HE DESERVEE THIS AS HE SHOULD!!!

Charlie Cox turned down numerous job offers after Daredevil Season 3 because Netflix kept him and the crew in the dark about the cancellation. The writers' room was literally already at work crafting storylines for Season 4 and only then did they get informed about the show's cancellation. Charlie legitimately thought he will never get the chance to play the character he loved so much that he prioritized it over other role offers.

4 YEARS LATER...

Charlie is back in 5 projects as Daredevil, including his own show with an unprecedented 18 EPISODES. 18.

He deserves this so much 😭 my beloved

Charlie Cox Turned Down Numerous Job Offers After Daredevil Season 3 Because Netflix Kept Him And The

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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mattsauburneyes

2 years ago

ive seen some fics about teaching marc how to cook/bake, but I feel like marc can already cook??? like he clearly had to be independent from a young age and that probably included having to make his won meals since his mum clearly wasn't going to and his dad looks exhausted </3

-m

YES YES YES YES

MY BOY IS THE NEXT GORDON RAMSAY OKAY.

you’re like dead on the money with the independence thing. cause there was no way in hell his mom was making him food, and his dad was probably always at work.

so one day when his mom is passed out in her room, and the time is nearing 7 o’clock, marc takes the money his dad left him for pizza, and instead goes to the convenience store. he’s either buying kraft dinner or cup of noodles/mr noodles (I don’t know which brand the us uses🤷🏼‍♀️), and yeah, he kinda burns it and it doesn’t taste great, but it’s something.

from then on though, he becomes determined. whenever him and his dad went grocery shopping (cause once again, his mom ain’t doing shit), marc was always slipping in ingredients for recipes he found in old cookbooks. he’d pocket pages of recipes, lists of different spices to use—anything he could get his hands on, he tried. his favourite things to make as a kid were chilli and spaghetti, but he’d also learn to make matzoh ball soup and challah. and because kid marc still loved his mom, he definitely made extra in case she was hungry (not that she ever did, but he always made a place for her at the table) :(

truly, I could on forever about this. but in short, marc spector is the most amazing cook you’ve ever met. and yes, he loves taking you out to dates at restaurants, but he’d much rather make dinner with you.

✨the-archxr thoughts✨

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mattsauburneyes

2 years ago

i am in dire need of dad!matt content so i decided to draw a little daddy - baby photograph moment AND NOW IM SQUEALING AT MY OWN ART AKSHSKHDJSHDKSHD

also please do ignore the abnormal hand, i cannot draw hands for the life of me

also the baby's face bcs i cannot draw faces asf

Tags

fanart daredevil matt murdock daredevil x reader matt murdock x reader matt murdock fluff matt murdock as a dad dad! matt murdock daredevil fanart dad! daredevil daredevil x you fluff fic daredevil fluff soft matt murdock the cutest thing ever

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mattsauburneyes

1 month ago

i'm loving this essay

now that we have confirmation that matt’s an oatmilk girly, do you think he’s lactose intolerant

All us non-dairy creamer drinkers dancing cause WE FUCKING WON LAST NIGHT, MATT BELONGS TO US NOW, SUCK IT EVERYONE ELSE

BUT THIS IS AN INTERESTING QUESTION. We see him eat, in canon, off the top of my head, nothing with dairy. Someone correct me if I'm wrong but I remember:

Chinese takeout

Indian food (I'd have to check but I don't remember it looking like he was eating something with paneer, I'm pretty sure it was something with chicken; sauce may have been cream based, unsure)

Fruit on his counter

Toast and eggs

He does eat vanilla ice cream as a kid with Stick, HOWEVER: lactose intolerance can happen later in life, but also I knew more than one kid who'd chow down on ice cream anyway even if it led to them spending an hour in the bathroom later

So my theory is either:

Milk really does just throw Matt's stomach off, either because of lactose intolerance or because it just hits his sensitive body wrong

Alternatively, he likes the taste (I've headcanoned for a long time that he'd hate coffee creamer since that's a lot more processed). There's some naturally occurring sugar in oatmilk, granted, but it's still got less in it than dairy-based milk, so he might like the way it's a bit less sweet while still softening some of the bitterness of the coffee.

He was doing it just to irritate Frank because he knows Frank would die before drinking anything but black coffee

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mattsauburneyes

2 years ago

LMAOOOO THIS IS WHAT IVE BEEN THINKING TOO LIKE JEN PROBABLY THINKS "uhhhh and im supposed to know that?? "

matt was shooketh when jen didn't know him as if he doesn't operate out of a literal garbage bin in a random alley in hell's kitchen. mans got on a local newspaper a couple times and suddenly he thinks he's LA famous like no bby girl-

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