Grad school is kicking my ass god DAMN‼️ I just want to be Matt Murdock's house pet whyyyyyyy am I writing papers when my purpose is sleeping in his laundry basket while he's at work
He kisses down your neck. “You still want to?" And you do. But you have no idea what you're in for.
part eight of an odd combination // matt murdock x afab!reader
wc: 5000
cw: smut: oral (female receiving), slight nervous reader, praise kink, masturbation, soft dom! matt, slight overstimulation, subspace, aftercare. Lot of pet names (baby, sweetheart, good girl, etc.)
Your shitty morning is a thing of the past. Matt's visit helped astronomically, but also wound you tighter.
After recapping the discussion over lunch, he concluded, “I'll come over. Make supper.” Blood rushes to your face as you think of his quip, “and you'll be dessert.”
The afternoon blends into early evening. The Metro is right on time.
Dinner is done and gone.
Right now, all you feel is his warm, bare chest against yours. His hands skimming down your sides and pausing on your hips, toying with the waistband of your underwear. Silk boxers make the grinding smooth.
Scratching through his hair, he sighs in your ear. “Tell me-” You think back to last week. Hearing that same stern phrase pressed into your skin. “Tell me-”
(last week)
Lounging on Matt’s couch, your legs lie in his lap. His mindless caresses brushing against your shin spark an internal conflict.
Matt was sincere when he said the whole 'no orgasms' wasn't your fault. Then again, he tugged your hair and said, “Stop thinking.” And he spanked so kindly but said, “Stop chasing it.”
So it is your fault in a way, right? What if every escapade, dramatic or not, takes just as much conviction? Just as much reassurance? It’ll get old. It'll tire him out. I'll tire him out.
A hum breaks your train of thought. “Awfully quiet over there.”
“Just thinkin’.”
“About what?” You jaw automatically clenches, wanting to keep the words behind your teeth. For a moment you debate fibbing, but what good would that do? But maybe you’re being melodramatic. God. Here you are: needing reassurance from your overthinking about the need for reassurance.
“Do you think…” You pause, wondering if you’re about to ruin the contentment of the night. “That I might be a bad partner for you?” His hand stops, and you gulp. Okay, that's on you, that was way too broad. But before you can explain, he speaks clearly.
“No. I don’t think that.” I wasn’t specific enough. “Is that something you're worried about?”
Your throat is tight with anxiety. “I meant like. Do you think we’re compatible? Sexually?”
He pulls you upwards, bringing your face towards his. There’s no way he doesn’t feel the burn of embarrassment radiating off your skin. “I think we are.” Matt gently taps the side of your head. “What’s goin’ on up there, hmm?”
“I’m just not very good at it.”
His follow up questions are swift. “What is ‘good’? What is ‘it’?”
Some of the tension fades. You fall against him and chuckle. “Okay, counselor.” His own smile ticks up, and a light blush rises to his cheeks. “You told me that it’s okay that I need someone to…talk me through it. And that- that you would do that.” He nods. “But won’t you get tired? What happens when it gets annoying?”
Matt pinches your chin between his index and thumb. His hazel eyes flicker around your face. “It won’t get annoying.” A coy smile grows. “And I’ll never get tired of it. Of you. We’ll go at your pace. Whatever you want. And we’ll work with it, okay?”
“What if I’m a dork and I want to… plan something?”
He licks his lips. “Then… I would say I’m flattered, and I appreciate just how much thought you put into our relationship.”
A soft, “oh,” escapes. His grin grows, and his wrinkles bloom. Still skittish, you try to ask, “What about next week? Uh,” but the confidence peters out.
His rough hand slips to the back of your neck, bringing your face closer. A softened form of elation fills your view. “Whatever you want, whenever you want. And you'll get it.” You hesitate. “Tell me.”
(today)
“Tell me,” he kisses down your neck. “You still want to?” You contemplate his request with drama, humming and tapping your finger against your chin. More kisses litter under your chin. “I can make you feel so good, I promise.” Your eyes flutter at the words and insatiable mouthings.
Maybe it's mean, but you focus and set a hand on his chest, gently pushing him away just like this morning. With great unwillingness, he unlatches and follows your direction. He's already disheveled, licking his lips, and wanting more.
You sigh, “Oh, Matty,” and bask in the barely-there shudder. Teasing, you stroke his chest and quietly ask, “You wanna eat me out?” You draw your lips to graze the shell of his ear and murmur, “Wanna make me cum?”
This time, he can’t stop himself. His hands tighten against your sides. A heartfelt beseechment presses into your throat. “I want to make you cum. Let me do this. Please, sweetheart.”
Your heart is pounding, desperate to keep up with his pleas. “Hmm.” His hips buckle when your arms wrap around him, and he swears he feels you smirk. That smartass response falls when he sucks into the flesh of your neck; you sigh and run your fingers through his hair. A hint of hesitation attaches to your voice. “Y-you really want to? You're not just sayin' that?”
Matt grabs you, holding your face in his hands, pressing his forehead against yours. His face is flushed and wild. “Baby, I want nothing more. Please let me eat you out. It'll feel so good, promise.”
He wants it. He really does. And you do too. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
Eager, he yanks your giggling self to your bedroom and shifts you to lie down in the middle of the soft mattress. It comes out as a sigh instead of a command, “Get a towel. Bathroom closet, second shelf from the top.”
His urgency, spinning away from you and racing towards the door, makes you chuckle, but it morphs into a cackle when he smacks into the doorframe and rebounds at an astounding speed, calling out, "Shut up!” while he scurries down the hall, hand skimming along the wall.
You slide your hands up and down the floral comforter, only to have your peace ruined by a towel lobbed at your face. Matt feels for the edge of the bed and leaps, landing on top of you; you groan at the impact. Giddy, he smothers you with kisses, muttering, "Thank you, thank you, thank you. You're the best. So sweet. Perfect.”
“You're insatiable, Matthew.” The kisses morph from sporadic to mindful, deep, and desperate. Giggling turns to sighing turns to quiet moaning. Meanwhile, his hands slide down your sides, taking in every inch of flesh he can. You happily return the wanting touches, running your hand up and down his back, and scratching through his hair.
He shifts his hands under your back, taking the cue, you arch to help his reach. Unlatching the hooks of your bra and gently tugging it off, Matt throws the garment away. His descent is slow, but purposeful. Each kiss and nip feels electric.
Your breath hitches when he mouths at your chest, causing your hands to come up and cradle his head to keep him close. You sigh at the lavishing attention dedicated to your tender breasts. The changes between light palming and sudden pinches make you pant.
He continues to move downward, appreciating just how much of you he gets to touch. Seemingly overwhelmed by the privilege to do such a thing.
An exhale shakes loose when Matt noses against the core of your panties, inhaling and mouthing. Tasting you between the cotton barrier. He takes in as much as he can, though the smell alone makes him slyly rut into the mattress. Your fingers slip through his hair, not pulling or guiding, but grounding.
Warm, cautious hands hook at the elastic of your panties, but make no movements. It's only after you put your hands on top of his and gently tug downward that he mindfully strips you bare. The fabric is tossed off the bed.
His nose nestles in the crease of your thigh and sex. Both of you feel and are acutely aware of the hiccup in your breathing pattern. Warm kisses and licks wander towards your center, which pulses at the very thought of him getting even closer. The idea of him nosing and licking and-
Running your fingers through his hair, you give the slightest pull and quietly mutter, “C'mon, Matt.”
His grin is audible, and his question muffled. “You need somethin', sweetheart?”
You flick his ear in disapproval. His face cranes towards you. “You’re a smart man. Given where you are, what do you think I need?”
He burrows back down and breathes in your sex, kissing and muttering, “I think you need to tell me what you want.”
You know he didn't mean anything by it. But asking is a difficult thing. Wanting is difficult. Your nakedness is now more than physical, teetering into emotional.
Matt notices the slight discomfort and apologises, migrating upward with kisses littering your mound, stomach, breasts, chest, and neck. “Just wanna give you what you want, that’s all.” Some tension leaves when he kisses behind your ear, whispering, “Wanna spoil you. I’ll give you whatever you want, baby.”
His salt and pepper beard bristles against you. Even softer, he asks, “Can you be a good girl and let me spoil you?” You nod, then gasp when he mouths your breast and teases the skin with gentle but sharp bites. “Then tell me what you want.”
Your breathing turns heavy, overwhelmed. “I want you to eat me out.”
His response is immediate. “Do you want to sit on my face or take it lying down?” Take it? Oh god.
“I wanna lay down.”
Matt gazes towards you like you’ve given him a priceless gift. “You’re so good to me. Pillow. Hips up.” You follow directions, and he slides a throw pillow under your hips and the towel over top. Your lover descends with tenderness once more, whispering, “Thank you, sweetheart.”
At the head of the bed, you wiggle until you're as comfortable as you can get, then stuff another pillow under your head, admiring the view. Gentle, sturdy hands run up and down the outsides of your thighs.
Biting your lip, you get to watch Matt sink lower, lying on his stomach, and rutting against the bed as he moves. The smooth movement makes your pussy clench and ache. You feel empty.
Already pliable, he drapes one of your legs over his shoulders. Breaths huff between your legs, warming the already heated skin. It begins slowly, as if he's mapping you out. Getting familiar with you and your most intimate parts.
It's a few minutes of petting and sighs. Wandering kisses and licks. You’re sure Matt knows what he’s doing, but considering your last hook-up wouldn’t have been able to find your clit with a map, the skepticism is ahh-yeah. Yeah, he’s got it.
Tenderly testing your body, Matt takes his time to find what causes the most reaction. Gauging what gets his hair pulled. What makes your thighs squeeze around his head. What gives him vocal feedback, whether it be sighs, inhales, or whimpers.
Finally, you softly moan when a finger sinks in. It's a cautious movement, letting you get used to the stretch, but you're so wet it's almost unneeded. But the slowness of it all is so sweet of him. He smirks into your pussy, his beard making you shiver. The beard burn will be brutal tomorrow. “Was that what you needed?”
Subconsciously following his movements, you sigh, “Yeah.”
A second finger follows soon after; you groan in satisfaction. One hand threads through his hair, the other can't get comfortable, moving across the sheets and fidgeting on your stomach, that is, until he tangles your fingers together. “More. Please.”
“More what?” Although your body is already flushed, your face manages to get warmer. “You want more attention to your clit?” A broad lick makes your thighs flex. Lost in his own world, he mutters to himself. “Maybe a little deeper, hmm?” You groan when his fingers plunge and curl. “Both?” You snatch his hair, but he smirks and continues with the combination, enjoying the results.
Absent-mindedly, your hips begin to rock against his face. He moves with you. His attention divides between your clit and his teasing hand. Yanking your hips, his face manages to get even closer, even more intimate. Deep licks and desperate eating, like a man starving, slurping up his last meal. Your lightly trembling thighs tighten around his head.
His right hand continues to thrust and curl, but his mouth leaves. “Lemme hear you.”
Nervous, you lick your lips. I could mess this whole thing up.
Previous partners weren't thrilled with your reactions, or lack thereof, so you've gotten used to biting your tongue or moaning when it seemed appropriate. There’s a need to protect such a vulnerable thing. He smirks and mumbles into your lower stomach, “C'mooon, gimme what I want.” Bastard.
You tug his hair, whether out of pleasure or frustration, you're not sure. "Matt." The coil you once feared, the one deep, deep inside, tightens in all the right ways with him. Ever since Matt showed you the potential pleasure you can feel, you've become inwardly greedy.
You want to let yourself feel good. You want it so bad. Lightly pulling his hair, you tell him, “Kiss me.”
He’s quick to listen, moving upwards, and you taste yourself on his lips: warm and salty. You whimper as his fingers keep moving; his thumb circling your clit, drawing sighs out of you. “Matty.” The world feels a little softer.
“I’m right here.” He kisses the shell of your ear. Checking in, he whispers, “You feel good?” The response is instantaneous; you clench around him and nod. Little ‘ahuh's affirm him.
The kisses and love bites on your neck make you shiver. Matt lowers again, picking up where he left off. You barely hear him over your heartbeat in your ears, “God, you smell so good.” Your entire body blushes.
It feels good, it really does. But the anxiety is still there. Taking a deep breath, you try to push it away and focus on the sensations. Your body is warm and tingly, with increasing sensitivity and growing pleasure. Feeling his tongue. Fingers. Nose. Panting breathes.
“Fuck, taste so good. 'S fuckin' perfect.” He must notice how the praise affects you because kind words flow. “You’re perfect. So good, lettin' me have this, holy shit.” He groans in satisfaction and nestles deeper.
“Ah, mhmm.” The words make your chest ache and thighs tighten around his head. Maybe I should hurry up. You begin to meet his hand, riding him and tightening, then letting go.
Like he knows what you're planning, his work stills. A hand rises and gently grasps your throat. A ghost of a squeeze pinches the sides of your neck. “This okay?”
“Ahuh, mhmm.”
“You gotta tell me. Say it.”
“Yes, ‘s okay.” His large hand hugs your throat, and faint pressure lingers. Your heavy head willingly follows his loose grasp as he toys with you, leading you left and right. A slight shake and tug. You let him do whatever he wants to you.
He stares past you and tells you, “Let this be enough, 'cause I'm taking my time.”
“Oh.” You have no clue how he reads you so well. Intrusive fears step away: fears that you’re wasting his time, that you're gonna be too loud or mouthy, or you'll sound stupid. The thoughts only get further away when he surprises you with deep, demanding kisses against your lips, under your chin, and into your neck.
Warmth leaves your upper body. “We’re gonna do this instead.” He moves away, getting off the bed, then manhandles you, pulling your legs off the edge. You yelp, “Whoa!” He practically plummets to his knees and throws your legs over his shoulder. Your heel fits into one of his vertebrae. He's so warm. Gruff, he mutters, “Take it.” Oh my god.
Focused, he pulls your hips into his face, and you moan at the sudden onslaught of sensations. Your eyes flutter, and you nod. Groaning, you're filled again, rocking against his thrusts like a desperate echo. "Oh, oh, shhh-." His efforts double down from moments just before.
The slurps and squelches are lewd. If it were anyone else but him, you'd be embarrassed by the sounds. The suction focused on your clit is breathtaking. He pulls, leaving just his fingertips, then slowly thrusts back. Squirming, you're unsure what to do with such pleasure.
Chest heaving, you quietly whimper and gasp; your moans grow in frequency and volume. Matt’s body shudders as if it were his own pleasure. His pleasure.
A realization dawns. Propping yourself on your elbows, you heave, “Matt. Need to make you,” your head falls back momentarily, but you force yourself back and groan, “need you to cum f’ me. Please.”
Matt immediately moves to touch himself, peeling down his briefs, eyes fluttering and gasping into your pussy. His movements aren't intricate or part of a pattern, just pure desire. Just need. He spits in his hand and heady smacks add to the lewd symphony.
Even with his new direct pleasure, it's as if his needs are secondary. He focuses on you- eating your cunt, lapping and circling your clit, tasting all he can. His fingers still driving and curling at the perfect depth and speed. He's so pretty.
You arch and tighten around him. A growing desire fills your body. Breathless, you ask, “M-matty, you gonna cum?”
His fingers leave, and Matt's panting, sweaty face shoves against the inside of your thigh. One hand works himself and the other clutches your leg, holding on for dear life. His quiet groan of, “yesss,” makes you whimper. You desperately need to see such a sight; you need to see him in ecstasy.
Matt's cock is deep red, and the tip leaks incessantly. Pearly pre-cum disperses with each jerk. Craning down, you watch his fist move frantically, then the pace hiccups and stills.
A pronounced but muffled moan fills the room. He cums with his a full body shudder, his clenched fist milking out all the pleasure he can, groaning your name against your skin.
All movements cease except for the heaving of your chests. Both of you pant in the now still room. It's like he did it for you. Because you wanted it. “H-holy shit, Matt.” Matt titters in a slight disbelief and pushes his forehead into your stomach, heaving.
He wipes his hand off on the towel and says, “Towel's a good idea,” in a husky voice. Airy giggles fall in tandem. The breather lasts a minute or two, but you can spot the moment his mind flicks back online, remembering what tonight was all about. Matt revently sighs and falls into place.
It starts back up slowly, but it doesn't take long for your body to find the neediness once again. His hands skim your body and light up every square inch of your skin. Thick fingers return, rekindling the not-too-far-off blooming pleasure.
It builds. The courage you found earlier in the night still lingers, allowing you to let yourself gasp, whimper, and moan. He's relentless. Matt is in tune with your body. Knowing when to pull, push, thrust, lick, suck.
A particularly deep thrust gently strokes the spongy spot inside, curling and teasing. “Oh shit.” Your legs tighten around his head, and your toes curl at the direct pleasure. It's impossible to stop yourself from hitching your hips against him. You need it.
You’re not sure how long he feasts, but the insanely perfect pleasure somehow makes it feel like you’re growing drunk. This flood of intoxicating oxytocin is new and relentless. You don't know where to put your hands. They end up in his hair, raking down the sheets, palming your breasts, and playing with your nipples.
You feel every inch, every ridge, every bit of him. It’s so good. Perfect. The way you feel so full and the slight deviating pattern pressed and licked into your clit. Fuck, feels so good.
Matt moans when you tighten. His question is far away. “Okay, honey?”
Spacy eyes attempt to focus on him, “'S good.”
As a reward for answering, the thrusts speed up; you pant. A statement is spitten from his mouth as an undeniable fact: “You're so good. Perfect for me, fuck, such a good girl.”
The sounds he's been craving shake loose. A high-pitched whimper is followed by the groan, “Oh, sh-hhit.” Looking down, you watch with intention, observing how the stammering word makes him grin.
You wonder how the hell he can still focus. How his hand hasn't cramped yet. It’s so sweet of him, so selfless, to not only let you use him but encourage it. You hope that’s what he wants. You hope he’s happy that you’re riding his face and yanking him as close as he can get, because you don’t want him to stop.
“Yes, yes, please.” Increasing pressure and picking up a little speed, he moves with your wriggling body. It’s obscene. Smacking skin and wet plops. It’s perfect. You want him to constantly volunteer himself to make you feel good. Shaking legs threaten to tumble off his shoulders; your clenching thighs and crossed ankles are your only anchor.
He hits it again and again and again. “Oh, fuck!” You want him to spoil you and make you feel this good all the time. You want him to let you use him forever. To use his nudging nose and relentless fervor. His powerful hands, fingers, and non-stop lapping tongue. You never want him to stop. You want this.
“Gonna, I’m- Matt, Matt-” A gasp. Pause. Then a genuine, pornographic moan. Waves of ecstasy roll through you like a riptide. Your body bows. You’re tightening your legs around Matt’s head and yanking him into your cunt, using his face and riding his fingers to get you off. Squealing, you whimper, “shh-fuuuck.”
It goes and goes and goes, feeling so fucking divine. He doesn't stop, but keeps thrusting his fingers and focusing on your clit. You writhe with the continuous barrage, now teetering into oversensitivity. Wriggling in his hold, you push your palm against his forehead, but he ignores the pressure and doubles down while your legs quake uncontrollably.
“Ohmygod, Matt!”
His tacky left hand rises up to your chest, petting you and pushing your arching body down, then shoves his forearm across and into your abdomen. “Ahh!” Gasping again, another crest pulls you up, drawing an unexpected orgasm. You whine, tears spilling down your face. Yanking his hair and twisting frantically, you moan, “‘m still cumming, thankyou, thankyou.”
It’s so good. He’s so good. Your body quivers and holds tight, never wanting to let him go.
But all good things must come to an end.
Overwhelming pleasure diminishes, and whines and moans quietly fade. Matt's focus wanes away from your clit and gently spreads to the surrounding area. The frantic chasing slows, and your hips' undulations subside.
Ever so slowly, you unfurl. Beginning with a lax grip on his hair, no longer yanking, but stroking in gratitude. Your spine meets the damp comforter, and softening tendons unwind from Matt’s head. Yet, you still twitch and moan at the overwhelming phantom feelings. It's all so soft.
Matt's movements are soft, too, moving upwards and cupping your face, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek. “Oh, sweetheart,” is a whispered devotion.
You taste yourself on his tongue. Sweet and rich. But it's hard to keep up. Of course, he notices, so his kisses no longer depend on your reciprocation, but move wherever he pleases. Pushed into your lips, cheeks, under your chin, your neck, and even nibbling on your ear.
He helps you scoot upwards, now lounging on the feathery pillows like a princess. His hands slip down your dewy body, using just the right amount of pressure. The comfort makes your eyes slip shut.
“Such a beautiful job, my sweet girl.” A loud, shivering moan fills the room, something you would have thought impossible to fall from your mouth only an hour ago, but your body reacts like it's what you've been needing to hear all night. Matt continues to pet your shaking body and reaffirms. “You took it so well. That was so beautiful, baby.”
Matt's movements slow with your breathing. Not pulling away and leaving you desolate, but being a dependable warmth, stroking your malleable body. Reassuring touches migrate from limb to limb. You groan when he massages your calves and thighs, dissipating tension you didn't know was there. Unaware of your own words, you mumble a quiet, “Thank you.”
You don't know how long he touches you. Time is lost on you. “How're you feeling, baby?”
You force your eyes open and focus on him. “Good. Kinda…” The statement lingers, but he gives you time to put it together. “Never felt so good, I don't think.”
“It's a lot, huh?” You watch his face and give a light, “Ahuh.” A faint sheen is still glossed across the lower half of his face. “I’m gonna get you cleaned up, okay?”
Clumsily, you grab one of his warm, wandering hands and pull him closer. He follows willingly. You brush his sweaty hair back and comb through the tangles you created.
Everything feels muted, like freshly fallen snow. Muffled. “We need to take care ‘a you too.” The words are much more tender than you thought, but it's true.
Matt's smile is gentle. Even grateful, perhaps. “You can take care of me by letting me take care of you. Okay? Can I have that, please?”
Shaky fingers caress his soft face and follow deep smile lines.“‘Kay.” Your head eases back into the plush pillows.
He kisses your cheek; you sigh, “'S good, Matty.”
His kisses move to your neck; you whimper. He whispers into your damp skin, “I'm so happy to hear that, baby.” Eyes closed once more, you feel his weight shift off the bed. How the hell is he even standing right now?
A warm, wet sensation moving across your body startles you. Prying your eyes open, Matt gently slides a washcloth across your skin, washing away the sticky sweat. You're barely lucid, but you need to check. The question is breathy and far away. “An' you feel good?”
The cloth wanders to your lower half, gently cleaning and brushing against your inner thighs and cunt, making you squirm. Tired kisses bless your sweaty face. You hum in appreciation. “Baby. I came so fuckin’ hard, you got no idea.” He laughs and confesses in a low voice, “Few strokes in, and I was gone like a damn teenager.”
Light chuckles pull from your chest. You breathe deeply, still in a new and soft headspace. You nod to no one. “Yeah. I needed you to cum. Needed you to feel- I needed…” Trailing off, you hope he understands because even you’re not sure where you were going with that.
“I know, sweetheart.” Another kiss. “God, you're perfect.” There’s no energy to come up with a retort, so you let him have the last word. His smile is audible. “I should get you like this more often, you're actually accepting compliments.”
“Don't push it. Might need a few days to recover from this,” you grumble.
With the perspiration gently wiped away and your muscles kneaded, you feel closer to your body. “Drink.” Tilting your head up, your lightly trembling hands cover his hold on the glass. You take a few sips and lie back down, eyes closed, and a bit more grounded. “Open.” You don't even bother asking, but mindlessly follow instructions.
Rich chocolate is quick to melt on your tongue; you groan around it. “Mmm, got me the fancy shit.”
“Brought some with me. I may have a stash for you.”
Squinting at him, you question, “A secret stash? Why would you hide it from me? That's so mean.”
His smile lifts his whole face. “I'm so mean?”
You giggle and nod. “Mean to me all the time.”
Matt throws the washcloth somewhere behind him and settles down, wedging himself against you while you lie supine. One of your softer blankets covers your curling bodies.
“I would like to remind you about the past hour. You said, what was it?” He hums a questioning tone. “‘Oh, my dearest Matthew, I've never felt so good. You're so good to me and-’”
“I did not say that, and you make it sound like you’re going off to war.”
“Maybe not verbatim, but you’re very polite when you cum, you know that? Wonderful manners.”
Shifting to see his face, you stare at him, confused. “What does that mean?”
Chin perched on your chest, Matt's smile is wild. “Sayin’ please and thank you.” You turn your head away and groan, but he laughs. In the throes of it, you honestly weren't thinking about what fell from your mouth, or even fully realizing what did leave.
A little bit of anxiety taps in. “But it was okay? I wasn't too loud?” He gazes up at you in disbelief, his eyebrows high and slightly pinched. Sliding forward, he lets a good portion of his weight cover you.
“You. You were fucking fantastic.” He nuzzles into your neck, nipping at your warm skin. “God, the sounds you made and the way you let go, gripping my hair and pullin’ me tight.” His cock twitches between your bodies, making a small smile tick up.
“Did you miss me saying that I came far too quickly? Or did you just want me to admit it again?”
He peppers kisses across your face. “Thank you, sweetheart. For all of this.” A few more kisses press against your skin. He teases, “You wanna go again?”
Exhaustion evident in your voice, you kiss him back and murmur, “Give me three to five business days, and then we’ll talk.”
Matt chuckles but responds with sincerity. “I can wait.”
I cannot overstate how much I've enjoyed the writing and characterization in this series... I love the witty banter that never makes me cringe and sub!reader that is honestly controlling the whole situation. The pacing is phenomenal as well. It's just 🤌🤌🤌🤌 chef's kiss ‼️‼️
him being rougher than usual after a long day, but you remain gentle in response. his hips crash into yours, but you just cradle his face and brush the hair out of his eyes. he bites your shoulder and you kiss his forehead. he pins your hands and your legs hug his waist.
part six of an odd combination // matt murdock x f!reader
Matt assured you that words work just fine, but you believe he deserves a proper 'thank you'.
wc: 2900
cw: smut: oral (male receiving), teasing, praise kink to the max, slight nipple play, subspace!!
note: reader has hair. images from pinterest. semi proofread. Everything is know about sex is based on what ive read and my imagination 😊
His...situation that arose at the store has been getting somewhat better, but then you'll skim your hand across any available stitch of skin. Or you whisper into his ear when it's not necessary. “Did you need anything at Top and Bottom?”
It's a miracle his voice is as steady as it is. "I thought that store went out of business.” To which you only hum in reply.
Seconds after his apartment door closes, you're attacking him. You've gone mad, bombarding his face with lighthearted affection. He loves it.
“Thank you so much for the paintbrushes, honey.” The kisses are unpredictable. “How could I ever repay you? My kind Matty.”
Still flushed and slightly out of his mind, he pants, “The- uh, Kisses are good, but thank you is enough.”
Pulling away, you cup his face and ponder. “Hmm, I dunno.” Taking him by the hand, you park him on the couch. He's pliable to your wants and immediately wraps his arms around you when you sit on his lap.
Blissed out, he smiles into your peppering kisses. “Mmm, words work just fine.”
Your hand confidently lowers down his chest, settling on his crotch. “I think I should give you a proper ‘thank you’.” Petting his tenting pants, you hum.
Matt slips into a slight warriness: eyebrows pinched and body shifting. “Sweetheart, you really don't have to.”
You slink lower, off the couch and onto the hardwood floor. His legs mindlessly spread further apart, making room for your kneeling self. Reverent, you slide your hands down his legs and ease off his shoes, then slip them under the coffee table.
Already content and slightly hazy, you want him as comfortable as possible. You run your hands up and down his thighs. "But I want to. Don't you wanna give me what I want?" Slumping downwards, you set your head in his lap and revel in the strong, straining muscles beneath your cheek.
Gentle fingers run through your hair, brushing it out of the way. Matt smiles and relents, “My smart girl. Alright, baby. Whatever you want. But,” he tilts your chin up to look at him, “traffic light system, or tap me twice if you need a break. You understand me?”
Craning up at him, you study his face and nod. “Yes, Matty.” Easing forward, you remove his glasses and set them on the nearby table. He smiles.
“Good.” His body reclines further, but his hand lingers in your hair. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”
Though you’re eager, you gently palm his bulge, enjoying the warmth beneath your hand. For a few moments, it’s a contented quietness. Feeling the heat of his body, waking up, and wanting.
With your head dangerously close to his crotch, the temptation becomes too much.
Slowly, your face slides closer and against his bulge, nuzzling. Matt sighs in satisfaction and strokes your head absentmindedly. Content with whatever he receives.
You want to take your time and tease him like he teases you. But he makes you weak. You move to his middle. The clink of his belt has you reacting like Pavlov's dogs: mouth watering and starving.
You can tell he's trying to stay composed, but the disrobing is clumsy. Without much finesse, he lifts his hips, and you help him wriggle his pants off, but before he can fully kick them away, you push your face into his groin. Genuine sighs of relief huff against his silk briefs. You’re far too horny to be embarrassed right now. He kicks his pants off without your help.
Kneading his cock between the fabric, you feel a damp spot of pre-cum under your hand.
Matt's hand twitches, then gives in to his wantings, grabbing your hair and encouraging your desperate nature. Pulling you closer and groaning when your tongue darts out against his clothed cock.
He's kind at first, and you are too, allowing him to think that this is all he wants. And yet, you can’t help but think that he truly would be fine with just…this. His calloused hands are tender, stroking your face and playing with your hair. “God, you need me so bad, huh?”
Your eyes feel so heavy. “Ahuh.” From down here, the smell is warm and heady. Rich and intoxicating.
You want to take your time, but he's just. so. beautiful. So open and wanting. Twisting your head, you follow the hand that was cradling you seconds ago, and dip your open mouth forward, taking his thumb between your lips. Gradually, you lower and suck lightly.
Matt’s strong jaw accentuates with the shift. His nose flares (more than likely trying to control himself in some manner, which is cute.) You'll be nice and let him have that perspective for now. Let him keep the idea that he controls the narrative.
His pointer and middle fingers eventually come into play, pressing deep, then onto your tongue, leaving you panting and drooling like a dog. It’s all too easy to take your time bobbing up and down, sucking and licking whichever finger he chooses.
At some point, feeling calm and hazy, you pull away. His head tilts at your retreat, but he doesn't complain. Matt sighs when you take him out of his silk boxers. Rising to your knees, you take in the mouthwatering view, then spit in your hand, but decide to wait, to watch him squirm, anticipating the upcoming touch.
Smiling, a shadow of pride shades his expression. “You wanting me to beg? Is that what this is?" Matt's thighs tense, and his cock bobs against his stomach. No longer sadistic, you bring your damp hand to his cock and watch his eyelashes flicker.
The rising and lowering of your hand are languid movements, practically self-indulgent, just wanting to get used to the velvety feel of him. Coquetish, you innocently disagree. "Uhuh. Just wanna see you control yourself so well. It's so pretty, Matty."
His hand shoots to his face, massaging his forehead. “Shit."
Scooting your body closer, you chuckle and say, “Go easy on me, honey." It's crude, smacking his cock against your tongue, then giving his cock a broad lick from base to tip. You grin at his shudder. Finally, you lean over, your head just above his deep red tip, adorned with a pearl of white. Matt is quick to collect your hair, even finding the strays and tucking them away.
Licking away the pre-cum and slowly lowering, you take him into your mouth. You exhale in tandem, both parties feeling chest-deep gratification. It begins slowly. Stroking him at the base, and taking what you comfortably can. You’re in this for the long haul; now is not the time to break your jaw. That can come later.
Matt knows all too well that you need to hear him; he’s more than happy to oblige. “Mmm, thank you, baby.” You pull off for a moment and breathe, still moving his cock and reveling in the indecent sounds. Smiling, he cups your cheek. “So good. Just for me, huh?”
Taking him again, you hum in agreement, and he groans. An especially lewd sound makes you retreat, nosing against him in embarrassment, but Matt laughs freely, making you giggle too.
Praise falls from his lips, making you squirm. He tastes too good, too warm and slick. Wet squelches and shlicks sounds accompany his controlled breathing.
Greed gets the best of you, going faster and reaching a little lower than the time before. Then, you gag, and even though his cock twitches, he swallows his moan and tries to pull you off, but you work against him, taking a shuddering inhale through your nose and burying deeper.
Matt’s head juts back, and he groans. Panting, he reminds you, “You can tap-"
You withdraw only to complain in a hoarse voice. "I know, Matt. Shut up."
Logically, you’re certain Matt would let you go if you asked. Hell, you're pretty sure you could say you changed your mind and don't wanna blow him, or that you never want to give him a blowjob ever again, and he'd take it in stride. Probably tuck himself away, then beg to eat you out.
After a few more undulations, taking him in, departing, then diving back, you give in to the idea. It's just a small test. Two small taps drum against his leg, and you're gone, moved away without a second thought. Both of you catch your breath. "Okay, baby?"
"So good. Promise." One of your hands slides under his shirt and up his torso, admiring his abdominal muscles and broad chest. Matt’s head slumps back at your tender touches, but his hand joins yours and leads you to his pecs.
Entranced at the very idea, you pinch his nipple and are beyond turned on to watch him squirm. A light tug on the sensitive nub makes his back arch. Pulling harder the second time, he gives a high-pitched moan, “Fuck, Matt,” you whisper, “you're serious?”
Matt’s flushed face is stunning, but this aspect will have to be explored later. You can’t take it. You move your hands to anchor on his thighs, and plunge back down; his chest heaves at the sudden onslaught of wet warmth.
Teasing your tongue on the underside, then licking where his tip begins, slowly moving up and teasing the slit. He hisses, “Ah, ah, shiiit.”
You then set a moderate pace, only going deeper when his hips buck and thighs tense. "Fuck, yes, just like that." The sounds are obscene, but it only makes you restless. Panting, he huffs, “Can I fuck your face? That okay?" Your cunt clenches at the request, thrilled but anxious. "You can tap out, smack me, pull off. Whatever you need."
Panting, you agree, “Yes.”
Although the grip on your hair tightens and you’re pushed deeper, the thrusts still feel shallow. Hesitant. He's holding back and you know it. Shoving yourself up, you gasp, "Fuck my face, Matthew."
The command changes him. His hold is no longer for assurance, but for unrelenting guidance, forcing you down. The newfound power and rough thrusts make you moan, causing him to moan in turn. Fuck. “Good girl, so good.” It gets frantic. “Yesss, atta girl. ‘S perfect.”
You can feel his control slipping away. He moves forward, his chest almost covering you, and he fucks into you with wild abandon. Writhing, you think, Fuck, can I cum completely untouched? Tears spill and drool splays over your mouth, hands, his dick, and his lap. Obscene, wet smacks slap against your skin.
Then you're gone. Pulled off and panting. Upset at the sudden stop, you wriggle, but one hand holds your hair tight, keeping you where you are, and the other slowly pets down your flushed cheek. “Wha?”
“Y-you havin' fun?”
Dazed, and not fully understanding the abrupt halt, you nod and say, “Ahuh.”
“‘S good. You need to breathe, baby.”
You melt, slumping and pressing your cheek into his calloused palm. Your voice is rough and slurred. “Feels ‘s good, Matty.” You want more. You wanna keep going, but he’s not letting you. You know how to fix this. “You- you're not giving me what I want.”
Matt’s jaw clenches, and his grip tightens. “Don't be a brat. You know what you want, but I know what you need. You gotta’ listen to me, baby.” Two small taps rap against your skin, reminding you that you have a say. That his word isn't the end-all be-all.
Your drum back is light and somewhat shaky, but you understand. “Okay, Matty.” Attentive to his needs, you keep stroking him, but ask, “Where do– face or mouth? An’ I’m not swallowin', ‘s gross.”
Matt’s laugh is deep, but it turns to a hiss when you twist your hand. You giggle when the words can barely escape, too far gone and overwhelmed by your work. "Mouth?"
“‘Kay.” You let go and lean over Matt, grabbing tissues from the box on the end table, and watch them float to your knees.
“You ready?” You nod into his hand. “Alright, baby.”
Gripping your scalp, Matt shoves you down and groans in satisfaction. Your nose brushes against the neat thatch of dark pubes. You stroke his balls, inner thighs, and knead the straining muscles. He's relentless; it’s euphoric.
Shoving you, then lifting you off. A continuous cycle. He disregards your gags and squirms, gripping your hair and using you for his own pleasure. Desperate for him to break, you suck harder and moan when he throws his head back and groans, “Fuuuck, shit, yes. Just like that, that’s it. That’s a’girl.”
It’s rough and unforgiving, but with him, it's easy to ignore the gags and respiratory needs. Each gag and groan fuels Matt, pushing him further.
It feels so good. So rough but tender. This is the same man who cooks you dinner and buys you fancy paintbrushes. The same man who cuddles into your neck and hums at head scratches. The same man who takes off your coat for you and walks on the outside of the sidewalk.
This man pushes you to allow yourself good things; he wants you to want, so he can ‘treat you right’ and ‘spoil you’. And you want this.
His balls tighten in your hand. He's there. Right there, but holding back even when you told him not to. It's frustrating. Even with his tight hold, he eases when you drive against him. You rasp the magic words, "Gimme what I want," then return like nothing happened.
Going back down on him, you open your throat and huff through your nose, going deeper than before, using your tongue to lap at the very base, and caressing his balls. “Fuuck. Good girl. So good. Tellin’ me what she wants, f-fuck, so proud ‘a you."
The praise makes you squirm, your pussy aching, feeling empty without him. Matt’s no longer holding on to your hair to follow your motions or drag you off as a 'just in case', his grasp tightens, making your scalp burn.
His hips lift, fucking your face and causing tears to spill. "Shit, fuck. Gonna make me cum." The trusts turn erratic and hiccup. “Gonna- fuck” You moan at his letting go, filling your mouth, and continue to stroke him through his orgasm. Matt’s moans are gorgeous, even prettier than you imagined.
His head slumps, knocking it against the back of the couch. Moving away, you spit, and he shivers at the disconnection. A warm, bitter tang lingers on your tongue. But, unable to help yourself, little licks and kisses still follow across his groan, and who can blame you? You've got an unbelievable view. You have mercy with him when his shaking turns to overstimulated twitching and the moans are no longer fun.
You don’t know how long the two of you sit there, panting and recovering, but it's long enough that the world is still a little blurry, yet you’re now aware of your aching jaw and the chilled floor. In a hoarse voice, you ask, "How are you?"
Matt’s laugh sounds wrung out, but in the best possible way. He echoes your question. "How am I?" A hand runs down his face, muttering through his chuckles, "Oh, sweetheart, c’mere." Matt pulls you onto his lap, careful of his sensitive body and your sore legs. You sit in his lap and sag against him.
Grabbing another tissue, he wipes away stray tears, snot, and messy drool. "I'm wonderful. Made me feel so good." Heated hands run up and down your legs, pushing lightly to dissipate any and all tension. Matt folds you into him, bringing your flushed face into his neck. A soft emotion creeps up the back of your neck and encases you in cotton.
A peck presses into the top of your head. "Oh, my good girl. 'm so proud. You like knowin' you did such a good job?" Chest hitching, you nod, getting high off his praise. "Did you like that?" You nod. “How’d you feel, baby?”
For some reason, all the answers feel far away, so you snuggle closer and think. Matt’s caressing never ceases, moving across your body, tethering you. You’re not sure if that helps or hinders the thinking process. Finally, you murmur, “Feel…soft. Tired. But…good tired.”
Matt’s smile is kind; your fingers gently trace the crow’s feet. “Mmm, a good tired. Do you feel kinda floaty? Maybe a little far away?” You nod. The next question holds a more serious tone. “Have you ever felt like this before, honey?”
You shake your head no and say, “Uh-uh.”
Quiet, he whispers, “Okay,” kissing you on your cheek, then grabs a blanket off the back of the couch, wrapping the two of you together. “I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart. Get you all cozy and bring you back down, okay?”
Eyelashes tickle against his skin at your fluttering. Timid, you test, "I made you feel good?"
Matt’s smile is devilish. "Oh, so good. And you told me what you wanted. ‘M so proud of you.”
Coming back down to Earth, you nestle against him and cocoon the butter-soft cashmere blanket around you both. “Thank you, Matty.”
taglist
@junior2428 @lina-murdock @dissolvedprincess @ifyoulovemeletmebinge @scoliobean @sarahskywalker-amidala @kneelforloki @crowleythesexydemon @kityri-imera @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers
*plz comment if u would like to be added/ or if i forgot (sorry) thank u :)
Being a switch for me means that I'm going to be the worst hellion until someone puts me in my place.
I want to get under Matt's skin so bad that it takes every ounce of his self control not to snap my neck like with Fisk in s3.
But I know the reality is that Matt wouldn't be fazed, because all he'd have to do is pin my arms and put a little pressure on my neck and its over. ¯\_(ᴼل͜ᴼ)_/¯
My love language is letting me think I have a fighting chance.
I like to think that Matt would indulge me a little because he can tell how riled up I'm getting. The harder I try to get to him, the harder he can put me in my place.
Summary: Matt socializes a very feral reader to him.(Reader is barely described as human tbh, but she/her pronouns (this one is for the real freaks))
Warnings: slight coercion, reader eats meat, mentions of smut (pt 2 will have smut and reader will be confirmed human)
He doesn't do it maliciously, quite the opposite. He does it because he knows he's the only one who can help you reach your potential.
The first time he notices you, it's because you're inching through an alley at 3am. You're diligently checking for anyone following, darting out from cover just to hide a moment later. You easily miss the Devil lurking on the rooftops. He hones in on your strange behavior, and rustling comes from your hiding spot a few stories below.
You're... eating something you found in a bag of trash. Matt's brows furrow, unbelieving at how you didn't hesitate to devour whatever you found. He hoped it was food.
Why are you doing this? Was this your best option? Is no one taking care of you?
He quietly drops down to street level a fair distance away. Taking careful but audible steps, he starts coming closer.
"Hello?" He barely got the word out when you froze. Matt didn't hear chewing anymore, or even breathing, but now listened to your racing heart.
He only got one step closer before you darted up and ran back from where you came, leaving a scent trail of adrenaline and cortisol in your wake.
Something about the way you kept checking for him following you, even as he was far out of your sight, made him decide not to follow.
It took two weeks to sense you again, a block away on a rooftop this time. Matt took a step towards you and heard you take a step back. He realized you had spotted him long before, and wondered if you had been lurking on the outskirts of his senses since your first meeting. He hadn't ever smelled the traces of you up here before your meeting, and he let a small smile grow on his face, because that meant you were up here for him, to get on his level.
He waited, still and neutral. You took a long look, and left a moment later.
This continued for the next three weeks. Every evening at the end of his patrol, he felt your presence, watching.
Always coming back to me. Good.
It was then that Matt decided to start properly conditioning you to him. You needed someone to look out for you. Who knows where you even slept? If he could win your trust, and maybe step into his apartment, he could keep you with him and take care of you. He knew you needed the help, even if you were afraid, even if you hated him for it at first.
Matt felt like you both spoke the same language. No words were needed, if you even could speak, because the two of you had body language. You responded to his every movement in a way he hadn't felt before, like you were more similar to him and his senses.
The fact that you're curious sealed the deal. He knew that you weren't completely feral. With some hard work and patience, he could show you that people and the indoors weren't all that bad-- or at least that him and his apartment weren't.
The next night, he took two steps closer and you didn't run. Your flight distance was decreasing. He clenched his fists to stop himself from pushing too quickly. One wrong step, and he'd ruin your progress.
After weeks of taking a few small steps closer, you were just one rooftop over now. He could smell from there, the dehydration and low blood sugar. It's a tough world out there. You needed him.
He needed you too. These few minutes with you at the end of his patrol helped him calm down. If all the people he hurt at night didn't really do any good... he knew that taking care of you was right. You were something just as wild as Hell's Kitchen, but that he could have control over. Not because you were stupid, or clueless, but because he felt connected, that he was the only one who could help you. You never even seemed to care that his face was kept masked, or that he often arrived stained with blood.
Enough progress had been made that Matt could start incorporating food into your training. He's been desensitizing you for weeks, but adding food, trying graded counterconditioning? He had a gut feeling that this would make you really warm up, not just tolerate him.
It was a lesson in patience for Matt that he savored because of the reward of every new step he could take with you.
Matt put a box of takeout and a cup of water on the next rooftop over. He went back to wait again.
There you are, slinking along in the shadows, staying along the imaginary bubble you've drawn around him that just keeps getting smaller. It isn't a conscious change from you, it's your brain learning that he isn't a threat with every piece of trust gained.
The moment of truth came when you spotted his offering. Confusingly, there was no immediate reaction. No movement to eat. You did come closer to look at the meal, and Matt heard you sniff the food. Salivating, your stomach growled, but you still backed away.
His head tilted in confusion. You were hungry, the food smelled good, you weren't any closer to him than before. What was stopping you? You backed away again, and the wind carried the scent of your anxiety over to him, somewhat stronger than before.
His heart ached as he realized what he had done. He got a full plate of fresh, delicious food for someone used to half-rotted scraps. It's not that you didn't want the food, it's that it was too good to not be a trick.
Matt brought a new plan the next night. He dumped the oldest leftovers in his fridge into a plastic bag, and even put in a few crumpled up pieces of paper for good measure. He threw it over to the next rooftop, not mixing his scent so badly with it this time.
You came crawling out of the shadows again, and considered his new attempt. Frustratingly slow, like at any moment he'd come over and kick you for it, you pulled the bag back a few feet and took a bite. Your head kept popping up to check he wasn't moving closer. He wouldn't dare. Suddenly, you were devouring the food as quickly as you could.
Matt tried not to cringe when you chewed on the bag too.
He couldn't have been happier with your progress. At least he could keep feeding you, even if he never got you close enough to touch, or get you inside.
It became his nightly ritual to find something you'd actually eat, but he slowly increased the quality, still presenting it to you as trash. Now you would eat a still-stacked sandwich out of a crumpled paper bag.
How could it have gotten this bad? What was life like for you before him?
More progress came when you no longer startled at the sound of his voice. The first time he let out a little hum, he swears you came six inches off the ground. Now, he spoke to you every time. He'd tell you what he brought, or about his day. You listened, seeming to understand in your own way.
You operated off actions, not words. His reassurances that he didn't want to hurt you seemed to have no effect.
Though the fact that you weren't frozen in fear anymore, and felt comfortable ignoring him sometimes, made him confident to come closer again. Opposite corners of the same roof, then gradually sitting just a few feet away.
His hands trembled with effort to not reach out and touch you. Would you want to smell his hand first? Should he let you come to him? He doubted that would ever happen. You weren't choosing to be close to him, he was bribing you with food and water, but your brain felt safer and safer. He didn't have any real plans on what he'd do if he got you inside. He thinks you'd probably destroy his kitchen or try to eat his couch. He'd be content if you just slept inside where it's warm.
The threat of winter just two months away made him push the boundary once again. While you were busy eating a particular favorite food, Matt softly brushed one knuckle over your shoulder. It was only his quick reflexes that saved his hand from your teeth coming to bite him away. You stared at him, like he should've known not to try. Not with anger or betrayal, but stress and frustration.
"Don't make you bite, huh? Okay, okay." He left you alone for the rest of the meal, but didn't move away.
You gave him the same look the next night, when instead of a bag on the ground, he was holding a piece of chicken. He had tried to bring you nutritious things, he wasn't sure if this was the only meal you were getting, and he knew you liked this. If he wasn't so intent on staying neutral, he would've laughed at the internal war he saw through your movements. You wanted it? You'd have to eat from his hand now, directly interact.
Arm stretched out towards you, holding only the edge of the food to save his fingers in case you took it too quickly, Matt felt that your whole body was stiff and on guard, but you bit off a piece. He fed you three pieces like this, with the last one held out in his palm. Your nose barely brushed his hand as you took it, and Matt shivered.
He wished you'd just crawl into his lap one day, finally understanding his good intentions. But knowing that you wouldn't choose anyone else, that he earned your trust without words, that's what made him value the relationship. He couldn't persuade or reason, and you didn't require constant reassurance that he didn't have time to give. Ten minutes, some food, and soon enough he hoped that his touch could be a reward too, though he'd have to teach you to like it first.
Three nights of eating from his hand, and then when he was pulling his hand back to get more, you reached up to still his hand and licked the remnants greedily. Matt felt his cock twitch in his pants.
He'd be lying if he said that he hadn't considered socializing you to sex. It would have to come so much later. He could have sex with most anyone he wanted, but sex with you would be so different. Teaching you what it's like to feel pleasure for the first time, that he provides it, he thought that once you understood that he didn't do it for himself, but for you, that it would quickly become another reinforcer.
He knew you were independent, surviving for God knows how long out here by yourself, but he wanted you to have the choice to come to him and know that you'd be fed, fucked, and protected.
His fingers involuntarily flexed up at the sensation of your tongue on his palm and they lightly brushed your cheek. You didn't seem to notice.
Oh, good girl.
That's what got him the most, that you weren't trying to be good for him. You were, in fact, objectively not well-behaved. He controlled your reactions, and you didn't even realize how much progress you had made. You hadn't planned to work with him, but he hoped that after your fear mostly subsided, once you let your guard down a little, he could keep raising the bar and get you inside.
A warm place to sleep, food and water always ready was what he wanted to provide. Anything that also served him-- touching, sex-- was secondary. Ultimately, he didn't want to keep you inside constantly. You deserve fresh air and what you've always known, but for at least a little while, he thinks he'd have to keep you locked inside so you'd see it as a good place you could come back to at will.
Those few weeks of keeping you inside and seeing the fear come back would break his heart. He hoped to leave the door open at first and let you explore, smell everything and see he lived alone, before he shut you in with him. But he'd have to get you to follow him first.
Your usual rooftop was five buildings away from his, so the next night, he waited one closer. You only looked confused for a moment before finding your way over. You expected him to be there like you expected the sun to rise.
So cute.
This time he also tried not getting the food out right away. He sat on the ground with his hand outstretched. You crawled over and looked at his hand, shifting your head when you didn't find food in it. The tip of your nose touched his fingertips as you tried to find it. With none in sight, you looked up to stare at him. He was almost shocked you didn't become frustrated, but waited as patiently as you could. When you brushed your mouth against his fingers, prompting him to reveal your reward, he smiled so wide his face ached.
He decided he'd keep building up your tolerance with this method of letting you come to him instead of encroaching on your personal space.
Over the following days, he was incredibly proud of the strides you made. Some things came easier than others, and now that you had a mutual understanding that you'd have to make more contact to get your meal, you were willing to keep expanding your boundaries.
He sat propped up against the side of the building with his legs stretched out. You tried to come around from his side to touch his hand, but he moved it away until you hovered over his legs, then ever so carefully sat on his knees before you got fed.
Some may call what he was doing coercion, but if you truly hit a wall of what you were willing to do, he'd keep feeding you. It's that you seemed almost eager to find out what he wanted you to do each time.
Contrafreeloading. When an animal is given the choice of food or food that they have to work for, they'll choose the food that requires work.
He held out one hand with his palm up. After nudging it with your nose a few times, you slowly lowered your chin into the gap between his thumb and fingers. His other hand reached to get your reward.
"Doing so good, thank you. Thank you, sweetheart," he whispered.
You seemed to perk up at his voice more often, listening more attentively, words becoming more salient. You relaxed a bit, putting more weight onto his hand.
The power trip this gave him was like no other. Holding you, your eyes darting around to see if you were doing what he wanted. He thought that it wasn't just about food for you anymore.
He had learned that some dog trainers could reinforce their learners with just a smile. The bond was so strong that making trainers happy was the reward for the learners.
"I have so much in store for you. Keep being good for me, okay?" Matt rubbed his thumb along your jaw gently.
He would continue with your training protocol, getting you nearer to his apartment as it gets closer to the first snow. He's addicted to you, invested in you. He is your path to salvation.
He couldn't wait to make the most of you, to find your full potential. Now that he had you, he wouldn't ever let you go without him.
Reader that accepts Matt for what he is? Reader that's Matt's solace? Bring me reader that's doing worse. Full-time vigilante reader that exhausts themselves every day, that doesn't have a job bc they're constantly fighting. Reader that stays at Matt's apartment to inhale a meal and sleep an hour or two, then leaves. That's clear from the beginning that nothing will ever be as important to them as keeping people safe. Reader that makes Matt worse
Pt 2 to this is reader that won't give Matt a single bit of attention unless he's helping them fight. Matt runs himself ragged trying to get in their good graces, but they seemingly never stop moving.
Reader that won't stop for a second unless Matt makes them, so he makes them. Finally snapping, they're tackled to the floor and their wrists are pinned to their sides while Matt sits on their legs so they'll fully acknowledge him. Reader that forces Matt to make himself unavoidable.
Reader that won't stop to fulfill their own needs so Matt forces it. He senses they're thirsty? Their mouth is being pried open so he can pour water into it before they run out to fight again. Bleeding? He's wrestling them into a position that lets him put a bandage on before they keep risking their life.
Reader that challenges Matt's skills because they're willing to do anything to get back out to help, but Matt isn't willing to hurt them to get them to stay. He has to avoid their attacks and get them prone before they let him show his affection.
@foxmurdock you understand me on an inhuman level with the spidersona mentioned in your reblog
I want a spider!reader that makes Matt's abilities look like child's play. They'd be able to bond over the spider sense and Matt's senses, and the way they experience the world.
I want Matt to have to use his wits to make spider!reader stay/pay attention to him. He can't use his strength and charm because reader is stronger and doesn't care about being flirted with. Matt begs reader to let him help her fight, but he can't handle the smoke of the level of threat reader fights against.
I think way back I saw Fox have an invisible!reader imagine where Matt's the only one who can "see" them. Don't get me started....
My spidersona doesn't need a suit, her webs weave around her and make her invisible. There's no sign that she's fighting crime, just people seemingly magically moved/saved/restrained by an invisible force. Silk!reader that's been locked away from people most of her life, she doesn't have an alter ego, she doesn't talk to people because she's more comfortable/safe invisible. She's baffled when Matt can sense her. They bond over their animal-like behavior. They experience the world through sounds, scent, hunting, movement. Silk!reader who isn't funny or particularly likeable because she's not socialized to people, but so dedicated to her mission that she makes Matt look like a soccer mom.
Reader that accepts Matt for what he is? Reader that's Matt's solace? Bring me reader that's doing worse. Full-time vigilante reader that exhausts themselves every day, that doesn't have a job bc they're constantly fighting. Reader that stays at Matt's apartment to inhale a meal and sleep an hour or two, then leaves. That's clear from the beginning that nothing will ever be as important to them as keeping people safe. Reader that makes Matt worse
Pt 2 to this is reader that won't give Matt a single bit of attention unless he's helping them fight. Matt runs himself ragged trying to get in their good graces, but they seemingly never stop moving.
Reader that won't stop for a second unless Matt makes them, so he makes them. Finally snapping, they're tackled to the floor and their wrists are pinned to their sides while Matt sits on their legs so they'll fully acknowledge him. Reader that forces Matt to make himself unavoidable.
Reader that won't stop to fulfill their own needs so Matt forces it. He senses they're thirsty? Their mouth is being pried open so he can pour water into it before they run out to fight again. Bleeding? He's wrestling them into a position that lets him put a bandage on before they keep risking their life.
Reader that challenges Matt's skills because they're willing to do anything to get back out to help, but Matt isn't willing to hurt them to get them to stay. He has to avoid their attacks and get them prone before they let him show his affection.
Reader that accepts Matt for what he is? Reader that's Matt's solace? Bring me reader that's doing worse. Full-time vigilante reader that exhausts themselves every day, that doesn't have a job bc they're constantly fighting. Reader that stays at Matt's apartment to inhale a meal and sleep an hour or two, then leaves. That's clear from the beginning that nothing will ever be as important to them as keeping people safe. Reader that makes Matt worse
Man who is so so heavy handed and rough during sex but it's just because he's pussy whipped and love drunk that he doesn't even realise how much of his weight he's using.
when he finally bottoms out inside of you and lets out such a low, ragged and almost desperate sound that makes it known he’s been waiting for this alllllllll day
you think shit is sweet and he’s more talk than cock until your back is pressed to his chest and he’s folded you in half with his arms pressed against the back of your thighs and you’re being explored far deeper than your fingers or a toy have ever gone
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