spiced cubitos

I'm going to be very blunt: There's gonna be blockpeople porn/ kink here. Please do not interact if you are underage. /26/

[invis-here]

Call me invis o/ I'm 26, and deep in the bowels of mcyt/SMP fandom.

You can find me on ao3, where I post kinky cubito fics.

Feel free to drop into my asks with ideas/prompts/anything else - I am always happy to interact^^ (no promises on fulfilling prompts though, my brain is a fickle creature)

kinks n things I'm not comfortable writing about: noncon/dubcon (cnc is absolutely fine if the consensual part is made very clear, and apparently Scott Goldsmith is my exception here bc ofc he is); scat; bimbofication, forcefem, and related kinks; age gaps; feedism; more tbd - in general I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum and will just ignore liberally <3 (Also, just because I don't write about these kinks, doesn't mean I won't interact with them at all)

A couple disclaimers: I will only ever write about cubitos, never ccs. (I have become increasingly chill about rpf ever since the charity event though - that was my canon event, I fear.) If you are underage please block me and do not interact. If I find out that you are underage I will block you.

#invis_fic -> my fics

#invis_talk -> textposts

#invis_ask -> answered asks

#invis_scrib -> drabbles/ ideas

#invis_art -> drawings

#kept bird au -> Emperor Scar & Concubine/ Strategist/ Assassin Grian AU; not likely to ever become a complete fic, this lives as Tumblr posts and one-shots over on my ao3

#invis_trickortreat -> tiny drabbles for Halloween (the best holiday, fight me)

#invis_wrapped_drabbles -> ask game based on the songs in my spotify wrapped

#helpful👻 -> writing/tech advice rbs

#[emoji]non -> anons <3 (feel free to grab an emoji for yourself if you feel like sticking around - anything that isn't tagged below is fair game^^)

[oy84]

muehehehehuheuuhe..... from @cupofmysteriousfluid's drawpile... go bite them...

[docsuwuma]

[jibbingjibberish]

human enough martyn/warden hybrid mumbo. mumbos soooo nervous abt taking his gf back to his room, and at first martyns like "but why? we've fucked plenty of times" before realizing that his room is covered in skulk/tentacles/etc. and that so much noise coming back to mumbo paired w martyns scent makes him need to mate him. and the mating sperm plug IS a required part of this whole procedure btw

[the-flamingo-anon]

When Decked Out 3 opens to the hermits, who’s gonna be the first to get fucked by the corruption tentacles? Will it be the first hermit in? Or will it take a couple rounds of hermits playing and exploring to happen?

[jibbingjibberish]

best part abt cushions being added in mc is how versatile they'll be for sex btw. scar lounging on cushions arranged in precisely the right heights. xisuma enabling the alignment to subpixel game rule bc scar ABSOLUTELY complains and says he can feel it otherwise. kneeling kneeling kneeling. boosting short subs up to eat pussy/ass readily. best update fr fr

[cubesartstash]

cleo just wants to help pearl stretch <3

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[venusplanttafterhours]

2 Virgins in a room

This is just Owen and Legundo being silly and cute and hot together

The fire had burned low. Orange embers pulsed in the grate like a second heartbeat, softer than the one hammering against Legundo’s ribs. Shadows danced across the dusty surgery walls, swallowing the corners of the room as Owen pressed him back against the examining table.

There was no hesitation now. No careful doctor’s prudence.

Owen’s mouth found his again, cold, insistent, tasting of copper and night air. Legundo gasped into the kiss, and the vampire used the opening to deepen it, one hand tangling in the doctor’s hair while the other slid down his chest, nails scraping lightly through the linen of his shirt.

“Owen—” Legundo breathed, but the name was swallowed.

“Quiet,” Owen murmured against his lips, and there was something feral in his voice, a hunger that had nothing to do with blood. “You talk too much, physician.”

Legundo’s back arched as Owen’s thigh pressed between his legs, cold wool sliding against the heat gathering in his groin. He moaned, a sound he would have been embarrassed by in any other moment, and clutched at Owen’s shoulders, feeling the unnatural stillness of the muscle beneath his palms.

“Your hands,” Owen hissed, breaking the kiss to nip at Legundo’s jaw. “God, your hands. They burn me. In the best way.”

The doctor’s fingers found their way under Owen’s waistcoat, splaying across the icy plane of his stomach. Owen shuddered, a violent, full-body tremor that had nothing to do with cold, and his hips ground forward of their own accord, pressing his hardening length against Legundo’s thigh.

“There,” Owen gasped. “There. Do you feel that?”

Legundo did. His own cock was aching now, trapped against his trousers, and he twisted his hips to meet Owen’s, the friction sending sparks up his spine. “I… I feel it.”

“Then stop thinking.” Owen’s mouth returned to his, softer this time, almost tender, even as his hand slid down to palm Legundo’s erection through his trousers. “Just feel me.”

The doctor’s head fell back, exposing the pale column of his throat. Owen’s lips traced down it, tongue flicking over the pulse point, and Legundo felt the graze of fangs, a promise, not a threat, that made him cry out. And still Owen’s hand worked him, firm and insistent, even through the layers of fabric. His other hand found the hem of Legundo’s shirt, sliding underneath to grip the warm skin of his hip.

“More,” Legundo gasped, the word torn from somewhere primal. “Please—Owen—I need—”

“I know.” The vampire’s chuckle was dark honey in the dim room. “I know exactly what you need, doctor.”

‎Owen lay beneath him on the narrow cot, shirt rucked up to his collarbone, trousers undone. The vampire’s skin was the color of a dusty moonlight, and cold, Legundo felt the chill bleeding through his own linen shirt wherever their chests pressed together. He’d been kissing that cold mouth for what felt like hours. Learning the sharp edge of Owen’s lower lip, the surprising give of it, the way Owen’s breath hitched when Legundo’s teeth grazed—

‎“Wait,” Legundo gasped, pulling back.

‎Owen’s eyes fluttered open. His eyes were the red of crimson. “Why.”

‎“I should—the texts mention a series of preparatory steps.” Legundo’s voice had gone high and reedy, the voice he used when lecturing frightened patients. “Anatomical considerations, lubrication requirements, the gradual dilation of—”

‎“Christ’s wounds.” Owen let his head thunk back against the thin pillow. “You’re quoting a medical text.”

‎“Galen’s On the Care of the Male Form. There’s a chapter that touches on—well, not this precisely, but analogous practices among the Greeks, and I thought if I could recall the sequence—”

‎“Legundo.”

‎“—the recommended progression from single digit to—”

‎“Legundo.” Owen’s hand came up. Cold fingers pressed against the doctor’s warm mouth, silencing the flood of words. “Stop.”

‎Legundo’s green eyes were very wide. A flush crept up from his collar, staining his cheeks, the tips of his ears. He looked, Owen thought, like a man who had walked into an anatomy theater and found himself unexpectedly on the table.

‎The silence stretched. Owen let his hand fall away. “How many lovers have you had?”

‎The flush deepened. Legundo’s gaze dropped to the hollow of Owen’s throat, where an old scars cut lines toward his collarbone. “That is… I have devoted myself primarily to my studies.”

‎“How many.”

‎“None.” The word came out small. “I have read extensively, however, and I understand the importance of proper preparation to avoid tissue damage or undue discomfort for the receiving partner, which in this case I assume would be—”

‎“Me.” Owen’s smile was slow, sharp at the corners. “You assume I’d be the one receiving.”

‎Legundo’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “I thought—given your condition, the potential fragility of preserved tissue, the risk of—”

‎“I’m already dead, doctor.” Owen said it flatly, without self-pity. “You cannot hurt me.”

‎Something flickered across Legundo’s face. Not relief. Something closer to sorrow. His warm hand, God, those hands, like sunlight poured into gloves, settled on Owen’s bare chest, just over the place where a living heart would beat.

‎The silence this time was different. Owen watched the doctor’s throat work. Watched him swallow. Watched him catalogue the scars that mapped Owen’s torso. Legundo’s fingers traced the crossbow scar. Gentle. Clinical. Warm.

‎“Does it still hurt?”

‎“No.” Owen caught his wrist. The doctor’s pulse fluttered against his thumb like a trapped moth. “Nothing hurts. Nothing feels warm. Nothing feels anything except this, right now, your hand on my skin. Do you understand?”

‎Legundo’s breath caught.

‎“I don’t want preparation.” Owen’s voice dropped, roughened at the edges. “I don’t want caution. I don’t want you reciting Galen while I lie here remembering what it was like to be touched by someone who wasn’t trying to drive a stake through my ribs.” He pulled Legundo’s hand lower, pressing it flat against his stomach, just above the jut of his hip bone. “I want to feel you. All of you. Now.”

‎The doctor’s pupils had swallowed the green of his irises. “But the risks—”

‎“There are no risks for me. Only for you.” Owen’s grip tightened. “I could break you without meaning to. I’m stronger than I look.”

‎“I know.”

‎“And you’re not afraid.”

‎It wasn’t a question, but Legundo answered anyway. “Terrified.” His smile was shaky, self-deprecating, beautiful. “But not of you.”

‎Owen pulled him down. The kiss was harder this time. Less tentative. Legundo’s mouth opened under the pressure and Owen tasted the heat of him, the living heat, the salt-sweet warmth that the vampire’s own body had forgotten how to make. His tongue was hesitant at first, then bolder when Owen made a sound low in his throat.

‎Legundo’s hands were everywhere. Sliding up Owen’s ribs. Skating across the scars. Mapping the terrain of a body that had endured centuries of violence and solitude and cold, endless cold. The doctor’s palms left trails of warmth wherever they touched, and Owen arched into them like a cat seeking sunlight.

‎“More.” The word tore out of him. “Your hands. Keep them on me.”

‎Legundo obeyed. His fingers found the waistband of Owen’s loosened trousers and paused there, trembling. “May I—”

‎“Yes. God, yes.”

‎The trousers slid lower. Owen’s cock rose against his belly, pale as the rest of him, the head flushed a faint gray-pink, the only color his undead blood could manage. Legundo stared.

‎“You’ve seen one before,” Owen said, half-laughing, half-desperate. “You’re a physician.”

‎“Not like this.” Legundo’s voice was barely audible. “Not when I’m allowed to touch.”

‎His warm fingers closed around the shaft. Owen’s hips bucked. A sound escaped him, something between a gasp and a sob, and his hands fisted in the thin sheets as sensation flooded through nerve endings that had been dormant for decades. The warmth of Legundo’s palm. The slight roughness of calluses from years of grinding herbs and mixing poultices. The gentle, questioning squeeze as the doctor learned the shape of him.

‎“Is this—?”

‎“Don’t stop.”

‎Legundo didn’t stop. His hand moved slowly, experimentally, thumb sweeping over the head where a bead of fluid had gathered. Owen’s back bowed. The scars across his stomach pulled taut. His mouth fell open and a strand of silver hair clung to his cheek and he didn’t care, couldn’t care, because the warmth was spreading now, radiating outward from the circle of Legundo’s grip, and for the first time in 200 years Owen’s body remembered what it felt like to be alive.

Legundo’s hand kept moving. Slow. Deliberate. The way he might handle a fragile specimen in his surgery, except this was nothing like his surgery, nothing like the cold instruments and preserved cadavers, because Owen’s hips kept rising to meet each stroke, and the sounds spilling from the vampire’s mouth were the most alive things Legundo had ever heard.

“Your grip,” Owen gasped. “Tighter.” The doctor’s fingers adjusted. Squeezed. Owen’s head snapped back against the pillow, silver hair pooling like mercury around his skull. A guttural noise rattled up from his chest. “Yes. Like that. Like that. ”

Legundo catalogued every response. The flutter of Owen’s abdominal muscles. The way his cock twitched against the doctor’s palm when he twisted his wrist on the upstroke. The translucent fluid beading at the tip, slicking the motion. This was data. This was anatomy in practice. But the clinical part of his mind had gone very quiet, replaced by something hungrier, something that wanted to lean down and taste.

“You’re staring,” Owen breathed. His crimson eyes had gone half-lidded, heavy with pleasure. “Still cataloguing me, physician?”

“Yes.” Legundo’s thumb swept over the head. Owen’s whole body shuddered. “You respond beautifully.”

“Beautifully.” Owen’s laugh was a broken thing. “Two hundred years and no one’s ever called anything about me beautiful.”

The words landed somewhere under Legundo’s ribs. His hand stilled. “Then they were fools.”

Owen’s fingers caught his wrist. Not hard. Just holding. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop now.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Your hand was still. That’s stopping.” Owen tugged, pulling Legundo’s weight further onto his body. The doctor’s clothed erection pressed against Owen’s thigh, and the vampire’s breath caught. “There. I want to feel that too.”

Legundo’s blush had spread to his throat now. “My—?”

“Your cock. Yes.” Owen’s hands slid down the doctor’s back, rucking up his shirt, finding bare skin. The cold of those fingers made Legundo gasp and press forward instinctively, chasing the friction, grinding against Owen’s thigh. “These ridiculous trousers. Get them off.”

The doctor fumbled with the buttons. His fingers, so steady when holding a scalpel or stitching a wound, had become clumsy and uncooperative. Owen watched him struggle, that sharp smile playing at the corners of his mouth, until Legundo finally managed to shove the trousers down past his hips.

His cock sprang free, flushed dark, the head glistening. Owen’s gaze fixed on it.

“Now who’s staring,” Legundo murmured.

“Quiet.” But there was no sting in it. Owen’s voice had gone rough, reverent. His cold hand reached out, and Legundo held his breath as those pale fingers wrapped around his length.

The sensation punched the air from his lungs. Cold and heat meeting in a single point of contact. Owen’s thumb found the vein pulsing along the underside and traced it, feather-light, and Legundo’s arms nearly gave out.

“You’re so warm here.” Owen’s voice was wonder and hunger tangled together. “The warmest part of you. I can feel your heartbeat through your skin.”

“Owen—”

“No. Let me.” The vampire’s grip tightened, and now he was the one experimenting, learning the weight and shape of Legundo’s cock the way the doctor had learned his. He stroked once, twice, and Legundo’s hips bucked into the touch without permission. “There. Now we’re even.”

They moved together in the flickering firelight. Legundo’s hand on Owen, Owen’s hand on Legundo. A circuit of touch and response. The doctor leaned down and captured Owen’s mouth, and the kiss was messy now, uncoordinated, more breath than pressure as they both gasped into each other.

Owen’s free hand found the hem of Legundo’s shirt again. Pushed it higher. Fingertips skated over the doctor’s ribs, his chest, and then paused.

“What’s this?”

Legundo stilled. Owen’s thumb was tracing a ridge of tissue just below his left shoulder. A scar. Old and silvered, but still visible against the fair skin.

“Nothing. A old wound.”

“Old wound.” Owen’s eyes had sharpened. He pushed the shirt higher, exposing more of Legundo’s torso to the dim light. There were others. A puckered line along his flank. A starburst of scar tissue near his hip. Marks that mapped a history the doctor had never spoken of. “These aren’t surgical. These are—”

“Please.” Legundo’s voice cracked. “It was a long time ago.”

But Owen’s fingers were already tracing them. One by one. Cold and gentle. The crossbow scar on his own chest seemed to burn in sympathy, or perhaps it was just the proximity to Legundo’s heat.

“What war?” Owen asked quietly.

Legundo’s hand had stopped moving on Owen’s cock. He was trembling now, but not from desire. “The Continental campaigns. I served as a field surgeon. But before that I was infantry.”

“How long?”

“Years.” The doctor’s eyes were distant. “Long enough to learn that I was better at mending bodies than breaking them.”

Owen’s hand flattened over the scar on Legundo’s shoulder. The cold seeped into the old tissue, numbing a phantom ache the doctor had long since stopped noticing. “I was sick,” Owen said.

Legundo’s gaze snapped back to his face.

“Before I was turned. Two hundred years ago.” Owen’s voice had gone very quiet, the hunger in it replaced by something else. Something raw. “Leprosy. They called it now, the creeping death, the slow unmaking. It ate away at me piece by piece—fingers first, then the skin of my arms, my face. The turning healed what it could. But they’re still there... In a way some patches of my skin never quite feel the same. In the phantom ache of bones that used to dissolve like chalk in water.” He paused, his cold hand still pressed flat against Legundo’s shoulder. “Every time I feel your warmth, I remember what it was like to be rotting while still alive.”

He pulled Legundo’s hand back to his chest. Pressed it flat over the place where his heart lay silent and still. “That’s why they turned me. My lover at the time. He couldn’t watch me die.”

The fire crackled. A log shifted, sending up a shower of sparks.

“Did you want it?” Legundo’s question was barely audible. “The turning?”

Owen’s smile was bleak. “I wanted to live. That’s not the same thing.”

Silence stretched between them. The heat of the room. The cold of Owen’s skin. Legundo’s pulse hammering under Owen’s palm where it still rested on the doctor’s scarred shoulder. Two men. Two histories of pain.

Owen broke first.

“Touch me again.” It wasn’t a command now. It was a plea. “Please. I don’t want to think about the past anymore. I want to feel this. Right now. Your hands on me. The heat of you. Just—please.”

Legundo’s mouth found his. Slower this time. Softer. The doctor’s hand resumed its rhythm on Owen’s cock, and Owen’s answering stroke on Legundo’s length was more urgent now, less exploratory, chasing something.

Their foreheads pressed together. Breath mingled. Owen’s was cold, scentless. Legundo’s was warm and tasted faintly of the tea he’d been drinking hours ago. The doctor’s hips rocked into Owen’s grip, and Owen’s hips rose to meet his, and they built a rhythm together, unsteady and desperate and perfect.

“Look at me.” Owen’s voice was wrecked. “I want to see your eyes when you—when we—”

“Yes.” Legundo understood without the sentence being finished. His green eyes locked onto crimson. “I’m here. I’m with you.”

Owen’s hand tightened. His strokes grew faster, rougher, and Legundo matched him, squeezing on the upstroke, thumbing the sensitive head on the downstroke, and the vampire’s mouth fell open on a silent cry.

“Close,” Owen managed. “I’m—it’s been so long—I can’t—”

“Then don’t.” Legundo’s voice was steady even as his own body raced toward the edge. “Let go. I have you.”

The words broke something in Owen. His back arched off the cot. His hand convulsed around Legundo’s cock, and he spilled across his own stomach in pale, translucent ropes, a sound tearing from his throat that was half-sob, half-laugh, entirely shattered.

The sight of it, the sight of Owen undone, scarred chest heaving, silver hair plastered to his temples, crimson eyes wide and wet, pushed Legundo over after him. His release painted Owen’s hand and his own stomach, hot against the vampire’s cold skin, and he gasped Owen’s name like a prayer as his hips stuttered to a stop.

They lay tangled. Panting. Sticky. Legundo’s head dropped to Owen’s chest, ear pressed over the silent heart, and Owen’s cold fingers came up to thread through his hair.

“You’re trembling,” Owen murmured.

“So are you.”

A pause. Owen’s laugh was soft and surprised, as if he hadn’t realized. “So I am.”

The fire burned on. Outside, the night was deep and black. But here, in the narrow cot, something warm had taken.

[failedzerocyclepervert]

imagine fucking someone so hard their totem pops. is this anything?

this is very beautiful... i imagine also that in my beautiful mind palace the absorption/regeneration from it popping gives them a massive rush and makes every sensation 10x stronger for a moment . and of course if they have multiple totems it's even more beautiful & true like just bringing them down and suddenly back up over and over. i always thought minecraft death/respawn/effect mechanics were so interesting for sex reasons and this is kind of like joining all that together... Love

[invis-here]

hear me out: Vampire Tango with C team as his thralls that he makes do stupid/dangerous shit for his own amusement

[kllem]

little scott and pearl because

anatomy study with both of them yay

[mehphuckit-deactivated20240129]

[cubesartstash]

gem can't hold herself back anymore...

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[nsfwmcytblr-awards]

the nsfwmcytblr award nomination form is open NOW using >> THIS LINK << and will be open till the end of the month ☀️ even if you do not have time/energy/want etc. to fill the form out please at least write and submit your username anyway as we operate on an opt-in basis! (you will probably have to set some time aside to fill it out as there are 36 categories to nominate and provide reasoning for)

what is this? here's the origin post ⬇️ and check our pinned

[mcytredacted]

(This whole big ask is meant to be character Scarian, specifically their Life Series variants, also features transguy Grian w/ fem language for his parts)

Third Life, Double Life, and Secret Life Scar teaming up on doing Grian, specifically I'm thinking of Third Life holding him up, letting Grian's back lay against his chest while he reaches one hand over to fondle and thumb at one of Grian’s breasts, and they might be small because G was lucky but 3L loves them, he's squeezing and playing with Grian's nipple while whispering praise and worship in his ear because Grian's just so smart and pretty and he's such a good teammate, helps Scar so well, Scar couldn’t have asked for a better person to swear loyalty to him and he loves Grian so so much

Meanwhile Double Life is leaned over on front of him (but not between his legs, to the side thrusting into his hip and stomach, you'll see why) sucking hickeys into Grian's neck possessively while also whispering insults, asking if Grian thinks he can really find a soulmate better than him, biting him and marking him up and trying so hard to make sure everyone knows that this man is TAKEN, he’s kneading into Grian’s other breast harshly and biting all over Grian’s neck and his other arm is caging Grian in

And finally there's Secret Life, and he's sat licking and lapping at Grian's clit like a starved man, and he's so desperate, he's been so lonely, and this is first opportunity he's gotten in such a long time to have Grian like this and fuck you he is not going to waste it, he'll eat Grian out like it's his last meal and he'll do it over and over again, making Grian cum multiple times until he's overstimulated with everything that's happening and he'll keep doing it until Grian's sobbing and whining and then some more because Grian is so pretty like this and he's missed his bird so so much and he doesn't even care that there's two other versions of him here (past versions???) he's not stupid enough to pass up on this, he's biting at Grian's thighs and thrusting his tongue into Grian's pussy

Grian can't even grip SL’s hair because 3L is using one hand to hold Grian's wrists behind his back so he just has to take it, his head fuzzy and leaned back onto 3L’s pecs while three versions of the man he… has a complicated relationship with go at him

I think afterwards when all three are satisfied, SL pretends to be happy/okay but as soon as he’s out of sight, he slowly drops to the floor and starts sobbing quietly, DL wanders off to give himself a quickie first and then he’s sitting there breathing heavily so very conflicted but determined not to cry because he doesn’t want to cry over someone who doesn’t even want him and he’s just cursing himself for still feeling upset and attached when he knows he didn’t want to be soulmates either

3L is the only one that stays with Grian, helping him with aftercare and cleaning him up and overall being incredibly nice about the whole ordeal, even a bit flirty/teasing at the implication that Grian wanted three versions of him all at once

Grian is exhausted but laughing faintly at 3L’s shenanigans, he doesn’t completely understand what’s going on or how that was possible but god does it feel good to have the original Scar back, his Scar, the Scar that would live and die for him and even smile gently while Grian kills him, the Scar that Grian’s been missing for a long time now

Anyway I don’t know where else to put this and god forbid I share it on my own blog so yeah, it’s going here

-🕸️(if that ain’t taken already)

.

[yurityn]

we have to imagine sculk tentacle squirming and curling up inside mumbo's pussy. we just have to

[the-flamingo-anon]

Tf!Scott is built so tall and muscular that there ain’t no way every other student hasn’t imagined getting manhandled by him at least once. Even if they’re not into guys (or into anyone really) or not Scott’s Type.

Twinks cheer with joy that this very large and strong man can bend them over the nearest furniture and hold them down with ease, and possibly could at any moment.

[pinkparrotwrites]

Already sent an ask earlier, however, consider this:

Something something vex magic being tentacles something something Scar’s vex magic tentacles holding Grian down and fucking him something something

Much to think about

-🌌

YIPPEEEE

Maybe Scar poses it as something new to try. Grian agrees and soon finds his hands bound above his head by tentacles. His legs are spread and held down by more tentacles. More appear from nowhere, running over his body. They're suckers latch onto his nipples and more suckers leave bruises on his skin. When he moans, a tentacle fills his mouth. That's when the tables find his pussy. They're suctioning onto his clit and spreading his pussy lips wide open. He tries to squirm, wide-eyed, and begging to be stretched first. You can hardly tell with the tentacles in his mouth, though. The tentacles spread Grian open, one slithering in, quickly followed by a 2nd, then a 3rd, then a 4th. Grian cries from the burning stretch. The tentacles waist no time on fucking into him. They slide deeper and deeper with each thrust. They hit his cervix and Grian shudders. The tentacles slam against it till they're into his womb, spreading it open for use. The tentacles can be seen bulging out of his belly. Meanwhile the tentacle in his mouth is fucking him. So he's basically being spitroasted by tentacles. The one's in his pussy of course begin to pump eggs inside of him. Egg after egg, the size of golf balls fill his womb. Grian squirms again, but he finds it so hot that his womb is being used as an incubator. Scar the whole while has been jacking off to the sight and cumming on Grian. The moment the entire clutch has been laid inside Grian_his belly bulging like he was 4 months pregnant_Scar shoves his cock inside Grian to fertilize them. He drives his cock in fast and hard. He spills load after load into Grian's womb, making his belly extend even more. Then Scar plugs Grian up to keep everything inside. Grian's cum several times during thise whole ordeal.