#Drop c

[vagyimpalavagysemmi]

Nehéz nekem ilyet mondani 😊, de @tudjukki-a-viking-visszater "The Kingdom" c. lemeze tök jó.

[latenightgasstationwalk]

Oooooooooooooooold video from when I was but a wee lad cashing in my Jimmy John’s checks to live in a trap house

[hasthecityrearranged]

You could use a little pick-me-up

Melanie La Barrie as Hermes, Rachel Tucker as Persephone, West End 2025: @callmelasagna’s master

[columboscreens]

[hoglinz]

happy nov 16 o7

[bloodied-jaw]

Oh brother, warning for all radqueers

1 hour video on rq community just dropped get ready for a wave of antis...

[karlydraws]

The Sweater Season is now in full swing

[what-even-is-sleep]

The lil’ guy I was making in the minutes when my students seemed to be handling their own projects well. (He ended up breaking right before I got him in the kiln).

@littleguysdaily

[phoenixtakaramono]

【TIMESKIP】

I think the Princess of Hell and her devoted knight make a great powerhouse couple

Higher-Res Version: Twitter

[ghcstpyre]

john wick x f!reader

cw: cis female reader, slight dom/sub dynamics, soft dom!jw, sub!reader, unprotected p in v, creampie, squirting, praise kink. MINORS BEGONE!

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i am in a Mood™️ and was inspired to try and write a quick piece. also yes I am procrastinating everything because of animal crossing so this is also to try and get back into the swing of writing lol. enjoy!

Your cheek squished against the flat, cool surface of the rich mahogany desk. Sometime after settling down in John's private library with your usual dark fantasy romance and John following not long after to have a nosey at what you'd been reading, you'd ended up bent over the nearest desk with your skirt yanked up and bunched around your waist and your panties pulled to the side. Thick fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, keeping your willing body right where he needed it. You were doing your best to be quiet, as per his orders, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with each delicious inch he pushed inside you.

“John…” You whined, wiggling your hips under his iron hold in an attempt to coax his cock further inside you.

This only had John doubling his grip on you. The fingers that held your hips dug in further, hard enough to bruise and leave little crimson crescent moons in your skin. The pain didn't deter you though. It only had that unsatisfied ache pulsing within your centre flaring up tenfold.

“Shush, baby,” John's voice was low and gravelly and sent a thrill rushing down your spine. Really, it was almost pathetic how much of an effect just his voice had on you. “I told you to be quiet. You sure you can do that for me?”

He leaned over, pressing his muscled slab of a body against your back to nip at your earlobe. You bit your lip in an attempt to stifle a whimper of need, just barely succeeding, and nodded.

“Good girl.”

John’s stubble grazed you and his long, dark hair tickled your skin as he pressed a tender kiss to your cheek and the weight of him lifted off of you. Whether it was out of mercy or pity - or both - John pushed the full length of his cock inside you in one swift motion. It took everything you had to not cry out in pleasure and pain as his tip kissed your cervix, filling you completely.

He watched as you struggled to keep any noises from escaping, his gaze heavy enough that you could practically feel it pinning you down to the desk just as effectively as his meaty hands. Seeing you in such a state of utter need while also being desperate to obey had his length throbbing inside you.

John set an unbearably slow pace, slow enough that it had you practically crawling out of your own skin. You so desperately wanted - no, needed him to to just fuck you, but instead it seemed he was determined to make sure you felt every vein and every inch, right up to the ridge where his swollen pink head met his shaft.

“Mmm, that's it, thaaaat's it.”

All you could do was lay there and take it without protest, however he wanted to give it to you. Your hands white knuckled the edge of the desk in front of you, serving as your anchor as you fought tooth and nail to keep any sounds of pleasure trapped behind your teeth. You knew that disobedience would result in punishment and you didn't really feel like being punished and degraded right now.

Right now, you wanted to be showered with praise. You wanted to be adored.

“You're being such a good girl for me. You want more?” He asked, relinquishing the vice grip he had on your hips in favour of smoothing those large, rough palms over the meat of your ass.

You didn't get a chance to nod. John was already parting your cheeks and chuckling deeply at the sight of his shaft, half buried in your soaking cunt and glistening with your slick arousal while the rest of it slowly dripped down your thighs.

“Look how wet you are for me. Of course you want more; you've already soaked my cock.”

With one hand he gripped one of your cheeks, while the other snaked up your spine to tangle in your hair. He pulled on the strands, forcing you to lift your head up and prop your upper body up on your elbows and forearms as his hips finally, finally picked up the pace.

If you weren't struggling to stay quiet before, you sure as hell were now. John knew how you liked to be rocked, what the perfect angle was to hit that sweet spot inside you that made you see stars. 

Tasting the tang of iron on your tongue you stopped biting your lip. You'd been so focused on keeping any noise at bay you hadn't even registered how hard your teeth were clamping down on the soft flesh while John pumped his huge cock in and out of you.

“You're doing so well for me baby, so well. Just a bit more and I'll - ngh - let you cum. I want to enjoy this sweet pussy a little longer.”

God, if his dick didn't push you over the edge then his words might just do it. Knowing that such a sweet, gentle man had the capacity to groan out words so filthy made that sick little part of you sing with glee.

The sounds of your rapid breaths mixed with his grunts of pleasure and skin slapping against skin bounced off the walls and echoed through the rows of bookcases filling John's library. Your legs began to shake as that familiar heat began coiling low in your abdomen. Sensing your building need, John let go of your hair and ass cheek to lean that glorious weight over you once again, propped up on one thick forearm while his other hand moved between your trembling legs to rub your neglected clit.

You keened into his heavenly touch and you couldn't stop a strangled little cry from escaping. You were quick to cut it off however, dropping your head to press your treacherous mouth into the inside of your elbow to muffle the noise. 

“That's my girl. You've been so good, do you want to cum? You want to cum for me? You want to be loud?” John's voice was practically dripping with honey as he whispered in your ear.

All you could do was lift your head again, look at him over your shoulder and nod pathetically while you rocked your hips back against him, meeting his thrusts.

“Cum.” He ordered, slamming into you with his fingers working relentlessly on your clit beneath you. “Cum on my cock baby. Scream for me.”

That was all the encouragement you needed.

Your cries and sobs of pleasure drowned out anything else as you came, your pussy gushing over his length and thighs and the wooden floor beneath your feet while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. John wasn't too far behind, pressing his chest flush against your back to suck a dark bruise into the crook of your neck while he thrusted into you one, two, three more times, and then filled you with his seed with a loud, long groan.

Both of you stayed like that for a short while, catching your breath and begging to sober up from the lust-addled haze you were in just moments ago. Eventually, John lifted his weight from you and pulled out, letting his cum leak from your entrance. He took a few moments to run his hands up and down your back, soothing you as you came down from the high.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice returning to its usual deep, gentle lilt.

Somehow you managed to stand up and turn around to face him on your shaky legs. John was quick to wrap his arms around you to keep you steady. You were all too grateful, immediately leaning your weight against him and letting out a content sigh.

“Yeah. More than okay, I feel amazing.” You smiled up at him, cheeks rosy with happiness, and then nuzzled your face into his broad chest.

John chuckled, the baritone sound rumbling from within. “Good.” With a swift motion he scooped you up into his arms to carry you bridal style towards the door to the library. “Because I've not quite had my fill of you just yet.”

divider by @/strangergraphics

[salt-n-salt]

harvey’s worst patient

[happy74827]

Still Waters

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Sometimes all it takes is a brush with death to reveal the unspoken bond between you and the man whose secrets run as deep as the trust that you’re only now beginning to understand

WC: 1548

Category: Hurt/Comfort, [TW: Mentions of Choking, Drowning, Attempted Death}

Tonight’s the night… I finally felt productive.

『••✎••』

You wake to a haze, your head pounding like a drumbeat against your skull. The world feels tilted and unfamiliar, and for a moment, you’re not sure where you are. Soft cushions press against your back, a blanket draped over your body, warm but not stifling. The faint scent of leather and something clean—like antiseptic—lingers in the air. Your eyes flutter open, blurry at first, then sharpening on a ceiling you don’t recognize. Panic spikes, sharp and cold, but before it can take root, a shadow moves beside you.

"Hey, hey, you’re okay," a low and steady voice says, cutting through the fog.

Dexter.

His face comes into focus, hazel eyes locked on yours, calm but searching. He’s crouched beside the couch, close enough that you feel his warmth, one hand hovering near your shoulder, ready but not touching. "You’re safe. You’re just in my apartment."

Your throat feels raw like you’ve swallowed glass. You try to sit up, but your body protests—dizzy, heavy, a dull ache radiating from the back of your head. Dexter’s hand finally lands, gentle but firm, guiding you back down. "Easy. You’ve been through a lot."

You blink, trying to piece together the fragments in your mind. Your apartment. A bath. The sound of a door creaking. Then—nothing clear, just flashes of terror, water burning your lungs, a struggle. Your hand flies to your throat, trembling, and Dexter’s eyes track the movement, his jaw tightening.

"Why… why am I…?" you rasp, voice barely above a whisper. Your heart races, a sick feeling twisting in your gut as you try to grasp at memories that slip like wet glass.

Dexter hesitates, just for a second before his expression softens. He shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the coffee table so he’s eye-level with you. "You hit your head pretty hard. I brought you here to keep an eye on you. Make sure you’re… you know, stable."

The words feel like they’re hiding something, and a sudden memory slams into you, sharp and vivid: Dexter’s face above you, water dripping from his hair, his voice urgent but steady. "Do you trust me?" Then, the prick of a needle in your neck, the world fading to black. Your breath catches, and you narrow your eyes at him, a spark of indignation cutting through the fog.

"You drugged me," you say, voice sharper than you expect, though it cracks at the end. You push yourself up slightly, ignoring the dizziness. "What the hell, Dexter?"

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. His gaze stays locked on yours, unflinching but not cold. "I did," he admits, voice quiet but firm. "I had to. What happened back there… you didn’t need to see it. Trust me, you couldn’t have handled seeing it." There’s a weight to his words, something raw and unguarded flickering in his eyes. "Harry—he couldn’t live with seeing things like that either. I wasn’t going to let you carry it."

You open your mouth to argue, but the sincerity in his voice stops you. You think of the fear, the water choking you, the shadow of a blade. And then Dexter, pulling you out, saving you. The anger fizzles, leaving you tired and shaky. You sink back against the couch, staring at him. "You could’ve warned me better," you mutter, but there’s no real venom in it.

A faint smile tugs at his lips, more relief than amusement. "Noted. Next time, I’ll give you a heads-up." The attempt at humor is gentle, and it pulls a weak huff from you despite yourself.

Silence settles for a moment, heavy but not comfortable. You notice the way he’s watching you, like he’s cataloging every twitch, every breath, making sure you’re really here, really okay. Your chest tightens, but not from fear this time. It’s something else, something warm and unsteady.

You shift slightly on the couch, the blanket slipping down your shoulder. Dexter’s eyes flicker at the movement, and he reaches out, almost instinctively, to tug it back up. His fingers brush your collarbone, light as a whisper, and you freeze—not from fear, but from the unexpected jolt that races through you. His hand lingers for a fraction of a second before he pulls back, clearing his throat like he’s caught himself doing something he shouldn’t.

"You cold?" he asks, voice steady again, like he’s trying to smooth over the moment. He doesn’t wait for an answer; he just grabs another blanket from the armrest and drapes it over you, careful not to press too hard against your aching body.

"I’m okay," you murmur, though you’re not entirely sure if that’s true. Your head still throbs, and the weight of what happened—what must have happened—sits heavy in your chest. You don’t ask about the attacker, not yet. The gaps in your memory feel like a mercy, but they also leave you unmoored, like you’re floating just outside your own life. Instead, you focus on Dexter, on the way he’s sitting close but not crowding you, his presence grounding in a way you didn’t expect.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. "I’m… uh, glad you’re okay," he says, the words almost clumsy like he’s not used to saying them. There’s a vulnerability there, a crack in the calm he’s been holding so tightly. "When I saw you in that tub with his—" He stops, his jaw working like he’s swallowing something he doesn’t want to say. "I wasn’t sure that you’d be…"

As he drifts off, you notice the faint shadows under his eyes and the tension in his shoulders. He’s been carrying this too, you realize—whatever happened after you blacked out, whatever he did to make sure you’re here now. Your throat tightens, and you reach out, almost without thinking, your fingers brushing his wrist.

He freezes, just for a second, his eyes snapping to where your hand rests. You almost pull back, but then he turns his hand, palm up, letting your fingers settle against his. It’s not a grip, not a hold—just a quiet connection, warm and steady. Your heart stumbles, and you’re suddenly aware of how close he is, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the antiseptic in the air.

"You scared me," he admits, voice barely above a whisper like it’s a secret he didn’t mean to share. His thumb brushes the edge of your hand, a small, unconscious movement that sends a shiver through you. "I don’t… scare easy."

You swallow, your voice soft but steady when you speak. "You care about me."

His eyes lift to meet yours, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. There’s something unguarded in his gaze, something that makes your breath catch. "Yeah," he says, a faint quirk on his lips, "I do."

The air feels heavier now, charged with something unspoken. You’re not sure who moves first—maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him—but the space between you shrinks. His hand slides up to your forearm, steadying you as you sit up a little more, and this time you don’t feel dizzy. You feel anchored. Safe.

"Dexter," you say, barely a whisper, testing the weight of his name. It feels different now, intimate in a way it never has before.

He tilts his head, just slightly, like he’s waiting for you to say something else, but you don’t. Instead, you lean forward, close the gap, and press your forehead against his shoulder. It’s not a hug, not quite—just a need to feel him there, solid and real. He stiffens for a split second, like he’s not sure what to do, then relaxes, one hand coming up to rest lightly against the back of your neck, careful of the tender spot where your headaches are.

"You’re okay," he says again, quieter this time like he’s saying it to himself as much as to you. His fingers thread gently through your hair, avoiding the injury, and the touch is so careful it makes your chest ache.

You stay like that for a while, breathing in sync, the world outside his apartment fading to nothing. The fear, the pain, the questions—they’re still there, but they feel distant with him this close. Eventually, you pull back just enough to look at him, and the way he’s watching you makes your heart skip. It’s not just concern now—there’s something deeper, something that makes you wonder how long he’s felt this way, how long you have.

"I’m going to get you some water," he says, breaking the moment like he’s afraid of letting it linger too long. He stands, but not before giving your hand a quick squeeze, a promise he’s not going far. You watch him move to the kitchen, his movements deliberate and practiced, but there’s a softness to him now that you’ve never seen before.

As the sound of running water fills the silence, you pull the blankets tighter around you, the ache in your head dulling to a manageable throb. You’re safe, you tell yourself, echoing his words. And for the first time in a long time, you believe it. Whatever happened in your apartment, whatever Dexter did to keep you safe, you know one thing for certain: he’s your anchor now, and you’re not letting go of that.

[wandixx]

Seriously chaotic fashion misadventures

I realized I posted a teaser and never really followed up on it, so here is some more of that

“Hey, Dami?”

Boy hadn’t looked up from the kittens he was bottle feeding but let out a hum indicating he listened.

“I'm thinking about trying out a more girlish style. Do you think it would suit me?”

Well, Damian had no idea but if Dani wished to give it a chance, then, well, the only proper reaction was to offer his aid.

*-*-*

“Father, I require access to your rouge gallery.”

Bruce almost choked on his breakfast when his youngest made this announcement.

Rouge gallery, as his children playfully called it, was vast collection of lipsticks, which he collected to uphold his Brucie persona. Famous playboy with head constantly in the clouds couldn’t not show up with discreet signs of scandal from time to time. And it couldn’t always be the same shade. Or scent when he choose more subtle approach and used one of his more feminine perfumes.

In all honesty, he enjoyed this.

But that’s not the point, point was that Damian wanted to use it and Bruce needed to know what disaster would fall upon him if he agreed.

“Mind telling me why, chum?”

Dick, who visited Manor for a weekend, barely stifled his laughter while Tim stared at his empty coffee mug like it personally betrayed him. Cass just wore her usual knowing and mischievous smile.

Damian shifted in his chair, hands clenching on butter knife. He was nervous and suddenly Bruce dreaded the answer he was about to hear.

“I don’t see how me sharing this information would change anything. It won’t be used to cause harm to anyone but it’s necessary in the extracurricular project I just started.”

“Dami, what project?” Dick asked, voice oozing with genuine curiosity and excitement. He was almost bouncing.

“I don’t want to disclose it.”

“Is this a hero or civilian type of deal?”

Damian didn’t look any of them in the eyes, both hands clenching on his seat as he kept shifting. Bruce narrowed his eyes. Was his youngest… flustered?

“Civilian”

“Alright, great” Dick swung back with single clap, almost tripping his chair over “I think B won’t have anything against you using his rouge gallery, will he?” Man knew his oldest son well enough to recognize his ‘don’t you dare to disagree’ tone. He was confused but there wasn’t any harm so he nodded with affirmative hum.

“Thank you, Father”

Boy practically inhaled rest of his food and rushed outside. Despite all his training and all his efforts, they clearly saw his excitement. Tim pinched himself and returned to staring at his mug.

“Cass, have you seen what I’ve seen or am I overreacting?” Dick asked, barely restraining his enthusiasm. Girl nodded eagerly, shoving more crumbs into her mouth. Young man cheered, throwing his hands up.

“What have I missed?” Tim mumbled, frowning a little.

“BABY BAT HAS A CRUSH!”

Cass nodded again with wide smile.

Oh.

Oh no.

Who were they? What did he know about them? Was Protocol 3r0s started? Did someone run a background check already? What could they do if they somehow hurt Damian? Was this person a risk to their identities? Oh gods, oh no.

He probably will have to do The Talk™.

He always dreaded having The Talk, with any of his kids. He felt The Talk with Damian would be even worse. Understandably so.

“Also sleep in at least three da-”

“Fuck off, dick.”

“Was this insult or-”

His children remained obvious to how much work it meant, cheering and sassing each other like they often did.

*-*-*

Damian did not know how it was possible but he lowered his guard enough to get caught.

"What are you doing?" Brown choked out after they stared at each other for a long moment.

"It does not concern you–"

"You're rummaging through my wardrobe, not many things concern me more and also, that's frickin creepy don't do it to anyone outside of the family"

She did have a point however he was not convinced it would be the correct approach if he shared his plan. Father's wards (even unofficial like Brown) tended to make assumptions and overreact based on these conjectures. Dani wasn't easy to scare off but he didn't want to check if his family would manage. They often did things thought to be impossible.

He tried to get away but the blonde stood fiercely in a door, leaving the window as the only way out. He wasn't this desperate. Yet.

Girl looked more and more angry at his silence. He had to give her some answers.

Now that he actually considered it, she could be a useful asset. She was far better versed in women's fashion and if he phrased it correctly, he wouldn't even need to bribe her. Question was, how should he phrase it?

"I have an acquaintance- I have a friend," he corrected himself "from the animal shelter I volunteer at. She mentioned wanting to try out more 'girlish style' and asked for my opinion. I wanted to see if you had any clothes that would fit her. She is smaller than me so I thought that whatever I take, it wouldn't be missed." 

Brown grinned with an unsettling gleam in her eyes. He suddenly regretted opening his mouth if not coming to this room in the first place. 

"Say no more, I have a plan Demon Child"

[dietmimo]

HSY: *feral screaming and cursing*

DKOS: I said I was sorry.

HSY: *feral screaming and cursing INTENSIVES*

----

[ID: Animated Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint fanart. Kim Dokja is in Demon King form, and he's much bigger than Han Sooyoung, who's comparatively tiny and is clinging to his nose and face while furiously yelling and thrashing around as Kim Dokja nervously tries to appease her. End ID]

ID by @princess-of-purple-prose

[funhouse-mirror-barbie]

I need more doomed Yuri. Not doomed in the sense that like their relationship won’t work out but like…doomed by circumstance. Doomed by fate. Doomed because they loved each other so strongly, so violently, so transcendently that everything else is destroyed by the force of it.

I want Yuri that’s doomed but the love persists so viciously that it dooms everyone. I want Shakespearean levels of tragedy Yuri.

I want Yuri that that is feral and untamable. I want Yuri that is beautiful and terrifying and ferocious. Yuri that annihilates anything and everything that dares stand in its way.

[letsraisealittlehelltrds]

♡ Some Freight gifs because I love them too ♡

“Fracht Ist Macht !”

Please don’t reupload to other platforms! Reblogging is okay :)

🎥 : Hitmewithyourbethshot