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frankiemurdock · 3 years ago

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audiometry

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Summary: You want to test Matt’s hearing and it becomes something of a game between the two of you.

Warnings: none, purely fluff

A/N: ahh so I’ve posted on ao3 but never on tumblr… so hello tumblr world! I’m also uploading this on my ao3 so if you’d prefer to read it there, click this link here. Thanks for reading! (trying to post this again bc the first time it didn’t show up under the tags?? idk let’s hope this works)

Testing Matt’s hearing had become something of a game.

It began unintentionally, on a gray Sunday morning. Rain hammered its tirade on the windows in Matt’s apartment, dripping downward with the neon tint supplied by the billboard beyond. Shortly after breakfast you curled up on the sofa with your book, and Matt followed suit, settling down and tucking your legs over his lap as you stretched out comfortably. His own book was new; it was a braille copy of A Game of Thrones, which you had bought for him on his birthday after insisting for a year that he read the series.

These were the kinds of days you liked best. Quiet, just you and Matt — with the important factor of him being intact, and not bleeding from a patrol — and with no errands to do.

“Where’re you going?” you asked, without glancing up from your book, as Matt suddenly stood and entered the bedroom. He didn’t answer, but wordlessly came out with a blanket. It was an expensive one, but that was to be expected of all the fabrics Matt owned; cheap blankets, he had admitted to you, felt like sandpaper on his skin.

He unfolded the blanket and gently spread it over both of your laps as he sat back down, this time closer to you. “You’re cold.”

“How’d you know? Are you sure you’re not just secretly a psychic?”

He laughed. “I could hear your goosebumps rising.”

“Seriously? What do they sound like?”

He considered your question, smiling slightly as his eyes fell on a spot somewhere a few inches from your face. “You know those disposable foam ear plugs — the sound they make when they expand in your ears? Sort of like that. Except hundreds of them at once, and at a smaller magnitude.”

“Okay. I’m imagining it. Uh, sorry you have to constantly hear my body,” you said, suddenly feeling abashed at all the times that you played with your hair, or picked at a scab, or ground your teeth. “That can’t be very enjoyable.”

Matt’s hand traced your leg under the blanket. “I like it. I like your presence.”

“Can you hear my eyeballs moving?”

“If I concentrate.”

“How about my cells? Can you hear them doing mitosis or whatever?” you said, sitting up and putting your book down. “Or, I don’t know, the mitochondria doing its powerhouse of the cell sort of thing?”

“I have no idea what that’s supposed to sound like,” Matt said, his own smile stretched out into a grin now. “If I knew what I was listening for, then maybe.”

“I refuse to believe that you can hear at a cellular level,” you said, playfully pushing him. “You’re kidding now.” You looked at him doubtfully. “Right?”

“I might be exaggerating just a little to impress a really attractive girl sitting across from me.”

“Ha. Right. Says the man who can’t actually see if I’m attractive or not.” You crawled on top of his lap and leaned into his chest, wrapping the blanket more tightly around the two of you. “On the other hand, I can inform you quite confidently that you are very handsome. And you know I’m not lying, so you have to accept that as an undeniable fact.”

“Unless you’re just a bad judge of physical features.”

You lay there for a minute, your head pressed against his chest. “Also, sorry for being loud with my heartbeat. Doesn’t it ever get annoying?”

His chest moved under you as he laughed. “Why are you apologizing for my ears?”

You tilted your head back to look at him again. It was far too easy to get lost in his eyes, and he had absolutely no idea how beautiful they were. Life just wasn’t fair. “You know what’s embarrassing?” you asked.

“I thought we established that I’m not a psychic.”

“The jury is still out on that one, Murdock.” Lawyer puns had become your new sense of humor. “But anyway. It’s embarrassing that I’m sitting here, my ear literally pressed against your chest, and yet I can’t hear your heartbeat. But you could probably hear mine banging away while I’m showering, or cooking, or—”

“And I love it.”

“That’s not the point! I’m loud, all the time! And this is my formal apology for my heartbeat.”

Matt leaned down and kissed your forehead. “You’re insane.”

And that was how it began — the conversation. Later that day, while fixing yourself a lunch made of leftover pasta and vegetables from the evening before, the sudden desire to test Matt’s hearing was too tempting to ignore. He was in the bathroom, washing blood out of the Daredevil suit, with the faucet running.

You put in your earbuds and turned the volume down so that it was hardly above silence. While the microwaving was heating up your plate, you typed in the first song that came to your head and pressed play.

Even music on the lowest volume setting of earbuds was apparently not immune to Matt’s ears. Which didn’t surprise you, really; the way his head cocked immediately was to be expected.

“You’re listening to… that song from Titanic?” he said, bewildered, emerging from the bathroom with hands stained red.

You pulled your earbuds out. “You have passed level one, Murdock,” you told him gravely.

His expression, if anything, was more baffled. “Level one of what? Recognizing bad music?”

“Celine Dion is not bad music. This song is iconic.”

“It’s campy.”

“If you dare to insult Titanic, I will not hesitate to launch an offensive against you,” you warned him. “And don’t think that your Daredevillish ways will protect you against my wrath.”

You never explained to him what exactly he had passed. Instead, you waited for an opportunity to initiate level two, which you took the time to plan out rather than thinking of something spontaneously.

This stage involved Foggy. When Matt was out doing his… well, his side job, you had taken the opportunity to fill Foggy in on your plan — which was quite simply nothing more than increasing distance every time until Matt didn’t catch the sound of “My Heart Will Go On” playing in your earbuds — and he was, as to be expected, profoundly amused by it.

Which was why, with his suggestion, you were now currently sitting on the sofa that clients sat on in the office of Nelson and Murdock. Karen was sitting at her desk, acting completely nonchalant as though you weren’t there, as per your request over the phone the night before. Foggy had texted you once Matt was safely in his office with the door closed. You could see him through the glass windows, his fingers running over the braille display and his forehead tense with focus.

So long as Matt’s door stayed shut (“because otherwise he’ll smell you,” Foggy had helpfully reminded you), and if you walked with a gait different than usual, there was no reason that he should think you were anyone other than a client waiting. That was why it was important to not draw attention to yourself as you entered; any anxious feelings would make bring Matt’s attention to your heartbeat and likely give away your identity.

Matt’s reaction was instantaneous the moment you hit play on your phone and the first few notes of the song began. His head tilted and confusion crossed his face before he stood up and exited his office.

“Level two is now passed,” you told him, standing and wrapping your arms around him. His fingers danced at your back, where your dress left a bit of skin exposed by your shoulder blades.

“Why aren’t you at work?” he asked.

“It’s good to see you too, Matt,” you said sarcastically, straightening his tie. “I’m on lunch break. I almost got hit by a car sprinting here to put you through level two.”

“Not funny. So you’re just going to keep testing me with Titanic music? That’s what this is about?”

“Perhaps. And now I have to go before my lunch break turns into precious PTO.” You gave him a peck on the cheek. “Go save the world, one legal document at a time.”

And thus the planning for level three started. This time, you wanted it to be significantly harder. The ideal setting for that was Josie’s, where the loud music, clinking of drinks, and drunken chatter of the patrons would surely drown out any tiny sounds that Celine Dion could make through the low volume of your earbuds.

You excused yourself from the table once Matt and Foggy were a few drinks into the evening, smiling to yourself as you slipped your purse over your shoulder and made your way out into the brisk night air.

The whole lie detector part of Matt Murdock made tasks like this more difficult than you would have liked. You had finally settled on telling him you had to make a quick run to the convenience store because you’d forgotten you ran out of deodorant that morning and needed to buy more — which was a truth, and though you had the chance to buy more earlier in the day, you’d held off specifically to use it as an excuse.

Matt had accepted it without question, only smiling and squeezing your hand. No doubt he’d be listening to your footsteps the whole way to ensure you were safe, despite the fact that the store was only across the street. But footsteps were a lot louder than your earbuds.

You only clicked play once you were in the back of the convenience store, standing by the slushie machine as it churned slowly. Now all you had to do was wait about a minute; if Matt didn’t show up by then, you’d assume he couldn’t hear the music.

A teen working the register was lethargically twirling a pen in the air. He glanced at you briefly, then went back to rolling the pen between his fingers. You waited patiently, growing more surprised with each moment that Matt didn’t walk through the door. The song was nearing the chorus now. Can he not hear it?

Perhaps he was too distracted by the drinks and Foggy. He’d have to be focusing specifically on you to hear the music, and even then, you weren’t sure if he could hear it from across the street with all of the noise at Josie’s drowning out everything. The chorus of the song droned on in your ears. Ten more seconds and then level three would be a bust.

But then the bell of the door rang, and in walked Matt, his shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled upwards. His face was flushed slightly and his hair was askew as he turned towards you, tapping his cane rhythmically in front of him. He knocked it into the edge of a shelf full of candy, then corrected his path, sending an apologetic glance towards the teen as though to say, Sorry about that. Seriously, Matt Murdock could have been destined for the stage, you thought to yourself, watching the performance interestedly.

“Hey. I’m over here,” you finally said, covering for him before the teen could grow suspicious about the way Matt was now making a beeline towards where you were.

“You called?” he said, smirking and taking the earbuds out of your ears.

“You heard it,” you said, delighted. “I wasn’t sure about this one. Thought you weren’t going to pass.”

“I don’t think anything could block out those awful high notes.”

“That sounds like a challenge. Next level is going to be near impossible. I’m warning you now.”

He took your elbow as you exited the aisle. “Didn’t you need deodorant?”

“Oh, yeah.” You doubled back to the cosmetics section and grabbed the first stick in the brand that you like. “See? I knew not to lie to you, even about deodorant.”

“Mm. I love that deodorant,” he added, this time in a low voice so that the teen wouldn’t hear. “Smells so good on you.”

“I haven’t even taken the cap off!” You approached the counter and paid for it; only once you were back out in the cool night air did you continue. “You know what’s happening after this hearing test, then. A smelling test is in your future.”

“I can hardly wait,” he said dryly.

But first was the matter of level four. You waited at least two weeks — better to catch him off guard, now that he was just waiting for the opening notes of “My Heart Will Go On”. Now he was onto you even when you unfolded your earbuds for harmless reasons.

“I hear you,” he had said suddenly from the bathroom one day as you took out a cookbook to make a loaf of bread, untangling your earbuds at the same time to listen to a podcast as you baked.

“Good try,” you said, shaking the earbuds. “But I’m not going to be listening to music.”

The same thing had happened when you had left to go to work. Matt was shaving, foam still on his face as he leaned in to kiss you, leaving shaving cream on your face. You laughed and wiped it off as you wrapped your coat around you and headed out of his apartment. Once on the street you took out your earbuds, and before you had even gotten the left earbud in, your phone rang.

Matt’s name was on the screen. “Did I forget something?” you said anxiously, already digging through your purse to make sure you had grabbed your keys and wallet.

“No. But I hear your earbuds.” He paused. “Was this level four? Did I pass?”

“You passed a nonexistent test. Because this isn’t level four. Only Celine Dion will indicate level four,” you informed him. “And I want you to start calling me Pavlov, by the way.”

“I’m assuming that makes me one of Pavlov’s dogs?”

“You got it,” you said, grinning.

And so another week passed, now with you purposely taking out your earbuds to give him false alarms, and relishing the way he cocked his head every time, listening for the opening notes.

Level four, you had decided, was going to take place while he was out being Daredevil. The tricky part would be identifying where he actually was — seeing as the man was like a flying squirrel, moving across the rooftops with far too much alacrity. Finally, almost a month after level three, you got your chance.

“You heading out?” you asked Matt that evening.

He was already climbing into the suit, his eyes fixed somewhere on the floor. “I shouldn’t be out too late. It’s been quiet lately, with the cooler weather.”

“I’ll stay up for you.”

“You don’t need to do that, sweetheart. You have work tomorrow.”

“I want to,” you insisted. But not for the reason you’re thinking, Matt. “Besides, I’ve got my book to finish. And you need someone awake back here in case you need to be stitched up again.” You got up from your spot on the couch and padded over to him. His arms pulled you in tightly, and you stood for a moment, soaking up the moment.

“Call me if you need anything,” you whispered, and then he was up the stairs, leaving through the rooftop access.

Giving him at least thirty minutes to get far away was necessary. You forced yourself to stay cool and collected, in case Matt was still able to hear your heartbeat, and settled back onto the sofa with your book.

Originally you had thought of calling him, using an excuse of just wanting to know how his evening was going in order to find out where he was. But calling Matt on his burner, which was meant for emergencies, felt like a big no-no in your mind. You had no intentions of being the girl who cried wolf, so you had discarded that idea as soon as it came into your head. The only remaining option to find Matt while he was patrolling was accidentally — by the means of a live camera positioned exactly in the direction of a street in Hell’s Kitchen.

It was a lucky find. While browsing online, you had stumbled across a website of webcams set up around the world. Bless whoever created EarthCam.com. And, fortunately, there was a camera conveniently set up at 9th and 34th, which was the very edge of Hell’s Kitchen. That meant a couple hours each night of sitting idly by your laptop, reading while keeping an eye on the rooftops for any movement.

Each night had passed by without luck until tonight. A sudden flash of movement made you look up, expecting it to be just another bird or car going by, but sure enough, there was a small figure on the roof of the building to the right, and he was standing in the way that only the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen stood, listening for the sounds of the city. You were on your feet immediately, book falling onto the floor as you dashed towards the door and slipped your shoes on.

Of course it was tonight, when you had already showered and gotten into pajamas, you thought, grumbling to yourself as you hurried down the hallway. If anyone saw you, they’d think you were out of your mind; your hair was tousled and you were borrowing a large coat of Matt’s because yours was back in the closet. It hung low and you had never felt more frumpy.

Earbuds in your pocket, you made it to the sidewalk and hailed the first cab you found to head south towards 37th.

A distance of three blocks would be the fourth level, you had decided, after consulting Foggy on what an appropriate difficulty would be. The cab driver was hesitant to let you out on the street, which was deserted and dark, but you just thanked him and paid.

Besides, you had no fears of getting jumped. The Devil was near, and if anyone approached you, a shout would be all you needed to alert Matt to your location. Although that would be less than ideal because it would butcher your plan, you reflected, settling yourself in front of the open gates to a Poland Springs delivery zone. Packages of water bottles sat in crates behind you, and across the street was a tailor and parking garage.

Your fingers were cold in the night air. Fumbling for your phone, you opened Spotify, plugging in your earbuds with anticipation. You didn’t dare waste any more time checking the Earth Cam to see if Matt was still on that rooftop, because each second was one second more that he could be getting out of earshot of your earbuds — or worse, getting close enough to ruin the experiment.

Finally you typed in the song, and your thumb was a millimeter away from hitting play when strong hands grabbed you from behind, pulling you back by your shoulders. You yelped and whirled around, heart hammering in your chest, only to find yourself face-to-face with the devil.

“You scared me!” you whispered, yanking out your earbuds. “I thought you were—”

“It’s not a good idea to be out here alone at night. Someone pretty like you might get some unwanted attention,” he said, his voice coarse and even. It struck you then that this wasn’t Matt Murdock. This was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen standing in front of you.

“I didn’t get to even start level four,” you said in a small voice. “How’d you find me here?”

“You should breathe a little quieter if you want to go incognito, love.”

“I was hardly making a sound!”

“That hitch in your breath you always make when you climb out of a vehicle is hard to miss. After that it was too easy to recognize your heartbeat.”

You sighed. “Alright. Fine. I suppose that can count as beating level four, if you were able to hear me exhaling or whatev—”

You were cut off by Matt pulling you forward and ramming his lips against yours. His breath was warm in the night air and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks.

“I win,” he said softly. “Consider level four over.”

“Done,” you said, nearly choking on the word. “Um, you’ve passed the hearing test with flying colors, Mr. Daredevil.”

His response was a cocky grin as he leaned in and kissed you again. You closed your eyes and pressed into him. The suit wasn’t exactly snuggly to hug, but it was all strength and power, and somehow that was almost more enjoyable.

But the moment had to end, and he broke away from you, far sooner than you would have liked. “Someone’s in trouble. I can hear screaming,” he said. “I have to go. There’s a cab about a hundred meters away you can take. Are you all good to get home by yourself?”

“Yeah, of course.” You stepped away. “Please be careful?”

“Always am,” he said, and if you could hear heartbeats, you were certain that his would’ve skipped right there with what was doubtlessly a lie, but as it was, you simply frowned at him.

“And I’ll listen to make sure you get into the cab safely,” he added. “I’ll see you soon.”

You watched him scale the nearby fire escape with dexterity, admiring the way he swung himself up with ease. Smiling to yourself, you hurried to the approaching cab, casting one last look at the rooftop. Matt was already gone, and all that remained of the empty street were the twinkling, dim lights of the street lamps below.

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frankiemurdock · 3 years ago

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Lingering | Matt Murdock x Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: literally like none. Just a bunch of fluff and Matt taking care of you. This is entirely self indulgent.

Summary: You've been worked to the bone and slept a total of 3 hours, so Matt takes care of you during your burnout.

A/N: there will be a smutty part 2 to this 😌 This was made for ezra and i bc we're tired. Enjoy!

"Sweetheart," Matt whispers, knuckles brushing across your cheek as he pulls you back into consciousness as gently as possible. You had been working on his couch for hours on end, laptop screen now dimmed where it lay on your lap, forgotten as you slip in and out of sleep. His touch stirs you, dreams fading out into the background only to be replaced by the pleasant feeling of Matt’s touch.

Your eyes finally blink open enough that you can focus on him, smiling softly at the sight of your boyfriend kneeling in front of you, his hands warm on your cheeks. The billboard outside his window glows brighter now that the sun has dipped behind the skyline, reds and purples dancing across Matt’s face and you can’t help but wonder how he gets prettier each time you see him.

Then again, maybe it’s the lack of sleep getting to you, because the first words out of your mouth are “you look like a skittle, Matty.” He huffs out a laugh, thumb rubbing against your cheekbone, wiping away the tear that falls from the corner of your eye “care to explain?” You shake your head and lean further into his touch, fighting back against the urge to let your eyes slip shut again. “The candy, Matt. They come in rainbow colors, and the light outside is making your face purple. Need I say more?”

“No, I guess not,” Matt muses quietly, grin dimpling his cheeks, brushing back the hair that sticks to the side of your mouth from where you had leaned into your hand.

His touch drop from your face to take the laptop and move it to the coffee table, then gripping your waist so he can pull you to the edge of the couch. Your thighs press to his sides and you can feel each breath he takes, steady and a bit faster than your own sleepy breathing. “Sorry I fell asleep, I was trying to wait until you got home,” you mumble, leaning forward to place your forehead on his shoulder, cursing under your breath when your head thumps harder against him than anticipated. Damn your heavy head and sleep-deprived reflexes.

Matt hums in acknowledgment, tapping your arms until you get the gist and raise them to wrap around his shoulders. “You should’ve gone to bed sweetheart, especially if you’re this tired. Mind telling me how many hours you got last night?” He knows he has you when your breath hitches, face pressing further into his neck. You don’t want him to know just how late you had been up the night before while he was out deviling, finishing your notes for the day while you waited until you eventually passed out.

But you know that he’s just concerned, so you press a kiss to the junction of his neck and jaw in hopes that he won’t scold you when you tell him. “About three hours,” you whisper, stifling an obnoxiously timed yawn that almost seems like the universe picking Matt’s side. He sighs quietly, though there’s no real agitation behind it, just concern “let's get you to bed, then.” This time there’s no need for a tap before you wrap your legs around his hips, clinging to him as his hands slide under your thighs to lift.

Matt stands with no sign of strain, even as he holds your weight in his arms and carries you across the living room and into his bedroom, bending over to ease you onto the edge of the bed. The exhaustion that had seeped into your bones weighs heavier the second Matt steps back to rummage through the drawer that keeps your t-shirts, hands moving across each article of clothing to feel the fabric. He picks the one softest against his fingertips and plucks it from its spot, moving back to stand in front of you. He quickly picks up on the way that you’re swaying, eyelids moving slower with each passing second “c’mon angel, let’s at least change out of your clothes.”

Your stomach flutters with affection at the use of angel, a dopey smile finding its way on your lips. Matt reserved that name for you, the highest of praise coming from the catholic himself, love and adoration seeping through the two syllables. He loved listening to the way it made your heart leap to your throat, mapping the mental image of your blissed expression that his senses piece together, tucking it away for later examination.

Matt leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, placing the sleep shirt to the side so he could tug the one currently on you over your head, tossing it into the corner. You take the time to shimmy off your pants while he unfolds the replacement, placing it on top of your hair and tugging it down, placing yet another kiss to the tip of your nose the second the collar passes.

“Can you stay for a bit before you go out, Matty?” you speak in a hushed tone, letting your boyfriend maneuver your arms into the holes, limbs too tired to do much other than grab at him.

“Of course I can- lets get you under the blankets, baby,” Matt presses against your shoulder until you lay back, eyes already closing while he tugs the silk comforter up to your chest. There’s an attempt to open your gaze one more time so you can catch a glimpse of him to admire in all your sleep deprived glory before inevitably collapsing back into the arms of slumber, but you sorely underestimate the intensity of your fatigue, eyelids only twitching with the attempt.

Matt sheds his work clothes, head tilted just slightly to listen to the sound of you, breathing slowing until it evens out completely. The bed dips under his weight as he slides in beside you, reaching around to pull your body flush against his chest. Matt always needs to feel you in one way or another, needed to feel the heat of your form against his, smooth skin pressed to the marred flesh of his chest. You’d trace the scars late at night when it was just the two of you, curving your finger along them like his body was a canvas and you were the mastermind behind the art.

Your lips part, slow intakes of breath filling your lungs. “I love you so much,” you murmur against his neck, drifting away and leaving him to follow.

Matt holds you tighter “I love you too, sweetheart.”

—

Sometime around midnight is when you wake up again, hand thumping on the mattress beside you but finding no sign of Matt, only a lingering heat left behind from where he had laid next to you. You know he would probably resort to smothering you with a pillow if you attempted to stay up for him, so you decide against it, instead dragging his pillow to your chest and inhaling his scent, letting it envelop you as you close your eyes once again.

Somewhere on a rooftop, a few buildings away, Matt is listening to your breathing, pausing only momentarily to ensure that you get the rest you need before continuing on with his patrol. Slinking in and out of the shadows as fast as possible so he can get home to you.

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frankiemurdock · 3 years ago

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Maybe reader is staying the night at Matt’s (idk cause they’re drunk or something) and one of thems in the bed and ones on the couch, but someone goes to the other in the middle of the night for snuggles bc they can’t sleep????

when you sleep

matt murdock x reader

fluff, again soo refreshing

synopsis: you and matt were incredibly drunk, like you mopped the bar floor, kind of drunk and so you spend the night over at his place but you can’t sleep

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

even in his drunk state, matt had insisted you take the bed. he didn’t even give you enough time to argue before he stripped down to his boxers and threw himself on his couch. you peeled your clothes off, they reeked of alcohol, and you mindlessly rummaged through matt’s dresser. your hands dipped into a dresser and you heard the crinkle of a foil, and you yelped, pulling back from going too far into his privacy.

you rummaged in another drawer until you found a ratty old t shirt of his. it was definitely the alcohol that made you weak for matt, his scent was intoxicating, and so you shoved the t shirt on, happy to be wrapped in his smell.

you padded towards his bed, and sighed. you glanced over at matt who was spilled over on the couch. you didn’t care if you slept on the floor, but it seemed unfair that you got his spacious bed, with the alarmingly comfortable sheets, while he got his stiff couch that gave anyone a sore just from sitting on it.

you mulled it over, but you started to realize you were falling over, so you turned and fell back into the bed. the sheets felt cool on your skin as you took a deep breath, closing your eyes and determined to sleep.

minutes must’ve gone by as you opened your eyes, frustrated that you hadn’t fallen asleep by now. you turned, facing the other end of the bed. matt’s scent was all over the pillow, and it left you unsettled, plagued for warmth of the body that was just in the other room.

begrudgingly, you stood up, and winced at the cold floor your bare feet hit. padding over to the living room, you grabbed a blanket that sat on the other couch, and opened it, walking to the couch matt was on. he wasn’t shivering but it was cold. he looked peaceful, and you couldnt help but to stare at his beauty, the vicious scars that completed that beauty.

noticing there was enough space for you to wedge in between matt and the couch, you stuck yourself in, and you felt the warmth of matt radiate as your legs met. matt stirred in his sleep and you smirked, nudging him as you were now face to face with him. matt recognized your scent and he smiled, sleepily.

you ran your hands through his hair as you tucked your bodies in with the blanket. matt snuggled closer to you, hands wrapping protectively around your body.

“this couch is so small.” he commented, his voice raspy with sleep. his eyes were still closed.

you laughed softly, “i couldn’t sleep.”

matt smiled, “i know. i could hear you tossing and turning after you snooped through my dresser.” he poked your side and you gasped.

you wrapped your hands around matt’s side and let your head fall on his chest, “whatever. just hold me, matty?”

matt held you, and he could hear your snoring moments after. your body was exhausted, but it wouldn’t let you rest unless you were with him, and that fact warmed his heart.

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frankiemurdock · 3 years ago

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bunny if you’re still doing the prompt thing could you do

❛ i like being close to you. you’re warm. ❜ with frank castle please

thank you, love you, 🧵

ok i know these are supposed to be smut but this one is so soft, I have to do soft!frank

frank had woken up about an hour ago and he hadn't moved an inch. you were snuggled up against his side, face pressed into his neck as you snored lightly, your hand cupping the other side of his neck to keep him in place.

his fingers trailed up and down your back lightly, tracing random patterns and shapes as you slept. he only noticed you were awake when your fingers twitched against his neck.

"how long have you been awake?" he hummed, looking down at you.

"about ten minutes." you hummed, shifting to get a little more comfortable.

"you didn't say anything?"

"didn't want to ruin the moment. it was quiet, and i like when you rub my back. plus, i like being close to you. you're warm."

he chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he landed a playful slap against your thigh. "ten more minutes and then we're getting breakfast."

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frankiemurdock · 3 years ago

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Close Contact

Frank Castle x Reader

A/N: Frank and Reader are partners in this! An interesting take in Bed sharing AU? Hope y’all will like it and feedback is always appreciated!

Genre: PG-13, Fluff and Angst.

Notes: Happy 1.2k followers @wint3r-h3art! Been truly blessed to have known you and thank you for the challenge!

2300hrs,

‘Frank, slow down. My leg can’t keep up.’ You tell him for what you believe to be the umpteenth time.

Your partner merely grunts but he makes an effort to minimize his strides. You’re not an idiot. You know he’s pissed off. Perhaps if you were in his shoes, you would be too.

For months, the two of you were chasing every lead on the notorious Kingpin, pulling all stops to even get a whiff of his trace.

Finally, Frank had tracked him down to Macau with rumors of a booming drug trade that involved very dubious clientele.

Everything was going well. Too well.

Firefight happening in split seconds, you raced to rescue a young woman who was about to be caught in the rain of bullets being exchanged.

Pushing her out of the way, you lose sight of the enemy. That’s how you earned two bullets - one in your leg and one at your side.

Breathing heavily, you focus all your energy to stay conscious. It definitely helped to push the unpleasant emotions you had, even if it was just temporary.

Reaching the motel, Frank sets you down gently at the side of the staircase, gruffly instructing you to stay put while he gets a room.

Leaving you under the flickering lights, your mind is allowed to run freely, wondering what went wrong. You knew you were good at your job, so why did it feel like you were a nuisance?

As the rain starts to fall, so do your tears. You were sick of being at the receiving end of such injustice. Impulsiveness overtaking you, you push yourself up, hobbling away from the motel. No way you were going to be under the radar of Frank’s silent glares.

The neon lights from the signboard are about to blind your vision. It probably doesn’t matter as you walk aimlessly, with no destination in sight.

You don’t know how long you have been away from home carrying out multiple back to back missions. All you knew is that you were starting to become very tired.

Texas. Cuba. India. Vietnam. Macau.

You didn’t know it was possible to be ignored across continents.

Caught up in your thoughts, you fail to see an oncoming light from a car. Before you can react, a rough hand grabs you by the wrist, pulling you towards them.

Frank.

‘I told you to wait for me right? Why don’t you ever listen?’

That broke something in you. Pushing him away with your free hand, you gave him a hard stare.

‘Leave me alone Castle. Since that’s what you always do.’ Turning away, you attempt to continue walking but without much success.

A sharp pain attacks your side, throwing you off balance. The street starts to dissolve and the artificial lights fade into darkness.

The last thing you hear is Frank calling out for your name.

***

Regaining consciousness, the dull pain brings you back to your senses.

Craning your neck, you find yourself lying on a bed with Frank sleeping beside you on a sofa that looks way too small for him.

You try to move, hissing in pain. This wakes Frank up immediately as he’s by your side checking on the wounds.

‘I’ve managed to stop the bleeding but we’ll have to check on it every three hours.’ He tells you.

At a loss of what to do next, you simply nod as a gesture of thanks. The next few seconds are painfully silent, as the both of you are thinking of words to fill the air.

‘I’m sorry.’

You turn to face him, surprised that he took the initiative for the first time. Still, you didn’t want to cave in that easily.

‘For?’

Frank’s expression was unreadable. He rubs the bridge of his nose. ‘I didn’t mean to belittle you. You’re good at what you do.’

‘Then why do I feel that you hate me? That you think that I’m a liability?’ You challenged him.

‘I don’t-’

‘If you think that I was a burden to you, you should have just left me to bleed out.’

Frank freezes, hands clenched behind his back. He knew it was your accumulated anger speaking, so why did it pierce his heart so badly?

‘Please don’t say that.’ His voice comes out in a tremble.

‘What? Leaving me to die? If you think my death inconveniences you, don’t worry.’ You were mildly confused at his behavior despite your venomous tone.

‘Do you really think so little of me?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Whenever I’m with you, I lose all my rationality. I couldn’t afford that, so I tried to push you away.’ Frank sighs, trying to calm down. ‘But what happened back there… it scared the shit out of me. I realized that if anything bad happened to you, it’s as good as killing me twice.’

He doesn’t know how to continue. So Frank settles for awkwardly staring at his feet.

‘Come here.’ You beckon him to come closer. Moving yourself to the edge of the bed, you wrap your arms around him, nuzzling your face into his shoulder.

Frank initially stiffens at contact, but your scent embraces him warmly, telling him that it’s ok to be vulnerable in your presence.

Reluctantly releasing him from your embrace, you finally address the elephant in the room.

‘Have you been sleeping on that couch?’

Frank shrugs nonchalantly. ‘There was only one bed but that’s alright. Been in much tougher places.’ He sees you crinkle your nose in worry and can’t help but to feel a warm sensation in his heart.

‘I’m better now,’ you move towards the other end of the tiny bed, patting the empty space beside you. ‘Sleep here.’

Before he can reject, you shoot down all his excuses, insisting that he needs to get a good night’s rest.

Settling into bed, Frank refuses to fall asleep first. He wants to make sure that your wounds aren’t disturbing your rest. Upon seeing the steady rise and fall of your chest, Frank carefully brings you closer into his body.

Looking at your peaceful form, Frank is glad that he can finally be around you as his true self.

Because being at such close contact means that he will be able to protect you freely for eternity.

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