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theetherealbloom · 11 months

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NOTRE DAME - CH. 2

Chapter 2: Sinners Come And Go

Summary: In the rafters of Clinton Church, a mysterious reader with the power of illusion manipulation silently watches over Matt Murdock, the blind vigilante known as Daredevil. As danger engulfs Hell's Kitchen, their unlikely friendship blossoms into a bond of trust and longing, intertwining their fates in a battle against darkness that tests their resolve. Will their connection illuminate a path to salvation in a city of darkness or lead them deeper into the abyss?

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt to Comfort, ANGST, friends-to-lovers, Religion, Fluff, Anxiety, PSTD, Nightmares, Catholic Guilt, Amnesia, Violence, Blood, Dark Undertones, Eventual SMUT, Shy Reader, Mentions of Abuse,

Word Count: 8.3k

A/N: HELLO UH!??!1 YA’LL ARE TOO KIND WHAT T^T You have no idea how nerve-wracking it is to write a Mattew Murdock fic because the perfectionist in me is afraid to get things wrong or things don’t connect or make sense ._. ANYWAYS… ENJOY MY WORD VOMIT.

Song: Mirage by Elina

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HELL’S KITCHEN, CLINTON CHURCH – DAY

As you step out of the church, the bells ring in the distance, and your thoughts focused on the errands Sister Maggie entrusted to you, you almost miss a step and stumble forward. A startled yelp escapes your lips as you regain your balance, feeling a surge of embarrassment wash over you. At that moment, your eyes dart toward the nearby bench, and your breath catches in your throat.

There he is, Matthew Murdock, sitting with his cane resting against the fence gate. His neatly tailored grey tuxedo and tinted red glasses hint at a man who exudes confidence. Father Paul Lantom joins him on the bench, taking a seat beside him.

Realizing you've stumbled upon an intimate conversation, you instinctively begin to back away, hoping to go unnoticed. But Father Lantom's voice cuts through the air, calling your name, and you wince, feeling caught in the sudden attention. Reluctantly, you stop in your tracks, anxiety pulsing through your veins.

Father Lantom's gaze meets yours, and he motions for you to approach. The mixture of concern and curiosity in his eyes only heightens your unease. Gathering your courage, you cautiously step forward, bracing yourself for this unexpected encounter.

Father Lantom's voice holds a touch of warmth as he addresses Matthew. "I'd like you to formally meet Matthew Murdock, the one you've been asking me about," he says, his words punctuated by a friendly smile. Matthew, ever casual, interjects, "Matt is fine. You've been asking about me?"

Your heart races in your chest as you come face-to-face with the man you've heard whispers about, the enigmatic figure who walks the line between justice and darkness. The knowledge of his secret identity sends a surge of adrenaline through your veins, intensifying the already charged atmosphere. You struggle to find your voice, transfixed by his presence, unable to utter a single word.

Meanwhile, Matt's heightened senses pick up on the rapid thud of your heartbeat, an anomaly amidst the ambient sounds of the city. He furrows his brow, curiosity piqued by the accelerated rhythm that betrays your nervousness. His keen instincts compel him to analyze every detail, searching for answers to the enigma before him.

Father Lantom, sensing your apprehension, redirects the conversation. "Allow me to introduce you," he says, gesturing towards you. With a gentle push, he prompts you to step closer. The world seems to slow down as you find yourself standing in front of Matthew Murdock, nerves tightening your grip. You spot the wound on the right side of his temple, fresh and red.

Matt's reddish-tinted glasses hint at eyes that he cannot see, yet his unsteady gaze feels piercing and perceptive. His voice carries a hint of curiosity as he speaks to you. "You've been asking about me?" he repeats, his tone inviting.

You muster the courage to respond, but instead, an odd noise escapes your lips—a mixture of surprise, nervousness, and the jumbled thoughts swirling in your mind. Father Lantom, concerned, leans in and asks, "Are you okay?"

You manage a nod, although your emotions remain tangled and your words trapped. It's an overwhelming moment, standing before the enigmatic man who walks a path shrouded in darkness.

"It's nice to meet you," you manage to say, your voice wavering slightly with nervousness. "Uh, I have to go, and you are probably extremely busy, and I have some errands to run. Bye." With those hurried words, you turn to leave, feeling a mix of relief and regret that the encounter was so brief.

Father Lantom watches you as you walk away, his gaze filled with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He calls out to you, reminding you to be safe and not to return late like you did the previous night. The reminder strikes a chord within you, reminding you of the events that had occurred.

You offer a quick wave of acknowledgment to Father Lantom, a silent promise to heed his advice, before hastening your steps and practically running away. As you depart, you can't help but sense Matt's intrigue, his uneven gaze lingering on your retreating form. It's as if he detected something in your reaction, a flicker of recognition or understanding. His curiosity piques, and a hint of suspicion tinges on his thoughts. He wonders what Father Lantom might have said to elicit such a reaction from you.

Unable to ignore his curiosity, Matt turns to Father Lantom and asks, "Who was she?" There's a hint of guardedness in his voice, his instincts as a vigilant protector on high alert.

Father Lantom, ever the wise and compassionate priest, responds calmly. "She's a hardworking young woman who often helps out around the church, community centers, and hospitals," he begins. "She came back late last night after spending time with one of her friends. Completely exhausted when she returned."

Matt listens intently, his senses attuned to every word. He carefully considers Father Lantom's explanation, piecing together the fragments of information. There's something intriguing about you, something that transcends mere chance encounters.

Father Lantom continues, his tone filled with admiration. "She has a strong sense of responsibility and dedication. I've seen her commitment firsthand. She's a remarkable individual." His words hold a note of respect and appreciation for your character, subtly urging Matt to reconsider any suspicions he might harbor.

Matt's response is a thoughtful hum, his mind working through the puzzle that is you. There's a part of him that remains cautious, cautious of the secrets that lurk in the shadows. But beneath that caution lies a growing curiosity, a desire to unravel the enigma that is the young woman who crossed his path.

As the conversation between Father Lantom and Matt continues, you find yourself distanced from their words, lost in your thoughts. The encounter has left an indelible impression, and the significance of this meeting begins to weigh heavily on your mind.

METRO-GENERAL HOSPITAL – AFTERNOON

With the groceries safely delivered to the church, you embark on another journey, a more personal purpose drives this time. Making a swift detour to the nearby flower shop, you carefully select a beautiful bouquet of Bluebells, their vibrant hues capturing the essence of hope and renewal.

Entering the familiar halls of Metro-General Hospital, you exchange warm greetings with one of the nurses, their friendly smiles brightening the atmosphere. Their words convey the anticipation of someone awaiting your arrival, and they mention Doris, someone who has been eagerly looking forward to seeing you. You respond with a gentle chuckle, a mixture of affection and amusement lacing your voice, "Yes, I'm here to see Doris. I had a few errands to run, but I brought some flowers for her."

As you make your way through the hospital corridors, a comforting warmth envelops your heart, knowing that this small act of kindness will bring joy to someone cherished. With a gentle tap on her door, you hear a soft voice inviting you in. Opening the door, you find her sitting upright in bed, her frail form nestled amidst the sea of white sheets.

"I was starting to think you had forgotten about me," she teases, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes.

"Forget about you? Never," you reply playfully, a smile spreading across your face.

"I'm just tryin’ to stick around long enough to see you married," she quips, her voice filled with love and concern. A hearty chuckle escapes your lips as you place the bouquet of Bluebells delicately into the vase beside her bed.

"If you have any suggestions, let me know because damn, the selection pool is tiny," you remark, a hint of playfulness in your voice. Doris raises an eyebrow, her gaze filled with knowing. "I have a feeling you've already met someone," she says with a knowing smile. Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at her sudden accusation.

"What? Me? No," you stammer, attempting to hide the truth behind a feeble denial. Deep down, though, you know there might be a sliver of truth to her intuition. Taking a seat beside her, you feel her soft touch as she gently holds your hands, her touch both tender and reassuring. The rhythmic strokes against your knuckles feel like a soothing melody, as if she's taming a wild creature with her gentle caress.

"So, how is Ben holding up with the story he's chasing?" you inquire, your attention fully focused on Doris's response.

She rolls her eyes fondly, a mix of admiration and concern evident in her expression. "You know how he can get," she replies with a hint of a smile. You nod, understanding the relentless pursuit of truth that drives Ben.

"Maybe he's chasing the truth," you offer, contemplating the cost it may come with. Doris looks at you, her eyes filled with a motherly worry. "Maybe... I'm just worried that it might cost him something he cannot give back."

You nod once more, acknowledging her concerns. "The world needs more people like Ben," you say, your voice filled with conviction. "To shed light on the truth when no one else will. To have courage."

Doris reaches out and squeezes your hand, her eyes brimming with pride. "And the world needs more people like you too, my dear," she says softly. "People who bring kindness and light wherever they go."

Somewhere between then and now, irony found its place in your vocabulary, intertwining with your thoughts and experiences. Laughter, once a simple expression of joy, now carried the weight of bittersweetness and guilt. Sacrifice, once noble and selfless, became a mask for hidden shame. The haunting echoes of unnecessary deaths clung to you, a nightmarish burden that refused to let go.

In that elusive space between then and now, you grasped the profound truth that every action you took rippled through the world, leaving an indelible impact like the waves on an ocean stirred by a skipping stone. The concept of karma, once abstract, gained substance and became as palpable as the taste of seawater on your lips. It revealed itself as an undeniable force, shaping the intricate tapestry of existence and weaving its threads through your life.

Doris catches the flicker of longing in your eyes, sensing a shift in your mood that she can't quite pinpoint. Just as she's about to comment on it, a gentle knock resonates through the room, drawing your attention to the door. You turn, and there stands Ben, framed in the doorway, his presence both comforting and unexpected.

"Hi, Ben! Doris and I were just discussing your escapades," you greet him with a warm smile, noticing the forms he's holding in his hand.

Ben chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, really? I hope you were saying good things about me."

Doris joins in with a playful tone. "Well, we were just about to share all your deepest, darkest secrets."

Laughter fills the room as you engage in a lighthearted and witty conversation, exchanging banter and teasing remarks. The connection between the three of you is palpable, a testament to the bond you share.

Eventually, the topic shifts to Ben's work, and you inquire about his latest story. His expression turns slightly rueful as he replies, "Elisson put me on another fluff piece."

You can't help but roll your eyes in mock exasperation. "Let me guess, the Subway line? They know how to keep you on your toes, don't they?" Ben lets out a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "You have no idea. It's like they think I can't handle anything more substantial."

You shake your head sympathetically, understanding his frustration. "Well, just remember, even the smallest stories can have an impact. You have a way of uncovering the truth and shedding light on the overlooked."

A small smile tugs at the corner of Ben's lips, gratitude shining in his eyes. "Thanks. I appreciate the reminder. I'll make the most of it." You nod, offering him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I have no doubt about that. Keep doing what you do best."

As you continue the conversation with Ben and Doris, you suddenly remember an urgent task waiting for you at the courthouse. Your expression shifts, and a touch of concern enters your eyes.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I just realized I have to pick up some important files from the courthouse," you explain, your voice laced with a sense of urgency. "There's a case I've been working on, and the deadline to submit the documentation is approaching. I need to get those files and review them before it's too late."

You glance at Ben, hoping he understands the pressing nature of your responsibility. "I promise I'll catch up with you later. We can continue our conversation then," you assure him, hoping to alleviate any disappointment.

Doris, perceptive as ever, gives you a knowing smile. "Don't worry about us, dear. We understand the importance of your work. Go ahead and take care of what you need to. We'll be here when you're done."

Feeling reassured by their understanding, you bid them a quick goodbye and make your way out of the hospital, your mind already focused on the tasks awaiting you at the courthouse.

NEW YORK STATE SUPREME COURT BUILDING – AFTERNOON

As you arrive at the courthouse to pick up the important files for your case, you find yourself drawn to the sounds of an ongoing hearing. Curiosity sparks within you, and a nagging feeling urges you to step inside the courtroom.

With the files safely in your possession, you discreetly find a seat in the back, hoping to observe the proceedings without drawing too much attention. It's at this moment that you realize the case being presented is none other than the trial of John Healy, and to your surprise, Matt and his partner are the defense attorneys.

With an exasperated sigh, you raise your eyes toward the ceiling, silently questioning God or some higher being in the universe as to why your path continues to intertwine with Matt's. The repeated encounters and the unexplainable pull you feel toward him have started to test your patience.

In your moments of frustration, you can't help but wonder if there's some higher force at play, orchestrating these seemingly chance encounters. It feels as if the universe itself is teasing you, nudging you toward a connection that you're not sure you're ready for.

Your eyes shift from the ceiling, bringing your attention back to the present moment. An intriguing mix of annoyance and curiosity swirls within you as you find yourself once again in close proximity to Matt. The mysterious dance of fate continues to weave its threads, leaving you uncertain about the significance of these encounters.

Your nervousness is palpable. The weight of anticipation settles upon your shoulders, making every beat of your heart resound in your ears. Matt's heightened senses come alive. His heightened hearing tunes into the rhythm of your heartbeat, the subtle scent that lingers around you, and even the nervous energy in the movement of your bouncing leg. It's as if he's attuned to every aspect of your presence, effortlessly picking up on the signals that betray your inner state.

It's as if Matt has unlocked a hidden dimension of perception, attuned to the nuances that others overlook. At this moment, he becomes an observer of your inner world, effortlessly deciphering the signals that betray your emotions. His acute senses offer him glimpses into your state of mind, painting an intricate portrait of your presence.

But for you, this silent exchange remains unknown. Lost in your thoughts, you are oblivious to the fact that your every heartbeat, every scent, and every nervous movement is meticulously captured by his extraordinary perception. Your inner struggles become part of a symphony that plays only for him, a delicate dance of emotions that silently unfolds.

"Mr. Murdock, we're waiting," the judge's voice breaks the silence, his commanding presence urging Matt to refocus his attention on the courtroom. Matt quickly offers his apologies, "Sorry, Your Honor."

Taking a deep breath, Matt sighs, his body shifting slightly as he gathers his thoughts. He speaks with an air of exasperation, his voice smooth as velvet, each word carrying weight. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, forgive me if I seem distracted. Lately, I've found myself preoccupied with questions of morality, of right and wrong, of good and evil."

There's a pause, as if the room holds its breath, anticipating his next words. Matt's confidence fills the air, his voice resonating with conviction. "Sometimes, the delineation between the two is a sharp line, clearly defined. Sometimes, it's a blur, difficult to discern. And often, it's like pornography. You just know it when you see it."

A ripple of laughter ripples through the courtroom, the tension momentarily lifted by Matt's skillful infusion of humor. Even you, caught up in the gravity of the moment, can't help but let a smile escape your lips.

"A man is dead," Matt continues, his tone shifting to one of solemnity, "I don't mean to make light of that fact. But these questions, these questions… are vital ones… because they tether us to each other… to humanity. Not everyone feels this way. Not everyone sees the sharp line, only the blur.”

His words hang in the air, their weight resonating within the courtroom. "A man is dead," Matt begins, his voice measured and deliberate. He pauses, allowing the gravity of those words to sink in. Licking his lips, he emphasizes the point once more, "A man is dead. And my client, John Healy, took his life. This is not in dispute. It is a matter of record, of fact. And facts have no moral judgment. They merely state what is, not what we think of them, not what we feel. They just are."

As the room listens intently, Matt shifts his stance, "What was in my client's heart when he took Mr. Prohaska's life, whether he is a good man or something else entirely, is irrelevant," he asserts. "These questions of good and evil, as important as they are, have no place in a court of law. Only the facts matter."

Matt gestures towards Healy, making his point clear. "My client claims he acted in self-defense. Mr. Prohaska's associates have refused to make a statement regarding the incident. The only other witness, a frightened young woman, has stated that my client was pleasant and friendly, and that she only saw the struggle with Mr. Prohaska after it had started. Those are the facts. Based on these, and these alone, the prosecution has failed to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client was not acting solely in self-defense. And those, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, are the facts."

He takes a few steps away from the jury, gesturing to Healy once more. "My client, based purely on the sanctity of the law which we've all sworn an oath to uphold, must be acquitted of these charges," Matt declares. His voice carries conviction and determination. "Now, beyond these walls," he points upwards, alluding to a higher being, "he may well face a judgment of his own making. But here, in this courtroom, the judgment is yours and yours alone."

Returning to his seat, Matt concludes his closing argument, leaving the jury to contemplate their decision. As you sit there, impressed by his eloquence and the strength of his words, you watch the jury's expressions shift, each member deep in thought. The weight of their responsibility is evident, as they hold the power to determine the fate of John Healy.

As the judge enters the courtroom and takes her seat, signaling for everyone to be seated, a sense of anticipation fills the air. You observe the room, taking note of the individuals present. That's when a tall Caucasian man with glasses and curly hair takes a seat next to you. His neat and tidy appearance suggests a person with a strict schedule and a methodical approach to life. Your attention shifts to Matt, noticing his slight head tilt in your direction, indicating his keen listening to the man's wristwatch.

An envelope is handed to the judge, who proceeds to open and read its contents. "Madam Foreperson, it's my understanding from this note that you have been unable to reach a verdict," she states. The old lady among the jury stands and confirms, "We have not, Your Honor."

Your eyes widen in surprise. The jury is hung, and an Allen Charge is issued. The judge addresses the courtroom, emphasizing the importance of the case and the significant investment of time, effort, money, and emotional strain for both the defense and prosecution. She highlights the potential consequences of a failure to reach a verdict, explaining that the case would remain open and might need to be retried. The judge further emphasizes that another trial would only increase costs without any guarantee of a better or more exhaustive outcome.

Your gaze shifts to Matt, who has removed his glasses, revealing a resigned expression. Your eyebrows furrow in disbelief. They should have won. At that moment, the man sitting next to you leans over and whispers, "One hell of a trial, hm?" You glance at him and nod, acknowledging the intensity and complexity of the situation.

As the courtroom empties and the trial comes to an end, you stand alongside the others, preparing to leave and hoping to avoid any encounters with Matt. The man who had been seated next to you earlier has already departed. Taking a moment to gather yourself, you step out of the courtroom doors, relieved to be away from the tense atmosphere.

Just as you're about to make your way out of the courthouse, a distant voice calls out your name. Turning in its direction, you see a woman approaching with her young daughter, their faces filled with a mix of gratitude and hope. You recognize them as Amanda and Lily, a mother and daughter who had been victims of abuse at the hands of Amanda's ex-husband.

Amanda approaches you, her eyes welling with tears, and asks for a hug. Overwhelmed by the emotions of the day, you embrace her tightly, holding back tears of your own. She expresses her heartfelt thanks, explaining that she had tried to contact you before but was prevented from doing so due to safety concerns. She tells you that her abuser, Mark, is now behind bars, and it's all thanks to your intervention and support.

Feeling humbled, you try to downplay your role, telling Amanda that you were just doing your job. But she insists, her voice filled with conviction, "No, you did so much more than that. You helped us find safety and gave us the courage to fight back. You're our hero."

As Amanda speaks, Lily, her seven-year-old daughter, tugs at your pants, clutching her stuffed animal tightly. You crouch down to her level, and she looks at you with wide, grateful eyes. Holding up her stuffed animal, she says with a shy smile, "This is Mr. Cuddles. He wants to say thank you too. You're our superhero."

Touched by their words, a tear or two slips down your cheeks. You shake your head in disbelief, feeling honored to have played a part in their journey toward healing and safety. "You know," you say, your voice filled with emotion as you tuck a strand of her hair, "Lily's bravery and your strength, were the true superpowers that brought us here today."

Unbeknownst to you, Matt and Foggy have been silently observing the heartfelt interaction from a distance. Foggy's face is adorned with a small smile, finding solace in witnessing the positive impact you've had on the lives of others. Meanwhile, Matt stands nearby, wearing his glasses once again and clutching his cane. His heightened senses detect a familiar presence, prompting a mix of suspicion and intrigue. He ponders the curious coincidence of crossing paths with you once more, wondering what it could mean in the grand scheme of things.

After bidding farewell to the mother and daughter, you embrace them one last time, cherishing the connection you've forged. As you lift your gaze, your heart skips a beat when you spot Matt standing alongside his associate, silently observing your interaction. Sensing a surge of emotions, you swiftly turn on your heels and hasten your steps, eager to put some distance between yourself and the courthouse.

As you navigate the bustling streets of the city, a sense of solace washes over you amid the crowd. You reassure yourself that Matt remains unaware of your true identity and abilities. In his perception, you are simply a volunteer at the church, a passing acquaintance. However, an unsettling tremor of unease creeps into your thoughts, causing your senses to heighten. The nagging feeling of being watched lingers, evoking a shiver down your spine.

Casting a fleeting glance over your shoulder, you quicken your steps in an attempt to shake off the eerie sensation. The bustling crowd provides no answers, leaving you to dismiss the feeling as mere paranoia. Determined to carry on, you refocus your attention straight ahead, your sights set on reaching the church and delving into the paperwork clasped tightly in your hands.

Unbeknownst to you, Matt's curiosity had been piqued by your encounters and his instincts led him to silently trail your steps. Though you had committed no wrongdoing and had demonstrated your dedication to the community, his blind trust in his senses drove him to observe you from a distance. With each measured tap of his cane, creating a familiar rhythm, pedestrians instinctively made way for him as he kept a careful ear on your movements, unable to retract the decision to follow once it had been set in motion.

CLINTON CHURCH – SUNSET

Stepping into the hallowed sanctuary of the church, a sense of tranquility washes over you. The soft glow of candlelight dances on the walls, casting an ethereal ambiance. The faithful, lost in their prayers, offer a gentle backdrop of silence.

With reverence, you navigate through the aisles, careful not to disturb those seeking solace. The weight of the files pressed against your chest serves as a reminder of the important work that lies ahead. Determined, you make your way towards Clinton's church office, a sanctuary within the sanctuary.

Inside the office, the familiar scent of aging books and polished wood greets you, creating an atmosphere of quiet industry. You settle in, placing the files on the desk before you, ready to dive into the tasks that await. But first, you take a moment to offer a silent prayer of your own, seeking guidance and strength to fulfill your responsibilities within the sacred walls of the church.

Lost in your work, the minutes slip away unnoticed. The rhythmic tapping of keys on your laptop fills the room, creating a sense of productivity and focus. It's only when a sudden knock interrupts your concentration that you jolt in surprise, nearly toppling over in your chair.

Your eyes widen as you take in the sight of Matthew Murdock standing before you. The unexpected encounter catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. Matt takes a few steps closer, concern etched on his features, and asks if you're okay.

Blinking rapidly, you find your voice, though it betrays a hint of nervousness as you stand up, "Uh, yes, I'm fine. Just startled. Is there something I can help you with? Are you looking for Father Lantom?"

A charming smile graces Matt's face, causing a flutter in your chest. He responds, his voice smooth and captivating, "Actually, I wanted to speak with you."

Slightly leaning back, skepticism tugs at your brows, "Me? What about?"

Matt's smile remains unwavering, seemingly attuned to the subtle changes in your physiology. His heightened senses pick up on the rapid rise of your breath and the accelerated rhythm of your heart. As he takes in your scent, a mixture of nervousness and natural pheromones, his smile widens further.

"My friend and partner, Foggy, and I happened to overhear your conversation with the mother and her daughter," Matt reveals, his voice resonating with warmth and sincerity. "We were deeply moved by your dedication to helping those in need, people like her."

His words hang in the air, carrying a sense of genuine admiration and shared purpose. Matt's ability to perceive the nuances in your demeanor adds an air of intrigue to his presence. “Both of us, we’d like to offer our legal services in those cases. Pro bono if necessary.”

You find yourself momentarily lost for words, your mind racing as you grasp the card in your hands. You notice the intricate details, including the raised braille text, a thoughtful addition that resonates with you. Your fingers glide over the bumps, feeling the embossed characters as if trying to decipher the tactile message they convey.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you finally look up at Matt, gratitude and a touch of curiosity gleaming in your eyes. "Thank you," you say sincerely, your voice filled with appreciation. "I'll be sure to keep this card safe and reach out if the need arises."

The electric connection you felt when your fingers briefly brushed lingers in the air, leaving an indelible impression on your senses. You tuck the card into your pocket, holding onto the promise it represents.

A FEW DAYS LATER…

ST. AGNES ORPHANAGE – NIGHT

You balanced the phone between your ear and shoulder, deftly maneuvering through the remaining dishes as you washed them. The sound of running water created a soothing backdrop to your conversation with Claire.

"Claire, I'm calling to see if I can come over with the wine tonight, the one I bought last time around?" you asked, your voice filled with anticipation. The children had just finished dinner, and now it was time for some well-deserved relaxation and catching up with your friend.

A warm chuckle resonated through the phone as Claire responded, "Yes, please! Oh, and you definitely owe me an explanation for the whole invisible thing you've got going on." Her playful tone brought a smile to your face, the familiarity of her teasing banter comforting.

Snorting softly, you replied, "It's actually more complicated than that. But sure, I'll be there in a few minutes."

As you hung up the phone, you glanced around the clean kitchen, satisfied with the completed task. Drying your hands on a nearby towel, you turned to see Sister Maggie, the ever-watchful presence in the church, smiling at you.

You rolled your eyes affectionately, knowing she had overheard your conversation. Sister Maggie's caring tone reached your ears as she said, "Be sure to bring some bread and cheese for her."

A genuine smile graced your lips, appreciating Sister Maggie's thoughtfulness. You nodded in agreement. "Of course," you replied, your voice filled with gratitude. "I wouldn't forget." With a sense of warmth and anticipation, you gathered the necessary provisions, ready to share an evening of laughter and friendship with Claire.

TENTH AND 54TH, APARTMENT 412 – EVENING

With the strap of your purse on your shoulder, a bottle of wine held firmly in one hand, while the aroma of freshly baked goods and cheese wafted from the bag in your other hand. Stepping up to Claire's front door, you raised your hand and knocked, the sound echoing in the quiet evening.

As the door swung open, Claire greeted you with a warm smile, her eyes flickering with curiosity. "Hey! Come on in," she said, stepping back to allow you entry into her cozy apartment.

Upon seeing your arrival, concern was etched across her face. Claire's voice held a touch of worry as she asked, "Did you walk here?" She knew all too well the dangers of traversing the city streets alone, especially after dark.

Shaking your head, you reassured her, "God, no. I took a cab." The thought of walking all the way from the church to her place seemed daunting, even for someone as independent as you. With the brief moment of concern dissipating, the two of you entered the inviting space, ready to unwind, share stories, and savor the simple joys of good company and delightful treats.

As the evening unfolded and a couple of glasses of wine were enjoyed with the cat curled up on your lap, happily purring as you stroked the soft black fur. You found yourself sharing more about your unique abilities with Claire. With a mixture of excitement and caution, you explained the essence of your illusion powers, drawing from your personal experiences and knowledge.

"I have these... abilities," you began, your voice tinged with a sense of wonder. "I can create illusions, like visual and auditory tricks that can deceive people's senses. It's as if I can bend reality and make things appear different from what they really are."

Claire's eyes widened with intrigue, her curiosity growing. She leaned closer, eager to learn more. "That's incredible," she exclaimed, her voice filled with fascination. "How did you discover this? Have you learned to control it?"

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, reflecting on your journey of self-discovery. "I had a mentor, but it took time to understand and harness this power," you replied. "Through practice and exploration, I've learned to control and manipulate the illusions to some extent. It's an ongoing process, but I think I’m getting better at it."

Claire nodded, absorbing the information with genuine interest. "That's amazing," she said, a smile playing on her lips. "You have a truly unique gift. I can only imagine the incredible things you can do with it."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of relief and comfort as Claire expressed her acceptance and awe towards your abilities. It was a rare opportunity to share this part of yourself with someone who could understand and appreciate it.

As the scraping and rattling sounds echo through the hallway, a wave of unease washes over you and Claire. Swiftly, Claire retrieves her phone from her purse and cautiously approaches the door, peering through the peephole. After a brief moment, she exhales in relief and lets out a chuckle.

"Just some old lady with a cart full of groceries," Claire reassures, her tension easing. She descends from her tiptoes and shakes her head at the unnecessary alarm. However, unbeknownst to both of you, ominous shadows cast by an unknown figure silently creep closer through the window behind you.

THE CITY OF NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT 3RD PRECINCT – EVENING

"We're doing good here, Foggy," Matt affirms, a sense of contentment evident in his voice as his friend hails a cab for himself. Foggy raises an eyebrow and counters, "Are we?"

Matt, reaching for his phone in his blazer pocket, reassures him, "Yeah, we're making a difference." Just as he retrieves the device, it starts ringing, interrupting their conversation. Matt quickly answers the call, saying, "Hey, uh, one sec," before turning his attention back to Foggy.

"Foggy, I'll see you tomorrow," Matt states, a hint of mystery in his voice. Foggy, suspecting the reason behind the interruption, quips, "It's a girl, isn't it? You got a new phone just for your girls. My life sucks." He opens the door of the cab, ready to depart. Matt, wearing a knowing smile, bids him farewell, "Get home safe."

Finally, Matt puts the phone to his ear and greets the person on the other end, asking, "Hey, what's up?" Only to be responded with shrieking and yelling from the other end of the line.

As the Russian man held you tightly from behind, you could be heard kicking and screaming. Claire was desperately crawling across the floor, trying to reach the phone, but she was abruptly pulled back by the ankles by the second mobster.

“Claire? Claire, can you hear me?” You heard Matt's voice through the phone. You realized how much danger you and Claire were in. Your powers were about to surge when suddenly you were knocked out with the butt of a gun. You faintly heard Claire screaming your name as the two men carried you away into the night.

Matt hung up and felt his heart race with panic. He had no choice but to run into the street, folding his cane and darting into the nearest alleyway. He tossed his folded-up cane into a nearby trash bin, gaining momentum as he took a hard right and climbed atop a closed dumpster bin, before scaling over railings to get to the apartment where Claire was staying.

As he arrived at the apartment building, Matt's heart pounded in his chest, filled with worry for Claire's safety. He pushed the door open with urgency, causing it to swing violently on its hinges. Exhausted and breathless, he called out Claire's name, his voice filled with desperation.

Utilizing his heightened senses, Matt detected the faint electromagnetic waves emanating from Claire's phone. He swiftly located it and tossed it onto the table, relieved to have found it. However, the weight of his guilt and frustration overwhelmed him.

In a surge of anger, he grabbed a nearby dining chair and with a forceful swing, smashed it through the wall. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the apartment, a physical manifestation of his pent-up emotions. Matt stood there, panting heavily, as he tried to regain his composure amidst the wreckage.

Gradually, Matt's acute senses picked up on your familiar scent and presence within the apartment. The realization struck him—those men had taken you too. The weight of responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders as he questioned whether he was a harbinger of danger to those he cared about.

Taking a moment to center himself, Matt focused his heightened senses on the surroundings, seeking any clues or remnants of what had transpired. The lingering aroma of wine and cheese filled the air, indicating a friendship between you and Claire. The ethereal echoes of your presence, intertwined with Claire's, intensified his concern for your safety.

Moving swiftly, Matt navigated the apartment, guided by his heightened senses. He approached the partially open window and pushed it further, allowing the sounds of Hell's Kitchen to filter in. Leaning against the window ledge, he strained his ears, listening intently to the bustling streets below, hoping to catch any hints or whispers that could lead him closer to finding you.

As Matt focused his acute hearing, he sifted through the cacophony of voices and city sounds, honing in on the distinct Russian accents that caught his attention. Amidst the chaotic symphony, he detected the muffled screams of Claire, resonating with desperation and fear.

His heart sank as he discerned the sound of a car trunk slamming shut, accompanied by the absence of your heartbeat in his aural landscape. Worry surged through him, the possibility of you being severely injured or worse weighing heavily on his mind.

Determined to rescue both you and Claire, Matt swiftly devised a plan, relying on his honed senses and agile abilities. With a resolute expression, he runs out the door, embarking on a relentless pursuit to locate the car and free you from the clutches of your captors.

VELOS TAXI SERVICE – EVENING

You were abruptly awoken by a frigid deluge of water splashed onto your face, bringing you to full consciousness. You find yourself with your hands bounded behind your back, encircled by Russian mobsters, and as you look around, you see Claire slumped against one of the many parked taxis, coughing out blood and clearly battered. A man approaches you and you glare at him fiercely.

"If you cooperate, we won't have to resort to violence against you, nor will we have to keep hurting her," the man said in his thick Russian accent, gesturing with a metal bat toward Claire.

You resisted the urge to activate your powers, knowing that revealing your abilities would jeopardize not only your safety but also the lives of those at Clinton Church and St. Agnes. "What the fuck do you want?" you seethed, your voice filled with defiance. The man leaned closer, gripping your chin tightly. "Tell me his name," he demanded, his tone filled with menace.

You mockingly tilted your head at him, a defiant smirk playing on your lips. "His name? Oh, you mean the guy you're so desperate to find?" you taunted, despite the dire circumstances. "Why don't you try using those brain cells of yours to figure it out? Or are you too busy relying on violence and intimidation?"

The man's grip tightened on your chin, his eyes narrowing with anger. "Don't play games with me," he growled, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "You think you're clever, but you're just making this harder for yourself and your friend."

You let out a dark chuckle, unyielding in the face of his threats. "Oh, I'm not playing games. I'm just enjoying watching you squirm," you retorted, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "But let me give you a hint, tough guy. You're barking up the wrong tree."

That earns you a strike to your stomach and to the side of your face from a different man. You cough out blood and spit it out on the concrete floor. The man with the bat yells once more, “Give me his name!” To which you say nothing, merely sneeringly staring at him. This fuels his anger and his about to swing the bat to your head a man blocks it before he strikes you while saying to his fellow mobster in Russian, “Sergei… Vladimir told us not to kill her until one of them talks.”

Sergei sighs and says as he walks a few steps away from you, “This gives me no pleasure. It really doesn’t. But I have been given a job to do. So please, answer the questions that I was told to ask.” He then points the metal bat to your chest and raising it to lift your chin, “Or I will begin breaking you, a piece at a time.”

You steal a quick glance at Claire, her eyes brimming with fear and pain, silently begging you to find a solution that won't compromise Matt’s identity. Your body quivers with exhaustion, blood trickling down your head and nose from the merciless beating you endured.

With a feeble chuckle, you manage to utter, "An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and a fracture for a fracture. The one who caused the harm should suffer the same fate. But honestly, that seems a little too fair, don't you think?" The mobsters exchange confused glances, unsure how to respond to your unexpected remark. The tension in the air grows palpable as they hesitate, momentarily thrown off balance by your defiance.

Suddenly, the lights of the taxi service garage shut down, cascading all of you in a blanket of darkness. Sergei begins demanding orders to his other men while Claire begins to laugh, “You want his name?” she says, “Ask him yourself.”

They begin to turn on the headlights of their parked taxi’s, the yellow lights barely give any visibility. Utilizing your abilities discreetly, you create subtle illusions, distorting the mobsters' perceptions. Shadows dance and figures appear in the corners of their vision, distracting them from the real threat.

As Matt moves with astonishing agility and precision, the mobsters swing their weapons blindly, striking nothing but empty air. With each swing and bullet they waste, they grow more frustrated and disoriented, falling prey to the illusions you strategically place in their line of sight.

One mobster, driven by anger and desperation, charges towards Matt, unaware of the trap that awaits him. You project a convincing illusion of a wall directly in the assailant's path, causing him to crash into it with a resounding thud.

Seizing the opportunity, Matt springs into action, his enhanced senses guiding his every move. He swiftly incapacitates one mobster after another, his punches and kicks landing with calculated accuracy. The sound of bones cracking and groans of pain fill the air as the fight intensifies.

In the midst of the chaos, you continue to manipulate the shadows, obscuring your presence and diverting attention away from Matt's relentless onslaught. The mobsters, bewildered by the illusions, struggle to differentiate between reality and deception. With each passing moment, the tide of the battle shifts in Matt's favor. His acrobatic maneuvers and precise strikes leave the mobsters battered and defeated.

As the exhaustion and physical strain reached their peak, you found yourself unable to maintain your balance, even while bound to the chair. Dizziness engulfed your senses, and waves of nausea washed over you relentlessly.

Claire's panicked voice filled the room, desperately calling out your name, but your body refused to respond. Despite your best efforts to stay conscious, the overwhelming fatigue won the battle, and you succumbed to unconsciousness, slumped in the chair, your head hanging forward.

Bound and helpless, you drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, unaware of the chaos unfolding around you.

CLINTON CHURCH – EARLY MORNING

As you slowly regained consciousness, the sound of muffled voices reached your ears. Fluttering your eyes open, you found yourself greeted by the familiar figures of Sister Maggie and Father Lantom. A mixture of relief and apprehension washed over you as you tried to gather your thoughts.

Anxiety consumed you, and you blurted out, "Does Matt know? Does he know about me?" Your heart raced, fearing that your secret involvement with Matt's nightly activities had been exposed.

Father Lantom, his expression calm and understanding, shook his head gently, as if he had anticipated your concerns. He reassured you, "No, he doesn't know. We brought you here to ensure your safety. Matt dropped you off with us."

A wave of relief washes over you, your tense muscles finally relaxing. You nod, grateful that your secret remains intact. However, a hint of frustration lingers in Sister Maggie's voice as she voices her concerns about your willingness to put your life on the line for someone who remains oblivious to your assistance. She questions the fairness of your sacrifice.

"I don't understand," Sister Maggie says, her tone filled with frustration. "You're risking everything for Matt, and he doesn't even know the extent of your involvement. Is it truly fair to endanger yourself while he remains unaware?"

Taking a deep breath, you gather your resolve. You sense a hidden reason to Sister Maggie's concerns, but your conviction remains unshaken. In your determined voice, you reply, "Sister Maggie, sometimes doing what's right requires taking risks, even if it means staying hidden in the shadows. I believe in the greater cause, in fighting for justice, even if my efforts go unnoticed. Matt is out there every night, putting himself in harm's way for this city. It's only right that I do my part, even if it remains unknown to him. I trust that my support, can make a difference."

Sister Maggie's expression softens, a mix of concern and admiration in her eyes. She nods, realizing the strength of your conviction. "I understand your perspective," she says, her voice tinged with a touch of sadness. "Just promise me that you'll take care of yourself. The path you've chosen is a challenging one."

You meet Sister Maggie's gaze, determination burning in your eyes. "I promise, Sister. I'll do everything I can to stay safe. But I won't stop fighting for what's right."

With a nod of understanding, Sister Maggie gently embraces you, her silent support and belief in your cause reinforcing your determination. You know the road ahead will be treacherous, but your resolve remains unyielding. You are the silent guardian, the hidden ally, fighting for justice from the shadows, even if it means sacrificing recognition and remaining unknown to the one you assist.

END NOTES:

Whoever invented 7am to 6pm classes with a one hour break being 12pm-1pm… I hope you never have a working charger and that you always get stuck in traffic. And know that I haven’t prayed in a while but I literally started to pray for an asteroid to come and hit me bcs I was completely exhausted today and I wasn’t totally sure if any of this makes sense… yay!

Obviously, Matt isn’t all that stupid. He’s more than likely going to check on you in a few days but like discreetly, not in a way he knows something had happened. Claire eventually has to leave but there’s obv a few things in between to tie up some loose ends.

When I got home I just sat in the shower and stared at the tiles for a good half-hour because yes, I was that tired. 10/10 would recommend.

Tbh, when I started this series I was like, hrm what if I just skip S1, S2, and immediately jump to S3. Yeah… nope.

Okay idk who reads this but yeah, I love you guys. You literally deserve all the good in the universe. <3

#matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matthew murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #ethereal writes #Notre Dame Daredevil Series #daredevil #matthew murdock

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