5k words ♱ matt murdock x female reader ♱ mdni !!! ♱
a/n: sooo, does anyone else really want a dad? (,,>﹏<,,) also – surprise! i have a new username as my super unofficial induction into murdock circle! special thanks to bun for being sweet enough to invite me into the high society of matt murdock enjoyers!! ヽ(o･∀･)ﾉ♡
tags & warnings: no use of y/n. dad!matt. slight angst. fluff/comfort. reader is a coffee-addicted college student. age gap. pet names (sweetie, honey, baby, kid). fauxcest!!! gentle to rough. spanking. clit taps. unprotected piv. reader cums twice!! whiny matt if you squint. you suggest the kink but matt ends up enjoying it even more than you do!! ♱ you are responsible for what you read!!!
tag list: twas the night of dad!matt smut, and all through the house, every mootie was stirring, especially @bunmurdock, @moth-murdock, @vigilantekisser, and @sunshine-daydreams0809 !! (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
It starts with a phone call.
Matt’s phone buzzes incessantly on his desk, accompanied by the ringtone that repeats your name. His fingers immediately pause over the braille document in front of him and opt for swiping papers to the side to locate the device.
“Hi, sweetie,” Matt greets you once he manages to answer the phone. A touch of a smile reaches his lips with the knowledge that you were thinking about him enough to give him a call.
“Matt,” you sniffle.
He freezes and, in the blink of an eye, every sense goes on high alert. Are you in danger? For a moment, he swears he can hear every single sound from Hell’s Kitchen all the way to New Jersey. But he forces himself to zero in on your voice. Calmly, he says your name then asks, “What’s wrong?”
“Matt, you said-” you hiccup through an onslaught of tears. “You promised you’d be home for dinner ‘n you’re not here.”
Fuck. He didn’t even realize how long he’d stayed behind to work on his current caseload. He had promised you he would go home early tonight so you two could eat dinner together for the first time in weeks. Yet here he is, still elbow-deep in legal documents, having made little to no actual progress, listening to you weep over the phone.
“I'm sorry, kid,” he says in a rush and rubs a hand over his forehead. “I didn't realize how late it was. I didn't mean to keep you waiting.”
You respond with a wordless sob and Matt's heart shatters into a million pieces. He's hurt you. His sweet girl. His voice of reason. His god-given solace.
What's worse is that this is the exact sort of situation that would trigger you. Matt knows all about your abandonment issues and – kindly, it goes without saying – your daddy issues. You’ve apologized for it more times than he can count, heart pounding and speaking through tears as you explain your trauma. How some of the most important people in your life broke promises and left you to fend for yourself through times of need. He swore that he would never allow that to happen to you ever again, but he’d done just that. Albeit unintentionally, but that doesn’t lessen the damage.
“Dad,” you bawl suddenly like the word is being torn from your chest, ugly and broken. Those three letters speak of countless years of desperation. Of the pain that rests dormant inside you that can never be remedied no matter how anyone might try, just waiting to bubble to the surface like bile. “I don’ wanna be alone!”
Worry unfurls in Matt’s chest. He feels responsible for this. For you. More so than usual, at least. And he knows he’s the only one who can try to fix this somehow. Not fix you, but make up for his mistake.
“Oh, honey,” he murmurs. “It's alright. I'm leaving now, so I'll be home soon, okay?”
Your cries quiet down into meek hiccups. “Promise?”
“I promise, baby.”
“Pinky promise?”
Your voice is so soft, so hopeful, like a little girl simply wishing for the best outcome. Matt can’t help but smile to himself as he echoes, “Pinky promise.”
There’s a moment of silence as your sniffles dissolve into soft breaths.
“I love you,” Matt says steadily; a fact that’s set in stone.
“Love you, too,” you reply, sounding a little more composed than before.
He hangs up the phone, drops everything he was doing, and leaves the office.
Less than twenty minutes pass before Matt is unlocking the door to his apartment.
Sure, he’s exhausted from work. In fact, his entire body feels like a block of concrete — dense and stiff and heavy. But he has to take care of his girl before he can even consider the idea of rest. He drops his briefcase and guiding cane the moment he makes it past the threshold, discards his suit jacket during the short walk down the hallway, tie long forgotten somewhere in the process. He's kicking off his shoes near the kitchen when he catches the fading hint of seasoning in the air. The intensity of garlic and onion hits first, then the sweeter scent of fresh basil and tomatoes. His stomach twists and a frown reaches his lips. Not only had you been waiting for him to come home for dinner, but you had cooked for him as well.
Disappointed in himself, he sighs through his nose and walks over to slide the bedroom door open. Your presence is palpable – breaths measured, pulse quivering with anxiety, laying still in bed. It’s like you’re trying to avoid existing to an extent that you believe might somehow inconvenience him.
He says your name so gently that it’s a mere whisper of a word. Your only response is a slight shuffling of blankets. Matt allows a smile to reach his lips and he opens his arms as a show of welcome, to prove that he wants you in his space. “Where’s my favorite girl?”
A few more seconds of ruffling bedsheets as you scoot off the bed, followed by the slightly muffled footsteps of your socked feet as you pad over to him. You fling your arms around him and bury your face in his chest with a muffled sniffle.
“Sweetie,” he coos softly, one hand cradling your head to his chest while the other rubs up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you. “Everything will be okay. I’m here now.”
While he feels your frame relax in his arms, he can still sense the tension hiding in your shoulders and the tearful wobble of your bottom lip. He knows your thoughts are likely dragging you back to the outburst you had over the phone. To those three letters that you heaved with such anguish that Matt would carve out his own heart just to help ease your tears. But he understands that this isn’t the appropriate space nor time to address such a heavy, complex topic. What you need is comfort. Reassurance that he won’t leave your side, not even if God Himself were to pry him away from you.
“What did you make for dinner?” he whispers to the top of your head. His hand never ceases rubbing broad circles across your back.
You mumble into his shirt, “Jus’ spaghetti.”
You say spaghetti as if the word itself caused a personal offense against you. And judging by the uninterested silence from your stomach, Matt figures that your anxiety has killed your appetite, but it’s no matter. He releases the back of your head to tip your chin up and press a kiss to your forehead. “It smells amazing. We’ll eat it for lunch tomorrow, alright?”
“Pinky promise?”
His hand ventures away from your chin to find your hand, looping his pinky around yours and giving it an affectionate squeeze. “Pinky promise.”
That seems to brighten your mood as your heart beat steadies into a calmer pace. You push up on your tip-toes to kiss him. Immediately, he tastes the salt of dried tears on your lips, then the underlying hint of your sweet lip balm. He nips gently at your bottom lip just to make you giggle, and you do, just a little.
“There you are.” He pecks your lips, the tip of your nose, and each of your cheeks until you’re squealing with delight under his attention. Not wanting to get your adrenaline up when you’re already exhausted, he suggests, “Let’s get you to bed.”
You turn to crawl up onto the mattress. Meanwhile, Matt strips from the rest of his clothes, save for his boxers, and settles into bed beside you. You shift to snuggle up to the warmth of his scarred chest, whispering his name under your breath like it encompasses everything good and right in the world. He holds you closer, strong arms weighing comfortably around your body, and you fall asleep in a heartbeat.
The next day, you wake to the smell of coffee, just like every other domestic, saccharine Saturday morning.
But unfortunately, this time around, you feel like someone dropped an anvil on your head that has flattened you to the bed like a cartoon character. Dull pain pulses to life in your temples. You must have forgotten to rehydrate after your emotional breakdown last night because your sleep-crusted eyes feel as dry as sandpaper and you have to smack your lips in a feeble attempt to quell your thirst.
What’s worse is that the memories of the previous night come racing back through your mind like a disturbing film reel. Not only had you called Matt while he was at work and bawled your eyes out like a complete and total toddler, you’d called him dad. Him. Your boyfriend! Your therapist would have an absolute field day if you ever allow her to catch wind of this.
But Matt – your precious, wonderful Matt with a heart made of pure gold – hadn’t shied away from your outburst. No, he’d rushed home, reassured you, and held you throughout the entire night so you wouldn’t feel alone.
God. You drag your body into an upright position and rub the sleep from your eyes, then sit there for a few minutes before you work up the energy to go wash up in the bathroom.
Ultimately, if you want to survive the humiliation ritual bound to occur today, you need caffeine.
“G’morning,” you mumble as you pad across the living room and into the kitchen where Matt is already pouring you a cup of coffee. The average man wouldn’t have been able to hear the approach of your socked feet, but Matt could’ve heard you coming from a block away. He looks like a dream in his soft blue t-shirt and grey sweatpants. If you weren’t so exhausted, you probably would’ve dropped to your knees right there on the hardwood floor. Instead, you move to grab the mug of coffee but Matt swipes it away and spins to face the opposite direction so you can’t snatch it away.
“Hey!” You protest and worm your way between him and the counter. He holds the mug above your head, keeping it just out of reach. Frustrated and bemoaning the caffeine he’s holding hostage, you whine, “Matt!”
“Ah-ah,” he tuts. “Water first.”
“But-”
Wordlessly, he points at the fridge, eyebrows raised in that look that dares you to test his authority. You huff and stalk over to the cabinet to grab a cup, then drag yourself over to the sink to pour water from the tap. By the time you chug down a glass and trudge back to Matt, he’s placed a bottle of aspirin on the counter beside your coffee mug and a carton of your favorite dairy substitute.
“Sugar, please,” you say through a small yawn. Matt grins and leans down to plant a kiss to your lips. You pout. “Not that kind of sugar.”
“Mm, no?” he taunts and gives you another peck, making you smile. “You sure?”
“Matt, I love you-”
“But?”
“-but I need brain juice.”
He hums, amused, and scoots the jar of sugar across the counter. You scoop an amount into your cup that one might consider to be overly-generous.
“Jeez. Want some coffee with that?”
You whack his chest with the back of your hand.
“That much sugar isn’t good for you.”
“Okay, dad.” You force sarcasm into your tone but it doesn’t land quite right. Not after last night.
The banter fizzles out. The silence stretches. You stir milk into your coffee. Matt scoops a bit of sugar into his cup. You cram a few painkillers into your mouth to distract yourself from the fact that you can feel the cogs turning in Matt’s mind.
“Hey,” he says eventually. Gently. You cross your arms over your chest as if creating a sort of barrier between the two of you can prevent you from having to address the elephant in the room. Matt reaches out and gives your shoulders a firm squeeze. “We should talk.”
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth. Matt must feel how tense you are because his hands slide down to find your elbows and unfold your arms, then raise them to loop around his neck.
“I’m not upset,” he starts, tilting his chin down so his unseeing eyes can look down at you. “I just want to understand.”
“I didn’t mean to say it,” you admit wearily. “It’s just, in the heat of the moment, I thought…”
You trail off. What had you thought? That Matt would purposely ignore you? Abandon you? Your rational mind knows that the mere idea is laughable. Matt would die before leaving you of his own will, then come back from the dead to be with you again. But the frightened part of your mind – the same one that’s been forced to accept the hardest of truths – refuses to deny the possibility.
“I don’t know,” you huff, defeated.
“Is it a sort of coping mechanism?”
Matt only knows that phrase because of all the times you’ve discussed your therapy sessions with him. Your lips twitch into a poor excuse for a smile, but at least it’s something. “In all honesty? Yeah, probably.”
Matt nods, smooths his hands over your hips, and asks as casually as one might remark on the weather: “Is it a kink?”
“What? No!” you blurt and a mortified flush rises to your cheeks. But after considering it for a moment, you confess again, “I don’t know.”
“It’s okay,” Matt soothes, voice low and tender in a way that makes your tummy do cartwheels. “You don’t have to know.”
“Wouldn’t it be weird, though? I mean, with our age difference, I don’t want you to think that I’m using you to replace something I’ve lost or that I’m-” The words are lost on your tongue amidst your nervous ramble, so you gesture vaguely with one hand. “-whatever the opposite of a cougar is.”
Matt chuckles, eyes crinkling with those crows feet that you find utterly endearing. “That’d make me a silver fox.”
“Oh, come on, you’re not that old.”
“My joints disagree.”
“I’m rolling my eyes at you,” you announce as you do precisely that.
He smiles and dips his head to kiss you, slow and sweet. You savor the taste of dark roast coffee on his lips and scratch of his beard against your skin. Once he pulls away, he murmurs, "I know you aren’t using me.”
You let out a small sigh of relief and slide your hands down to his chest. That’s one weight lifted off your shoulders, amongst many others.
“But,” he continues, “if this is something you want to try, then…” His hands give your waist a gentle squeeze. “We should try it.”
“Seriously?” You gawk.
He confirms with a short, simple nod, like he just agreed to accompany you to the grocery store instead of allowing you to call him dad.
“No, Matt, that’s-” you huff out an awkward laugh to cover up the way your words get caught behind the ache in your throat. “-fucked up. In so many ways. Gross, even.”
“It’s not,” he insists. Then, softer, with a certain intensity you’ve never seen before: “Not to me.”
Your bottom lip quivers with a rush of emotion. His hand finds yours, looping your pinkies together before making your thumbs kiss to seal the deal. “I pinky promise.”
You take a deep breath then push up on your toes to give him a kiss, whispering, “Okay.”
Luckily, he doesn’t press the matter any further and the two of you fall back into your typical morning rhythm.
Things stay normal for about a day, because by Monday, you catch him scheming something.
You just finished getting ready for your afternoon lecture when you walk out into the living room to locate your backpack. You notice that your favorite water bottle is tucked into the side pocket, already filled. That’s when you look up to see Matt standing in the kitchen, back to the counter, half-dressed for work in his button-up and slacks, with a grin on his face.
“What’s going on?” you ask cautiously and slowly heft your bag onto your shoulder.
“Nothing,” Matt says far too brightly. Totally not suspicious at all.
“Uh-huh…”
He blinks at you with all the innocence of a puppy who just mauled your favorite pair of shoes. You try to scoot around him to get to the coffee pot but he angles his body to block your path. No, not to block you. To hide something.
“Matt.”
“Mhm?”
“You’re standing between me and my coffee.”
His grin widens. “I am.”
You narrow your eyes at him. This is the second time that he’s postponed your caffeine intake. “Matt.”
“What’s the magic word?”
“Please move before I tackle you like a linebacker?”
“Mm.” His eyes crinkle with amusement. “I’d like to see you try, but no.”
You think for a moment before standing on your tip-toes to kiss his smiling lips.
“There’s my girl,” he murmurs against your mouth, playfully bumping his nose against yours. Then, he reaches behind himself to grab something off the counter. Before you know it, a lunch tote is placed into your hands. You blink at it, then up at Matt who’s smiling like, well… a proud dad.
“You packed me lunch?” you guess. His grin goes impossibly wider as he nods. Skeptical, you go to unzip the tote to see what’s inside, but he grabs your wrist, halting your curiosity.
“It’s a surprise. And-” he reaches behind himself once more to produce a thermos that you didn’t even know you owned, which conveniently happens to be your favorite color. “-iced coffee.”
You beam at the fact that Matt is taking your caffeine addiction into consideration. “I see a very hot and heavy night in your future, Matt Murdock.”
Matt chuckles, guides the thermos into your hands, then says seven words that you’ve only ever heard him say in your dreams: “Have a good day at school, kid.”
“Oh,” you start dumbly, awestruck, a flush rising to your cheeks. “Mhm.”
You begin to shuffle away, mind racing, pulse fluttering in your throat–
“Hey.” He catches your elbow and coaxes you to backtrack. “Not gonna kiss your dad goodbye?”
Oh my god. If your heart wasn’t racing before, it definitely is now. You inch closer and he ducks his head down to meet your lips in a slow, sweet kiss that leaves you breathless by the time he pulls away. Your dazed mind forgets you have somewhere to be and opts for noticing all the little signs of age on Matt’s face. The pretty wrinkles of smile lines around his hazel eyes. The bits of grey hair peppered into his beard. The thinning hair at his temples that he denies every time you point it out. Your panties become damp in sixty seconds flat. Matt tilts his head to one side. It’s a small movement but still enough to tell you that he’s using his heightened senses for something dastardly.
“Love you, bye!” you squeak and scurry out the door before he has a chance to catch on to your arousal.
By the next evening, you’re ready to drop out of college, change your name, and move into the mountains.
Every year, you expect it might be a little easier to study for final exams, but it just gets worse as you advance in your classes. You’ve spent hours pouring over an entire semester’s-worth of assigned reading, taking color-coded notes, emailing back and forth with a few classmates to schedule study groups, and, and, and-
“My brain,” you groan, sprawled across the couch with your face buried in a throw pillow. “It’s melting.”
Matt gives your leg a sympathetic pat from his corner of the couch. “No, it’s not.”
“It is!” you whine and kick your feet like a toddler throwing a tantrum, because that’s precisely how you feel.
He seizes your ankles with ease and speaks calmly. “Come on. Get up and finish your assignment.”
“No.” You pout petulantly into the pillow.
His voice drops suddenly, dangerously low. “I’m not asking.”
Heat curls in your lower belly at that. You know you should listen. The angel on your shoulder tells you that the last thing you need is to get on Matt’s nerves and create further tension in the apartment, what with your growing pile of coursework and his own caseload at the firm. But the little devil on your opposite shoulder chants brat, brat, brat.
“I don’t wanna,” you insist and try to wriggle your legs out of Matt’s grasp. There’s a moment of struggle before one foot slips free and you immediately knock your heel into his jaw. Embarrassment rushes through you and you push yourself up onto your elbows at lightspeed, beginning to ramble incessant apologies for accidentally kicking him. But Matt grabs the back of your thighs and drags you toward him, only stopping once your tummy is laid across his lap and your butt is nearly in the air.
“Stop fussing,” he scolds and gives your ass a light, controlled smack. The barrier of your pajama shorts lessens the impact but it still makes you squirm.
“I’m sorry, Matt-”
“Not Matt.” A second spank, harder this time. Warm arousal rushes straight to your clit, but you don’t have much time to savor it before his hand comes down with another smack. “Try again.”
“ ‘m sorry, dad!” The words come out in a rush. He smooths his hand over your ass to ease away any lingering pain. Your thoughts are pleasantly hazy from the little rush of adrenaline he gave you. But knowing Matt, this isn’t the last of it.
You feel him hook his finger into the waistband of your shorts and tug them down to your bent knees. He sighs slowly through his nose, calloused thumb tracing the hem of your panties where it stretches across your ass. “It’s not your fault, is it? School can be so hard for my little girl.”
A part of you wants to stand up for yourself. To insist that you’re smart and independent and you can handle it. But Matt’s voice has gone so soft. And with the uncomfortable crick in your neck from being hunched over your laptop all day, and the exhaustion creeping into your mind, you admit to yourself that you can’t handle it. Not all at once. So you pipe up with a pouty little, “Mm-hm.”
“I know, baby,” he coos. “Come here. Dad’s got you.”
Your brain really does melt into sugary-sweet syrup at that. Matt carefully guides you to sit up, then pulls you onto his lap. Your back settles against his chest and he rests his chin on your shoulder, murmuring, “That’s it. Just need Dad to take your mind off it for a little while, hm?”
You glance warily at your laptop, notebook, and highlighters discarded on the coffee table before nodding. Matt’s hands guide your legs to spread apart for him. Fingertips glide up your inner thigh, then skim down the front of your panties to brush over your clit. Instinctively, your hips roll to meet his touch. He chuckles softly into your ear.
“Go on.” His hand slips into your panties and splays over your entire cunt, middle finger pressing perfectly against your clit. You gasp at the direct contact. “Take when you need, honey.”
You start to grind against his fingers, breaths coming in soft pants. At first, he kept still. But once your hips begin to move a little faster, he starts to trace teasing circles around your sensitive bud.
“Matt,” you whine with need. He lands a sharp tap to your clit and you moan, high and breathy.
“Mmm. Listen to that.” He gives your clit a dozen more quick taps that make sticky little noises each time. “Getting so wet for your dad.”
Unexpectedly, tears well up in your eyes. This is horrible. Disgusting. Depraved. You could die of humiliation. But your body is too focused on chasing a much-needed release. Your slick is already coating Matt’s fingers, and the nerves in your clit are practically buzzing under his attention. You’d walk barefoot over broken glass if it meant that Matt would make you cum your brains out as a reward.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” he coos, now slowly rolling your clit between his thumb and forefinger, making your hips jerk helplessly. He smiles against the back of your shoulder. “Dad knows you love when he plays with you. Makes your little brain go all fuzzy, doesn’t it?”
You nod dumbly, then whimper when Matt’s fingers retreat.
“Shh.” He kisses the spot under your ear that makes a fresh gush of wetness soak through your panties. You’re about to throw a fit until you feel Matt’s hands working behind your lower back, shoving his sweatpants down just enough to free his cock.
Then, he guides you to lift your hips so he can slide his cock through your wet folds. His fat, leaking tip nudges at your entrance and you whine, “ ‘s not gonna fit!”
“Dad will make it fit,” he reassures you before starting to ease his cock inside. A hiss slips through his teeth as your poor pussy struggles to accept his girth without any preparation. You’ve done it before, but not like this. Never like this. You sense the restraint in his hips, like he’s holding himself back from simply slamming inside you, damn the consequences. Instead, his thumb finds your clit and he works it in slow circles, panting, “Come on, honey. Relax for me.”
You try. Really, you do. But your inner walls keep fluttering and making it more difficult for Matt to ease his way inside. Your bottom lip wobbles as you will your muscles to relax. The second there’s the tiniest bit of wiggle-room, Matt stuffs his cock deeper inside you, working your clit all the while.
“That’s my girl,” he groans once you’re able to take him all the way down to the hilt. “Sweet, perfect girl.”
Careful to keep you balanced on his lap so you won’t fall forward, he starts to thrust up into you. Slow and gentle at first, making you moan and roll your hips back to meet his. Then harder, faster, pounding up into your sweet spot like it owes him money.
“Oh, my god, Matt-” you babble, tits bouncing with each rough thrust. He truly hasn’t fucked you like this – with deep, quick, overwhelming thrusts – in months. In fear of toppling over, you reach back and tangle a hand in Matt’s hair to anchor yourself to him. Your other hand scrambles to clutch at the couch.
“Say it,” he pants next to your ear. Before you can register it, his fingers find your clit again, tapping it in time with his quick thrusts. “C’mon, honey, don’t be shy.”
“Dad!”
“Louder.”
“Dad!”
You’re close already. A mind-numbing orgasm is building in your core at an embarrassingly rapid pace. Out of every single time you two have made love, it’s never felt this intense. This deep. This bonded. Your inner walls start to squeeze rhythmically around his cock and the fingers at your clit switch from tapping to rubbing. You wail even louder than you had over the phone, back when all of this began.
“Gonna be a big one, huh?” he pants and you hear the shit-eating grin in his tone. You’d tell him to shut up if your mouth weren’t lax with dumbed-out moans. He works your clit impossibly faster, utterly ruthless and indifferent to the absolutely overwhelmed, trembling state of your body. “I’ve got you, kid. Cum on dad’s cock.”
You do, crying out high and loud and ragged as your release hits you with all the force of a freight train. Your cunt contracts around Matt’s cock and your release gushes out of you so quickly that you think you might faint. And Matt – your perverted, absolutely insane boyfriend – doesn’t stop rubbing your clit.
“Matt!” You gasp, oversensitive beyond belief, and all but claw at the back of his neck. “Wait!”
He doesn’t wait, of course. No, he makes sure the constant stimulation keeps you worked up. With a few perfectly-aimed thrusts, you’re about ready to cum all over again. You make a weak sound that sounds foreign to your own ears. He ruts into you like he might die if he doesn’t coax a second orgasm out of your sore cunt.
“God, forgive me,” he rasps, voice breaking as he braces his forehead against your shoulder. “Gonna- uhn-” His breathy words bubble up into a near whimper. “Mm- Cum. Gonna cum.”
You nod frantically
“Yeah? Want dad’s cum?” Matt pants against the back of your neck. All you can do is cry in response. His thrusts get sloppy but his fingers don’t falter, and you both fall over the edge at once. All you can feel is the warmth of his release filling you and your own orgasm drenching his cock before you both collapse into each other.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” you slur when your mouth remembers how to function again. Usually, Matt would scold you for taking to Lord’s name in vain. You look over your shoulder to see him with his head leaned back against the top of the couch, one thick arm draped over his eyes as he catches his breath.
“I think,” he says between gulps of air, “I pulled something in my back.”
A breathless laugh punches its way out of your chest. You push a few strands of sweat-dampened hair off your forehead and clear your throat a little.
“So, this dad thing.” You look down between your thighs to see the mess the two of you made. “It works?”
“Yeah,” he pants, and you’ve never seen him so beat-down before. It makes you smile.
“Promise?”
Matt’s free hand finds yours and immediately interlocks your pinkies. The pinky promise goes unspoken but it holds just as much weight as any other. You swivel your hips to stir his softening cock inside you, grinning. “Love you, dad.”
“Don’t push it, kid.”
a/n: yes, i cried at least three times while writing this fic. oh, dad matt, how i love you,,, (╥﹏╥) also, a biiig thanks to my partner (@cringefail-losergirl) for beta-reading this fic!! ily junie ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
I know the majority of us aren’t really fans of wattpad as a platform, but screenshotting a wattpad fic to post and mock an author is still an asshole behavior btw.
if it’s an asshole move when it’s done to an ao3 fic, it’s as much of an asshole move when it’s done to a wattpad fic or a fic from any platform.
like. I feel like mocking fics are so normalized on platforms like twitter and tiktok where algorithms and “going viral” are so important to so many users there for whatever reasons. but fanfic writers aren’t writing to please your personal liking or preferences. you read their works for free. if you don’t like what you’re reading, quietly click away from the fic. or one day writers will just stop sharing their works because entitled people can’t be decent and respectful to artists.
Fanfiction is supposed to be cringy. You're allowed to write bad. You're allowed to be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be self indulgent. You're allowed to be cringe. Let yourself be cringe. Fanfiction is supposed to be fun. Stop putting arbitrary rules on yourself and be free.
he has you in missionary, your knees pressed up against your chest, while he uses you like a little doll he's told you to be very still and quiet, and if you're good enough, he'll let you cum. after all, toys can't speak, can they?
it's so difficult not to mewl or claw at his shoulders while he pushes his cock into you over and over and over again, hitting your gummy spot so perfectly you could cry!
he groans into your throat, cumming deep inside of you before pulling out and hooking both of his thumbs into your hole, spreading you apart and feeling his spend drip out of you. you struggle not to whine when he simply gathers it up and fucks it back into you with his fingers, talking to you the entire time, waiting for you to respond, to make a sound, to mess up.
"she just needed to be filled up, didn't she?"
"just my little cumdump. that's all."
when he's done playing with you, he gives your abused hole a smack before pulling your panties back up and kissing the cute little bow at the top, before starting to get up.
you mewl confusedly, miraculously the first sound you've made since he started.
"buh-but you said you'd let me cum!"
he just chuckles deeply.
"girlie, you're so silly. i never said when."
he smacks you firmly across the face when you keep protesting, a threat creeping into his stern voice.
"you were really good today. don't spoil it now."
your lip quivers and your eyes tear up.
he shushes you and makes you get dressed, telling you that you aren't allowed to change your panties, you have to carry him with you wherever you go hnghhh-
oh. my. god. saige. (hihi btw! welcome!)
FUCK ME. IM. IMI MIMIMIM. i may be imagining this with his beefy sweaty yummy body in season two.. oh. the image of being manhandled by all that might while he's being soo manipulative n mean. i could die. the breeding + clit slaps + "silly" name... flutter bugs in my tummy. TOO CUTE. thank you so much for writing this for me. i love you.
p.s. i have a very specific fantasy these days about manhandling.. personally, i'm a relatively petite short girl.. but this could work for anyone given his strength. where you're both naked, he's standing, you're in the air, torso face down, his arms hooked under your knees, your legs dangling down in the air, his hands cupped under your collarbones/throat for support (basically you're faced down, folded in half, in the air). WHILE HE POUNDS INTO YOU!!!! when he cums, you feel it drip down over your clit still warm and that makes you cum too (or not... i see you denial play enjoyer <33). i think it's so cute.
i've written a lot of gentler matt but him when he's all condescending and mean ?? like that's my shit. i think he's normally such a gentle lover, but it's so easy for him to slip back into dominance. like he's def edging you when you act up, and his voice is so sweet when he does it that you kinda want to act up more just so he can keep talking to you like that. he doesn't bat an eye at you begging him to let you cum, his thrusts don't falter and he tugs you up by your hair "aw sweetheart, you wanna cum 's that it? you think you earned it yet?" he kisses his teeth whenever you say "yes.. been so good, please." because no, you havent been good, you've been "a spoiled fucking brat all day" according to him. maybe you can try again tomorrow.
jacobvanloon
baratheonpilled
ellievsbear
izzy806
