#f/o bracket | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bluemerakis · 4 months ago

Text

─────── ❝ drowning ❞ ⋆ 𖦹 ˚.⋆

─────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ──

pairing ୨୧ munch .ᐟ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, oral f receiving, face-riding, switch!dean kinda, pet names. lmk if i forgot any :))

synopsis ─ riding dean’s face and pointy lil nose bc i’m just a girl 🤷‍♀️

word count ~ 1.1k

──────────────────────

“Jesus!” You gasp into the air—all thick and slick with the sounds of reciprocated pleasure.

Dean’s nose rams straight into the heat of your core, calloused palms roughhousing the meat of your thighs as his fingers flex into the tender flesh—kneading, grasping, pulling you further into the ravenous fondling of his tongue.

“Hey—don’t go bringin’ the big, ol’ man in the sky into this,” he rasps against you—the breath hot and needy as it sprawls over your exploited sex. “S’all me, baby—every damn minute o’ it. And I’ll be damned if I let that cloud-wearing jackass take the credit for the way you sound—Jesus,” he husks curtly—impatiently—and then he’s buried himself back into everything that you are.

Like you’re everything he needs.

Every jut of his stubbled jaw against you feels like a helpless skim along thawed ice—unforgiving and wet with the history of the countless orgasms that have already rattled your body. Theatrical finishes he seems hell-bent on eliciting—like you’re the lines he can’t help but obsessively recite.

To what end? Yours. All yours.

You’re spread over his face in a helpless straddle, back arched in a tangent of desperation as your hands fly back to cup and paw at the support of his abdomen. Your head buckles back with a shattered moan as the brawny pad of his tongue flattens against your sensitive mound, and for the hundredth time this evening, he sows a long and firm line through the slicked folds.

He terminates the plough at the swell of your clit, but his nose doesn’t stop shy of a harsh prod against the sensitive anatomy. Your hips stutter at the assault, eager to flee the overwhelming pleasure that wreaks havoc on your body—but Dean’s keen on the idea of overstaying your welcome, so the arms curled around your thighs yank you back down. And you’re spent—weak—so you have no choice but to melt back into him.

“And where d’ya think you’re goin’?” He drawls, tossing out a lazy chuckle of triumph as his arms flex to trap your thighs against him.

And then he welcomes you back like an old friend—with open lips that wrap around your core in a fervid slurp. His jaw kneads into you with utmost appreciation as he scrambles to lap up the mingle of arousal and saliva, his throat rumbling with a groan of satisfaction. Fulfilment.

“Fuck, Dean!” Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt that—much to your frustration—shield his skin from the revenge of your pawing nails. But you try, anyway—fingers flexing against his flesh like talons that seem driven to latch onto him and never let go. Your jaw slacks with a huff, and then a confession. “Enough teasing. . . I want to—need to come!”

As if Dean suddenly remembers that air is just as vital to his existence as the taste of you is, his lips free you with a harsh inhale before the deep rumble of his voice rifts the hot air. “Then come f’me, baby,” he pants against you, gently palming your thighs as an act of encouragement. “Hell, y’know I’ll be waitin’.”

Your hot frustration allows you to abide—but on your own terms.

With a final squeeze of his shirt-clad abdomen, you push yourself up from your wilted position of support, and Dean’s grip on your thighs tighten to aid your ascent.

“What’re you up to, now?” He chuckles lowly, green eyes glistening cartoonishly as he gazes up at you in curious awe, his thumbs tracing circles of adoration along your adrenaline-puckered skin.

You hover yourself over him, hands coming forward to bracket his jaw in a gentle cradle. He instantly leans into the touch, eyes briefly fluttering closed as he bathes in the sensation of you, and then he’s back to memorising your every feature with a stare that isolates you from the rest of the world.

Like you’re his world.

“Just go with it,” you murmur through a toothy grin packed with schemes.

Dean’s eyes narrow in consideration as he hums a soft, “Mhm.” And then his throat bops thickly, like he’s a tad bit unsure. But he trusts you, so he listens, anyways.

Your grin broadens at his compliance, one hand falling away from his jaw while the other glides over his cheek, temple, and finally into the field of his unruly hair. There, your fingers tangle with as many strands you can gather—and Dean’s gaze remains steadfast on you through it all.

“You want another taste?” You tease softly, hips lifting from the support of his chest in a purposeful display.

Deans eyes stagger down to the pot of gold looming over him, lip falling loose under the addictive pull of you. His chest heaves a helpless huff. “Screw a freakin’ taste—I want it all,” he confesses in a solemn murmur, eyes flickering back up to you with the ghost of a plea, while his hands tighten around your thighs in want. Need.

And you obey.

Your hand in his hair tightens, and Dean lets slip a strained grunt—a noise you bottle and treasure as the memoir of his undoing. Your eyes bore into his—eager and hungry—as you slowly sink yourself down onto him, and the contact is only broken when your head falters back at the feeling of his mouth enveloping you.

“Shit,” you breathe, eyes screwing shut as your hips begin to sway back and forth along the expanse of his face. And below you, Dean stills into an object of use, the grip on your thighs lax enough to accommodate every driven sweep and pull of your mound against him.

But his mouth—it doesn’t yield any control. His jaw nuzzles into your swaying form, tongue flicking along your drenched anatomy in a flurry that has no purpose other than to ruin you. And then he grows decidedly meaner by firming up his grip on you once more, crushing you against him until he’s swallowing groans and stuttering for air.

Like he’s drowning.

You lift your hips in an attempt to give him some air, but Dean’s grip on you only tightens to the point of no return—forbids. He pulls you back against him, jaw hungrily swivelling into your folds as his grip on your thighs will you to continue riding him in waves.

So you do.

Your hips sway and drag along his face, catching the hump of his nose in a vicious collision that tugs a moan from your lips. Every. single. time. And you don’t stop—neither does he. Even when his lungs beg it of him. Even as you hear him gasp for air below you. And you realise, then—

That Dean is drowning. But he doesn’t want—or need any rescuing.

He’s right where he wants to be.

──────────────────────

a/n ─ pls i missed my dean bby <3 if this is bad then don’t tell me bc i wrote this quick stix on and off between study breaks🤞special shoutout to my bby @deansbeer, this one goes out to u and i 😭. and what if this page becomes a munch hub? can you tell i have an M.O???? word. also this is not the munch drabble part i have been talking about for dean—this is just something born entirely from a moment of hormones LMAO.

thank you for reading! all likes & comments are deeply appreciated, but reblogs go a much longer way—so please support your writers with it! <3

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @figthoughts @ultravi0lence14 @angelicjackles @starzify @rositaslabyrinth @walkslikesummeractslikerain @daylighted @honeyryewhiskey @deansbbyx @jasvtsc @maddie0101 @lieutenantchaos @spn-reader @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @youdontknowe @misatxox @lixiesbrowniess @ilovedeanwinchester4 @spoontriestowriteandfails @beelzebzb @piptoost @lunaleah @kr804573 @idontwannabehere7 @lanasgirlfr @cas-only-angel @nperoconelcositoarriba @alidiggory92 @idk-123-0 @mahi-wayy @tuxedoe @cassiecourtemanche @rositaslabyrinth @abox-of-rocks @viluren @soldiersgirl @h8aaz @cowboysandcigarettes @bejeweledinterludes

want to become part of the taglist for any future dean winchester works?

other works ─ supernatural masterlist

828 notes · View notes

sylestine-redacted · 1 month ago

Text

Primarchs in the Bath pt. 2

f!reader x dorn x vulkan x curze (f! anatomy but gn pronouns!)

Part 1 here

A/N: a primarch threesome is..... so fucking fun to think about (o≧▽゜)o

Cw: NSFW, fingering, multiple orgasms

The bathwater stills. Their hands don’t.

Dorn moves first—always the tactician. His hand slides from your shoulder, heavy and deliberate, tracing down your arm to your side. When his fingers dip beneath the surface, the contrast of cool air and hot water vanishes, replaced by the rough pads of his calloused fingertips brushing against your waist.

“Soft here,” he murmurs, voice low, almost detached—but the tension in his touch betrays him. “You carry flesh like armor... not to deflect blades, but to shield something precious.”

His thumb brushes just beneath the curve of your belly, under the water, and his hand doesn’t stop. It spans across your midsection easily—he could encircle your whole waist with one arm—but he takes his time. Fingertips sink into the plush give of your side, like he’s testing how deep he could go without losing you entirely.

“You are not fragile,” Dorn continues, breath hot against your ear. “You endure.”

Behind you, you feel his other hand brace on the stone beside your thigh—keeping himself from pressing too close too fast. His restraint is palpable. Exquisite.

Then Curze leans in from your right, dragging knuckles up the inside of your calf, following the length of your leg with feather-light contact that leaves your skin humming.

“You move like prey,” he whispers, voice sweet and sharp. “But you offer yourself. That’s what ruins me.”

His hand snakes higher—under the water, behind your knee, tracing the tender skin there with a devotion that borders on madness. He presses his mouth just above your collarbone, lips cold compared to the heat of the bath, and you feel his tongue flick out—tasting you.

“You let us near,” he breathes, mouth parting against your throat. “Even when you know what we are.”

His teeth don’t bite, but you feel the promise of it in how long he lingers there.

And then Vulkan—gods, Vulkan.

He kneels in front of you now, and the water rises around his torso as he lowers himself. His chest alone takes up the space between your knees. He places his palms on your thighs—huge, warm hands—and parts them gently, not for dominance, but for access. Permission. Worship.

His gaze meets yours. His pupils are blown wide with want.

“Let me have your stomach,” he growls softly, voice like embers shifting. “Let me feel how you soften when you breathe.”

And when he does, his lips press to the curve of your belly like he’s bowing at an altar. He kisses your flesh—open-mouthed, wet, reverent. Every press of his lips is a benediction.

“Do you know what it’s like to crave warmth like this?” he whispers between kisses. “To want to lose myself in the press of you... not just inside you, but around you?”

He nuzzles against you, rough edges of honor scars scratching slightly as he pushes his face into your lower belly, breathing you in like it could sustain him. One hand glides up your inner thigh, fingertips brushing the bare edge of your core, but he doesn’t push. Not yet.

Curze’s mouth drags up to your jaw. Dorn’s hand slides around your chest now, palm flat against your ribs—he can feel your heartbeat. And Vulkan groans against your navel as if the taste of you is making him drunk.

Then Dorn’s voice again, quiet and guttural:

“Tell us where you ache.”

...

They surround you.

You don’t realize how deep in you are—how small—until you try to shift and realize there’s nowhere left to go.

Dorn is behind you, seated on the submerged ledge like a living wall. His thighs bracket your hips, thick and unyielding, his presence as fixed as stone. You’re resting back against his chest now, which rises and falls like the slow swell of a battleship at harbor. One of his arms curls loosely around your middle—possessive without squeezing, like he’s claiming you through stillness alone.

Vulkan is in front, kneeling in the pool between your parted legs, his massive form crouched low enough that his broad shoulders still rise above the water. The steam clings to him like a second skin, highlighting the glow beneath his obsidian flesh. His eyes—bright and bottomless—are fixed not on your face, but your stomach, your thighs, your heat.

And then there’s Curze, to your left. Half-draped against the edge of the pool, half coiled around you like smoke. He’s close enough that his knee brushes your calf under the water, close enough that every time you exhale, your skin prickles from the cold breath he lets ghost across your ear.

“I like how you fold,” Curze whispers, fingers tracing down your side, skimming just beneath the water. “Where flesh creases, where heat gathers... gods, it’s intoxicating.”

His voice makes the hairs on your neck rise.

“You speak as if they’re prey,” Dorn murmurs over your shoulder, his lips brushing your temple. “They’re more than that. They’re... center.”

Vulkan’s still pressing his face—his entire face—against your belly, cheek grazing the soft swell there.

“I could press you down and make a perfect print of your warmth in this stone,” he growls into your skin. “You are shaped so beautifully. You were never meant to be small—we were meant to be bigger, just to hold you properly.”

His mouth finds the curve of your lower belly again, kissing with mouth parted, tongue darting out to taste where skin dips and rises. You twitch. He doesn’t stop.

Behind you, Dorn's other hand joins the first—his thick fingers trailing up from your waist to your chest, skimming the underside of one breast with the same kind of reverent restraint that feels more intense than a grab. He could crush—but he holds you like a reliquary.

“You tremble,” he rumbles, voice nearly a growl. “I can feel it in your lungs.”

“It’s not fear,” Curze purrs. His lips press to your ear. “It’s want. They’re drowning in it.”

And he’s not wrong.

The water sloshes as Vulkan shifts again, rising just enough to bring his face level with your chest. His hands don’t leave your thighs. You’re held open like a gift, and he’s unwrapping you inch by slow inch, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a heat that could melt armor.

“I want to kiss every part of you until you forget how to stand,” he says, breath thick. “But not yet.”

His lips ghost over your sternum. A warm tongue flicks higher. He’s tasting you like a priest drinks sacred wine.

Behind you, Dorn tightens his grip—just slightly—as if to remind you who holds your spine. One of his massive thumbs circles your nipple, slow and deliberate, and the sound you make punches right through the steam.

And then—Curze’s hand.

It slips beneath the water between your thighs, not quite touching your core, just hovering there. Teasing. Inviting. Daring.

“Should we break them?” he whispers.

Vulkan looks up sharply, lips glistening.

“No,” he says. “Not yet.”

Dorn’s voice, close at your ear: “First, we make them beg for it.”

....

You suck in a breath—but you don’t speak.

Not yet.

Maybe it's stubbornness. Maybe it's pride. Maybe it's just the sheer pleasure of withholding when you’re this full of heat, hands, and tension. Your thighs twitch against the hold of Vulkan’s hands, but you keep them tight, for just a heartbeat longer. You clench your jaw. Bite down on the moan aching in your chest. Stay silent.

A flicker of something wicked curls through you.

They want begging? Then let them earn it.

You tilt your chin, turn your head slightly into Dorn’s jaw behind you, and say—voice low, half-breath, half-dare:

“Maybe I don’t want to beg.”

The silence that follows is feral.

Vulkan’s eyes snap up to yours. The corners of his mouth twitch—not in amusement. In hunger.

Curze’s laugh is quiet and sharp, all teeth behind your ear. “Oh. That’s precious.”

Dorn doesn’t laugh. He simply tightens his hold, just enough for you to feel the power restrained behind it. His voice comes next, deeper, darker, a thread of command wrapped in silk:

“Then we’ll draw it out of you.”

Vulkan leans forward, the weight of him between your legs sinking you deeper into Dorn’s chest. His voice is a low quake beneath your ribs:

“Don’t worry, little thing. We’ll give you so many chances to change your mind.”

And then—

The water trembles. Not from movement—

From intention.

Your legs are wide now, cradled in Vulkan’s palms, his thumbs rubbing gentle arcs into your inner thighs. You can feel how close his hands are to your core, how the bathwater ripples with each twitch of muscle and heat of breath. The size of him—those fingers alone could fill you, and yet he holds them just shy of your most desperate place. Waiting. Testing your endurance like a forge tests steel.

Behind you, Dorn leans in fully now, his chest pressed to your back—immovable. His arms have folded around your middle, one hand sliding up beneath your breast, the other creeping lower, down your belly, beneath the warm surface.

“You’re breathing so fast,” he growls, lips brushing your ear. “You can’t lie to us. Your body begs even when your mouth stays quiet.”

Then Curze moves.

The Night Haunter’s hand slips between your thighs with the care of a knife entering silk. His palm brushes your mound under the water, a tease at first—then a full, deliberate caress of your folds. Slow. Testing. He shudders at the feel of you.

“So soft,” he hisses. “So wet. Are you trembling for us... or are you afraid you’ll cum just from our hands?”

His fingers don’t plunge in.

Not yet.

They stroke, ghosting up and down, parting your lips beneath the water. His touch is precise—he finds your clit and circles it slowly, dragging sensation from you like confession. Every breath you take is now shared with Dorn, who pants against your neck, pressing his thick thumb against your nipple, pinching lightly, just once. You gasp—and Curze moans.

“Yes... make that sound again,” he whispers. “Make it for me.”

Vulkan shifts again—up. The water sloshes down his chest as he rises, one massive hand trailing from your thigh to your waist, gripping with care and want. Then his mouth finds your breast—the one Dorn’s hand hasn’t claimed—and wraps around it, sucking slowly, tongue flicking over your peak with maddening patience.

Your head falls back.

You’re held open—one primarch suckling at your breast, one whispering filth into your ear, and another, dark-eyed, coaxing your clit like he’s drawing the lines of an invocation.

“You can cum for us now,” Dorn says, voice low, commanding. “But only the first one.”

“The first of many,” Vulkan murmurs, teeth grazing your nipple.

Curze’s fingers press a little deeper now, not inside, just more. His middle finger sinks between your folds, slides lower, slick from your heat and the water. Then—gods—he pushes in.

One finger. Long. Cold. Precise.

Then a second, stretching you with reverent slowness.

“You open like you’ve been waiting for us,” Curze groans. “Like you were made to hold monsters.”

And when he begins to pump—slowly, with the curl of a man who knows exactly how to tear someone apart from the inside—your body arches.

Water sloshes. Dorn holds you steady. Vulkan kisses harder, groaning against your skin.

“Cum,” Dorn growls.

“Cum now,” Curze demands.

“Cum for us,” Vulkan says—and bites.

Your spine bows like a bowstring snapping under tension. It starts there—at the bite, the sting of teeth against wet, flushed skin, the heat of lips that won't let go. Then the tremor spreads downward, slams into the pit of your stomach, and ignites.

You don’t moan—you cry out. A sound torn from your throat like something primal and involuntary, echoing off the dark stone walls.

Dorn’s arm clamps tighter across your chest, holding you in place as your body thrashes under the weight of climax. You’d float away otherwise—lifted by the force of it. But now you’re anchored, pinned between a fortress and a flame.

“Yes,” he growls, his voice right at your temple. “Take it. Let it break you.”

Vulkan’s hands grip your thighs harder, pulling them apart just enough to stop your trembling from closing them off. He’s beneath the waterline now, face close to your core—not licking yet, just watching your cunt spasm around Curze’s fingers like it’s trying to hold something inside.

“Fucking look at them,” Curze hisses, his mouth at your neck, breathing you in. “Look how they clench. Greedy, sweet little hole. Gods, it’s like they’re starving down there.”

You feel his fingers flex, two of them sheathed deep inside, and they curl upward just as your orgasm crests.

White-hot.

You slam into it.

“Fuck!” you cry out, your body arching despite the weight holding you down.

Your thighs seize; your belly clenches so hard it feels like you might snap. Your cunt pulses—tight, wet, violent around his fingers. It pulls a groan from Curze that’s nearly a snarl.

“I can feel it,” he growls. “Fuck, they’re milking my hand like it’s a cock. You like being this full, don’t you?”

Dorn moves his hand from your chest and slips it to your throat—not choking, not squeezing. Just holding, his thumb stroking along your jaw while he watches your face twist in overwhelmed pleasure.

“You think we’ll stop at one?” he whispers. “You’re ours now. We’ll keep you cumming until you forget your own name.”

Vulkan surfaces—just his head breaching the water between your thighs, rising like something ancient surfacing for breath. He exhales hard—not at your core, but against your belly, where the waterline clings just beneath your ribs.

The heat of it shudders across your skin, and the ripples his breath sends through the water lap at your thighs—your folds—everywhere you’re still open for him.

He doesn’t speak at first. He just watches your cunt spasm, still pulsing around Curze’s fingers like it’s calling for something more.

Then his voice—rough, reverent—rises just enough to reach your ears.

“They’re still cumming,” he murmurs. “Let them.”

Dorn’s hand—huge, dry where it cups your throat—holds you still. His thumb still stroking under your jaw, coaxing you through the shudders. You don’t even realize you’re panting until you feel the air against your lips.

“You survived the first,” he says, tone like stone grating. “Good.”

Then Curze—the fucker—laughs against your throat.

“That was just your body surrendering,” he whispers. “Next, it’s your mind.”

You’re still clenching around his fingers. Still twitching.

But there’s no escape. Not from the heat. Not from their gaze. Not from your own desperate, soaking need.

And the second wave is already building.

Dorn shifts behind you—not with urgency, but with purpose. His chest, broad and burning, presses tighter to your back, and you feel it: the precise tension in his muscles, the way his breath thickens in your ear. He’s not guessing. He knows exactly what your body is doing.

Your cunt flutters helplessly around Curze’s fingers, and Dorn’s right arm—still banded around your waist—slides lower.

His hand moves like stone grinding into place. Slowly.

You feel his palm spread over your lower belly first—flat, anchoring—then drift down.

And when his thumb brushes your clit, everything inside you seizes.

It’s not a light touch. He doesn’t need to be. That thumb is huge, calloused, and devastatingly controlled. He presses it in a slow, precise arc against you, not rushing—measuring how you respond. Like he's reading a map written in your nerves.

Behind your ear, his voice rumbles:

“There.”

Curze hisses, delighted. “So eager. They were waiting for you.”

He adjusts the angle of his thrust, his fingers still driving inside you—but now Dorn’s thumb matches it, syncs with the rhythm. One inside. One outside. Two demigods, in perfect harmony, drawing your climax closer like a celestial body being pulled into orbit.

“Push against me,” Dorn says. “I want to feel you grind on my hand.”

And you do.

Your hips tilt, tilt again, helplessly searching for friction, for pressure, for more. Dorn’s hand doesn't falter—it just adjusts, following you, pressing that thick thumb into your clit in maddeningly consistent circles, even as your thighs begin to shake.

Curze moans. “Fucking look at them. They can’t even hold still.”

He curls his fingers deep inside you and fucks into your core like he’s testing the tension of your walls. Each stroke is careful, measured—but forceful enough to make your breath catch.

And still, Dorn’s thumb circles. Presses. Circles again.

Vulkan murmurs from below, his hands now stroking along your thighs as you writhe. “That’s it. You’re not going to last.”

Dorn shifts again, his grip like a vice of flesh and stone holding you steady as you lose your rhythm, as the second climax builds hard and fast in your belly.

“You don’t need to hold back,” he says, voice low, hot, commanding.

“We won’t.”

Curze laughs, sharp and dark.

“Look at them clench,” he growls. “You like being handled, don’t you? Like a thing kept warm between hands too big to let go.”

His fingers curl inside again—deeper this time—and this time he presses. Dorn’s thumb moves faster on your clit, steady pressure that makes your thighs tremble against the water.

And Vulkan?

He lowers himself—not to your cunt, not to enter—but to your chest. His mouth finds the upper swell of your breast again, just above the waterline. He bites—not hard—just enough to claim the skin, leave heat in his wake.

“You’re going to give it to us,” he murmurs against your skin, mouth wet. “All of it. Let it go.”

Your legs twitch. Your core spasms.

You are right there.

Then Dorn leans in and growls.

“Cum.”

And everything hits at once.

Curze thrusts—his fingers slick, curled, unrelenting. Dorn's hand presses harder, rubbing your clit like it’s a fucking trigger. Vulkan moans against your breast like he’s the one exploding.

And you detonate.

Your scream rips into the cavern, wild and echoing, water sloshing as your hips jerk violently. Your cunt clamps down on Curze’s fingers like it’s trying to drag him deeper. You’re soaking, dripping, the water sluicing between your thighs not enough to cool the burn of pleasure bursting from inside you.

You’re held down, stretched out, devoured.

Your vision blurs. Your chest heaves. Dorn’s hand never leaves your throat.

“Again,” he murmurs. “Still.”

Vulkan kisses your breast again, softer this time. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

And Curze, ever the knife—

“Third time’s the charm.”

The words slither into your ear just as his fingers slide back in. You didn’t even realize he'd taken them out to taste.

You gasp—your whole body jerking in Dorn’s lap, thighs flexing as Curze thrusts deep and slow, dragging his fingers through the slick, swollen heat of your cunt. You’re soaked—your own arousal mixing with the bathwater, clinging to your inner thighs. And still your body opens for him. Still you want more.

Behind you, Dorn adjusts his grip.

He pulls you higher in the water—higher onto him—and your breath stops.

You’re straddling his thigh now, one of his legs planted firmly beneath the water, the other bent behind you for leverage. His cock—huge, hard, leaking—is pressed to the small of your back like a column, heavy enough that you feel every pulse of blood through it.

His hands hold your body open: one under your ribs, lifting; the other between your thighs, spreading them wider over his own.

You're not sitting on him. You're laid out on him. Draped across his massive frame like a warm, gasping offering.

He could carry you like this through war.

And in front of you—between your thighs—Vulkan kneels, his arms under your legs now, lifting them with ease to keep you open for what’s coming. His face is inches from your soaked, clenching core.

His voice is reverent.

“Gods,” he murmurs. “You’re quivering. Look at that... you’re ready to give it all up.”

And Curze—never gentle, but so fucking precise—slides his fingers in deeper. He curls them just right, pressing into the same spot that broke you before.

Dorn’s thumb returns to your clit. No hesitation this time. He presses, grinds, a slow deliberate circle that makes your back bow.

“Don’t fight it,” he growls. “You’ve held out long enough.”

“You’re going to sob for us,” Curze purrs. “I can feel it in your cunt—it’s clenching like it knows.”

You’re open.

Utterly, completely, obscenely open—draped across Dorn’s lap, thighs parted and held wide by Vulkan’s arms, cunt soaked and twitching around Curze’s fingers. Your skin is slick with water and sweat and spit, trembling in every limb, lips parted in a breath you can’t catch.

And then Vulkan moves.

He shifts lower in the pool, adjusting his position with fluid ease, until his face hovers just above your center—just above Dorn’s thick thumb, which is still pressing slow, heavy arcs over your clit like he’s grinding tension from stone.

“Hold them steady,” Vulkan murmurs.

Dorn doesn’t respond with words—just tightens his arm beneath your ribs, his bicep flexing under your breasts to pin you in place. His thumb never lifts. It stays rooted in its motion, circling your clit in those deep, deliberate rotations that make your hips try to jerk away and fail.

“Look at them,” Curze hisses from your side, still inside you, his fingers curling slow and deep like he’s writing his name along your walls. “They’re clenching.”

Vulkan leans in.

And his tongue—hot, wide, deliberate—flicks out, brushing the sensitive flesh right beside Dorn’s thumb. Not hard. Just a pass. A taste.

You wail.

Not from pain. Not even from orgasm—yet.

From overwhelm.

Because the tongue returns—again, then again, each pass growing slower, more focused, dragging in wide, patient swipes just under the pressure of Dorn’s thumb. He doesn’t move to replace Dorn, doesn’t try to take control—he works alongside him, each swirl of wet heat brushing right where skin meets nerve.

Your clit is trapped between two kinds of touch—one firm and constant, the other soft and seeking.

“Fuck,” Dorn grunts behind you, voice low, rumbling in your skull. “They’re pulsing again.”

You can’t respond. You’re gasping. Twitching. Your legs flex uselessly in Vulkan’s grip, trying to pull away and failing because his arms are too strong. He’s got you open, hips tilted, his mouth right at the source of your need—and he is taking his time.

He licks under Dorn’s thumb now. Slow, long, flat-tongued strokes that drag up your folds and flick your clit from below while Dorn presses it from above. They sandwich you there, friction from two directions, heat and pressure and liquid pleasure that makes your core lock around Curze’s fingers all over again.

You let out a broken sound—half-moan, half-plea.

Curze laughs, but it’s not cruel. It’s hungry.

“Oh, they like that,” he whispers. “You feel how they grab me, Vulkan? How tight they get when you tongue-fuck their clit like that?”

Vulkan groans into your cunt, the vibration sliding through you like a shock. His tongue flattens, slides beneath Dorn’s thumb, lifts it slightly—and licks the part hidden under it.

You scream.

Your body spasms again, not even fully climaxing, just convulsing from the assault of sensation. Dorn holds you tighter, grunting with effort as you thrash in his lap, as if your body might split itself trying to keep them in.

“They’re close again,” Dorn says, voice quieter now, more reverent.

And Vulkan—never stopping—moans softly against you and says:

“I want to taste their orgasm this time.”

The pressure. The heat. The sheer mass of bodies holding you open, pinned, taken—

And then—

They start together.

Vulkan’s tongue presses up at the same time Dorn’s thumb presses down.

Direct.

Unrelenting.

Complete contact.

Your breath tears from your chest like smoke from a cracked furnace. Your whole body locks, spine arching, cunt fluttering violently around Curze’s fingers as he grins up at you from his place at your shoulder.

“Oh, yes,” Curze purrs. “That’s how you beg.”

He fucks you harder now, three fingers driving deep with a twist at the end of every stroke—seeking, dragging, owning the spot that already had you shaking minutes ago.

Vulkan moans into your clit, tongue swirling beneath Dorn’s thumb. The sounds are obscene, wet and slurping, each flick of his tongue matched with pressure from above.

Dorn grinds slowly—slowly—like he’s wringing orgasm out of you by force.

“You feel that?” he growls in your ear. “You’re trapped. Just our tongues. Just our hands. And you’re about to fall apart.”

Your legs are shaking uncontrollably. Your stomach tightens. Your walls begin to clamp around Curze’s fingers, involuntary, soaked and desperate.

“You’re close again,” Curze murmurs, his voice like silk over razors. “Gods, you’re about to come like you’ll never stop.”

And then Vulkan sucks.

Mouth full, tongue grinding up as Dorn pushes down—together—locking your clit between them like it’s being crushed under reverent worship. Dorn's thumb presses harder. Vulkan’s tongue slides faster. Curze’s fingers curl and hold.

And you detonate.

Your scream splits the air.

It’s not a climax. It’s a possession.

Your cunt pulses so hard it nearly forces Curze out—but he stays in, moaning like your orgasm is his. Your thighs kick, twitch, and still Vulkan doesn’t stop—his tongue never falters, suckling, grinding, dragging you through every wave, every impossible peak until you’re sobbing—sobbing—from how much your body is giving them.

Dorn’s breath is fire at your ear. “Let it all go.”

Curze’s mouth is at your throat now, whispering praise like a curse. “That’s it. Look at you. So fucking pretty when you break.”

And Vulkan finally lifts his mouth, your clit aching and glistening with spit and arousal, and whispers—

“That... is how you finish a goddamn prayer.”

And Curze, soft for once, fingers finally sliding free with a wet, reverent sound—

“You’re not done.”

But for a moment... everything stills.

You’re held. Pressed against heat and muscle and breath, trembling in three pairs of arms that refuse to let you fall.

...

The water still ripples from how hard you came.

You’re not even fully aware of your own body—just a mass of shaking limbs, clenching walls, and heat-soaked skin. Your thighs twitch in aftershocks, your breath comes in short, punched gasps, and your head lolls back against Dorn’s chest like the only thing holding you upright is the architecture of him.

And for a long, hushed moment—they do nothing.

They just hold you.

Dorn’s hand slips from between your thighs, the pad of his thumb lifting gently from your overstimulated clit. He doesn’t let go completely—no, he slides that heavy hand up to your stomach, then your chest, spreading his palm across your sternum like he’s feeling for your heartbeat.

“Still alive,” he rumbles against your ear. “Barely.”

His voice is quiet. Unbelievably soft, for a man whose body feels like it was chiseled out of fortress stone. You feel the heat of his lips brush your temple, the air of his breath against your hairline. His other arm tightens around you—not possessive, not greedy. Just… present.

“I can feel your heart from here,” he whispers. “You’re shaking like you’re made of light.”

Curze is to your side, half in the water, half lounging on the stone like a panther who only pretends to sleep. He’s watching your face—closely, almost obsessively. One hand strokes along your forearm, the barest contact.

“You broke so beautifully,” he says, voice soft and raspy. “The sounds you made… gods, I want to hear them again. I want to press my cock into that soaked cunt and see if you sob.”

But he doesn’t touch you there. He doesn’t move closer. He just watches. Worships. Waits.

“You don’t need to rush,” he murmurs, almost gently. “We have all night. All week, if you want it.”

You feel his lips brush your neck—once, twice—no bite this time. Just contact. Just claiming.

Then Vulkan—still crouched before you—lifts his face from between your thighs, chin damp, lips flushed, soaked in the aftermath of your orgasm.

He looks blessed.

“You are…” he breathes, eyes locked on yours, “…the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen unravel.”

His hands stroke your thighs, warm palms gliding upward to soothe where they’d been holding you wide open. His touch is worship, not conquest. His eyes flick to your trembling sex—open, twitching, leaking down onto the water’s surface.

“I could kiss you again,” he whispers. “I could stay here, between your legs, until the next one.”

Then, softly:

“But you deserve to be held.”

And he does—Vulkan stands, scoops your legs in his arms, and cradles you as you rest back against Dorn’s chest. One demigod beneath you, another holding your limbs, a third whispering against your throat.

You’re being cooled down by heat itself.

“You did so well,” Dorn murmurs again, his hand now stroking up and down your arm with the care of a lover, not a warrior.

“So fucking sweet when you break,” Curze echoes, still close enough for you to feel his words against your skin. “You sound like a symphony.”

Vulkan lowers his face to your shoulder. Kisses the damp curve there. And then—

“When you’re ready,” he says softly, “we’ll fill you.”

“One cock at a time,” Dorn adds. “Or as many as you’ll take.”

“You’ll be begging again,” Curze hums. “And this time… we’ll give.”

-------------------------to be comtinued-----------

BRB cooling off. I hope you all enjoyed!!

Tagged: @incrediblethirst @mooniequeen

#warhammer fanfic #primarch x reader #warhammer smut #x reader #vulkan x reader #curze x reader #konrad curze x reader #dorn x reader #rogal dorn x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert

94 notes · View notes

aromanticduck · 10 months ago

Text

Letters of the alphabet and the smallest whole number they appear in:

A - one hundred and one/one thousand (depending on whether you include 'and' in your numbers)

B - one billion

C - one octillion

D - one hundred

E - one (zero)

F - four

G - eight

H - three

I - five

J -

K -

L - eleven

M - one million

N - one

O - one (zero)

P - one septillion

Q - one quadrillion

R - three (zero)

S - six

T - two

U - four

V - five

W - two

X - six

Y - twenty

Z - (zero)

Five biggest highlighted in colour. It turns out that the letter C takes the longest to appear (aside from J and K, which don't appear at all... unless you're Phillip J Fry buying anchovies for one jillion dollars). Originally I was only doing positive whole numbers, but I went back and included zero in brackets so I could have something for Z.

#numbers #organic home grown content

92 notes · View notes

riding-the-sunset-bird · 3 months ago

Text

Our Life Modding Guide

For anyone wanting to know how to either look into the game files themselves or write in their own scenes, here it is!

(Real quick, here's a link to GB Patch's opinion on modding - which is that we're free to do so - just in case anyone may be concerned about that; here's another as well.)

Preparation

I'm going to say right up front that I have the itch.io Windows version of Our Life, so your methods may vary on anything else. The Steam version is the exact same to my knowledge, however, so this should work exactly the same for it (I've had people who use the Steam version test mine for me).

While this may go without saying, definitely back up your game before anything else, both as a precaution and also to keep the original around (whether for comparison's sake, you might want to still play the original, or in case something goes wrong and you need to reinsert any of the original files). I usually keep the modded version's folder somewhere away from the original, but that's just me. You can also just make sure to mark it.

Unpacking Our Life's Files

One peek into the "game" folder of Our Life will reveal... well, not much. Some icon files, a couple images, two folders for your save files and cache, and little else. This is because everything else is packed into the .rpa files and we need to open them up. Think of it like a safe that we need to unlock, or luggage that we need to unzip.

Depending on how many DLCs you have (the only one I don't have is Voiced Names, which would be dlc_voiced_names.rpa), the amount of .rpa files will be any/all of these:

There are a few different ways to unpack these and I'll be listing multiple on the off chance that the others don't work (ordered by ease of use/overall usefulness).

RPA Extract (by iwanplays)

This is the easiest method out of all and the first I recommend you try. You can find it here.

It's a single .exe file and all you have to do is drop it into the "game" folder of Our Life, select all of the .rpa files, and drag them onto the .exe.

This will open a Command Prompt that will extract all of the files for you, and you can delete the rpaExtract.exe after it's done. Simple as that.

RPA Explorer (by UniverseDevel)

This one is useful if you only want to look at the files and not extract/edit them, though it can do that too. You can find it here. The disadvantage from RPA Extract is that you'll have to extract the .rpa files one at a time instead of all at once.

After downloading, open the program and click on "Load File" in the upper-left.

Locate your .rpa files and open one. You'll see folders and files pop up, showing you all the files inside of the .rpa file you chose. You're free to look at any of them as you please, but if you want to extract them, check the box next to the "/" folder to select everything and then click "Export checked" in the upper-left.

Locate the "game" folder in the Our Life folder that you want to mod, click on it, then click "OK".

A progress bar will appear in the lower-right and the files will be extracted. Repeat this process for the remaining .rpa files.

rpaextract (by Kaskadee)

This method is a little more complicated and therefore requires some more steps. You can find it here (you can simply download the portable version).

Rather than in the case of RPA Extract, you'll want to take the .rpa files out of Our Life's game folder and put them in the folder of whichever you downloaded. This will just make it easier in the long run.

Once everything is moved, right-click on the address above for the folder, click "Edit Address," and type "cmd" at the beginning before tapping Enter.

A Command Prompt will open with the name of the folder. You'll have to extract your .rpa files one at a time here.

You'll then type out (without the brackets):

rpaextract -x -f [filename].rpa -o game

The .rpa files will be extracted (as shown above, it will give you a loading bar to show progress then pop up the address for you to type something out again when it's done) and appear in a folder titled "game." You can then copy that folder and paste it over Our Life's game folder, combining the contents of both together.

Testing

Now that you have your files extracted, you can delete the .rpa files that you had extracted from because we don't need them anymore. The "game" folder of Our Life should look something like this:

You should also still be able to open the .exe of Our Life and load to the main menu without experiencing any error messages. Tapping on "DLC Info" in the upper-left of the main menu should also still have all the DLCs you had listed as "Installed."

If all that checks out, you're good to continue!

Setting Up Your Text Editor

You'll need a text editor for this and, for size's sake, I'm going to recommend Notepad++, which you can find here. You can just download the portable version but it doesn't really matter.

Once it's been opened, we're going to do a few steps to make it recognize Our Life's script (.rpy) files (the ones you'll be tampering with if you want to add scenes/change dialog/etc.).

Go into the "Settings" tab at the top, then click "Style Configurator".

2. Scroll through the "Language" section until you find "Python". Click on that.

3. Under "User ext. :" at the bottom, type "rpy" without quotations.

4. Hit "Save & Close".

5. Go to "Settings" again, then click "Preferences".

6. Find "Language" on the left of the window that pops up and click on that.

7. Look for "Tab Settings" on the right. It should be set to "Default", the "Tab size" should be "4", and you should checkmark the "Replace by space" box. You can then hit "Close".

(an important part of the code is indenting and this just streamlines it so that when you push "Tab" it will insert four spaces instead)

8. Go back to the Our Life "game" folder, then find an .rpy file (any will do), right-click it, then hit "Open with…"

9. Check the "Always use this app to open .rpy files" box.

10. Click on "Notepad++". If it's not there right away, hit "More apps", and if it's still not there then scroll all the way down and hit "Look for another app on this PC" and find+confirm the Notepad++.exe.

Now Notepad++ will automatically open any .rpy file that you double-click on and will treat them appropriately.

And now you're ready to go! The .rpy files are actually Our Life's script files, which can be freely opened in Notepad++ (or another text editor) to edit the game's scenes or add your own.

Happy modding!

#type: tutorial

29 notes · View notes

ricksdirtyarchive · 1 month ago

Text

Fucking Classic 📸

Smut - Masterlist

Smut

Kinks: non specified

You were laying on your roof, sun tanning the Saturday away. Your bright pink bath suit was unignorable. Rick's eyes jetting you your roof as soon as he stepped outside.

You were playing old school hip hop and drinking cold beers from the small cooler you had up there. You and your dad had mounted a lawn chair and an umbrella at the safest part of the roof. He also installed a small bracket so your cooler didn't go sliding down on accident.

Rick had seen you before, time and time again. You stole glances at each other often, it seemed that whenever you were outside Rick was outside, and vice versa.

Your alarm went off signaling your need to flip onto your belly to tan your back. As you turned Rick stared up at you, you dropped your sunglasses lower and winked at him. Something he couldn't probably see but it was worth it.

"H-h-hey Rick" Morty came out as Rick slid under his ship.

"Hey kiddo, how's your Saturday going?" Rick asked.

"Ah, you know, it-it-it's going" Morty admitted. He looked around to see who was out, a few neighbors were mowing their lawns or walking their dogs. His eyes fell on you. He stood staring for a solid minute. Rick grew curious and slid out from under the ship, sitting up and staring up at you also.

"Hi (y/n)" Rick rasped loudly. Morty snapped out of his trance, turning bright red as you turned your head towards them.

"Oh, hi Rick" you waved. "Hiii Morty" you drawled sweetly. Morty's had a crush on you since he moved in next door. You were older than he and summer were, already 24.

"What-what-what are you doing up there?" Morty asked stupidly.

"The fuck does it *burps* look like she's doing, you f-f-fucking idiot?" Rick rolled his eyes.

"I'm tanning" you giggled. A sound that always made Rick's ears perk up. He only heard it every once in a while but it was still enough to make his heart jump. He rolled up his sleeves before getting back under the ship.

"O-o-oh" Morty stammered. "W-well do you maybe wanna Dr-drink so lemonade- do you want some lemonade?" He asked.

"Sure, Morty, I'll be right down." You say happily. Rick watched as you climbed down the roof and into your bedroom window. He stared at you cranking a wretch absently.

You appeared a moment later on their side of the fence. Towel wrapped around your waist, sun glasses holding your locks back.

"H-h-here (y/n)" Morty said as he came back from inside the house. Rick slides out from under the ship, his view was glorious. He could see under your towel. He knocked his head as he stood up.

"Mother fuck-" he held his forehead. Glaring at his ship. He grabbed another tool from inside the garage before popping the hood.

"So (y/n), what're your plans for today?" Rick asked as you sipped the sugary lemonade.

"Oh nothing! Probably tan all day... my dad's on a fishing trip with his brothers, so I'm free for a week" you shrug.

"Hey dad, Morty" Beth said as she stepped outside. "Oh hi (y/n)!"

"Hey Mrs. Smith"

"Call me Beth, you've known me for forever" She said. "Anyways, Dad. Jerry and I are going on some last minute getaway and we'll be back Monday." She said, her voice laced with fake excitement as Jerry pulled up in the car.

"Yup" Rick says and keeps working.

"Don't destroy the house, there's wafer cookies in the cabinet." She began, "don't portal the house to another dimension, if you do, no more adventures" she said pointedly looking at Morty.

"Aww you hear that R-Rick?" Morty stammers.

"(Y/n), keep my boys outta trouble" she teased. You giggled before feigning a salute. "Oh and Dad, Summers at her friend's house so she'll be home later" Beth adds before getting in the car.

"Well, seems like you have quite the day ahead of you, (y/n)" Rick says dismissively standing to look at you. His eyes briefly scanned your body.

"Yeah, I should probably get off your driveway" you say awkwardly. "Thanks for the lemonade Morty" you ruffle his hair, leaving him a mess.

"Y-y-yeah for sure" he stammered. He grabbed the glass you held out to him and went inside.

As soon as he did, Rick started speaking,

"He's like completely in love with you" he chuckles.

"Oh, and you aren't?" You sass. Rick's face warped into shock. "Yeah, you think I don't see you staring? I'm not an idiot" you deadpan. Rick stood in front of you quietly.

"No shit you're not an idiot" Rick replied after finding his bearings. "You stare at me too"

"Yeah, no fucking way, I'm interested in you" you roll your eyes.

"Are you?" Rick asks pensively, quirking a suggestive unibrow.

"No offense, but are you like... dumb? Or like dying of dementia?" You ask.

"Excuse me?" Rick looks at you, taken aback. "How are you talking to me like this? Who do you think you are?"

"I think I'm a girl that's got you crushing on me so hard you avoid it but make a show out of it whenever Morty's around. Always embarrassing Morty over it" you press a finger into his chest.

"I don't have a crush on you" Rick said, a lie. "That's so childish, I'm a man. If I wanted you, I'd go get you. I'm fucking Rick Sanchez"

"And?" You say defiantly. "You've been living next to me for 3 years, Rick. You want me, you're just scared to chase me. But like I said earlier, you try so hard to avoid it, but you can't. You stare like a 14 year old boy, make fun of Morty over it as if I don't know. You always act so high and mighty, but I know what you're afraid of" you him backed against his workbench. His eyes frantically searching around.

"You're afraid to be a fucking man" you challenge. His eyes widened.

"Excuse me? I'm afraid to be a man?" He said, exasperated. "Are you fucking serious?" Bingo. You got him. "No no no, what I'm afraid of are dipshits, and you're one of them."

"Oh am I?" You say. "I'll just leave then." You've turn on your heel and before you have a chance to walk away, Rick grabs your hand and pulls you into him, your chest flush against his. Your heart flutters, you finally pushed the right buttons.

"No. I'm gonna take what I want, because I'm a fucking grown man and I'm not afraid of you" Rick says lowly. You pressed your lips against his quickly. His hand dropped from your arm down to your waist, holding you to him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him deeper still.

"Take it then" you whisper in his ear. Not realizing his pent up frustrations. He picks you, sitting you on his work bench, your towel falling. He stood between your legs, his cock already hard. He let his fingers drift down to your core, teasing gently.

“You’re so wet” he chuckles darkly. “You really want me huh?” He teases. He unties your bikini bottom, letting it fall open to reveal a fresh shaved pussy, his mouth watering at the sight.

“We’re gonna leave the garage open?” You ask as he unzips his pants, letting his cock spring free from his constraints.

“Yeah, let them hear those pretty little moans you make” he whispers before burying himself inside you slowly. You gripped onto his shoulders as you adjusted to his size. He started thrusting slowly, letting you feel every inch of him as he feels every inch of your cunt. “You’re so tight, f-f-fuck!”

“You feel so good” you whimper as he speeds up. He was chasing his own orgasm, but the way he was angled inside of you, you felt like you were going to cum instantly.

“You feel good too, (y/n)” he mumbles, trying to hold himself. He was losing it. “So fucking good” he groaned with every thrust. Meanwhile you were a moaning mess. Your stomach twisted in that familiar way, you cunt clenching around him.

“Good girl” Rick coaxes gently as he rammed his cock into your ever tightening hole. “Fucking cum for me” you let yourself go, pulsing around him.

“Oh Rick” you mew.

“Are you on birth control?” He asked breathlessly, his control was slipping through his fingers.

“Yes” you reply, you were riding out the waves of your orgasm. He groaned louder as he neared his climax, with a final thrust, he filled you up. Keeping the full length of his cock inside you as he emptied himself out.

“Holy fuck” he chuckles as he pulls out of you. “You have the best pussy I’ve ever had. Shit.”

“Yeah? I wonder what took you so long to realize that” you sass back. Rick glares at you as he reties your bottoms.

“Shut up” he walks away, leaving you to sit on his work bench. You jumped down, walking past him and to your house.

“Where the *burps* fuck are you going?” Rick asks from under the hood of his ship. “You’re staying here, you heard Beth, you-you-you gotta make sure we don’t get in trouble”

“Yeah, I remember”

“Yeah, so, get your ass back on that work bench and look pretty. Or, I can make a lawn chair and you can lay over here” Rick tells you. “You’re mine now, (y/n)”

You smile and turn to a dark shade of red as you stood in the sun.

“Lawn chair it is” Rick says as he quickly makes one and sets it by you, handing you a beer. “Good girl”

27 notes · View notes