YOU GET IT. MATTHEW MURDOCK IS A BOTTOM. A BOTTOM. we need him sluttier I swear....
Roommate! Matt who habitually walks around in your shared apartment adorned with just your hoodie and his boxers. It’s meant to tease you—to tempt you into touching him. Sometimes, he’d go out of his way to wear one of your shirts and nothing else. His strong, plump thighs would tense up whenever you’re close to him, and he’ll grin the moment he feels your stare. His backside would peak under the material too, and occasionally, his half-hard cock would strain under the fabric that belonged to you.
It’s not like he can help himself. Your items, specifically your clothing, bear your heady, mesmerizing scent, and you smell really good. You can’t expect him to go on ignoring that.
Roommate! Matt who habitually and consensually tugs the waistband of your pants down, especially when you’re trying to focus on something. Don’t blame him, he just needs your cock inside of him too much to the point that you’re fucking him a little more than half of the time you’re with him.
He particularly likes the feeling of his greedy hole swallowing the girth of your cock, his arms curling around your neck. Matt will deliberately clench around you when you don’t look or touch him for a while when he’s cockwarming you, just to get you to pay at least a fraction of your attention to him. If you do get somewhat pissed at him for distracting you, he’ll pepper sweet kisses all over your face as an apology.
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18+ BOTTOM MATT X GN!READER | FINGERING, M’S 1ST TIME
Touch: a cordial vernacular Matt predominantly uses with you in order to express what his words cannot.
The routine between the two of you begins accidentally. It would customarily occur in the form of the back of his hand inadvertently coming in contact with the length of your arm, the sensation of his roughened up skin heartening against yours. Familiarly, he’d apologize, and you’d inform him that it was okay.
More than okay.
A surge of confidence boosts him one day when he’s conveniently seated right beside you, his palm gingerly inching toward your hand until he unexpectedly rests it on top of yours. Matt feigned nonchalance, contrasting with the rhythmic yet harsh pounding of his heart, filled with undeniable nervousness. You didn’t pull away, further emboldening his actions from then on.
At first, it was pure. Merely several exchanges that were innocent.
Until he started to crave the presence of your body, your arms encaging him, your hand toying with him — everything that should’ve alerted him to rid of such feelings and thoughts out of respect for your friendship. But he didn’t.
His inability to not countlessly and shamelessly hint towards his continuously developing feelings for you inevitably led to Matt’s back leaning against the headboard and you kneeling in between his spread thighs.
One of his legs was hanging off the edge of the bed while the other was hiked over your shoulder, leaving him exposed to you. Sweat cracked over his forehead as his hole squeezed tightly around your fingers, to which you clicked your tongue in false disapproval.
“Relax.”
“Can’t,” he huffed, a faint whine bubbling up at the back of his throat.
It felt rather strange in the beginning, but not uncomfortable. The cautious rubbing of the pads of your fingers against his warm walls was enough to get him panting through his mouth, and it didn’t take long until he began to steadily rock his hips.
A pinkish hue tinted his cheeks as his hard cock leaked uselessly of pre-cum; an irrational urge to beg for more rushing to the forefront of his mind.
You were stretching him out so cruelly. He was subjected to the torture of enduring your fingers practically forcing him to be slick and gaping for you, his jaw tightening when you deliberately ignore his sweet spot once more.
“You can’t or you won’t?” You ask, curling your fingers just right.
“Oh- I can’t-!” Matt cries out, his thick thighs tensing up as his hips buck towards you.
He gasps with dread when he realizes his mistake, muttering a panicked ‘no, no, no’ while you slowly slide your fingers out of his puffy entrance, causing him to clamp down around nothing. The emptiness has him groaning in irritation before he feels something wet circling his hole.
It was your tongue.
Matt stifles the pathetic, high-pitched whimper that wants to be let out, his body stiffening in place with visible effort to not shove you down onto the ground and ride your face until he’s nothing but brainless.
