#hermitnsfwfic

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ETHO!!!! - GriGemThoAngo NSFW Fic

AO3 LINK

For @crownpastelyellow & @chlmngo

Today will be Etho's birthday. They are sure of it. The odds of it are ever increasing so surely this must be it. Today will be Etho's birthday: so they have to go big. Bigger and bolder than they have before. And they have something particularly bold.

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

one-hundred-&-twenty wither skeletons died for this...

Docsuma NSFW c/w spanking/impact play/ inappropriate use of minecraft mechanics

AO3 LINK

“Need you to test something," Doc announces, placing a hand firmly on Xisuma's shoulder, asking in that way that lingers between a question and a command. Either way, who is Xisuma to refuse such a handsome… handsome redstoner like Doc, towering above him with his strong, fluffy, quadrupedal lower half.

Xisuma puts down the comparator from the latest machine he was working on, brushing redstone dust off his gloves with a series of claps, “Yeah okay, I got a few, what you need?”

“Take your pants off.”

Xisuma's cheeks glow lilac so bright he is convinced Doc can see it even through the helmet's visor.“I- well.”

“That wasn’t a question. Do it.”

The gruff authority of Doc's words, the demands levied against him make him shiver. The expectation of his submissiveness tingling up his spine, making his breath come in longer, drawn out, warm bursts.

Soon enough, he is leaning over a chunk of deepslate diamond ore Doc so lovingly supplied and rescinding the armoured plates that cover his thighs and behind. The steady thunk, schwing, and mechanical whirl of the suit fills the space, singing like his heart metal screaming in his ears.

If Doc wanted some relief, he could have just said, no need for the preamble.

Doc tears through his under-suit to expose the smooth void speckled skin beneath and Xisuma gasps at the strength and barbarity. His cock twitches embarrassingly feverish against the rough ore and armour he is awkwardly rutting against due to tthe rough handling of his behind.

Doc looms behind him, anticipation rumbling in his gut like a overstuffed mob farm. A quiet, husky treble bounces over his back as Doc appreciates the gentle curve of his ass framed in the thick cord straps of the harness that helps keeps his prosthetic legs attached to his body.

"Safe word is Ore Snatcher."

"Okay… mind telling me what we're gonna be testing my dude?"

"Telling, no," and Xisuma feels it rub against his ass. A visceral shiver dances on his spine as if mocking him. A paddle: erose, coarse and uneven, rubs against his ass and something bitter fizzles against his skin. Doc drags it back and forth, letting Xisuma try to decipher the strange stretch of texture from his ass alone. Just when he thinks he might know what it is, a new bump or dip graces his ass and he is completely lost. His skin warms, blood rushing as he waits for it's thunder descent, arousal swirling inside him making his breath increasingly haggard and raspy through his helmet. Yet throughout it all, that lingering gruesome tingling feeling mounts, something dangerous teetering on the edge of his skin.

And just when it sinks in, when he knows what it is, Doc pulls it back and before swinging it across his ass.

Xisuma gasps, gauntlet digging into the grooves and nooks of the ore for stability, as the thumping ache twists like a barb deep into his muscles. The weight of it is cruel, the paddle heavy and strong without even factoring in Doctor's upper body strength, and he can feel it with the intensity of such a relatively gentle slap. A quiet curse fizzles out of his helmet as the ache settles across his behind in it's absence. A tic of pain follows, catching him by surprise and melting away the question he was about to ask Doc. His heads up display confirms it.

A tick of wither damage.

A Wither Skull Paddle… loads of them, pressed against a paddle and -

Another strike across his behind. The bite of it sinks deep into him and his cock throbs in earnest at the sharp shock of pain that rushes through him. It stings in a way he can't describe: deep like it's in his bones, fizzling like a blight slowly infesting him. Hurts, really bloody hurts. He takes another tic of damage and his cock twitches a dribble of pre.

"Count." Doc commands with all the analytical bluntness of recording a scientific observation.

"Two…" Xisuma pants, still wincing, hole flexing as if trying to shift and balance the acrid twinge.

The paddle is brought down again with a harsh kiss, rubbing against him as if savouring every agonised squirm and shudder. The hit is still just as sharper, stings just as deep, yet there is a lingering eerily cool, tingly, warmth rises in him that is new, flesh heating up and fizzling in the spots where it's grooves struck deepest. Xisuma whines as the skulls press deep, kneading and revitalising the fading intensity before it has a chance to fade.

Another tic of damage makes his shoulders shiver and a groaning sound of pleasure is rung out of his ribs, sniffles echoing through his helmet.

"Three, bloody heck Doc this is mean-"

"Yeah and you love it." He barks as if it were gospel, smile in his words that Xisuma can hear, voice thick and heavy like the smoke of the gambling room after a long night, and just as suffocating.

"Four!" The pain is searing into him, brutal and scalding pain that sinks deeper into him with each hit. A bittersweet warmth brings him to tears, breaking over his lips with a wet gasp and dribbling out of his cock in thin pearlescent dewdrops.

"Five, Six, SevEN, EIGHT!" Xisuma squeals, visor cloudy and tears running as a series of quick brutal spanks almost take his legs out from underneath him. Mechanical legs kick as if they can feel the pain. Xisuma squeals and sobs as the paddle drags against his ass, the intense warmth and ache blossoming across his behind. Each percussive sting flowers into a deep heavy ache that steals his breath for a moment - the following tics of wither damage that lag behind only knot the sweet agony deeper into his flesh. And how delicious each barbed ache is, tears rolling down his face as he indulges in the pathetic powerlessness of the moment, how he is just a thing being used - not some admin that people need to solve the problems.

"Look at you, already about to fall down from some love taps - it's a much better job for you than admin," Doc chuckles as the paddle slams against his ass harder than before - or maybe with all the withering warmth making his nerves weep with increasing sensitivity Doc was swinging softer, he couldn't tell, "no worries, no responsibilities beyond counting, much more suited don't you agree?"

"NINE! YES, CHRIST!"

"Such lovely marks, if only you could see yourself."

Xisuma's nerves are screaming at him, begging for mercy, crying out at the ache settling excruciatingly deep into him until it's all he can feel. He can feel the marks, the skull prints digging deep into him, the splotches of skin not yet stricken with the deep stinging soreness. The sweltering ache of the paddle and the lingering bitter warmth of the withering ticking away has him melting: tears flowing freely and his body increasingly limp on the deepslate ore. Thin rivers of pre paint the ore and the armour plates as he jostles with each strike.

"This should be sufficient data… but since you've been so good… one more," and the last hit is one right out of the nether. Doc hits him hard: let's the skulls burrow deep into the tender scorching flesh of his ass and delight in the choir-like scream of pleasure that leaves Xisuma. The sting is beautifully merciless and intense, sweltering with malice as it morphs and broadens the deep percussive ache swelling across his ass - feeling as if it was stuck in the nether with how hot it is burning.

The skulls kiss at their handy work, dragged over by Doc and Xisuma sobs at the kneading of tender, bruised flesh hoarse and worn from screaming in agony. His cock aches with how hard he is, rubbing against the armour plates and ore block almost mindlessly, his own pleasure so muted beneath the intense roar of the paddle.

"Wonderful, perfect test subject as ever Xisuma…"

"Doc…" His voice wobbles horribly, Xisuma's entire body shakes horribly as the pain refuses to settle even in the deepening ache. The last tics of the withering effect crackles through him and a sob breaks out like a blade on glass - moments away from fracturing.

"You did wonderful, the perfect test subject, I would have no one better…" Doc's hands run down his back panelling, tracing each hard edge and port with a deliberate delicateness. An echo of it reaches his skin, haunting him through his suit, and Xisuma melts against the ore. "So amazing, such a good boy aren't you?" Doc coos sweet, that smokey depths to his voice lifting him up like hot air in a balloon, before his actual arms lift him up and cradle him against his chest - being incredibly mindful of the wither stained ass still radiating a indescribably intense ache.

"Yes you were," Doc answers for him, Xisuma still sobbing and clinging to him for his life, "come on, let's get you cleaned up and some blue ice and a potion?"

The ache would be there for a day, maybe more, if nothing else, he had an excuse to shirk his admin duties for a time.

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

an innapropriately goodtime with console privileges ScarDoc NSFW

Day #6 of #Crow's Spontaneous Spring Sojourn Scribbles-Fest [Rare Pair // Hypno & or subspace // Inappropriate use of game mechanics] [Pretend it's still yesterday, also pardon any errors in the commands]

"Xisuma old buddy old chum, could I use the console please," Scar asks, leaning on his crutch, with that whimsically, barely-restrained, mischievous sing song tone, trying to look as the picture of genuine innocence and honesty. Xisuma stops halfway to placing his latest little copper fella on the ground, slowly turning to Scar, the eyes of the golem helmet creaking to a half lidded investigative stare - as much as a copper golem can give such a look.

“Um, no.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Pretty please with magic sprinkles on top.”

“Magical no.”

"It’s for a project.”

“Scar-“

With each back and forth Scar steps a little closer, batting those darn beautiful lashes, until the sand-goggles over his hat taps against Xisuma's helmet.

“A horny project.”

“Well why didn’t you say so.”

And that was how Scar gained very short access to the console.

Scar watches Doc work sat atop one of the creeper's shulkers. Doc's working on some complex redstone thing, and he will need the shulker Scar is sat atop at some point. When he cranes his neck down, looking for the sauce of a faulty signal, Scar's heart flutters at the peekaboo of verdant furry back - awe, he still has some of the marks from the other night with the eye blossom flogger.

With a whistle, he opens the console on his little communicator - with it's retro sci-fi scrapper bulkiness - and taps at the keys musing to himself. Where would be a good place to start. Scar observes Doc, the knots of concentration, the way his brows furrow in rising frustration, and the little growl in the base of his throat - that's it, he needs to think less.

Gleefully, Scar punches in the command.

/clear Docm77

All of Doc's items, the redstone and repeaters, all his diamond ore scaffolding, all his armour, everything disappears in a sudden poof. Doc blinks, and looks down at his empty palms.

Docm77: Xisuma, did you clear inventory? Xisumavoid: No. Weird. Let me fix that for you.

As Doc's items puff back into existence, Xisuma sends a whisper to Scar, gently reminding him not to go too crazy. Scar responds that he thought it would clear Doc's head. Xisuma gently encourages him to look at the small manual he slipped into his pocket.

Scar does and he smiles instantly at the book and quill's information.

Shaking off the minor set back, Doc gets back to work while Scar watches, admiring the strong creeper-centaur body and all it's soft cuddliness as Doc lifts to his hind legs, his strong thick legs, while his ferocious and soft front paws resting on scaffolding as he sorts through the strength of repeaters and situation of comparators. And they call Scar a hot guy!

He's not ashamed to admit, studying Doc with a downright sinful glint in his eyes, that he is getting hard. By the time the console is out again, he's at a semi - thick and heavy and twitch with a needy for Doc. It's only fair Doc should match, seeing as he caused the problem.

/effect give Docm77 minecraft:arousal infinite 2 true

The pleasant droning of the thick set keys clicking - Doc's ears turn up at it and his shoulders relax enough for Scar to notice - ends with the finite sealing of the enter key and almost instantly, Scar watches the effect seizes Doc. He jerks in place, like a jolt has shot from the base of his skull all the way to the fluffy tail of his hind legs. He can't even see the particles swirling around him As the sensation settles like fresh fallen snow, Doc hind legs squeeze a little tighter, as if that could hide the heavy monster emerging between them. Scar can hear the embers of pleasure settling in his lungs, rising up like sparks with each breath, fluttering and heavy: smouldering with need. His shoulders slacken and his fur becomes puffy and impossibly fluffy.

Nice to know it's working. So nice of Xisuma to add some custom potion effects.

He watches for a while as Doc struggles to focus on his project with the warmth radiating through him, hushed, gravely sighs and sequestered moans sneaking past his lips that Scar delights in collecting like pretty stones on the shore line.

Another addition couldn't hurt…

/execute if entity Docm77 facing entity GoodTimesWithScar eyes add effect give Docm77 minecraft:trance infinite 0 true add effect give Docm77 minecraft:arousal infinite 4 true

And when Doc struggling to balance his mounting need, hole no doubt aching from the absence of what it desires, cock threatening to leak and leave a snail trail of pre in his wake, a warm blush colonising his body through the thick fluffy fur, finds he needs a component from the shulker, he has to turn to Scar.

"Alright Scar you're going to need another seat, need my compara…" Doc's voice has dropped an octave, his voice coming breathy, but as soon as he locks eyes with Scar it's like the switch to his brain goes off. He drops fast, and he drops hard. His words fail him, replaced by a low needy hum that makes Scar's cock throb, his body slackens and eases as if any and all worries melt away, and he's none too shy about hiding his cock - desperately hard between his hind legs.

Sliding off the shulker, Scar walks over to the doe-eyed, slack, vacant redstoner with a satisfied smile.

"Oh sweety, getting all subby for little old me, what will people say?" Scar teases, running a hand along the long curved of his goatish head and delighting in the way Doc leans into his hand so effortlessly and unabashedly that he feels a stone skip over his heart. He looks into his eyes - one pleasantly hazy and glassy, not a single though behind them, while his mechanical eye fizzles with a low grade static that adds a pleasantly hypnotic droning noise to the radius of Doc's head.

"Come now my dear, let's go see what other fun commands we can input into that big silly empty brain of yours."

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

do admins dream of OP-enabled sheep? - Kersuma NSFW Fic

C/W Consensual Somnophelia

For @oy84

AO3 LINK

Keralis is so gentle with him it hurts. Makes him feel like he’s made of porcelain, and the blatant recognition of supposed fragility and beauty never fail to make his mind fog like condensation on glass. Once the aching pang of sleep has mellowed beneath cottony affection stuffing him with ethereal fuzziness, Xisuma is half nuzzling into Papa K's palm, a groaning purr of a noise dancing up his throat as he looks at him through sleepy, half lidded eyes. "Ready for bed?" Xisuma nods - well more like drowsily bobs his head. "Hey, just so you know, I'm using you tonight."

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

pup.exe

Impulse centric Cyberpunk AU NSFW Fic

AO3 LINK

Impulse has always been carefully about what he puts in his cyberdeck - gotta be in GIGA-City. Snuck into his usual drivel of corporate data shards is a seemingly unseeming one. And like a good corpo drone, Impulse slowly works his way through the datashards from the company higher ups - with his virus scanner working overtime in a numbing little whirl: can never trust your corpo overlords too much. Especially when the R&D department just got fried by corporate rivals.

And amoungst the drivel stuffing the datashards with nothing, there is a few innocuous lines of code that passes unseen in the deluge of data. A primer to activate a neurovirus:

If praise = TRUE    execute pup.exe as administrator

There's not much praise in the corporate world: more likely to get a gun to the dome, or have someone strip you of your chrome before being left to roam the city unemployed.

So, it is sometime and the neurovirus sits dormant. Until Impulse meets with a edgerunner* - Joel - in the dark strobing lights of Lizzie's bar who brashly accepts a gig* from him after the promise of hefty off the books pay.

"Lovely-jubbly, such a good corporate pet aren't you," said with an air of brash disdain was all it took to activate the neurovirus.

Impulse feels the rush of data too late to put up any active firewalls.

He barks. And it cuts through all the sounds of the bar. Before he can even process it, he's falling into Joel, eyes hazy and streaming with data as a single line of code repeats ad nauseam in his brain:

YouAreAGoodPuppy - GoodPuppysFeelGood YouAreAGoodPuppy - GoodPuppysFeelGood YouAreAGoodPuppy - GoodPuppysFeelGood YouAreAGoodPuppy - GoodPuppysFeelGood YouAreAGoodPuppy - GoodPuppysFeelGood

The data is gumming up his neural pathways in seconds: all other data screeching to a halt as it passes through the molasses thick haze smothering his processors. The data crash is so swift, so efficient in how it salts the earth of his mind, that there is no defence or quarter from it's domineering conquest of his faculties.

Joel's hand on his arm, bracing him from almost falling into his lap, almost burning out the servos with how additively intense it feels.

By the time Joel takes him past the staff doors, calling out for someone whose name comes to him in fizzles of static, Impulse in nuzzling into his neck shamelessly, whining against the warmth of his body as he is effortlessly carried.

A scantily dressed joytoy, dollish body with it's plastic sheen adorned in nothing but a cropped blue jacket, blue thong, with his rings, fingerless gloves and a thick glittering belt around his waist that holsters some iron* - after rising out of the fuzzy comfort of program many days down the line, Impulse would learn his name was Jimmy - greets them in a private lounge.

"So?" Joel leans against the door, a half curious - half needlessly exasperated scowl downloaded on his round features.

Looking down at Impulse, slack on the plush comfort of their private lounge - his body lethargic with burning need to be praised and touched and touched in a praising manner - Jimmy scans, making little bird song hums as the data passes by.

"Seemingly, self imposed."

"You're havin' a laugh! Gotta be some sorta corpo mind virus?"

"You know many mind viruses that come with a instruction manual and a boundary list? Lucky, whatever triggered it happened here and not with some corpo sleaze-"

"Something tells me he wouldn't have minded that, isn't that puppy?" Joel asks, a light sneer to his voice as he strides across the room and drags a finger up Impulse's chin like a superheated blade. Impulse barks and whines on instinct, batting his data hazy eyes at Joel, pleasure brazing the vertebrate of his spine.

"Joel, play nice."

"I am."

Jimmy looks at him familar affections before he sits himself next to Impulse and gently disconnects his personal link. Not that Impulse is aware of any of this, his head is swimming, the message playing on loop, searing itself into every millimetre of hardware in his body.

The world passes in a strange ballet of dark shapes. The air is heavy, lighter than wherever he was not, but still heavy: saturated with something comforting and musky. The two shapes having a conversation have him wiggling in his seat - he thinks they are talking about him, but not to him: of course, he's just a dumb puppy after all. The logic path has a whiny moan excavated from his chest as his cock swells.

That is until the blonde doll in the scantily clothes presses his lips to Impulse's temple and whispers like a souldering iron to his neural processors, "thank you for being such a good puppy for me Impy, think you deserve a treat."

A noise, just about human, catches in Impulse's throat and comes out in a fizzle that makes the other chuckle and darken his eyes with a hunger that Impulse finds himself eagerly awaiting.

"I think our corpo puppy needs to get out of these silly people clothes, so needless on such a cute puppy isn't that right Joel?"

"Couldn't have said it better myself Jim."

With both of them on him, undressing him, hands roaming across his pudgy body with ravenous, hungry, affections, it's not long before his brain is too fried with euphoria to process any details beyond the abyss of praise he sinks into.

Everything is swimming - the sounds of the two, no wait there are more now, when were there more? The physical space of the lounge swelling with heat of more bodies, and the space of his own body becomes increasingly colonised by dotingly, curious, and unknown hands.

Each praising touch or distant echo of praise that caresses his ears buries him under another wave of endorphins so deep that is no hope of escaping. The groping, ravenous, hands satisfy and soothe aches Impulse didn't even know he has, and the sounds they squeeze out of him - all whiny like a kicked puppy before breaking into needy pants and moans - only spur further attention and more… well everything.

Everything feels heavy and soft, like his body is stuffed with lead soaked cotton. His cock twitches and throbs with each cooing affection touch of his belly and chest, his hole fluttering and clenching as his thighs are kneaded and GOOD BOY, GOOD BOY, GOOD BOY fills the lounge like a message from digital gods.

Voices, some deeper and some lighter, fill the space with clouds of static. Deeper growls make him whine and chase hands, grinding his weeping cock against whatever he can. Faces enter the fog obfuscating his vision occasionally: appraising inspections, demeaning sneers and spits, smiles like snarling wolves that make his organic organs ache in the most deathly pleasant ways.

Drool drips down, the taste of desperate want soon satiated with another cock. In and out. Drooling and slipping and burying his face in their bush like a dog buries a bone. He couldn't breathe sometimes, but that was fine, a little blankness is good for puppies. In and out. 

Someone laughs at how desperate he is, typical of a corpo mutt: probably bent over his bosses desk to get where he is now, but that sounds underwater.

Everything is so warm and tingly, fuzzy. His body moves of it's own volition, he is simply a passenger eager to please. The cocks in his hands, on his lips, are warm and he's drooling like a starving mutt.

The scent and taste of cocks stain every nanoangstrum of his mind's circuitry - fill him so completely: someone slaps his ass and laughs as it ripples while someone encourages him down until their fat cock is buried in his muzzle to it's base.

YouAreAGoodPuppy - GoodPuppysObey YouAreAGoodPuppy - GoodPuppysFeelGood YouAreAGoodPuppy - GoodPuppysLoveCock YouAreAGoodPuppy - GoodPuppysServeCock YouAreAGoodPuppy - GoodPuppysTake&Swallow YouAreAGoodPuppy - GoodPuppysFeelGoodWhenTheyObey

More heat and weight around him, tremendous and daunting and everything he's wanted. Just a dumb powerless puppy made to serve, showered in praises and affections and attention. His sensors are fried by the pleasure, flittering and glitching as Impulse gives into every… well, impulse, that dances across his neural matrix. Savours every sensation he can feel through the thick cottony bliss clogging his mind, every byte of praise sinking and gnawing into him.

The shapes around him grow increasingly obfuscated, the world a maddening rave of colours that are a swirling blinding blur. But the touch is always there; someone rubbing praising spirals into the back of his neck just below his hair line, shoving him down to gag on their cock and moaning as cum stains the back of his throat as drool and whines spill out; someone caressing his chest and pressing affections into his neck, while they stuff their cock into his gaping puffy hole with their buddy, someone's hands in his hair all ruffling and dotting, turning him to face them as thick ropes of cum paint him and add to the mess dripping down his face and tits.

He is a good puppy.

And somewhere, someone is watching. Watching with a gleefully pesky smile through the city camera's and the optics of those running their hands through Impulse's hair and waiting to feed their cocks to his drool maw. Another happy client. He had asked not to know when or what datashard would carry the framework, and Grian had been all too happy to fulfil that cutely depraved request.

Their hand closes around the fizzling purple data of the leash, pulling the collar of the neurovirus tighter - for a time - he looks like he could use sometime enjoying being a mindless puppy before returning to the wonderous life of a corpo drone.

If he could return after this.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Edgerunner - a slang term for individuals living and working on the fringes of society, engaging in illegal or semi-legal activities as mercenaries, couriers, or criminals, often pushing technological and personal limits. Gig - Job Iron - Firearm

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

goat meat atop the sacrafical shulker Doc/Grian/Joel NSFW Fic

Day #3 of #Crow's Spontaneous Spring Sojourn Scribbles-Fest [Fandom Top as Bottom // Cosmic Horror // Age Difference] [This one is a little weird... very eldritch... very unfathomable]

Maybe when Doc chose to wear pink frilly panties that would perhaps - definitely - ride up above his belt he knew what he was doing. Maybe he just liked pink and the tight hoisting embrace of undies that ride too tight. Who could say.

Either way, while bending over his shulker, a pesky finger hooks under the band swallowed up in the soft fold of his hip.

"My, my, my what have we here," Doc rolls his eyes at Grian's voice, already expecting a bothersome interruption, but something unsettles him. He can't place it at first, it's Grian's usual flatly taunting British voice, perhaps just the wind, but no, there is some unknown undercurrent, like an echo. Something that is entirely alien, something that can only perceive Doc as insignificant.

Doc rises up but a hand is placed on his lower back, human enough to he comforting, but strange enough to delight in the shiver of instinctual dread that races up his spine. “No, no, no need to get up handsome, you look so mix better like this," the thing that sounds like Grian but doesn't purrs, an excited echo in its layered voice that ripples down his spine with anticipatory fear and something dangerously close to, "so much better, what a view."

Doc goes to speak but the words wither on his tongue - a sudden rush like he is swallowed by the great horrific shadow of something looming over him catches reason in his throat - as excitement rises from the graveyard atop his tongue like the undead. A shiver freezes the end of his spine, and Doc can feel the presence of something so large and fathomless and unknowable behind him that his body instinctively wants to flee.

But he can’t. Doc shudders, the daunting size of thing that might be Grian but is definitely something else exciting something horrific in his gut. Blood pumps through fear saturated flesh, warming him with a strange arousal, starting to strain against the plush pink fabric as it's fangs drag across him appraising desire.

It's a little too easy to give into. To want to know, to decipher, every facet of the thing.

There are eyes on him. Too many eyes. More than can belong to one person. Doc squeezes the edge of the box as his trousers and pulled down and his panties are pulled to the side. The unbearable weight of all those gazes atop him makes his skin crawl and fur frizz-fluffy, his breath comes out hot and ragged as the beating of wings swallows up the sound of the world.

Something slick spills into him and he gasps. The stretch is strangely easy, like his body just gives in to the presence and it's too-many-eyes that work his body over like a hundred warm hands massaging any worries - or sense of certainty - away, as if untangling knots. But the only hands actually on him are Grian's, squeezing his hips as he rolls his own forward and summons short-breathed, gruff moans from Doc, a horrible uncanniness to them that makes Doc leak in his panties.

He's just a thing. Looked down on thing, at the mercy of the creature's whims, and it shouldn't excite him as much as it does, but with each rolling thrust, and as Grian hits deeper than he should be able to with his average sized cock, Doc can't help but give in to that primordial fear-excitement seeping into the fabric of his being.

Doc's cock rubs against the hard edge of the shulker as Grian thrusts into him: squirming, writhing deeper inside of him, opening him up beyond what he thought possible. And then Grian's hands, blackened and talon like but still bizarrely human, reach around and cover his eyes

It is all too easy to sink down, down into the abyss the shadow over him casts, the comforting nothingness found in Grian's hands over his eyes.

"No need to worry about all those silly thoughts," Doc shudders, it feels like he's looking into his skull, moving around it, the invasion of his very being is starling and horribly intimate, "just worry about taking it like the slut you are” and in the darkness of Grian’s palms Doc can see himself.

It’s horribly disorientating, makes his nauseous for a moment, then the rough drag of a cock or multiple, Doc can't tell as all then sensations blur together like oil paint on a canvas, in and out, in and out, subsumes that. He watches his the mess of writhing tentacles and strange appendages that must be Grian’s cock stretch and pull on his rim. Any attempt to lend coherence ties his mind in knots until he is too tightly bound to think. Just taking it. His entire body just a plaything and…

"Well, well, well. what's going on here."

Another voice, familiar yet not, comes from beyond the dark stretching out in front of him. The appearance of a spectator, a saviour perhaps that his dwindling sense is demanding, horrifies and excites Doc. But as it approaches, Doc the suffocating scent of cotton candy, whimsy, and horse blood: Joel.

"Just a little fun, between mates," about four different Grian's repeat over each other and Doc moans loudly as something caresses deep and tender, like a hand is squeezing his prostate like a pearl. Joel chuckles, a echo of restrained mania that makes him shudder.

"Mind if I join?"

"Knock yourself out, don't think he's gonna say no."

Doc doesn't, fearful curiosity lulling his mouth open to welcome Joel in. It feels strange Like a facsimile of a cock, just about retaining a vaguely humanoid shape, shifting and squirming on his tongue and Doc savours each strange otherworldly motion. Did something just blink inside him? Before he can question that, something slick and slimy pours into deep him and chokes out any reason, drowning him in unfathomable ecstasies from beyond this world.

Everything is okay.

Everything is fine.

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

Mind flayer? I hardly know her! GriDoc NSFW

AO3 LINK

Little birthday pressie for @babygirltango

c/w : monsterfucking, size difference, hypno, weird tongue stuff

Today, as he pushes into the depths alone - Xisuma, Keralis, and Ren all still tied up in the shifting local powers and the intrigue of the small town they found themselves in - Doc's paws make the loose grit of the murky slate rock bounce in his wake. In many respects, the ambiance of his navigation is not too dissimilar from a bulette or another four legged denizen, perhaps that is why he has made it so far into the depths today with no resistance. Even then, it is odd.

[four-crows-in-a-trenchcoat]

an impulsive sound Grimpulse NSFW

AO3 LINK

C/W: Impact play // orgasm denial // sounding

"You disappoint me Impy…" The warm, rough bundled lengths of the flogger's tails gently caress down the back of his neck, beads of sweat already drizzling downwards, all the way to the collar snugly fastened around him. Impulse's mouth hangs open as each drag of the folded leather steals his breath. His chest heaves forwards as his diaphragm tightens and for a moment he forgets to breathe as it lags on the back of his tongue. The flogger brushes up and down his neck and reminds Impulse of it's presence, Grian no doubt delighting in the breathless shiver he draws out of him.

WORD COUNT: 4k