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ellievsbear
Acquired Stardust

JBB: An Artblog!

Origami Around

blake kathryn
Misplaced Lens Cap

pixel skylines
styofa doing anything

Kiana Khansmith
RMH

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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
almost home

oozey mess
🪼
One Nice Bug Per Day

#extradirty
wallacepolsom
Xuebing Du

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@deargalaxy
navigate through my blog & life:
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# about me #
Hey my beautiful MK angel 😇 could i get some Cole breeding/praise HC's please? I beg of you
GOD OKAY I-
NSFW UNDER THE CUT ~
you need ryland grace inspo? Im thinking about those slutty glasses if his. Imagine going with him for his next eye test. His prescription has changed so he needs new glasses. Imagine helping him pick which frames look best, and he’s getting more and more flustered under your scrutinising stare, and he gets pinker and pinker as you compliment how his nose looks sooo good in that pair, or how he looks sooo pretty in that pair…
and maybe he’ll want to you to tell him which pair looks best on him whenever he’s looking up at you from between your thighs, squeezing at your hips hard to keep your gaze focused on him, getting you all worked up just to stop and switch frames and ask again “what about these ones, baby?” and i’d bet he’d be glad he got that eye test because now he can see your pretty expressions that much clearer! (Even through the lenses keep getting all fogged up!)
just some food for thought.
Ryland is an adult who teaches middle school children’s science, and pays his taxes every year. Yet he’s nervous to go to the eye doctor without you.
Maybe nervous wasn’t the right word. More like shy, or timid is a better fit.
Going to the eye doctor literally means someone telling you “yeah your eyes suck, but here’s a nifty invention that can help you see better for 40 dollars!!” So you can understand his resentment.
Happy Mother's Day to these two
little guys in ghibli movies
Padmé Amidala
star wars lockscreens ; reblog or ‘‘♡’’
May the fourth be with you ✨
The Price of Absence
Summary: Matt Misses the most important night of your life
Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader
Warnings: 18+ only, angst angst angst
Word count: ~1.2k
Authors note: listened to “the moment I knew” and this quick lil blurb bloomed. It is unedited so I’m sorry for any issues.
The sound of the party settles into a dull, distant thud at the back of your mind. Laughter too cheery, music too loud, glasses clinking like they mean something. None of it reaches you. Your eyes stay fixed on the door.
It hasn’t opened for him. Not in over two hours.
You check your phone again even though you already know—no missed calls, no messages, nothing to explain the silence. That’s what gets to you. Not even a bad excuse. Just… nothing.
Everyone else showed up. Friends, colleagues, people who said they wouldn’t miss this for the world. And they didn’t.
“Hey.”
Foggy steps into your line of sight, blocking the door like he’s doing you a favor. You don’t look at him right away.
“He said he’d be here…” you say, quieter than you meant to.
Foggy hesitates. It’s small, but you catch it; the way he shifts his weight, the breath he takes before answering. A lawyer buying time.
“Yeah. He’ll be here..”
You finally look at him.
Foggy’s good at a lot of things. Lying in these moments is not one of them
The noise of the party presses in again, heavier now.
And for the first time tonight, you stop thinking he’s just late.
Congratulations come quickly after that. Warm smiles, steady voices, hands brushing your arm like this moment belongs to you. Your long-awaited book launch. Your night.
You thank them. You mean it.
But it doesn’t reach your chest.
The ache settles in deeper with every word until you can’t hold it there anymore. You excuse yourself, slipping away from the noise and the lights, into the quiet of the bathroom.
The door shuts behind you with a soft click.
You brace your hands against the sink, staring at your reflection. You look exactly how you’re supposed to. Composed, radiant, untouchable.
It almost makes it worse.
That sinking feeling spreads, slow and heavy, settling somewhere just beneath your ribs.
“He said he’d be here.”
You say it to the mirror like it might answer you back. Like it might fix something.
Heat rises behind your eyes, sharp and immediate. You swallow it down, lock your jaw, and your grip tightens against the porcelain until it’s the only thing you can feel.
You steady your breathing, forcing everything back under control.
No cracks.
Not here.
You can hear foggy and Karen muttering outside the bathroom door. Your reading is coming up, and Matt is still nowhere.
On stage, you set a copy of your book on the podium and smile at the crowd. The lights of New York glitter behind you in the night sky as you introduce yourself, thanking everyone for coming as they settle into their seats.
Your eyes move across their eager faces, anticipation filling the room. Then they catch on the only empty chair. Front and center row.
Your heart gives a sharp, unsteady lurch—but you cover it quickly, the smile never slipping as you begin to read.
“To Matt, and our friends.”
A dry laugh slips out before you can stop it as you read the dedication. You brush past it and begin the book, reading the first chapter aloud to the crowd. The pride never really lands, smothered under the weight of an empty chair.
Foggy and Karen drag you out for one last celebratory drink, but it doesn’t feel like a celebration. The tension hangs thick, unspoken. They try. God, they try. Try To pull you into lighter conversation, but they both know where your mind keeps circling. Matt.
Back at the loft, the quiet settles in like a weight. You pour a glass of wine, turn the armchair to face the stairs leading up to the roof door, and sit. Legs crossed. Glass in hand. Waiting.
The city hums outside, restless and alive, but up here it feels like a held breath. You take a slow sip, eyes fixed on the door, and wait for him to drag his sorry ass home.
You must’ve dozed off at some point, as the door cracking open startles you.
Matt goes still at the top of the stairs. Gloved hands flex. tight, then loose, then tight again. like he’s bracing for impact. The room shifts, the air going thick and charged. Your heartbeat spikes, loud and uneven, a tell he’s never been able to ignore.
That’s when it lands.
Oh. Shit.
“Babe—” he starts, already dragging the cowl off as he descends, voice low, careful. like he’s stepping into a crime scene.
“Don’t ‘babe’ me.” The words cut out of you, bitter and sharp, harsher than you meant. But you don’t take them back.
“I’m sorry,” he says. There’s panic threading through his voice, edged with just enough defensiveness to make it worse. “It was supposed to be quick—”
“I asked you to hang up the horns for one night, Matthew.”
“I know bu-“
“One night.” Your voice doesn’t rise this time. It sinks, heavy and fragile all at once, like it might collapse under the tears burning in your eyes.
“I asked for one night where it wasn’t about the city, or the mask, or everything else that always comes before me.” A breath catches in your chest. “Just one night for something I’ve been working toward for years. Something that mattered to me.”
“It mattered to me too—”
“Then where were you?” The question isn’t sharp—it’s soft. That’s what makes it hurt. “Because I kept looking at that door, Matt. Over and over like an idiot, thinking any second you’d walk through it.” Your lips press together, but it doesn’t stop the crack in your voice. “I had this whole picture in my head. You, standing there with flowers, smiling at me like I was the only thing in the room.”
“You’re right,” he says, quieter than you’ve ever heard him. For once he doesn’t try to fix anything. He just puts the cowl on the table. fingers lingering on it for a second, Then he sinks down to his knees in front of you, slow, deliberate. Like this is a kind of penance. Like this is the only place he knows how to be when he’s failed you completely.
Your eyes lock on him. There’s no sympathy left to offer. You’d told him it didn’t matter. That you understood. But now, faced with his absence on the most important night of your life, you realize just how much it bothers you.
You don’t move to comfort him. You take a slow sip of wine, set the glass down, and let the silence speak for you. There’s nothing left here to salvage.
Your body language tells Matt everything he needs to know. His head drops into your lap, tears prickling in his eyes.
“I’ll be out by Monday night.” Your voice is strained.
The silence stretches. Heavy, and unforgiving.
A broken sigh leaves him. “I’m sorry I missed it.”
“Im sorry too.”
You stay there, quiet. You’re still dressed for your night; he’s bruised, still in his suit. Neither of you moves. Whatever held you together doesn’t anymore.
————————————————————-
If you enjoyed this here is a list of my other Matt fics. Reblog to spread some angst!
like the flowers in the kitchen | matt murdock
summary; you buy new lingerie to surprise your husband matt, and he loves it.
warnings: smut, sensual smut, fem!reader, porn with plot, oral (f receiving) unprotected sex, talks of babies/trying to get pregnant, so much praise, literally this is porn with very little plot, not edited was too excited abt it lol
"I want you to feel something," you said, walking into the living room where Matt was laid back on the couch, fingers tracing over some documents for a case he's working on.
"Hmm?" he mumbled, hands stilling as you sat on the edge of the couch. "What is it, love?"
"A surprise, just... tell me which one feels better." You picked one of the few scraps of fabric you'd come over with, "hold your hand palm up."
He did.
You placed the first piece of material on his palm, and he smiled when he recognized the silk between his fingers.
"Here, could you take these please, sweetheart," he asked, handing the small stack of papers over so you could put them on the coffee table. "I want to give this my full attention, I have the feeling it's a very important decision."
"Mhm," you smirked. "How does that one feel?"
"Soft," he mused, "feels good on the skin, wouldn't be too warm." Matt smiled, "but still nice. Like cool to slip into."
You smiled. Matt thought you were buying sheets, for once, once, you were one step ahead of your overly observant boyfriend.
But you had no intention of buying fancy sheets today.
when his abs cave in when he breathes i kinda melt a little
good girl - Ryland Grace
ryland grace x reader
in which Dr. Grace uses the wrong vocabulary, and the Hail Mary gets a lot hotter
part one - part two
word count: 2,9k
requests are open!
The vast, endless expanse of interstellar space was, frankly, a little monotonous.
When you first boarded the Hail Mary, the sheer, existential terror of the mission had been enough to keep your adrenaline spiking every hour of the day since you woke up. You were on a one-way trip to Tau Ceti, carrying the weight of the entire human race on your shoulders, surrounded by technology that was experimental at best and completely suicidal at worst. For the first few months, every creak of the hull, every fluctuation in the life support systems, and every minor error code on the monitors had felt like a harbinger of imminent death.
But the human brain is remarkably adaptable. After millions of miles, the terrifying isolation of the cosmos had slowly morphed into a strange, domestic routine. You knew the exact, comforting hum of the centrifuge spin drive. You recognized the faint, metallic scent of the air scrubbers working overtime. And, perhaps most dangerously, you had memorized the exact way Dr. Ryland Grace’s brow furrowed when he was lost in a complex mathematical equation.
clark smut with reader that can’t focus while they fuck🙏
very much relatable. thanks for requesting 💌
CHATTERBOX 18+ ⸻ CLARK KENT
clark kent x fem!reader
WORD COUNT. 658 WARNINGS. 18+ only! general filth, pinv, reader can’t turn her brain off and clark being cute and teasing about it. mdni
Turning off your mind is always quite the struggle, it's never quite as easy as you hope it to be. It's like there's no off switch, your brain always seeming to be a rapid pingponging of thoughts, no matter the situation.
Even now, when your mind should be empty, sole focus supposed to be on Clark with the way he looks and smells and sounds and feels; your brain is drifting back to a conversation you had in passing with someone at the train station, and then to the paper shopping list you made and lost soon after.
Clark pulls his face out from the crook of your neck, lifting his head to get a better view of you below, your brows scrunched — but not in bliss like they usually are at a time like this, but instead focus.
oh this is me i fear. god forbid a girl likes to yap while getting her guts rearranged :/
LIKE THE REAL THING
You send the guy you were dating pictures of you in lingerie by accident.
cw: 18+, smut, accidental 'nudes', colleague!reader, clark jerks off to your pictures, m!masturbation, soft dom!clark, rimming, f!receiving oral, clark uses his arctic breath on you, temperature play, p-in-v, overstimulation,clark's all freaked out in this fic, he eats you from the back, doggy, belly bulge, possessive!clark (4.4k wc)
You were halfway through tugging your jeans back on when you realised something was terribly off.
Cat should've been blowing up your phone in all caps by now — a 'GODDAMN BABE YOU LOOK HOTTT', or at the very least, 'buy both, coward'. But your screen remained stubbornly silent. Save for one text you didn't get a good look at.
Weird.
You yanked the curtains open, lingerie draped over your forearms as you shuffled out of the fitting rooms. Swiping your lock screen to open the most recent message. Your thumb hovers over the opened chat and you choke on your breath. No. Oh no. No no no no.
It's staring right back at you. In unforgiving grey & white. Clark Kent. Packaged with two little blue check marks sitting all innocent underneath what you'd consider the most unsexy tit and rump pics of what you'd tried on earlier.
"H-Holy shit," you croak, all too dramatically slumping into the mannequin beside you. You tossed your phone into the clearance panties basket as if that would've reversed the crime scene.
Your heart's slamming out of your ribs when you shakily grab for your phone, hoping it was a hallucination that you hadn't sent racy pics to a man you'd barely been on two dates with. Mr Small-town-farm-boy. The same man who would pull away burned the second your tongue met his lips.
this is so delicious
🍜🍥🍜
World Heritage Post
sprint pole | miami gp 2026
“And then I went to go find Hughie and Kimiko x readers only to find nothing but Homelander, soldier boy, and butcher smut”
(I’ll just write them myself ig but my god it concerns me how many ppl seem to genuinely like homelander)