag with milk.
But he already had a bunch of other children to mind at the moment. Besides, maybe you’d prefer oviposition. You were pretty kinky. He’d love altering your biology to fulfill your joint desires.
Joint.
Vecna pursed his lips. For some reason, your mind wasn’t as open to him as it once was. But you were more than interested in oral, obviously.
He hadn’t been given a proper blowjob, but you had fellated a tentacle. Deepthroated it, even. And thanked him for suppressing your gag reflex. All while taking in more appendages below the waist. It was only fair he ate you out.
“Okay,” Henry said, transferring his glasses to a pocket. It’d been a miracle yours hadn’t clacked together when Mr. Whatsit had unexpectedly appeared and swooped in for a kiss.
Then I had to go and treat his head like a couch cushion at the end of a long day.
“I’ll brace my hands on your thighs so you can bear down gently. Then we can switch positions afterwards. If you want.”
He smiled again as your grin lit up your whole face.
I want to pin you down and run my lips and tongue over every square inch of your skin, seeking out all the spots that make you twitch and moan, softly experimenting.
I want to smear my cunt over your skin, mark you with my arousal and let you feel just how wet you make me.
I want to fill your cunt, with my fingers my thumb my fist, and feel you spread and clench around me.
I want to drag your tongue to my cunt to have you lick up this mess, and if you make me keep dripping, well, you'll just have to keep licking.
I want to kiss you, skin against skin, lick my arousal off your lips and press even closer.
My body craves yours, pet, and I want you again today.
could you do like a chad kaplan nsfw imagine from the first resident evil movie ? thanks !
Note: Takes place at end of first movie. Warning, seems like happy-to-be-alive sex at first then gets much darker. Contains body horror.
Imagine Kaplan licking you after you save him from the Licker.
If you hadn’t known any better, you would have assumed the injection had contained an aphrodisiac. Because why else would Kaplan be so ravenous for your approval?
He’s just so relieved to be alive.
Even with beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead, his skin was nowhere as soaked as your panties, which were now hanging out casually betwixt your knees. Bent over, you could feel his perspiring brow rest on your ass. He signed blissfully, before pressing his sweaty palms against your buttocks, giving them a handful of squeezes each.
Then he got back to work. Two thumbs parted your labia, his tongue plunging into your gap instead of lapping at your clit. You thought about diddling yourself. Then decided against it, not wanting to reach ecstasy quite yet.
Alice was the one who jabbed him with the antivirus, you remembered, as Kaplan ate your pussy from the back. Your hands braced against glass. Thank God it was reinforced. The adrenaline had left your body, when you realized you were safe(r). Now it came roaring back in excitement at the soldier’s wet applications to your snatch. He should be thanking her.
Where is she, anyway? With Matt?
Shoveling your essence into his beyond eager mouth, his tongue then extended further than expected.
Chad Kaplan hadn’t done anything so juvenile as lick his lips at the sight of you. Even though he’d been very, very interested since your introduction. He was a professional. It’d been an emergency. So you were pleasantly surprised you both shared Gorlin’s sign. Not that he would’ve guessed it, seeing as you both had been modest up until when he’d taken your face in his hands, kissed your forehead, and directly asked if he could perform cunnilingus.
It was odd hearing someone who, to your knowledge, was normally so composed—even in a life or death situation—just lose himself completely.
Kaplan’s (para)military, though. Or was. For an unethical pharmaceutical company. An onslaught of monsters and mutated people couldn’t shake him.
An IT guy, you concluded, has to remain calm in emergencies.
Just as you were pondering whether to grab his hair and throw yourself backwards on his face, he stopped. Neither of you spoke. Don’t be shy now, C.K. Then he licked your thigh. Tongue feeling wider than it had inside you. You chalked that up to the fact he’d been trying to stick it up there as deep as possible. (Make out with my cervix lol, ew.) It was pressed flat. Savoring you.
A split second later you peeked down and spotted a bandaid on your left cheek.
Oh yeah, I was injected, too.
At some point.
It was hard to keep track of everything that had happened since the train ride, your mind fuzzy with lust as it was.
Your lover continued tentatively licking your thigh, like he was struggling to decide his next move. Frowning in confusion, but not reluctance, you noted his appendage was actually coiling around your leg. How freaking long is it? you thought, amazed as he dipped into your underwear. Comparing your initial discharge to the stuff he was getting straight from the source. Then he pulled your panties straight down your calves and dove in again.
You almost yelped when he finally made you sit on his face. Tongue continuously writhing inside. Putting your faith in his uncanny strength, you lifted one hand from the window to cover your mouth. When you removed it, strands of drool connected your lips and fingers. Probably how Kaplan’s fingers would look if his mouth wasn’t engulfing your gash. The idea of getting digitally fucked made you shudder. Not quite in pleasure. His nails were really digging into your hips.
Am I high?
You were basically using him as a stool. He was sturdy. Still, you figured it was only polite to bend forward, so as not to cut off his air supply. Though something told you he’d hold his breath ad hoc. It was like he’d been born for this. To become a licker.
Licker. That word brought back a memory.
“Well,” a man in a white lab coat explained, “you owe us a Licker. With interest.”
You tried to protest, but it was hard to be taken seriously restrained as you were, in stirrups and cuffs. Zero modesty. The staff seemed equally split between ignoring you and openly leering at your spread privates. And the cold, sterile room left your nipples ever hard. You couldn’t so much as shift an elbow to conceal them.
At one point another doctor (?) sauntered in and cupped your vulva without warning. When he placed a thumb on your perineum, you begged him to remove it. Wary of his intentions. Nobody had done anything to really hurt (read bruise) you yet. Aside from the IV. No telling what was in it.
You were hushed, told “you’re not getting penetrated so get your mind out of the gutter.” Then you noticed the syringe.
“‘No penetration’?!”
“No digital penetration,” he drawled. “For now.”
Umbrella Corp only hired personnel that, if not ignorant, lacked ethics. Even when it came to obstetrics.
Eyes wide, you saw what lay beyond the glass. Your rendezvous with Chad Kaplan wasn’t as consensual as you’d thought it was. He honestly liked you, though you believed he wouldn’t be doing this in front of an audience if he had a choice. In fact, if everything went according to plan, you figured, the former computer whiz would be too territorial to…
What? Let others around his nest? His mate?
Lickers didn’t generally attack each other, unless they were fighting over prey. Which you were, in a way. Though there wasn’t enough research into their mating habits.
Hence why I’m here, you shuddered as Kaplan ground his nose into your taint. Another memory from your last encounter with an Umbrella employee flitted in.
“Welcome to the Licker Breeding Program.”
Kaplan, of course, was no longer an employee. He was a test subject. Like you.
Your juices were getting everywhere. Before his tongue finally withdrew, fast as a tape measure. You tried to settle your feet flat on the floor again, hands once again braced against the window. Like you were about to be subjected to a pat down. Kaplan paused again. Why, you didn’t know.
It staved off an orgasm, though. Gave you time to ponder Alice and Matt’s location. With a sinking heart, you remembered Matt had been carted off to the Nemesis Program. Whether that was part of Umbrella’s propagation efforts, you couldn’t say. Probably something in “defense.” Hopefully he was in a far off lab. And ignorant of your degradation.
An image of an amnesiac girl being unknowingly mounted by a mutated Matt popped into your head. This infernal corporation wanted your memories intact while you were being bred. Even if they initially had to sedate you. You couldn’t say the same for Alice, a skilled combatant. Even more reason to make her birth supersoldiers.
Vaguely aware of Kaplan’s heavy breath, you actually rested your cheek against the window. Uncaring if it left a smudge. You reached down to pat his head. Then stopped when your fingers grazed his forehead. Unblinking, you slowly met his gaze. Kaplan’s forehead had begun to split.
No visible brain matter yet, but solid claws jutted out of where his fingernails should’ve lain flat. Blood beaded on your scratchmarks. It was a testament to his remaining humanity that your hip flesh hadn’t been sliced to ribbons.
You could readily imagine what he’d look like once the mutation was complete. Imagined him sniffing at his moulted skin, then quickly losing interest. Because he was already past any courtship rituals. Already well-acquainted with this mate. Who could be sedated if she wasn’t “in the mood.”
You frowned at the scientist who stood condescendingly on the other side of the glass. As your head cleared, you started to formulate revenge fantasies. If only you could interrogate him for a few minutes!
“Be thankful we found your DNA best for being an incubator, not a monster.”
Request: “I hope you could whip up a lil bit more smut for the pink soldiers.”
Imagine being taken aside by two Pink Soldiers so they can take you.
The first Triangle had taken his time. Made sure you were excited enough to effortlessly accept two cocks. Not at once. He would have loved to see you double stuffed. But his less experienced coworker had snuck inside you before he could bring it up. Rude. Still, it was fun to see a pretty girl’s face contort as she playfully pretended to struggle to accommodate the girth.
If the other players knew you were getting preferential treatment, or thought you were a plant, things might get messy. He glanced at your thighs, which had already been coated with cum when they led you to the hallway. Were you sleeping with another player? Other players? Nice.
You were perfect at taking dick. One after another, the first Triangle thought. Perfect at taking him after other players, after his coworker. You panted, tongue out, face pressed against the pastel wall by a black glove. When he was alone in his cell, he’d probably cum again, mask off, inhaling your sweat off of it. Instead of licking the slick right off his fingers.
The black gloves weren’t terribly comfortable in or around your openings, but raw fingering was A-OK. Not that you were in any position to tell the Guards what to do.
Outside of work, the first Triangle usually preferred full nudity. Both his own and his partners’. During the games was different. He wasn’t risking you seeing any bare skin. If you wanted to flick your pebble, it made no difference to him. You got so wet just anticipating a threesome. If you didn’t, he’d have used the discreet vibrator you wore on a necklace, concealed under your shirt. He’d felt it while groping you, testing your compliance. Lifting it out of your cleavage, he gently dropped the pendant over the green ___ printed on the white cotton. Not even needing to tilt his head to get you to understand he knew what it really was.
Sometimes players smuggled stuff in. This was new, though. Dirty girl.
Way better use of a necklace than a pill case, you mentally huffed while the Pink Guard examined the accessory.
Lucky for you, the other Triangle was happy to stroke at your clit with his pinkie. If you’d looked down, the sight of a partner desperate to please would have ushered you into the first orgasm. (Of the session, not the day.) Climaxing onto his twitching digits. Glossy goo sleeping all the way down his warm palm to his wrist. If he’d been more experienced, he might have realized you were ovulating.
Not that it mattered if you got knocked up. Just two more games to go. Even if you won, you wouldn’t have time to balloon up like 222. His more experienced coworker, who’d had a vasectomy, didn’t bother mentioning being snipped. You were an all round risk taker. A taker in general, judging from the way you used other players sexually and took more and more fingers than he’d seen anyone take in their cunt before. So wet. So slippery.
Because the thought of you bringing your own vibe to the island, making use of it while hidden away on one of the top bunks, your little gasps attracting the attention of a bunkmate…! Maybe he says something to the guy below him. Next thing you know, the faux-phallus is supplemented with real dick. It looked like the previous guy’s semen was cleaned out, but spilled onto your thighs. Or someone pulled out and finished on them. The thought of that likely scenario made him blow his load, bucking his hips against your plush ass. Ramming into your grip, any lingering concern over your comfort had melted away.
This guy was gonna bust soon. You could tell.
Second Triangle’s cockhead was peeking out, eager to reintroduce itself after a break. It was bad enough he couldn’t kiss your pretty pussy quite yet, or at least lick up the mystery jizz. He had to withdraw his fingers and back up as his fellow guard shuddered into you. Lest your crotch bump into his mask.
“Thank you,” you mumbled, promptly straightening up as the soft cock slipped out. His hands had migrated to your biceps. You let your cheek rest against the cool wall. Then you crossed legs. Futilely holding their mixed cum inside.
“I don’t feel like waddling to the bathroom right now,” you whined. “Can one of you eat me out?”
They looked at each other.
It wasn’t like the second Triangle’s reputation really mattered here, and he had just fantasized about licking up someone else’s semen. (Off the thighs of a hot babe, but still.) His own, though?
As they both stood before you, a sigh escaped your lips. “Quit eyefucking each other and do rock, paper, scissors or something.”
It really wasn’t your place to tell the Guards what to do. Yet the first guy made a fist and rested it on his palm, ready to throw. Post nut clarity should have warned him not to. Just let go of your arms and- When would he get this opportunity again?
“What are you two doing?”
They stared past you, while you had to swivel your head to see who it was. A Square. He wasn’t addressing you, maybe because he didn’t expect you to behave any differently. Cameras were everywhere, after all. Frustrated, you stuck your pendant into your mouth. At this rate, the battery would be used up before you won. Not that this Square probably knew that, let alone what it was.
He addressed his underlings. “Removing masks would result in immediate termination.”
The three of you stood facing him. Arms hanging at your sides. Unsure how to proceed. Nobody spoke. Then the Square Guard took up his walkie talkie.
“What-?” you started.
“Either we get a disposable Circle, or Player ___ comes with me.”
The two Triangles watched as you pulled up first your panties, then your track pants. And chose the second option.
“Fix yourself,” said the first Triangle, before turning around to continue his shift. The second had forgotten to tuck himself away.
Imagine making it to the final round and two of the Pink Soldiers take turns eating your pussy, during the dinner, to show their “gratitude.”
Of course they’re the Circle guys.
“So,” you mumbled, “are the Triangles and Squares too good for this?”
The guard with his nose currently mashed against your clit, presumably unmasked under the table, licked harder. Desperate to please. Good soldier. Your fellow players were too engrossed with their plates to notice you getting head. No one else was. Or had, as far as you knew.
“I mean, the table’s triangular.” You waved your fork, before thinking better of making conspicuous gestures. It was hard to resist slamming the utensil down. “Or are Triangle Masks only interested in penetration?”
Your other admirer subtly tapped his friend. Indicating his turn to pleasure you. And he tried. But eating in this situation was hard enough. Getting eaten…
The second Circle was sloppier. Treating giving brain like a make-out session. He wasted no time in pushing his tongue inside. Latching his lips onto yours. Increasingly wet, you still knew you couldn’t finish in such a faux romantic setting. Sighing, you decided to enjoy dinner in peace. The tap on his shoulder didn’t quite stop his administrations. His mouth popped open, anticipating your gracious slick. A tap to the forehead informed him he was relieved of his duties.
He actually took off his mask for me.
It was flattering. (The other guy just pushed his up.) But you wished they’d acted on their crushes five games ago. Six, even. Though you weren’t sure what they could have done about those rounds of ddakji. At that point, you wouldn’t have let mysterious masked men muff dive. Well, not without someone buying dinner first.
Speaking of… you remembered where you were. Better focus on eating in, not eating out.
Later, when the other players were a safe distance ahead of you on the walk back, a Square Mask matched your step.
“Make your way to the hallway after lights out.” Gloved fingers brushed your hip. “We will make sure you finish this time.”
Should you have been more excited by his promise of “we” or “will”?
Note: Imgflip hasn't been working for me. Good thing MBV's not too obscure.
Imagine the Miner feeling bad about how you got freaked out by a fresh corpse, so he decides to apologize by helping you wash off the blood.
Why do you seem so reluctant to be escorted to the showers? There’s no one else (living) here. And he’s not taking his miner gear off. Harry doesn’t want you to think he an ulterior motive. Why were you here, anyway?
Revenge was his main objective that night, but he’d been admiring you from afar a little. No valentine for ______ this year. At least, not until later. When the Miner had exacted his revenge, your affection was next. Everything about you was dulcet. Of course you’d make the perfect sweetheart. You were the sweetest thing in Valentine Bluffs.
So it shouldn’t surprise him if someone else had sunk their teeth into you. If they had, you’d been discreet about it. Good girl. If there was even anyone else in the picture.
Harry gazed upon your glum face. His pickaxe was lying maybe ten meters away. His hands (gloved) were upon your cheeks, not your neck. How he longed to caress them and kiss it! You clearly weren’t a target. That was the problem. Not one shot at your heart.
Well, the Miner thought as he removed a glove, revenge could wait.
The reverse V-sign caught you off guard.
“Victory?”
No. He moved his hand, the mask’s tube between his middle and index fingers.
“You want to…?”
Your secret admirer used his other hand to indicate it wasn’t just his tongue that wanted to make your acquaintance that evening.
“You want to take a shower first?”
At least he was kind enough to take you away from the hooked bodies. The Miner shook his head.
“You want me to take a shower first?”
Honestly, you looked pretty bathed in blood, but Harry really wanted to see you wet. And he would see you wet, if only you’d let him. Judging by the way your thighs rubbed together, you were getting there.
He tilted his head. Then shrugged before getting on his knees.
Imagine Alexei and Óli showing Paxton and Josh pics of them taking turns filling you with their fingers and lapping at your clit.
Alex smiled. At this rate, you two would be luring more to Elite Hunting than Natalya and Svetlana could honeytrap by themselves. Your plan to initially use seduction—plus exhibitionism, group sex, whatever—instead of just waiting till a sitting duck came to the hostel proper… Well, it was making you very popular with your superiors.
In more ways than one, the Slovakian thought as he remembered Sasha wondering aloud how tasty was your pussy, after being freshly filled by someone slated to die?
A bit morbid for your boyfriend’s taste. Alexei was more indifferent than sadistic. Sharing you almost felt virtuous. He could understand why naive men would be eager to meet more promiscuous ladies like yourself.
“Lots more girls like this-” began Alex.
“Why bother hooking up with separate girls when she’s down to share?”
