my fanfic library

any fics i write will be reblogged here from @daring-the-devil! turn on post notifications so you’re updated when i post

[ellie-writes-fics]

Hi! I’m Ellie. This is the fic library for my main account, @daring-the-devil. You can find all of my fics on there, but this account is solely for fics I write and post—I will be reblogging all of them with this account. If you wish to be updated just on the fics I post (without joining a taglist), follow this account and turn on post notifications!

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 11

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell's Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~1600 words)

author's note: holy shit, we're back, babey!! thus begins the third and final arc of this series. picking up right where the last part ended, you try to keep daredevil from dying in your living room. this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warnings: some strong language, description of blood/injuries

read part 10 here | start at the beginning | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

For a moment, all you can do is stand there and stare at the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen as he bleeds out all over your living room floor. He’s still breathing, his bloodied lips parted slightly, which is good. Because that means he’s still alive. 

Then—

“Holy fucking shit,” you manage, rushing towards him. You press two shaking fingers to his neck—pulse is slow. You don’t have any medical training, but you’re pretty sure that’s not a good sign. And, well, you know what it means when his heart stops beating altogether. 

“Why the fuck would you come here?” you ask, even though you know you’re not getting an answer out of him. You’ve only met this guy a couple of times, and yet here he is, dying in your apartment. 

Great. This is great. 

No, you correct yourself firmly. He’s not going to die here. Not if you can help it. 

“No hospital, probably,” you mutter, forcing yourself to your feet. Fuck it—you’ve got a first aid kit in the bathroom. Paying mind to the body on your floor, you haul ass to get it. 

You stop by the hallway closet on your way back, carelessly pulling out a stack of towels. Once you’re back with Daredevil, you maneuver him so that he’s laying on a couple of the towels, keeping the spreading pool of blood from getting much worse. Because fuck this, you’re not losing your security deposit because of an adrenaline junkie in fetish gear. 

You slide a wadded-up towel under his head for a cushion. Your fingers brush against the horns protruding from his helmet and you can’t fight back a shiver. It’s odd—every other time you’ve been around him, he’s been a sort of intimidating figure, the horns catching the light, giving him the appearance of some twisted avenging angel. 

Here, on your floor, he looks like a man in a suit. Like a superhero. But you have a feeling in your gut that he’s just a regular man. 

“I’m really sorry about this,” you say as you begin to work at the various zippers and buckles on his suit to take the top part of it off. It takes you a minute, but you end up succeeding, having to roll him a little to get the top of the suit off and out of the way, leaving him in the black compression shirt he’d been wearing underneath. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s jacked, but you don’t have time to sit back and appreciate the fact. Instead, you turn your attention to the gaping wound in his side. 

The armor probably prevents anything major from happening, but apparently whoever had attacked Daredevil tonight had gotten lucky, because there’s what looks like a nice, fresh gash in his skin. You’ve watched enough crime dramas to know that it’s probably a bullet wound. From what you can tell, though, there’s no bullet actually in there. 

A graze, then. Hopefully you won’t kill him trying to clean it. 

You rush to the kitchen and wash your hands before pulling on a pair of rubber gloves. The last thing you want is for him to get an infection because you patched him up with ice cream residue on your fingers. 

You don’t have anything you could use to stitch him up (not that you’d be able to even if you did), so you settle for cleaning him up to the best of your abilities. His stomach rises and falls under your hands as you pull his shirt up and start wiping the blood from his skin with a wet towel, exposing the fine patchwork of bruises and scars, old and new, that mottle his pale skin. Thankfully, the graze seems to be the worst of it all, so you figure you can ignore the smaller things while you work on this. 

You press gauze to the wound and apply pressure, remembering when you’d had to help a coworker patch up a knife injury at an old job. Apply pressure, keep it there, stop the bleeding. That’s step one. 

“Please don’t die,” you mutter quietly. “Please, please, please do not die.”

You have enough problems as it is, working at the cafe. You really do not need a dead man in your apartment. 

It doesn’t look like he has many injuries on his legs—at least, none that you think he would be in any danger of bleeding out from—so you let him keep some dignity by leaving his pants on. God, imagine him waking up and finding himself with no pants on in your apartment when you’re practically a stranger. You’d rather not put him in that position if you can help it. 

Something—a hand—latches onto your wrist. It takes everything in you not to scream. Instead, you look down and find Daredevil’s chest heaving for air, his mouth opening and closing. You still can’t see his eyes, thanks to the mask still being there, but you know he’s awake now. 

Good. Still not dead.

“What—?” he chokes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say, trying for soothing. You bring your free hand to his where it’s still holding onto you, squeezing his fingers. “You’re at my apartment. You just…you just showed up. You’re hurt. It’s okay. I’m taking care of you.”

He says nothing for a few moments, still heaving for breath. You find yourself wishing he wasn’t wearing the mask, if only so you can see his expression. Right now, all you’ve got is his mouth, and he’s looking a little like a dying fish, so you can’t really use that as any indication for how he’s actually doing. 

(But you’ve come to understand that he’s a dramatic little shit, so maybe you can.)

Once it becomes clear that he’s not planning on talking anytime soon, you gently tap him on the chest. “Hey, Big D. I need my hand back. If I don’t patch you up, you’re going to bleed out. We don’t want that, right?”

He waits a second before responding, his voice hoarse. “No, I guess not.”

You find yourself smiling in relief. “Okay.”

His hand slips from yours, landing next to your leg where you’re kneeled next to him, his fingertips brushing your leg. You suck in a breath at his touch, gentle and somehow familiar. It’s oddly comforting, even with his blood all over your hands. You try to hold onto the good feeling as you carry on. 

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually, the bleeding slows and stops, letting you patch it up with more gauze and some medical tape before securing it all with the biggest band aid you have in your kit. You take care of the smaller cuts once you’re done, and then finally, you sit back on your heels, arms draped over your knees. 

“Should be good to go,” you say, wiping your forehead with your sleeve. He hasn’t said a word in the last five minutes, hasn’t moved since he dropped his hand to touch your leg. If not for the occasional twitch under your hands, you’d think he’d fallen back unconscious. “I need to take your helmet off to check for head injuries.”

At that, he sits up—way too quickly, judging by the hiss he lets out through gritted teeth. You gasp and lurch forward, guiding him so he’s sitting upright against the side of your couch, head lolling forward onto his chest. 

“Stupid ass, why would you do that?” you ask, pressing your hand to the large band aid. “If you have a concussion—”

“I don’t have a concussion,” he says insistently. 

“Well, I don’t know if I should believe you,” you say. 

“You should.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Don’t you trust me?”

You cross your arms. “Y’know what? Not really.”

He freezes. 

“First, I think you’re going to kill me even though you saved my life seconds before,” you say, thinking back to when he’d saved you from the guys attacking you behind the cafe. “And then you show up on my rooftop—”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know—I haven’t been clear with you—”

“And now you’re here, in my apartment, because you came to me instead of someone with actual medical training,” you say, waving your hands. “Why? More importantly: why me, out of everyone you’ve helped over the years?”

He swallows, tongue darting out to run over his lips, and the distracted part of you inside follows the motion with your eyes almost unintentionally. 

“I trust you,” he says after a few moments. 

“I see that,” you say, and his mouth twitches. “But I don’t know if I should trust you.” You shift so you’re sitting a few feet away from him, legs crossed, elbows braced on your knees. You still have your bloody gloves on, so you try to keep them away from your face. “Just give me something, man. Please.”

You can’t help but feel a little guilty about it, goading him into taking his mask off. This guy has been protecting his identity from the public for years now. Why the fuck would he give it up to you?

But before you can backtrack or apologize, he’s reaching up and undoing the clasps of his helmet. He pulls it off. 

And it feels like you’ve been shot in the chest. Because staring at you vacantly, leaning against your couch as he tries not to bleed out, is your boyfriend.

Matt Murdock.

part 12

taglist (closed!)

@your-not-invisible-to-me @hellskitchens-whore @l-a-y-n-i-e @a-girl-called-herby @u23r2p4m @dyzlks @lucypaulette @father4giveme @feliciab1990 @aramora @does-existance-exist @flaskofheads @thegreengoop @urlocalgeek @abbyhaslongshorts @shadybeef @amaryllisblue @ashtasticperson @niallsvirgosun @swinginmusicalfunnydragon @ravenclawbitch426 @addicted2spidey @almosttoopizza @queentorresstuff @romanoff-queen

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 10

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~1800 words)

author’s note: part 10!! we have reached the end of ARC 2 of this series! more info will be available for the next parts  in my reblog of this post. in this one, you start to wonder a little bit about your relationship with matt and the future steps you plan to take. this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warnings: some strong language, a scene with food/eating, brief descriptions of injuries

read part 9 here | start at the beginning | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~ 

It takes a little time, but eventually, all of the bruises decorating Matt’s skin fade away completely, though your worries never do. Still, you do your best to move on from it, settling back into the comfortable pattern of your relationship. It doesn’t feel as shiny or new anymore now that you’ve been together for a couple of months, but that might be your favorite part about it—you have someone to fall back on, just as Matt can fall back on you. 

Keep reading

[daring-the-devil]

His! I really love your Matt fics and was wondering if I could request something. A fic with Steve Harrington, something fluffy. Maybe with a reader that hasn't really dated anyone and is very anxious about the whole relationship things (it is, very clearly, about me hehe)

Thank you! Love your writing!

Hi anon!! Sorry this took so long for me to post! This is my first time writing for Steve so I really hope I did him justice for you 💜 (and don't worry, I feel the same about dating too 😅).

Cool Boy - Steve Harrington x Reader - 1k words

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warning: on-page mentions and descriptions of food, some kissing

masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

Even before you started dating him, you’d always paid attention to Steve Harrington. 

He’s one of the cool boys who walks around Hawkins High like they owned it. Him with his (honestly magnificent) head of hair, the smile that he beams at girls and classmates and teachers. He’s friendly, he’s funny, and while he isn’t the smartest of the bunch, he isn’t stupid. 

You have history and math together, and you sit a few seats away from each other, so you’ve had to work together on a couple of assignments before. He’s nice, so much nicer than you’d expect someone like him to be, and if you end up daydreaming about him in your other classes, well, that’s no one’s business but your own. 

So, when he asks you out, you say yes without hesitation. 

It was coffee at first, then bowling, and before you know it, you’ve been going out for three weeks and you’ve shot up the social ranks in school, near-invisibility to Hawkins royalty. It’s a drastic change, and it takes a little to get used to, but if you get to be with Steve because of it, well, you’ll gladly accept it. 

Even now, as you’re at your locker between classes, people pass by you and give you looks, some of them nastier than others. You ignore them to the best of your abilities, but it gets easier when Steve himself shows up to say hi to you. 

“Hey, babe,” he says, leaning in to kiss you. You smile and bump his shoulder with yours. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” you say, opening your locker. “What’s up?”

“So, there’s a movie playing at the drive-in theater,” Steve says, leaning against the lockers. One of the basketball boys calls his name and he looks up and waves. Turning back to you, he asks, “You wanna go?”

“Tonight?” you ask, handing him a book to hold while you move some stuff around in your locker. He takes it without hesitation. 

“Yeah, if you want to,” he says. “I can pick you up at six. We can get snacks.” 

At the suggestion of snacks, Steve wiggles his eyebrows, knowing it’s the number-one thing to motivate you. You can’t help but grin as you take the book back from him and stick it back into your locker. 

“Sounds like a plan,” you say. 

“Okay, great!” he says, kissing your cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye,” you say, and he salutes you (dork) before heading down the hall. You watch him go, your bottom lip between your teeth, and you shut the door to reel your thoughts back in. 

***

True to his word, Steve pulls up outside your house at six, his head sticking out of his car window as he waves at you. You smile and say goodbye to your parents before heading out, all but running down the steps of your house to the street. 

“Hi,” you say as you slide into the passenger’s seat. He leans over and kisses you. 

“Ready?” he asks. When you nod, he starts driving again. 

Music plays softly on the radio. You like that about him, that his music doesn’t blast and blare. It adds a level of atmosphere to the drive—as much atmosphere as a drive in Hawkins can have. You stare out the window, watch the buildings go by, listen to him humming along to the music in the background. 

When you get to the theater, you order a hot dog and a paper bucket of popcorn and Steve gets sodas and a slice of pizza and the two of you find yourselves a spot to watch the movie. You recognize a few people from school. Some of them even wave in your direction, but part of you suspects that they’re just waving at Steve. 

Something about that makes your heart sink a little, and you find yourself shrinking down into your seat to the best of your abilities. 

But, yeah—while Steve may not be the smartest, he can tell when something is off about you, so it doesn’t take long for him to notice. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks, his fingers grazing your wrist. 

You try to nod, but the motion is a little jerky and uncomfortable. “I’m fine. Just—”

You shoot Steve a glance, trying to gauge his reaction. He’s only looking at you with wide, soft eyes, encouraging you to go on. Quietly, you sigh, and add, “This is my first relationship. You know that, right?”

“Of course,” Steve says. 

“And I’m just—I’m worried,” you confess. “Because you have so much more experience than I do and I’m so scared I’ll screw something up and embarrass you and I don’t want to make you upset and—”

“Baby, baby, it’s okay,” he says, lacing his fingers through yours. You pause, taking a deep breath that shudders through your whole body, and he says, “Nothing you do will make me feel embarrassed, okay? And you not having as much experience as me isn’t a problem at all, trust me. I just want you to feel comfortable, and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you do. Okay?”

He sounds so honest, sincere, that you can’t help but feel a rush of affection for him. You may not have been dating long, but you trust him. You know he means every word he says—you’ve always known that about him, haven’t you?

Steve Harrington, the cool boy—who also wears his heart on his sleeve. 

“Thank you,” you say, your voice a little shaky, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. 

“Of course,” he says, squeezing your hand. He kisses your cheek, his lips soft and warm against your skin. “Now, come on. Movie’s starting.”

The screen outside your window lights up, and you shift as close to him as you can. His fingers are still laced with yours. You smile to yourself and rest your head against his shoulder, settling in for a good time together.

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 9

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~1300 words)

author’s note: we’re back with part 9, babey!! your concerns about matt start getting a little…worse. sorry if this is a bit messy—i did not feel like proofreading it! this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warnings: alcohol consumption, a brief vague mention of homophobia (past, not on-page), some strong language

read part 8 here | start at the beginning | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

On Friday, you head straight home after leaving work so you can shower and change before you meet Matt and his friends at Josie’s. You take your time getting ready and double-check that you have your wallet before leaving. It’s not an exceptionally far walk, but you’ve learned to start taking cabs to places if you’re walking at night, so you manage to hail a cab and direct it to Josie’s. 

Keep reading

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 8

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell's Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~1000 words)

author's note: part 8! here, you start to wonder if something's up with matt. sorry this is so late, i had such bad writer's block for the longest time with this fic and i had to step back to give myself some room to breathe.

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warnings: some strong language, a mention of injuries (nothing graphic)

read part 7 here | start at the beginning | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

“Hey. Hey.”

Your head jerks up from where you’d been resting it on the surface of one of the tables at the cafe, and you find yourself staring directly at Eliza, who’s looking down at you with a vaguely unimpressed look on her face. 

“What?” you ask, wincing at how scratchy your voice sounds. 

“Were you sleeping?” she asks, her tone equally unimpressed. 

You shake your head. “No. Just…thinking.” It's a lie, and you're pretty sure she can tell.

She squints at you for a moment before nodding. “Right. Yeah. Well, we’re opening in five minutes, so you better get your ass up.”

Shit. You glance at your watch and find out that she’s right. You haven’t even gotten the machines running yet. Sighing, you follow Eliza behind the counter and get to work. 

Over the last few days, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Daredevil’s visit. He hasn’t shown up on the news since then, so you don’t know what he’s been up to, but the fact remains that it’s pretty obvious to you that he’s been keeping an eye on you—which is worrisome to say the least, since you still don’t know why he’s doing that. 

Still, you find yourself feeling grateful—grateful that he saved you, that he’s looking out for you, that he doesn’t seem to have reason to go after you like he does everyone else he speaks to. And you’d really like to keep it that way. 

You finish getting everything set up right as Eliza switches the sign to Open, and as if on cue, Matt walks through the door minutes later, heading straight to the counter. 

“Hi,” you say, and a smile flicks across his face. “What can I get you? We got a new shipment of teas straight from Japan.”

“What kinds?” he asks, leaning across the counter like he’s actually interested in knowing, even though he’s just going to order the same thing he always does. You explain it all anyways—jasmine, cherry blossom, at least four different kinds of matcha. He listens carefully, his attention never wavering from you, and when you’re done, he says, “Those sound amazing.”

“They are,” you say, grinning. “I definitely recommend the jasmine.”

“Oh, then it must be good.”

“It is! Would you like to try some?”

He hums thoughtfully, his head tilted in that puppy-dog way of his, and says, “I’ll have a large black coffee.”

Eliza snorts loudly behind you. “Of fucking course.”

“Asshole,” you mutter, and impulsively, you place your hand on his jaw and lean across the counter to kiss him. 

“Get a room, you too!” Eliza calls. Matt laughs. 

“I’ll get that ready for you,” you say, already punching in his order. 

“What, the room?” he teases. 

“Go,” you say, huffing, and his laugh still rings in your ears as you turn away from him. 

It’s been weeks, and you still can’t figure out this man’s taste buds. He’s so picky about all of his food, and yet the only thing he’ll ever order from here is a black coffee. You bite back a smile as you make his drink. God, you’re so gone over this man, it’s not even funny. 

Eliza starts dealing with the second customer of the day while you pop a lid onto Matt’s drink and approach the counter. You accidentally turn too quickly and feel something twinge in your neck, likely from your impromptu power nap on the table. You wince and set the cup down. 

“Coffee for Matt,” you say, and he’s at the counter in seconds. 

“Thank you,” he says, his brow creasing. “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, just got a slow start this morning,” you say. 

He reaches out to take the cup, and you gasp. 

His knuckles are bruises, even split open in some places, fresh scabs decorating his hands like jeweled rings. You know he boxes, and you’ve seen him box before (you try to push away that memory before it starts doing things to you), but this is way worse than it usually is. 

“What happened?” you ask, gently holding his hand and inspecting the cuts. 

“Ah, nothing,” he says. When you glance up at him, you see that his face is turned slightly away from yours. “Just went a little too hard at the gym last night, that's all.”

The way he says it, so carefully measured and casual, makes you pause. 

Matt’s never been anything but honest with you the entire time you’ve known each other, not that you’ve known each other long. But he’s so open about everything, so visibly caring about you and his friends and his clients and this city, that you know what he’s like when he’s being honest. 

Here, now…you’re not so sure. 

It’s at times like these when you wish he wasn’t wearing his glasses, because all they are right now is a stone wall. And, sadly, you don’t know him well enough yet to break it down. 

Matt clears his throat, jolting you out of your thoughts, and says, “Are you free this Friday? Foggy wants you to go to Josie’s with us again.”

“Uh, yeah,” you say, dropping his hand. He picks up his coffee. “I’ll be there.”

“Great.” Matt reaches out with his free hand and pulls you in to kiss you, and you kiss back without hesitation, even as your heart beats with confusion. “I’ll call you later.”

“You better,” you say, watching his retreating back.

The door opens and he steps out of the way to let in a new customer, the motion fluid in a way you haven’t seen before, and your heart jumps to your throat. 

What’s going on?

“New customers,” Eliza hisses. “What’s up with you today?”

Shit, you think, running to the counter, putting thoughts and fears about Matt out of your mind the best you can. 

“Nothing,” you say, swallowing. You put on your best smile and hope it doesn’t look too fake. “It’s nothing.”

part 9

taglist (let me know if you want to be added!):

@your-not-invisible-to-me @hellskitchens-whore @l-a-y-n-i-e @a-girl-called-herby @u23r2p4m @dyzlks @lucypaulette @father4giveme @feliciab1990 @aramora @does-existance-exist @flaskofheads @thegreengoop @urlocalgeek @abbyhaslongshorts @shadybeef @amaryllisblue @ashtasticperson @niallsvirgosun @swinginmusicalfunnydragon @ravenclawbitch426 @addicted2spidey @almosttoopizza

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 5.5

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~700 words)

author's note: WOW sorry for disappearing on y'all for a hot minute there! i'm still working on the next part of this series (part 8) but i wanted to write this little interlude that takes place after part 5: matt reflects on saving you. this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warning: some strong language, a brief (very vague) reference to violence

read part 5 here | start at the beginning | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

At three in the morning, Matt tumbles into his apartment and tears off his helmet, chest heaving, sweat cooling on his forehead. His heart is going so quickly that he’s worried it’ll give out on him, the usual pounding of his heartbeat reduced to a higher-pitched vibration that hurts his entire chest. He presses a hand to his ribs to try to ease the pain, but it doesn’t work. 

You weren’t supposed to be there. 

You’re never at the cafe that late. You’re usually home by then, the cafe long-closed, everything waiting patiently for your arrival the next morning. You weren’t supposed to be there in the back, in the alley, alone and vulnerable and—

Fuck, he thinks, pressing his fingers to his temples. He can still smell the fear on your skin underneath the aroma of coffee and freshly-baked muffins. His ears still ring with the sound of your voice as you begged him not to touch you. He’d never hurt you—never. But of course you had no way of knowing that. 

He was the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, responsible for half of the people who ended up in the hospital. 

And you weren’t supposed to be there. 

Before Matt can even process what’s going on, he’s plucking his phone off of the kitchen counter and calling Foggy. 

“Jesus Christ, man, it’s fuckin’ three in the morning,” Foggy groans, his voice raspy with sleep. 

“I need—” Matt cuts himself off, his throat closing up. “Fuck, Foggy, I screwed up.”

“Whaddya mean?” Foggy asks. He sounds a little more alert now, worry easing its way through the slurs between the words. “You screwed up? What, did you kill someone or something?”

“No,” Matt says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I—they met Daredevil.”

Matt doesn’t even have to say your name for Foggy to understand what he means. Years and years of friendship will do that. 

There’s a rustling on the other end of the call, followed by footsteps, and then Foggy saying, “Explain. Now.”

Matt rattles off his explanation—that you’d been in the alley, you’d gotten attacked, he’d had no choice but to step in. Foggy listens intently the entire time, and even after Matt finishes, he stays quiet for a moment longer, taking it all in. 

Before Matt can ask if Foggy’s still awake, Foggy says, “Matt, I say this with all the love in the world: you are the biggest, dumbest dickhead that I have ever met.”

“What—Foggy—?”

“How the fuck is that screwing up?” Foggy asks. Matt can hear the air quotes. “You did the right thing, got in there like a hero, saved their life, and then got out. Easy as pie. What’re you so mad about?”

“I made a promise—”

“Well, I guess you broke it,” Foggy says, “even if you did it by saving their life. Look, I know you want to keep this to yourself, but if you really care about them—if you really want to be there for them—then you have to accept that sometimes, it’s going to be the other guy. And if—if—you decide to tell them, then…well, if they care about you, they’ll accept it too.”

There’s a reason why Foggy is one of the most formidable lawyers in New York City right now: he’s impossible to argue with. Matt sits heavily on his couch, raking a hand through his hair, Foggy’s words echoing in his ears. 

It doesn’t matter that you’ve only barely started dating—Matt knows that what Foggy says is true. He’s lost too many good things because of his inability to trust people with his other life. He’s not about to let you go too. 

Maybe he’s going all-in too quickly, but… This time feels different. Good. Real. 

He doesn’t want to let that go. And in order for it to stay that way, he’s going to have to trust you. 

“Yeah,” Matt says. He breathes in, smells coffee. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Foggy says. He’s preening, Matt can tell, and he’s going to be fucking insufferable at work tomorrow. “Now go to sleep. You sound like you need it.”

“Thanks, Foggy.”

“Anytime, bud.”

The call ends, letting the apartment descend into silence, but the raging storm inside of Matt’s head has never been so loud.

part 6

taglist

@your-not-invisible-to-me @hellskitchens-whore @l-a-y-n-i-e @a-girl-called-herby @u23r2p4m @dyzlks @lucypaulette @father4giveme @feliciab1990 @aramora @does-existance-exist @flaskofheads @thegreengoop @urlocalgeek @abbyhaslongshorts @shadybeef @amaryllisblue @ashtasticperson @niallsvirgosun

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 7

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~600 words)

author's note: part 7! you and the devil have a little chat. sorry it's a kinda short, but this is the only way i could break up the chapters properly. this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warnings: some strong language

read part 6 here | start at the beginning | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

“What are you doing here?” you ask shakily as the Devil stalks towards you. 

He stops a few yards in front of you—nowhere near enough to touch you, but close enough that you can make out the lenses of his mask and the horns on his head. Now that you’re not fearing for your life (mostly), you have the chance to appreciate the impressive figure that he cuts: wide shoulders that taper into a leaner waist, long legs with strong thighs. He’s not the tallest man you’ve ever seen—far from it, actually—but his entire stance radiates power, control. 

You’d be lying if it didn’t intrigue you a little. 

“Came to check on you,” he says, the rough edge to his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “You haven’t told anyone about what happened, have you?”

You hesitate, keeping your eyes trained on the red lenses. For some reason, honesty seems like the right move. “No. I didn’t.”

“Why not?” There’s no accusation in his tone, only curiosity. 

You shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Figured there’s no point. I’m alive, so…why bother? Not like it was anything newsworthy.”

Daredevil hums quietly, shifting his weight to one hip. Those clubs of his glint in the dim light from the city. “You know, most of the time, when people see me, they jump at the chance to tell everyone they know.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you say with a scoff. “I’m just grateful that you saved my life. I’m not, y’know, shitting myself over the fact that I saw you.”

Maybe you’d felt like it while he was actually saving you, but now you’re just confused about why he’s even here, talking to you. 

“Not impressed, huh?” His smirk is sharp enough to cut someone, the faintest baring of teeth looking almost animalistic. You fight the urge to recoil. 

“Well, if I didn’t do anything wrong, then I have nothing to be scared of, right?” You risk a glance at the city behind you, your back still against the railing. Your phone is heavy in your pocket. 

“True,” Daredevil says. “I’m just here to talk, after all. There’s nothing wrong.”

He’s a cryptic little motherfucker, isn’t he?

“Okay.” You turn back at him and lift your chin, looking him right in the eyes. “Talk.”

He tilts his head, and though you can’t see his actual eyes, it feels like he’s sizing you up. “You work in the cafe.”

“I’m the owner, actually,” you say. You pause, squinting at him. “How’d you know?”

“I could smell the coffee on you,” he says. “Do you know why those men were after you?” 

You shrug. “Wrong place, wrong time, I’m guessing. There’s usually no one back there at night. I—I leave work at four. I was doing recipe testing that day.”

Daredevil says nothing for a few moments, his gaze still turned on you, and then finally, he says, “You shouldn’t stay there alone anymore. Not at night. You could get hurt.”

In a flash of bravery, you ask, “Why are you really here?” 

He pauses, his head tilted slightly. “I told you already.”

You shake your head, mystified. “You’ve saved, what, hundreds of people? Thousands?” You turn back towards the view, resting your elbows on the railing. “I just don’t see why I’m anything special, is all.”

The silence that falls over the rooftop is stiff, uncomfortable, and when you turn around to look at him again, you finally see why. 

He’s gone, not a trace of him left behind, almost like he’d never been there in the first place. 

part 8

taglist (let me know if you want to be added!):

@your-not-invisible-to-me @hellskitchens-whore @l-a-y-n-i-e @a-girl-called-herby @u23r2p4m @dyzlks @lucypaulette @father4giveme @feliciab1990 @aramora @does-existance-exist @flaskofheads

[daring-the-devil]

homecoming - bucky barnes x reader

You’re a college TA. Bucky comes home from a long mission and surprises you. (~440 words)

author’s note: this is my first time ever writing for bucky! he was my first mcu crush so this definitely felt like a homecoming to me lol

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warnings: some strong language, a brief mention of kissing

my masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

You frown at the paper in front of you, red pen twirling between your fingers. It’s almost impressive, really, how some students completely misunderstood what the professor told them. 

Keep reading

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 6

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell's Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~1900 words)

author's note: part 6 has arrived, signaling the start of the second arc of this series! you and matt have a night in. this full series is also officially over 10k words now, making it one of the longest fanfics i've ever written (holy shit!!!!!!). this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warnings: some strong language, kissing (it's mostly just fluff tbh)

read part 5 here | start at the beginning | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

Matt rests his chin on your shoulder, his breath fanning out along your cheek. “Have you decided what you want yet?”

Your eyes flick over the menu in front of you. “Pad Thai?”

He kisses your cheek. “Good choice.”

It’s been over two weeks since you joined Matt and his friends at Josie’s, almost three since you had your run-in with Daredevil. You still haven’t told anyone that you saw him, not even Eliza, who had asked at work the next day why you’d left baking supplies all over the place. The sprained wrist had been easy to explain: you’d fallen down the stairs, tried to break your fall. You’d wrapped it up yourself. The baking supplies, you excused with your own forgetfulness. It was easier than telling people what had happened to you. 

It wasn’t that you were upset that Daredevil had saved your life. Rather, you just figured you wouldn’t worry anyone else by telling them. It had already happened—why bring it back up?

So now, you stand in Matt’s apartment, ordering Thai food with him to be delivered to his apartment, and you're determined not to let these weeks-old memories ruin an evening for you. There was no sense in making things bigger than they were when there was no need for it, right?

Matt pulls out his phone to place the order, leaving you to sit on his couch and stare at the mountain of papers in front of you. It’s half-date night, half-“let’s try to prepare Matt for court tomorrow morning.” In the time since you started dating, this is the first time you’d been around for one of Matt’s bigger cases. Needless to say, tensions are high at Nelson, Murdock, & Page, and to help out, you volunteered to help Matt run through the details of the case. 

To put it simply, you’re feeling overwhelmed. 

“It should be here in about thirty minutes,” Matt says, joining you on the couch. He winces as he sits, his hand briefly flying to his side. 

“Everything okay?” you ask, straightening up a little. 

He nods, hand moving to take his glasses off and set them on the coffee table. “I’m fine. Just—pulled something at work yesterday.”

You scoff, your eyebrows going up. “Are you getting old or something?”

“Shut up,” he says fondly, leaning over and pulling you in for a kiss. You smile into it, relishing in the feel of him under your hands, and try not to show your disappointment when he pulls away. “Okay. Are you sure you want to help me with this? It’s boring.”

“Unless you’d rather hear me ramble about baking tips,” you say, bracing one elbow against the back cushions and resting your head in your hand. 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind that,” Matt says. “You have a nice voice.”

Your face goes hot at that. “I’m sure you tell that to all of your dates.”

“Eh, only the ones I like,” he says, grinning. You huff and roll your eyes. 

“All right, hotshot,” you say. “Lay it on me.”

By the time dinner arrives, your head is swimming, but Matt seems to be growing more and more confident and energized as the minutes pass. He practically bounds over to the door to pick it up, his energy palpable in the air, and it’s only once you smell the food does the fog in your head clear a little. 

“Wow, I’m…kind of glad that I didn’t go to law school,” you say, helping him bring plates and utensils and drinks over to the coffee table. 

“It was hard, and expensive, so I don’t blame you,” Matt says, kissing your cheek as he sits down. Your heart jumps in your chest. 

“But you love it,” you say, watching him as he pops open his container of curry. 

Matt’s smile is almost shy, turned down at his food, and you catch a glimpse at the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. By day, out in public, this man is damn near intimidating in his suits and glasses. But here, when it’s just the two of you in his apartment, he’s soft. Present. 

You only just manage to resist the urge to reach out and pull him in for another kiss and instead direct your attention to the steaming container of Pad Thai on your lap. “So. I have a question.”

He tilts his head in your direction. “Yeah, sure.”

“About Daredevil.”

That makes him pause. He stops what he’s doing for a moment and turns his blank gaze in your direction, hazel eyes glinting in the light of the billboard outside his window. “Why?” 

You lift one shoulder. “Jacob was asking about him a couple days ago—something he saw on the news. He asked me to ask you guys for information, since you’ve worked for him before.” It wasn’t totally a lie. Jacob had told you once that he’d been fascinated with superheroes since the Battle of New York, and while none of you were positive that Daredevil was a superhero, there was no doubt in any of your minds that he was a hero. 

Even if his style of hero-ing was less flashy than the Avengers. 

“Well,” Matt says, his brow furrowing. “As far as I’m aware, he usually works alone, especially in the field. One of my former clients was actually one of the few people he has worked with.”

Your jaw drops. “Who?”

“Jessica Jones.”

Jessica— “Patsy’s sister?”

The corner of Matt’s mouth turns up. “Yeah, but she’d kill you if you called her that to her face."

You let out a disbelieving laugh, falling against the back cushions of the couch. “Holy shit.”

“We have had an…interesting variety of clients, shall we say,” Matt says. 

This, you know very well. Hell, the Punisher case even has its own Wikipedia page because of how sensational it had been. Finding out Matt had had Jessica Jones as his client at one point? Weird, but in an even weirder way, it made sense.

“She seems so cool,” you say distantly, stabbing at the Pad Thai with your fork. 

Matt wrinkles his nose. “I can introduce the two of you, if you want. Eventually.”

“Oh, Jacob would flip.” You take a bite of food and barely manage to contain your excitement about it. “Goddamn, this is good. Where has this been my whole life?”

“Right down the street,” Matt says. 

“I’d flip you the bird, but I don’t know how big of an effect it would have on you.”

“You’re too kind.”

Then, you really do flip him the bird, but if he notices, he doesn’t show it. 

You finish your food much quicker than you would have liked, and then it’s back to work for both of you. Mostly for Matt, though, because your job is to sit and listen and give him feedback. 

Not that there’s a lot of feedback that you can give him, since your only experience with the law is two episodes of Law & Order reruns that you and your cousin watched four years ago, but still. Matt insists that your presence is more than enough. 

Before you realize it, it’s past ten o’clock, and reluctantly, the two of you start clearing away takeout trash and reorganizing the papers. Matt has to be at the courthouse early, so he won’t be able to stop by the cafe before he heads in, so this is the last time you’ll see him until it’s over. It won’t be long, it’s not like you’re going a week without seeing him, but you hate it. 

“I’ll miss you,” you say into his shoulder. 

His laugh rumbles through his whole body. “I’ll call you.”

“You better.”

“Get a cab,” Matt says softly, kissing your temple. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

You smile, leaning into him. “I will.”

“Good.” He gently tilts your face up so he can kiss you on the lips, gentle and hot at the same time. You can’t help but melt into him, your hands going to snake up his back and draw him closer to you, his hands sliding along your jaw and holding you in place. His tongue brushes against your lips, and you’re almost tempted to let him in, and then—

Foggy! Foggy! Foggy!

You separate, both of you groaning as Matt fishes his phone out of his pocket and brings it up to his ear with one hand. 

“Hello?” he says, still holding onto you. 

“Am I interrupting anything?”

“Yes,” Matt grits out. You press your fingers to your lips to hide your smile. 

“Oh. Sorry. Anyways, Karen found something else for the case. Might be useful. Can I run it by you right now?”

“Give me a minute and I’ll call you back,” Matt says. 

“Okay, so just—”

Matt shuts his phone off, and you finally let out the little burst of laughter that you’d been keeping in. He turns his face up to the ceiling, exasperation written all over it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

“No, no, it’s okay,” you say, reaching and pulling his face back down. “Good luck on the case tomorrow. Call me when you can.”

“Okay,” Matt says, kissing your forehead and then your lips again. “Get home safe.”

“I will,” you reassure him as he opens the door. 

“Goodnight,” he says. 

Only once you’re at the elevator do you hear the door shut. 

The cab ride to your apartment isn’t long, thankfully. Once you’re in your building, it’s another quick elevator ride up to your floor, and then a short trip down a hallway to your apartment. 

You step inside and hang up your bag before heading to the kitchen, flicking on lights as you go. You pour yourself a glass of water and down half of it, then move to the stairs that lead up to the roof. Matt has yet to show you his roof, but you don’t mind, considering how you have your own space with your own view—and what a damn good view it is, too. 

Sighing, you lean against the railing, and even though the breeze that blows by you is cool, you feel warm inside, all happy and soft from the time you spent with Matt. You keep your eyes on the skyline, the high rises and skyscrapers glittering in the distance, the old Avengers tower like a gleaming monolith in the middle of it all. 

Superheroes, huh? You rest your chin in your hand. What a world you live in. 

Something clatters behind you, and you spin around, hand going instinctively to your phone (it’s barely left your side since the attack). For a moment, you see nothing but the shadows that cling to everything on the roof—shapeless forms that line the walls and pipes and loose bricks that lay scattered around the place. And then, your eyes land on a spot that seems darker than the rest, and your heartbeat quickens. 

“Who is it?” you demand, though the pull in your gut tells you that you already know. 

The shadow melts away from the wall, coalescing into one solid form: black and dark red, hard lines and broad planes, the man that saved Hell’s Kitchen—and you. 

Daredevil.

part 7

taglist (let me know if you want to be added!):

@your-not-invisible-to-me @hellskitchens-whore @l-a-y-n-i-e @a-girl-called-herby @u23r2p4m @dyzlks @lucypaulette @father4giveme @feliciab1990

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 5

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~1500 words)

author’s note: part 5 is here! you meet another one of matt’s friends :) i have more information about the future of this series in my first reblog of this part so be sure to take a peek at that if you want to know where this is going! this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warnings: some strong language, attempted assault with the use of firearms

read part 4 here | start at the beginning | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

Four o’clock arrives as it always does, but instead of getting ready to go, you find yourself at the counter, bent over a notebook, jotting down recipe notes. 

Keep reading

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 4

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell's Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~2800 words)

author's note: welcome to part 4, where you finally meet matt's friends! this was actually supposed to be MUCH longer but i had to cut it so it wouldn't be absolutely massive. this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warning: some strong language

read part 3 here | start at the beginning | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

“So,” Eliza says, the moment she steps into the cafe the next morning. “How was your date with Matt?”

“I don’t like your tone,” you say, rolling your eyes, and she scoffs. 

“Oh, please.” She moves out of the way so you can get past her and head to the back room. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you two to get together. You can’t skimp out on the details now!”

You’re thankful that she’s not in the room with you right now because you’re pretty sure your cheeks are bright red. “Shut up, please.”

“Come on,” Eliza pleads as you leave the back room and head to the door to flip the sign. “What was he like?” 

“Not sure it’s a good thing to hound your boss for personal information,” you say, to which she sighs dramatically. The corner of your mouth turns up. “But, yeah, it was great. He’s so—he’s so fucking perfect, I swear.” You wave your hands. “He’s better than all the other people I’ve dated in the past—literally a gentleman. I’m shocked they still make men like that these days!”

Eliza starts laughing as you join her behind the counter, but she’s cut off when the bell rings. 

You turn around, watching as Matt comes in through the door. Your heart quickens at the sight of him. 

“Good morning,” you say, as casually as you can, even as Eliza scoffs behind you. 

“Good morning,” he returns, stopping in front of the register. He drums his fingers on the surface, almost like he’s thinking about what to order. 

“What can I get started for you?” you ask. 

He pauses. You hold your breath in anticipation. 

“A large black coffee,” he says, and you groan. “All right, listen—”

“No, no, I hear you,” you say, grinning as he laughs. “You refuse to deviate from your routine because it gives you comfort.”

“Well, that, and you do make a damn good black coffee,” he says. You glance back at him in time to catch a flash of his eyes from behind his glasses. Your heart stops. It’s the closest you’ve gotten to seeing them—he hasn’t taken off his glasses for you yet. 

In due time, you tell yourself firmly, finishing up his coffee for him. If we even get there at all. 

“Here you go,” you say, sliding the coffee across the counter. 

He doesn’t move to pick it up yet, just leaves his hand resting on the counter, inches away from yours. He seems…hesitant, almost, his body uncharacteristically still. He’s waiting, you think. For you. 

“I had a good time last night,” he says quietly. 

“I did too,” you say. “We should do it again sometime. Soon. If you’re available, of course.”

“Absolutely,” he says. You can’t resist the urge to brush your fingers over his. He flips his hand over so he can lace your fingers together. “Also, just wondering—you serve lunch here, right?”

“Er, yes. Yes we do.” You try not to blush as his hold on your hand tightens. “Can I ask why?”

Matt looks a little sheepish at that, his free hand going up to scratch the back of his neck. “I may have told my friends about you. And they want to meet you.”

Your brows shoot up. “Your friends?”

“Karen and Foggy,” he says. Right, his partners. Big, impressive legal people, coming to meet you, the cafe owner who went out on a date with their friend. “If you’re not comfortable, I’ll tell them no, but—”

“No, that’s wonderful!” you hurriedly fill in. A nervous smile splits his face. “I just—I just didn’t realize we were there yet.”

Matt’s cheeks go red. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, you’re good.” You refrain from smacking yourself on the forehead. “Yeah, of course I want to meet them! They sound great.”

His smile shifts to one of relief. “I’ll text you before we head over.”

“I look forward to it,” you say. 

The bell rings, signifying the arrival of more customers, and Matt moves his hand to your jaw and kisses you lightly. You kiss him back without thinking, even with your audience, and you can’t help but grin as he pulls away. 

“I’ll see you,” you say. 

He chuckles and kisses you on the cheek before picking up his coffee. “Bye.”

You watch him leave, biting your lip in an attempt to control your excitement, and only once Eliza clears her throat loudly do you move. 

The morning rush of customers goes by quickly, somehow. You don’t make another black coffee the entire time. It’s funny—Matt could go anywhere else in the neighborhood and order the exact same thing he gets at your cafe, and yet he keeps going to you. It’s sweet. You hope he never stops. 

“So,” Eliza says when the rush dies down. She rests her hip against the counter, pins you with her gaze. You busy yourself with wiping the counter for the fifth time in the last hour. “I’m not going to ask again. How was your date with Mr. Murdock?”

“It was nice,” you say flatly, trying and failing not to think about the long dinner you’d had and the walk to Matt’s apartment. When you’d gotten home, you texted him to thank him for dinner and that you’d had a great time, and he’d responded in the same fashion. Then, this morning, he’d kissed you, held your hand, and told you about introducing you to his friends. 

All of this—it was more than nice. It was perfect. Is it official?

“You have to give me more than that,” Eliza says. “Where did you go? Did he walk you home? I’m assuming there was a kiss, because wow, that was definitely not your first kiss—”

“We went to sushi, I walked him home, and we texted each other goodnight,” you say quickly, cutting her off. “And yes, there was a kiss, and it was great. Because he’s great, and I’m excited to see him again.”

Eliza sighs. “Oh, you’re so cute together, it makes me sick. I mean, I asked out my girlfriend ten minutes after we met, and now we’ve been living together for three years, so by my standards, you two are moving a little slower than what I’m used to, but—”

“Right, yeah, I get it,” you say, rubbing your forehead. “Look, this is my first relationship in five years, okay? Matt knows. And…if we officially decide to start dating, I’ll tell him I want to take it slow.” To you, it’s pretty obvious that Matt has a lot more experience than you do when it comes to dating—hell, even down to his kissing technique. You shiver as you feel the ghost of his hand on your jaw. You wonder how he’ll take it if you tell him you want to go slow. 

You hope that he’ll take it well. You actually want to see where this goes. 

Does he even like me like that? He must, because he’d asked you out, and then initiated the kiss, so…probably?

You’re hopeless. 

You still have a few hours until Matt is set to come in with his friends. In that time, you’ll still have a steady flow of customers, and then when the lunchtime rush starts, Jacob’s shift begins and overlaps with Eliza’s so all three of you will be working. It’s strange that the busiest time of the day is your favorite, but you love Jacob and Eliza, so getting to spend time with them is worth the stress. 

Realistically, you should think about hiring more people, but you’ll worry about that when the time comes. 

Jacob comes in twenty minutes before the lunch rush is due to start, so the three of you are well prepared when it does. You’re just finished with taking another set of orders when you see Matt and two others come into the cafe and join the end of the line. Matt must know you’re there because he waves in your direction, and you spot his friends looking at you. You wave back and wait until it’s their turn to come to the counter. 

“Matt,” you say by way of greeting, inviting him to introduce his friends. Thankfully, he takes the cue. 

“This is Foggy,” Matt says, tilting his head in the direction of the man, who waves. “And this is Karen.”

“Hi,” Karen says. Her smile is bright, her blonde hair clipped out of her face. 

“Matt’s told us a lot about you,” Foggy adds. 

Even though you know Matt can’t see your face, you look at him and raise your eyebrows. “A lot? Good things, I hope.”

“Oh, nothing but,” Matt says. 

You laugh as you pass Matt a lunch menu. “What can I get you guys?”

“Is that a Braille menu?” Foggy asks. 

“I printed them when I realized he was becoming a regular,” you explain. Foggy nods approvingly. 

“Can I get a croissant sandwich?” Karen asks. “And an iced raspberry tea.”

“Sure,” you say, plugging it in. “foggy?”

“Tomato soup and grilled cheese,” he says. 

“And you, Matt?” you ask. “If you say a large black coffee, I will throw you out.”

He shakes his head, folding up the menu. “You’re hilarious. I’ll have what Karen is having. No mustard.”

“You got it,” you say. “It’s on the house.”

“Absolutely not,” Foggy says. 

“Go find a table and I’ll bring it out to you guys,” you say, ignoring him. You turn to get the order started only for Jacob to gently nudge you aside. 

“Go sit with them,” he mutters as Eliza goes to the register. 

“What?”

“Go,” he says. “I can take over for you.”

Eliza shoos you away insistently, giving you no choice but to listen to them and join Matt and his friends at their table. Foggy waves.

“Jacob made me come here,” you explain, “so blame him for me being here.”

“Thank you,” Karen calls to Jacob, who grins at her from behind the counter. 

“So,” Foggy says once you’re seated between Matt and Karen. “You own this place?”

You nod, sitting back in your chair. “Saved up money throughout college and used some of my inheritance from my grandparents to buy it and fix it up.”

“I love what you’ve done with it,” Karen says, looking around. You can’t help but agree—the walls are painted white, and they’re decorated with various paintings and shelves of things you’ve picked up at thrift stores and flea markets. Plants (fake, since you’d forget to water any real ones) hang from the ceiling. The floors are a grayish-brown wood that matches the paneling on the front of the counters, the surfaces of which are white marble. You went with warm overhead lighting to make it a more inviting atmosphere, iron lamps with Edison bulbs hanging over the mix of round and square tables and mismatched chairs. The whole place smells just enough like coffee for it to be noticeable but not overpowering. 

It’s your pride and joy, your baby. You’re so proud of it. 

“It was a mess before I got to it,” you say. “God, the roaches.”

“Absolutely not,” Foggy says, shaking his head. “We had roaches at our old office—nasty. Never again.”

“And it smelled awful,” Matt adds, pulling a face. He’s so cute. “I don’t think we closed the windows once for the entire first week we were there.”

“I barely even had a desk for a while,” Karen says. “I had to fish one out of a dumpster.”

Jacob brings out the food and slides a BLT in front of you with an iced tea. 

“Thanks,” you say, patting him on the arm. 

“Enjoy your lunch,” he says with a wink before heading back. 

After a few more minutes of them telling you about how they all started working together, Foggy leans closer to you, jabbing his thumb in Matt’s direction. 

“So,” he says conspiratorially. “What exactly made you want to go out with this guy?” 

You glance at Matt. “He ordered a plain black coffee.”

Karen snorts a laugh. “What?”

“We don’t get black coffee orders here,” you say. “It was weird. And, y’know, he’s a smooth talker when he wants to be, so…can you blame me?”

“Nah, he did that shit all the time in college,” Foggy says, leaving Matt sputtering into his water. “Worked like a charm! Left me feeling single as hell, though.”

“And now you’re married,” Karen says. 

“You’re right! I am! But I wasn’t during college!” Foggy turns to you. “So. Tell me a little more about yourself. I wanna know why you’ve got this guy all flustered.”

“Foggy,” Matt says. He sounds a little desperate. You won’t lie—it’s endearing. 

“Fine, fine,” Foggy says. “But you’ll have to tell me eventually.”

“Oh, I will,” you say. 

You let Foggy ask you whatever he wants—what you’d studied in college, what made you want to open the cafe, how long you’ve lived in Hell’s Kitchen. Before long, someone’s watch beeps, and Karen sighs. 

“Lunch break is over,” she reports, and you wonder if you’re imagining that she sounds a little sad. “We need to head back.”

“If we’re the only people working there, then do we really?” Foggy asks. 

“We have an appointment with a client in twenty minutes,” Karen says. “So, yeah, we do.”

“Well, then, we’ll go to Josie’s sometime,” Foggy says, turning to you. “You’re coming too, obviously. Matt can text you the details.”

“Yes, he can,” Karen says pointedly, all the while Matt’s flush grows more and more obvious. She steps in and hugs you quickly. “It was lovely to meet you.”

“You too,” you say, squeezing her back before letting her go to do the same to Foggy.

“I’ll take care of this guy until you see him next,” Foggy says, clapping Matt on the shoulder. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Matt says. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”

Karen and Foggy wave at you as they head out the door, leaving you and Matt standing together. 

“Thank you for doing this,” he says softly, taking your hand. 

“No problem.” You squeeze his fingers. “I’m glad you have them. And I’ll be happy to go out for drinks with all of you. If you’re okay with that.”

“Of course I’m okay with that,” Matt says, a little incredulously, like he can’t believe you’re suggesting that he wouldn’t be okay with that. “I don’t know if I’ve made it clear yet, but…I really like you. And I want to be official with you.” 

You smile and kiss him, the gesture so quick that Matt seems to barely process that it’s happening. “Yes, I want to make this official. Obviously.”

He laughs, the sound pushing your heart into somersaults. “Okay. Great. So I’ll text you.”

“You better,” you shoot back.

"I'll see you later," he promises. "Figuratively speaking."

"You're so funny," you say sarcastically, and he grins and squeezes your hand once more before following his friends out the door. 

You return to your spot behind the counter and lean against it, facing Jacob, who’s watching you with a smug expression on his face. “What?”

“Nothing,” Jacob says. He returns to the drink he’s making. “They seem nice.”

“They were,” you say. You’d expected as much—you were pretty sure Matt wouldn’t hang around them if they weren’t—but it still made you feel better about the whole thing. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you fish it out. 

Matt: Foggy wants to know if you can go to Josie’s on Friday night at six. He says hi.

You smile as you read the message and send back: That’s perfect! Thanks for the invite :) tell him I say hi!

“Oh, you’re in deep,” Eliza says as she passes you and Jacob. 

“Get home safe,” you tell her with a roll of your eyes.

“Sarah's picking me up, so I'll be fine.” Eliza jerks her head to the window, where a young woman in a leather jacket is waiting at the curb, leaning against a motorcycle, a spare helmet in her hands. You smile as Eliza steps out the door and takes the helmet from the woman before kissing her.

“Am I the only single one left?” Jacob asks as Eliza and Sarah pull away from the curb. He slides the drink across the counter and calls out the name on it. 

You weigh your phone in your hand, see a text from Matt come up on the screen, and smile. “Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

Jacob scoffs and swats your shoulder. “Get back to work.”

“Who’s the boss here?” you ask, shoving him. 

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“Whatever, my ass.” You hear him laugh as you take your place at the register, the two of you falling back into your pattern, even as your heart is somewhere else.

part 5

taglist (let me know if you want to be added!):

@your-not-invisible-to-me

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 3

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~2300 words)

author’s note: part 3 is here! you and matt finally go out on a date :) things are moving a lot much quicker than i’m used to since i usually only write slow-burns but, hey, trying new things is always good! this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warning: some use of strong language, kissing

read part 2 here | start at the beginning | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

The rest of the day passes by sluggishly. By the time four o’clock rolls around, you’re practically itching to get out. Jacob, who helps you with the second shift of the day, all but forces you to stop working ten minutes before Matt is supposed to pick you up. 

Keep reading

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee - 2

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~1300 words)

author’s note: part 2 is here! nothing extreme, just more exposition/pre-relationship stuff :) this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warning: some use of strong language

read part 1 here | series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

Over the next few weeks, you see Matt nearly every single day, a couple minutes after your shop opens, giving the two of you the opportunity to talk before the rest of the customers come in. 

Keep reading

[daring-the-devil]

large black coffee

You own and operate a new specialty cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. One day, a blind lawyer walks through the door, and the trajectory of your life is changed for good. (~770 words)

author’s note: my first ever x reader fic (holy shit omg)! this will be a series (i don’t know how many parts yet). also i don’t know anything about coffee lol. this takes place post-season 3 of daredevil, so there will be spoilers for the entire show in this series!

fic note: no use of y/n or gendered pronouns

warning: some strong language

series masterlist | request guidelines

~*~*~

Your eyes land on him the second he walks through the door, two minutes after the cafe opened, the ringing of the bell above the door signaling his arrival. 

Keep reading