Obstinacy

Summary: You get sick and refuse to let Matt help you because you don’t want him to get sick, too — the question is, how long can you keep him away?

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Warnings: Some gross pneumonia descriptions, light swearing, nothing else!

A/N: So I’ve been away for awhile, and I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been trying to write my own book and I finished the second draft, so taking the time for fan fiction has been on the back burner lately. But of course with the RETURN OF OUR BELOVED KING on She-Hulk, I had to take the time to write something because IM STILL FREAKING OUT GUYS MATT IS BACK AND HES SO AMAZING AND HOT AND ALLSKJF LSDKFJLSKDJFLSDK

You felt the chest pain on your way home from work — the kind that arrived out of nowhere, as though it dropped from the sky into your lungs, and seriously made you wonder how colds were able to work that quickly.

Of course, maybe it wasn’t a cold. You kept your hopes up as you cooked dinner, testing your chest a few times with a few large intakes of breath, but each time was the same result: a small tickle in the back, like a little voice saying, Hey, I’m here, and you’re going to be miserable for the next couple of days!

Which really stunk, if you were being honest. It was getting towards mid-October and you were hoping to carve pumpkins with Matt or do some other corny autumn activity that every other normal couple did in the city. Not that you two weren’t normal. But other couples didn’t really have to contend with the whole I’ll-see-you-later-honey-after-I-beat-up-some-bad-guys-tonight, and you figured it must make movie nights a lot more frequent for most people than it did for you and Matt. That was another thing on your list, too — watching a horror movie to get into the Halloween spirit.

“I’m not into horror movies,” Matt had said when you’d pitched the idea to him. “Audio commentary kind of kills the whole scary aspect.”

“Then you’re watching the wrong movies. I don’t mean movies with gallons of blood and cheap jump scares. I mean psychological horrors, the kinds that make you stay awake at night because they’re that freaky. We’re doing it, Murdock, whether you want to or not.”

Whether you want to or not, however, didn’t include the extenuating circumstances of getting sick.

It took longer than usual to get up the stairs to your apartment. You felt so drained that you wouldn’t have minded showering and then crashing into bed, if you weren’t hungry. The wind rattled at your windows as you cooked a big pot of rice, enough to last the next few days. You’d bought fixings yesterday to make a homemade curry with it, but one look at your pantry and you scrapped those plans in exchange for half a jar of pesto with a dubious expiration date on it. Matt wasn’t supposed to be over until after seven in the evening, thanks to the unforgiving hours of lawyering, but you called him as you stirred the pesto in with the rice.

“I was wondering when you’d call,” he said. His voice was lighthearted.

“Hi,” you said, as casually as possible. “How was your day?”

“I officially reduced the pile of paperwork on my desk from ten inches high to eight inches high, so I’d call it a success. You at your place?”

“Yeah. Hey, I wanted to let you know that I think I’m coming down with something, so maybe you should stay at your own place tonight.” Before Matt could ask, you added, “I’m fine. Just one of the colds that’s going around. But I’d feel horrible if you got it.”

“What about the pumpkins?”

“Pumpkins can wait. I haven’t even bought them yet.”

“Oh.” He sounded disappointed, and your stomach flipped. What a way to boost my self-esteem that he actually likes me. “How about we just don’t share sodas, then?”

You frowned. “Last time this happened, I told you to stay away from me and then you just ended up kissing me. The next day, lo and behold, you started coughing. So, no. Not happening.”

“You kissed me, if I remember correctly.”

“Excuse me? What kind of a lawyer are you? That’s gaslighting, sir.”

He continued, ignoring you. “Maybe I’ll just hear some suspicious noises coming from your apartment tonight. And then I’ll have to investigate, because it’s my civic duty as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. And when I see a beautiful girl, sitting on the couch and pathetically eating rice and pesto alone, I’ll just have to join her. Accidentally, of course.”

“What I’m interpreting from that is that you go cuddle up with any girl that you find eating alone in her apartment.”

“What I’m interpreting is that Matt says he’s doing all these dangerous things at night but really he’s just chilling out while enjoying the lavish praise of being a local superhero,” Foggy said, his voice distant in the background.

You snorted. “Am I on speakerphone?”

“No,” Foggy answered, sounding far too cheerful for someone working far beyond sunset. “Matt just keeps his phone volume weirdly high for someone who supposedly has super-hearing.”

“I do have super-hearing, Foggy.”

“Then how are you not shattering your eardrums? Between your phone volume and crashing at girls’ apartments to eat rice and pesto, I’m really doubting this whole Daredevil façade,” Foggy said.

“Anyway,” Matt cut in, “I’ll pop in tonight, just to bring over some food and meds. Do you want anything specific?”

“Matt, really. I don’t want you catching this. And it’s late, you should get home and actually get some sleep for once. I’m fine, it just feels like a cold.” You would have elaborated, but your chest decided to seize at that moment, and you had to trail off quickly before it became apparent in your voice.

He sort of listened to you that night. He had swung by (through the window? Or with the spare key you’d given him? There was no way to know) and dropped off food, but it was while you were asleep, and it looked as though he’d only gone into the kitchen then left.

You’d only found the food when you wandered in blearily at three in the morning, sweating and freezing at the same time. There was no point for the thermometer; a fever was obvious and you didn’t particularly care what the number was. The cough was worse, though. It made it hard to fall back asleep — every few seconds you’d feel as though your lungs were spasming, and the back of your throat felt as though it had been bitten by fire ants.

Sirens rang in the distance. You hoped it wasn’t for something Matt was involved in; not because you didn’t trust him to handle it, but because it was three in the morning and you’d kick his ass if he wasn’t sleeping at this point.

Then the headache hit you. Maybe you wouldn’t be kicking his ass anytime soon.

The pressure was enough to make you stumble into the counter as you rummaged for a glass of water. Everything about your arms felt off, as though your muscles had been crushed into powder, and you misjudged your grasp on the glass. It fell, crashing to the floor and skating outwards like a nebula of knives. Automatically you reached for the paper towels, and in your haze you stepped forward.

Barefooted.

Glass crunched under your foot and you swore, not at the pain but at your own stupidity. It took another half an hour to bandage up the bottom of your foot and at that point you were too exhausted to finish cleaning up the glass.

When you woke up next, sun was filtering through your curtains and your mouth was as dry as though you’d swallowed ten cotton swabs. Dazed, you picked up your phone, and squinted at the notifications; one missed call from Matt and a followup text. Quickly you sent him an I’m okay message and then fell back onto your pillow.

The fever felt worse. Goosebumps ran up and down your legs, but you were simultaneously sweaty under your sheets, so you threw them off to go shower. Only then did you remember the glass you’d stepped on because your foot protested angrily as soon as you placed it onto the carpet.

Hopping was the only option remaining, and that expended just about every ounce of energy you’d garnered while sleeping, so that you just about collapsed against the bathroom wall, wheezing, by the time you’d made it. And of course that was when your phone rang, so you hopped back to your room, and barely made it in time before it went to voicemail.

“Hello?” you croaked.

“That’s all I need to hear. I’m coming over.”

“I… what?”

“Yeah. You sound terrible, Y/N.” Matt’s voice was overly concerned, and you didn’t like it at all; you could practically feel the pity coming off of him. At least, it felt like pity. And that wasn’t what you wanted.

“Matt, not only will I personally make you rue the day that you step foot in here while I’m sick, but—” You broke off, coughing, and wincing at the same time because you could imagine Matt’s expression on the other end.

“I don’t like talking to you over the phone,” he said in a low voice. “I hate not hearing your heartbeat, hearing your lungs, feeling your temperature. You’re being overruled. I’m coming.”

“Don’t you have to be at the court today?”

“Not until ten.”

Defeated, you flung the phone on the other side of the room. That conversation sucked out everything you had, and you gave up on the idea of taking a shower. The bed looked much more comfortable. It didn’t help that your breaths were getting alarmingly short, and it was difficult to draw in anything more than a quick inhale. Your eyes were closed for about five seconds before they popped back open.

Matt was coming. Damn it, damn it, damn it. You went to the windows and locked them all, then crossed to the front door. He had a spare key, but you also had a bolt, and you slid it across, feeling somewhat proud of yourself for having made the trek to the entryway. The bar is very, very low at this point.

You’d run a marathon right now before letting Matt get anywhere near you. That resolve was the only thing penetrating the fog around your head, and you double-checked the windows again. It wasn’t as though he’d be leaping and climbing up to them, anyway; he was coming from the office, and would therefore be in his lawyer suit. With the number of people down on the streets and the broad daylight, Matt would be hard-pressed to make it up to your fire escape without the newspaper headline being BLIND ACROBAT BREAKING AND ENTERING IN HELL’S KITCHEN the next day.

Sure enough, ten minutes later Matt was outside your door, and his sharp rap on the door did nothing to make you move. You sat at the counter, sipping on some water, and shook your head. “Nope. Not happening.”

“Y/N, I can hear the crackling in your lungs,” he said, his patience more intact than you would have expected. He thinks he’s going to win.

“My lungs aren’t crackling. They’re just… not feeling so hot.” Now overly-conscious of your breathing, you tried to make your breaths smoother and less obviously sick.

There was a pause on the other side of the door. “You’ve got too fast of a heartbeat. Unlock the bolt or I’ll kick the door down.”

“Yeah, my heart’s racing, because there’s a man threatening to kick my door down,” you said, and feeling inspired, you clicked the on button of the remote next to you. The television flashed to life, showing the weather report, and you turned the volume up. Take that, Matt. “See? No more lung crackling or racing heartbeats.”

The only issue was that now you could hardly hear him. You barely made out his next sentence, it was so faint on the other side of the door. “I can still hear both, you know,” he said, muffled. “You know how many televisions there are in the average block of apartments that I have to filter out every single night?”

“Shit.” You shut the television off. “Listen away, then. It’s not going to change anything because I’m not letting you in.”

“I wasn’t kidding about kicking the door down.”

“And I’m not kidding about not letting you in. Plus, you’d have some tough questions to answer when my neighbors report you for kicking down my door, Devil Man.”

“Why won’t you accept help when you need it? You really need a doctor.”

“Hypocrite,” you said under your breath, relishing the fact that he could hear you.

“I can hear you.” Just as you’d expected. “And what I do is irrelevant to the fact that you’re currently sitting in your apartment with what’s probably pneumonia.”

“Oh, it’s not pneumonia,” you said dismissively, though you felt awful enough that he was probably right. At least, your lungs seemed to concur with that diagnosis, and as if to verbally agree with him you coughed, wheezing and choking for air.

“If I didn’t have to be at the court in half an hour, I’d go home and get into the suit just to have an excuse to come through your window right now.” Matt was pissed, that was for sure. There was a dangerous undertone to his voice, softened only by that ever-present concern in what he was saying.

“I know, Matt.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s a lost cause, alright? Tomorrow I’ll be feeling a lot better and then maybe — maybe — I’ll let you come in. And that’s if we keep all the windows open for fresh air and—”

“Why do I smell your blood?”

You glanced down at your foot. Traitor. It had stopped bleeding ages ago, but you should’ve changed the bandage again one more time before Matt showed up. “I’m… doing acupuncture. On myself.”

“Y/N.”

“Fine. I made a blood oath and pricked my thumb to assure myself that I will never, ever let you catch a sickness from me.”

“In ten seconds this door is coming down unless you tell me. And if you could hear my heartbeat, you’d know I’m not lying.”

“Fine! I just stepped on some glass, okay? But my foot is fine, it’s seen worse days. I mean, you should’ve seen that time that I got a pedicure and the lady told me my heels were the most cracked she’d seen in a long time.” You were rambling, and that wasn’t a good idea, because it made you lose your breath and then you were gasping for air.

After another five minutes of arguing that ended only when you swore to call the doctor if you got any worse, he left, grumbling that Foggy would kill both of you if he was late for court, and that was the only reason he was giving up — “temporarily”.

Only when it was too late did you realize that was a mistake, and that you should have let him help.

It was past two in the afternoon when you woke up from a nap, and every muscle in your body felt as though it were frozen. You were trembling slightly from the cold, but couldn’t muster the energy to even sit up and grab the blanket at the foot of your bed. It was difficult to swallow, and you clutched at your throat, certain that someone must be standing over you and clasping their hands around your neck, but there was no one there.

“Matt,” you whispered, expecting him to be there, or to hear you, but there was no one. Taking slow breaths, you tried to calm down on your own. One, two, three. One, two, three. All you could manage were short, raspy breaths that hardly got enough air, and your head pounded. Blindly you reached out for your glass of water, and nearly dropped it again, your hands were shaking so much. The feeling of your lips against the rim was like pressing a dried sponge to the edge of a bowl and the water tasted sour in your mouth.

And then you tried swallowing. It was as though someone had blocked up your throat, because you couldn’t swallow, and you gasped, heart racing as panic flooded through you; for a moment you couldn’t breathe and then you finally coughed up the water, chest heaving from the sharpness of each cough. You grabbed a tissue, hacking into it for at least another thirty seconds, and finally a glob of mucus came up and your airway cleared up just enough that you could breathe a bit more.

You almost tossed the tissue to the floor without looking at it, but a flash of red caught your eye.

Blood. In the mucus.

That was the tipping point for you. Didn’t people die shortly after coughing up blood in the movies? That was how it went. A character coughs, looks into their hand, and then resignedly tucks it away without the other characters seeing. It was like the knoll of death, ringing in your ears.

You hardly knew what you were doing as you dialed Matt’s number, not even thinking about what you were tapping into your phone but allowing muscle memory to guide you.

“Hello?” He picked up almost immediately.

“Matt—” You started to speak his name, but halted; it was too painful. Dropping your voice to a whisper, you started over. “Matt, I think I need you here.”

“What? What is it?”

“I’m—” You glanced down at the tissue. Literally dying here? That was a surefire way to make Matt have a heart attack. “I’m not doing so well. I might take you up on your offer to help.”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be over in five minutes. Did you call the doctor already?”

“No.” The thought of calling the doctor was exhausting on its own.

Matt seemed to notice that. “I’ll call,” he assured you. “Can you breathe alright?”

“Not really.” Tears were spiking in your eyes and you brushed them away. “I just coughed and… there was some blood in it.” You wheezed for breath, the drawing in of air rattling everything inside of you and getting caught at the top of your throat.

“I’m taking you to a hospital.”

“But—”

“No, sweetheart. You need a real doctor. I’ll be over in a minute.”

Somehow you must have fallen asleep again, because Matt was lifting you from the bed and you wrapped your arms around him. “Can’t breathe,” you whispered, gasping for breath.

“I know. I can hear your lungs,” Matt said, voice strained. “I’ve got a cab waiting on the street. Can you walk or do you need me to carry you?”

“I… I can walk.” You slung an arm around him and made your way slowly out of the room, limping with every step on your bandaged foot. Matt, to his credit, allowed you to do what you could. His tie was loosened and his suit jacket was gone, but he still wore a button-down, tucked into his pants.

“Bet you won your case, then,” you whispered, hardly even aware of what was coming out of your mouth. “No one can… say no to this.”

“This?”

“Hm. This.” You meant to nod up and down at Matt, but it came across as more of a head shake. “You.”

And then your assertion that you could walk proved difficult to fulfill, so you redirected your efforts to not face-planting in your living room, despite the strong, steady hands Matt kept on you the entire time. Once you reached your stairs he took over for the most part; your feet were hardly touching the ground with the amount of support he was giving.

That was where your memory cut out. You must have passed out, because the next time you opened your eyes, it was in the hospital bed, and Matt was reading next to you, his long gaze fixed on the wall in front of him as his fingers danced over the text.

“Hi,” you whispered lamely. Everything about you was groggy and it was hard enough just to focus on him.

Him. Only he could look handsome in a hospital. At some point he’d exchanged the suit for a tee shirt and sweats, and his hair stuck out at every angle possible. You wondered vaguely if he’d come from Fogwell’s.

He set the book down, relief evident on his face. “Hey, sweetie. How are you doing?”

You ignored his question. “How do you always manage to look good?”

He nudged you. “I should be the one asking you that.”

“That’s… the biggest lie I’ve ever heard. Even if you weren’t blind, it’d be a lie.” You closed your eyes, then opened them again. The ceiling was too white. “What happened?”

"Aspiration pneumonia.”

“Hm?”

“You have aspiration pneumonia,” he said. “Which just happens to be a type of pneumonia that’s not contagious.”

You meditated on this. “So?”

“So you could’ve let me into your apartment, that whole time,” he said, looking distinctly indignant, and it was enough to make you laugh. The laugh was short-lived, because it quickly transformed into a wracking cough that made your entire chest throb, but Matt was on his feet in an instant, holding your hand.

Only when the coughing stopped did you remember the bolt on your door. “Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“How’d you get in?”

“Broke down the door, like I promised.”

“Are… are you serious? What about the neighbors?”

He laughed. “You know, breaking down a door isn’t incriminating evidence that I’m Daredevil. I told them you were having an emergency, and when they saw you, they believed me.”

“They saw me?” You didn’t remember an audience when Matt was helping you out of the apartment.

“Well, you were taking your sweet time on the stairs, and coughing loudly enough for anyone in a mile radius to hear you, so yeah, they wanted to see what was happening.”

You buried your face in your hands. “That’s just great. And now, what, is my apartment wide open for anyone to go in?”

“No, I called in a favor with Foggy, and he’s hanging out there until someone can come in and fix it.”

“Even better. Now I’m indebted to Foggy.”

Matt smiled coyly. “Oh, and I should mention—”

“Oh, no. What?”

“—that there’s something else you’ll love about all of this.”

“Stop smiling like that. Why are you smiling like that?”

“Aspiration pneumonia is commonly associated with the institutionalized elderly. In other words, it’s a nursing home problem.”

“A nursing home problem?”

“A nursing home problem,” he confirmed. “I was thinking that maybe for your next birthday I could get you fitted for dentures.”

“Hilarious. Really, so funny. You really should have been a comedian. I swear to you that the next time you get sick, I’m going to make fun of you and you’ll never hear the end of it. Got it?”

He grinned and squeezed your hand. “Murdocks don’t get sick.”

“That is the second biggest lie I’ve ever heard. I seem to recall that time you projectile-vomited off of the Ferris wheel.”

“Because I was motion-sick, not sick-sick.”

Your eyelids were already getting heavy just from the five-minute conversation. You beckoned him closer and leaned onto his shoulder, pressing yourself into his warmth. He smelled like fresh deodorant and coffee. “Pumpkin carving as soon as I can leave?”

“Definitely,” he said, placing your fingers onto the pulse that drummed under his wrist. “And this time, I’m not lying.”

ruined surprises (moon boys x f!reader)

PAIRING: Steven Grant & Marc Spector & Jake Lockley x F!Reader. WARNING(S): N/A. SUMMARY: When (Y/N) goes to work, she accidentally leaves her phone at home. Steven, being as helpful as always, retrieves her phone to hand it over, so she has it during her shift. However, a few things pop up on her phone that have him a little bit occupied.

Having an early morning shift, you were up and out of bed before the sun had even started to bleed through the windows. You were quick to get changed into your work clothes, only taking a small moment to gaze at your boyfriend's sleeping face. He looked so relaxed, and you were glad your movement from the bed hadn't woken him up - you did not want to ever be the reason he was disturbed from the only time where he was truly at peace.

Taking that little moment would cost you your phone, but you were none the wiser as you left the flat without it, leaving it on the bedside table by accident. Your job didn't really allow you to use your phone, as you were facing customers most of the day, but the main reason you would normally have it on you was to make sure that your boyfriend, and his alters, were okay. And they were also your main emergency contact should anything go wrong at work - but that was mostly to keep Steven and them in the loop, thus keeping their anxiety at bay.

An hour or so passed before Steven found his eyes being attacked by the sunlight coming through his curtains. Groaning, he turned and subconsciously reached out to touch you, only to find a cold, empty spot on your side of the bed. Blinking in confusion, Steven sat upright in the bed you shared, his head swivelling around anxiously as he automatically assumed the worse.

"She's at work, remember? They had her take someone else's early morning shift."

"Oh right, yeah... I totally forgot, didn't I?" Steven sighed in relief, thankful for the fact that Marc and Jake were there to remind him when things had changed. Marc more so than Jake, because Jake tended to keep to himself and simply observe.

The familiar sound of your ringtone broke through the air, causing Steven to jump out of his skin before he quickly turned to look at it with wide eyes.

"Oh dear - she forgot her phone!" Picking it up, his eyes squinted as he tried to read the letters on the screen. Tess? Who was Tess? Had he met them before? Before he could figure out if the name rang a bell, the call stopped and your phone screen went back to black.

"You guys don't happen to know a Tess, do you?"

"Hm, no... it doesn't ring a bell. What about you, Jake?"

Jake simply shrugged in the mirror, his head shaking side to side as he wordlessly answered their question.

"Maybe you should open up her phone? See if it's anything important?"

"I can't do that! She'll - she'll kill me!"

"We can always blame Jake?"

"Ni se te ocurra!" Jake glared at Marc for even suggesting that, and it was obvious he was holding himself back from slapping him on the back of his head.

As they started to argue back and forth, Steven bit his bottom lip in thought before he found himself opening up your phone. He knew the pattern you used, and he had never thought about using it to open your phone before. But the random name in your phone, and the fact you had forgotten it at home, made Steven worry about your safety. His head had a tendency to make up the worst kind of scenarios, especially now that you were involved in his life.

A text from Tess popped up on your screen, prompting Steven to press on it and open it up. From there, he could see your whole message history between yourself and this Tess.

"Tess just sent her a text. It says: 'Y/N, sorry I tried ringing you, I forgot you had taken that extra shift today. I was just wondering if you were still looking to meet up?'" Steven frowned as he spoke, his words a little unsure until he finally managed to grab his glasses and put them on his face.

"It just sounds like she has plans to meet up with a friend. Nothing to worry about." Marc tried to be reassuring, but it was obvious Steven was nervous for you and your safety.

"Scroll up a bit - see if she has anything to hide." Jake spoke up, quirking a brow from the mirror as he crossed his arms. While Steven would normally ignore Jake's suggestions, he could not help but follow suit and start slowly scrolling up to read your messages.

"Woah... woah woah woah!" After each 'woah', Steven's eyes grew wider and wider, to the point you could easily confuse him as some kind of humanoid Pug.

"What is it, Steven?"

"I bet it is something saucy."

"Please get your head out of the sewer."

"We all share the same head, hermano."

"... Touché."

"No no, guys, shush - this is serious!" Steven rushed to the mirror, holding the phone by it so they could see the screen as well. It showed an exchange between yourself and Tess, where you were getting advice on how to surprise your boyfriend with some sexy lingerie. There were even Pinterest pictures of various options, which honestly would make all three of them drool at the sight of you.

"Wait... this actually is saucy. How the Hell did you know?"

"Lucky guess?"

"Guys... we ruined her surprise for us... she's totally going to hate us for this." Steven whined, throwing his head back as he felt guilty all over again.

"No no, Steven, we're fine - everything is fine! We can just pretend this never happened!"

"If anything, hermano, she will still look sexy as Hell - even if it isn't as much of a surprise as she may have wanted it to be."

"Jake's right. She may not even surprise us until a few days from now, anyway, so we may actually forget? Maybe this Tess, or whatever her name is, is just wanting to meet with (Y/N) today to help her pick out some lingerie?"

"Is it not a little weird that she's talking about this stuff with a friend we have never met before?" Steven frowned in thought, as did Marc and Jake. Steven did have a point, but the message history seemed to only really focus on the lingerie. How had the two of you even met? Steven scrolled all the way up to the top, only to let out a long sigh of relief.

"Oh, never mind, this Tess Black works at some kind of lingerie shop, and it's near (Y/N)'s work. Now it all makes total sense." Chuckling in disbelief at his own worriedness towards the situation, Steven facepalmed. "And here's me thinking the worst..."

"Well, at least now we know."

"Yeah, but Marc... she's actually going to kill us if she finds out we were snooping in her phone. Especially if she finds out after making a load of effort to show herself off." Steven can't help but grimace at the thought of you getting angry at them. He had never seen you be proper angry before, and he was almost frightened of the prospect of it happening all because of him.

"Just don't tell her. Unread that message from Tess and just pretend that you didn't see anything. Jake and I will keep our mouths shut as well."

"Yeah, don't worry too much about it, hermano. We've got this."

"Yeah... yeah, we've got this." Steven tried to put on a confident smile, but it was awkward and felt weird on his face. Listening to Marc's advice on setting the message as 'unread', Steven turned off your phone and pocketed it. "Can one of you front for when we get to the shop? I-I don't know if I can keep the truth from her..."

"I'll do it." Jake was quick to answer, causing Marc to quirk a brow and Steven simply nodded before he found his eyes rolling back and he was inside of the mirror, Jake taking his place inside of the host body.

It wasn't long before you had clocked the fact you were missing your phone. You were patting at your pockets helplessly, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips, before you spotted a familiar figure make his way into the store. At first, you thought it was Steven, but when you noticed the cap and the slightly wary look in his eye, you could instantly tell it was Jake.

"Hey, princesa. You lose something?" He grinned at you, waving your phone in your face. Grabbing it, you grinned back at him, thankful that he had been thoughtful enough to bring it over to you while you were still at work.

"Thank you for bringing it. I got worried for a second there that something might have happened at home, and I wouldn't have been in the know." Your large grin turned into a more sheepish smile as you rubbed at the back of your neck.

"It's not a problem, princesa. It was Steven's idea, anyway, he just had... something to think about, so he couldn't front." Jake's explanation, and the pause within it, seemed a little off to you, but you simply kept the smile on your face, none the wiser to the events that had taken place between you leaving the flat and Jake coming into the shop, your phone in his hand.

"Well, I better get going so you can focus on your job. I'll see you later though, yeah?" Jake lent down to give you a surprisingly gentle peck on the side of your face.

"Of course, see you later." You nodded, gazing up at him lovingly. "Just make sure that your calendars are free tonight, okay? I have something special to show the three of you." A sly smirk makes its way onto your lips as you lower your voice into a hushed whisper.

"Oh I'm sure you do, princesa. And we can't wait to see it."

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mattsauburneyes

2 years ago

charlie cox

reblog if you agree

887 notes View Post

mattsauburneyes

2 years ago

The best things about this video

Tom and Jacob fighting each other. With lightsabers.

Zendaya filming it

Tom using his super hero skills

Tom breaking Jacob’s lightsaber

Jacobs laugh

“You idiot!”

Tom collapsing to floor cause he’s laughing

everything

36K notes View Post

mattsauburneyes

1 year ago

While I'm at it, here's my take on if Manacled!Draco had stared at Aurore a little while longer

819 notes View Post

mattsauburneyes

2 years ago

GET YOU A MAN WHO CAN DO BOTH

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mattsauburneyes

10 months ago

this is canon

*Luffy busting into Law's room at 2am*

Luffy: Torao i have an emergency

Law: what

Luffy: why is it called a chicken dance if i dont get any chicken when i dance??? ive been dancing for-

Law:

Law: get the fuck out

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mattsauburneyes

1 year ago

YES YES I KNOW ROBINS A TOP

R-18 question

I know this is just random. Don't mind any grammatical and typographical errors ❤️

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mattsauburneyes

1 month ago

Lollipop🍭

matt murdock x you + a daughter, mini blurb

———

it was friday evening and matt had spent his evening channeling his anger from the whole week to punching the punch bag to its oblivion. you were just hanging out watching tv, cooking weird snacks, and playing with your 3 year old. when she got tired of playing and decided to read books on her own, is when you finally get to check up on matt.

he was covered in layers of sweat that darkens the edges of that tank top he wears which shows his large biceps. with that sight a few feet away from you, your eyes are locked in and mouth hanging open while watching him take a big gulp of water from his tumbler

"sweetheart you gotta close that mouth or a fly will go inside it" matt says with a smirk. that left you very speechless for a while until you find your voice again "i... um can i lick you like a lollipop?" your blurted out, which makes matt chuckles lightly. but unfortunately, you said that last word a bit too loud because your daughter suddenly comes into the room and said "mommy has lollipop?" which brings matt into a full laughter and leaves you with a flushed face.

"oh sorry honey i don't" you said with a bit of a pout

"then why did you say you want to lick a lollipop, mommy?"

matt laughs even harder, and this makes you smile but also stressed to try and find the best answer to give to you and matt's precious one

love is a mixtape

author note: HIIII!!! i think like one person follows me on here and they made a really nice comment about a previous fic i had posted literally months ago, so thank u for that!

that fic didn’t end up working out and i deleted it because i wasn’t happy with the way it was written. uni is way too stressful for me at the moment, and i know i’m only setting myself up for failure by forcing myself to write.

this is something i started a couple nights ago. it hasn’t been proofread by anyone other than me so let me know if there are any errors at all. tysm.

summary: you’ve just started to unpack at matt’s apartment, but moving day get’s interesting when you find an old mixtape boxed up with your books.

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff and domesticity, sexual references, swearing, alcohol consumption.

(around) 2.2k words

“Well, well well. Just look at what we have here.” You chide, turning the old CD over in your hands, the cover in two broken pieces and coated in a thin sheen of dust. The penmanship is thick and wonky, uppercase letters written in smudged black sharpie. You read in an exaggerated accent, “Boston Beats” and hear Matt’s groan from over the kitchen counter.

You’re unpacking the second last box of books and records at his apartment when the familiar disc makes an appearance, reflecting rainbows on the walls as you inspect it for scratches. It was a last-minute gift given to you by the boys when you graduated, and just about the best present anyone could manage to afford while drowning in student loans.

“I remember paying Foggy in pepperoni pizza just to make that for me. It took him a week, and to this day I still don’t know if he took longer just so I would buy him more food or if the Columbia library computers were actually that slow.” Matt recollected, looking fondly towards you, brain flooding with memories of late nights and shoebox dormitories.

If you squinted hard enough, you could imagine his freshly shaven face and black rectangular sunglasses from college. You would proofread each other’s assignments aloud, bursting with pure joy every time Matt or Foggy got a ninety-something score. The mental picture was enough to make your skin buzz.

“It was a very sweet idea.” The admittance is genuine, and you see Matt’s dimple appear briefly before he turns away and drains the rest of his beer.

“Eh, it’s the thought that counts.” He dismisses it and reaches into the fridge for another two green bottles, carrying them between his fingers and joining you in the living room.

Your back is pressed up against the coffee table and you’re sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce on the hardwood floor, at the epicentre of a paperback-vinyl-dust-bunny-explosion. You rummage even further into the box looking for the speaker system that you know you packed.

Once upon a time, you could recite the tracklist in perfect order, having listened to it religiously for the 6 months you were away interning in Boston. It was the soundtrack for heartbreak, new friends, missed buses and the coldest winter in Massachusetts on record, but holding it in your hand now, those memories couldn’t feel any further away.

“I prohibit you from playing that CD.” Matt is glaring all-knowingly, having fully anticipated your antics. You gasp in mock horror.

“Matt, I don’t think you understand. This is comedy gold that I am holding in my hands.” You plead jokingly. “It’s honestly cute that you think I won’t be playing this on repeat for the next week.” A piece of plastic flies off into the bedroom when you shake the case a little too enthusiastically, and you stand up to put it in the bin before someone (definitely you) steps on it.

“If you truly love me you will never let that mixtape see the light of day ever again.”

“Don’t you dare use our relationship as an ultimatum Matthew Murdock!”

“What was that? Did you mean an ‘alltomato’?” He quips, referencing your linguistic blunder from just a few months ago, a mistake he often teases you about.

“Stop making fun of meeeeee.” You protest, covering your head with your arms in embarrassment. “I will not stand for this behaviour. You forget that I have all the power here!” He is reminded once again of the corner you’ve backed him into, eyes rolling up to the roof as he nods his head in understanding. You bend over to pick up the small plastic shard, eyeing it between pointed fingers.

While investigating the jagged edges, your vision refocuses on the unmade bed before you, silk sheets drooping limply over Matt’s side of the mattress (damn blanket hog). It’s not your best plan of attack, and you certainly don’t expect it to work, but a proposal formulates nonetheless. Matt Murdock may be a man of honour, but he is also just that, a man.

“Oh, Matty. I have a suggestion.” You drop the plastic on the bedside table to quite possibly injure yourself on later. The floorboards begin to creek slightly under the weight of your careful footsteps.

Sneaking up from behind, you tousle his messy hair and slide your hands down the length of both of his arms. Your chin rests on the back of the couch now, lips poised by the side of his head.

“If you give this here ‘Boston Beats’ a chance, I’ll wear the valentines set to bed tonight.” You whisper teasingly, adjusting the hem of his t-shirt, playing ever-so-slightly with the band of his sweatpants. He inhales sharply and catches your wrist with deadly dexterity.

If dressing up all in silk isn’t reward enough for the ensuing hilarity, you don’t know whether to be surprised or disappointed, for a number of reasons.

His ‘tch’ing is enough to make you second guess yourself, but within seconds he points an apathetic finger at the last remaining box of clutter from the old apartment.

“At the very bottom, underneath the wooden jewellery case.” He sinks into the couch. “That’s where you’ll find your CD player.”

You pinch his cheek lovingly and saunter back towards your pile of junk, wearing the widest smile you can manage.

You were seconds away from placing the disc in the tray when Matt interrupted.

“I think I need to set some ground rules first.”

“Always with the lawyer talk.” You hang your head dejectedly but await his demands.

“Number one, we will listen to three songs.”

“What do you take me for?! A dunce? Five songs. At the least.” He launches a couch cushion over the coffee table. It bounces off your shoulder and knocks awry the classics section of the bookshelf, the area you spent the last thirty minutes organising. Knowing it was only a warning toss, you laugh but quickly cover it up with a gasp.

“Four?” He innocently offers. God, he may as well be pouting his lips and twirling his hair.

“Deal.”

“Number two, it stays in the trunk- with my suit!- until I decide what to do with it.”

“It can’t be thrown out! It’s a relic, Matthew. Imagine what Foggy would say if you got rid of his hours of hard work!”

“I’m not going to throw it out,” He reasons, shrugging his shoulders in earnest. “I just don’t remember what’s on it and I’d rather not be made of fun every day for the rest of my life because twenty-something-year-old-me decided that Lovefool was the epitome of romance.”

“Oh, made fun of? You mean like you do to me?”

“Exactly!” He grins.

The summer breeze is swept up from the street and in through the window, fresh air and soft amber light engulfing the room. Five years ago, making this move would’ve plagued your thoughts and given you debilitating anxiety, keeping you awake for nights on end just to contemplate the logistics of it all. Today, you managed ten boxes and zero meltdowns in one day. Just to be around someone as resilient as Matt; someone who isn’t discouraged by stupid setbacks and instead offers simple solutions to each of the silly issues you encounter - makes it enjoyable to complete even the most tedious tasks.

It’s easy to see why the most famous tragedies are all built around love. You can’t believe you went so long without it, without him.

“Okay! I agree, with all your stupid conditions. Can we begin now?” He almost seems sad to see the banter and flirtatious disses disappear, having half-expected your light-hearted arguments never to end. He smiles nevertheless and nods for you to press play.

“Deep breaths Matthew.”

He stands up just as the dreamy guitars of Friday I’m In Love kick in and your mouth widens into a teasing smile. You think he might get all dramatic on you again but he just shakes his head and looks down into his lap. What would he say if he could see you stumbling around the living room with all the grace of a baby giraffe?

“Isn’t this just wonderful!?” You sigh in adoration, swaying back and forth with your dance partner.

“I hate you so much right now.” Matt begrudgingly chuckles and slips his arms through yours, which are pressed sassily into your hips.

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

You let nothing but the music come between the two of you. Toe to toe and chest to chin. Your heart is sent into overdrive when he presses a light kiss onto the crown of your head. To this day, Matt still severely underestimates the effect he has on you. The slightest touch makes you dizzy with infatuation.

“You know I had multiple copies of this CD? One for the car, one for my Discman and this one right here. It stayed at home. All the time. I slept with it under my pillow.” You were playing now with the crucifix Maggie gave him, tracing the ridges of the cross over the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re lying.”

“You of all people know that’s not true.” Tapping the left side of his chest.

The next song started. Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want.

“Why so many?”

“Because I was scared I’d lose it. Scared of losing you.” It hurt to reminisce, knowing that only a couple months after you had left, you and Matt called it quits, stopped calling at the end of the workday and communicated through Foggy; only when necessary.

“That was around the time I put on the mask.” The music suddenly felt far sadder than it should. “I was so angry that I let you go. I should have followed you to Boston- made sure that stupid things like distance didn’t get in the way. We could have been different.” “You’re a New Yorker through and through Matt. Hell’s Kitchen is your forever home.” You pushed a little further into his chest. Skin-to-skin contact doesn’t cut it in the intimacy of the moment.

“I would’ve followed you.” He insisted again.

“I know. I know you would’ve.”

The song ends suddenly, and in the silence, Matt grunts out “God, I was a miserable fuck back then. Is there anything above 80 beats per minute on this thing?”

He’s spoken too soon. The funky bassline of Deee-Lite’s Groove Is in the Heart ensues.

You and Matt just about double over in ugly, stomach-clutching laughter, the mood from moments before sliced clean out of the air. The both of you catch your breath just in time to sing along,

I couldn’t ask for another!

“Why did you want us to listen to this?”

“Because you and Foggy made it!”

“Foggy should be charged as an accessory to murder. My eardrums being the victim.”

“Oh shut up.” You swat him away and take a sip of your beer, warm now from the heat of the apartment. “If you ask me, this is the most romantic thing ever made.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah I don’t get all the fuss about poetry and paintings and wine. Give me a ‘Boston Beats’ mixtape any day and I’ll get my priorities straight.”

“You always know what to say to make a guy swoon.”

“I try.” You smirk and he kisses you on the lips for the first time that night. “Only one more song left now, are you ready to make it count?”

“I’m ready for this to be over. Not trying to be rude, but I actually have a meeting at 8pm just through those doors over there.” He made a loose gesture to the bed.

“I’m sure she won’t mind if you’re a couple minutes late.”

“I certainly will.” For a minute he’s silent. He contemplates the move, trying to assess through your touch if now is the moment.

The disc skips slightly.

You play along, give him a look through hooded eyes that you hope can will him to bridge the gap, maybe even transcend the boundaries of sight.

Outside, the sun is sinking further into the Manhattan skyline. The music isn’t the only thing you can hear anymore. There is also laughter outside and the click-clack of high heels on the pavement.

Your breathing is so shallow that you think you might implode, body aching for his touch now that he is selfish enough to be so far away from you.

The movements are so quick that all you can do is follow his lead. You step backwards, him over the pillow from earlier. You navigate the sofa and legs of the coffee table all while staring up at him, surroundings darkening as you make it through the sliding door entrance to your room.

The only thing you can hear is your heart thumping; blood rushing wildly - as you tug Matt’s sweatpants down.

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