summary: you insist on pedro trying a matcha latte, but he is pretty reluctant
"oh, come on, it can't be that bad if this many people like it!" you told pedro, while making wild gestures with a to-go matcha latte in your hand.
"i'm convinced that at least half of them are just pretentious and lie about liking it."
"well, i'm not pretentious. neither is vanessa for that matter." you thought that by mentioning his co-star, vanessa kirby also liked it, you might be able to convince him to finally try it. the reason you wanted it so bad was simply the fact that you were 99% sure that he would end up liking it.
"ughhh, why is it so important?" he whined.
"'cause i know you'll like it. trust me." you countered, putting a hand on his shoulder. "plus this place is definitely one of the best ones to get matcha in new york."
"i heard it tested like grass." you were so tired of hearing that from so many people.
"not if it's high-quality. and this is." you said, pointing to your plastic cup. "look how green, look how beautiful." you took a sip. "yummy."
"jeez, you're down bad. should i be jealous?" he asked playfully, while grabbing your free hand.
"no need for that. just try. we can be obsessed together." you extended your matcha-wielding hand towards him and made puppy eyes.
"no, don't do that adorable face, it's not fair!" he groaned.
"pretty please." you pleased with your eyes. an old trick, but it worked.
"ugh, fine." he rolled his eyes and reluctantly took the drink from your extended hand. he eyed it suspiciously then took a sip. his eyes widened in surprise and took another, this time bigger sip.
"oh my god." he said looking at the drink as if it was something sacred.
"see? i told you!" you judged him with your shoulder. "yes! we can be matcha buddies!" you exclaimed.
"buddies? i'm literally your husband." he deadpanned.
"fine, then matcha....the matcha duo?"
"that's better. sounds like a superhero team though."
"you do one better then." you rolled your eyes.
"matcha couple?" he asked after a moment.
"hmm, okay." you nodded and pressed a kiss on his temple.
"okay, now let's get one for me too." he said, so you turned around and walked back towards the café.
a/n : a break from the angst of "sidelines", my slow-burn, friends to lover, currently 60k word fanfic T-T hope you enjoy reading !! wrote this while i was palpitating on my 3rd cup of matcha
crossposted on ao3
synopsis : You’ve always had a love-hate relationship with caffeine. Love, because you can’t survive a day without it. Hate, because your intake borders on… alarming. Coffee, matcha, energy drinks... you’ve tried them all, sometimes in the same day. Matt notices, of course. And he’s had enough. Maybe one cup, and one Matt Murdock is enough to get you through the day.
tags : fluff, domestic fluff, estbalished relationship, caffeine addiction, slice of life, ooc matt idk?
pairing : matt murdock/gn!reader
wc : 2,857
You’d barely slept the night before. Briefing deadlines, paperwork spilling into your living room, and you’d powered through with the help of not one, not two, but four cups of coffee by midday.
By the time Matt came home from the office, you were jittery. Not the “oh I’m alert and awake” kind of jittery, but the “my heart feels like it’s trying to sprint out of my chest” kind.
He didn’t even take off his coat before his head tilted, his brows knitting together.
“Sweetheart.”
You tried to play it off, curled up on the couch with your laptop. But of course, Matt didn’t miss a thing. “Yes?”
His lips pressed together, like he was deciding whether or not to say what you both knew he wanted to. He walked over, slipping his cane against the wall. “Your heart’s going a mile a minute. Again.”
You gave a nervous laugh. “Just… caffeine. It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a big deal when I can hear your heartbeat from the hallway before I even open the door.” He crouched beside you, one hand brushing over your wrist, checking the flutter there. “How many cups?”
“…Define cups.”
“(Y/N).”
“Four,” you admitted sheepishly. Then, under your breath: “Fine. Five.”
He sighed, the sound equal parts fond and exasperated. “You know this isn’t sustainable.”
“I had deadlines! And caffeine helps me focus.”
Matt straightened, reaching to pluck the mug from your hands. “Not when it makes you feel like your ribcage is about to explode.” He poured the rest down the sink before you could protest.
“Hey! It’s really not that bad, I feel fine.” You tried to grin, but your hand trembled slightly as you reached for the empty mug. “See? Totally fine.”
Matt simply raised his eyebrows and shaked his head in response.
The truth was, you were not totally fine . You had definitely noticed the side effects. Racing pulse, jitters, the occasional dizzy spell if you pushed too far. But caffeine had been your reliable crutch for so long that you didn’t know what a normal day without it looked like.
But you promised him, begrudgingly that you’d cut back . Which, in your mind, meant “find a loophole.”
The loophole came in the form of a bright green powder you’d ordered online the next day.
“Matcha,” you announced proudly as you whisked it in a bowl, trying not to look too smug. “It’s healthier. Antioxidants, less caffeine than coffee. So really, I’m fixing the problem.”
Matt leaned against the counter, arms folded, listening to the soft froth-froth-froth of your whisk. His head tilted, skeptical. “How much caffeine is in it?”
“Less,” you said, a little too quickly.
“Less is not none.”
You handed him the mug. “Taste it before you judge, Counselor.”
He humored you, sipping carefully. “Not bad,” he admitted. Then, quieter, “Still don’t like what it’s doing to your heart right now.”
You pretended not to hear that last part, already whisking a second serving for yourself.
For a while, the matcha worked. At least until you started brewing it two, three, four times a day.
By the end of the week, Matt leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, listening to the delicate whisking of powder and water. “You do realize,” he said, voice warm but teasing, “you’re basically just drinking green coffee at this point.”
“Still healthier than coffee.” You said, lifting the cup for a cautious sip.
Matt smirked, leaning against the counter. “Healthier, sure. But you’re still vibrating enough to power the entire block.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips.
“That’s your last matcha for today,” Matt declared, arms still crossed, eyes glinting with mischief.
“What? This is my first one,” you protested, setting the cup down.
Before you could say anything else, he leaned in, pressing a quick, warm kiss to your lips. The faint, earthy bitterness of matcha clung to your lips, mingling with the warmth of you and filling his senses. Pulling back just enough to smirk, he murmured, “Liar.”
You groaned, a mix of exasperation and amusement, but your cheeks warmed anyway. “You’re impossible.”
The loopholes didn’t stop at matcha.
Because when coffee was off-limits and matcha was “monitored,” you got… creative. Which is how Matt came home one evening to the unmistakable pshh-click of a can opening.
His head immediately snapped toward the sound. “…Was that—”
“No,” you blurted, too fast.
He took a slow step forward. “Sweetheart.”
You froze, mid-sip of neon-blue liquid, caught like a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. “It’s not coffee.”
Matt’s brows furrowed. “No, it’s worse.”
“It says zero sugar ,” you argued weakly, holding up the can.
“Your heart doesn’t care about sugar content.” He sighed, running a hand down his face like he was physically restraining himself from lecturing. “How many?”
“…One.”
His head tilted.
“…Fine. Two.”
“(Y/N).”
“…Three?” you squeaked, then winced.
Matt looked so utterly done, you almost laughed. Almost.
“You drink coffee, then energy drinks?” he asked incredulously, crouching beside you like he expected you to keel over at any second. His hand pressed lightly against your chest, feeling the hummingbird flutter of your heartbeat. “I genuinely don’t know how you’re not flatlining.”
You snorted. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m not. I can hear your heart racing. It’s like—” He gestured vaguely. “Like you’re sprinting and sitting down at the same time. It’s awful.”
Your grin wavered, guilt slipping in. “Okay… maybe it was a bad idea.”
Matt stepped closer, plucking the can from your hand. “Not maybe. Definitely.” His tone softened. “You don’t need this much, sweetheart. You don’t have to run yourself into the ground just to keep up. Just take a nap with me, and I promise you’ll wake up feeling better than any caffeine could ever make you feel.”
The words sank in, warming you from the inside out more than any coffee or energy drink ever could.
The next morning, you woke to find the fridge mysteriously empty of all neon-colored cans. You figured that was fine, matcha it is. But when you went to look for that, it was gone too. Panic rising, you tore through every cupboard and drawer searching for your coffee stash. Nothing. It was nowhere to be found. The it clicked. Only one person could be responsible for this.
“Matt.”
“Yes?” he answered innocently from the kitchen, where the smell of toast and eggs filled the air.
“You confiscated my caffeine stash?”
“Confiscated,” he repeated, setting a plate on the table. “Correct.”
You flopped into a chair dramatically. “You’ve gone full prohibition on me.”
“On your heart, yes.” He set down a single steaming mug of coffee in front of you. “One cup. Properly measured. And breakfast, so you don’t run on caffeine fumes.”
You tilted your head up at him. “You’re really gonna ration my drinks like I’m on caffeine probation?”
“Exactly.”
“Dictator.”
“Concerned boyfriend,” he amended, lips quirking.
You rolled your eyes, but when he kissed you, slow and sweet, you figured maybe caffeine wasn’t the only thing that kept your heart racing.
After the energy drink incident, he’s become even more of a tyrant about your so-called caffeine addiction. What started as a few gentle reminders has morphed into full-blown intervention. Matt has practically declared himself the authority on what goes into your system, especially if it has even a whisper of caffeine.
Now, he’s basically running his own personal caffeine rehab program. He checks the clock like a warden to make sure you’re in bed before midnight, nudges you toward naps when your eyelids get heavy, and hands you water bottles with the same kind of gravity other people reserve for holy relics. Also, herbal teas have invaded your cupboards like an army.
“Matt!” you call out. “Why does this look like the stockroom of an apothecary?”
He appears in the doorway, a grin plastered on his face. “Options. Chamomile, peppermint, ginger, hibiscus—”
You hold one up, laughing. “This one literally says Sleepytime. ”
“Perfect for you,” he says, lips twitching. “Because I’m not letting you stay up until two a.m. scrolling through case notes anymore.”
You roll your eyes, but when he brushes past to put the boxes away, his shoulder lingers against yours.
“You know this is bordering on obsession, right?”
“Only with you,” he says smoothly, leaving you flustered with nothing but a tea bag in your hand.
You’re still flustered when you retreat to the table and bury yourself in paperwork. A few minutes later, a cool glass of water slides into your field of vision.
“Drink,” Matt says, tone leaving no room for argument.
You arch a brow at him. “You sound like my mom.”
“Your heart rate spikes every time you drink coffee,” he replies evenly. “Water evens it out. So yeah, I’ll take the title.”
You take the glass with a dramatic sigh. “Fine. But I’m not calling you Mom.”
His mouth quirks. “Good. I was hoping for something a little more flattering.”
You snort, taking a sip to hide your grin.
The next time you yawn, you don’t even notice until his hand closes gently around your wrist, pulling the pen from your fingers.
“Matt—”
“You need a nap,” he says firmly.
“I do not.”
“You’re cranky, rubbing your eyes, and yawning every thirty seconds. So yes, you do.”
“Manipulative lawyer tactics,” you mutter, but you still let him guide you toward the couch.
“Exactly,” he says, steering you down until you’re half-reclined. He drapes a blanket over your legs like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You blink up at him. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure you actually rest.”
“You can’t just babysit me while I nap.”
He settles onto the couch beside you, close enough that the heat from his body radiates through the blanket. His voice softens.
“Sure I can. Besides, I read somewhere people sleep better next to their partner.”
Your face warms. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe. Want to test the theory?” His voice dips teasing, but there’s a gentleness underneath.
You want to argue, but your eyelids betray you by slipping shut, and when you finally drift off, it’s to the faint, steady rhythm of his breathing beside you. The quiet weight of his presence blur the edges of your thoughts.
Ridiculous or not, you’re asleep within minutes.
Later that week, you tried to be sneaky.
You were practically giddy when you slipped into the café on your lunch break. Just one coffee. Just one. You’d drink it all there, finish it before heading home, and Matt would never know. Well… probably he would , since he seemed capable of detecting caffeine from three blocks away, but whatever—you’d deal with that later.
You stood at the counter, already imagining the first sip when the barista asked for your order.
“Vanilla latte. Extra shot,” you said, voice light with anticipation.
“That’ll be—”
“I’ve got it,” came a familiar voice from just behind you.
You froze. Slowly, you turned, already knowing who it was. Matt stood there, cane in hand, that maddeningly calm little smile tugging at his lips.
“Matt,” you said, half-guilty, half-defensive. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he teased. Then, turning slightly toward the barista: “And a chamomile tea, please.”
“Chamomile? Really?” Of all the teas in the world, he picks the one you’ve been chugging like water at home? You swear, if you have to drink another cup of this stuff, you might actually lose your mind.
Matt doesn’t reply, but a smug expression is plastered on his face. The barista glanced between the two of you, clearly amused, but took the card Matt held out anyway.
Your rolled your eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”
When the cups came out, he pressed the warm paper sleeve of the tea into your palm. You sighed dramatically but accepted it, sneaking a sip. It wasn’t the creamy, sweet caffeine hit you craved, but the floral calm of it settled oddly well in your chest.
“See?” Matt murmured, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. “Not so bad. And maybe your heart will thank me later.”
Heart maybe? But your sanity? That’s another question. You tried to look annoyed, but the way he leaned down and kissed the corner of your mouth in front of the entire café made it hard to keep up the act.
It was well past midnight when you finally curled onto the couch, blanket draped over your shoulders and a steaming mug cradled in your hands. The glow of your laptop bathed the room in pale light as you scrolled half-heartedly through work emails you’d ignored all day.
A faint thump at the window made you startle. Before you could react, Matt swung gracefully through it, landing silently beside you, dressed in all black with the mask around his eyes from his patrol.
He tilted his head, nostrils flaring just slightly. He quirked his eyebrows. “Tea?”
“Chamomile. Proud of me?”
“Always,” he said simply, settling beside you and pulling you close.
After a moment, he reached up and tugged the mask off, setting it gently on the coffee table. His hair fell slightly into place, and the tension in his shoulders eased.
You studied him carefully, scanning from head to toe for any signs of trouble. No major bleeding, no broken bones it seemed, and nothing was swollen. But a small cut on his cheek caught your eye, and you reached up to gently caress his face, letting your fingers trace the faint line.
“It’s just a small cut,” he reassured softly, but you didn’t reply. Instead, you pressed a quick, tender kiss to his cheek.
Matt gave a quiet hum of amusement and leaned back slightly, taking the cup of tea from your hands. He took a slow sip and smirked. “It’s past midnight. You’d normally be working through a pot of coffee by now.”
You glared at him over the steam. “Well, someone bullied me into quitting, remember?”
“Suggested,” he corrected smoothly. “There’s a difference.”
“Suggested,” you echoed flatly. “Like a tyrant suggests things.”
That earned you a low chuckle, warm enough to break through your mock scowl. His head tilted toward you, and you could feel the weight of his focus even without his eyes on you.
“You want coffee right now, don’t you?” he asked, quiet but certain.
Your lips twitched against the rim of your mug. “…Yes. Desperately. With every fiber of my soul.”
He smirked. “Knew it.”
“Don’t sound so smug. It’s not like you don’t drink coffee too.”
“Yeah,” he countered smoothly, leaning back against the couch like he had all the time in the world, “a normal amount of it.”
You shoved his shoulder lightly, nearly sloshing tea on your blanket. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he murmured, catching your hand before it dropped away, thumb brushing your knuckles with easy familiarity,“you still put up with me every night.”
You tipped your cup toward him with a sly smile. “What can I say? Besides caffeine, I’m pretty sure I’m addicted to you.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a slow smirk. Before you could take another sip, he leaned in and pressed a quick, warm kiss to your lips.
“Mm,” he murmured, still close enough for you to feel the curve of his smile. “You sure you didn’t sneak any coffee? ’Cause your heart’s beating fast.”
You gave him a flat look and a short laugh. “Ha-ha. Very Funny.”
He smirked and pointed at your mug.“You going to make it through the night without giving in?”
You sighed, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. “Probably not. I already promised myself if I dream about coffee one more time, I’m giving up this whole tea experiment and going back to my one true love.”
His brows lifted, teasing. “Dreaming about it?”
“Yes. And don’t you dare make that sound like I need a support group.”
“I wasn’t going to,” he said innocently, though his smile gave him away. Then, with a tilt of his head, “Also, I thought I was your one true love?”
You turned your face into his shoulder to hide your laugh, heat creeping up your neck. “Don’t push it, Murdock.””
A smile ghosted over Matt’s lips. “You really are trying, though.”
You leaned your head against his shoulder, grumbling half-heartedly. “Trying and failing.”
“Trying,” he repeated firmly, like he wanted the word to stick. “That’s enough.”
The room settled quiet after that. The soft hum of your laptop fan, the warmth of his arm against yours, and the faint curl of chamomile steam drifted between you.
You leaned your head against him and closed your eyes. The craving for coffee and the exhaustion of the day faded. All that remained was him, the quiet of the night, and the comfort of being together. Matt shifted slightly and pressed a soft kiss to your temple. You let out a quiet sigh, savoring the moment. Being here with him was all you needed.
a/n : this is lowkey based on a true story ... i used to drink a energy drink in the morning, then maybe 2 glasses of coke during lunch and stop by my school's cafeteria to buy some coffee after.
bf bought me matcha but in a diff flavor from the place i always buy from and my heart started beating really fast.
bf was like “stop drinking??” i was like “nah it’s fine.”
lunch time i decide to buy matcha from the same place, i start palpitating again. bf again was like “dont drink it anymore ??? you had too much matcha”
but of course i dont listen cause i didnt want to waste my ₱180 matcha and it took me over 5 hours to finish the drink cause anytime i would take a sip my heart would like beat really fast 🧍♀️
Some of my favourite sweets from our trip to Japan! These ones are from Yanagi Chaya Asakusa! The parfait was great but the tiramisu was the best outta these 3!! On this trip we went out of our way often to find cute desserts, I loved eating them but also getting to take my own reference photos to draw later! More to come soon!
