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Sound of Silence

Matt Murdock x Reader

Words: 2472

Summary: Matt tries to find his pregnant wife when half the world seems to have disappeared.

Notes: Okay, so I’ve seen this idea multiple places and I really thought it would make a good imagine. I’m not totally sure who the first person to post this was, so if you guys could tag them in the comments or something that’d be great. I’ve also not seen the end of Daredevil, so this is pretty much not going to deal with anything from the series.

More Matt Imagines: HERE

-

Everything was perfectly normal. Well, as normal as it could be after yet another alien attack in the city. With the ‘Big Boys’ taking them on, Matt figured everything would be resolved. After all, despite damages, they saved New York before. They could do it again. Invaders from space were little above Daredevil’s jurisdiction- not that he actually had any.

“Do you think they’d ever put aliens on trial?” Foggy asked, looking at Karen over his glass. She giggled.

“Don’t you think it’s a little early to be drinking?”

“Hey, if the world is really ending this time, then I think it is perfectly normal for all of us to drown our sorrows in Matt’s cheap liquor.”

Matt pretended to look offended. “You’re more than welcome to go get your own, you know.” He poured himself a glass. “Besides, I’m not the one that got this one. Y/N did.” Not that she’d be drinking it any time soon.

“Ah, and where is the lovely Mrs. Murdock today?” Foggy glanced around the apartment.

“Visiting her mother,” Matt said.

Everyone grimaced in unison.

Foggy looked down at his glass. “She’s going to need this more than I do.”

Matt smiled to himself. Until you got home, he was the only one in the room who knew why his wife would only be drinking water. It was the reason he’d invited Foggy and Karen over. As soon as you finished telling your mother, the two of you would be asking them to be the godparents. Sure, they weren’t Catholic, but Matt had a feeling that Father Lantom would overlook it.

“Okay, so back to my question- if there’s another ‘the sky is falling’ situation, do you think they’d put the space sons of bitches on trial?” Foggy said. His eyes widened. “Do you think people would have to defend them?”

“I think it’s safe to say we wouldn’t have to worry about something like that.” Matt chuckled.

Foggy shrugged and the three of them laughed. Matt had tried not to think of the new attacks in the city. The world was dark enough without galactic threats clouding the sky. He had to be strong. Especially now.

Foggy raised his glass, the drink sloshing against the glass. Karen did the same.

“A toast,” Foggy beamed, “to making it through another day.”

“Cheers,” Karen said.

Matt just laughed and moved his glass to connect with theirs. But there was no clink. His glass hit nothing but empty air. It wasn’t until the other two glasses shattered against the table that he realized he couldn't hear their heartbeats anymore.

“Foggy?” His voice trembled. “Karen?” He reached out his shaking hand, finding nothing but a soft movement of air- like someone taking a final breath. “T-this is funny. Foggy, this isn’t funny. Karen!”

For a painfully long moment, there was nothing but dreadful silence. Everything was still. Dead. Then came the noise. Crashing, sirens, but most of all screams. It filled his head until it was unbearable. He stumbled to the window, feeling a crushing emptiness. Maybe Foggy was right. The world was ending.

-

“You should eat. You look like you haven’t eaten.” Your mother scolded. She set a plate of rolls in front of you and went to pour you a glass of wine.

“I’m fine, mom.” You slid the glass away.

“You’d eat better if the two of you were making any money.” She muttered.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, already fighting the headache you knew would come from this visit. Ever since you and Matt got married, she took a special- and critical- interest in the kind of cases Matt took.

“I didn’t come here to talk to you about that.” You sighed, trying to hide the frustration in your voice.

“All I’m saying is that, should you reconsider going to a bigger firm, maybe a corporate one-”

“Mother.” You exasperated.

“What?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Finally, she was quiet. She simply grinned a shocked grin and threw her arms around you. You were both beaming when you pulled apart and she started rambling about all of the people she needed to call.

“I’m going to be a grandmother!” She cried. “Oh, you and Matt will have to come over for dinner and I’ll cook you a real meal and-”

“Phone calls, mom. You said you were going to make phone calls.” You said before she could passive-aggressively nag you anymore. “Here, you can use mine.” You began to hand her your cell phone.

“Yes, you’re right, I have to…” She didn’t get to finish. Her eyes locked with yours in a moment of confused panic before her body started to change. Piece by piece, it was as if she was a burning piece of paper and the breeze was carrying the ash away until there was nothing left. Your phone fell to the floor, the screen cracking and splitting into dozens of pieces.

You stood, frozen with terror. A horrified sob caught in your throat and you had to force yourself to keep standing as your knees began to buckle. You blinked. Nothing. You pinched your arm. Nothing.

“M-Mom.” You choked out. This can’t be happening.

You managed to walk over to the window, hoping to get some air and that this was all just a result of your mother’s cheap perfume and hormones. But as you looked out, you saw the chaos. Whatever just happened to your mother had happened to other people. Cars crashed into each other. Mothers screamed as their children vanished. Police sirens roared from what seemed like every corner.

Your hand fell to your stomach and you started to hyperventilate. Your mind could only form a single, screaming clear thought.

“Matt.”

-

Matt plowed through the chaos, trying to dodge every panicked civilian running past him on the way to your mother’s apartment. The automated voice of your voicemail ran through his head.

“This is Y/N Murdock. Please leave a message.”

He’d called three times. Nothing.

The building of your mother’s apartment was rampant with terror. People ran in and out, some shouted down from the windows, others just sat alone in their apartments and cried. Even through the walls, he could hear their heartbreak. Still, as hard as he focused, he couldn’t hear you.

He climbed the stairs two at a time until he reached the third floor. The hallway was just as alive with panic as the rest of the building. People darted back and forth between rooms. He felt the numbers on the walls until he reached your mother’s apartment. The door was still, the room inside quiet. He clutched the doorknob with a shaking hand and found it unlocked. The door swung open with an ominous creak.

“Y/N?” He called into the apartment. No response. He stepped inside. “Y/N, sweetheart, please. Please please be here. Something is going on. Please be here.” He felt around the room desperately, hoping that he would feel your skin, hear your voice, even just your heartbeat. He stepped on something, the glass cracking beneath his foot.

Matt’s heart cracked along with it. He crouched down, recognizing your phone in his hand. His knees hit the floor.

None of this made any sense. People don’t just vanish. Half of the hearts in New York don’t just stop beating. If he was one of those big-time heroes, maybe he would know what had happened, but he wasn’t. He was here, living with the consequences again. Right when his life finally seemed to even start making sense.

Oh, God.

The baby.

Matt’s stomach lurched. Another crack shot through his heart. He screamed. Tears burned on his cheeks before he could stop them. He clutched your phone in his hand and hurled it at the wall. Any remaining glass shattered completely.

“What’s happening?” He howled. His sobs made his words sound like a wounded animal. Desperate cries for help.

He thought of praying. Praying for him to be wrong. Praying for you to be here. Praying that whatever the hell had happened hadn’t happened to you. But all he could hear were the screams of the people outside. He knew that, if God really was up there, he wasn’t listening.

-

The apartment seemed to haunt him. As he opened the door with a shaking hand, he tried to ignore the tricks his mind was playing on him. He could still hear the dual heartbeats of you and the baby. He could still feel you near him. Hell, he could even hear your voice. But it couldn’t be real. You were gone. Whatever had happened to Karen and Foggy had happened to you.

Your heart soared when you saw him walk in the door. You called out his name through sobs, but his expression didn’t change. The heartbreak on his face only deepened. It took you a moment to understand why he was responding like this, but once you did, you started to approach him slowly.

He didn’t realize you were really there.

“Matty,” You said. You took slow steps towards him. His head tilted to the side, hearing your footsteps.

“Maybe I’m just going crazy.” He muttered to himself. You took another step.

“Baby, I’m here. I didn’t vanish. I’m right here. I’m okay.”

“Y/N…” His voice was without hope. He said your name like he was praying. Finally, you put your hands on either side of his face.

“I’m right here.” You cried. “I’m here. Matty, I thought you were-” Your words cut off with another sob. Realization and relief washed over your husband’s face. Matt didn’t say a word. He just threw his arms around you, crying into the crook of your neck. He clung to you like you were the only thing keeping him from disappearing just like everyone else.

“Karen and Foggy… I went to your mother’s apartment. Your phone… I was convinced that you were- oh thank God.” He choked. You held him tighter, your whole body trembling with a combination of relief and terror.

The two of you must have stayed like that for hours. Holding each other while the world fell apart around you. For a short time, all that mattered was that Matt was here. He was in your arms and kissing your face. He muttered a few more prayers- if he didn’t maybe you’d still disappear.

Once you finally broke apart, the panic resurfaced in your chest. Karen and Foggy. Your mother. What the hell happened? Were they dead? Where else was this happening? Was it just New York? Was it the whole world?

All of the questions built up into one that actually formed on your lips. You curled up beside Matt on the floor, laying your head on his chest and you both leaned on the couch.

“What are we supposed to do now?”

Matt tucked your head under his chin. “We survive.”

-

Five Years Later

A moment of panic settled into his chest. He listened to the bustle of people around him. A heaviness hung in the air- the same weight that had lingered for the past five years. It made it hard to focus.

“Jackie!” He called into the crowd. He listened again and heard it. Laughter. Playful barks and a clinking collar. He let out a sigh of relief and followed the sound of his daughter’s laugh.

She’d wandered off to pet a dog- whose owner was happy to stop her jog and let Jackie pet him. When Matt found them, the two continued their run, much to the dismay of the young girl.

“Jackie Karen Murdock, how many times have I told you to stay with me when we’re walking?” He scolded, but his tone was light. Her small hand found his and her voice matched a pout.

“Sorry, daddy.”

He smiled at her and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Come on. Mom and Percy will be getting back soon.”

“Okay!” She squealed and began pulling him down the sidewalk. Matt laughed and did his best to keep up with her. By the time they’d reached the apartment building, you were coming down the sidewalk from the other direction, having just brought your son back from a doctor’s appointment.

“Just a little cold. Nothing to worry about,” You said, joining your husband and daughter at the front steps.

“That’s great,” Matt beamed. When you told him you thought Percy needed to go to the doctor, his brain naturally jumped to the worst scenario. The baby in your arms reached out his tiny fists to his father. Matt took him from you and you couldn’t help but marvel at him.

The way he’d fought and worked to keep the city safe these past few years and still was able to have moments like this- moments of peace- was something you admired. Somedays you worried you’d forgotten what it felt like to not worry.

“Can I go play now?” Jackie whined, tugging on your pant leg. “Daddy got me a new toy.”

You shot your husband a look. He shrugged.

“I caved.”

You shook your head and laughed. “Alright, go on upstairs. We’ll be there in a second.” She took your keys and the bag from Matt’s hand and bolted away. She knew her way around the building- probably a little better than you’d like. It’d make her sneaking around when she’s older a lot harder to catch. Then again, with Matt that probably won’t be an issue. The thought made you snicker.

“What?” Matt smiled. You kissed him on the cheek.

“Nothing.” Part of you was just happy that there was a future to think about. For so many… You tried not to dwell on it.

Just as you moved to follow Jackie, Matt froze. His expression darkened and a worried tone took over his voice.

“Something’s happening.”

A dark form seemed to overtake the air, like a solid, ashy mist. Then… people. Dozens of people appeared around you where there was nothing before. The recognition clicked in your mind. This was how everyone disappeared.

They were coming back.

Matt pulled you aside, still holding Percy close to his chest. He winced at the sudden influx of noise and panic flooding his head. Confusing shouts and cries filled the air. Percy’s wails joined and you did your best to calm him down.

Through everything, Matt heard the sound of small, quick footsteps running back down the stairs. He grabbed your hand.

“Jackie,” He said. Both of you hurried into the building, catching her at the top of the stairs. She didn’t seem scared, however. She seemed excited.

“There are people in the living room.” She giggled. “They said they’re your friends. Can they be my friends too?”

You felt Matt’s grip on your hand tighten and the two of you ran up to the apartment.

fanart of fanfic manacled by @senlinyuwrites

i came across this fanfic when browsing angst works on ao3... and i regret nothing. i know nothing about harry potter or dramione, but wow this fic just hit the right spot for me. enemies who find solace in each other 😭👌 im so weak for intense dark intimate fic

MY SHAYLAAAAASS

The memories hurt sometimes

this is canon idc

something fluffy with the trio from the sequels? but no reylo pls

“So, what’s the point of this?” Rey asked, tugging at her jacket. “And do I have to be dressed up?”

“It’s a costume,” Poe replied, adjusting his belt. “For the party. It’s fun. Everyone dresses up, and then we have a party with treats.”

“Treats?” Rey asked, her eyes widening.

Poe grinned. “Yeah, treats. Like cookies and chocolates.”

“This is so baggy!” Finn protested, messing with the poncho that Poe had forced him into. “Why do people wear such baggy clothes?”

“We just need to wear them for a few hours,” Poe assured him. His face fell slightly and he added, “I mean, we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Rey and Finn looked at each other. “We want to do it,” Rey declared, reaching up to properly tousle her hair. “So, when do we go?”

“Are you ready?” Poe asked BB-8. The responding trill was a bit indignant, but BB-8 rolled out anyway. Rey stifled a giggle.

“Are you two ready?” Poe asked Finn and Rey.

“I guess,” Finn replied, adjusting his poncho one last time.

“Let’s go get some treats!” Rey declared, taking Poe and Finn’s hands and dragging them out the door.

The party was in full swing when they arrived. Jess laughed when she caught sight of them. “Finally found people to help you live your dreams, Poe?”

“You just wish you’d thought of such great costumes yourself,” Poe shot back.

“Can we see these great costumes?” a voice asked from behind them.

Rey and Finn both looked at Poe before turning around. Leia was standing behind them, an eyebrow arched. To one side of her was Luke, who had a hint of a smile on his face, and on the other side was Han, who was clearly trying very hard not to look amused. Chewbacca was making no such effort, and even R2-D2’s beeping sounded amused.

“Kids all across the galaxy dress up like the heroes who took down the Empire,” Poe said with a winning smile. “I thought Finn and Rey deserved a chance to do it too.”

“So you three dressed up as us,” Leia said flatly.

Poe looked at Finn, dressed up as Luke, and then at Rey, dressed up as Han. “I think we did a pretty good job of it.”

“Did you draw the short stick, kid?” Han asked. “No one else wanted to wear the dress?”

Leia smacked him upside the head.

“No, I insisted,” Poe replied, adjusting his long white dress. “Besides, Finn rescued me from the First Order dressed as a stormtrooper, and then Rey flew a droid with a secret message back to the Resistance in the Millennium Falcon. I think it’s pretty clear who’s who.”

Luke grinned. “But Rey is a Force-user from a desert planet, and Finn almost left before coming back to help his friends.”

“You’re not arguing Poe being me?” Leia asked.

Luke shook his head. “No, I think he’s pretty much got you covered.”

BB-8 trilled indignantly. “Really?” Poe demanded. “After how hard it was to get you to agree to that paint job, now you’re offended people aren’t admiring it?”

R2-D2 beeped his compliments, and BB-8 preened. The blue paint job did look a little strange on them when Poe was so used to their normal orange, but it was necessary to complete the costume, and he’d specifically chosen a paint that would come off easily. Besides, BB-8 idolized R2-D2 enough that it hadn’t actually been that hard to get them to agree to dressing up like him.

“You don’t have a Threepio,” Han remarked. “Or a Chewie.”

Chewbacca roared and went over to stand next to Rey. Han gaped at him. “Seriously?”

Chewbacca tousled Rey’s hair and gave Han a very smug look.

“Now it looks like you don’t have a Chewie,” Rey said, sounding just as smug as Chewbacca looked.

“You can keep Threepio, though,” Poe said. He didn’t mind working with the droid on occasion, but his neuroses definitely started getting on Poe’s nerves after a while.

“Does this mean I can pass off some of my paperwork to you?” Leia asked. “Since we’re apparently so similar?”

“Only if I’m in costume,” Poe joked, hoping Leia wasn’t about to pull a stack of datapads out of nowhere and foist them off on him.

“We should stop hogging you three,” Luke said, giving them a smile. “Have fun at the party. And those costumes are really spot on. Han, that jacket even looks just like yours.”

Han studied Rey’s jacket, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That looks just like the jacket that went missing three days ago,” he said suspiciously.

Rey and Finn, who had both seen Poe sneak the jacket out of the laundry, shot him a nervous look. Poe winked.

“Run.”

They scattered instantly, and Han started yelling for them to come back, and Poe couldn’t help but laugh, feeling younger than he had in years. He’d promised Finn and Rey that this would be fun, and it was. He hoped they were enjoying themselves as much as he was.

And maybe Jess was right in teasing Poe about fulfilling his dreams, but even still, he couldn’t help but think their costumes were pretty great indeed.

holy shit a few episodes to punk hazard and we're already talking about DR*G ABUSE??? ON KIDS????

holy fuck

Experimenting with posting videos on tumblr idk how this works

ff: Manacled by senlinyu

Rey was right!!! BB-8 did do the same!!!!

BB-8 transferred his life into D-0 to bring him back!!!! Rey is a good teacher even when she doesn’t realize she’s teaching.

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.”

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