multy-fandom-lover

[multy-fandom-lover]

GhostSoapPrice <3

[multy-fandom-lover]

Game of thrones A/B/O headcanons 

Notes: Just some thoughts I had before bed ngl I looked up a/b/o Sandor and found nothing so my brain gave me this instead

Sandor Clegane is an alpha (this au puts a big spin on “The Hound” nickname) he's big, strong, powerful and aggressively male. He's everything I can imagine an alpha to be (I want him 😩). I like that he swears like a sailor and ends up as a protector. I bet he has that distinct male scent that just makes your mouth water (the sinful things i'd do)

Joffrey is a beta he wants to be an alpha so bad but boo hoo he's simply not he legit is one of those whiny bitchy guys who pretend to be big and bad 

Sansa is actually an omega at the beginning of the series; she really embodies it and I live to think of her becoming some badass omega later on.

I think arya is a beta she gives me that level headed thinking that I generally associate with betas (at least not the ones like Joffrey; I think she loathes the fact they have this in common)

I was going to make an argument that Daenerys is an alpha but honestly too many things just fit with omega. She's THE mother of dragons, it also fits with Khal Drogo being an alpha and him leading the dothraki (I do have opinions on how the Dothraki think of Daenerys leading them) I also think she uses people underestimating her because of her status to her benefit like when she played dumb to get the unsullied. 

Jon snow is an omega idk I just kinda wanna give him 1 more thing he has to struggle against on top of being a bastard (I'm so mean sorry jon) 

[multy-fandom-lover]

sending this to my coworkers every time they make a slight joke about me

[multy-fandom-lover]

Hey, sorry to bother but could you make a part 2 of Not so creepy landlord König 😁

Part One

warnings: sfw but we touch vaguely on König's mommy issues/mommy kink, König isn't creepy/abusive at all but he is still König and therefore not a shining bastion of morality lol Notes: This is fun, I like writing this König. He's so baby. Awkward baby boy. WC: ~600

The thing was, König knew exactly what he was doing when he walked in on you and your date the other night.

Now, did he expect you to already be half undressed? No. Was he complaining that he got to lay eyes on your beautiful breasts? Also no.

Did he regret upsetting you? Very much so.

It ate at him, that he’d embarrassed you. That he���d scared you. He knew he was already terrifying to look at, but he’d never wanted to give you reason to think he’d hurt you. So he returned half of your last rent payment in apology, and ducked his head and turned around to go the other way every time he saw you coming.

That was the hardest part. Though interacting with you was always nerve wracking, it was also his favorite part of the day. Denying himself your presence was torture.

So when Monday came around, he finished his sweeping when he spotted you walking up the path to the front door. He was returning the broom to the supply closet when he felt a presence behind him. He stiffened and spun around, already looking down, well used to missing whoever was trying to sneak up on him if he didn’t.

When he saw you standing there, a frown on your face and your grocery bags held out towards him, his heart skipped a beat in his chest. Slowly, hesitantly, a smile crept across his face despite his best efforts to restrain it—he knew it tugged at his scars unpleasantly. You didn’t comment on it, though, just nodded your head towards the stairs.

“You owe me,” you said, leaving no room for argument in your voice. Not that König would dare protest. He nodded rapidly, still with a little smile on his ruined face, and bounded up the steps, chest warm. You had spoken to him! Even after his terrible mistake, you were willing to talk to him again. He was ecstatic.

When he reached your door, you were still a whole floor below him. Usually, he would put your groceries down and continue up to his flat, but today, he found the courage to linger. He fidgeted awkwardly as he waited for you, hunching his shoulders at the surprised look on your face when you saw him standing there.

“I will help put them away,” he said, belatedly remembering that he should make it into a question. “Yes?”

You worried your bottom lip with your teeth for a moment, and König waited with bated breath for your answer. Finally, you let out a big sigh.

“Alright,” you agreed, much to his relief. “But don’t expect dinner in return. You’ll get a glass of lemonade and be grateful.”

“Yes, Ma— Fraulein,” König replied obediently, face flushing a deep red at his near slip. The unspoken words sat heavy on his tongue, sticking in his throat as he swallowed them. Yes, Mama. Yes, Mama. Yes, Mama.

You would think him a pervert if you knew. That was, if you didn’t think him one already, after the other night…

But it was worth it. You had forgiven him, or were open to doing so if he proved himself worthy, it seemed. And he had gotten rid of that pesky nuisance you called a date. Without getting his hands bloody, even! His Oma would be proud.

[multy-fandom-lover]

Mystical Woodland Animal Art Prints by RivuletPaperShop

x / x / x / x / x x / x / x / x / x

[multy-fandom-lover]

Really bad science class doodle of 141 as fish. Supposed to be a pun for cod, but I don’t know what a cod fish looks like so this is good enough. Also it was rushed so don’t judge me.

[multy-fandom-lover]

having depression makes your friends seem like the coolest most put together people on earth like wow... you got out of bed, had breakfast, went to work, AND spent some time on a hobby when you got home....? that's so impressive you're like superman or something. can i borrow your power.

[multy-fandom-lover]

The Vulcan children's hospital recently redecorated. I'm not convinced they chose the most logical option

[multy-fandom-lover]

friends asked me to draw a bee with a binky here you guys can have it too

[multy-fandom-lover]

A specific thing but guys wrestling in mud and whoever wins gets to fuck the other while theyre pinned face down ass up, hand splayed over their face keeping it down in the mud

-🫀

dirty gay men how I love you

mmmm all the grappling and the grabbing and the hands slipping, grip clinging.... I bet they fight dirty, too. too well-matched to avoid it, really. spitting in each other's eyes and stuff...

also not necessarily mud and definitely not fighting dirty but I've been toying with the idea of nik being into play wrestling for a while. I just think he likes how much smaller you feel under him. he was trained to fight among the world's strongest soldiers and really no matter how big you think you are you just can't quite compare. he has to be sooo delicate with you, and he likes how your soft skin feels as he brands divots into your thighs... perhaps devolves into tickling cause he likes how breathless you get...

[multy-fandom-lover]

GHOAP CODED GHOAP CODED GHOAP CODED GODJP CSINTI JAICN EBFIN ajdkfnfncnifndb (a little NSFW warning? Maybe? It's safe enough for instagram lol) link

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i have a brick and don't even work in construction.

[multy-fandom-lover]

lets start a chain cause why not

1. take this quiz

2. do this picrew of yourself

3. tag some fiends!

I'll start:

Dude 💀

tagging: @kimetsu-chan @larz-barz @aceofstars0 @exymybeloved @explosivesamurai

[multy-fandom-lover]

executive dysfunction tips! It gets easier to do a task if you dress appropriately first!! It’s much easier to get started once you’re wearing the right clothes for the headspace. For example if you need to clean your room, try putting on a maid dress! If you need to make dinner, try putting on a maid dress! If you need to accept visitors, try putting on a maid dress! If you need to poison the tea that will be served to your mistress’ esteemed guests in an effort to ensure her suitors never take your mistress’ hand from you, try putting on a-

[multy-fandom-lover]

sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four

[multy-fandom-lover]

[multy-fandom-lover]

Not to be all size kink about it but

Seeing your monster's cock for the first time and it's too big??? You're sure it's too big. They warned you it might be too big. "Humans are often a little scared of it" they told you, "It truly may not fit." They even assured you that they would be okay with it if you could never ride them, that there were so many other things you could do together. You still insist on trying. At the very least, you want to see it. They've been playing with you for weeks, but you've never even gotten to see their cock.

So when you see it for the first time and your eyes go wide and your mouth falls open in surprise because their warnings could not have prepared you for this, they're like "really, I totally understand if it's too much" and when your brain comes back online you just laugh at them.

"It may take some time," You admit, "You might have to be patient."

And they try to just casually be like "No worries, I can do that. And if it doesn't work, no big deal." Except you can see the way they twitch when you say it and you know they're fucking thrilled that you're even just willing to try.

So now you're straddling their hips, the head of their cock pressing against your entrance, and you're pressing downward so very slowly, half out of necessity (because jfc youre gonna have to take your time here) and half to tease them, and just the head alone is so filling. It hurts a little but you really, really don't mind.

Beneath you, your monster is panting. You can feel how hard they're fighting to control themselves by how tightly they're gripping your hips. A small part of your brain is worried they're going to manage to break something because they're just so damn strong, but it's a very, very small part and easily ignored.

You're sliding down their length in tiny increments, barely managing a quarter if an inch at a time before you have to stop and let your body adjust, try to relax more. You keep trying to spread your legs wider, as if it might help. Each of your movements makes your monster's cock twitch within you, making your own body clench tighter around them, making them moan and making you whimper. You're so lost in the feeling of being filled and stretched as your body struggles to accommodate them, and in the thoughts of how it will feel when they begin to move and how it will feel when they're fucking into you with wild abandon while you desperately cling to both them and your sanity. You're so lost in all of it that you barely notice when, what might actually be hours later, they're fully seated within you, your hips flush with theirs. You're fighting to catch your breath and wondering, not entirely as a joke, if their cock might be pressing against your lungs.

You're pretty sure you could stay like that forever. You almost think you should because surely if this gets any more intense you might simply die.

But they're whining up at you. Their eyes are nearly black with lust, their lips parted, panting, the sharp points of their teeth just barely visible. They're beautiful like this.

Their hands are fisted in the blankets to either side of your bent legs. You don't remember those hands leaving your hips but when you look down to see where your bodies meet, there are already fingerprint bruises blooming across your skin, even pinpricks of blood where they couldn't keep their claws from digging in, just a little. Your own hands are braced against their stomach. There are shallow divots in the skin there from your nails, but no bruises and no blood.

Your thighs are already sore and tired from controlling your speed, but you manage to ignore it, rising halfway up their length before sinking back down. Have you ever been this wet? Has your core ever felt so tightly wound? That one half-thrust is enough to send you so close to orgasm you're almost afraid to move again.

They ask you if you're all right. You look utterly debauched. Your skin is blotchy with heat and arousal, your breathing is loud, almost gasping, your lips swollen and red from your own teeth digging into them as you worked them inside of you, your own eyes so hazy with lust your monster isn't sure you can actually see them.

You nod. And you giggle, which is unlike you. And you rock your hips again, an even shallower thrust. And the groan they let out tells you just how badly you're teasing them, just how desperate they are to move. That they are controlling themselves for you is so sweet. And it sends your arousal even higher, because you can't help but think about what they might do to you if that control snaps.

They're beautiful like this.

A third time, you move your hips. This time, you lift yourself off of them entirely with an obscene popping sound. You've heard people describe feeling empty before, but you're not sure you've ever truly felt that way until now. You're twitching, desperate to sink back down, and you see no reason to wait.

With one hand, you line them up with your entrance again. They feel good in your grip. That surprises you, you've never been particularly drawn to using only your hands on someone, but now you're half distracted by exploring their cock with your fingertips, tracing each dip and ridge. Their eyes have slipped closed, and a wrinkle has formed along their forehead from concentration and pleasure.

Your monster says please. And you're surprised, because usually you're the one begging. For a split second, the power goes to your head, and you seriously consider saying no. But you want it just as bad as they do.

With a devious smile they can't see, you slip down their length as quickly as you can manage, crying out with a noise you'd be embarrassed to be making if you could think that far. It's not that quick, but it has the desire effect. Their hands find your hips again, squeezing painfully before tearing themselves away, one returning to the blanket the other pressing flat against your back, nearly sending you crashing down against their chest before you catch yourself. You're leaning over them now, hands braced on the bed to either side of them, and when you open your eyes, they're looking up at you in a way that makes you dizzy.

You try to move again but you're shaking too hard.

"Fuck me." You demand. Usually if you were to demand something, your monster would laugh, would tell you you need to learn to ask nicely, would make you beg on your hands and knees if that's what they were in the mood for. How many times have you begged for their mouth or their fingers? How many times have you begged them for pleasure and pain?

They don't say anything of the sort this time. They move.

Their hands are suddenly on your thighs, digging into your flesh as they begin to move you. You find yourself thrust back and forth on their cock, your movements controlled entirely by their hands. They are not gentle. Each time they pull you up, their cock nearly slips out of you. Each time they pull you back down, your body slams against theirs. And they have set a punishing pace.

You squirm, instinctively wanting to get away from the pain of being stretched open so violently, even as that same pain is what finally pushes you over the edge into your first orgasm. They don't stop. They don't even slow down. You were already overwhelmed. You're not sure there is a word for what you are now.

Your second orgasm comes close on the heels of the first, and it drags a scream from your throat. You're not sure you've ever screamed in pleasure before. Their movements stutter, but you manage a rough, barely intelligible "keep going." It's this assurance – and perhaps the way you're still twitching and clenching around their cock – that finally sparks their own orgasm.

They yank you tight against them as they cum, harshly grinding your hips against theirs. It's at this moment that your arms give out. They barely seem to notice you crashing into their chest. As their climax begins to fade, they start moving you again, using your body to draw out their own orgasm as long as they can with slow, shallow thrusts. The change in angle and the way they're manhandling you purely for their own pleasure sends you spiraling towards a third orgasm. They're moving slower and slower, clearly reaching the point of satisfaction. You're still on the edge when they finally go still. You try to move, searching out just a tiny bit more stimulation, but they're holding you too tightly. A low rumble of amusement beneath your cheek confirms they're doing so on purpose.

You manage a breathy "not fair," but your voice has gone as weak as your body. They don't bother to answer.

After several minutes spent with both of you trying to catching your breath, your monster begins to pull out of you. But they stop when you make a whine of protest. They've gone soft, but you still feel so incredibly full. You never want to feel empty ever again.

"I could spend the rest of my life on your cock," You mumble into their chest.

They answer with a quiet hum of approval. And then say "Well, now we know it fits there."

Before you can ask them what they mean, they've slipped a thick finger into your mouth. Their skin is rough against your lips and tongue.

They take their time, pressing down on your tongue, running the sharp tip of their claw along the inside of your cheek, hooking around the corner of your mouth and giving a gentle tug before adding a second finger. You whimper. At the feeling of their fingers exploring your mouth, and at the implication. Your brain runs wild with images of their cock filling your mouth, pressing slowly but firmly into your throat. Of yourself, choking and struggling to breathe.

They begin thrusting their hand back and forth, pulling out until their claws are dancing at the very tip of your tongue, then pushing in until those same claws are threatening your gag reflex. You're pretty sure you're drooling onto their chest.

During one of these thrusts, they push a third finger between your lips, forcing your jaw wider to accommodate them. Your jaw is already uncomfortable, and these three fingers barely even approach the girth of their cock. This might take more training.

Even as a flash of nervousness dances up your spine, you force your mouth even wider, and begin to run your tongue along their skin. You even go so far as to lick the very tip of their talons each time they pull out of your mouth. You can still taste a hint of your own blood on them, from when your monster held you too tightly.

They chuckle again. You're rewarded with a fourth finger and a single shallow thrust of their hips that isn't enough to trigger your third orgasm, but does press their cock deeper into you. You moan around their hand, and clench around their cock, and you're so unbelievably happy.

[multy-fandom-lover]

Imagine Early Mornings with Bruce Wayne

Mornings in the Wayne Manor, you have found, are always a little disorienting.

You always wake alone, amidst sheets so soft that your bare skin tingles as you stretch against them.

There is a glass of water, drained, on his side of the bed. A bottle of painkillers, unopened.

There would be a note, short and painfully impersonal.

Left early for a meeting, it would sometimes say.

Or more rarely, it might say Library, a shorthand invitation to join him for a day of quiet reading.

More often, the note would simply say, Downstairs.

His codeword for the cave. By the time you wake, he would have been down there for hours.

In the first, few months of your relationship, you had found the notes amusing, if a little bit offensive.

“Those are not love notes,” you had complained to Bruce. “It feels like something my boss would leave me. Meeting this afternoon at three o’clock. Bring donuts.”

And while he had not laughed (indeed, he laughed so rarely that you sometimes wonder if laughter had calcified in his throat), but he had looked up from his notes and smiled.

The next morning, you had woken up to no note, but instead a mug of hot coffee and a brightly-colored box of donuts, the kind you’d see served in a business meeting.

His idea of a joke.

At least that was something you knew that the rest of Gotham didn’t: Batman actually had a sense of humor.

It is months later, when you wake to the sound of shifting cloth, and a sharp intake of breath, so soft it might as well have been silent.

He’s waking, you realize. This is the first time that you have woken up at the same time Bruce did.

Perhaps it’s the journalist in you, unable to be buried even after a year of being out of the business, or perhaps it’s simple curiosity, but you don’t move. You keep your eyes closed, struggling to keep your breathing steady. You pretend to still be asleep.

In all the time you have been together, you had never woken up the same time as him.

The first thing you realize is this: he wakes up in pain.

That should come as no surprise, you think, considering what he does. But this is the first time you’ve actually witnessed it, unchecked. Even in the Batcave, with Alfred, and later you, carefully stitching the muscle and fat and skin closed, he grits his teeth and barely makes a sound.

He does not scream.

(You often wonder if it is for your benefit. If he can read the distress on your face and decide to swallow down his pain rather than let you see it.)

But in the dawn of a new day, where there is no constant humming of his supercomputer, none of Alfred’s cutting banter, there is a nakedness to him.

Bruce lies on the bed for several minutes, so still that he might as well have been carved from stone.

It hurts him to move, you realize.

(And if you close your eyes, you can still see the injuries from last night, with startling clarity: the bruised ribs, the swollen eye, the gash that left his shoulder lay open the muscle and fat to lay bare the bone. You had swallowed down your tears the way he swallowed his screams.)

And then, Bruce does something odd.

He rolls to his side—

(A sharp intake of breath, so soft it might as well have been silent.

He is lying on his injured shoulder.)

And he holds you.

Bruce Wayne holds you.

One arm draped over your waist, squeezing once, so that you can feel the tension in the corded muscles, always so carefully hidden underneath bespoke suits and shirts that cost more than your monthly salary.

His lips find the back of your neck, the pressure so light that you could barely feel it.

The thought comes to you then, unbidden: he is afraid to wake you.

And that his lips are moving.

You wonder if he is whispering sweet nothings, like a lead in a romance film.

You wonder if he is praying.

And then, his arm tightens around you and you realize:

He is saying your name.

(And the way he says it, under his breath, against your skin, is it really so different from prayer?)

When he finally rises, it is just as quiet. The sound of skin against shifting satin.

You hear him drain the glass of water.

He picks up the unopened bottle of painkillers as if contemplating it, then sets it back down..

There’s the sound of a drawer opening, the scratch of pen or paper.

Your note for the day.

It does not take long to write a single word.

And soon, he leaves the note on top of the drawer, and he leaves.

You rise with your heart beating against your throat. You can still feel the ghost of his lips on the back of your neck.

You had never seen him like that. Felt him like that.

Not just loving, but worshipful.

He had spoken your name as if to draw strength from it.

You glance at the bottle of painkillers.

It’s unopened.

You pick up the note, on it is a single word:

Downstairs.