#mera’s drabbles ˚.⋆ 𖦹｡˚

[ultraviolet-rayblogz]

YOUR CHARACTERISATION IS SO ACCURATE MERA I AM DECEASEDDDD

like, the way you so perfectly captured every one of them has me looking over my shoulder BECAUSE WHAT DO YOU MEAN THESE THREE AREN'T IN THE ROOM RN??!!

okay but imagine being stuck in a room with beau, dean and soldier boy and how the dynamics would fucking CLASH 😭😭

soldier boy’s gonna be all up in your ass with some shit he thinks is slick—barely giving you room to breathe while he tries to coax you into his bed. beau’s 100% horrified at the shit streaming from sb’s mouth and he’s getting all protective and steps in to make sure he’s backing the fuck off of you and sb’s either gonna give in with some disdainful sniff before continuing to smoke away his loss or he’s going to throw one on beau and the two start brawling to the death. and then dean, who was happily watching the drama unfold, is eventually gonna step in to break up the fight and shove the two apart to take a breather—and while they’re recollecting their dignity, he starts chatting it up with you like he’d been waiting all this time to let the other two guys eliminate themselves as worthy candidates.

and like,,, don’t get me started on the bedroom dynamic either. im gonna though sorry 🤷‍♀️

oh soldier boy is SO MEAN. SO primal. so. fucking. rough. like shoving your head into the sheet rough, vice grip on your neck rough, and spanking you until you’re as red as the fucking commie flag he despises. that man is ALL about establishing control and revelling in the way you fall apart under his touch. manhandling more like. it inflates his dick as much as his ego to hear you plead for things you shouldn’t want—everything that he can give you. and the mouth on him is FILTHY. he’s calling you that fuckin’ slut, that velvety soft cock-warmer, his little, dirty cum-guzzler with a palate refined just for him. oh, he wants to RUIN you. wants to leave you so internally branded with his touch that you’ll morph into a lock that can’t be accessed by any key other than his. and he’s so. fucking. possessive. not to mention he’s going to see you on top of fucking cloud nine as you’re riding him, and he’s DYING to further raise you to the skies of fucking heaven by making you snort a line from his stomach or some shit. corruption kink most definitely.

meanwhile, beau can barely fathom how you’re enjoying any of it. through the entirety of it all, he’s lowkey giving sb the stank eye for his lack of respect for women—and you, more importantly. And while he knows you’ve fully consented, it doesn’t stop him from checking in with you every now and again—

“still hangin’ in there, darlin’? you let me know if it becomes too much, yeah? i’ll tell this jackass to dial it down.”

and beau, oh my god, he’s the king of checking in. he’s all about making sure you’re constantly comfortable and enjoying yourself—to the point where soldier boy’s making some remark like,

“what’re you—some fuckin’ gimme a c for consent cheerleader? shut the fuck up, grown a damn pair, ‘nd give the woman what she wants.”

and beau’s lugging in the DEEPEST breath of composure with the most disconcerting glare he can muster before recollecting himself and focusing all his attention back to you. his thrusts are gentle, but not weak—he’s hitting all the right spots with each approach and withdrawal. he’s listening to your breathing, the sounds you spew, and constantly reaching to brush the hair from the grip of your sticky face. and he lowers himself to place a kiss to whichever inch of you is most accessible at the time—favouring the curve of your cheek, where it’s easy for him to dip down to your ear and murmur some words of admiration and encouragement. oh he’s such a fucking praiser and words of affirmation guy. and he’s making sure to soothe every bruised part of you that soldier boy leaves behind, almost always sparing the supe a pointed glare that utters some silent claim of and that’s how you treat a lady. he’s littering kisses along your bruises and easing the tender skin with soothing rubs—cradling you and cherishing you like an expensive, one-of-a-kind china.

and then there’s dear, dear dean. this man is WAITING for his time to shine. i can 100% see him not caring for either of the other two men in the room—his attention’s all on you. when sb’s taking you all the way to nasty town, he’s glancing off to some other corner of the room, but can’t help sneaking occasional glances at your visceral, very verbal reactions. and he lowkey digs it. when he’s got his turn to make you feel things, he’s taking it nice and slow—all at your pace. and you know those fucking love-sick eyes he loves casting? yeah, HE’S GIVING YOU THE FULL-PACKAGE SUBBY LOOK. his every grip on your body is intentional—constructed to make you feel like you’re something he absolutely adores and cannot let go of. like a sentimental keepsake he’ll hold close to him for all the years to come. he’s observing every look ghosting across your features, savouring the way you absentmindedly caress him in the midst of your euphoria—revelling in the spell you cast that makes him feel like he’s all yours for the taking. he wants to be. and he shows you it. he’s simultaneously got his hand down under, adding to your stimulation with a skillful dally. and he does it all just to hear the sounds you make—the way you beg for more of him. all of him. and he unequivocally wants to hand himself over to you. his high only comes on after he’s seen yours through. if anything, your undoing spurs him on. and he’s planting tender kisses along your collarbone and jaw and making sure you know just how well you did for him.

“that was. . . freakin’ somethin’, baby. you’re amazing—can’t get enough o’ you. don’t ever wanna, so help me god.”

and you KNOW he’s serious if he whips out the name of the big ol’ guy in the sky.

and then when it comes to aftercare, beau takes the fucking cake—i just know it. in an instant, he’s encouraging you to go and use the bathroom to relieve yourself, making sure you’re physically capable of pulling yourself into a semblance of a functioning human when they’re done with you. and he’s offering you any and all assistance you need before recollecting your clothes and fetching a fresh pair—if any are available. he’s getting you an ice cold glass of water, a little shnaky snack and is ready to give you the cuddle of your life.

dean’s pretty content to monitor you coming down from your high, dragging a gentle palm across your hair while his other hand settles in a gentle frame of your jaw, thumb striking gentle lines across the framework of your face. he’s pretty insistent on short cuddles following the aftermath of everything, going so far as to trap you in a spooning session for a good few minutes before he lets you slip away to the bathroom. and even as you stroll off into the distance, he’s trailing after your every move like a lost puppy that doesn’t know how to utilise his free time. he’s so utterly infatuated with you that he’s got to watch everything you’re doing, and it doesn’t matter what. he’s admittedly not the most forward-thinker when it comes to aftercare, but he’s happy to tend to whatever you need AFTER you bring it up. and he’ll learn it like a routine after a while.

soldier boy does not believe in aftercare. oh my god that man is going to cradle a cigarette with more care than he’s ever shown you once he’s delivered you your high. as soon as he’s blown his load, he’ll let you slump down to the bed if only to admire the absolute glistening puddle he’s reduced you to. and he’s going to wear that smug ass cocky grin—even go so far as to chuckle demeaningly as he drinks the view of you in. he could probably get drunk on that visual alone. and then he’s throwing himself down onto the bed beside you, immediately reaching for that bedside cig. he’ll light it, take a long pull, and offer you a taste. at most, he’ll drape a lazy arm around you, but outside of giving his dick a joyride, you essentially stop existing. he’s good at making you feel used, and he’ll watch you clean yourself up without a second thought of lending a helping hand. he might just say some shit about it that he knows will piss you off because he loves getting a rise out of you.

“what’s with all the pussy-pamperin’? thought you’d marvel at havin’ my baby pumped into you.”

oh he’s such an ass. we love him for it though.

OKAY IM DONE NOW. for now

cheers to @bohemianblasphemy for letting me yap about this dynamic AGESSS ago and now i think it’s time to share a taste of it with the world 😭 YOU’RE EITHER ALL FUCKING WELCOME OR IM SORRY!!! i am SO tempted to turn this into a proper fic SOMEWHERE DOWN THE LINE❗️❗️❗️

i sincerely apologise for the shitty mismatched icons that are lowkey pissing me off but i had zero energy to sift through my pics for ones i haven’t already used and somehow make them match so DEAL WITH IT PLS & THANKS 💪

[bluemerakis]

Drabble: Mean!Billy loves grinding fem!reader on his thigh

Word count: 0.8k

A/n: I get late night bitch-in-heat thoughts okay

[18+ ONLY]

Billy’s grip on your hips were relentless—thickset fingers contorting your tender skin until the flesh memorialised the shape of his hands with reddened blotches. The twinge of his nails set off some primal response within your body, a biological plea to flee the grasp of his talons, but the knot in your core kept you grounded against the bulk of his thigh.

Your clit rode repetitive rounds across the length of his jean-clad leg, the trail well marked with the juices he’d been coercing from your depths for the last hour, at least. He loved wearing you down this way—loved wringing the sense from your grasp as you came completely undone at his will, over and over and over again—a puppet stuffed with the mean movements of his thigh wedged between your yearning folds.

Each time you found yourself back in this position, you’d be nothing but a blabbering mess after the second or third induced high, the euphoria so entangled with the cognitive ability of your brain that you were left dumb and disposable at his exploiting fingertips—and a man like Billy Butcher had an unflattering tendency to help himself to more than his rightful fill.

“Fuuuckin’ hell,” he drawled gruffly, rough eyebrows knit together as he admired the fresh, slimy trail overlaying the countless pathways you’d ploughed into his jeans only minutes before. “Yer gonna sue me? Got tha’ cunt workin’ bloody hard and well into overtime. She achin’ yet—doin’ yer ear in ‘bout how unfair all o’ this shite is? Fuckin’ diabolical—this cunt o’ yers. I done milked ‘er dry for the last bloody ‘our, and still she keeps on deliverin’ me more,” he mumbled distractedly, all his efforts imbued into his steering of your hips.

Your head buckled with exhaustion, your tongue nothing more than an incompetent ornament each time Billy forcibly ground you against him in this brutal manner. It was a regular practice of his—a power trip of some sort that you knew he got off on because it was the only way he could have you gobsmacked enough to lay a couple on you.

Words had never been lost on a tongue as sharp as yours, and he always enjoyed the banter served up on a gold platter whenever you’d prowl around him during work hours within the compound—in the shared company of the rest of the Boys. But in here, in his apartment—completely and utterly isolated from their prying eyes, you could be considered Kimiko’s fellow mute for all he cared.

If it wasn’t his cock wedged half way into the warmth of your throat that throttled your wit, it was surely one or the other manipulations he’d perfected on your clit.

“Not such a prattler now, are we, eh?” He groused into your ear as you collapsed against his chest, exhaustion seizing all voluntary movement of your hips—but Billy would force the momentum, anyways, pawing at the skin and pressing you harder against him until your core imploded for the thousandth time.

Your hands furled around the fabric of his shirt, where they squeezed tightly as some pitiful act of defiance to antagonise his degradation—but only breathless gasps fled your lips, and your eyes could barely manage to comprehend the patterns of his shirt that you’d come to memorise within such short time of knowing him.

“Atta girl, doin’ so good,” he murmured into the crown of your head, chin resting onto the support of your collapsed frame. “I’ll let yer off after this last one—promise—just make it a good last one f’me, yeah? Can yer do that for me, Love?”

You stilled against his chest, some petty part within you not so willing to submit to him completely, but the way his hand slid across the curve of your ass to deliver a squeeze and then a harsh clap was enough to coax a whimper of surrender from your stubborn depths.

“You forget, Love, I’ve made me a mental manual on yer body by now—I know just which buttons to press to get ya all muddled up on me lap,” Billy husked against your ear, then stole a gentle nibble of your ear lobe. “Now, brave that poncy l’il clit o’ yers—this finish’ll be a bloody hurrah to behold.”

The friction against your clit built up to an unbearable burn as Billy raked you across his thigh, the pace so brutal that your sensitive extremities felt as though they were being skimmed across hot tarmac. The stimulation was so painfully—yet pleasurably overwhelming that you couldn’t help the pathetic moans spewing from your parted lips, fingers curling deeper into the hold on his shirt.

“Tha’s it,” he husked into your hair, his lips then trailing down your forehead to place an encouraging kiss on the sweat-covered skin. “Tha’s it,” he repeated more steadily—proudly, chin tilting down to where you released the last of your pleasure onto his jean. “Helluva finish, Love,” he remarked with a chuckle, that trademark grin settling onto his lips as he lifted his attention back to you. “Cunt’s nearly as expressive as you—and I do love me a feminist tag-team.”

I just wanted to flex my fingers with something dirty hehehe enjoy it my butcher sluts. The getaway house oneshot is coming soon I promise!!

Masterlist

Tags: @violent-darkness @bohemianblasphemy @babyfri3dric3 @internetitgirl17 @dwinchesterspie1967 @gibson-g1rl

[bluemerakis]

Drabble: Butcher takes care of sick reader

Warnings: cussing, fluff

Word count: 1.2k

A/n: I’ve been under the weather lately, and I want a soft, cutesie Butcher to take care of me. That’s all :p

The apartment door creaked open, causing your eyes to flutter open as your consciousness tethered to the waking world. You blinked a few times to dislodge the disorientation of your nap, a hefty yawn splitting your lips. The door clicked closed soon after, and the sound of heavy boots thudding across the room told you all you needed to know about the identity of your visitor—not that it was a difficult guessing game; nobody other than your boyfriend ever came around to see you.

Riddled with lethargy, you couldn’t bring yourself to face Billy, a migraine weighing so heavily on your senses that you felt you’d throw up with the slightest of movements.

“‘ello, Love,” Billy chirped, the rustle of a plastic bag following shortly after. “Got yer some o’ tha’ shite chinese nosh y’love so much. Now, I know what yer thinkin’—eat first, then give good ol’ Billy one hell o’ a thank ya fuck later. Offer graciously accepted. Yer a lovely, charitable dame, Love—yer just keep on givin’.”

You smiled weakly at the sound of his voice. You’d seen him last two days ago, but within that short time, you’d already come to miss him dearly. Sickness tended to come on strong with you, always rendering you vulnerable and bedridden for the first few days, and it was sure hell to endure. This sickness in particular had come on a day ago with a bang, and honestly, you’d been struggling to cope with it. You hadn’t told Billy about it, though, knowing that he likely had bigger things to tend to with The Boys. However, you couldn’t say that you weren’t thankful for his visit.

There was something about his presence alone that boosted your body’s morale and seemed to help you bounce back quicker—it had to be some sort of mental placebo effect. No matter the reason, you were thankful to have him here with you now.

“Sadly, your English breadstick is going to have to take a rain check on that,” you told him feebly. Your stomach seized up with a series of cramps, causing you to curl into yourself with a groan as you rode out the duration of the pain.

“All right there, Love?” Billy asked as he approached you, large hand outstretched to caress along the expanse of your back. The contact sent shivers up your hot spine. “Feelin’ a tad bit under the weather, are we?” He remarked, alluding to the dampened material of the shirt that clung messily to your underlying skin.

You hummed in confirmation, brows creased and eyes falling closed as you braved the nausea that seemed to arise in conjunction with your stomach cramps. “Not a tad bit—I’m in full-fledged suffering,” you grunted.

“Have yer eaten at all today?” He asked, the hand on your back snaking up to the nape of your neck. His palm hovered over the area, his thumb rubbing comforting circles along the feverish goosebumps of your skin.

“Haven’t had an appetite,” you pushed out. The warmth of his hand against your neck was a relaxation your body subconsciously craved, and it seemed to make the cramps let up an inch.

“Have yer a sip o’ water, at least,” Billy suggested. “Just a second, and I’ll fetch yer some.”

“Thank you, Billy,” you said softly, turning your head with caution to offer him an appreciative smile. You seized the opportunity to drink in his beautiful face, staring as if to burn his image into the memory of your retinas.

“Yeah, I gotcha,” he said with wink, hand neglecting your neck as he turned toward the kitchen. You turned and allowed your head to collapse against your pillow once more, eyes closing to bask in the peace of darkness. “Yer got any ginger?” He called back to you.

“Check the fridge,” you said, then added, “why?”

“I got a killer recipe tha’ll hand nausea’s arse back to ‘er,” he said. The fridge door clanked open, followed by a satisfied grunt from Billy. “There we are,” he said.

“Just don’t poison me,” you said. “I’m suffering enough.”

“Oi, have yer some faith in me,” Billy scolded gently. “S’me mum’s recipe. Woman ne’er once went wrong with ‘er whimsy kitchen faffing. I’ll make yer tha’ shite-tasting cup o’ ginger char, and soon after, you’ll be stuffin’ yer gob with all tha’ bloody chinese.”

The atmosphere simmered into comfortable silence as Billy tended to your mystery tea, the occasional clatter of utensils keeping you from drifting into another sleep. It wasn’t long before he was back at your aid, a gentle thud occurring atop the bedside table beyond your back, followed by the more shrill clink of a glass. You glanced over your shoulder and glimpsed the mug of ginger tea, as well as a cold, sweaty glass of water beside it.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Billy cocked his chin at you. “Shimmy up,” he ordered.

“I could do that, but if you get whatever nasty thing I’ve got, I don’t wanna hear a single world about it,” you said.

“Don’t yer worry, Love, I’ll have me a good weepin’ of the eyes, then a good wank or two, and I’ll be right as rain after.” He leaned onto the bed, prompting you to shift yourself forward to make space for his broad frame. He manoeuvred about the mattress a few times as he moulded his body to the contours of yours, forming the large, comforting spoon you’d been craving in his absence. “Blimey, have yer got all o’ bleedin’ hell shoved up yer ass? Yer burnin’ up,” he remarked.

“Tell me about it,” you scoffed weakly.

Billy’s one arm slipped between the mattress and the nook of your neck, while the other curled around your waist to hold you against him. His lips pressed against your hair, hovering there for a few seconds before he withdrew to place his chin atop your head. You melted into his hold and his scent, a content breath easing from your nostrils.

“I’ve missed you,” you told him.

“Afraid I know the feelin’ all too well, Love,” he murmured against you, his voice a deep rumble that vibrated against the crown of your head. “Shoulda called to check in with yer sooner.”

You gave a disapproving noise. “You don’t have to worry about me every second of the day. I love you, but I’ll survive a day or two without you from time to time.” You probably wouldn’t, if you were honest with yourself. You’d barely been hanging on as of recently.

“Bloody liar, y’are,” he poked, his hand on your waist shifting to stroke along the sensitive skin of your stomach. “I know you’ve been craving me touch these last two days. Yer absolutely can’t live without it—and don’t yer get the ‘alf the mind to deny it, else I’ll give yer a punctual reminder.” His hand trailed down your stomach and toward your panties, where his fingers teased at the rim suggestively.

You sucked air at his motions, lower lip taken into a playful bite. “You sure as hell do make it tempting to play stupid,” you said, turning to glance at him through a grin.

Billy’s lips spread in a smirk before he leaned forward to impose a rough kiss on your lips. You savoured the taste of his lips, and the ever present underlying trace of cigar smoke, which you’d come to tolerate only because of the constant exposure via his frequent company. Once he pulled away, he moved to hover over your ear.

“Tell yer what—you get better f’me, Love, and I promise I’ll give tha’ stomach o’ yers a real rearrangement to fuss ‘bout, yeah? Sound like a solid plan?”

“Deal.”

Thank you for reading! All likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated. ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི

Tags: @babyfri3dric3 @scrmqwn

Comment/message me to be added to/removed from the tag list for any future Billy Butcher works!

Other works: The Boys Masterlist

[bluemerakis]

──────────────────────

𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚜 𝜗𝜚

𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 ─ billy butcher, soldier boy; open to others

𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 ─ open

◜ 𝙱I𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝙱𝚄𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚁 ◝

𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂 :

⌖

𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃𝚂 :

⌖ scout’s honour

⌖ sittin’ pretty poolside ─ coming soon

𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙻𝙴𝚂 :

⌖ thigh-highs

⌖ soft!billy caring for sick reader

𝙸𝙼𝙰𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂 :

⌖ carnival for kisses

⌖ lover boy butcher

𝚂𝙼𝙰𝚄𝚂 :

⌖ ranch getaway with bf!karlurban

⌖ bts with the boys cast

𝙴𝙳𝙸𝚃𝚂 :

⌖ 111

⌖ 222

⌖ 333

◜ 𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙳𝙸𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙾𝚈 ◝

𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂:

⌖ soldier boy x fem!supe!reader

i. feelin’ fuckin’ fantastic

ii. i’m not going anywhere

iii. ─

⌖ soldier boy x vought!exec!daughter ─ request

i. synergy

ii. ─

𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃𝚂:

⌖ memory foam

𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙻𝙴𝚂:

⌖ crossover core

𝙸𝙼𝙰𝙶𝙸𝙽𝙴𝚂:

⌖

𝙴𝙳𝙸𝚃𝚂:

⌖ 111

⌖ 222

⤷ © headers & dividers @bluemerakis

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[bluemerakis]

──────────────────────

𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚜 𝜗𝜚

𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 ─ dean & sam winchester

𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 ─ open

◜ 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙽 𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁 ◝

𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂:

𖤐

𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃𝚂:

𖤐 this one’s on me

𖤐 sunshine ─ request

𖤐 cream pie

𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙻𝙴𝚂:

𖤐 crossover core

◜ 𝚂𝙰𝙼 𝚆𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁 ◝

𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂:

𖤐

𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃𝚂:

𖤐 fmffihs ─ coming soon

𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙻𝙴𝚂:

𖤐

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[bluemerakis]

. ݁ ⋆ ˚. ݁ 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊’𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 ݁.˚ ⋆ ݁.

hello lovely people! welcome to my masterlist. my interests tend to fluctuate quite often, so i write for whoever i want, whenever i want—but typically when the obsession is the strongest lol. anyhoo, that being clarified, please enjoy whatever i’ve managed to spew out this far.

i. 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚕 𖤐

ii. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚜 ⌖

iii. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚜 ོ

iv. 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 ☠︎

v. 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚌. 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 & 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝e𝚛𝚜 ˚. ݁ ~

⤷ © dividers @bluemerakis

[bluemerakis]

. ݁ ⋆ ˚. ݁ 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌. 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 .ᐟ ݁.˚ ⋆ ݁.

𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊 ꣑ৎ 𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 ꣑ৎ 𝚠𝚘𝚌

！𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚗𝚒 ！

𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎 — queer. ♑︎. leisurely writer. i’m the gal that can’t keep it short n sweet. reader. busy vet student. certified animal lvr. dilf collector. i’m a blue bitch, in case you haven’t noticed. jackles’ & karl urban’s princess. religious binge watcher. anxious prattler. professional procrastinator. & i also edit sometimes. sza’s top 0.05.

𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚜 — the walking dead. supernatural. the big bang theory. the boys. the hunger games. the last of us. yellowjackets. big sky. game of thrones. the rookie. the witcher. the 100. arcane. marvel. & many more

𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚜 — sza. chappell roan. childish gambino. isaiah rashad. mac miller. kaytranada. tyler, the creator. frank ocean. jhené aiko. kehlani. yeat. the weeknd.

© 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚜 — please do not plagiarise any of my creations.

𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚌.𝚊𝚒

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[bluemerakis]

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𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚜 𝜗𝜚

who i write for ─ currently, I have been writing for young!coriolanus snow, but I can expand into other characters

requests ─ open

◜ 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙶!𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙰𝙽𝚄𝚂 𝚂𝙽𝙾𝚆 ◝

𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂

ོ young!coriolanus snow x district!reader

i. paper trails

ii. ─

𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃𝚂

ོ i’m the guy mothers warn you about

𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙻𝙴𝚂

ོ

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𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒 𝚠r𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘r ─ rick grimes, negan smith, daryl dixon

𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 ─ open

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𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂

𝙾𝙽𝙴 S𝙷𝙾𝚃𝚂

☠︎ nothing left to lose

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☠︎ 111

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𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃S

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[bluemerakis]

okay but imagine being stuck in a room with beau, dean and soldier boy and how the dynamics would fucking CLASH 😭😭

soldier boy’s gonna be all up in your ass with some shit he thinks is slick—barely giving you room to breathe while he tries to coax you into his bed. beau’s 100% horrified at the shit streaming from sb’s mouth and he’s getting all protective and steps in to make sure he’s backing the fuck off of you and sb’s either gonna give in with some disdainful sniff before continuing to smoke away his loss or he’s going to throw one on beau and the two start brawling to the death. and then dean, who was happily watching the drama unfold, is eventually gonna step in to break up the fight and shove the two apart to take a breather—and while they’re recollecting their dignity, he starts chatting it up with you like he’d been waiting all this time to let the other two guys eliminate themselves as worthy candidates.

and like,,, don’t get me started on the bedroom dynamic either. im gonna though sorry 🤷‍♀️

oh soldier boy is SO MEAN. SO primal. so. fucking. rough. like shoving your head into the sheet rough, vice grip on your neck rough, and spanking you until you’re as red as the fucking commie flag he despises. that man is ALL about establishing control and revelling in the way you fall apart under his touch. manhandling more like. it inflates his dick as much as his ego to hear you plead for things you shouldn’t want—everything that he can give you. and the mouth on him is FILTHY. he’s calling you that fuckin’ slut, that velvety soft cock-warmer, his little, dirty cum-guzzler with a palate refined just for him. oh, he wants to RUIN you. wants to leave you so internally branded with his touch that you’ll morph into a lock that can’t be accessed by any key other than his. and he’s so. fucking. possessive. not to mention he’s going to see you on top of fucking cloud nine as you’re riding him, and he’s DYING to further raise you to the skies of fucking heaven by making you snort a line from his stomach or some shit. corruption kink most definitely.

meanwhile, beau can barely fathom how you’re enjoying any of it. through the entirety of it all, he’s lowkey giving sb the stank eye for his lack of respect for women—and you, more importantly. And while he knows you’ve fully consented, it doesn’t stop him from checking in with you every now and again—

“still hangin’ in there, darlin’? you let me know if it becomes too much, yeah? i’ll tell this jackass to dial it down.”

and beau, oh my god, he’s the king of checking in. he’s all about making sure you’re constantly comfortable and enjoying yourself—to the point where soldier boy’s making some remark like,

“what’re you—some fuckin’ gimme a c for consent cheerleader? shut the fuck up, grown a damn pair, ‘nd give the woman what she wants.”

and beau’s lugging in the DEEPEST breath of composure with the most disconcerting glare he can muster before recollecting himself and focusing all his attention back to you. his thrusts are gentle, but not weak—he’s hitting all the right spots with each approach and withdrawal. he’s listening to your breathing, the sounds you spew, and constantly reaching to brush the hair from the grip of your sticky face. and he lowers himself to place a kiss to whichever inch of you is most accessible at the time—favouring the curve of your cheek, where it’s easy for him to dip down to your ear and murmur some words of admiration and encouragement. oh he’s such a fucking praiser and words of affirmation guy. and he’s making sure to soothe every bruised part of you that soldier boy leaves behind, almost always sparing the supe a pointed glare that utters some silent claim of and that’s how you treat a lady. he’s littering kisses along your bruises and easing the tender skin with soothing rubs—cradling you and cherishing you like an expensive, one-of-a-kind china.

and then there’s dear, dear dean. this man is WAITING for his time to shine. i can 100% see him not caring for either of the other two men in the room—his attention’s all on you. when sb’s taking you all the way to nasty town, he’s glancing off to some other corner of the room, but can’t help sneaking occasional glances at your visceral, very verbal reactions. and he lowkey digs it. when he’s got his turn to make you feel things, he’s taking it nice and slow—all at your pace. and you know those fucking love-sick eyes he loves casting? yeah, HE’S GIVING YOU THE FULL-PACKAGE SUBBY LOOK. his every grip on your body is intentional—constructed to make you feel like you’re something he absolutely adores and cannot let go of. like a sentimental keepsake he’ll hold close to him for all the years to come. he’s observing every look ghosting across your features, savouring the way you absentmindedly caress him in the midst of your euphoria—revelling in the spell you cast that makes him feel like he’s all yours for the taking. he wants to be. and he shows you it. he’s simultaneously got his hand down under, adding to your stimulation with a skillful dally. and he does it all just to hear the sounds you make—the way you beg for more of him. all of him. and he unequivocally wants to hand himself over to you. his high only comes on after he’s seen yours through. if anything, your undoing spurs him on. and he’s planting tender kisses along your collarbone and jaw and making sure you know just how well you did for him.

“that was. . . freakin’ somethin’, baby. you’re amazing—can’t get enough o’ you. don’t ever wanna, so help me god.”

and you KNOW he’s serious if he whips out the name of the big ol’ guy in the sky.

and then when it comes to aftercare, beau takes the fucking cake—i just know it. in an instant, he’s encouraging you to go and use the bathroom to relieve yourself, making sure you’re physically capable of pulling yourself into a semblance of a functioning human when they’re done with you. and he’s offering you any and all assistance you need before recollecting your clothes and fetching a fresh pair—if any are available. he’s getting you an ice cold glass of water, a little shnaky snack and is ready to give you the cuddle of your life.

dean’s pretty content to monitor you coming down from your high, dragging a gentle palm across your hair while his other hand settles in a gentle frame of your jaw, thumb striking gentle lines across the framework of your face. he’s pretty insistent on short cuddles following the aftermath of everything, going so far as to trap you in a spooning session for a good few minutes before he lets you slip away to the bathroom. and even as you stroll off into the distance, he’s trailing after your every move like a lost puppy that doesn’t know how to utilise his free time. he’s so utterly infatuated with you that he’s got to watch everything you’re doing, and it doesn’t matter what. he’s admittedly not the most forward-thinker when it comes to aftercare, but he’s happy to tend to whatever you need AFTER you bring it up. and he’ll learn it like a routine after a while.

soldier boy does not believe in aftercare. oh my god that man is going to cradle a cigarette with more care than he’s ever shown you once he’s delivered you your high. as soon as he’s blown his load, he’ll let you slump down to the bed if only to admire the absolute glistening puddle he’s reduced you to. and he’s going to wear that smug ass cocky grin—even go so far as to chuckle demeaningly as he drinks the view of you in. he could probably get drunk on that visual alone. and then he’s throwing himself down onto the bed beside you, immediately reaching for that bedside cig. he’ll light it, take a long pull, and offer you a taste. at most, he’ll drape a lazy arm around you, but outside of giving his dick a joyride, you essentially stop existing. he’s good at making you feel used, and he’ll watch you clean yourself up without a second thought of lending a helping hand. he might just say some shit about it that he knows will piss you off because he loves getting a rise out of you.

“what’s with all the pussy-pamperin’? thought you’d marvel at havin’ my baby pumped into you.”

oh he’s such an ass. we love him for it though.

OKAY IM DONE NOW. for now

cheers to @bohemianblasphemy for letting me yap about this dynamic AGESSS ago and now i think it’s time to share a taste of it with the world 😭 YOU’RE EITHER ALL FUCKING WELCOME OR IM SORRY!!! i am SO tempted to turn this into a proper fic SOMEWHERE DOWN THE LINE❗️❗️❗️

i sincerely apologise for the shitty mismatched icons that are lowkey pissing me off but i had zero energy to sift through my pics for ones i haven’t already used and somehow make them match so DEAL WITH IT PLS & THANKS 💪

[florchids]

MERA IM FUCKING CLAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE RN THIS IS SO ON PAR FOR EACH CHARACTER AUGHGAUH.

okay but imagine being stuck in a room with beau, dean and soldier boy and how the dynamics would fucking CLASH 😭😭

soldier boy’s gonna be all up in your ass with some shit he thinks is slick—barely giving you room to breathe while he tries to coax you into his bed. beau’s 100% horrified at the shit streaming from sb’s mouth and he’s getting all protective and steps in to make sure he’s backing the fuck off of you and sb’s either gonna give in with some disdainful sniff before continuing to smoke away his loss or he’s going to throw one on beau and the two start brawling to the death. and then dean, who was happily watching the drama unfold, is eventually gonna step in to break up the fight and shove the two apart to take a breather—and while they’re recollecting their dignity, he starts chatting it up with you like he’d been waiting all this time to let the other two guys eliminate themselves as worthy candidates.

and like,,, don’t get me started on the bedroom dynamic either. im gonna though sorry 🤷‍♀️

oh soldier boy is SO MEAN. SO primal. so. fucking. rough. like shoving your head into the sheet rough, vice grip on your neck rough, and spanking you until you’re as red as the fucking commie flag he despises. that man is ALL about establishing control and revelling in the way you fall apart under his touch. manhandling more like. it inflates his dick as much as his ego to hear you plead for things you shouldn’t want—everything that he can give you. and the mouth on him is FILTHY. he’s calling you that fuckin’ slut, that velvety soft cock-warmer, his little, dirty cum-guzzler with a palate refined just for him. oh, he wants to RUIN you. wants to leave you so internally branded with his touch that you’ll morph into a lock that can’t be accessed by any key other than his. and he’s so. fucking. possessive. not to mention he’s going to see you on top of fucking cloud nine as you’re riding him, and he’s DYING to further raise you to the skies of fucking heaven by making you snort a line from his stomach or some shit. corruption kink most definitely.

meanwhile, beau can barely fathom how you’re enjoying any of it. through the entirety of it all, he’s lowkey giving sb the stank eye for his lack of respect for women—and you, more importantly. And while he knows you’ve fully consented, it doesn’t stop him from checking in with you every now and again—

“still hangin’ in there, darlin’? you let me know if it becomes too much, yeah? i’ll tell this jackass to dial it down.”

and beau, oh my god, he’s the king of checking in. he’s all about making sure you’re constantly comfortable and enjoying yourself—to the point where soldier boy’s making some remark like,

“what’re you—some fuckin’ gimme a c for consent cheerleader? shut the fuck up, grown a damn pair, ‘nd give the woman what she wants.”

and beau’s lugging in the DEEPEST breath of composure with the most disconcerting glare he can muster before recollecting himself and focusing all his attention back to you. his thrusts are gentle, but not weak—he’s hitting all the right spots with each approach and withdrawal. he’s listening to your breathing, the sounds you spew, and constantly reaching to brush the hair from the grip of your sticky face. and he lowers himself to place a kiss to whichever inch of you is most accessible at the time—favouring the curve of your cheek, where it’s easy for him to dip down to your ear and murmur some words of admiration and encouragement. oh he’s such a fucking praiser and words of affirmation guy. and he’s making sure to soothe every bruised part of you that soldier boy leaves behind, almost always sparing the supe a pointed glare that utters some silent claim of and that’s how you treat a lady. he’s littering kisses along your bruises and easing the tender skin with soothing rubs—cradling you and cherishing you like an expensive, one-of-a-kind china.

and then there’s dear, dear dean. this man is WAITING for his time to shine. i can 100% see him not caring for either of the other two men in the room—his attention’s all on you. when sb’s taking you all the way to nasty town, he’s glancing off to some other corner of the room, but can’t help sneaking occasional glances at your visceral, very verbal reactions. and he lowkey digs it. when he’s got his turn to make you feel things, he’s taking it nice and slow—all at your pace. and you know those fucking love-sick eyes he loves casting? yeah, HE’S GIVING YOU THE FULL-PACKAGE SUBBY LOOK. his every grip on your body is intentional—constructed to make you feel like you’re something he absolutely adores and cannot let go of. like a sentimental keepsake he’ll hold close to him for all the years to come. he’s observing every look ghosting across your features, savouring the way you absentmindedly caress him in the midst of your euphoria—revelling in the spell you cast that makes him feel like he’s all yours for the taking. he wants to be. and he shows you it. he’s simultaneously got his hand down under, adding to your stimulation with a skillful dally. and he does it all just to hear the sounds you make—the way you beg for more of him. all of him. and he unequivocally wants to hand himself over to you. his high only comes on after he’s seen yours through. if anything, your undoing spurs him on. and he’s planting tender kisses along your collarbone and jaw and making sure you know just how well you did for him.

“that was. . . freakin’ somethin’, baby. you’re amazing—can’t get enough o’ you. don’t ever wanna, so help me god.”

and you KNOW he’s serious if he whips out the name of the big ol’ guy in the sky.

and then when it comes to aftercare, beau takes the fucking cake—i just know it. in an instant, he’s encouraging you to go and use the bathroom to relieve yourself, making sure you’re physically capable of pulling yourself into a semblance of a functioning human when they’re done with you. and he’s offering you any and all assistance you need before recollecting your clothes and fetching a fresh pair—if any are available. he’s getting you an ice cold glass of water, a little shnaky snack and is ready to give you the cuddle of your life.

dean’s pretty content to monitor you coming down from your high, dragging a gentle palm across your hair while his other hand settles in a gentle frame of your jaw, thumb striking gentle lines across the framework of your face. he’s pretty insistent on short cuddles following the aftermath of everything, going so far as to trap you in a spooning session for a good few minutes before he lets you slip away to the bathroom. and even as you stroll off into the distance, he’s trailing after your every move like a lost puppy that doesn’t know how to utilise his free time. he’s so utterly infatuated with you that he’s got to watch everything you’re doing, and it doesn’t matter what. he’s admittedly not the most forward-thinker when it comes to aftercare, but he’s happy to tend to whatever you need AFTER you bring it up. and he’ll learn it like a routine after a while.

soldier boy does not believe in aftercare. oh my god that man is going to cradle a cigarette with more care than he’s ever shown you once he’s delivered you your high. as soon as he’s blown his load, he’ll let you slump down to the bed if only to admire the absolute glistening puddle he’s reduced you to. and he’s going to wear that smug ass cocky grin—even go so far as to chuckle demeaningly as he drinks the view of you in. he could probably get drunk on that visual alone. and then he’s throwing himself down onto the bed beside you, immediately reaching for that bedside cig. he’ll light it, take a long pull, and offer you a taste. at most, he’ll drape a lazy arm around you, but outside of giving his dick a joyride, you essentially stop existing. he’s good at making you feel used, and he’ll watch you clean yourself up without a second thought of lending a helping hand. he might just say some shit about it that he knows will piss you off because he loves getting a rise out of you.

“what’s with all the pussy-pamperin’? thought you’d marvel at havin’ my baby pumped into you.”

oh he’s such an ass. we love him for it though.

OKAY IM DONE NOW. for now

cheers to @bohemianblasphemy for letting me yap about this dynamic AGESSS ago and now i think it’s time to share a taste of it with the world 😭 YOU’RE EITHER ALL FUCKING WELCOME OR IM SORRY!!! i am SO tempted to turn this into a proper fic SOMEWHERE DOWN THE LINE❗️❗️❗️

i sincerely apologise for the shitty mismatched icons that are lowkey pissing me off but i had zero energy to sift through my pics for ones i haven’t already used and somehow make them match so DEAL WITH IT PLS & THANKS 💪

[deanssun]

hey so where are my clothes?? PLEASE rant about this more!!

okay but imagine being stuck in a room with beau, dean and soldier boy and how the dynamics would fucking CLASH 😭😭

soldier boy’s gonna be all up in your ass with some shit he thinks is slick—barely giving you room to breathe while he tries to coax you into his bed. beau’s 100% horrified at the shit streaming from sb’s mouth and he’s getting all protective and steps in to make sure he’s backing the fuck off of you and sb’s either gonna give in with some disdainful sniff before continuing to smoke away his loss or he’s going to throw one on beau and the two start brawling to the death. and then dean, who was happily watching the drama unfold, is eventually gonna step in to break up the fight and shove the two apart to take a breather—and while they’re recollecting their dignity, he starts chatting it up with you like he’d been waiting all this time to let the other two guys eliminate themselves as worthy candidates.

and like,,, don’t get me started on the bedroom dynamic either. im gonna though sorry 🤷‍♀️

oh soldier boy is SO MEAN. SO primal. so. fucking. rough. like shoving your head into the sheet rough, vice grip on your neck rough, and spanking you until you’re as red as the fucking commie flag he despises. that man is ALL about establishing control and revelling in the way you fall apart under his touch. manhandling more like. it inflates his dick as much as his ego to hear you plead for things you shouldn’t want—everything that he can give you. and the mouth on him is FILTHY. he’s calling you that fuckin’ slut, that velvety soft cock-warmer, his little, dirty cum-guzzler with a palate refined just for him. oh, he wants to RUIN you. wants to leave you so internally branded with his touch that you’ll morph into a lock that can’t be accessed by any key other than his. and he’s so. fucking. possessive. not to mention he’s going to see you on top of fucking cloud nine as you’re riding him, and he’s DYING to further raise you to the skies of fucking heaven by making you snort a line from his stomach or some shit. corruption kink most definitely.

meanwhile, beau can barely fathom how you’re enjoying any of it. through the entirety of it all, he’s lowkey giving sb the stank eye for his lack of respect for women—and you, more importantly. And while he knows you’ve fully consented, it doesn’t stop him from checking in with you every now and again—

“still hangin’ in there, darlin’? you let me know if it becomes too much, yeah? i’ll tell this jackass to dial it down.”

and beau, oh my god, he’s the king of checking in. he’s all about making sure you’re constantly comfortable and enjoying yourself—to the point where soldier boy’s making some remark like,

“what’re you—some fuckin’ gimme a c for consent cheerleader? shut the fuck up, grown a damn pair, ‘nd give the woman what she wants.”

and beau’s lugging in the DEEPEST breath of composure with the most disconcerting glare he can muster before recollecting himself and focusing all his attention back to you. his thrusts are gentle, but not weak—he’s hitting all the right spots with each approach and withdrawal. he’s listening to your breathing, the sounds you spew, and constantly reaching to brush the hair from the grip of your sticky face. and he lowers himself to place a kiss to whichever inch of you is most accessible at the time—favouring the curve of your cheek, where it’s easy for him to dip down to your ear and murmur some words of admiration and encouragement. oh he’s such a fucking praiser and words of affirmation guy. and he’s making sure to soothe every bruised part of you that soldier boy leaves behind, almost always sparing the supe a pointed glare that utters some silent claim of and that’s how you treat a lady. he’s littering kisses along your bruises and easing the tender skin with soothing rubs—cradling you and cherishing you like an expensive, one-of-a-kind china.

and then there’s dear, dear dean. this man is WAITING for his time to shine. i can 100% see him not caring for either of the other two men in the room—his attention’s all on you. when sb’s taking you all the way to nasty town, he’s glancing off to some other corner of the room, but can’t help sneaking occasional glances at your visceral, very verbal reactions. and he lowkey digs it. when he’s got his turn to make you feel things, he’s taking it nice and slow—all at your pace. and you know those fucking love-sick eyes he loves casting? yeah, HE’S GIVING YOU THE FULL-PACKAGE SUBBY LOOK. his every grip on your body is intentional—constructed to make you feel like you’re something he absolutely adores and cannot let go of. like a sentimental keepsake he’ll hold close to him for all the years to come. he’s observing every look ghosting across your features, savouring the way you absentmindedly caress him in the midst of your euphoria—revelling in the spell you cast that makes him feel like he’s all yours for the taking. he wants to be. and he shows you it. he’s simultaneously got his hand down under, adding to your stimulation with a skillful dally. and he does it all just to hear the sounds you make—the way you beg for more of him. all of him. and he unequivocally wants to hand himself over to you. his high only comes on after he’s seen yours through. if anything, your undoing spurs him on. and he’s planting tender kisses along your collarbone and jaw and making sure you know just how well you did for him.

“that was. . . freakin’ somethin’, baby. you’re amazing—can’t get enough o’ you. don’t ever wanna, so help me god.”

and you KNOW he’s serious if he whips out the name of the big ol’ guy in the sky.

and then when it comes to aftercare, beau takes the fucking cake—i just know it. in an instant, he’s encouraging you to go and use the bathroom to relieve yourself, making sure you’re physically capable of pulling yourself into a semblance of a functioning human when they’re done with you. and he’s offering you any and all assistance you need before recollecting your clothes and fetching a fresh pair—if any are available. he’s getting you an ice cold glass of water, a little shnaky snack and is ready to give you the cuddle of your life.

dean’s pretty content to monitor you coming down from your high, dragging a gentle palm across your hair while his other hand settles in a gentle frame of your jaw, thumb striking gentle lines across the framework of your face. he’s pretty insistent on short cuddles following the aftermath of everything, going so far as to trap you in a spooning session for a good few minutes before he lets you slip away to the bathroom. and even as you stroll off into the distance, he’s trailing after your every move like a lost puppy that doesn’t know how to utilise his free time. he’s so utterly infatuated with you that he’s got to watch everything you’re doing, and it doesn’t matter what. he’s admittedly not the most forward-thinker when it comes to aftercare, but he’s happy to tend to whatever you need AFTER you bring it up. and he’ll learn it like a routine after a while.

soldier boy does not believe in aftercare. oh my god that man is going to cradle a cigarette with more care than he’s ever shown you once he’s delivered you your high. as soon as he’s blown his load, he’ll let you slump down to the bed if only to admire the absolute glistening puddle he’s reduced you to. and he’s going to wear that smug ass cocky grin—even go so far as to chuckle demeaningly as he drinks the view of you in. he could probably get drunk on that visual alone. and then he’s throwing himself down onto the bed beside you, immediately reaching for that bedside cig. he’ll light it, take a long pull, and offer you a taste. at most, he’ll drape a lazy arm around you, but outside of giving his dick a joyride, you essentially stop existing. he’s good at making you feel used, and he’ll watch you clean yourself up without a second thought of lending a helping hand. he might just say some shit about it that he knows will piss you off because he loves getting a rise out of you.

“what’s with all the pussy-pamperin’? thought you’d marvel at havin’ my baby pumped into you.”

oh he’s such an ass. we love him for it though.

OKAY IM DONE NOW. for now

cheers to @bohemianblasphemy for letting me yap about this dynamic AGESSS ago and now i think it’s time to share a taste of it with the world 😭 YOU’RE EITHER ALL FUCKING WELCOME OR IM SORRY!!! i am SO tempted to turn this into a proper fic SOMEWHERE DOWN THE LINE❗️❗️❗️

i sincerely apologise for the shitty mismatched icons that are lowkey pissing me off but i had zero energy to sift through my pics for ones i haven’t already used and somehow make them match so DEAL WITH IT PLS & THANKS 💪