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☺️.

[lilacmurdock]

Sugar, Please - Chapter Seven

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artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt

chapter summary: you and Dani have a girls' night out.

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

word count: 4.5k

The club was loud enough to vibrate through your ribs. Bass thumped through the crowded dance floor while colored lights flashed across bodies packed shoulder-to-shoulder beneath the heat of the room. Somewhere behind you, Dani was absolutely screaming the lyrics to a Charli xcx song directly into another girl’s face while both of them nearly spilled their drinks.

You were having fun.

The kind you hadn’t really let yourself have in a while. No editing deadlines or double shifts. No worrying about bills for one single night. Just dancing. Laughing. Drinks appearing mysteriously in your hand every twenty minutes. Somewhere around tequila number three, your parameters for alcohol tolerance and decision-making had both evaporated completely.

“OH MY GOD,” Dani shouted over the music, grabbing your arm suddenly. “That guy’s been staring at you for like ten minutes.”

You glanced vaguely toward the bar. A man around your age lifted his drink toward you with what was probably intended to be a charming smile.

Instead you immediately thought- Matt is hotter. Which was honestly deeply concerning. Because now every man your age suddenly felt… unfinished somehow. Too loud, sloppy, and boyish.

Meanwhile Matt always smelled like expensive whiskey and subtle cologne, he knew how to cook and always held you like something precious. And he called you princess in that low warm voice that made your nervous system short-circuit.

“What?” Dani demanded.

You burst into helpless drunk giggles.“Nothing.”

“You’re thinking about him!”

“I hate younger guys now.”

Dani screamed. “I KNEW IT.”

You covered your face while laughing harder. Unfortunately your brain immediately supplied the image of Matt kneeling in front of you fastening those pink heels onto your legs. The exact pink heels currently wrapped around your calves. Dani narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “You don’t understand,” you muttered dramatically.

“No, I absolutely do. Rich lawyer dickmatized you.”

You almost dropped your drink laughing. Before you could defend yourself, someone caught Dani’s attention from across the dance floor. You followed her eyeline just in time to see a cute guy motioning her over. Dani turned back to you immediately. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Okay mom.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re literally abandoning me for a man right now.”

“That’s different.”

You snorted while waving her off. “Go. I’m fine.” Dani pointed at you threateningly. “Text me if you wander.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Then she vanished into the crowd. You leaned back against the bar afterward, still smiling faintly to yourself while sipping the remains of your drink. The music pulsed warm through your body. Around you people dancing were dancing laughing, shouting over each other.

You should’ve felt lonely standing there alone suddenly. Instead your thoughts drifted somewhere else entirely. To warm hands against your calves, a respectful hand sliding across fabric draped over your hips. To the ruby necklace still resting against your throat tonight. You touched the pendant absentmindedly and your stomach fluttered immediately. This was bad. Very bad.

A guy approached you a minute later. Cute enough and tall. “Hey,” he said. “Can I buy you another drink?” You looked at him and compared him instantly to Matt again. You smiled apologetically. “No thanks.”

“Boyfriend?” The word made something warm bloom stupidly in your chest. “No,” you said automatically. Then after a beat, “…Kind of?”

You honestly weren’t even sure anymore. The guy took the hint thankfully and wandered off without issue. You watched him disappear into the crowd before sighing softly to yourself. A little while later, after another drink and entirely too much dancing, the club had become blurrier around the edges. Warm and crowded. Spinning pleasantly.

At some point you lost sight of Dani entirely, the other girls too. You vaguely remembered someone wanting fries. Someone else wanting a cigarette.

Now suddenly you were alone near the hallway leading toward the bathrooms while the music thudded distantly through the walls. “Hm,” you muttered intelligently. Your phone nearly slipped from your hand while you leaned against the wall to steady yourself. You should probably find the girls. Probably.

For absolutely no good reason your brain conjured up the image of Matt again. Matt hearing about this night and disapproving of the tequila count. Matt’s face if he felt this tiny dress with these heels. A helpless giggle escaped you immediately. Oh no. You missed him. That realization hit you all at once. You wanted to hear his voice.

Drunk logic decided this was an excellent idea. Before your sober brain could intervene, you were already unlocking your phone. Scrolling and finding his contact. Your smile widened stupidly at his name. Then, still giggling softly to yourself you hit call. Your phone rang twice. Three times.

“Hello?”

Oh. That voice should genuinely be illegal after midnight. Low and rough with sleep. Warm in that quiet way that immediately melted straight into your bloodstream. You pressed your hand dramatically against your chest while sitting slumped against the hallway wall outside the club bathrooms.

“…Hi.”

A pause. Then warmer now, “Hey.”

You smiled immediately at hearing it. The music from the club pulsed faintly through the walls beside you while you tucked one knee toward your chest carefully, pink straps winding around your calves. Your head felt pleasantly floaty. “You were sleeping,” you accused gently.

Matt gave a quiet hum. “Most people are at one in the morning.”

You giggled helplessly. “Sorry.”

“You sound drunk.”

“I’m extremely drunk actually.”

Another small pause, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “I gathered that.” You laughed again, playing absentmindedly with the ruby pendant at your throat. There was rustling on his end now. Sheets maybe. Movement. You suddenly pictured him half-asleep in soft sweatpants and absolutely lost your train of thought. “…You sound handsome.”

Dead silence. Then Matt exhaled once through his nose. A laugh that was barely contained sounded on the other end. “You called me to tell me that?”

“Yes.”

“That’s generous.”

“No, it’s true.” Your voice dropped into a dramatic whisper. “You always sound handsome but right now it’s like…” You waved your hand vaguely at nothing. “Extra.”

Matt made another quiet sound that suspiciously resembled him smiling. “You’re very charming drunk.”

“I’m charming sober too.”

“That’s true.”

Your stomach fluttered stupidly. You leaned your head back against the wall, eyes drifting closed for a second while music and alcohol hummed pleasantly through your body. “I miss you.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. Silence. Then Matt spoke carefully. “You saw me yesterday.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Another tiny pause. “You miss me anyway?”

You nodded automatically before remembering he couldn’t see that. “Yes." Your voice sounded smaller now. Sleepier. “Everyone here is annoying.” Matt’s laugh came openly this time. “What happened to your friends?”

“I dunno.”

That got his attention immediately. You heard it happen in real time. The subtle shift in his breathing and tone. “Explain ‘I don’t know.’" You squinted vaguely down the hallway “There was dancing.”

“Mm.”

“And tequila.”

“I suspected that.”

“Dani found a man... and I think everyone scattered.” Matt went quiet for half a second. “Are you alone?” You blinked slowly. “…Yea.” The mood on the phone changed instantly. Matt’s voice lowered, focused now. “Where are you?” You smiled dreamily at the sudden seriousness in his tone. “You sound hot when you’re bossy.”

“Sweetheart.”

Oh. That one hit directly to your bloodstream. You giggled again into your hand. “Where are you?” Matt repeated, calmer this time. You looked around vaguely. Hallway, Neon lights. A framed poster for some DJ. “Outside the bathroom?”

“Not helpful.”

“Sorry.”

You could practically hear him fully waking up on the other end now. Movement. A drawer opening. Keys maybe? “Tell me the name of the club.” You frowned in concentration. “Oh noo.”

“What?”

“I forgot.”

Matt sighed softly. Not annoyed. Trying very hard not to sound worried. “Okay. Think.” You stared hard at the glowing sign farther down the hallway. Letters blurred together annoyingly. “…Velvet?”

“Is that a question?”

“Maybe.”

A group of girls stumbled past you laughing loudly. One nearly tripped over your legs. “Sorryyy,” she slurred. “You’re okayy,” you called back automatically. Matt’s voice sharpened immediately afterward. “Are you sitting on the floor?”

“…Maybe.” You could almost feel his headache forming through the phone. “Stand up for me.”

“You’re soooo bossy tonight.”

“Stand up.”

You laughed softly but obeyed anyway, wobbling slightly in your heels as you pushed yourself upright against the wall. Hums and grunts escaping rather openly in your inebriation. Matt heard it immediately. “You can barely walk.”

“That’s not true.” You took one step. Nearly ate shit instantly. “…Okay maybe a little.”

“Jesus.”

Your smile widened helplessly. This was honestly kind of nice. Having him fuss over you. “You care about mee,” you informed him proudly. Matt went quiet again. Then very carefully, “Yes.” Your stomach flipped violently. The necklace felt suddenly warm against your skin. You touched it instinctively. “I wore your necklace tonight.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“You haven't taken it off since i put it on you." You froze. Slowly looked down at your fingers curled around the ruby pendant. Matt sounded almost unbearably fond now. “You forget I pay attention.”

“You’re like a sexy psychic.”

That got a real laugh out of him. Warm. Sleepy. Beautiful. You wanted to bottle the sound. Then his tone gentled again. “Can you get outside?”

“Hm?”

“The club. Front entrance.”

“…Why?”

“Because I’m coming to get you.” Your heart did a weird little stutter. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” You smiled helplessly at the wall. Matt continued before you could protest further. “Text me the address once you find it.”

“Mmkay.”

“And stay near people.”

“Yes sir.”

Matt exhaled slowly. Definitely choosing not to react to that.

Cold air hit you the second you stepped outside the club. Immediate regret. “Jesus Christ,” you muttered, arms wrapping around yourself instinctively. Your tiny dress had felt like a fantastic decision approximately three hours ago. Now? Not so much.

The autumn wind cut straight across your bare legs while the pink straps winding around your calves suddenly seemed a deeply unserious choice as actual footwear. You wobbled slightly against the brick wall near the entrance while trying to squint at the glowing street signs through tequila haze.

Okay. Matt wanted the address. You could do that. Probably. A group of girls laughed loudly nearby while a rideshare pulled up at the curb. Music still pulsed faintly from inside the club behind you, muffled now beneath the noise of traffic and voices.

Your fingers fumbled with your phone. Text. Address. Right. Unfortunately the letters on the screen appeared to be moving, but you got it done.

“Hiii again.”

You looked up slowly. Oh. Bar guy. Not the earlier one, a different one. Twenty-something. Kind of cute in a generic way. “You okay?” the guy asked, stepping closer.

“Mhm.”

“You out here alone?”

Your brain took a suspiciously long time to process the question. “…Temporary situation.” He laughed softly. “You’re freezing.”

“Nooo,” you lied while visibly shivering.

The guy smiled. “You want my jacket?”

“That’s nice,” you admitted honestly. Then after a beat added, “But I think my lawyer is coming.” The guy blinked. “…Your lawyer?” You nodded proudly.

“He’s very handsome.”

Okay maybe you were more drunk than originally estimated. The guy laughed again, clearly assuming you were joking. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Mhm.” Your phone buzzed suddenly in your hand.

Matt: Black town car. I'm down the street.

Your entire face lit up immediately. “Oh!” You looked up excitedly toward the curb just as a sleek black car pulled up beneath the streetlights. And then before the driver had even fully stopped, Matt was opening the door.

Everything inside you softened instantly. There he was. Glasses. Dark coat. Rumpled tshirt. Hair slightly messy like he’d dressed too quickly to bother with it. Your smile widened helplessly. “There’s my lawyer,” you informed the random guy beside you.

Matt heard you immediately across the sidewalk, attention snapping to you. Then shifted once toward the man standing too close beside you. The change in him was subtle but immediate. His shoulders squared slightly. Jaw tightening once. Focused in that terrifyingly controlled way. “Oh,” the guy muttered. Yeah. Oh.

Matt crossed the sidewalk toward you quickly, guided partly by your voice and partly by sheer determination apparently. The second he reached you, his hand found your waist automatically.

And the moment his fingers grazed bare skin beneath the thin fabric of your dress and low back he froze. Because- Oh. There was barely anything there. His fingers spread instinctively against your waist like he needed to verify the amount of exposed skin himself. You melted immediately toward him from sheer relief and alcohol. “Hiii,” you said warmly.

Matt exhaled slowly. “You’re freezing.”

“Little bit.”

The random guy wisely took this moment to disappear completely. Matt barely acknowledged him leaving. His full attention stayed locked onto you now.

“You came,” you murmured softly. Something in Matt’s expression shifted at that. Like the answer had never been in question. “Of course I did.”

Your drunk heart nearly exploded on the spot. The wind cut sharply across the sidewalk again and you shivered hard this time. Before you could protest, he shrugged his coat off and wrapped it carefully around your shoulders. The heavy warmth swallowed you immediately.

It smelled like him.

You sighed theatrically. Matt’s hands lingered briefly at your shoulders afterward. Then slowly traveled downward. his fingers briefly touched the thin straps and you felt the exact moment realization fully hit him. This dress was microscopic. And because Matt was Matt, because touch was how he understood the world, the discovery had clearly affected him catastrophically. His jaw clenched. You smiled sleepily.

“I wore the pink shoes.” Matt's head tilted downward automatically toward your heels. The soft pink straps wrapped delicately up your calves exactly like he remembered. His throat moved visibly. “That,” he said carefully, “does not make this outfit acceptable in forty-degree weather.”

You burst into helpless laughter. “Are you scolding me?”

“Yes.”

“You sound hot when you’re mean.”

Matt closed his eyes briefly like he was asking God for strength. Then quietly, “Come on.” He guided you carefully toward the car with one arm securely around your waist while your heels clicked unevenly against the sidewalk.

You stumbled halfway there and Matt caught you immediately. Strong hand sliding lower against your hip to steady you. You, meanwhile, were having an excellent time. “You’re sooo broad,” you informed him dreamily while leaning fully into his side.

Matt made a rough sound under his breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite suffering, definitely both. “Easy,” he murmured, helping duck your head carefully into the backseat. Warm leather surrounded you instantly. You sighed happily while curling beneath his coat.

Matt slid in beside you a second later, still entirely focused on making sure you didn’t crack your skull open. The driver pulled smoothly away from the curb. And only once the car started moving did Matt finally face you again.

Flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. Lip gloss mostly gone. Tiny dress with his necklace at your throat. You felt that weird shiver down your spine you often got around him that told you-sight or no sight- he could see you clearly. His expression softened all over again. Equal parts fond and doomed. “How much tequila did you have?”

You considered thoughtfully. “…Enough.”

The city blurred gold outside the car windows while you curled up beneath Matt’s coat. Soft engine hum nearly lulling you to sleep. Matt beside you. Honestly? Best case scenario.

You were pretty sure you’d started leaning progressively harder against his side over the last five minutes too. Not intentionally. Your body just kept drifting toward him automatically. His arm stayed around your shoulders the entire drive.

Every so often his thumb brushed lightly against your arm beneath the coat like he was checking you were still there. “Still awake?” he asked quietly after a while.

“Mhm.” Liar. Your eyes were already half-closed. Matt’s mouth twitched faintly beside you. “You’re falling asleep sitting up.”

“I’m multitasking.”

“That’s not what multitasking means.”

You smiled sleepily against his shoulder. The warmth of him, combined with the alcohol and exhaustion, made it almost impossible to stay conscious. At some point your hand drifted toward his opposite shoulder automatically too. Finding the sleeve of his shirt and holding on loosely. Matt went very still for half a second when your fingers curled there. Then softly and painfully fond, “Sweetheart.”

The word wrapped warm around your spine. You made a tiny happy noise before your brain could stop you. Matt immediately looked away toward the window like he needed divine intervention.

The car slowed smoothly a few minutes later. “We’re here,” Matt murmured gently. You cracked one eye open. “Oh.” His building's lights towered above you through the tinted windows. The driver opened the door while cold air swept briefly inside the car again. You groaned dramatically. “No.”

Matt laughed quietly. “You have to move eventually.”

“I live here now.”

You tried to sit up properly. Unfortunately the second your heels touched pavement, your balance abandoned you completely. “Oop-”

Matt caught you instantly. Strong hands at your waist. You blinked up at him blearily. “You’re very sturdy.” Matt exhaled sharply through his nose like he was trying not to laugh.

The lobby was mostly empty this late. Warm marble floors gleamed beneath soft lighting while the doorman greeted Matt immediately. You smiled politely at him before accidentally stumbling sideways into Matt again. He steadied you with a hand low against your back. The disjointed, stumbling clicks of your heels clashed with the even rhythm of his cane tapping.

The elevator ride felt warm and floaty and strangely intimate. Mostly because you’d fully given up pretending to stand independently. You were tucked against Matt’s side now while he held you carefully upright with one arm around your waist.

The elevator lights reflected softly off his glasses. God. He was so handsome it actually irritated you. “You’re pretty,” you informed him seriously. Matt closed his eyes briefly. “Thank you.”

“No, like. Distractingly.”

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re old.”

That got a startled laugh out of him. A real one. Warm enough to melt you straight through the floor. “You are never letting me forget that, are you?”

“Nope.”

The elevator doors slid open into the familiar warm lighting and dark wood floors. Huge windows glowing with city lights. You barely processed any of it before your feet betrayed you again halfway down the hallway.

Matt caught you for the fourth time that night. Then sighed softly. “Okay.” Before you could ask what that meant, he bent and lifted you clean off the floor. A startled squeak escaped you immediately.

One arm hooked securely beneath your thighs while the other supported your back against his chest. Effortless. Like you weighed nothing. Your stomach flipped violently. “You can carry me?!” you whispered dramatically. Matt sounded unbearably calm about it. “Yes.”

“That’s sooo hot.”

He nearly stumbled. You burst into sleepy laughter while instinctively curling closer against him. His shirt was soft beneath your cheek. And annoyingly, he smelled incredible.

Matt carried you the rest of the way down the hallway in silence. When he finally pushed open the bedroom door, you almost gasped. The room was gorgeous. Huge windows overlooking the city. Dark sheets and soft textures everywhere. And the bed.

“Oh my god,” you breathed. Matt carefully set you down at the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped plush beneath you immediately. “These sheets are SILK.”

Matt removed his glasses, rubbing tiredly at his face. “Yes.”

“You’re like a sexy vampire.”

“I’m begging you to sleep.”

You grinned lazily at him. Matt disappeared briefly into the bathroom before returning with water. “Drink this.” You obeyed surprisingly easily. Mostly because your comprehension had deteriorated beyond saving.

By the time you handed the glass back, you were squinting unhappily down at your shoes. “My feet hurt.”

Matt's head tilted downward automatically. The pink heels. Right. Without a word, he crouched in front of you. His fingers slid carefully against your calf. Warm hands unfastening the delicate ties one by one. Slowly winding them downward from your legs.

You watched his face while he worked. Focused. Gentle. The soft gold lamplight caught silver at his temples. God. You wanted to bite something. Preferably him.

“You’re pretty,” you mumbled. Had you said that already? Matt huffed a quiet laugh. “...It's true.” His hands paused briefly against your ankle at that. When he finally slipped the heels off completely, relief flooded through your body instantly.

“Ohhh.”

Matt smiled faintly at your reaction before setting the shoes carefully aside. Then his attention shifted upward. To the dress. Your expression changed immediately. “…I hate this zipper.” You reached back weakly, fumbling with it. “It’s stuck.”

A soft exhale left him. Then quietly, “Okay.”

The mattress dipped as he sat beside you. Close enough that warmth rolled off him immediately. You turned a little toward the sound of his voice, the loose neckline of your dress slipping dangerously across your shoulder in the process.

Matt’s hand landed lightly against your back to steady you. Your breath caught instantly. Because his hands always felt so warm. “You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“Cold.” And maybe a little because of him.

His fingers found the zipper. The cool metal dragged downward inch by inch while his knuckles brushed the center of your spine. You inhaled sharply.

The dress loosened against your body immediately once the zipper reached your lower back. Matt’s hand stayed carefully against you the entire time. The warmth of his palm against your bare skin made your head swim in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with tequila.

“There,” he said softly. But neither of you moved. The air between you felt thick suddenly. Your heartbeat fluttered wildly while Matt sat close enough that you could smell the clean soap lingering against his skin.

Then quietly and sleepily reckless you asked, “Will you help me?”

Matt inhaled slowly. His thumb shifted once against your back before he answered. “…Yeah.” He slipped one strap down your arm first. Then the other. The shiny fabric loosened fully, pooling softly around your waist.

Matt’s hand tightened very slightly against your back, He swallowed once before carefully helping guide the dress the rest of the way downward without fumbling you around drunkenly. Gentleman, even now.

Matt’s hands rested lightly at your waist when the dress pooled at your feet. Then he seemed to remember himself and his hands withdrew immediately. You missed the warmth instantly.

“One of my shirts okay?” he asked quietly. You nodded sleepily. “Mhm.”

The shirt smelled like him when you pulled it on. Faint detergent. Cologne. Matt. When you settled back against the pillows afterward, Matt went very still again. Your voice came out small and drowsy. “Comfy.”

You were sinking deeper into Matt’s bed by the second, warm beneath the silk sheets and inside his shirt. He stood nearby for a moment like he was making sure you were settled properly.

Water? Check. Painkillers on the nightstand? Check. Drunk menace safely contained? Unfortunately yes.

You blinked slowly up at him from the pillows. No glasses on him anymore, those puppy eyes on full display for you. Hair messy from running his hands through it all night. God you were weak.

Matt must’ve noticed your stare lingering because his mouth twitched faintly. Then he started to step back from the bed. And suddenly you pouted. “Oh.” Matt paused immediately. “What?”

You frowned sleepily. “My makeup.”

The concern in your voice was so genuine that Matt actually smiled. Even exhausted and drunk out of your mind, you were worried about skincare. “You can sleep,” he assured gently.

“Nooo,” you mumbled, rubbing weakly at one eye. “Mascara.”

Matt hesitated briefly. You watched blearily while he disappeared into the bathroom. A minute later he returned carrying a small bottle and cotton pads. Your sleepy brain processed it slowly. “Micellar water?”

Matt sat carefully on the edge of the bed again. “I knew enough not to let you sleep in waterproof mascara.” Your heart squeezed painfully. “Oh my god.” Matt’s expression softened immediately at your tone.

“What?”

“You’re nice.”

The words came out so small and sincere that it visibly affected him. His throat moved once before he answered quietly, “Come here, sweetheart.”

You melted instantly at the name. Obeying without thought, you scooted closer across the mattress until you were nearly tucked against his side.

Matt’s hand settled lightly along your jaw. Warm fingers tilting your face carefully upward. And then with impossible gentleness he started removing your makeup. The cotton pad brushed softly beneath your eye.

His touch was so different from anyone else’s. Intentional. Matt experienced the world through his hands. Through texture and tiny reactions. So every soft swipe across your skin seemed unbearably intimate.

You leaned unconsciously into his palm when he wiped carefully along your cheek. Matt stilled slightly at the movement. Then continued even gentler than before. “I feel glitter on your eyelids,” he murmured quietly.

You smiled lazily. “Dani’s fault.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Your eyes drifted closed while he worked. Another careful swipe over each eye. His thumb brushed accidentally across your lower lip afterward. Matt’s hand lingered a moment too long against your mouth before he slowly withdrew it. You blinked up at him sleepily. “Done?”

“Mostly.”

You frowned. “Mostly?” Matt’s mouth softened faintly. “One last pass."

“Oh.” You sounded genuinely devastated. That earned another quiet laugh from him. Before you could question it, a fresh cotton pad brushed carefully across your cheekbones. Wiping away what remained completely this time.

“Matt?”

“Hm?”

“You take really good care of me.”

The room went still. Matt looked downward slightly toward your voice. He spoke very softly. “I want to.”

Something deep in your chest melted completely. Your eyes started slipping closed again almost immediately afterward. The combination of warmth, alcohol, and Matt’s voice was basically anesthesia at this point. “You’re falling asleep,” he murmured.

“M’trying not to.”

“Why?”

Your fingers curled sleepily into the fabric of his sleeve. “Like hearing you.” Matt went quiet again. You felt his hand slide carefully through your hair once. Affectionate enough to make your chest ache even half-conscious. “Get some sleep, princess.”

You obeyed this time. Mostly because your body had already decided for you.

By the time Matt carefully stood from the bed, your breathing had gone slow and even against the pillows.

He lingered there for a long moment. Listening. To your heartbeat. Your breathing. The tiny rustle of silk sheets when you shifted in your sleep. Then his attention drifted unwillingly downward. His shirt enveloping your body. Bare legs tangled in dark sheets. The ruby necklace still resting against your throat.

Matt closed his eyes briefly. Christ. He was in trouble. Real trouble.

A few minutes later he quietly dimmed the lights, pulled the bedroom door mostly closed, and exiled himself to the couch in the effort of preserving the last scraps of his sanity. He slept badly. Not because the couch was uncomfortable. Because every tiny sound from down the hallway made him sit up immediately to listen for you.

notes: c'mon, you really thought we were gonna skip the "he takes care of her drunk" episode?

chapter 8 is nearly finished with editing... it's the longest chapter in the series so far.

taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy @mrmeowzalot @that1weirdweebgirl @moth-murdock @iamdarknessiamdeath @arigoldsblog @xjyuto @fallen-nine @muffinbrown

[lilacmurdock]

Sugar, Please - Chapter Six

previous chapter | series masterlist I next chapter

artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt

chapter summary: you have an unexpected visitor at work.

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

notes at the end <3

word count: 3k

The bar smelled like citrus peels, dark liquor, and fried food. It honestly wasn’t the worst smell in the world. Especially on nights like this. Busy enough to keep time moving. Not busy enough to make you homicidal.

Music drifted low through the speakers while warm amber lighting reflected against bottles lining the walls behind the bar. Conversations overlapped around you in a constant blur of laughter, ice shaking in metal tins, credit card receipts printing endlessly. And despite the exhaustion sitting behind your eyes you were good at this. Very good.

“Table twelve wants another smoked old fashioned,” one server called.

“Got it.” You moved automatically.

Shaker.

Ice.

Orange peel.

Your bracelets chimed softly while you worked, joined occasionally by the delicate whisper of the gold necklace resting against your collarbone. Matt’s necklace. The ruby pendant caught the warm bar light every time you turned. You tried not to think about that too much. Your phone buzzed once in your back pocket while you strained a drink.

You already knew who it probably was.

You smiled despite yourself. Which your manager unfortunately noticed immediately. “Oh my god,” Luis said from beside you. “That smile means there’s a man involved.”

“There is not.”

“There is definitely a man involved.”

You ignored him while garnishing the drink carefully. Your phone buzzed again. Then again. Luis narrowed his eyes dramatically. “He must be obsessed with you.” You snorted softly while finally pulling your phone out between orders.

Matt: You disappeared.

Your mouth twitched immediately.

You: I have a life actually.

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Matt: That's not very nice.

You laughed quietly under your breath. Luis snickered at you immediately and you rolled your eyes. “Oh my god, leave me alone.” Another text came through.

Matt: Still thinking tomorrow evening if you’re free.

I could cook this time, though the pressure is admittedly high after your pasta.

Your chest warmed unexpectedly. You typed back quickly while grabbing another glass.

You: Bold of you to challenge an Italian grandmother's recipe I got online.

Matt: I like a challenge.

Heat crept annoyingly up your neck. You shoved your phone away before Luis could become more unbearable. He grinned while sliding over a tray of sample glasses. “Try these before we finalize the fall menu.” You eyed the drinks suspiciously.

“You put bourbon in all of them again, didn’t you?”

“It’s autumn.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Still, you took one of the small glasses and tasted it thoughtfully. Warm maple, orange bitters, and cinnamon smoked. “Okay wait,” you admitted. “That’s actually good.” Luis looked deeply vindicated. “Obviously.” You adjusted the syrup ratio slightly while talking through ideas together, apple butter variations, charred cinnamon sticks, brown sugar foam. Creative enough to keep your brain alive during long shifts.

Another customer waved for your attention. You moved down the bar smoothly, smiling automatically while taking orders and sliding drinks across polished wood.

Comfortable. Efficient. Tired, yes, but capable. The hours sucked and your feet hurt, and you always smelled faintly like citrus and alcohol by the end of every shift. But there was still satisfaction in it too. People liked your drinks. Requested your creations specifically. Complimented your seasonal menus. It felt good being good at something. Even if it probably wasn’t the dream.

You were wiping down the bar top while another cocktail shaker rattled in your hands when the front door opened again behind the evening crowd. You barely looked up. “Hey, welcome in...” Then froze. Because through the layered noise of the bar you heard a voice you knew instantly. Low and warm.

“Evening.”

Your heart stopped. Actually stopped. Slowly you looked up. And there he was. Matt stood just inside the bar entrance with his tie loosened slightly and exhaustion still sitting around the edges of his face. Beautiful. Dangerously beautiful.

"Matt," you breathed.

For one endless second, you just stared at each other across the bar. Matt looked equally shocked. Which somehow made you feel worse. Because this clearly had not been intentional. He genuinely hadn’t known you'd be here. Your pulse thudded painfully while you tried to remember how to function like a normal human being.

Matt recovered first. Barely. The corner of his mouth lifted faintly as he stepped closer to the bar. “Hi,” he said carefully. You hated how immediately your body relaxed hearing his voice.

“Hi.” Very smooth. Very normal. Definitely not internally combusting.

“Busy tonight?” he asked. His tone stayed casual. Too casual to be genuine. “Kind of,” you answered weakly while grabbing another glass automatically. “Thursday crowd.” Matt hummed softly. You could feel him watching in his own way now, shaker tins, ice, your bracelets chiming softly.

A customer slid into the stool beside him before you could think of something else to say. “Can I get another pale ale?”

“Yep, one sec.”

You moved automatically again, grateful for something to do with your hands. Matt stayed quiet while you worked. You poured the beer carefully and slid it over. “Thanks, sweetheart.”Matt went still. Almost imperceptibly. But you noticed immediately and your stomach dropped. You forced a tight smile at the customer before turning away quickly.

Luis appeared beside you carrying another tray of sample glasses. “You’re still tweaking the maple one, right?”

“Little less cinnamon,” you muttered automatically while scribbling a quick note on the tasting sheet. Matt’s brows lifted slightly. “You design the drinks?” You glanced over. “Oh. Uh… yeah. Seasonal menu stuff.”

Luis snorted immediately. “She’s being humble. Half the cocktails people come in for are hers.”

“Luis.”

“What? It’s true.”

Heat crawled up your neck. Matt said nothing for a moment. But something in his expression warmed. A hint of pride? Something that made your chest ache unexpectedly. Then Luis looked directly between the two of you. His eyes widened slowly. “Oh,” he said. You immediately knew that tone. “No.”

He ignored you completely. “To be clear,” he said to Matt, “if you’re the reason she’s been smiling at her phone all week, I support this.”

“Oh my god.”

Matt actually laughed softly. Warm and low enough that your stomach flipped traitorously. Luis quietly examined him for a second. “Okay yeah. Your boyfriend’s hot.” You nearly dropped a shaker tin. "He’s not my-”

“Take your break,” Luis interrupted smugly. “You're past due.” You stared at him in betrayal. Luis grinned wider, then turned and vanished deliberately down the bar before you could kill him. Silence settled briefly between you and Matt again. Your face still burned.

“…I’m going to poison him,” you muttered.

Matt’s mouth twitched faintly. “Always so violent when you’re embarrassed.”

“I’m aware.”

Another customer called your name in greeting from farther down. You looked toward them automatically before glancing back at Matt. Who still hadn’t ordered anything. Of course he hadn’t. This wasn’t about a post work drink anymore. You swallowed once. Then quietly spoke, "Talk outside?” Matt smiled slightly at that. But there was still something careful underneath it now. Something pensive.

“Okay,” he said softly.

You untied your apron quickly with shaky, nervous fingers before stepping out from behind the bar. The second you got close to him, familiar scent wrapped around you immediately, cologne, soap, clean musk. Homey in a way that felt scary now.

Matt turned toward you the moment you approached. Close enough now that you could see the exhaustion sitting behind his glasses. And maybe he noticed yours too since his expression shifted faintly the longer he stood near you.

Then gentle as ever Matt offered you his hand. And despite the panic clawing at your chest you took it automatically, placing it on your arm.

The night air outside the bar felt cooler than expected. Quieter too. The city still buzzed around you with traffic humming past and voices drifting down the sidewalk, but compared to the chaos inside, it almost felt calm.

You guided Matt carefully toward the side of the building where the noise softened a little. His arm remained linked with yours. Warm. Steady. Unfortunately that only made the knot in your stomach tighter. You knew this conversation was coming. You just didn’t know what shape it would take.

For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. Matt seemed… thoughtful. Still processing. “How long?” You swallowed. “At this bar?” Matt nodded once. “About two years.” Silence. You shifted awkwardly in front of him. “I know this probably looks weird.”

“No,” Matt said immediately. His answer came too fast to be fabricated. “It doesn’t look weird.”

You looked up at him carefully. “Then why do you sound upset?” Matt exhaled softly through his nose. “I’m surprised,” he admitted quietly. He almost sounded hurt. Something in your chest tightened instantly.

“I didn’t hide it from you intentionally.”

“I know.”

“And making art is still my actual career,” you rushed to explain. “The bar’s just… stable. Consistent money.”

Matt nodded slowly. “I know.”

“But-"

“You didn’t tell me.” The words stayed gentle. You looked down at the sidewalk. Your bracelets chimed softly when your arms crossed instinctively. His hand was still on your arm. You could tell now when he was listening closely. “It's work. I didn’t think it mattered,” you admitted after a second.

“It matters.”

“I wasn’t trying to lie to you.”

“I know that too.”

Another quiet beat passed between you. Then softly, “You’re exhausted.” Oh. You looked away immediately. Matt’s voice lowered slightly. “You’ve been exhausted for weeks.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You fell asleep on my couch while I was talking to you last week.” Heat flooded your face instantly. “That was one time.”

“You must barely sleep.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. He wasn’t wrong. Between shoots, editing, the occasional painting commissions, the bar, and now Matt somehow fitting into the center of your life too... you were tired constantly.

Matt was quiet for another second before speaking again. “Why keep this job?” There it was. The real question. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself automatically. The sheen of your blouse shifted softly beneath your jacket while traffic lights painted gold across the sidewalk.

“I don’t know,” you tried quietly.

Matt waited. Patient as ever. You swallowed once. “Okay that’s not true. I do know.” Your voice sounded smaller now. More honest. “I think I just…” You laughed softly without humor. “ I’m scared to rely on someone.”

Matt went still beside you, enough that you felt it immediately through the hand tightening on your arm a fraction. “I’ve always worked,” you continued carefully. “Always had backup plans. Multiple jobs. Emergency plans.” Your mouth twisted faintly. “Which is ironic considering my savings account used to have like thirty dollars in it.” Matt’s thumb shifted lightly against your arm. A tiny comfort.

“This arrangement-” You hesitated. “-it changed my life really fast.” The honesty hung between you both. “You pay me more every month than I’ve ever consistently made before,” you admitted softly. “And you buy me things I literally would never even get to look at normally.”

Matt stayed silent. You glanced toward the bar windows glowing behind you. “I think part of me was waiting for it to disappear.” The second the words left your mouth, regret hit immediately. Because Matt inhaled sharply beside you. Oh no. You looked up quickly. “Not because of you,” you said immediately. “I mean- not because I think you’d do something awful or-”

“You thought this might end.” His voice remained calm. Your stomach twisted painfully.

“I mean… maybe?”

Matt looked away slightly toward the street. His jaw tightened once. You hated yourself a little. Because suddenly you realized that while you’d been treating this partly like a survival tactic, Matt had quietly started treating it like permanence. Matt shook his head once. You stepped a little closer instinctively. “Matt.”

He exhaled slowly before speaking again. “I’m not upset that you work here.”

“I know.”

“I think…” He paused. “I think I’m upset that you still feel unsafe.” Your chest ached instantly, your eyes burning unexpectedly. “You don’t have to prove anything to me,” he continued quietly. “I know you work hard.” And maybe it was exhaustion, or the fact this man had somehow become important to you without your permission, but your voice came out softer now. “I like working.”

Matt nodded immediately. “I know you do.”

“I like making my own money.”

“I know.”

“I like not feeling trapped.”

That one made him pause. Matt moved fully in front of you then. “You would never be trapped with me.” The sincerity in his voice nearly knocked the air from your lungs. You believed him instantly which was terrifying. “I know,” you whispered. Then Matt spoke carefully. “What if you scaled back?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Shorter shifts or fewer nights.” His tone stayed measured like he was trying very hard not to push too hard. “You still work. You still keep your independence.” His mouth quirked faintly. “But maybe you sleep occasionally.” You laughed weakly. Matt smiled at the sound. “You don’t have to quit,” he said softly. “I’m not asking you to.”

“But you’d like me to.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’d like you rested.” Your stomach flipped traitorously. Because underneath all the expensive gifts and teasing and tension that was the thing that kept getting you. The care. Not ownership. Care.

You looked down at your shoes for a second before sighing softly. “…Maybe I could cut out weekends.” Matt visibly relaxed beside you. “And maybe shorter shifts,” you admitted. “Couple nights a week.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“You just want me domesticated.”

A low laugh escaped him instantly. Warm enough to wrap around your spine. “I absolutely do not.” Heat rushed into your face immediately. Matt smiled wider, smug. You pointed accusingly at him. “You’re manipulative.”

“And you’re avoiding the fact that you work yourself into the ground.” You groaned softly. Unfortunately he was right again. Matt’s expression gentled afterward. “You don’t have to carry everything yourself anymore.”

The words landed quietly between you. Neither of you moved for a second after that. You could hear the bar music faint through the walls behind you. But all you could really focus on was Matt standing close enough now that you could smell the familiar warmth of his cologne beneath the cool night air.

You don’t have to carry everything yourself anymore.

Your throat tightened again. You’d entered this arrangement expecting steady money, and maybe attraction. Not someone who noticed and cared when you were tired. Who sounded quietly heartbroken at the thought of you feeling unsafe. Matt shifted slightly in front of you. “You’re quiet,” he murmured.

“I’m thinking.”

“That usually worries me.”

You laughed softly despite yourself. The sound eased some of the tension between you both immediately. Matt smiled faintly at hearing it. Before you could overthink it you stepped closer. Close enough that his body immediately stilled in surprise. Your hands found the front of his jacket carefully. Warm wool beneath your palms. Matt inhaled softly. Tiny and clearly caught off guard.

“Can I hug you?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said softly.

You moved before you could get embarrassed. And the second your arms wrapped around him Matt melted. There was honestly no other word for it. One tiny stunned exhale and then suddenly his arms were around you too. Firm and warm. Your cheek rested against his chest while the street hummed quietly around you both.

His hand spread carefully against your back while the other settled around your waist. Protective. You could feel him relaxing slowly the longer you stayed there, shoulders loosening. The warmth of him seeped into you completely. “You smell good,” he murmured quietly near the top of your head.

Heat crept immediately into your face. “Well, you bought the lotion.” A low laugh vibrated softly through his chest. You smiled helplessly against him, and neither of you made any move to let go. Then the bar door opened from around the corner.

“Her break’s over, Romeo,” Luis called smugly.

You jerked back instantly. “Oh my god." Matt actually laughed. Not a soft polite chuckle but a real rumbling laugh. Warm and rich and devastating enough that your stomach flipped all over again. “I’m ripping out the fall menu from our notebook,” you threatened. Luis gasped theatrically and disappeared back inside. You covered your face briefly. Matt still sounded amused beside you. “I like him.”

“Traitor.”

The smile lingered in Matt’s voice another second before softening again. “You should get back.” You nodded reluctantly. Neither of you seemed eager to separate completely though. The warmth of him still lingered against your skin. Then Matt spoke again, a little hesitant this time, “Could I stay for a drink?”

Your heart did something embarrassing. “You want me to make you one?”

“I do.”

“Okay.”

Matt tilted his head slightly toward you. “Dealer’s choice.”

“Oh, dangerous.”

“I trust you.”

That shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did. You walked back inside together, his hand squeezing your arm lightly the entire way. The warmth and noise of the bar rushed around you again immediately. Luis looked up the second you returned behind the counter. Then looked at Matt sitting down at the quieter end of the bar. His grin widened so hard you considered homicide.

You ignored him while washing your hands and reaching automatically for bottles. Matt listened quietly from his stool while you moved around the bar.

Ice.

Free-flow pourer.

Citrus peel.

Your bracelets chimed softly every time your hands moved. You could feel his attention on you the whole time. “What are you making?” he asked.

“One of my specials.”

“Should I be nervous?”

“Yes.”

You worked carefully, adding bourbon, brown sugar syrup, orange bitters, and smoked rosemary. You slid the finished glass carefully toward him. “There.” Matt’s fingers brushed yours lightly as he felt for it. Lingering for one tiny second longer than necessary. His fingers ran over the rather large rosemary sprig poking out.

“You garnish dramatically,” he observed.

“I’m an artist.”

“You’re very good at this.” The sincerity in his voice made your stomach flutter. Matt lifted the glass carefully for a sip. Then paused. You watched his expression shift from surprise to pleasure. Your smile broke instantly. “This is excellent.”

Pride warmed through your chest embarrassingly fast. “I told you.”

Matt took another sip, then another. Clearly savoring it. “You made this recipe?”

“Yeah.”

“You should be impossible to live with.”

You laughed softly. “What- why?”

“Because apparently you can do everything.”

Heat climbed slowly into your cheeks again. Matt smirked faintly at hearing your embarrassed scoff. Then quietly, just for your ears, he spoke.

“You take very good care of people, princess.”

notes: guys they finally hugged and it only took... 21k words

i really wanted to make sure i wasn't doing that "she hates material things/him buying her stuff" because let's be real- we love it. but hopefully finally this shows where reader's head is at right now because no matter how wonderful matt is, being dependent on a man is SCARY.

thankfully matt is more than happy to take things on as slow of a stroll as she needs 🌹

taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy @mrmeowzalot @that1weirdweebgirl @moth-murdock @iamdarknessiamdeath

[lilacmurdock]

Sugar, Please - Chapter Five

previous chapter | series masterlist I next chapter

artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt

chapter summary: matt needs to even the score after your last date.

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

notes: get dressed, matt's taking you shopping😏more notes at the end

word count: 4.6k

Paint was streaked across the side of your hand as you stepped back from the canvas in your living room. The apartment smelled like acrylic paint and stale coffee again. Dani was sprawled across the couch scrolling through her phone while occasionally offering deeply unhelpful artistic criticism.

“That one looks sad.”

“It’s just a blue background so far.”

“Exactly.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for your brush again just as your phone buzzed on the table beside you. You wiped your fingers quickly on a damp rag before opening the message.

Matt: How attached are you to your afternoon tomorrow?

You stared at the text for half a second, immediately suspicious.

You: That sounds threatening.

Dani looked up instantly. “Oooooh. Sugar Daddy texted?" You ignored her. It buzzed again.

Matt: That wasn’t my intention.

Though now that you mention it, I could probably phrase things less like a subpoena.

You snorted softly despite yourself.

You: Probably.

Matt: I’d like to take you shopping tomorrow.

You blinked. Dani watched your face narrow from across the couch. “What?”

You held up a finger.

You: Shopping for what?

The response took slightly longer this time.

Matt: Things you need.

You: Matt.

You stared at the message in disbelief, breath catching slightly. "He wants to take me shopping, apparently."

Across the couch, Dani’s eyes widened with absolute delight. You pointed at her without looking away from your phone. “Stop reacting. You’re making this worse.”

She clutched a couch pillow to her chest. “Girl, did you suck his dick last week or something?” You nearly dropped your phone.

“DANI.”

“I’m asking because men do not talk like that for free.” Heat flooded your face instantly.

You: You already give me an allowance.

The typing bubble appeared immediately this time.

Matt: Yes.

You: So if you’re doing all this then reduce this month's or something.

The response came so quickly it almost felt automatic.

Matt: No.

Matt This is part of our arrangement too, remember?

Your stomach fluttered unexpectedly. Before you could answer, another message appeared.

Matt: I enjoy taking care of you. Also, if I’m being selfish about it, it would make me happy.

You physically stopped breathing for a second. Your pulse hammered embarrassingly hard while you stared at the screen. Because somehow that sentence was calm and matter-of-fact and so very Matt. I enjoy taking care of you.

You actually closed your eyes briefly. This man was going to kill you.

You: You know this is insane behavior, right?

Matt: Will you let me do it anyway?

You: …Nothing too crazy.

Matt: Good. I’ll send a car at noon.

You covered your face with both hands immediately. “Oh my god.”

The next afternoon you stood outside your apartment building staring at the car that arrived for you while Dani practically vibrated beside you. You narrowed your eyes at the driver opening the back door for you.

“I’m scared.”

“You should be,” Dani said solemnly. “If you come home with a tiny designer dog and a silk robe, we'll have officially lost you.” Then she quietly added “…Also ask if he has a brother.”

You shoved her lightly before climbing into the car.

The drive downtown only made you more nervous. The further into the Upper East Side you went, the more obvious it became that Matt was not taking you to a normal shopping center. This place looked less like a mall and more like rich people habitat simulation. There were what looked to be private storefronts, and quiet stone walkways. Your stomach tightened instantly when you stepped out of the car.

The driver smiled politely. “Mr. Murdock is waiting upstairs.”

You stepped out of the elevator a few minutes later and immediately spotted Matt near one of the lounge areas. And god. That man was going to be the death of you. Dark charcoal coat over a dark sweater. Silver threaded through his hair beneath the afternoon light. Disgustingly handsome.

You greeted him, and he smiled the second he heard your voice. “There you are.”

Your stomach flipped traitorously. “You brought me to the Capitol from The Hunger Games.”

Matt laughed softly. “That bad?”

“There’s a woman over there holding a tiny dog wearing cashmere.”

“Based on that description she seems happy.”

“She seems tax exempt.”

The corner of Matt’s mouth lifted higher. The bastard was smirking at you. And before you could fully recover from that, another woman approached smoothly beside him. Stylish and impossibly polished. “Miss?” she asked warmly. “I’m Evelyn. I’ll be helping you both today.”

Helping. Today. Your soul briefly left your body. Evelyn gestured gracefully toward the first door.

“We thought we’d begin with body and skincare.”

You looked immediately at Matt. “You planned categories?”

Matt’s expression remained infuriatingly composed. “I may have prepared slightly.”

“Slightly,” you repeated.

“Well, you mentioned yesterday needing to restock a few things. And you've said before your skin was sensitive.”

Your mouth opened. Closed again. Because annoyingly, you had mentioned that. Once. Matt had apparently archived it permanently inside his terrifying lawyer brain.

Evelyn smiled knowingly beside you. “This way.”

The skincare boutique smelled heavenly. Soft citrus, bright florals, and warm vanilla.

“No,” you whispered weakly while staring at the shelves. Matt tilted his head slightly toward you. “You brought me to rich Sephora.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate that comparison.”

You moved slowly through displays trying not to touch anything because every tiny glass bottle probably cost the same as your electric bill.

Unfortunately, Evelyn was apparently a professional enabler. “These formulas would be wonderful for sensitive skin,” she explained while showing you several products. “Especially once winter rolls around.”

You looked at the price tag and nearly blacked out. Then she handed you a small jar.

“This moisturizer is one of our bestsellers.”

You opened it carefully. And immediately melted. “Oh my god.”

Matt’s expression shifted instantly at your tone. “You like it?”

“It smells incredible.” Warm honey. Vanilla. Something soft and musky underneath.

You rubbed a tiny amount into your wrist automatically. Matt’s head tilted subtly toward the motion. His voice lowered just slightly. “Let me smell.”

Your brain short-circuited immediately. Still, you stepped closer automatically and held out your wrist. His fingers wrapped lightly around it, gentle and warm. Then he leaned slightly closer. One slow inhale.

Heat crawled instantly up your chest and throat. Matt’s thumb brushed once against the inside of your wrist before he let go again.

“That’s nice on you,” he said quietly.

You forgot how to speak for a second.

Evelyn continued, “This line also carries shower gels and lotion bars.”

You looked over. Then immediately gasped. Matt heard the delight in your voice instantly. Within twenty minutes there was a growing haul despite your increasingly horrified protests.

“Matt. This is insane.”

“You’ve said that several times.”

“You’re buying me like twelve things.”

“Twelve seems high.”

“Fine, nine but still.”

“Ah. Much better. I knew I was more reasonable than that.”

You stared at him in disbelief while Evelyn hid a smile nearby. And then you saw it. Sitting beautifully illuminated on a display pedestal like a futuristic weapon. Your eyes widened immediately. “No fucking way.”

“What?”

You moved closer automatically. “It’s that microcurrent facial device.”

“The what?”

“The fancy one,” you breathed.

Evelyn smiled. “It’s wonderful for sculpting and lifting.”

You looked physically pained. “I’ve wanted this thing forever.”

Matt heard it instantly, that tiny genuine longing in your voice. And that was it. Done. You noticed the exact moment his provider instincts fully snapped. “Add it,” he said calmly.

You whipped around. “WHAT? No.”

Matt looked entirely unbothered. “You want it.”

“It costs more than all of my utilities.”

“And?”

“And MATT.”

His mouth twitched slightly. “You’re very cute when you’re outraged.”

Your jaw dropped. Matt stepped a little closer then, lowering his voice just enough that it curled warm down your spine. “You deserve nice things.” Your pulse stumbled. “And,” he continued softly, “I really want to get it for you.”

Oh, you were doomed.

The private fitting suite should not have existed outside of movies. Soft lighting and blush-colored couches. Mirrors everywhere. Actual champagne being offered the second you sat down. You were beginning to understand how rich people became so detached from reality.

Matt sat beside you on one of the couches while Evelyn disappeared briefly after taking your measurements. And despite the absurd luxury around him, he still looked like he belonged here more than the furniture did.

Relaxed now. Recovered from the other night’s exhaustion. One arm draped comfortably along the back cushion behind you. You sipped quietly from the champagne flute. “This place makes me nervous,” you muttered.

Matt tilted his head toward you and the corner of his mouth lifted.

Then Evelyn returned carrying several pairs of jeans folded neatly over one arm. “These are the Japanese denim styles Mr. Murdock requested.”

You turned slowly toward him. “...Requested?”

Matt looked entirely unashamed. “I asked you on the phone to name one thing you needed and you said your jeans are falling apart.”

“That does not mean I need luxury artisanal denim.”

Evelyn handed you the first pair with professional calm. “These are hand-finished. Pre-washed as well to bypass the break in phase.”

You stared at her. “See?” you told Matt. “That’s not a sentence normal people say.”

Matt laughed softly into his champagne. You hated how much you liked making him laugh. “Try them on,” he said.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “That sounded less like a suggestion.”

“Mm.”

“Matt.”

“You need jeans.”

“I have jeans.”

“You told me you patched the knee with embroidery floss.”

“Because I’m resourceful.”

“You’re stubborn.”

Evelyn quietly vanished again before the flirty argument could become legally actionable. You changed quickly after that.

You stepped out of the dressing room cautiously. Matt turned immediately toward the sound of your footsteps. You looked down at yourself.

“…I hate that these are so nice.”

Matt smiled slowly. “Come here.”

Your stomach fluttered traitorously but you stepped closer automatically. He reached out carefully, fingertips brushing lightly against the denim at your hip first. Then lower along your outer thigh. Just feeling the fabric. His touch stayed respectful. But heat still bloomed instantly on your face.

“These are soft,” he murmured mostly to himself.

“Yeah,” you said weakly.

Matt’s hand slid to your waist. “You like them?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated. “…Maybe.”

“Then we'll get them.”

You exhaled slowly. “Matt.”

“There it is again. The ‘this is too much’ tone.”

You folded your arms immediately. “Because this is too much.”

Matt leaned back slightly against the couch, expression calm. “You needed clothes.”

“I needed like… Target clothes.”

“You deserve better than Target.”

“That is an insane sentence.”

“You know what I mean.”

You looked away first. Because the problem wasn’t really the things, it was this feeling in the pit of your stomach. This overwhelming uncomfortable sensation of someone looking at you like you were worth investment. Worth luxury and care. But for how long?

Matt seemed to sense the shift immediately. His voice gentled slightly. “Hey.”

You looked back toward him and your throat tightened unexpectedly. Which was annoying. You tried deflecting immediately.

“You know, most people would simply buy their sugar baby a designer purse and call it a day.”

Matt’s mouth twitched. “Would a purse make you happier?”

“No.”

“Then I’m struggling to see the issue.”

“The issue,” you said carefully, “is that I feel like you’re spending an irresponsible amount of money on me.”

Matt actually looked faintly amused by that.“I promise you I’m not.”

“You bought me a skincare device that could probably communicate with satellites.”

“You were excited about it.”

“That is not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point.”

Your heartbeat stumbled a little at the firmness in his voice. Matt set his champagne down carefully before speaking again. “This arrangement works because we’re both honest about what we want from it.” You went quiet.

“I like taking care of you,” he continued calmly. “You know that already.” Heat crept slowly up your neck. “And before you offer to reduce your allowance again, no.”

You stared at him. Matt tilted his head slightly toward you, voice lowering just a little.

“This is one of our evenings together.”

Your stomach flipped hard. “You spending time with me while I spoil you is not some separate inconvenience for me that you need to compensate for.” Jesus Christ. The almost condescending warmth in his tone made it worse somehow.

“You’re still overdoing it,” you muttered weakly.

Matt smiled faintly. “I know.”

“You admit it?”

“Of course.”

“Then why are you still doing it?”

“Because it makes me happy.”

Oh, you were in actual danger here.

An uncomfortable sigh that was almost a squeak came out of you and Matt picked up on it immediately. His expression softened slightly, amusement flickering faintly at the edges again. “You really don’t know what to do when someone wants to spoil you, do you?”

Silence settled briefly between you both.

Jeans had been one thing. Especially in a private fitting suite with soft lighting and Matt sitting on the couch looking like that. But Evelyn returned carrying garment bags this time. Several of them. Matt looked vaguely pleased with himself.

Evelyn laid the dresses carefully across the seating area while describing each one professionally.

Silk.

Satin.

A black cocktail dress.

A deep wine-colored wrap dress.

Something backless.

“I’m sensing panic,” Matt murmured. You hummed and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Try one on for me.” For me.

Your stomach flipped so hard it should’ve been medically concerning. Evelyn disappeared tactfully after setting the last dress down, leaving you alone with Matt in the suite.

The first dress was black, simple and elegant. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a second too long before stepping out cautiously.

He immediately straightened slightly at the sound of your heels against the floor. “You changed shoes too?” he asked quietly.

“Uh… yeah, she brought a few pairs.”

“What kind?”

“Just heels.”

Matt smiled faintly. “That’s not a description.”

Your pulse fluttered stupidly.

“They’re black,” you muttered. “Strappy.”

His fingers flexed once lightly against his knee. “Come over here,” he said softly.

Matt reached out carefully when you stopped in front of him, fingertips brushing first against the fabric at your waist. Then lower. Slowly tracing the drape of the dress like he was reading it. Heat flooded your entire body instantly. His hand skimmed lightly along your side, pausing at your hip. A tiny exhale left him quietly and his hand slid away.

By the third dress his hesitation had faded.

“Turn around for me?”

Your brain short-circuited instantly. “For-” You cleared your throat. “For what?”

“So I can understand the fit.”

You stared at him. Then slowly twirled. The silence behind you stretched dangerously long. Matt’s head tilted slightly as he listened to the fabric shifting, the heels clicking softly.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you accused weakly.

You heard the smile in his voice. Then he held out a hand.

Your knees almost gave out. Matt’s fingertips found your wrist this time, guiding you a little closer to sit down beside him before his hand slid carefully down your arm. Then suddenly he was kneeling in front of you.

Your breath caught sharply as his fingers wrapped lightly around your ankle. Oh. Heat surged instantly through your stomach.

Matt’s expression stayed perfectly composed. Too composed. “You okay?” he asked softly.

Absolutely not. “Fine,” you lied.

His thumb brushed once slowly against the delicate strap around your ankle while he adjusted the heel slightly. And suddenly you felt on a deeply spiritual level that this man should not be allowed near any women.

His touch remained maddeningly restrained while he unfastened the shoe carefully. Then slipped it off. His fingers lingered for one dangerous second against the arch of your foot before releasing it.

You nearly stopped breathing. Matt definitely noticed if the low laugh that escaped him was any indication. Warm. Soft.

“This feels unrelated to shopping.”

“I disagree.”

You stared at him while he calmly reached for the other heel. The champagne in your bloodstream was not helping.

Neither was the fact that Matt looked devastating sitting there between your legs while removing expensive heels from your feet like some kind of bodice ripper sugar daddy fantasy. You were going to die here.

You sat at the edge of the couch while several shoe boxes sat open around you now. Matt remained kneeling in front of you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Every single pair had Matt carefully undoing any ties or straps, steady hands sliding against your ankle as he felt for them, warm fingers bracing lightly beneath your calf.

“These are stiffer,” he murmured while adjusting one pair against your foot.

“Yeah.”

“And the heel?”

“Not too high.”

Matt hummed quietly. The sound settled low in your stomach. His fingertips brushed slowly along the delicate strap wrapping your ankle before fastening it carefully. He ran fingertips over the raised design on top.

The movement was precise. Gentle. Then his fingers paused. Just briefly. His brows knit slightly.

“What?”

You looked down instinctively and immediately saw where he'd paused. The toe rings. Tiny delicate bands you wore almost constantly.

Matt’s thumb brushed lightly against one before he spoke again. “…You wear jewelry on your feet too?”

Heat crawled instantly up your neck. “That sounded judgmental.”

A soft laugh escaped him. “It wasn’t.”

His fingers moved carefully again, tracing lightly over the cool metal before continuing upward along your ankle strap. Your stomach flipped violently.

“Do you like them?” you asked before thinking better of it.

Matt went quiet for too long. He replied softly, “Very much.”

The suite suddenly felt ten degrees warmer.

Matt continued unfastening the heel like he hadn’t just casually detonated your nervous system. You stared helplessly down at him and his broad shoulders, pushed up sleeves, dark hair threaded with silver beneath the warm lighting. Beautiful hands adorned with an expensive watch. Kneeling between your legs helping you into designer heels.

The next pair was beautiful. Soft blush pink with thin straps crossing delicately over your feet and winding upward around your calves. The kind of shoes that existed purely to make women suffer beautifully.

You walked in them and immediately felt pretty. Like devastatingly pretty.

Matt straightened slightly at the sound of the heels against the floor. “What do they look like?”

You looked down at yourself. “They’re pink.”

“Mm.”

“And taller.”

The corner of his mouth twitched faintly.

Matt’s hands found your ankle immediately when you stopped in front of him. Warm palms sliding carefully upward along the ties wrapping around your calves.

You inhaled sharply. Because this pair had required more adjustment. More touch.

His fingertips traced slowly along the ribbons as he loosened one side slightly. And god, he looked affected now too. His jaw was tight like he was concentrating a little too hard.

You looked down at him helplessly. At the careful concentration in his face and the tenderness in his hands.

“…Can I have these ones?”

The words came out smaller than you'd intended. Shy.

Matt went completely still. You realized suddenly that this was the first thing you’d explicitly asked for. Not argued against or reluctantly accepted. Wanted.

And apparently that realization hit him like a truck. A tiny pause stretched between you both. Matt swallowed once.

When he spoke again, his voice had dropped lower somehow. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Of course you can, princess.”

Princess.

The pet name wrapped warm around your spine while Matt’s hands remained lightly against your legs. You were dead. The sudden ringing in your ears was surely your heart flatlining.

He sounded so pleased that you’d asked. Like he’d been waiting for it all day. Matt cleared his throat softly before undoing the ties at your calves with careful fingers.

Evelyn returned carrying entirely too many garment bags. You knew you were doomed immediately because unlike the dresses, these bags were smaller. A lot smaller. Fuck.

“I pulled a few evening and lounge options as well,” Evelyn explained smoothly while laying pieces carefully across the couch seating.

Silk.

Lace.

Satin ribbons.

Matt, seated beside you now, tilted his head slightly.

“She brought lingerie." you squeaked.

Matt went very still beside you. Evelyn, traitor that she was, continued calmly. “Some clients prefer more practical sleepwear, and I'm aware this was not on the list, but I thought these suited your style beautifully.”

Your style. As if she’d known you for years instead of four horrifyingly intimate hours. One by one, she began laying pieces out, matching lace sets, silk robes, delicate slips, something involving garters that nearly made you pass away on sight.

You avoided looking directly at Matt. Cowardly? Maybe. But absolutely necessary.

Evelyn lifted a black lace set first. “Very elegant,” she said. “Especially layered beneath the silk robe.” You made a tiny choking sound. Matt cleared his throat softly beside you.

“Would you like me to leave these here for you to browse privately?” Evelyn asked politely.

“Yes,” you answered immediately.

“At your leisure,” she continued smoothly, absolutely unconcerned by your ongoing psychological collapse.

Then, like the menace she truly was, “I’ll have the champagne refreshed as well.”

And with that she disappeared again. Silence. Complete silence. You stared at the couch covered in enough silk and lace to destroy any marriage.

Matt sat beside you with one hand wrapped around his champagne glass. Too composed.

“I think she believes we’re sleeping together,” you muttered weakly.

Matt’s mouth twitched faintly. “I gathered.”

“She brought garters, Matt.”

“Mm.”

“That's not a response.”

“I’m trying to behave.”

Heat flooded your entire face instantly. You looked over at him in horror.

Matt tilted his head slightly toward you, amusement low in his voice now. “You can look if you want.”

Something about the way he said it, calm, warm, and completely sincere made your stomach flip hard. Like he genuinely wanted you to enjoy yourself. Not for him.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” he continued quietly. “We’re shopping.”

“Normal shopping usually involves fewer corsets.”

A low laugh escaped him. “You’re very cute when you’re flustered too.”

You decided immediately that Matthew Murdock needed to be stopped by federal law enforcement.

Still despite your embarrassment you found yourself moving slowly toward the pieces laid out across the couch. Because some of them were beautiful. Soft ivory silk. Blue satin. Delicate lace trims. The robe sets especially caught your attention. Elegant and not overtly scandalous. Just...intimate.

You picked up one ivory slip carefully between your fingers. Soft silk with lace detailing at the neckline and hem. Short. Very short. Your brain immediately supplied the image of wearing it in Matt’s apartment and you nearly combusted on the spot.

“Found something?” Matt asked quietly.

You swallowed. “Maybe.”

His head tilted slightly toward the sound of the fabric moving through your hands. You looked down at it again.

“It's a... nightgown,” you murmured. “Ivory silk. Lace.”

Matt inhaled slowly once. Tiny but noticeable.

“Looks there’s a matching robe,” you added.

Matt’s fingers tightened slightly around his champagne glass. “You should get it,” he said softly.

Your heart started beating in embarrassing places. “You haven’t even-” You stopped. Then made the catastrophic mistake of continuing.

“…Do you want to feel it?”

Matt turned his head toward you slowly. Like he was making very sure he’d heard correctly.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

He set his glass down slowly before holding one hand out. You placed the silk carefully into his palm.

His fingertips slid carefully over the silk first. Then the lace. Matt’s thumb traced lightly along the delicate lace trim once more before he spoke.

“…Jesus.”

The word slipped out low. Barely audible like he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. He swallowed once before carefully folding the fabric back into your hands. But his fingers brushed yours during the handoff.

“You should definitely get that,” he said softly.

And you were pretty sure your soul physically left your body.

By the time Evelyn returned again, you had emotionally accepted that this shopping trip existed solely to test the limits of your cardiovascular system. Especially because now jewelry trays accompanied her.

“Oh no,” you whispered immediately.

Matt smiled beside you like he could physically hear the panic in your soul now.

Evelyn set several velvet trays carefully across the low table in front of you while another associate quietly refreshed the champagne.

Various gemstones. Delicate chains glinting beneath the soft lighting. Your apartment rent for the year sat on that table in jewelry form. Meanwhile Matt looked entirely too calm.

“I selected pieces that layer well with the clothing we chose,” Evelyn explained smoothly. The we chose nearly killed you.

Then she lifted the ivory silk set from earlier carefully.

“Oh. The matching thong is included with the slip, of course.”

Your soul left your body instantly.

“But,” Evelyn continued professionally, “you can choose between the silk or the lace version.” You stared at her. She looked directly at you waiting for an answer. You could physically feel heat climbing up your throat. “…The silk one,” you muttered weakly.

Matt picked up his champagne very slowly beside you. You refused to look at him.

Evelyn nodded calmly. “Excellent choice.”

You focused aggressively on the jewelry trays in front of you.

There were so many pieces. Tiny diamonds. Silver chains. Pearls. But one piece caught your eye almost immediately. A delicate gold necklace with a tiny ruby pendant resting at the center. Your fingers hovered over it automatically.

“You find something?”

You glanced toward him. “…Maybe.”

“Describe it to me.”

Your fingertips brushed lightly against the pendant before answering. “It’s gold,” you said softly. “Really thin chain.”

Matt tilted his head slightly toward you, listening carefully. “And?”

“A tiny red ruby.”

Something shifted faintly in his expression. His mouth softened slightly at the edges. “You like red,” he murmured.

You smiled faintly. “I do.”

Matt held one hand out slowly. “May I?”

You placed the necklace carefully into his palm and watched as his fingertips traced slowly along the chain. Then the pendant. The ruby rested against the center of his palm while he ran his thumb once lightly over the stone. A tiny smile appeared afterward.

Matt nodded once immediately. Like he could already imagine it on you. Evelyn smiled knowingly before stepping subtly away again to give you both space.

Traitor.

Matt held the necklace carefully between his fingers before speaking. “Turn around for me?”

You turned away from him slowly and the suite fell impossibly quiet. You reached up to pull your hair carefully over one shoulder but Matt spoke softly behind you before you could.

“Lift your hair for me, princess.”

Your entire brain dissolved. The pet name making your stomach flutter while your hands moved automatically. Matt moved closer. Close enough that you could smell his clean soap, cologne, something heady and masculine lingering faintly beneath it all.

The first brush of his fingers against the back of your neck made you shiver.

He moved slowly while fastening the clasp. Knuckles brushed lightly against the sensitive skin beneath your ear. Finally the clasp clicked softly into place. But his hands stayed there resting lightly at the back of your neck.

The ruby pendant settled cool against your chest and the air felt thick suddenly.

Matt murmured near your shoulder “…Beautiful.”

You weren’t entirely sure if he meant the necklace.

notes: and there we have it, matt's name for reader. fitting 👑 and wooo would you look at that matt has a provider kink but we already knew that

so we all know this is a sugar daddy fic, but how do we feel about that title (daddy/dad/sir) being used in future smut chapters? i'm still playing with some bedroom names for matt but at the moment it's just baby

taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle @margaret811 @cheleanortruther @gothy-froggy

[lilacmurdock]

Sugar, Please - Chapter Four

previous chapter I series masterlist I next chapter

artist!reader × sugardaddy!matt

chapter summary: you comfort matt after a long day.

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

word count: 3.5k

By now, you’d learned Matt's rhythms a little. The usual timing of his messages, the careful wording and the quiet consistency of him.

So when six o’clock came and went with nothing from him, you found yourself checking your phone more than once. Annoying. Especially because tonight had actually sounded really nice.

Dinner. Then a movie afterward, something old with audio description that Matt insisted was “surprisingly decent.”

You’d spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing an outfit for a man you were decidedly not getting attached to. Obviously.

Your phone finally buzzed closer to seven.

Matt: I owe you an apology.

Today got away from me a bit.

A second message appeared almost immediately.

Matt: I’m not sure I’m going to make particularly good company tonight.

Your chest tightened instantly and you sat up straighter against your couch cushions.

You: Bad day?

The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Returned again.

Matt: Long one.

Short answer. Which somehow made it worse. You frowned down at your phone. Then typed before you could overthink it.

You: We can reschedule if you want.

But I’m still happy to keep you company tonight if you’d like.

A long pause followed. Long enough that you wondered if maybe you’d overstepped somehow.

Matt: You really don’t have to do that.

You softened immediately. Because somehow that sentence sounded less like refusal and more like: nobody usually offers.

You: I know.

Another pause.

Matt: All right.

I should warn you again in advance that I’m very tired and possibly terrible company.

A smile tugged at your mouth.

You: Lucky for you I’m hilarious enough for both of us.

Matt: That does seem to be the arrangement, yes.

Warmth spread unexpectedly through your chest. Then another notification appeared immediately after. A transfer. You blinked at the amount. Every single time he sent money, your brain still short-circuited a little.

Matt: Order whatever you want for dinner. I’ll have the doorman bring you up when you arrive.

You stared at the message and smiled to yourself. Because suddenly you had a much better idea.

You: I’ll be there in about an hour.

Matt’s reply came quickly this time.

Matt: All right.

For the first time since meeting him, you found yourself wondering not what Matt looked like when he was composed and charming, but what he looked like when he finally let himself be tired.

The lobby of Matt’s building looked more expensive than any gallery you'd ever been inside of.

Polished marble floors. Sculptural light fixtures and a doorman who greeted you by name the second you stepped inside.

You adjusted the grocery bags against your arms self-consciously while waiting for the elevator. Compared to your usual date-night outfits with Matt, tonight felt… very different.

No dress or heels. Just jeans and an oversized cream sweater that kept slipping off one shoulder every few minutes. Your hair was tied back, a few strands escaping around your face from the wind outside.

Still, you’d stopped yourself to put on the perfume anyway before leaving.

The elevator opened directly into Matt’s penthouse. Cool.

The doors slid apart silently into warm low lighting and to your left past the hallway was a massive open-concept living space that immediately made your stomach flip a little.

Jesus Christ. The place was beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, dark wood. Soft lamps instead of harsh overhead lighting, not that Matt needed either. Furniture that looked both expensive and still plush and actually comfortable somehow.

Everything was immaculate. Not sterile. Just… untouched and quiet.

You barely had time to absorb any of it before footsteps approached across the hardwood floors.

Then Matt appeared in the hallway. You’d never seen him look quite this exhausted before. Tie loosened. Sleeves rolled a little unevenly like he’d done it hours ago. Shadows beneath his eyes and his jaw tense.

Still devastatingly handsome, always. But tired in a way that made something ache softly in your chest.

“Hi,” you said gently.

Matt exhaled softly the second he heard your voice. “Hi.”

Then his head tilted slightly. The large grocery bags shifted in your hands, paper crinkling.

“…That doesn't sound like takeout.”

You smiled a little. “You said order whatever I wanted.”

Matt let out a tired laugh under his breath. “I don’t think groceries is what I meant.”

“You’ll survive.”

The corner of his mouth lifted faintly. “Come in,” he said softly.

You stepped fully into the apartment and noticed immediately there were almost no signs of another person ever being here regularly. No clutter or random belongings.

Books, plenty of records. Loneliness disguised as luxury.

“You weren’t kidding about the vinyl collection, huh?” you asked, spotting the shelves lining one side of the living room.

Matt’s expression softened into a small smile. “You noticed those fast.”

“They’re impossible not to notice.”

Matt actually huffed a soft laugh at that. The sound of it warmed the apartment instantly.

You set the grocery bags down carefully on the kitchen island while he hovered nearby. And yes he hovered, like he intended to help but didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“You really don’t have to cook,” he said again.

“You already said that.”

“And you ignored me.”

“Correct.”

A quiet huff of amusement escaped him. Then you started unpacking groceries.

Pasta

Garlic

Fresh parsley

Lemons

Butter

Parmesan

Bread

Wine

Comfort food.

Matt leaned lightly against the opposite side of the island listening while you moved around the kitchen. The apartment felt different already. Cabinet doors opening, water running. Your bracelets chiming softly every time you reached for something.

He listened quietly to all of it.

“You can sit down, you know.” you snorted.

Matt smiled faintly to himself. The smile faded after a second though, exhaustion creeping visibly back into his face when he thought you weren’t looking.

Your chest tightened again. “Tough case?” you asked quietly while filling a pot with water.

He was silent for a second. “Something like that.”

Such a Matt answer. You recognized one now.

You glanced over your shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Another pause. He spoke quietly, “Thank you.” Soft enough that it almost surprised you.

You nodded once and let it go. The kitchen slowly filled with warmth after that. Garlic sizzled in butter while the pasta water was boiling. Lemon zest brightened the air.

And somewhere in the middle of you chopping parsley, soft static crackled behind you.

You turned. Matt stood beside the record player near the living room shelves, one hand skimming lightly along vinyl spines with practiced familiarity. Then the warm opening notes of Otis Redding drifted through the apartment and your entire face lit up.

“No way.”

Matt glanced toward the sound of your voice, visibly amused by your reaction. “You approve?”

“Matt Murdock,” you said solemnly, “you continue to shock and amaze me.”

A low laugh escaped him. He moved closer again afterward, drawn back toward the kitchen almost automatically.

“You cook a lot?” he asked.

“Not professionally or anything.”

“Still nice.”

You shrugged lightly while stirring the pasta. “It’s cheaper than eating out constantly.”

The second the words left your mouth, you realized how they sounded. Matt did too. You saw it immediately in the slight tightening around his mouth. Something almost guilty.

“Hey,” you said gently. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know.”

His voice stayed calm but thoughtful.

You watched him for a second longer. Then decided quickly to change the subject.

“You know,” you said, pointing your wooden spoon at him, “for someone who’s apparently terrible company tonight, you’ve actually been pretty pleasant.”

Matt leaned one hip lightly against the counter beside you. Close enough now that warmth radiated from him steadily.

“You must have set the bar pretty low.”

"You sounded genuinely miserable over text.”

“I was genuinely miserable.”

“And now?”

The question slipped out softer than intended. Matt went quiet beside you. The music drifted warmly through the apartment behind him. Low and smooth.

He exhaled softly through his nose. “Better.”

Your stomach flipped stupidly. Because he sounded surprised by it. You looked down quickly toward the pan before he could somehow hear your heart exploding.

“Good,” you murmured.

Comfortable silence settled gently after that.

Matt remained beside you while you cooked, close enough now that every tiny movement registered like the brush of his sleeve when you passed him. The clean cedar scent of his cologne mixed with the butter and lemon and garlic.

By the time dinner was actually finished, the penthouse smelled like garlic, lemon, and warm bread.

Matt insisted on helping carry both plates to the living room despite your repeated warnings that he looked seconds from collapsing face-first into the hardwood floors.

“I’m serious,” you told him while following behind with wine glasses. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m functioning.”

“That’s not ideal.”

“It’s close enough.”

You snorted softly. The couch overlooked the massive windows lining the apartment, the city glowing gold beneath the dark sky outside.

You settled cross-legged into one corner-shoes long abandoned- with your plate balanced carefully on your knee while Matt sat beside you, one arm stretched along the back cushions behind you. Not touching. Otis Redding still played softly from the turntable across the room.

Matt took his first real bite of pasta beside you. You looked over immediately. A faint crease appeared between his brows.

“This is really good.”

You grinned. “Wow. Glowing review.”

“I’m serious.” Matt laughed softly under his breath before taking another bite.

And suddenly it hit you. This man probably hadn’t had someone cook for him in years. The realization settled strangely warm and sad in your chest.

You made the mistake of looking over at him again. Because tonight was the first time you’d seen him without his glasses for this long. And god. It should’ve been illegal.

Without them, Matt somehow looked both softer and more rugged at the same time. The sharp line of his nose unobstructed.

The silver threaded faintly through his dark hair, and that neatly groomed beard shadowing his jaw. Older. In the absolute hottest possible way.

Especially stretched out on the couch like this. You had the horrifying realization that if he looked at you right now -even though logically he couldn’t- you would spontaneously burst into flames.

“So,” Matt said suddenly, “you’re staring again.”

You nearly choked on your wine. “I hate that you can tell.”

A faint smile curved at the edge of his mouth. “You get quiet.”

You narrowed your eyes while he looked unbearably smug for someone who technically couldn’t see you glaring. Annoying. Very, very annoying.

The apartment had gotten warmer while you cooked, enough that the oversized sweater suddenly felt too heavy against your skin. You tugged at one sleeve absently.

“I’m giving myself thermostat privileges, by the way.”

Matt tilted his head. “Too warm?”

“You keep this place heated like a jungle. I'm surprised there aren't mosquitos.”

“That feels a little dramatic.”

“It feels humid."

You shoved the sweater off finally, leaving just the black tank underneath. The second the fabric was draped over the arm of the couch, Matt went very still beside you. He took another slow sip of wine.

“So,” you said quickly, mostly to save yourself, “how bad was today really?”

Matt exhaled softly through his nose. For a second, you thought maybe he’d dodge the question again. Instead, his shoulders loosened slightly against the couch.

“Ten hours of depositions,” he admitted. “One client lied to me. Another threatened to have every partner in my office disbarred.”

“That seems… counterproductive.”

“A little.”

“And let me guess.” You pointed your fork toward him. “You didn’t eat all day.”

Silence. You narrowed your eyes.

“I had coffee.”

“That’s not food, Matt.”

“It was excellent coffee.”

You stared at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

A tired laugh escaped him quietly. Matt leaned his head back briefly against the couch cushion afterward, exhaustion pulling visibly at the corners of his expression now that he’d stopped fighting it quite so hard.

“You know,” he murmured, voice lower now from fatigue and the wine, “this is probably the best part of my week.”

Your chest tightened immediately and you looked over.

Matt seemed to realize what he’d admitted a second too late. A faint almost embarrassed smile touched his mouth afterward. “Which is a very compelling argument for me needing better hobbies.”

“I mean you already collect vinyl and lurk in jazz clubs.”

“I said better hobbies.”

You laughed softly. Matt smiled too. And god, it kept hitting you unexpectedly how lonely he must’ve been before this. Not because nobody wanted him, that part was obvious. Women probably threw themselves at him constantly.

Your gaze drifted slowly around the apartment again, immaculate surfaces, carefully arranged books, the giant beautiful kitchen apparently nobody used.

Until tonight.

“So what about you?” Matt asked quietly.

You blinked. “What about me?”

“You spend a lot of our time asking me questions.”

“You’re interesting.”

“That feels evasive.”

You smiled into your wine glass. “What do you wanna know?”

Matt turned fully toward you then, one arm still stretched comfortably along the back of the couch behind you. “Tell me more about your art.”

And despite the long day and the wine, and the dangerous warmth of him beside you, talking became easy.

You told him about your favorite shoots. Street photography, the way New York looked at four in the morning after rain. Gallery shows accepting your paintings or photos when you got lucky and having awful clients more often than you liked to admit. Matt listened to all of it carefully.

You realized after a while that his eyes had drifted shut sometime during your story about sneaking into abandoned buildings for a film photo project in college.

Not asleep, just listening.

“You’d like it,” you said quietly. “The darkroom stuff especially.”

Matt smiled faintly without opening his eyes.“You say that like I’ve never developed film before.”

Not to be rude but what? You stared. "You’ve... developed film before?”

A tiny smug smile appeared. “College elective.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

You laughed in disbelief.

Dinner plates sat abandoned on the coffee table by the time you both finally finished. Sam Cooke now drifted through the apartment. And beside you, Matt looked like he was hanging onto consciousness through sheer force of will.

One hand rubbed absently at the back of his neck while he leaned back on the couch cushions.

“Okay,” you said. “You look miserable again.”

A tired laugh escaped him. “I thought I was hiding it well.”

“You haven’t opened your eyes in like twenty minutes.”

Matt huffed softly through his nose. He rolled one shoulder slowly, tension visibly pulling through his upper back.

Without really thinking too hard about it, you set your wine glass down. “C’mere.”

Matt tilted his head slightly toward your voice. “…What?”

“Sit forward.”

Another tired huff. then Matt shifted forward.

You moved behind the couch carefully, leaning slightly against the cushions while your hands hovered awkwardly for one uncertain second over his shoulders. And then you touched him.

Your fingers pressed slowly into the tense muscle at the tops of his shoulders. “Oh my god,” you whispered automatically. Matt let out a quiet breath through his nose.

"That bad?"

“You feel like concrete.”

“A promising diagnosis.”

“You’re horrible at taking care of yourself.”

“...I know.”

You worked slowly after that. Carefully your thumbs pressed deeper along the tight knots near his shoulders while Matt sat unnaturally still beneath your hands at first.

His head lowered slightly, tension easing inch by inch beneath your palms. The occasional quiet exhale when you found particularly bad spots. The sounds he made were going to kill you. Nothing particularly vulgar. Just soft involuntary breaths, the smallest grunt when your fingers dragged firmly along the base of his neck. Way too attractive for a shoulder massage.

You swallowed hard and kept going.

Matt’s head tipped back slightly when your fingers worked higher into the tense muscles along the back of his neck.

His voice came quieter now. “You’re very good at this.”

“My mom gets migraines,” you murmured. “I used to help.” A soft hum of acknowledgment vibrated low in his chest.

Your bracelets clinked faintly near his ears every time your hands moved. The sound mixed with the old music and rain beginning softly against the windows outside.

Matt had stopped pretending to hold himself upright at this point. Broad shoulders relaxed beneath your hands while he leaned heavily into the couch cushions.

Then your fingers drifted lightly into his hair near the nape of his neck and he inhaled sharply. Your stomach flipped instantly. Oh. Sensitive there.

You slowed instinctively, nails lightly scratching against his scalp. Then a rough exhale left him quietly. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.

Heat flooded your face immediately. “You okay?”

“Mm.”

Which was not an actual answer. You bit back a smile. “Poor baby,” you teased softly. “You really were stressed.”

Matt laughed weakly under his breath. “You have no idea.”

Your fingers continued slowly through his hair. And somewhere during the next few minutes Matt stopped talking altogether.

His breathing deepened, head tilting slightly into your touch unconsciously every time your fingers scratched lightly near the base of his skull. Like he couldn’t help it.

You looked down at the broad line of his shoulders finally relaxed. The exhaustion softened from his face. The silver threaded through dark hair beneath your fingertips. And something warm and strangely tender settled painfully in your chest.

Your hands slowed eventually, but his head remained limp in your hold. You blinked.

“…Matt?”

Nothing.

You leaned over slightly to peek around his shoulder and immediately melted.

Fast asleep. Still sitting there on the couch with his head tipped slightly forward and one arm sitting loosely across his stomach. Actually asleep.

You stared at him for a second in disbelief. “Oh,” you whispered. You stood there a while just looking at him.

Honestly, it was kind of adorable. Matt Murdock, sharp-tongued lawyer, ridiculously composed older man, fully knocked out from pasta and a shoulder massage. You smiled helplessly to yourself. Then carefully reached for the throw blanket folded over the back of the couch.

Matt shifted faintly when you draped it gently over his shoulders, brow creasing slightly before relaxing again.

You forced yourself to move before your brain melted any further, lest you begin to coo.

The kitchen still held the warmth and smell of dinner when you returned. You started cleaning quietly. Water running softly and dishes clinking gently.

And while deciding how to pack away leftovers, you paused. There was still a decent amount of pasta left. Enough for a few meals. You eyed the expensive immaculate kitchen suspiciously. There had to be some.

You opened cabinets until you found glass meal prep containers tucked neatly into one corner. Rich people meal prep containers. Of course. You portioned the pasta automatically, there was enough for three.

You were halfway through washing the last pan when you heard movement behind you. The blanket shifting, a sleepy inhale.

Footsteps carried quietly against the hardwood.

You glanced over your shoulder. Matt stood near the edge of the kitchen now looking adorably disoriented for a man usually so composed. His hair was slightly messy from sleep and shirt somehow even further wrinkled. Still blinking awake. You almost died on the spot.

“Hi,” you said softly.

Matt frowned faintly. “…Did I fall asleep?”

“A little.”

“A little,” he repeated dryly.

“You were tired.”

Matt rubbed a hand slowly over his face. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“You’re allowed to sleep in your own apartment, you know.”

“I invited you over.”

“And?”

“And you are currently doing dishes.”

You looked down at the sink innocently.“These dishes?” Matt sighed softly like you were impossible. “You shouldn’t be cleaning. You already cooked."

“You paid for the groceries.”

“And?”

You huffed in response. Matt stepped closer into the kitchen, still visibly waking up. “I don’t want you feeling like you have to take care of everything.”

“I know.” I’m doing it because I want to.

You dried your hands slowly on the kitchen towel before nodding toward the fridge. “I put the leftovers away, by the way.”

Matt's brows furrowed slightly.

“There’s enough for tomorrow, and the rest of the week." you added.

A tiny pause. “…Tomorrow?”

You smiled faintly. “I packed you lunches.”

Absolute silence. Matt just stared, unfocused eyes landing vaguely in your direction like his brain had stopped functioning again.

You bit back a smile. “They’re in the fridge,” you continued softly. “Top shelf on the left.”

So quietly he spoke, “You packed lunch for me?”

“You don’t eat enough.”

“That’s not-"

“You admitted coffee counts as a meal to you.”

Matt looked genuinely caught between embarrassment and something dangerously close to emotional turmoil. Which honestly made him even cuter.

“I didn’t braille-label them though,” you added sheepishly. “Sorry. I didn’t know if you had a system.”

Matt’s mild distress melted into an amused smile. “A very meticulous system, yes.”

The fridge earlier had looked absurdly organized: containers labeled neatly in braille, everything placed with obvious precision. And now your leftovers sat inside it too.

Matt remained quiet for a long time.

“Thank you.”

taglist: @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21 @superherosdystopiafreak @sa1ky @peterftpercy @miriamckle

[lilacmurdock]

Sugar, Please - Chapter Three

previous chapter I series masterlist | next chapter

artist!reader × sugardaddy!matt

chapter summary: matt takes you to a jazz club.

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

notes: two uploads in one day yayyy. would you guys prefer if i staggered chapter releases weekly/biweekly? i have several ready to undergo final edits but i'm not sure if i should hang onto them while i continue working on the rest of this series.

word count: 2.8k

Matt’s text arrived a little after six.

Matt: Dress nicely tonight.

I’m taking you somewhere with live music. I’ll pick you up at eight, if that works for you.

You stared at the message for an embarrassingly long time. Dani noticed your expression from the couch almost instantly. “Oh no,” she said slowly. “That’s a face.”

You held up the phone silently. She read the message then looked at you with devastating calm. “You’re gonna fall in love with that man," you rolled your eyes, “Second of all, wear the black one.”

At seven-thirty, your entire bedroom looked like a department store exploded. Three dresses abandoned across the bed. Shoes chucked into random corners, and jewelry was scattered across your desk beside camera lenses and half-dead plants.

Meanwhile Dani sat cross-legged against your headboard providing entirely unhelpful commentary. “That one just says ‘I’m hot.’”

You glared while holding another dress against yourself. “And the black one says?”

“That you’re hot and devastating gorgeous. It’s the silk, babe.”

And honestly? The silk was doing a lot of heavy lifting. The dress skimmed over your body perfectly, soft fabric hugging your waist and hips without feeling too formal.

Pretty. Like the kind of woman who absolutely belonged in places with cloth napkins and expensive cocktails. You fixed your hair a little after that. Kept your makeup soft. And then the bracelets. Thin delicate bangles stacked loosely at your wrist that clinked softly whenever you moved.

Dani narrowed her eyes immediately. “Oh, that’s intentional.”

“What? They’re cute.”

“You realized the blind lawyer likes sound.”

Heat rushed into your face instantly. “I did not- I wear these all the time.”

She cackled and you threw a glare in her direction.

Then came perfume. Warm vanilla layered with bright fruity notes, sweet enough to feel soft, not overpowering. You sprayed lightly at your wrists and throat.

Your phone buzzed against the vanity.

Matt:

I’m downstairs.

You ignored Dani's vulgar parting comments and grabbed your purse before you could spiral any further. The elevator ride downstairs felt suspiciously like impending doom.

Through the glass doors of your apartment building you saw the car first. Black town car of course. A driver sat waiting inside while city lights reflected off polished paint.

And in front the car was Matt. One hand tucked into the pocket of a dark coat, the other resting lightly against his cane. God. The man had no business looking like that.

And the second your heels clicked across the pavement, his entire attention shifted toward you. You saw the exact moment he started piecing you together, the sharp rhythm of your heels, the faint clink of bracelets, the whisper-soft sound of your dress against your legs.

A tiny inhale, and then his mouth curved. “Hi,” he said.

Heat crept up your neck. “Hi.”

For half a second neither of you moved. Then Matt tilted his head slightly toward you.“You changed your perfume.”

“…What?”

“It’s different from the other night.”

You suddenly became acutely aware of every inch of your body. “It’s weird that you noticed that,” you managed weakly.

A soft laugh escaped him as he folded up his cane. “I’ll pretend not to take offense to that.” The smile lingering around his mouth said he absolutely enjoyed how flustered you sounded.

He opened the car door then, but before you could slide inside, Matt’s hand found the small of your back lightly. Your entire nervous system lit up instantly.

“You seem nervous,” he observed quietly.

“You keep saying things.”

“That’s usually how conversation works.”

You narrowed your eyes at him while climbing into the car and he laughed softly behind you. That lovely sound followed you all the way through the rest of the night.

The jazz club was underground. Literally.

The driver dropped you and Matt near a narrow stairwell tucked between two old brick buildings, warm music drifting faintly up toward the street.

Inside felt like stepping into another decade. Dark leather booths and low amber lighting. Tiny candlelit tables were crowded close together and the soft clink of glasses could be heard beneath the band warming up onstage.

It was sexy. Can a physical space be sexy?

You guided Matt carefully through the crowded room, your hand still looped around his arm while people shifted around you in a blur of expensive coats and low conversation.

And maybe it was the lighting or the music already humming through the floorboards, but tonight felt different from dinner last week. More intimate.

The hostess led you toward a tucked-away curved booth near the stage. A small booth. Very small. Matt slid in beside you instead of across this time, likely because there physically wasn’t enough room otherwise.

The second he settled next to you, warmth radiated along your entire side. God. The booth forced your thighs dangerously close together. One shift and your knee brushed his. Neither of you acknowledged it or moved.

A waitress appeared quickly with cocktail menus and a list of tonight's small plates. Matt tilted his head toward you slightly. “What sounds good?” The candlelight flickered softly across the sharp line of his jaw while you scanned the menu.

“Patatas bravas,” you decided. “And maybe the garlic shrimp?”

“Good choices.”

“You haven’t even checked the menu.”

“I trust your judgment.”

Your stomach did an annoying little flip. The waitress asked for each of your drink orders. Matt ordered whiskey. You quickly picked something citrusy and sparkling mostly because you were trying very hard not to think about how close his shoulder was to yours.

The music started fully a few minutes later. Smooth saxophone, a cello, warm piano curling through the room.

And beside you Matt melted into it. You felt his entire body loosen slowly as the set continued. The tension he carried so constantly seemed to unravel piece by piece with the music. His fingers tapped lightly once against his glass. Head tilted toward the stage. His posture softer than you’d ever seen it. He looked beautiful.

“You really love this,” you murmured. The music was loud enough now that you had to lean closer for him to hear and your shoulder brushed his as you spoke. Matt turned slightly toward your voice. And suddenly you were very aware of how close your faces were.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. His voice sat low beneath the music.

You swallowed. “My mom used to play records constantly when I was a kid,” you said. “Old jazz. Soul. Random stuff from thrift stores.”

A smile touched Matt’s mouth. “You collect vinyl?”

You blinked. "You do too?"

“Mm.”

Something delighted immediately lit up inside you. “No way.” Matt laughed softly at your excitement. “What?”

“You don’t seem like a vinyl person.”

“What does a vinyl person seem like?”

“I don’t know. Less…” You gestured vaguely toward him. “Serious.”

That earned a real laugh from him. Low and rough and close enough that you felt the rumble.

“I’ll have you know my collection is very pretentious.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s true.”

“How many records?”

Matt looked almost sheepish suddenly. “…A few hundred.”

You stared at him. “A FEW HUNDRED?”

“I’ve been collecting for a long time.”

“You rich people are unbelievable.”

“You said you own records too.”

“Yeah, like twelve.”

“Twelve good ones?”

You smiled despite yourself. “Very good ones.”

The waitress returned with drinks and small plates, interrupting whatever dangerously comfortable thing was building between you. And the food was incredible.

At one point you reached for the same plate at the exact same time as Matt and your fingers brushed.

His hand stilled instantly beneath yours and for one suspended second neither of you moved. He pulled his hand away. Then Matt shifted slightly, his arm sliding along the back of the booth behind you as he leaned closer instead. Close enough now that warmth radiated steadily beside you.

The silk of your dress whispered softly when you shifted, and it brushed lightly against the back of Matt’s hand. A subtle inhale left him and his hand flexed once lightly against the booth behind you. Oh. He likes it. You had to be radiating an impossible amount of heat with the constant blushing tonight.

The band transitioned into something slower then, sax low and aching through the room while conversation around you softened. You leaned closer instinctively so he could hear you as you both spoke over the music. Your thigh pressed against his fully this time.

Matt turned slightly toward you, face close enough now that his breath was warm on your ear when he spoke. “You smell good.”

Your entire brain went blank. Heat flooded your face instantly. “You’re doing that on purpose now,” you whispered weakly.

Matt chuckled warmly. “No,” he admitted.

You turned slightly toward him then, a little too quickly. Your faces ended up dangerously close. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips for one lovely suspended second.

Matt froze beside you. The music swelled around the booth. Bass vibrating softly beneath your feet. And for a moment you really thought he might kiss you.

Instead, he leaned back first. But his arm remained behind you along the booth.

The second round of drinks arrived with another spread of tiny plates you definitely could not pronounce correctly. The jazz band shifted into yet another song while candlelight flickered softly across the booth.

And beside you, Matt looked unfairly attractive. Honestly it was becoming irritating. The low amber lighting caught the silver at his temples and along the neatly groomed edge of his beard whenever he turned toward you. His sleeves were still rolled slightly from earlier, exposing strong forearms beneath the dark fabric of his shirt. And the way he smelled. Subtle cologne, whiskey on his breath.

“You’re staring again,” Matt murmured beside you.

Your stomach flipped. “How could you possibly know that?”

“You went quiet.”

“That’s not evidence.”

“It usually is.”

You narrowed your eyes at him while he smiled faintly into his glass. Annoying. Your gaze dropped toward the amber liquid in his hand.

“Can I try that?”

Matt tilted his head slightly toward you. “The whiskey?” A small amused smile touched his mouth. “You’re going to hate it.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.”

You scoffed softly and reached for the glass anyway. Matt let you take it carefully from his hand. Your fingers brushed briefly against his. Warm. You ignored the tiny jolt and lifted the glass for a cautious sip and immediately regretted it.

“Oh my god,” you coughed softly.

Matt laughed instantly. Not the restrained little huffs he usually let out. A real laugh. Warm and low and genuinely amused beside you.

“That bad?”

“It tastes like a bookshelf.”

He laughed harder. “A bookshelf?”

“And paint thinner.”

Matt was still smiling when he took the glass back from you, fingers brushing yours again in the process. The sight of his mouth curved around that amused smile did something deeply unfortunate to your nervous system. Especially when he leaned closer afterward.

“You made a sound like I poisoned you.”

“You basically did.”

“This is a very expensive whiskey.”

“Tasted expensive,” you admitted solemnly. “Like haunted wood.”

Another laugh. You liked making him laugh far too much.

The waitress returned briefly with a dish of chocolate-covered strawberries beside two small glasses of deep ruby port wine. Your eyes widened immediately. “Oh, those are dangerous.”

Matt tilted his head “Well, you already survived the bread pudding incident.”

You groaned softly. “You’re never letting that go, are you?”

The warmth in his answering chuckle wrapped around you like velvet. You reached for one of the strawberries automatically, only to pause when Matt did the same.

Your fingers brushed again. This time you moved yours away immediately. Matt’s hand remained still for one second too long. Slowly his fingers closed around the strawberry.

He took a bite first, and maybe it shouldn’t have mattered. Maybe it shouldn’t have felt intimate. But watching his mouth nearly killed you.

Then Matt turned the bitten strawberry toward you. “Here,” he said quietly. “This one's really sweet.” Oh, Jesus. Heat flooded your face instantly. His mouth had just been there.

The jazz music swelled warmly around the booth while you stared at the strawberry like it might kill you. Matt waited patiently beside you. Your heart pounded stupidly as you finally leaned forward and took the offered bite.

Chocolate.

Strawberry.

Wine from his lips.

A pleased hum slipped out before you could stop it. He chuckled quietly beside you, setting the stem back onto the plate.

Matt leaned back slightly afterward, his arm still stretched along the back of the booth behind you. Close enough that the backs of his fingers continued to occasionally brushed the silk at your shoulder whenever either of you moved.

“So,” you said eventually, mostly to save yourself from combusting, “how’d you even find this place?”

Matt turned his whiskey glass slowly between his fingers. “I come here after work sometimes.”

“By yourself?”

“…Usually.”

Your chest tightened immediately. Because now you could picture it too clearly, Matt alone in this dim little jazz club after impossible days. Just sitting quietly with a drink and music instead of going home.

And the worst part was he didn’t even sound sad about it. Just accustomed to it.

Matt exhaled softly through his nose. “It was easier sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “Staying out for a while.”

“Instead of going home?"

“Yeah.”

The honesty of it settled warmly and painfully between you. You stared quietly at him too long. And maybe he felt it because his head tilted slightly toward you after a minute.

“Dating was never really the difficult part,” he said quietly. Your stomach tightened as you watched a faint smile ghosted across his mouth. “Keeping people close,” he admitted. “Without disappointing them.”

The vulnerability in that answer hit harder than you expected. Especially sitting here beside him, close enough to feel his warmth. Realizing how lonely he must’ve been before this. Before you.

The drive back felt quieter than the jazz club. The kind of quiet that settles after good music and wine and too much eye contact -on your part- in low lighting.

City lights blurred across the tinted windows in gold streaks while the car moved smoothly through traffic. Beside you, Matt sat relaxed against the leather seat. Warm liquor lingering faintly around him beneath cedar and expensive cologne.

He smelled really good.

Matt turned his head slightly toward you “You got quieter.”

You smiled faintly. “So did you.”

A small hum of acknowledgment.

Your bracelets clinked softly when you adjusted against the seat. Matt’s hand rested nearby along the leather between you both. Very close to yours The car turned sharply enough that your fingers brushed accidentally.

“Sorry,” Matt murmured automatically. But he didn’t move his hand away.

You looked down briefly toward where your fingers still touched lightly in the dim glow from outside streetlights. Then back toward him. “You don’t seem very sorry.”

For half a second Matt looked caught off guard. Then a smile curved at the corner of his mouth.

His fingers shifted carefully against yours after that. Like he was giving you room to pull away. You didn’t, he continued slowly until your fingers linked loosely together between the seats.

Your pulse shot up immediately. His hand was so warm. Large. Matt exhaled quietly beside you.

Neither of you spoke for a while after that. You just sat together in the dim backseat while the city passed outside and your joined hands rested warm between you.

By the time the car stopped outside your apartment building, your heart was beating entirely too fast. The driver stepped out first to open the door for you both. Matt let go reluctantly.

Cool night air wrapped around you both as you stepped onto the sidewalk. Your heels clicked softly against the pavement while you guided Matt toward your building's entrance.

And then your ankle twisted slightly.

“Shit-”

Your heel had caught unevenly against the curb. Before you could fully stumble, Matt’s hand caught your waist firmly. His other hand braced your arm. Matt’s fingers twitched once unconsciously against your waist.

“You okay?” he asked, voice lower than before.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah, thanks.”

Matt loosened his grip carefully after another second, though his hand lingered at your side for just a moment too long before finally letting it fall away completely. It was another moment before he spoke.

“I had a really good time with you.”

Something warm cracked open in your chest a little. You stepped closer before you could overthink it. One hand found his arm lightly first, letting him know where you were.

Then you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek. Warm skin and the faint roughness of his beard under your lips.

A tiny caught breath.

You pulled back just enough to see Matt completely short-circuit. A faint flush touched high along his cheekbones beneath the streetlights while his mouth parted slightly like he’d forgotten what he planned to say.

Then finally, “…Goodnight,” he managed.

You smiled helplessly. “Goodnight, Matt.”

For one suspended second longer, neither of you moved. Then he laughed softly under his breath and finally turned back toward the waiting car.

taglist: @muffinbrown @rowancp @princess-aurora-varient @quicksilver21

[lilacmurdock]

Sugar, Please - Chapter Two

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt

chapter summary: you and matt have a meeting at his firm.

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

notes: uploads should be pretty frequent for now since i already have a few chapters ready for editing! also we get a little matt pov here at the end (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

word count: 3.3k

Nelson, Murdock & Page was exactly what you expected. Elegant without being flashy. Warm lighting, dark wood, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Hell’s Kitchen glowing golden-red in the early evening. You stood awkwardly in the lobby clutching your tote.

The receptionist smiled politely when you introduced yourself. “Mr Murdock's expecting you."

Your stomach flipped a little, everyone here already knew and respected him. He was a successful attorney in Manhattan, not some mysterious app cryptid living in a cave. Still. The reminder made everything feel suddenly more real. The receptionist guided you down the hallway

Most of the firm had emptied out already, the space quieter now except for the distant murmur of voices and the occasional ringing phone somewhere deeper inside.

You heard his voice first, low and focused. Warm. “…I’ll review the notes before tomorrow morning. Thank you, Angela.”

And there he was. Standing near his office doorway in a crisp dress shirt, one hand resting lightly against the frame as he spoke. Your breath caught slightly. Without the jacket, he looked broader somehow. Matt turned his head at the sound of your footsteps. You thanked the receptionist quietly before she left the two of you.

His expression softened at once. “Hi,” he said, and somehow the simple word still carried that same careful warmth from yesterday. “You found the place okay?”

“Eventually,” you admitted. “Your lobby alone is bigger than my entire apartment."

A quiet laugh escaped him. Matt stepped aside slightly, gesturing toward his desk.

His office was beautiful. Bookshelves full of braille copies. Dark furniture and the faint smell of coffee and cedar.

And on the desk sat a neatly organized folder. Your mouth twitched immediately. “Oh my god,” you said. “You printed it and everything." Matt sounded vaguely defensive already. “I thought digital signatures felt impersonal.”

“You are such a lawyer.”

“I’m trying not to take that personally.”

You laughed under your breath as he guided you toward the seating in front of his desk.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Matt said gently as you sat down. “I’m not nervous.”

“I can hear you twisting your rings.”

You looked down immediately. Right. Matt smiled faintly. “For what it’s worth,” he admitted, settling into the chair across from you, “I’m also nervous.” That startled a laugh out of you.

“You? You cross-examine people for a living.”

“Yes,” he agreed dryly. “And a shockingly different environment.”

You laughed despite yourself, and he relaxed a little at the sound. He liked making you laugh. You were beginning to realize he liked it a lot. Matt reached for the folder carefully, fingers brushing along the tabs with practiced familiarity before sliding it toward you. The contract was immaculately organized and labeled.

As you read through it aloud, warmth slowly bloomed low in your chest. Every concern, boundary, and awkward conversation from yesterday carefully reflected back at you in clean legal language.

Minimum of one meeting per week, more preferred if schedules permitting. Allowance provided consistently regardless of occasional unavoidable scheduling conflicts. All dinners, travel, entertainment, and event-related expenses covered by Matthew. Wardrobe accommodations provided as necessary for formal functions.

Physical and emotional affection only within mutual boundaries.

Confidentiality respected by both parties.

And: Exclusivity mutually agreed upon by both parties during the duration of the arrangement which may be terminated by either party at any time.

Your eyes lingered there for a second. Matt sat quietly while you read, though you could see tiny tells of nerves. There was a subtle tap of his thumb against his coffee cup.

“This is…” You laughed softly once. "well made.”

His shoulders loosened slightly. “I was aiming for thorough, not terrifying.” You smiled and kept reading aloud until:

Allowance:

$2,500 monthly.

You blinked once. Matt noticed your silence immediately. “If that number feels inadequate,” he said at once, voice careful now, “I’m completely open to adjusting it. You looked up too fast.

“What?”

“The allowance.”

“No, I know what you meant, I just-” You stared at the page again. A tiny crease appeared between his brows. Not enough, was what he thought.

Oh my god.

“It's not too little,” you blurted quickly. “Jesus, no. I just didn’t expect…” You laughed uncomfortably.

Matt went very still and you cleared your throat quickly before he could offer you another alarming amount of money. “This is fair,” you said firmly. He remained silent another moment, head tilted, before nodding once. "Okay."

You signed first. Your signature looked almost juvenile beneath all the formal legal language. He signed after you and set the pen down carefully. Silence settled for a moment afterward. It should’ve felt transactional but it felt strangely intimate.

Matt exhaled softly. “Well,” he said, voice quiet, “I think that officially makes us…” He paused. “I actually don’t know what proper terminology people use for this.” You burst out laughing. “You sound eighty years old.”

“I feel eighty years old.”

“You put a sugar baby contract in a leather folder.” You laughed again, and Matt smiled fondly at the sound. His expression sent warmth creeping into your face.

Instead of ending the meeting like you'd assumed, Matt lingered. One hand resting on the folder. “So,” he said after a moment, sounding unexpectedly sheepish now, “since you’re already here…”

You smiled immediately. Oh. He didn’t want you to leave yet. “Would you maybe want to get dinner right now?” he asked. “If you’re not busy." You stared at him for half a second before grinning. “Matt.”

“Hm?”

“Dinner is literally part of the arrangement now.” A laugh slipped out of him, low and and warm. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The first thing you learned after officially becoming Matt Murdock’s sugar baby was that the man was gentlemanly. To the point it almost became distracting. The second you both stepped out of the office building, Matt paused beside the curb and turned toward you. “If you’re comfortable with it,” he said carefully, lifting one arm a little.

Your stomach flipped unexpectedly. It was such a small thing, and yet the second your hand settled lightly on his arm, warmth flooded up your spine so fast it felt embarrassing. Matt’s sleeve was soft beneath your fingers. His bicep so unbelievably solid.

“There’s a step,” you murmured automatically as you rounded the sidewalk.

“Mm, thank you.” Matt smiled faintly beside you. “Usually I'll hold on to my law partner, Foggy, if he’s nearby.” A pause. “Though he’s significantly less polite about it.”

“I’m incredibly polite," you quipped. A quiet laugh escaped him. His shoulder occasionally brushed lightly against yours while navigating the crowded sidewalk. He eventually let you know the restaurant was just up ahead and you stopped dead on the sidewalk. “Matt.”

“Hm?”

“What the fuck.”

He smiled slightly, “You don’t sound very pleased.”

“This place has a doorman.”

“And?”

“And I can’t afford places with doormen.”

“You don’t need to.”

Oh. Okay.

The two of you were ushered in. Low golden lighting, white tablecloths. There was soft piano music somewhere further inside. You became painfully aware of your boots and tote bag. Meanwhile Matt moved through the space with effortless familiarity.

One server greeted him in passing, and the hostess clearly knew him. She led you both toward a private corner table. Matt reached a hand out searchingly, then pulled your chair out for you automatically before taking his own seat across from you.

“Thank you,” you said weakly.

“You’re welcome.” Like treating you gently was the easiest thing in the world.

A waiter appeared almost instantly. “Can I start you both with drinks tonight?”

Matt tilted his head slightly toward you, and you looked down at the cocktail menu. $32 dollar martinis. $40 dollar whiskey pours. You nearly blacked out. “I, um…” You cleared your throat. “Espresso martini?”

“Excellent choice,” Matt said easily. The waiter turned toward him. “And for you, Mr. Murdock?”

“An old fashioned, please.”

Of course. Of course he drank old fashioneds. Once the waiter disappeared, you stared at the menu again and felt your soul leave your body a little more with every line. $58 dollar pasta. $80 steak. Tiny portions with italian words.

You were going to throw up. Matt, meanwhile, looked entirely relaxed as his fingers scanned the braille menu. Which made sense. He probably ate at places like this all the time. You immediately located the cheapest entrée on the menu and latched onto it with instinctual survival.

Matt tilted his head slightly after a moment “You’ve gone very quiet.”

“I’m reading,” you squeaked. A smile tugged at his mouth.

The waiter returned with your drinks. And unfortunately the espresso martini was incredible. Actually life-changing, you'd be taking notes to try and recreate this at work later. “This is really good,” you muttered after the first sip.

Matt smiled into his glass. “That sounded almost accusatory.”

“I don’t trust rich people beverages.”

“You think I brought you here for poisoned cocktails?”

“Potentially.”

His laugh slipped out low and warm again. The waiter took your orders a few minutes later and you chose the cheapest pasta on the menu with the confidence of someone trying not to pass out. Matt was quiet for half a second after he left.

“Is that actually what you want?”

You blinked. “…What?”

“The pasta.”

You stared at him. “Yes?”

A tiny crease appeared between his brows like he was unconvinced. Heat crept into your face immediately. You groaned softly and dropped your face briefly into one hand. Matt’s expression softened instantly. “You really don’t need to choose based on price,” he said gently.

“I know that logically. But I'm having a full-body crisis.”

That earned another laugh from him. Then, quietly, “I want you to enjoy things with me.”

And judging by the subtle satisfaction in his expression whenever the waiter refreshed your drink or placed another appetizer between you, Matt seemed to enjoy taking care of you far more than he knew how to admit yet.

Dinner with Matt turned out to be dangerously easy. Conversation flowed without effort somehow, drifting naturally between teasing and sincerity and stories about terrible clients. Matt, you were discovering, had a dry sense of humor so subtle it sometimes took a second for you to pick up on it.

“And then the judge threatened to hold both attorneys in contempt,” he said calmly, taking another sip of his old fashioned. You stared.

“What was the case about?”

“A parking dispute.”

You nearly inhaled your drink laughing “You’re joking.”

“I really wish I was.” His mouth curved slightly at the sound of your laughter again. And maybe the wine and cocktails were making you emotional, but there was something strangely intimate about watching a man unwind in your company. Especially this man, someone who seemed so composed all the time.

You caught yourself staring once or twice. Okay. Maybe more than once or twice.

Then the waiter returned. “Can I interest either of you in dessert tonight?” You were already preparing to politely refuse when the waiter began listing specials.

Chocolate espresso torte.

Vanilla bean crème brûlée.

Warm dark chocolate bread pudding with bourbon caramel.

Your soul left your body instantly. Because the bread pudding sounded, wow.

The waiter smiled knowingly. “It’s very popular.” Matt’s mouth twitched slightly from across the table. You looked back at the dessert menu. And immediately remembered where you were. Thirty dollars. For bread pudding. Absolutely not.

You cleared your throat quickly and handed the menu back. “I’m good, thank you.”

Matt tilted his head slightly toward you. “You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

The waiter hesitated for half a second like he could physically sense the lie before eventually nodding and stepping away.

“You wanted the bread pudding.”

Heat rushed into your face immediately. “No, I didn’t.”

“You audibly gasped when he described it.”

“I did not.” You groaned softly, leaning back in your chair. Matt was quiet for a second.

“Please let me share a dessert with you.”

Something about the wording hit you directly in the chest. Let me. Like taking care of you was a privilege. The realization made warmth creep slowly up your neck. Across from you, Matt seemed suddenly aware of how that sounded because he cleared his throat lightly afterward, looking almost sheepish.

“If you want to,” he added.

You smiled before you could stop yourself. “…Okay.”

The smile on his face was absurdly endearing. The waiter returned moments later, and Matt ordered the bread pudding.

It might’ve been the best thing you’d ever tasted. The first bite melted immediately on your tongue, warm chocolate, espresso, bourbon caramel. A tiny moan escaped you before you could stop it. Across the table, Matt went very still.

Your eyes widened immediately. “Oh my god."

He picked up his spoon slowly. “That good?”

You covered your face briefly with one hand, mortified. “I forgot other people could hear me.” An amused laugh slipped out of him.

“Well,” he said lightly, “now I’m glad I ordered it.”

By the time dessert plates disappeared and the check arrived, the restaurant had grown quieter around you. The city outside the windows glowing gold and silver beneath the dark sky.

Matt reached for the check immediately, barely glancing at the total before handing over his card with practiced ease. You tried not to look at the number for your own psychological wellbeing.

A few minutes later, the waiter returned everything with obvious appreciation in his voice. “Thank you again, Mr. Murdock. Have a good night.”

Matt smiled politely. Only once the waiter walked away did you notice the tip line and nearly choke.

“Matt.”

“Hm?”

“That tip was like… a car payment.”

“It was not.”

“It was a lot.”

“It was good service.”

“You’re insane.”

A quiet laugh escaped him as he rose from the table. He offered you his arm again. The gesture felt smoother this time. Less tentative.

Outside, the night air hit cool against your skin. Matt unfolded his cane. “Are you sure you want to take the train home?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I’ll walk you.” You smiled helplessly and guided him down the sidewalk.

The walk was much quieter than dinner had been. Comfortable enough that neither of you seemed rushed to fill every silence. Your arm remained linked with his the entire way. By the time you reached the subway entrance, your chest felt strangely tight. Why did saying goodbye suddenly feel complicated? Do i hug him?

He stood facing you beneath the glow of the station lights, one hand tucked loosely into his coat pocket while the city moved around you. “I had a really good time tonight,” you admitted quietly.

The words slipped out before you could overthink them. Matt’s expression brightened instantly. “So did I.”

Matt offered his hand rather formally. You slid your hand into his, his warm fingers closing gently around yours. Your thumb brushed lightly against his knuckles without thinking. Matt inhaled softly before loosening his grip.

“I’ll text you tomorrow,” he said, voice quieter. “About our next dinner.” Your stomach fluttered stupidly. “Okay.” A small smile touched his mouth.

“And for the record,” he added lightly, “I’m still offended you tried to deny wanting the bread pudding.”

You laughed instantly. “There it is. I knew the lawyer was still in there somewhere.”

That low warm laugh again. You were absolutely doomed. Matt tilted his head slightly toward your voice, smile lingering faintly. “Get home safe."

And then he turned and disappeared back into the river of city lights while you stood there smiling like an idiot outside the station entrance.

Dani opened the apartment door before you could even unlock it properly.

“Well?” she demanded immediately. You blinked at her. “Hello to you too.” She grabbed your arm and hauled you inside.

“I’ve been suffering here for HOURS wondering if this mysterious blind lawyer harvested your organs.”

You laughed while kicking your boots off near the door. Dani followed you into the kitchen like an aggressive investigative journalist. “Sit down,” she ordered. “Tell me everything immediately.”

You dropped into one of the kitchen chairs with a groan. “He’s weird.”

Dani’s eyes narrowed. “Weird bad or weird hot?”

“Weird…” You searched for the word helplessly. “Gentlemanly.” Her brows furrowed and you buried your face briefly in your hands. “He opened every door, pulled my chair out at dinner, paid for everything.”

“Wow, he’s evil," she deadpanned. Then Dani narrowed her eyes. "He a good kisser?”

“What? We didn't-”

Dani blinked. "You didn’t kiss him? You had a full sugar daddy date and he got no sugar?”

“I mean he shook my hand goodbye.”

“A HANDSHAKE?”

“He’s just…” You exhaled helplessly. “He’s very formal.”

Your phone buzzed suddenly against the kitchen table. Both of you froze, then slowly looked down.

Payment received: $2,500.

You stared at the screen in stunned silence while your heart began pounding wildly. Rent, groceries, loans, and breathing room.

Another notification appeared.

Matt: I hope you made it home safely.

Thank you again for tonight. I know these circumstances are unconventional, but I enjoyed spending time with you more than I expected to.

Goodnight.

You stared at the message and bit your lip helplessly, trying and failing not to smile at the screen.

Matt’s place was silent when he stepped inside. The city still existed beyond the massive windows stretching across the penthouse, sirens in the distance and faint traffic below. New York humming endlessly beneath the dark.

He loosened his tie slowly as the door clicked shut behind him. The apartment was beautiful in the way expensive things often were. Clean lines and plenty of natural lighting. A kitchen outfitted with appliances he barely used.

After tonight, it felt noticeably quieter than usual. He set his keys carefully into the dish near the entryway before shrugging out of his coat. He paused with a faint twitch of his nose. Still lingering beneath his own cologne and the city air, was your perfume.

Matt exhaled softly through his nose. This arrangement had been designed to simplify things. Something structured and contained. He could enjoy companionship without complications this way.

Instead, he found himself replaying the evening with embarrassing detail. Your laugh in the restaurant, the warmth of your hand around his arm. The tiny sound you made tasting dessert. A smirk tugged briefly at his mouth before he could help it.

Matt crossed slowly through the apartment, fingers loosening the cuffs of his sleeves as exhaustion settled heavier into his shoulders now that he was alone. He hadn’t expected to enjoy your company this much this quickly. Hadn’t expected conversation to flow so naturally, and he definitely hadn’t expected disappointment when you reached your subway stop.

He stopped near the windows overlooking Hell’s Kitchen. His phone buzzed once in his pocket and he fished it out. Nothing important. Not you. The realization annoyed him slightly. He’d seen you less than forty-eight hours ago for the first time.

Matt exhaled sharply once through his nose, cutting the thought off before it could finish forming. Avoidance remained a useful skill.

His thumb brushed once across the edge of his phone before he unlocked it again. He drafted the goodnight text anyway. Matt rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose before finally moving deeper into the apartment. Through the dark hallway, toward the far wall of his bedroom.

To anyone else, it looked seamless. Built-in shelving. Minimal design. Matt’s fingers found the hidden latch automatically, and the quiet mechanical click broke the silence.

The wall shifted inward. The room beyond smelled like leather, metal, and antiseptic. Weapons arranged with practiced precision, medical supplies, the deep crimson suit resting heavily in its place beneath low lighting.

The other life. The real reason conventional relationships had long ago become impossible. Tonight, patrol would be easier, they had been lately. Less frequent too. He was getting tired.

That was another problem. But for the first time in a long time, there was something to look forward to besides work and violence and exhaustion. Someone’s laugh lingering stubbornly in his head. It softened the sharpest edges of the night.

Matt reached for the armor anyway.

[lilacmurdock]

Sugar, Please - Chapter One

series masterlist | next chapter

artist!reader x sugardaddy!matt

chapter summary: your roommate is tired of watching you suffer.

warnings: 18+ for eventual smut, age gap, huge wealth gap, AFAB reader, slow burn, semi-retired daredevil

word count: 3.8k

The apartment smelled faintly like garlic, acrylic paint, and burnt coffee. In all fairness it was pretty indicative of your current lifestyle. You kicked the door shut behind you with more force than necessary, peeling your apron off your body with an exhausted groan as your keys clattered onto the tiny kitchen counter.

“If one more finance bro had called me sweetheart tonight, I would've become a felon.” From the couch, your roommate snorted without looking up from her laptop. “Tough shift?”

“Tough life.” You toed your shoes off near the door, wincing immediately as feeling returned to your feet. Eight hours of fake smiling, cocktail shaking, and pretending drunk men were charming had officially destroyed your will to live. Your roommate finally glanced up. “You made tips, though?” You held up a pathetic wad of bills. “Enough to either buy groceries or buy the new camera battery I need for tomorrow’s shoot.”

“Oof.”

“Yeah.” You opened the fridge anyway, as if the universe might’ve magically restocked it while you were gone.

Half a lime.

Wilted spinach.

Three eggs.

Two packets of soy sauce.

And baking soda.

You sighed and closed it again. "Ramen it is.”

“At least your shoot tomorrow pays.”

“Eventually,” you corrected, irritatedly scrubbing at your face with the sleeve of your hoodie. “After editing. And revisions. And waiting for the client to remember I exist.” Your roommate watched you quietly for a second. You knew that look. “No.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You’re about to.” She slowly closed her laptop. “You’re a beautiful woman with an art degree, and probably seventy-three cents in your checking account. But before you get offended-”

“Too late.”

“-I love you deeply, but I physically cannot watch you live like Oliver Twist anymore.”

You glared at her as the microwave started humming with your ramen. “I knew this was going somewhere stupid.” She had the nerve to look offended. “It’s not stupid.” She grabbed her phone from the coffee table. “You remember that app I told you about?” You stared. “No.”

“Yes you do.”

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Are you talking about the sugar daddy app?”

“It’s not a sugar daddy app, I was simplifying.” She rolled her eyes dramatically and scooted over on the couch, patting the cushion beside her. “Just come look.”

“It’s prostitution, Dani.”

“It’s networking with benefits, and the app verifies their income.”

“That sentence made me lose years off my life.” Your ramen finally beeped. You retrieved and shuffled toward the couch clutching the steaming cup like it was the only stable thing left in your life. Your roommate immediately started scrolling. “It’s not all weird old men.”

“It’s definitely weird old men.”

“Some of them are just rich and lonely.” The app itself looked disturbingly elegant. Dark interface. Minimalist design. Sleek fonts. The app screamed expensive discretion.

An hour later, you were still on the couch. “I can’t believe I’m making a sugar baby profile,” you huffed. “Mutually beneficial companionship profile,” your roommate corrected.

“You sound indoctrinated.”

“You sound poor, for now.”

You glared at her while she sorted through photos in your camera roll with the concentration of a celebrity publicist. “No bikini pictures,” you warned.

“Yes, Mother Theresa.” She cackled while flicking through pictures. The final choices were… actually pretty good. One candid shot of you laughing, camera hanging around your neck. One dressed-up photo from a gallery event in front of some of your work, light makeup, black dress, and a soft smile. One close-up selfie with warm lighting that made your eyes look enormous. They were cute, pretty, a little sexy, but still you.

“Perfect,” your roommate said, tilting her head. “You’re going to destroy these men, or eat them alive.”

“I hope they all explode.”

“See? That’s the spirit.”

You groaned into your hands. The bio took even longer. Every draft sounded so painfully awkward, or like an application for a customer service position. Finally, after twenty agonizing minutes, you settled on something simple:

Photographer trying to make art and survive New York. I love quiet coffee shops, old movies, bookstores, live music, and conversations that actually mean something. Looking for transparency, kindness, and a connection that feels comfortable for both of us.

You stared at it. Then at your roommate. The glowing “publish profile” button seemed to mock you. “This feels wrong. I feel like my ancestors are judging me.”

“Your ancestors were lucky to make it to thirty and not die of dysentery. They would appreciate you living your life. Hit the button.” You laughed despite yourself. Before you could think too hard about it you pressed publish and the screen refreshed. The two of you sat there in silence for a few minutes and in that time you managed to completely psych yourself out. Your stomach dropped. “We need to delete it.”

“No we do not.”

“I’m serious, Dani, I can't do this."

A series of soft pings interrupted you both. Your roommate’s eyes widened theatrically “No fucking way.” She turned the phone toward you.

New messages received: 37

Dani squealed in absolute delight. “Thirty-seven messages in under ten minutes,” she breathed. “You absolute maneater.” You snatched the phone from her hands before she could start opening messages without supervision. You scrolled silently, your stomach twisting despite the snort you let out.

“What?”

“Someone named CryptoKingNYC just offered to pay my rent if I’ll ‘be sweet.’” Dani barked out a laugh. “Hard pass.”

“You think?” You opened another one:

You look like trouble. I like trouble.

“Ew.”

I can tell you’re submissive.

You stared at the screen in horrified silence.

“What does that even MEAN?” you demanded. Dani was fully folded over laughing now. “I don’t wanna know but he sounds like he hosts at least three podcasts.” You dropped the phone onto the couch cushion beside you. “This was a mistake.”

“No, this is educational. Keep going.”

Against your better judgment, you did. The app had apparently alerted every wealthy man within a fifty-mile radius that fresh meat had entered the building. And somehow they were all either divorced, near illiterate, or old enough to remember the moon landing firsthand. One man’s profile picture was just him standing beside a tiger. You were going to lose it. “I think this one’s a cult leader,” you whispered.

Dani leaned over your shoulder and the two of you dissolved into exhausted laughter against the couch cushions. You rubbed your eyes hard enough to smear your remaining eyeliner. This was absurd. Why were multimillionaires suddenly speaking to you like you were a rare collectible item?

You clicked into another profile.

68.

No photo.

Bio all about golf.

“Dani,” you said carefully. “I think this man was present for the invention of color television.”

“You’re being ageist.”

You groaned, dropping your head back dramatically against the couch. “Feels like I’m being hunted for sport.” Dani plucked the phone from your hands before you could launch it across the room “Ooh, wait. This one writes in full sentences.”

“That should not be impressive.”

“And yet."

You leaned over reluctantly as she opened the profile.

Matt M.

51

No picture of him.

Just a very blurred photo of what looked like a whiskey glass beside the sleeve of a dark suit jacket.

“Hm,” Dani murmured.

The bio was short.

Attorney seeking consistent companionship. Mutual respect, discretion, and honesty are important to me. I value intelligence, kindness, and good conversation more than appearances. Clear expectations benefit everyone involved.

You frowned slightly. "How weird. He sounds normal, if a little bit too serious.” If nothing else at least this one seemed interesting. You clicked into the message.

Good evening.

I hope your night’s treating you well. Your profile stood out to me because you seemed genuine, which feels increasingly rare on here.

I’d like to get to know you if you’re interested.

— Matt

Silence. Dani blinked, staring at you expectantly. You kept staring at the screen. No weird petnames or comment about your body. No creepy implication hidden between the lines. Just… polite.

“He writes like he pays all his taxes early,” Dani mused. You snorted while your thumb hovered uncertainly over the screen. The lack of photo should’ve made him feel sketchier. Instead it made him feel more private than secretive.

And the strangest part still was that he hadn’t mentioned your looks once. Nothing. After thirty straight messages from men acting like they were bidding on a mail order bride, the absence felt startling. Refreshing. “No,” you decided suddenly, tossing the phone onto the couch cushion beside you. “Absolutely not.”

Dani stared. “Wow. You like him.”

“I do not.”

“You did the thing. You get this little wrinkle between your eyebrows when you’re intrigued.”

“I’m not intrigued.”

“Right,” Dani said smugly, picking up and shoving the phone back into your hands, “Yet you’re still holding the lawyer’s message open. You should answer him.” Dani watched you expectantly, curled deep into the corner of the couch with your throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders. You looked back down at the phone in your hands. Matt’s message still sat open on the screen, painfully normal among the chaos surrounding it. No sleazy undertones or overinflated ego. It shouldn’t have felt as disarming as it did. “You know what’s weird?” you murmured.

“What?”

“He almost sounds…” You searched for the word. “Nervous.” Dani blinked. “You’re psychoanalyzing the lawyer already.” You ignored her and stared at the blinking cursor in the reply box. This was ridiculous. You didn’t belong on this app. Still, your thumbs started moving before you could overthink it.

Hi.

Honestly, you seem significantly less terrifying than everyone else here, so congrats on that.

And thank you. You seem genuine too.

— Sent reluctantly from my couch while questioning all my life choices.

The second you hit send, you groaned and dropped your head into your hands. You peeked through your fingers in time to watch the typing bubble appear. His response came a few seconds later.

I’m glad I'm less terrifying. The competition seems fairly intense. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think questioning your life choices on a couch is all that unusual.

I’ve done it myself many times.

You stared. The typing bubble appeared again.

To be transparent, I’m new to this.

I’m not interested in making anyone uncomfortable, and I’d prefer we meet somewhere public first to see whether we’re actually a good fit. Coffee or drinks, whichever you’d feel more comfortable with.

Okay. That actually made your chest loosen a little. You tucked your legs beneath you on the couch. “I fear he may be a functioning adult.” Dani snorted. You bit your lip before typing back.

Coffee sounds safer.

His response came almost immediately.

Coffee it is. There’s a place in Hell’s Kitchen called Loft that's pretty quiet in the afternoon. What does your availability look like this week?

You typed more carefully this time.

I’m free tomorrow after four, if that works for you?

The typing bubble paused longer this time.

Perfect, I should also probably give you my number instead of relying on this app.

A phone number appeared beneath the message and you replied with yours. Then, another notification slid across the top of the screen.

Payment received: $300.

You froze, and Dani peeked over your shoulder. Slowly, both of you looked at each other. “What the fuck,” you whispered. Another message appeared beneath it.

For the record, there’s no expectation attached to that. Consider it good faith.

It was the casualness of it, three hundred dollars sent over like it was nothing. Beside you, Dani stared at the screen with wide eyes.

“…Girl.”

By the time four o’clock rolled around the next day, you'd once again convinced yourself this was terrible idea. Possibly several terrible ideas stacked on top of each other wearing a trench coat.

Your photoshoot had gone well, but the exhaustion still clung to your bones as you pushed through the door of the coffee shop with your camera bag hanging heavy against your shoulder.

Loft was warm and quiet. Soft jazz hummed somewhere overhead beneath the muted sound of conversation and clinking ceramic cups. The place smelled like espresso and cinnamon, with lovely dark wood counters and display cases filled with specialty pastries.

You spotted an empty two-person table near the window and sat down carefully, trying not to look like you were one spook away from fleeing the country. Your phone buzzed.

Matt: I’m a few minutes away. I apologize for the delay.

You: No worries. I just got here.

You frowned at the screen before putting your phone down. A snag on your long sleeve top caught your attention and you picked at it nervously.

“Excuse me.”

Your head lifted automatically. And your brain immediately stopped functioning. Oh. The man standing beside the hostess stand was absurdly handsome. Not in an overly polished manner, but sharp. Dark suit, tie loosened slightly at the collar. He had such broad shoulders and a strong jaw dusted with faint greying stubble. A face that looked unfairly good even with visible exhaustion carved beneath it. He was certainly older, but in a way that only made him more attractive. Like time had enhanced him instead of draining him.

And then you noticed the cane. The hostess touched his arm lightly, speaking quietly to him, and he nodded once before turning his head slightly toward the café, red lenses catching the light. Not looking but listening. Ah.

Why he hadn’t commented on your appearance. Why there’d been no profile picture. Why his messages felt so strangely attentive without being visual.

You watched him thank the hostess softly after she gestured vaguely in your direction. He smiled politely and then he walked directly toward you anyway. There was the faintest hesitation near another table, but he was confident in his stride. Your pulse raced with nerves. When he reached the table, he tilted his head slightly. He said your name.

“Hi,” he said, voice warm and low and distractingly beautiful. “You must be my...." He stopped himself and a tiny smirk tugged at his mouth. “Sorry. I realized midway through that I don’t actually know how to finish that sentence without sounding ridiculous.”

A startled laugh escaped you and he visibly relaxed. “You’re Matt,” you managed.

“I am.” He folded up the cane and set it carefully on the edge of the table before offering a hand toward you. “And apparently significantly less terrifying than the rest of this app.”

His hand was warm. Large. Your brain short-circuited briefly during the handshake and you could practically hear the computer reboot chime in your head. You chuckled weakly in response to his quip.

His smile deepened slightly and transformed his entire face. His crows feet became rather prominent with the movement. Oh, he has dimples too. “May I sit?”

“Yeah- Yes, obviously," you squeaked. Smooth.

Matt sat across from you with practiced ease, folding his hands loosely atop the table. The man radiated competence, no ego. Just quiet certainty. “Well,” Matt said after a moment, sounding faintly amused. “I think we’ve successfully completed the hardest part. Actually showing up.”

You laughed again. And once more, that tiny visible release in his shoulders. Like he’d been hoping for that. A server appeared and took your orders, and for a few minutes the conversation stayed easy. He asked about your day. Both of you were born and raised in the city, and he talked about growing up in Hell's Kitchen.

Matt listened in a way that felt so intimate. You never got the impression that he was just waiting for his turn to speak or distracted. It was disorienting. “And you’re a lawyer?” you asked eventually. “I’m afraid so.”

“You say that like it’s terminal.”

“Some days it feels terminal.”

You snorted into your coffee. “Funny.”

“I’ve been told I’m occasionally funny.”

“By your employees?”

A soft laugh slipped out of him then, and for one terrifying second you forgot what this meeting was supposed to be. Suddenly it just felt like… coffee with a beautiful older man who made you laugh.

Matt cleared his throat lightly after a moment. “So,” he said carefully, posture straightening just slightly, “We should probably discuss the reason we’re both actually here.”

There it was. Your stomach tightened a little, and you hummed in agreement. Matt seemed to notice your nerves immediately because his tone gentled. “There’s no pressure attached to any of this,” he said. “I’d rather be overly clear than make any assumptions.” You nodded slowly. “Okay.”

He folded his hands again. “I’m not particularly interested in something… performative and flashy.” A faint pause. “Or purely physical.” You flushed at that addition.

The honesty of it caught you off guard. “I work a lot,” he admitted. “Too much, probably. I don’t really have room in my life for a conventional relationship right now.”There was something distant in his voice suddenly. “But,” he said after a second, “I miss having someone around.”

Matt continued carefully. “I’d ideally like something consistent with someone I enjoy spending time with.” A tiny self-conscious smile touched his mouth. “Someone willing to accompany me to events occasionally so I stop being interrogated by colleagues.”

You smiled and huffed a quiet laugh.

“And in terms of the arrangement itself…” He exhaled softly. “If we decided we’d like to continue seeing each other, I’d prefer a consistent allowance rather than making things feel transactional every time we spent time together.” His hand tightened slightly on the edge of the table.

Your heart skipped a beat and Matt tilted his head slightly then. “There’s one practical thing I should ask,” he said gently. “Are you currently seeing anyone else through the app?”

“No,” you answered honestly. A subtle shift crossed his expression, not relief exactly, but something almost sheepish. “I’m not either,” he admitted. “And if this progressed, I think I’d prefer exclusivity. But that would obviously need be a mutual decision.”

You stared at him for a second too long. Because this was supposed to feel sleazy and transactional. Instead, somehow, it felt strangely… safe. You wrapped both hands more tightly around your coffee cup, staring down at the ruined foam art for a second longer than necessary. Matt waited. “I should probably be transparent too,” you admitted.

“I appreciate that.”

The corner of your mouth lifted slightly. “Of course you do. You’re a lawyer.”

“I’m trying very hard not to sound like one.”

“Well, you’re failing a little.” A soft laugh escaped him. It was like every time you teased him and didn’t immediately run away, he relaxed another inch. You shifted in your chair. “I’m not really…” You searched for the right wording. “I’m not someone who does this kind of thing.” Matt nodded once immediately. “I assumed.” The answer startled you. Was it that obvious you were out of your depth here? “You did?”

“You don’t approach this like someone overly comfortable with it.” Heat crept into your face. “Oh.”

“I didn’t mean that critically,” he added quickly.

“No, it’s okay.” You huffed out a small laugh. “You’re right.” You glanced down again, thumb tracing the rim of your cup. “I went to art school,” you said after a moment. “Photography and painting. Only the first one actually helps pay the bills.”

Matt leaned back slightly, listening with complete focus. “And I love it,” you admitted quietly. “I really do. I know everyone jokes about useless art degrees, but it’s the only thing that’s ever felt right to me.” You swallowed lightly before continuing. “But making enough money from it consistently is…” You laughed once under your breath. “A nightmare, honestly.” Student loans, equipment costs, unpaid gallery submissions. Constant uncertainty. You didn’t elaborate on all of that because somehow you got the feeling he already understood enough.

Matt was quiet for a second. “What do you enjoy most?”

You found yourself answering before you could get self-conscious. Portraits. Street photography. Live music sometimes when you got lucky and landed a gig. Painting was usually landscapes, sometimes abstract. “You talk about it differently than most people talk about work,” he observed softly. You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“There’s affection in it.”

You looked down at your coffee, thankful he couldn't see how much that affected you. “Well,” you muttered lightly, “it’d be concerning if I went into debt for something I hated.”

Matt smiled faintly at that before his posture straightened again slightly, business returning. Like he was carefully guiding both of you back toward safer ground before the chemistry underneath the conversation could surface any further.

“So,” he said gently, “in terms of expectations.” You nodded. He folded his hands loosely atop the table again. “I’d cover all dates, dinners, travel, events, things of that nature,” he explained carefully. “And if there’s an occasion that requires specific attire, I’d obviously handle that as well.”

The matter-of-factness of it made your stomach flip a little. Not because it sounded controlling, it just sounded so natural to him. Like taking care of someone was instinctive. “I don’t expect constant availability,” he said quickly. “You have your own life, work, priorities. But ideally…” A slight pause. “I’d like consistency."

You nodded slowly. “What kind of consistency?” He considered the question carefully before answering. “Maybe seeing each other a couple times a week? Dinner, lunch occasionally. Events when necessary.” His mouth twitched slightly. “Possibly spending time at my apartment eventually, if you were ever comfortable with that.”

“Once or twice a week sounds reasonable,” you answered. Matt nodded once, visibly relieved that you were in agreement. “And if at any point you felt uncomfortable,” he added, “I’d want you to tell me immediately.” God. This man was exhausting.

Then Matt cleared his throat lightly. “There is one thing I should warn you about.” You blinked. “I’m probably going to draft an actual contract.”

You stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. He looked momentarily offended. “In my defense,” he said, fighting a smile now, “clear written agreement prevents misunderstandings." You laughed again, and this time Matt smiled openly in response. It was faint, but real. “I’d include things like confidentiality, expectations, allowance, termination clauses,” he explained, visibly slipping into professional mode to hide his own embarrassment, "nothing hidden."

“You saying ‘termination clauses’ on a coffee date is maybe the least sexy thing anyone’s ever done.”

God. That low rough laugh again. You were in trouble. Matt adjusted slightly in his seat before speaking again. “If you’d like,” he said carefully, “I could have something drafted by tomorrow. You could come by my office and read through it before deciding anything.”

“…Okay,” you heard yourself say.

“Okay,” he echoed.

[kittennextdoor]

(18+) Your man is Mr. #hungwalk ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

Men who have a hung walk are the worst because they never seem to know they're doing it. They just stroll through life with that lazy, unhurried confidence, shoulders loose, chin raised, taking up entirely too much space in your imagination. Every step looks deliberate, like gravity pulls on them a little differently than everybody else.

He walks like his thick, heavy dick is always half-hard and demanding attention. You’ve seen it a hundred times — the way his jeans hang just right, the slight bulge shifting as he moves, the way he unconsciously adjusts himself when he thinks no one’s looking. But you’re always looking; it's hard not to.

Maybe it's the slight spread of his stance, maybe it's pure delusion on your part, but once you notice it, it's over. Suddenly you're watching him cross the room like a detective gathering evidence, trying not to stare while your brain supplies information. The worst part is when he catches you staring, asking you what you're smiling at while you're busy fighting for your life because he just walked across the room like he's being weighed down.

It is even more obvious when he sits down. He drops into a chair, pushes his hips forward slightly to get comfortable, and spreads his legs wide in that effortless man-spread. The thick bulge in his pants shifts heavily with the movement, settling prominently between his thighs like it needs all the room it can get. He leans back, one arm draped over the back of the couch or chair, completely oblivious to how obscene and distracting the whole thing looks.

You can’t help but stare every single time.

[yunyuu]

[bennypbiggestfan]

can we PLEASE NOT NORMALISE STEP SIBLING SMUT GUYS PLEASE WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN

[buddie-romance]

thank you ao3 for being an archive and not an algorithm. thank you for letting me like things without consequences, thank you for being free with no ads, thank you for having lawyers to defend our freedom of speech. thank you tag wranglers. thank you to all authors and thank you ao3

[yunyuu]

DD men and their text pt.2

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

18+ cunniligus with dex where you can't push him away

fem! reader, mdni. 1.9k words. cw: cunniligus, kinda mean dex, slight overstimulation, general filth

Dex is often comparable to a smitten cat: he hates a closed door. He'll mither and pester and bother, do whatever, except wait patiently on the other side of it. He may act like he's been cruelly depraved of your attention, or shunned by you, but really you've just closed it for a moments privacy.

Sort of like right now. You had not long gotten out the shower, and rather than been seen naked and hunched over drying yourself and applying lotions, you decided to close the door to the bedroom for a quick minute. If you shut it quietly enough, Dex won't notice.

But he does. 

That little click of the hinge makes his ears prickle, and in no time at all, you hear feet scuffle on the other side. A small set of knocks follow and then a light cough — like he was clearing his throat. 

"I need to get my charger."

You smile to yourself. The act coming from a place of slight amusement. It was like routine with Dex, when you close the door, he'll pretend he needs something from the other side — make up some kind of ruse in order for you to open it. 

Making your way to his side of the bed, you look inside his nightstand drawer for the charger that's almost always there, though it isn't. The neatly segregated contents void of the charger he claims he needs to collect. And so you adjust the towel still wrapped around you and sit yourself down at the edge of the bed. You glance to the near empty nightstand and to the door, and it's then you decide to toy with him for a moment.

"I'll pass it to you, one second," you tease. You pretend to search and tap your feet on the floor; remaining in place so as to give the illusion you were actually looking. "It's not in here."

"Well," he sighs, seemingly panicking for an excuse. "It is."

"Where is it?" you question, playfully provoking him. "I'll get it."

"Can I just come in?" he remarks, growing annoyance clear in his tone. "I'll be quick," he adds, voice far softer — like he was prompt to correct himself.

You give him a hum in response, but it doesn't have to be particularly loud for him to hear it. All he needs is the slightest possible confirmation in order to open the door. And like it was an instant invitation, he pushes it open and steps inside. 

He lingers in the door frame for a moment, eyes falling from the exposed expanse of your shoulders and down to your bare legs. His gaze reluctantly pulls away for a quick moment and to the kitchen behind him, the hot pans on the stove reminding him of where his prior attention was. Though he's thankful to have been ahead with forethought, and it's when he finally hears the pans reduce to a quiet, inconsistent sizzle, he steps further into the room.

Your eyes meet his, peered up gaze following his stalk like movements as he grows closer and closer. And it's then that he halts, big broad frame pausing in front of you — intense hazel eyes cast down on you below. You were fine playing with him between a closed door, fine to tease when he didn't face you; but to have him directly ahead of you, watchful gaze locked on you, you no longer felt that same sense to toy with him like you did before.

His eyes lower and focus in on your lap for a moment. And it's then his head tilts aside, like you were supposed to know what it means. 

Though you do and you give him a small nod. Again, it was all he needed. 

He bends at the knee and lowers, movement slow and controlled. He's far closer to the level of your eyes, but still, it feels like he's looking down upon you. Dex places his palms on either of your thighs, hands spread wide as he guides your legs apart — separating you. 

The placement of his thumbs lower on either side of your thighs, the pads itching along the inners of each with faint little circles he draws into your skin. He sits further onto the heels of his feet, and it's then he looks up at you, eyes heavy as they study the growing want in your face. 

His gaze soon diverts from you, though yours remains on him — watching him intently as he dips between your thighs, face turning aside so he can press his lips to the inners of one. Breath hot as his mouth ghosts your skin. The trail of his lips rises higher and higher and in it's place, a litter of kisses are left behind. 

Your head involuntarily falls back, and the rest of you then follows. You adjust and push yourself further up the bed, scooching back so as to kindly make some space for Dex between you. He moves with you, lips remaining in place at the inner of your thigh like his mouth is fused to your skin.

Getting comfortable betwixt your thighs, he rests on his elbows — face subsequently itching in closer to your cunt. He shifts his weight a moment, arms coming up from their placement at the edge of the bed to wrap around you; arms encompassing your lower hips. His fingers paw at the squish of your inner thighs, pads sort of pulsing your skin as he pries your legs further apart.

He's slow and teasing. Like he's making you wait the way you did him a few moments before. But really, he's only taunting himself. 

Nuzzling inwards, he presses a kiss to crease of your inner thigh, and then another and another, though the more that follow, the closer they get to your cunt. And by the fourth, maybe fifth kiss he sears into you, his lips reach the ones of your pussy.

Your stomach shudders as a direct response to his touch and it's when you feel your back lift from the sheets, that your hands shoot down and for his hair. Bending your legs, you lift your feet and place them at the edge of the mattress. You hook them, heels digging into that rimmed cuff as an effort to fix yourself more comfortably.

He presses another kiss to you, but this time, slightly higher than the one before. His lips reach your clit and it's there he resumes a small series of faint, and just as lengthy kisses — each one making your thighs beside his head twitch from the gentle care. His tongue extends outwards and he licks a stripe from the middle of your cunt, to where his lips remain just below the mound of your clit.

And he repeats that — doing so over and over and over until all that coats your cunt is a slight sheen of his spit. Before long, those licks turn into suckles; mouth moving deliberately in one spot, focus honed in on where you're most sensitive. Your clit.

With his grip still encompassed over the uppers of your thighs, he adjusts you within his grasp — angling and tilting your hips so as to better nuzzle his face between. You too reposition; altering the placement of your legs so they can trail down the length of his back, the behinds of your thighs pressing into his shoulders, the heels of your feet hooked at his sides.

It's as if you've inadvertently entrapped him, caged him between your thighs. But he's quick to return the gesture — quick to ensure he's just as trapped as you'd involuntarily made him. 

Dex's hold withdraws from your thighs and instead roams upwards, hands flat, thumbs leading the way as he runs up the sides of you, movement slow and intentional. He pauses when he reaches your tits, and it's then that he cups them; holding each nice and firm as he uses them as a way to anchor himself to you. To keep you exactly as is.

His tongue curls between your folds, the once flat muscle now pointed and deliberate as he pushes it through your pussy's lips — pressure slight, yet apparent as it divides you. While his touch is light, your body processes it as anything but, and as the tip of his tongue knocks up against your clit, you jerk against him. Hips winding and bucking a couple times against his face like you had no control over it.

Your nails rake across his scalp, fingers pushing through his hair just moments before you grab fistfuls on either side. While it was an effort of control on your side, it only encourages him, it simply eggs him on to have you respond in such a distinct and albeit, forceful way. 

But there's only so much direct pleasure you can take, especially when his mouth is so concentrated on your nub of nerves. And when he begins to tweak your nipples between thumb and index, you find yourself eager to scamper from the gratification he brings you. 

The height within you hasn't yet been located, but with every lick and suck and kiss he presses into your cunt, you feel yourself aimlessly creeping closer and closer towards it. Though it begins to teeter into too much and your hips shudder against his tongue as a means to escape from the bottomless pit of pleasure.

He doesn't let you far, not when his grip tightens around you.

"No," he murmurs into you, the word muffled yet firm — voice reverberating against your cunt. "Stay."

But as much as you try, you just can't. You react instinctively, body responding through lack of self-control, and it's in the following moment where you feel yourself reach that edge. 

You feel it harsh and fast. 

Your back curves from the sheets as you cry out, panting out nonsensically as he continues to tongue fuck you through it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you choke out, voice strained. Desperate. 

If you thought it felt too much before, you were surely mistaken; just blatantly erroneous. You make attempts to rid him from you — weakened hands pushing at his head, though it's no use, not when he further secures his grasp around you. 

"Keep still."

"Fuck," you whine. It's just shy of a mewl.

But when you really, seriously, genuinely try to flee, he lets up. He releases your shaking shuddering body and slowly stands, emerging from between your thighs. 

Dex leans over you, hands either side of you for support as he lowers atop, face itching in for yours. 

"Dinner's in fifteen," he hums against your lips, the taste of you on his tongue slight.

Even with his mouth ghosting yours, he neglects to press a kiss. Instead he pushes himself away from your bare body below and stands over you. His eyes trail over you a moment before he covers you with the towel that had fallen open from those ten-some minutes of tongue fucking. 

His absence grows larger, and as he heads for the door, he pauses — turning slightly to look back at you. Features stern, sort of like a warning. 

He taps at the door, head tilting so as to firm his expression.

"This stays open."

⎯ ☆ ⎯

I had this vision right, and it was POISONING my mind!!!!! so had to get it out

[vampnstein]

🧢⋆˙⟡ major league baseball pitcher dex !!! ✧જ⁀ ⋆⚾️ིྀ

x celebrity!reader, who throws the first pitch ⚾︎

someone make it happen 🙏

[mattdexx]

WHAT THE FUCK HES SOOOOOOO FUCKING HOT IM ACTUALLY SUPER PISSED AND HORNY OVER IT FUUUUUUUCK 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤🤤😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

[panshan125]

💭