Men Old Enough To Be My Dad Are Ruining My Life

𝔐𝔦𝔞✶She/her✶24•Aries || Editor Loves Star wars, rdr, tlou, dc/marvel, Chase Atlantic, Cowboys & Dilfs

[vvitchesh3x]

Everyone stop what you’re doing and go watch Dept.Q on Netflix Matthew Goode does not disappoint 😩 his attitude his voice his beard with graying streaks in the front. Like we said if he ain’t graying I ain’t staying but he was so I stood until I finished the show and omg there needs to be a season 2!!!!! Calling all fanfic Writers this man needs to be studied preferably with an x reader at the end of it☺️.

[claraswritings]

Dex finds a list on your phone of “PEOPLE WHO’VE PISSED ME OFF”

And he slowly starts to work through the list.

It starts as your colleague Rochelle has gone missing

Then it’s your university boyfriend Connor (because who cares if that was 10 years ago he CHEATED) and he gets killed?

It gets to “the driver of the yellow BMW across the road who never lets me merge” waking up to slashes to all four wheels before you’re calling out

“Dex baby? Are you using my venting list as a to do list?”

He shrugs and says “yes” looking way way too pleased with himself

[vocallywritten]

I love how in Daredevil, Frank Castle is like this intimidating guy who's a well matched threat to the hero but in Spiderman he's still the same character but Peter just... does not treat him with the same amount of gravity. He webs Frank's mouth shut for swearing and tells him to go home after breaking his van. He argues with the man who's whole deal is he has a lot of weapons and WILL use them like two New Yorkers who got into a fender bender. Peter Parker and Frank Castle see each other coming and they both go "This fucking guy again." I love it.

[s4ngel]

i wanna sit on his lap and talk about random stuff while he kisses me and says "that’s nice, baby,"

[anondrawsfanart]

Got obsessed with the dynamic of these losers

Spider-Man Brand New Day was such a fun movie, man

[dark-romantics]

there’s something so fucking magical about bookstores and libraries

[lilacmurdock]

Sugar, Please - Chapter Thirty Four

previous chapter | series masterlist I next chapter

artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt

chapter summary: you're slowly driven to insanity.

series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil

notes: will i stop creating OCs for this story? no. no i will not.

word count: 3.6k

"I look at you, and I just love you, and it terrifies me. It terrifies me what I would do for you."

- Alexandra Bracken

His name was Daniel Reyes. And unfortunately for you... you already liked him. Which made this infinitely harder.

Daniel had been head of firm security for almost four years now, so by the time Matt reassigned him personally to you, you already knew his coffee order and regularly offered him pastries at reception. You knew he was a single father, asked about his daughters, and often chatted with him by the elevators while waiting for Matt.

He’d always been warm with you. Protective in that quiet professional way. But now, he was apparently your assigned detail whenever you left the penthouse.

The first morning Matt officially informed you of this arrangement, Daniel was waiting outside the penthouse door, in front of the private elevator, looming. Black coat. An earpiece. Tablet in hand.

You stared at him. Then at Matt. Then back at Daniel. “...seriously?” Daniel looked vaguely apologetic as he nodded in greeting, Matt did not. He stood beside you, finishing the knot on his tie calmly like this was perfectly reasonable behavior. “Daniel already knows our usual schedule.”

“Oh my god.”

“He’ll rotate with two other agents overnight and during longer coverage shifts.”

“Agents?! You hired agents?!”

Matt glanced toward you mildly. “I hired personal security.”

“You hired a task force.”

Daniel coughed once into his fist like he was hiding a laugh. You glared accusingly at him. “And here I thought you'd be on my side.”

“I am on your side, ma’am.”

“You’re helping imprison me.” Matt slid a hand around your waist immediately before you could continue spiraling. “Princess.” He was using that soft voice. You glared up at him anyway and his mouth twitched faintly, which only annoyed you more.

Matt reached for your tote where it hung beside the front door, automatically slipping the strap over his own shoulder before offering you his hand. “Come on.”

You looked pointedly toward Daniel, who had already pressed the elevator call button and stood waiting with his tablet tucked beneath one arm. "This is humiliating," you finally said.

“It’s necessary.”

The elevator chimed softly and Daniel stepped inside first without a word, giving the empty car a quick glance before holding the doors open for the two of you. You lingered another second, looking hopefully at Matt. Despite the lack of sight, he seemed to know that look, the one that silently begged him to tell you he’d changed his mind. His fingers found yours instead. “After you, sweetheart.”

With the dramatic sigh of someone marching toward their own execution, you stepped into the elevator. The doors slid shut and for a few moments, only the gentle hum of the elevator filled the silence. Matt’s thumb absentmindedly traced slow circles across the back of your hand.

“We’ll stop at the studio first,” he said, matter of factly. “Daniel will stay with you there.”

“And then?”

“I’ll head to the office.”

“So I get traded from one babysitter to another.”

“Security detail.”

“Babysitter.”

Daniel looked toward the ceiling, seemingly doing everything in his power not to laugh, and even Matt’s mouth twitched.

The elevator opened into the garage. A black SUV waited, another member of the security team already standing near the driver’s door. You stopped walking, just for a second. Because suddenly it wasn’t theoretical anymore. It wasn’t one security guard outside your apartment. It was a team. An escort. Matt felt your hand tighten around his.

Without saying anything, he turned toward you and brushed a kiss against your temple. “It’s only for a little while,” he murmured. You looked out across the garage, then back at the waiting car. "...You promise?”

He answered without hesitation, “I promise I’ll end it the second I can.” It wasn’t the promise you’d wanted, but it was the only honest one he could make. You nodded anyway. “Okay.”

Matt squeezed your hand once more before guiding you toward the waiting SUV.

At first you genuinely tried to be understanding. You did. Because you knew Matt was just being overly cautious. And Daniel never entered the penthouse itself unless explicitly invited in.

He waited outside in the entryway by the elevator bank. If you needed to leave home then he'd wait just inside the entrance whether it was the studio or going out to lunch. Never invasive or hovering directly. But always there. Always within reach. And since you already knew him beforehand, you couldn’t even dislike him properly.

One afternoon at the studio Luis looked up from packing orders to see Daniel stationed discreetly outside the glass storefront scrolling through something on his phone. He watched Daniel politely open the door for an elderly woman leaving the neighboring bakery. “...he’s very polite for a federal agent.” You snorted despite the irritation thrumming under your skin. “He’s not federal.”

“Well, he has federal energy.”

But three nights later you finally snapped a little. You were just... emotionally exhausted. Matt had come home late, and you cornered him quietly in the kitchen while his dinner reheated. “This is starting to make me feel crazy.”

He immediately went still, his brows furrowing. You hated how fast the guilt hit afterward, because exhaustion already sat heavy in every line of his body. Still, he reached for you instantly, hands settling carefully at your hips. “What happened?”

“I had Daniel follow me to the building's cafe today, Matthew.”

“You were outside alone.”

“It’s downstairs.”

“It’s still public.”

You groaned softly and leaned your forehead against his chest. “This is exactly what I mean.” His arms wrapped around you immediately, one hand rubbing your back soothingly. “I know it’s frustrating.”

“It feels ridiculous.”

Matt went quiet for a second. Then, “Not to me.” Your chest tightened. Because his voice changed when he said it, wavering slightly. You pulled back enough to look at him. Geez, he really looked exhausted tonight. Grey threading softly through his mussed hair. Tie loosened. And underneath all of it, fear he was trying very hard not to pass on to you. “You’re the one publicly attached to this case,” you argued softly, "You and Foggy and Karen.”

“And you’re attached to me.”

Immediate. Firm. As if that answered everything. You watched his throat work once before continuing, “I understand why you're frustrated, and I'm sorry, sweetheart.” Your heart hurt instantly. “But I need you safe right now more than I need you happy about it.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Matt lowered his forehead against yours afterward, voice roughening slightly. “You weren't there in that courtroom when we were threatened.” Matt’s grip tightened fractionally at your waist. He exhaled slowly, “Those monsters and their goons lost everything this week. Money, power, and protection.” His jaw tightened. “Men like that lash out when cornered.”

Silence settled softly between you. Then finally you sighed. "I still hate it," you said petulantly. Matt huffed the tiniest laugh. “I know.” You tilted your head up slightly. “Daniel said you left really early this morning... You must've barely slept.”

Matt immediately looked annoyed. “You’re all unionizing against me.”

“Well, you hired my babysitter.”

Matt finally smiled a little at that. Tired. Then he kissed your forehead softly and murmured, “Temporary, princess.” It was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again, his voice suddenly laced with warmth. “You know,” he murmured, “Daniel’s watch ends at our front door.” You frowned suspiciously. "...What does that mean?”

“It means he isn’t following you everywhere.”

You blinked once. "Matt.”

“He doesn’t come into the apartment," he added. Your eyes narrowed. “I don’t like that smile.”

“It also means,” he continued, voice impossibly innocent now, “that the bedroom remains entirely unsecured.” You stared at him for a beat. "You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told.” You gave his chest a light shove, huffing. “You are weaponizing your body.”

“I’m actually weaponizing technicalities.”

“Oh my god.”

His laugh was quiet. Real. The first one you’d heard from him all evening. He caught your hand before you could step away, lacing your fingers together. “Come back here.”

“I’m literally already here.”

“A little closer.” You rolled your eyes, but let him tug you forward anyway until you bumped gently against his chest. “There," he said.

“There?”

“There.” He leaned down, brushing his nose lightly against yours. “I’ve missed you.” The admission was so quiet it stole every sarcastic reply you’d been preparing. “You’ve been sitting three feet away from me every night at dinner.”

“I know.”

“And sleeping next to me.”

“I know.”

“So how exactly have you missed me?”

His thumb traced absent circles across the back of your hand. “Because the last two weeks," he hesitated, "we've been carrying so much.” His forehead rested briefly against yours. A silence settled between you. Then, almost shyly, he added, “And I’d like twenty uninterrupted minutes with my girl.”

You couldn’t help smiling. "Only twenty?”

“Just being realistic. I had a long day, and as you love to remind me constantly, I'm old.” You giggled, your shoulders finally loosening beneath his touch. He kissed your forehead, immediately followed by your cheek. Then, with a grin you could hear more than see, “Come on.”

“Where?”

“Our bedroom.”

“For respectable reasons?”

“Mm...”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“It's the best answer you’re getting.” He began walking you backward toward the hallway, still holding your hand. You laughed again, “Matt.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

By week two you were losing your mind. Quietly spiraling as everyone around you kept acting like this was normal now. Normal to have security escorts to the studio. Normal to be escorted to the cafe and the gym located in your own building. Normal to have to text Daniel before leaving the penthouse. Normal to feel observed every second of the day. You hadn’t realized how badly you valued tiny freedoms until every single one required clearance.

But the breaking point came over a bowl of soup.

You’d stayed inside the penthouse almost nonstop for the past two days because honestly you were tired of being followed. Luis could handle most studio operations, especially since the two of you had already bottled the next month's drop. Matt had encouraged remote work whenever possible and clearly viewed this as a success. You viewed it as luxury flavored imprisonment.

By lunchtime you were already irritated. Dilly was in a little loaf on the kitchen island like a tiny white cloud while you waited for delivery from your favorite deli. The second your phone buzzed with: Delivered, you practically lunged for the door.

Finally. Something normal. You opened the penthouse door immediately, only to stop short. Daniel stood in the entry hallway holding the delivery bag. Not handing it over. You stared as he stood there calmly. “Daniel.”

“Afternoon, ma’am.”

“You’re holding my soup hostage.”

“Routine screening.” You blinked slowly. “You’re joking.” Daniel did not look like a man capable of joking when it came to work. You watched in disbelief as he calmly opened the bag himself. Right there in front of the door. Gloves on. Methodical.

He checked the seals, containers, even the utensils. Dilly meowed indignantly from behind you like she agreed this was outrageous. Daniel inspected the drink lid. “It’s iced tea," you deadpanned.

“It’s an unsecured outside delivery.”

“Oh my god.”

Daniel finally nodded once. Then, ONLY then, he handed over the bag. “You’re clear.” You stared at him holding your takeout bag. You blinked slowly. "...you checked my soup.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“My soup.”

Daniel removed the gloves carefully. “Mr. Murdock requested all outside food deliveries be screened.” Something inside you snapped a little. You suddenly felt unbelievably tired. “I know you’re just doing your job,” you said quietly, “I do.” Daniel’s expression softened slightly immediately as he listened to you in silence. “But I can’t breathe like this.”

Silence. He looked genuinely apologetic. Which made it worse, none of this was malicious. Everyone was just trying to protect you. And somehow that still felt suffocating. Daniel spoke gently, “This won’t be permanent.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended. Daniel hesitated slightly. Then, “You should probably yell at Mr. Murdock instead of me.”

A huff escaped you and you rubbed your face tiredly. “I'm sorry, you're right. I just... I just want one hour where nobody watches me exist.”

“I can step farther down the hallway.”

“That’s not the point and you know it.”

Daniel nodded once. Yeah. He knew. He glanced toward the private stairwell entrance near the back of the penthouse, then back toward you. “The roof should be clear.” You looked up. “The roof?”

“Private access only from within the home. No neighboring visibility, even during daylight.” You stared at him hopefully. Daniel smiled softly seeing it. “I’ll stay here, outside.”

Your shoulders dropped instantly with relief. “Oh my god I could kiss you.”

“Please don’t. Mr. Murdock already intimidates me enough.” You laughed for real that time. And for the first time in days your chest loosened slightly. Two minutes later you climbed the private rooftop stairs alone. No footsteps trailing behind you. Just you, your soup, and the city view. The rooftop door opened quietly. Warm wind brushed immediately against your skin, relief hitting so fast it almost made you emotional.

Safe. Quiet. Private. You settled onto the outdoor lounge seat with your lunch and closed your eyes briefly. Finally breathing. Around you the city roared endlessly. Above you, clouds drifted slowly through pale sunlight. And for the first time in days nobody was watching you at all.

The peace only lasted so long, and by the middle of the third week you were becoming unbearable. And the worst part was you knew it. It started small. Little things.

You stopped telling Daniel when you were ready to leave somewhere and instead stood stubbornly outside pretending to answer emails until he finally sighed and brought the car around anyway. You wandered farther through stores than necessary just to make him search for you briefly. You took forever to order at cafe lines. Changed your mind constantly. Started “forgetting” your phone in different places.

You weren't necessarily trying to think up ways to be malicious, but you were beyond restless. Like your skin no longer fit right. And because everyone around you was so endlessly patient about it you somehow felt even guiltier.

By Friday afternoon even Luis looked exhausted by you. You were in a specialty packaging store downtown arguing passionately about ribbon while Daniel waited near the entrance pretending not to hover. Luis pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dude, they are literally identical.”

“They're not.”

“They are both cream.”

“One is warm toned.”

Luis stared at you. Then very bluntly he said, “You need enrichment.”

You gasped. "I am not a zoo animal.”

“You're pacing like one.”

Daniel coughed suspiciously hard from near the door. You huffed and grabbed the slightly warmer toned ribbon aggressively.

The ride home was quiet. You stared moodily out the SUV window while Daniel updated another member of the security team through his earpiece. The second you reached the penthouse you headed straight for the kitchen without speaking.

Dilly immediately seemed to sense your mood and followed after you chittering. You opened the fridge too hard. Then a cabinet. You were just angry. The penthouse suddenly felt too big and too closed in all at once.

The apartment sounded wrong before Matt even closed the front door. So unusually quiet. Usually he heard you humming before he even stepped inside, or talking to Dilly. Music somewhere in the background. Cabinet doors opening while you decided what to make for dinner. Tonight... none of that.

Only the refrigerator humming softly. The sound of water running briefly in the sink. Dilly’s paws padding softly across the hardwood. Then he heard the refrigerator door shut a little harder than necessary. He stood still for a moment, one hand still resting against the doorknob. Listening to your heartbeat. Fast and irritated. The rhythm had been becoming more familiar over the last few weeks, your near constant restlessness. Like a bird beating against the inside of a cage. His chest tightened. Daniel had texted him over an hour ago.

Daniel: Long day. She’s frustrated.

Matt had thought about at the message throughout the remainder of his meeting with Karen and Foggy. He hadn’t answered. What was there to say? Me too.

He hated Daniel’s reports. Because every report reminded him how much of your life he’d quietly taken away.

08:30 - transport to studio.

12:15 - escorted to cafe.

14:30 - returned home.

He knew your schedule better from security reports than from asking you. He hated that so much. Matt closed his eyes. He could fist fight murderers. He could walk into a courtroom with twelve cameras pointed at him without his pulse changing. But hearing you unhappy inside your own home, that made him feel about seventeen years old. Utterly helpless.

Matt hung his cane beside the entryway, immediately loosening his tie. He listened further in again, and could hear you flinging opening cabinets harder than necessary. Then your sigh. He knew that sigh. It meant you’d spent all day trying to be patient. And it'd finally run out. He followed the sounds toward the kitchen carefully.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You didn’t answer right away. That hurt more than he expected, you always answered him. He swallowed and spoke again anyways, “Bad day?”

A humorless laugh and his stomach sank. “I had a meltdown over ribbon today.” He blinked. "...Ribbon?”

“According to Luis I need enrichment.”

Despite everything, despite the exhaustion sitting in his bones, the corner of his mouth lifted. God, you were so cute. His favorite person in the world... and absolutely ridiculous.

He shouldn’t have smiled. He realized it the second your heartbeat jumped, angry. You took one step toward him. “You know what?” Your pulse was racing now. “This is ridiculous.”

His smile disappeared immediately, posture straightening in near docility. His Devil had spent years learning how to read violence before it happened. Living with you had taught him something much harder. How to recognize a storm before it hit. He stayed exactly where he was. Just waiting.

“I can’t go anywhere alone," each sentence came faster, “I can’t walk downstairs without somebody reporting back to you.” His jaw tightened when your voice raised minutely. “I had Daniel escort me through a stationery store today, Matthew. Aisle by aisle this time.” He let you finish. Didn’t interrupt. He might not have been the wisest man, but he'd learned that much, at least.

Your voice cracked slightly when you spoke again. “Say something.” He took a careful breath. “I’m... trying to understand what you need right now.”

“I need to stop feeling like a target every second of the day.”

The words landed like a knife. He closed his eyes for the briefest second. When he’d doubled security, and ensured his best guy was assigned to you... When he’d ordered food deliveries screened, he’d made your entire world feel dangerous. Of course you were miserable. He’d done that. Not Blackwell. Him. Nonetheless you were all at risk. His voice came quieter than before. “You are a target.”

The silence afterward was almost unbearable. You looked down immediately. He stepped closer slowly and continued, "I know this has been hard.”

“You don’t understand.”

That one stopped him. For just a second he wondered if maybe you were right. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’d lived like this for so long that it didn’t even register anymore. Finding exits. Scouting from rooftops. Listening for footsteps. Maybe somewhere along the way hyper vigilance had simply become another one of his senses. But then that moment in the courtroom came rushing back.

The executive’s heartbeat. Steady. Confident. Not bluffing. “Hope your firm… and your loved ones… enjoy the attention.” He could hear the cuffs jingle, Karen inhaling sharply beside him and Foggy’s heartbeat racing. The threat had been very real. “No,” he said quietly. “I understand perfectly.” Silence. He continued, “I spend every minute you’re out of my hearing wondering if somebody’s watching you because of me.”

There. He’d finally said it aloud. The thing that had been eating him alive for weeks. “You leave for the studio," his voice roughened, “I count the minutes until Daniel checks in. You go downstairs for coffee..." He laughed once without humor. “I know exactly how long the elevator takes.”

He looked down, unseeing eyes facing down towards his own hands. The same hands that had broken bones. Held yours. “I don’t know how to stop.” He’d spent his whole life solving impossible problems. But he couldn’t stop this danger before it happened if he didn’t know who he was listening for. All he could do was put people between you and the unknown. You rubbed hard at your eyes. “I know.” Your heartbeat was evening out. Slowing. “I know, okay? I’m trying.”

The need to be close to you washed through him so suddenly his knees almost felt weak. He crossed the remaining distance, hands settling gently around your arms. Grounding himself as much as you. “You’re allowed to hate this.” You shook your head immediately. “No," your voice broke, "I’m being awful.”

“No.” He answered so quickly it almost surprised him. “You’re scared, and I know this is all making you feel restless.” And you were just trying to claw back some piece of your old life. His thumb stroked slowly against your sleeve.

“I’m sorry, Matty." you said, sniffling quietly.

He shook his head, and closed the remaining space between you before you could apologize again. Wrapped both arms around you, holding you because he needed it. Dilly wound between your legs, chirping anxiously as though trying to mend the tension herself.

Matt buried his face briefly in your hair. He didn’t know when this would end. Didn’t know whether tomorrow would finally be the day someone came looking or whether he’d spend another month listening for danger that never arrived. He only knew that if being overprotective bought you one more day he would endure you being angry him for it. Every single time.

But a pressing thought started forming quietly in his mind. Something desperate in a different way. He needed to get you out of your head, and somewhere you could finally breathe again. Soon.

notes: hope you enjoyed Matt putting a suit of armor around his world for 3k words.

anyways, i'm sure putting this much security around reader isn't gonna draw more attention...

taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy @mrmeowzalot @that1weirdweebgirl @moth-murdock @iamdarknessiamdeath @arigoldsblog @xjyuto @fallen-nine @muffinbrown @hellskitchenswhore @adelaidehawthorne17 @khonshuswill @sotragedynut @thegirlwiththeeyes1297 @whyareyoulookinguphere @sharksausages @m1sund3rst0od @sleepinginstardustwrites @nerdytrash-panda @addiiove @bigsloppycrush @akahlisworld @omicore @charmolipiiridia @ovryoon @aelladrift @ifyoulovemeletmebinge @ash-tuhn @mixedfandxms @prettyflowerlily

[prophetic-writer]

“What if I write it and it’s bad-”

WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS GOOD? WHAT IF YOU WRITE IT AND ITS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANTED? WHAT THEN????

[sourdough-seal]

hyperfixation please stay with me long enough to complete the project. hyperfixation do not fade. hyperfixation finish what you started for the love of god

[cigsinanashtray]

waiter, waiter! one yearning, obsessive, perverted freak please!!

[theautisticjedi]

Yelena asking Peter if he was bisexual was not on my bingo card😭😭😭😭

[bookwyrminspiration]

WHY are all my friends SCATTERED ACROSS THE WORLD and not IN MY HOUSE for a SLEEPOVER

[arachine]

❤︎ . . . accidentally discovering one day that peter's wrists are (weirdly) sensitive after his enhancement, so you take it into consideration the next time you go down on him and his entire world shatters.

smut. dick sucking. organic web shooter sucking (ok guys don't make fun of the girl who put herself out there). cum licking.

you've got him on his back, sprawled across the bed, and you're kneeling between his thighs. his moans are growing louder. sharp and quick. the muscles in his thighs twitch with every inch your mouth takes him deeper, and his hands are tangled in your hair, pulling gently at the roots. he's close.

"i'm gonna—" he pants, throwing a forearm over his face.

you pull off with a pop, shaking your head. "don't. wanna try something."

peter sits up on his elbows, confusion settling over his face. "w-what? why?"

you don't answer him. take him into your hand instead and start rubbing him firmly from base to tip. he settles back against the bed and watches as you work him, waiting expectantly with his lip pulled between his teeth for whatever you're planning. then, you grab his arm and bring it to your face, twist it until the skin of his wrist makes contact with your lips.

peter's brows pull together, still unsure, and then he's throwing his head back in ecstasy, sputtering a string of 'baby's that echo off the walls. your mouth latches onto the flap of skin where his organic webs spurt from, and you watch him intently as he comes undone beneath you, a mischievous smile forming on your lips.

"that nice?" you ask, pulling away briefly, hand still tugging and squeezing.

then, a second later, breathless and strained, "god, this is so weird," he chokes out, gripping the sheet. "but 's g-good... sososo good. don't stop."

you giggle against him, and the vibration shoots up the length of his arm. your tongue dances across his skin, alternates between flicking and sucking the flap, and you can feel his forearm pulsing. throbbing. shifting under your tongue like it's preparing for release.

when you glance up at peter, he's already looking up at you, leaning back on his elbow. his jaw is slack, chest rising and falling in rapid succession, and his eyes flicker from white to black intermittently. you quicken your pace, sucking his wrist and stroking him in tandem, all while holding his gaze.

briefly, you pull off to encourage his release. "you're so close, baby. let go for me."

a few more licks and tugs later, peter comes violently. he releases all over your hand. wet and thick and warm. his wrist follows next, shoots out webbing in quick succession, and lands all over the room before covering you in one final spurt.

peter falls against the sheets with a huff, too far gone to be embarrassed by the state of the room. you pump him a few more times before you retract your hand, then settle on top of him, straddling his waist.

"how do you feel?" you ask, licking the spend off your hands.

he blinks an eye open, still panting. "used," is all he says.

you laugh, lean in close to his ear. "well, get ready to be 'used' again because i wanna try something else," you say, voice low and teasing, "and... i can already feel you getting harder. you liked that, admit it, pervert."

peter turns his head, rolls his eyes. "no comment."

he'll never admit it, but you know.

© all rights reserved arachine 2026. do not repost, modify, plagiarize, or recommend my work outside of tumblr.

[juicycuotures]

easssssy white chocolate ...

[cokeprincesa]

[b4mbiseyes]

Hot stuff with Dex

[lilacmurdock]

Sugar, Please - Chapter Thirty Three

previous chapter | series masterlist I next chapter

artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt

chapter summary: Matt is reminded that every action has consequences.

series warnings: 18+ for smut, canon-typical violence, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil

word count: 3.5k

NELSON, MURDOCK, & PAGE LLP

Internal Case Summary #483519

Blackwell Financial Holdings, LLC V. John Doe

Matter: Whistleblower Defense

Client: Jordan Mercer (Protected Whistleblower)

Case Overview

Former senior financial analyst who reported suspected embezzlement, accounting fraud, and financial misconduct committed by executives at Blackwell Financial Holdings.

Within weeks of making his report, the client was terminated for alleged misconduct. Blackwell Financial subsequently filed civil claims against the client alleging theft of proprietary information, breach of confidentiality agreements, and defamation.

The defense maintains that these claims are retaliatory and intended to intimidate the client into withdrawing his allegations.

Attorney Notes

Lead counsel Matthew Murdock has expressed concerns that the financial crimes may represent only one part of a significantly larger criminal operation.

At this time, no admissible evidence exists to support additional allegations. Counsel has instructed the legal team to remain focused on the documented financial offenses while further investigation continues.

SECURITY ADVISORY

Since accepting representation, the firm has documented the following occurrences:

- Anonymous threats directed toward firm personnel

- Suspicious individual attempting to access the office

- Suspected surveillance of the building

Out of an abundance of caution, enhanced security measures have been implemented throughout the firm's offices until further notice.

The penthouse was warm. Like, physically warm. The oven had only been off for ten minutes, and the lingering scent of garlic, rosemary, and roasted chicken still wafted through the penthouse. Somewhere in the living room, a record spun with its familiar crackle between songs before settling into another slow jam. He could smell some sort of potato dish. Herbs, parmesan... cream? Damn, he was hungry.

Matt shook his head and continued to pace as he had been for the last 4 hours. In his office, occasionally stepping out to pace through the hallway and into the living room. Then back again. The leather soles of his shoes he had yet to remove quietly echoing off the hardwood.

Again.

Again.

Again.

On his desk lay a stack of braille case notes thick enough to make any first year associate cry. Expense reports. Corporate emails. Bank transfers. Deposition transcripts. He’d read every page, some of them enough times to have memorized. His fingertips skimmed another folder as he re entered his office, resisting the urge to pick it up again.

There had to be something. There was always something. The fraud was there. All of the falsified invoices and offshore accounts were on a silver platter to be presented to the jury. It was all there. Enough to dismantle Blackwell Financial’s retaliation against the whistleblower piece by piece. Enough to prove Mercer had been telling the truth all along.

But nothing on the trafficking he and Peter had witnessed before it was scrubbed away, nothing admissible to show what other disgusting and depraved acts were happening right here in his city.

Far below the windows of the room, traffic crawled through the streets. His jaw tightened. He knew they were not mistaken in what they'd stumbled into, his senses had confirmed as much on more than one rooftop. He could still hear their frightened heartbeats in the dark. But that wasn’t evidence. Neither was a midnight conversation overheard through a concrete wall. A courtroom didn’t care what Daredevil knew, it only cared what Matthew Murdock could prove.

And right now... Matt couldn’t prove a damn thing.

He exhaled sharply through his nose.

The suit was still discarded on the bedroom floor from last night, waiting. Three nights in a row of chasing whispers. Three nights of cornering men who either genuinely knew nothing or were too terrified to talk. Three nights of coming home after midnight with bruised ribs and empty hands. His fingers curled into fists.

One more night. Maybe one more patrol and he'd finally have a lead. One more-

A sound drifted down the hallway. Soft and melodic. His head tilted, refocusing before he could help it.

You.

He listened as cabinet doors opened. A spoon clinked against ceramic along with the quiet shuffle of your socks over the kitchen tile. You were humming, not particularly well. Just absentmindedly along with the record still playing in the living room.

Matt smiled despite himself. God, when had this apartment started sounding like this?

For years it had echoed. Nothing but silence broken by the sounds of his city, his own breathing, and the occasional bottle of whiskey finding the countertop. The refrigerator door opened and you muttered a curse under your breath after dropping... a lemon? A tiny laugh followed and it felt like the whole place breathed. It smelled like bread and garlic. Like citrus. Like home.

He hadn’t realized how desperately he’d wanted that until he’d found it. His pacing slowed, and without meaning to, his mind wandered somewhere dangerous. Not rooftops. Not even court. Forward.

You, standing barefoot in that same kitchen years from now, complaining that someone had eaten the last of the strawberry jam. A little voice insisting they hadn’t. Tiny footsteps racing across hardwood. That same little voice laughing, and another one giggling because the first had started laughing. The warmth of the sun pouring through these same windows on a Saturday morning and warming his skin.

A life so painfully ordinary and full that it almost hurt to imagine.

He saw himself reaching automatically for your hand while making coffee, his fingers brushing over the ring adorning your hand. He could almost hear your warm, teasing voice asking if pancakes counted as dinner. His chest tightened with longing. It happened more often lately, and always without warning. The thought of forever.

Asking. Hearing you say yes. This apartment never being quiet again. Messy. Full. For most of his life, the future had only been measured as far as the nights survived. Now... Now he caught himself wondering what your children would sound like.

His throat worked. He’d never expected that. Never expected to want it this badly.

The prospect of donning the suit again tonight suddenly felt heavy. He let out a quiet breath. No. Not tonight. He wasn’t going to spend another evening throwing punches in the hope that someone finally cracked, he already had what he needed.

Maybe not evidence, yet. Perspective. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had Foggy. Karen. Peter. Luke. People he trusted. People who were every bit as determined as he was to see this through. And he had- well, he sort of had her too. Matt reached for his phone. It rang twice. "I need you to look into something," he said immediately once the line picked up.

“...You know,” Jessica answered dryly, “most people start with ‘hello.’”

Matt couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'll keep that in mind." She sighed and he continued, “Luke mentioned that you’ve been looking into Blackwell too.”

“I’ve been following three different people getting paid by Blackwell.”

“Anything useful?”

“Useful? Depends.”

“I’m looking for a witness.”

She was silent for a moment, a pensive hum sounding through the line. He perked up, “You’ve heard something.”

“I hear lots of things.”

“Jess.”

Another extended pause, then she admitted, “There’ve been whispers, of a runaway." His pulse picked up and his grip tightened around the phone. “Not a single one of the shitbags I've tailed knows a name though," she added.

“Have you found anything?”

“I’ve heard only one thing from two different sources.”

“What?”

“The people at Blackwell are trying very hard to find this person, and have only been using people within their network in the search, which is interesting." The apartment suddenly felt very quiet. “If they’re trying this hard to keep it quiet,” he said quietly, “then this survivor must have more than just hearsay.”

“That’s my read.”

He nodded once to himself. “I’m done chasing rumors.”

“Oh?”

“I need facts. Now.”

Jessica snorted. “Congratulations.”

“What?”

“You’re acting like a lawyer again.”

He chuckled, shoulders loosening marginally. “When were you planning on even telling me about this?”

“When I had something better than gossip.”

The line clicked dead, and Matt rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He stood there for another moment before setting his phone down. A second later, footsteps padded into the office.

“There you are.” You leaned against the doorway with two steaming mugs cradled carefully in your hands. “I'm beginning to think I have to send a subpoena to get you to come to dinner.” He laughed quietly. “I don’t think that would be enforceable.”

“No?”

“I know a pretty good lawyer.”

You crossed the room, pressing one mug into his hands and your beautiful, soft fingers brushed his.

“You look less grumpy.”

“You think I was grumpy?”

“You’ve been pacing grooves into the floor.”

“Our floor,” he corrected automatically.

You smiled. “Our floor.”

The word settled somewhere deep in his chest as you slipped your free hand into his. He squeezed your hand gently. There was no way to be sure, but he felt like you were studying his face. “You’ll find another way, Matt."

He believed you. Because every time he’d thought there wasn’t another way, that this was all God would do for him, there had been. He just had to step through the door himself first. He leaned down, brushing a kiss across your forehead. “Come on.” You tilted your head, the muscles in your cheeks pulling into a smile. “Dinner?”

“Dinner.”

Tomorrow, Matt would keep building the case, and hopefully Jessica would chase the whispers that Daredevil couldn’t. Tomorrow, he’d fight with his brain.

But the rest of tonight belonged to the life he was finally learning to let himself have.

Jessica had found someone. You still didn’t know their name, Matt wouldn’t tell you. The fewer people who knew, the safer everyone stayed. “They’re terrified,” he’d admitted quietly, rubbing tiredly at the bridge of his nose. “They’ve been in hiding for months.”

“So they’ll testify?”

“...I think so.”

The survivor had seen enough to connect Blackwell Financial to the trafficking operation. Enough that they had spent months trying to find them, and enough that Luke had quietly moved them somewhere safer until trial. You'd noticed the slightest curve of his lips, almost smiling. “They told Jess they'd hid something before they ran.”

“What kind of something?”

“They wouldn’t say, just that they have proof." For the first time in weeks, you’d heard genuine hope in his voice. “They hid it somewhere no one else would think to look.”

“So someone has to go find it.”

Matt nodded. “If it’s still there, Peter will find it.”

The city had been screaming about the case for three straight days. Every screen and every headline. It was on every corner in Manhattan.

CORPORATE WHISTLEBLOWER EXPOSES MASSIVE FRAUD NETWORK

FEDERAL INVESTIGATION EXPANDS

NELSON, MURDOCK & PAGE AT CENTER OF EXPLOSIVE CASE

The entire thing had exploded. Matt left just after sunrise. You'd stirred after hearing him move through the apartment while it was still dark outside. You could smell coffee brewing while he shuffled around in the closet getting dressed. You stayed half awake in bed listening to him. To Matt assembling himself for war.

The mattress dipped slightly beside you and his hand brushed gently through your hair. “You should sleep another hour," he murmured. You squinted up at him sleepily. Even when you were blurry eyed with morning exhaustion he still looked devastating. Dark maroon suit, his tie perfectly straight. Hair still slightly damp from the shower. Courtroom Matt. Different somehow from every other version of him, sharper and focused.

You reached blindly for him. “Come back alive, counselor.” Matt huffed a soft laugh then leaned down to kiss your forehead. “Always.”

By nine thirty the TV in the new studio was turned up loud enough to hear over the sounds of you and Luis bottling syrups. He stood beside the prep counter mid labeling process sounding horrified. “Oh my god.” You glanced up from sealing bottles. “What?” Luis pointed at the TV. “YOUR MAN.”

The courthouse steps filled the screen. Press. Cameras. Police barricades. Journalists practically vibrating with excitement. And there, walking up the courthouse stairs surrounded by security and reporters, was Matt. Followed by Foggy and Karen.

The camera zoomed tighter and your stomach flipped immediately. Jesus, he looked powerful. Not soft penthouse Matt or even Devil Matt. Something else entirely. Untouchable. The news anchor spoke rapidly over footage.

“Nelson, Murdock & Page continue representing whistleblower Jordan Mercer, whose allegations originally centered on financial fraud and retaliatory intimidation...”

Luis paused bottling completely. “Wait. That’s what this started as?” You nodded slowly and the TV continued.

“...federal investigation expanded dramatically this week following a testimony allegedly linking the corporation’s shipping network to human trafficking operations spanning multiple states...”

The studio went quiet after that. The screen shifted again to Matt speaking briefly to reporters before entering the courthouse. The crowd shouted questions over each other.

“Mr. Murdock, does your client fear further retaliation?”

“Do you believe all executives knew about the trafficking?”

“Is your firm under threat?”

Matt gripped his cane with both hands, posture stiff. “My client came forward because he believed innocent people were being harmed,” Matt said evenly. “This firm intends to ensure those responsible are held accountable.”

They cut to Karen speaking sharply to press staff. Foggy was charming reporters while simultaneously dodging questions. Security was everywhere. Men near courthouse entrances wearing discreet earpieces. Additional officers near the firm's representatives.

Your stomach tightened a little. No cameras had been allowed beyond that point, but legal correspondents filled airtime quickly enough. One continued excitedly, “Sources inside the courtroom describe Murdock’s cross examination as ‘surgical.’”

Luis blinked. “Surgical is journalist code for ruthless.” You laughed as the analyst continued.

“Opposing counsel attempted to discredit Mercer’s timeline regarding internal accounting irregularities, but Murdock reportedly dismantled the argument within minutes using archived communications obtained during discovery...”

Luis stared at the TV. Then at you. “That's the same man who calls you princess.”

“He also steals my fries when we order takeout.”

“I cannot process this relationship.”

Your phone buzzed suddenly across the counter. You looked down.

Matt: Don't get lost in the flow of packing orders, sweetheart. Take breaks. Eat lunch today. Please.

Your chest melted and you smiled helplessly while typing back.

You: Only if you do too.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Matt: Okay, princess.

Your face heated instantly.

The text came at 11:42 AM. No context or explanation.

Matt: We got them.

You stared at the message for a full second. Then immediately typed back.

You: ???

Three dots appeared. Stopped. Appeared again.

Matt: It’s good. Really good.

Your chest tightened instantly. Because Matt didn’t text like this during court unless something enormous had happened.

By noon every station in New York had interrupted programming. LIVE BREAKING NEWS banners flooded every screen. Luis turned the volume up so loudly the studio echoed with it. The anchor was nearly breathless.

“We are receiving reports that federal authorities have taken multiple executives from Blackwell Financial into custody following the wide spread release of surveillance footage allegedly tied to an interstate human trafficking operation.”

Your stomach dropped. The screen changed instantly. Blurry warehouse footage. Timestamped. Women, young girls, locked in rooms. Luis swore softly under his breath. The broadcast continued.

“This discovery comes to us from a survivor connected to the trafficking network, who reportedly came forward this morning after testifying under federal protection. The revealed footage...”

Your pulse jumped hard. Because you knew immediately. They’d done it.

The courtroom had reeked of damp carpet and adrenaline-laced sweat all morning. Too many people packed into one room. The low, constant scratch of reporter's pens grating his ears.

Matt had spent the morning doing exactly what Foggy would later describe as “flaying them apart.” He thought of it more like bricklaying. One fact. Then another. Then another. Until the opposing prosecution had nowhere left to stand.

He could hear Foggy turning pages beside him. Karen quietly sliding another exhibit across counsel table. The judge shifting in his chair as the jurors continued writing notes. Everything was exactly where it should be. Everything under control. Until his phone vibrated once. He ignored it. Another vibration. Karen leaned over. “Matt.”

He frowned slightly. She almost never interrupted him during proceedings. She had received a text too, and quietly read it to him.

Jessica: Found it.

Jessica: Peter has the drive. Footage going live in 10.

Everything inside him went still. He could hear the blood rushing in his head. Instead, he rose when the judge called his name and finished the job he’d come there to do.

When the case was dismissed after the explosion caused by the footage release, it was followed by the sound of the courtroom doors opening. Heavy boots thudded with Federal agents walking purposefully toward the executives to bring them into custody. Metal cuffs clicked one after another.

Foggy leaned in closer. “I’ve been waiting months to see this happen.” Karen snorted softly and Matt's lips curved into a pleased smirk as they began to escort them out of the courtroom.

One set of footsteps caught his attention. Italian leather. Expensive watch. Unlike the others Matt did not smell adrenaline or hear the pounding of a fearful heartbeat coming from him. He slowed as the agents guided him past their desk, “I’d like a word.”

“No,” the agent answered, "You’ve had plenty.” He attempted to shove the man forward but Matt raised a hand in allowance. He turned toward him.

“So this is the famous Matthew Murdock.” The executive smiled, “I have to admit I underestimated you.” He turned his head slightly to address all three of them. “You’ve made a very grave mistake.”

Karen’s heartbeat seemed to slow as a calm rage settled over her. That was always how she reacted when someone threatened her. Foggy didn’t, Matt heard his pulse jump.

“You bankrupt a company like ours," he shrugged, "people notice.” The agent tightened his grip on the cuffs and pushed between his shoulder blades to urge him on. “Let’s go.” He barely acknowledged him and continued, “I hope all three of you enjoy the attention.” He paused, then spoke almost conversationally. “I’d hate for your families to discover what your work costs.”

The words made Matt's senses explode outward. Every exit. Every unfamiliar heartbeat and footstep in the hallway. Every weapon carried by every officer and agent. Every reporter outside. Not you. You were miles away, at the studio.

His stomach turned cold. He was already somewhere else. Running through names. He faintly heard Foggy shakily say something about needing to call Marci. Everyone connected to this case, and all who could become leverage as a result of their connection. Karen touched his shoulder. “Matt.” He didn’t move.

“Matt.”

“...They’ll come after the people we love," he choked out.

Neither of them argued because they knew he was right. Foggy’s voice had lost every trace of brightness. “What do we do?” Matt reached for his phone before he’d even finished answering, only then did he realize they were shaking.

“We make sure they can’t get close enough to try.”

Your phone buzzed again.

Matt: I need you to stay at the studio until I send someone.

Your stomach dropped, confusion and anxiety running through you, and you began typing back immediately. Another message came before you could finish.

Matt: Please.

That plea scared you more than anything else today. You didn't argue, and a car with one of the firm's security arrived five minutes later.

Matt didn’t get home until almost two hours later. The penthouse security alarm beeped twice now before unlocking. Something he'd had installed earlier this month. Your stomach twisted immediately at the sound.

Matt entered the apartment looking strung out. Tie loosened. Lines deep in his face with the scowl he was currently sporting. The second he locked the door that opened into the entryway and the private elevator he crossed directly toward you. No hesitation. Like he needed physical proof you were here and safe. You met him halfway in the living room. “What happened?”

Matt’s hands landed on your waist instantly. Grounding himself. His forehead dropped briefly against yours. “We won.” The words came out rough and disbelieving.

You smiled immediately. “Oh my god, that's amazing.” Matt exhaled shakily. “Yeah, The- the footage hit all social networks and media outlets simultaneously.” Your chest swelled with pride so hard it hurt. “You did it.” Matt huffed once softly. You kissed him immediately, hard enough that he finally smiled against your mouth. But only for a second, and then you felt his body tense again. “Matt... What’s wrong?”

He went quiet for a moment, his lips drawing thin. Then finally, “They threatened the firm today.” Your stomach sank and he kept speaking calmly. “One of the executives. He made it clear they have people outside who aren't pleased with us."

His hands tightened gently at your waist, self soothing and also comforting you at once. “I already increased security at the office. We'll be doing the same at home too.”

You glanced instinctively toward the entry. The extra locks that had been placed on the front door that was actually being used now. The new alarm system and the firm's head of security who took you home earlier and ensured both of those things were armed behind you.

Matt continued quietly, “And starting tomorrow you’re not going anywhere alone for a while.”

You blinked. "...Matt.”

“No.”

His reply was instantaneous and firm. Matt swallowed hard once. Then softly he added, “Princess, please don’t fight me on this.”

That was when you realized just how afraid he sounded. Afraid for you.

notes: nurseee he's having maladaptive daydreams of marrying reader again.

guys i have no idea if phones are actually allowed in court so don't correct me or i'll cry. also courtroom lawyer matt is so 🫦

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