Proud Hufflepuff 💕

MY SHAYLAAAAASS

The memories hurt sometimes

creds: @/lifeofasillygirl on tiktok

headcanon: matt's favorite movie before he lost his sight was top gun, and he was so obsessed with it that he wanted to be a pilot. but of course it changed and especially after his father's death that he wanted to be a lawyer. present day, now hanging out with foggy, karen, and you, the live musician played great balls of fire and you've never seen him this happy jamming to his childhood jam

AND I MEAN LIKE IMAGINE HIS EARS PERKED UP WHEN HE HEARD THE FIRST PIANO NOTES AND HE IMMEDIATELY JUMPED BEING SO EXCITED AND joined the singer to sing and dances with his whole heart and you're just sitting there amazed with a big smile on your face thinking this is the man you love and then he asks you to join dance with him and you said yes and soon the whole bar dances to the song and it just became the best day ever oh my god

It’s All Fun and Games

Hey guys! Fred Weasley is just so wonderful, but all the games might get to be a bit much. I hope you guys like it! 

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader 

Requested: No

Warnings: Swearing

Sometimes when it came to being friends with and dating one of the two biggest pranksters at Hogwarts was fun, other times, it caused you a significant amount of grief. Today was one of the less fun days. The twins had decided to play the ‘which on is which’ game with you. Generally, you didn’t have many issues telling them apart despite the fact they were identical. They acted very differently.

“Hey (Y/N)!” George yelled, tossing an arm around your shoulders. 

“Hey, George,” You said, smiling happily. Suddenly, the redhead stopped, looking confused. 

“No, mate, I’m Fred. He’s George,” He said, pointing at the other boy. You sighed. 

“I know you’re not.” George and his twin stood side by side with identical confused faces. You snorted a soft laugh. They exchanged looks before looking back at you with mirrored smirks. 

“Are you sure?” They asked. You nodded as you continued towards the common room. Both of them trailed after you, one on either side; each of them had leaned an arm on your shoulders. Upon reaching the portrait hole, you spit out the password automatically. The Fat Lady gave you a kind smile which you reciprocated, still ignoring the twins at your sides. 

“How exactly can you–” Fred started. 

“be so sure?” George finished. You laughed, setting your bag down by a chair. 

“I just know, guys,” You said, turning back to them. 

“Which one am I?” Fred asked, grinning at you. 

“You are my dearest Fred Weasley,” You said, pecking his lips. A smirk curled on their faces.

“Wrong,” They chirped in sync. 

“I know I’m right,” You said, taking a seat. The twins kneeled in front of you, trying to keep you playing their game. You just watched as they tried harder to make you wrong. 

“How?” They asked. You snorted. 

“The way you carry yourselves is different. Fred, you’re the more outgoing one. You talk first most of the time. You also tend to be the brains behind a plan while your counterpart is the enabler. George, you’re the more sympathetic one and you carry on a joke. Merlin’s beard, you two, I’m dating Fred and I’ve known you for years,” You giggled. They exchanged another look before disappearing into the boys dorms. This was not going to be good.

The stupid game dragged on for weeks with them only becoming more insistent upon one being the other until you began to avoid both of them. That only lasted so long though. You wanted to be able to kiss Fred again. When you finally saw them again, only one approached you as you ate breakfast in the Great Hall. The way he swaggered up to you, you almost thought it was Fred. Almost. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders again. 

“Hello, love,” He said, pulling you close. Raising an eyebrow, you pulled back. 

“What the hell, George?” You mumbled, shoving another bite of eggs into your mouth. 

“I’m Fred. Honestly, you call yourself my girlfriend. You’re as bad as my mother,” He laughed. You unwrapped his arm from you, looking around for your actual boyfriend.

“No, you aren’t. I can tell because my boyfriend kisses me good morning instead of saying it.” The ginger plastered his hand to his chest looking offended as you continued on with your breakfast. Finally, Fred joined you. 

“Maybe you just need to brush your teeth before I kiss you,” George suggested. 

“I have,” You said, calmly. “Hello, Fred.” It was now that you acknowledged the other redhead to your left. One more reason you knew that it was him. Fred always sat on your left. 

“I’m George, mate,” He said. You rolled your eyes. This game was getting annoying. 

“Would you cut it out? I’m getting really sick of having to explain that I know my boyfriend is my boyfriend.” They just laughed. Your eyebrow twitched in annoyance. 

“Come on, babe. There’s nothing to be ashamed of when our own mother can’t tell us apart,” George said, rubbing your arm. You slammed your fork on your plate angrily. 

“I can tell you apart. You two are just being dicks,” You snapped. Once again they laughed into their breakfast. Just then, an evil thought crossed your mind as you took a drink. Smirking into your goblet, you decided that, if they wanted you to play the game, you’d play it. Wiping the look from your face, you placed your goblet back on the table with a sweet smile. 

“Are you finally coming around?” Fred asked. You nodded with the most apologetic expression you could muster. 

“Yeah. I guess I just can’t tell you apart. I’m sorry,” You said, trying to keep the bubbling laugh down. 

 “Everyone makes mistakes,” Fred said, nudging your shoulder with his own. 

“Yeah, (Y/N), just take our word for it next time,” George said. 

“You are completely right, love,” You said, finishing off your breakfast. Standing, you gathered your things for class, but not before you pressed a kiss to George’s cheek. You watched as Fred flushed lightly with anger. 

“Have fun in Potions,” George said. You smiled, hugging your books to your chest. 

“Thanks, Fred. I’ll see you at lunch,” You chirped, turning to Fred with the same smile you always gave his brother. “Bye George.” 

You played their game for about a week and you could see Fred beginning to lose it. You hadn’t gone as far as kissing George on the lips, but you’d given him all the hugs, satisfied sighs, and special smiles that you generally reserved for your boyfriend. There was also the added bonus of seeing George look as uncomfortable as a person could look. You had only lasted about a day without telling Hermione, who was just as amused by the situation. 

“How long do you think it will be before they lose it?” You asked Hermione as you flipped the page in your book. It was just you two in the common room at the moment. 

“I don’t know. I heard them talking earlier and it doesn’t sound like they’re going to give up any time soon,” She replied, looking up from her book. You bit your lip and furrowed your eyebrows. You really wanted your actual boyfriend back. 

“Ugggghhh,” You groaned, “I want Freddie back.” 

“You could always give it up first, you know,” She suggested, knowing full well that losing was not an option for you. You glared lightly at her and she laughed. 

“Don’t even go there,” You giggled. She looked thoughtful for a moment before an evil look crossed her face. That look both terrified and excited you. 

“You could push them into forfeiting,” She said, ominously. You raised an eyebrow. 

“I’m listening.” Hermione leaned with a devilish smile. It only took a few seconds of explaining to reach an understanding. She was telling you to really throw yourself into this. Go as far as Fred would let you go. You ran your fingers through your hair, biting your lip. 

“At the very least, you’d win,” She said. 

“You’re not wrong,” You said, apprehensively. 

“Well, are you going to go through with it?” She asked. You rolled the idea around in your head for a few seconds before making your decision. 

“Yeah. It’s not like it’ll go very far anyway,” You said with a shrug. She laughed, patting you on the shoulder. 

 Fred and George didn’t appear in the common room until a hour or so later, giving you and Hermione a good long time to laugh about your plan. When they walked in, you went silent. Grinning, you waved at Fred, who waved back grumpily. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked. He plopped down on the couch and crossed his arms. 

“Georgie’s just upset because he can’t get himself a girlfriend,” George laughed. You gave a fake pout in Fred’s direction. Glancing at Hermione, she gave you a subtle smile and excused herself to go to bed. 

“Aww, don’t worry. You’ll find someone,” You said, punching him in the arm lightly. He simply gave you a sour look and you moved from his side to George’s lap. 

“(Y/N)?” He asked, reddening slightly. It took everything you had to keep the impending smirk off your face. This was so obviously George. Fred always welcomed you into his lap with a kiss and a good natured joke at his brother’s expense. 

“Yes, love?” You asked, innocently. You batted your eyelashes at him and intertwined your fingers with his.  

“Don’t you think it’s inappropriate to do this in front of my little brother here?” He asked. You giggled sweetly, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. 

“It hasn’t ever bothered you before.” You snuggled into the younger twin, placing the top of your head just under his chin and turning to look at your actual boyfriend. 

Fred had crossed his arms and locked his fudge colored eyes onto the fireplace with an ugly look on his face. Red was creeping up his neck and turning his ears the same shade as his hair the more friendly you got with George. The thought of beating them at their own game made you continue with your antics. This was also basically a guarantee that they’d never play this game with you again. They still hadn’t broken yet. You shrugged internally. You’d just have to push a little further. 

“You know, George, I think there are plenty of girls out there for you. Maybe try someone from the Quidditch team,” You suggested. Fred glared at you from the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah?” He snapped. You nodded, looking as if nothing were wrong. 

“Definitely. Angelina Johnson likes you, I think.” You felt George jump beneath you. 

“Really?” He asked. You glanced back at him with a fake confused look. 

“Is it really that shocking that she’d like your brother?” You asked. He cleared his throat, settling back into the couch and wrapping a hesitant arm around you. 

“Yeah, considering I got all the good looks,” He taunted, weakly. You fought down your smirk again. You yawned, stretching languidly in a way that always drove Fred insane. George swallowed thickly. Their reaction was incredibly similar. 

“I suppose I’d have to agree with you on that. Well, if you don’t mind Georgie, I think I’m going to steal your brother for the night,” You said, winking at an obviously panicking redhead. Fred’s eyes lit up with hellish flames that you’d never seen before, but he didn’t move. 

“I mind,” He grunted. 

“You had something planned?” You set your eyes on George, tipping your head to the side and leaning into him. This was usually the point in which Fred stopped caring if he’d planned something. 

“W-Well, no, but…” He sputtered. Smirking inwardly, you patted yourself on the back for backing them into this corner. The game would be over soon and you would have your Fred back. 

“Then there should be no reason as to why I can’t have him for tonight.” You pulled the uncomfortable twin to his feet. 

“(Y/N),” Fred said. His tone was blank, but his face was twisted in anger that might not have been apparent if you weren’t looking for it. 

“What, George?” You asked. He flinched as you called him by his brother’s name. He didn’t say anything, so you shrugged and began leading George to the exit. Usually, you and Fred would go spend your night in the Room of Requirement. Fred stood up, hands curling into fists. 

“Just wait a minute! You’re not going anywhere with my bird!” Fred growled, crossing the room in three steps and tearing his brother from you. It was now that you couldn’t contain your laughter. It began to bubble and spill from your lips; starting as minor giggles and reaching a total mess of shrieking laughter that you rarely accomplished without the help of the Weasley twins. Both sets of eyes rested on you like you’d lost your marbles. 

“She set us up,” George said, staring at you in disbelief. 

“You bet I did! Dear lord, you should see the looks on your faces!” You cackled. An identical pair of unamused faces looked down at you a tears cascaded down your cheeks from laughing so hard. 

“You did this on purpose?” They asked. You nodded, beginning to catch your breath. 

“What the hell–” 

“– is wrong with you?” They snapped. You snorted another laugh and wiped droplet from your eye. 

“You guys started it,” You pointed out. They shared a look before George nodded at Fred and left the common room, leaving the two of you alone. 

“Can you actually tell us apart?” He asked, coming closer to you. 

“I can.” You watched him as the anger faded from his face, but not his eyes. Not yet anyway. 

“Then what was the point of acting like you couldn’t?” He yelled. You laughed softly, taking his hand in yours. 

“Punishment,” You stated simply. He blinked at you. “Come on, Freddie. You spent weeks torturing me for your own amusement. It’s really only fair that I have my fun too.” 

“You almost shagged my brother to get back at us?” He asked. You shuddered at the thought. 

“God, no, gross. I was just messing with you guys,” You said. Sighing, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with his free hand. 

“This week has been awful,” He grumbled, hugging you close to him. 

“That’s what you get for being a dick,” You laughed. He glanced down at you. 

“Remind me again why the hat didn’t put you in Slytherin.” You patted his cheek, lovingly. 

“Because I knew this really cute redhead who got sorted into Gryffindor and there was no way in hell that I was letting him slip through my fingers,” You said. He held your hips. 

“Who? Me?” He asked, modestly. 

“I was talking about George,” You said. 

“(Y/N),” He said, warningly. You chuckled warmly, pecking his lips once. 

“Only joking, of course it was you.” Smiling, he pulled you up to him so he could give you a proper kiss for the first time in about a month. I’m so glad that I got that stupid game to end, you thought as you fused your lips together. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” George’s voice cut in. You pulled away looking at him. “Does Angelina really–” 

“Yes.” You said. 

“Wicked.” 

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.”

idk about you but i feel like jake lockley would love arctic monkeys

My favorite thing is that "Human Disater Matt Murdock" is a super common tag on both tumblr and ao3.org

But seriously:

He has horrible luck with women

Parkour is his main mode of transportation

He probably only sleeps 2 hours a day

He spends all his money buying his canes in bulk from Costco or some shit

He has a severe lack of self-preservation

He has exactly 2 friends who are tired of his shit 97% of the time

He thinks dumpster diving is appropriate when he has open wounds and the dumpster is filled with all of the types of bacteria known to man

He thinks it's a good idea to repeatedly antagonize Wilson Fisk

It's a wonder this man made it through 3 seasons, goddammit Matthew

THIS IS SO CUTE IM GONNA CRY

BEACH DAY - Din can be happy Grogu gave him enough time to remove his boots before he decided they should get splashing in the water and hunt for snacks ^n^

This is my gift for @firstofficerwiggles through @starwarsfandomfests I really hope you'll like it, since I really enjoyed working on something so bright and wholesome ^^

matt & foggy: we've only known karen for a day and a half, but if anything happened to her we will kill everyone in this room and then ourselves.

i've been getting into one piece a lot lately so can someone make an AU about luffy and the straw hat gang going to an all you can eat buffet?? it would've been SO hilarious to see the gang trying to stop luffy from eating everything in the restaurant 🤣