tags: mouth inspection fetish based off this idea i wrote previously. suggestive but not explicitly nsfw. literal fingers in mouth. elements of dubcon. mean-ish matt & faux sympathy.
You indulge Matt because it’s pretty innocuous.
Matt’s thumb glides along your gums in a way that is sensual. A soft slow drag that moves back and forth. It makes you feel sleepy in his lap. Makes you comfortable despite having a few probing fingers in your mouth. Helps brush away the confusion that rises in you when they go deeper.
You try to talk but just end up gagging on his fingers. Matt relents, pulling them all out and wiping the spit that threatens to slide down your chin away, you wince at the sensation of drying spit.
“What are you doing?”
He hums, adjusts you where you’re sitting in his lap and exhales slowly. Then he leans in to directly speak in your ear, his voice low and grave. “I’m satiating a curiosity of mine. You’d love to help me, right?”
The unfair thing about Matt is that his voice is so agreeable. He speaks in a gentle, succinct tone that cuts through almost everything. So you relax in his hold and nod, opening your mouth for him again.
It’s not supposed to be erotic but it is. Think being in a psychosexual position with your dentist, maybe. There are fingers, coarse and tasting of flesh and sweat, in your mouth and touching against your gums. Along your teeth, dragging beneath the jagged and smooth ridges. It’s sensual, but it shouldn’t be. Not at all.
You chalk it up to the owner of the probing fingers being Matt. He’s still dressed up, neatly tailored suit on. But his jacket is off, and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows. You see the hair on his arms and his analog watch. You even see the subtle movement of his muscles too. Guess it’s sexy if it’s Matt, oddly attractive if it’s him violating your mouth like this.
But spit is pooling in your mouth, and you can’t really swallow around Matt’s index and middle finger touching your inner molars so there’s no choice. Some of it slips past your mouth and you unintentionally whine.
“Oh,” Matt says softly. He coos at you, which makes your skin prickle. “Poor thing. Need a hand?”
Instinctually, you nod, but it seems that the bob of your head pushes his fingers in deeper. You gag, and tears form in your eyes when he doesn’t retrieve his fingers from where they dangerously sit from entering your throat.
Matt tutts at you, and you just whine because you can’t speak. Your face feels warm and you think that now is a good time to spring out of Matt’s lap but you don’t. Instead you direct your teary gaze toward him and his eyebrows knit together as he croons at you.
“You really need it, huh?” He wipes the spit that’s made its way down to your neck with his free hand, but doesn’t bother wiping your tears. “There,” he says, “I’ve cleaned your mess up. Stay put this time, okay? Wouldn’t want you to make a bigger mess of yourself.”
It’s unfair, because it's his fault. You talk disjointedly around his fingers, words and syllables crashing into each other as he works his fingers more. Choking when he presses down on your tongue.
“S’you,” you groan when he lifts them. “Your fault.
You’re supposed to retort something. Maybe about how he’s getting satisfaction from doing this. Sick satisfaction. But you don’t get the chance. You’ve roused his mean streak, the disciplinarian one.
Your tongue wriggles around like any bodily organ would, and Matt’s fingers find it with an easy pinch. Now unnaturally still in his grasp. The restless urge manifests itself in your body, so now you try to pull away, but ashamedly find little pinpricks of pleasure as you do. The more you squirm, the tighter Matt’s grip gets. The more you move, the more you recognize the arousal that’s suddenly built itself in your stomach.
“You’re blaming me, but I think you like it.” Matt’s tone commands your submission, so you still. It’s still soft but it’s gotten gruff. A touch more stern than it should be. “I think you like making a mess of yourself.”
You shake your head but he continues anyway. Your tongue held in between his fingers and the rest covered in your saliva. All slick and warm.
“You like drooling around my hand, don’t you?” He laughs airily. “It’s okay sweetheart, you don’t need to hide. I can tell that you like it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
In the end, there’s nothing to do but let Matt have his way, to indulge him. So when the fingers on your tongue move up and down, you let him puppeteer you around. He makes you nod. You tear up again, but you nod nonetheless.
his fingers running all over your teeth and he's memorizing the ridges and bumps and gaps. he's petting your tongue, and letting it suck and lick at the pads of his fingers. he's gently carressing your gums and its velvet smooth feel.....
he's holding your tongue in between too light fingers and murmuring about how you just need to stay quiet a little longer. he's focused and busy and can't afford to be distracted by you mouthing off while he's still observing everything in your mouth....
Warnings: Matt being Catholic, Malcolm being an idiot.
Word count: 393
Times word count has successfully been ≤300: 3
For the June Jukebox Scribbles challenge hosted by @societynsoelsscribbles | June 1: Song—Joy To The World by Three Dog Night.
You DO NOT have my permission to repost or upload my fic anywhere, including into an AI, tumblr, or other sites! Reblogs only!
Masterlist | Taglist | June Jukebox Scribbles masterlist
Matt pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his face and squeezing his eyes shut like the thought it would help him hide from something. "Ugh. Sometimes, I wish I'd been born deaf instead of becoming blind. That way, I'd never get a stupid song stuck in my head. Why is Joy To The World running through my mind in June? That's just homophobic!"
Unfortunately for him, Malcolm was the wrong person to say that to unless the goal was making his headache worse. "I'd have to ask my foster mom if that's accurate or not, but she's dead. I'm sure there are deaf people who still get songs stuck in their heads, though. Songs are way more than just the lyrics. What's so bad about your song, though? That's the bullfrog song, right? Are you just annoyed because it's old?"
Matt looked in his husband's direction with enough sass that Malcolm could feel it, even if Matt wasn't looking in the traditional sense. "I guess you're not technically wrong, and I hate that," he grumbled, shaking his head. "We've been together for how long, and you still don't realize that's a Christmas song?" Malcolm's hands swung out to the side with as much attitude as he could muster.
"I was raised Shinto and I'm now an atheist; whaddya want from me?" Matt's eyes blinked rapidly under the vermillion shades.
"I'm not commenting on that, Mal. ...How do you hear Christmas music every year for your whole life and not realize what it is?"
"Easy. I don't pay attention to it."
"It's in our house!"
"So is your stupid Horny suit, but I don't pay attention to how many times you take it to Melvin for repairs! I just make sure it gets washed every couple nights you're out so you don't come home smelling like someone's foot cheese."
Matt's mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried his best to figure out what to say, unsure where to start when there was so much about that statement that he hated. In the end, he decided to go chronologically. "I hate it when you call it that, Mal. It's Daredevil."
"You're the one who picked the name and the little horns, plus you've slept with three quarters of the New York population. It's the Horny suit. Fuckin' fight me, law boy."
A/N: This man is such a menace. Someone save poor Matt.
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thinking about how matt murdock would appreciate your extensive beauty routine more than most…
it’s a given that he’s a patient man, and i can see matt being the type to not just wait for you, but to sit on the toilet seat in the bathroom so he can be with you the whole time. he enjoys the intimacy of being with you while you get yourself ready for the rest of the world to see.
of course, he can’t see the makeup you apply or the curls that tumble down your neck, but his heightened senses more than make up for that.
matt loves the scent of you fresh out the shower. he can smell the way your soap seeps into your pores, mixing perfectly with your natural musk. and he equally adores the lotion you lather on your legs and arms. not only does it smell lovely, but it makes your skin soft like satin. feeling your hands in his after you’ve recently put lotion on is enough to make his head spin.
he’s also become a bit obsessed with your perfume. you don’t even need to have a signature scent—in fact, i think he might find seeing when you choose which perfume even more enticing. and he can pick up on every note in your perfume, smelling certain ones become stronger as the day goes on. whether you smell like vanilla frosting, cherry blossoms, or sweet balsams, it’s all he can focus on once he notices.
and, besides his senses allowing him to thoroughly enjoy your lengthy routine, there's just nothing he loves more than to be with you. the two of you are busy, so if spending time together means him listening to you talk and hum to yourself as you curl your hair, he’s more than willing to take a seat.
i also think that if you were getting yourself ready for a date, matt would like making that a part of the date, too. the two of you will chat and giggle with each other while you apply your makeup. maybe he’ll even bring you some sweet wine or cocktail he knows you like, just to make the night more special.
and, as much as he loves to just be with you while you doll yourself up, he just as much adores to be there while you get ready for bed, taking it all off.
(can you tell i have ddba brainrot...he's just so dreamy)
and while i’m at it, you ppl need to LAY THE FUCK OFF THE DAMN AI AND EITHER START READING OR WRITING FANFIC LIKE REAL, INTELLIGENT PEOPLE DO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be apart of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.
I miss crying myself to sleep cuz at least at the end of it I felt better and had a peaceful night’s sleep. Now its like I’m constantly sad and frustrated but not enough to cry. It’s like feeling nauseous and but not actually puking. Cuz like if you puke, it’s disgusting and uncomfortable but at least it’s over and you don’t feel nauseous afterwards.
How it feels when you try to find a fanfic where the MC/reader isn't a white tiny woman, who for some reason isn't capable of intelligent thoughts and just keeps crying and following the ML/romantic interest like she is a child who keeps needing saving and crying
She is also either tiny and small or "chubby" (it's not chubby it's literally just the same white girl with huge breasts and big ass and thighs)
I need to stop daydreaming cuz I just woke up from sleeping and I was having actual dreams about me just daydreaming. Like I gotta lock in this isn’t even the first time this shit happened.
