#but the paris paloma version | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlightazriel · 11 months

Text

Labour /// Eris X F!Reader

Summary: As an act of punishment, his father made sure that he would never have his mate, but even Beron cannot change what was meant to be.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of giving birth and domestic violence

Word Count: 2,7K

Notes: Slightly inspired by Labour from Paris Paloma!!

Main Masterlist

His hand felt heavy on her waist, his proximity made her feel like she couldn’t breathe, she kept looking down, with polite smiles here and there but never words, they didn’t care about what she had to say anyway. Aeryn laughed again, the sound made her flinch slightly, subtle enough for the others not to notice, but enough for his fingers to press deeper into the fabric of her gown.

She excused herself, walking away from her husband and the members of the Autumn Court council, she stopped by an empty balcony, trying to steady her breathing. She touched her round belly, wanting to sense the baby in there, the only thing that kept her sane, the only reason to keep going.

“You look breathtaking tonight!” His voice was soft, warm as the fire running in his veins, she closed her eyes, swallowing deeply, her heart skipped a beat when she turned around, the lights from the ballroom illuminated his hair, making it shine brighter, he was wearing gold, it suited him so well. His eyes scanned her fragile figure, landing on the fading bruise on her cheek, the one that not even makeup was able to hide properly.

“It’s nothing.” She whispered as soon as his fingers touched her chin, forcing her to look up, at those beautiful eyes. “Eris, please just forget it.” She begged, he didn’t say a thing, just looked at her, the face that he loved so much, that sparked with life every time she spoke, now gone, replaced by a paler and skinnier version, dark circles under her eyes and that damned purple bruise.

“I’ll kill him, I don’t care that he’s my brother.” He said, resting his forehead against her, their breaths synchronizing, hearts beating as one, as he held his mate in his arms, she was taken from him, another form of punishment and control from his father. “You can’t keep living like this.”

“I can if that means I will see you.” Her voice broke as tears gathered in her eyes, those stolen moments were the only things that she treasured more than the baby growing inside her.

“Y/N…..”

“I should get going, Aeryn doesn’t like when I disappear for too long.” It took every bit of strength left in her to leave him there, the bond inside her chest screamed for her to come back. She quietly stood by her husband’s side one more time, not daring to look for him again.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“You know what’s funny dear wife?” Aeryn’s voice was close to her back as they entered their house. “It's that you think you’re so smart, pretending to be innocent and shit, but I can smell him on you, you dumb bitch.” His hand grabbed her hair, pulling harshly forcing her to look at him.

“Please Aeryn, think about the baby.” He laughed, the face of a demon looking back at her.

“Oh, I am..” He placed a hand on her belly and she swallowed dryly. “But Eris needs to understand that you’re mine despite what the Cauldron says.” He forced her upstairs, hand still tucked tightly in her hair and the other around her neck, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe, until he threw her limp body on the bed and left her there.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Beron smirked as his eyes landed on her neck and the visible handprints there the next day, as the family appeared for dinner.

“So, how’s the baby?” He asked directly to her, her throat was still sore and her voice was cracking when she spoke.

“Just fine, in a few days I will be able to know the gender.” Every word burned and stung, and he knew it. Eris clutched the fork in his hands tighter, his gaze fixed on her.

“I hope we get another strong boy, our lineage doesn’t need any more weakness.” The silence at the table was awful.

“I’m sure Aeryn will be happy either way, darling.” Lady Autumn said, her kind word comforting Y/N, who rested a hand protectively over her belly. “I saw your horses at the stable when we arrived, they look beautiful.” She kept going, changing the subject, Aeryn just started talking about his stallions, and everyone forgot Y/N for the rest of the night.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“It’s a girl.” The words sink deep in her guts, and her whole body started to shake in absolute panic, what he would do to her, to them? He made it very clear that he wanted a boy.

“You cannot tell this to anyone.” She held the healer's hand, the female looked Y/N in the eyes.

“But what if they ask?” Y/N’s breath was coming in short gasps as she feared for the tiny baby’s life.

“Lie, tell them it’s a boy, be convincible, I don’t know. But no one can know the truth.” The tears spilled from her eyes and the healer nodded, reassuring her that she would do everything to prevent them from knowing the truth.

She was still considering her options when the front door opened, Aeryn was sweaty and dirty from the hunting day, he didn’t even spare a glance in her direction before he ordered that she needed to prepare him a bath. Most of the time, he just treated her like a servant, so she got up and went to their bathroom to start preparing everything.

“What the healer said?” He asked as she rubbed a cloth on his back, she almost let it slip as she answered.

“A boy, she said it’s a boy.” He turned to her, a smile on his lips, the first genuine smile he ever gave her.

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me.” He kissed her belly and she shivered. “Just a few more weeks and I’ll be ready to meet my boy.” The happiness in his tone made her even more nervous, he would kill them both when the truth came out.

That night he made sure they had a good meal together, he held her in his arms as they lay down to sleep, kissing her hair and thanking her for making him the happiest male alive. When she woke up, she knew what she had to do.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Eris couldn’t focus on the papers, the distress he felt since yesterday still making him a little afraid for her, he knew that was coming from her end of the bond, stronger than ever before. He ran a hand through his hair, the small wooden cabin in the middle of the forest was silent, the only place no one knew it existed, his safe haven.

He got up, going to the kitchen to make some tea, the heavy rain fell outside when he heard a knock, someone was frantically knocking on his front door, only a crazy person would be walking around in the rain like this, he cursed under his breath, and opened the door, feeling his heart stop in his chest.

“Can I come in?” She smiled weakly, she was soaked and held a bag, behind her, a horse waited by the fence. He stepped to the side, allowing her in.

“How did you find me?”

“I just had to follow that pull in my chest.” He grabbed her bag and headed to the bathroom to run her a bath, she silently followed him, after he prepared the bath, he stepped outside, letting her take her time while he prepared something for her to eat. “It smells delicious.” Her hair was wet and she smelled like sweet herbs, a large sweater covered her 10 months belly.

“Then come eat.” He handed her a bowl with the warm stew, and she quickly started to eat. “What happened Y/N?” She slowly looked up at him, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

“It’s a girl!” That’s all that she needed to say, Eris was immediately by her side, pulling her in for a hug, she sobbed in his chest, the muffled sounds making his heart break.

“I always wanted a niece. Don’t let them take that happiness from you, especially since you always wanted a daughter.” He said, kissing her forehead.

“What will Aeryn do once he finds out the truth?” Her red eyes met his.

“Nothing, he won’t do anything cuz I won’t allow it.” He waited for her to finish eating before he led them to the only bedroom there, he made sure she was comfortable before he headed to the door.

“Can you stay?” She whispered in the darkness and the bond in his chest sang with life, warming his entire body, so he turned around, letting himself lay with her in his arms, feeling the happiest he had been in years.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

“Your father asked him to go on a diplomatic mission, so I took the chance and ran away in the middle of the night.” She said, stuffing her mouth with more scrambled eggs, Eris smiled at the sight, the one he have been wishing for 3 years.

Beron immediately knew about their bond, making an offer to her parents to marry her off with Aeryn in a way to punish him for working with the night court at the war, they sold her like an object and were more than happy to do so. So for three years, he had been longing to be with his mate, dreaming of having her in his arms like last night.

“You should rest after, or that baby girl might come before she’s supposed to.” She looked at him.

“Iris.”

“What?”

“Her name’s Iris.” He smiled at her.

“A pretty name for a pretty girl.” He rested his hand on her belly and his forehead against hers.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Her legs suddenly got wet, and she rose from her spot in the gardens, discarding the book she was trying to focus on, she started to breathe more quickly as she walked inside.

“What’s wrong?” He was immediately by her side and helping her to walk inside.

“It’s time.” His heart started to race against his ribs, and he helped her sit on the couch.

“Can you wait a little bit while I get a healer?” She nodded, trying to focus on her breath while the pain in her body increased, Eris winnowed away, leaving her alone.

“Push.” The healer demanded, and Y/N did, feeling her whole body being crushed, her back was pressed against Eris’s chest, while he held her, one hand massaging her belly and the other she held in a bone-crushing grip.

“You’re doing great darling, just push one more time.” He encouraged her, she was covered in sweat, a yell ripped from her gritted teeth, and her hand held him even tighter, he felt the pain, but compared to hers, it was nothing. Two hours and the baby still hadn't come out, he was starting to get worried.

Y/N kept pushing, feeling all her strength vanish as she did, her whole body felt weak but Eris's presence, his warm body against her, and his encouraging words, this made her push again, it was like she was being ripped apart, but suddenly the pain stopped and all she could hear was the light crying, the healers worked on the baby and then handed her a tiny package, from in between the blankets she could see the amount of red hair, the baby looked at her.

“Hi, Iris.” She whispered, and Eris could feel his chest filling with love, her love and his own filled his heart, the baby looked at him, and he thanked the Mother that he was seated, or he would’ve fallen to his knees at that moment.

“She’s so beautiful.” He let a finger caress her little cheek and he could swear that Iris smiled at him.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Two days later all they could do was stare at the baby, Eris didn’t leave her side for anything, always making sure all her needs were attended to. She was feeding Iris when he had to go back to court, Aeryn had discovered Y/N had disappeared and he was going crazy.

“Where is she?” Aeryn yelled, hands grabbing his shirt while he pressed Eris against a wall.

“How would I know? You’re the one not taking care of your wife.” Aeryn’s fist connected to his eye and Eris felt his blood boiling, he grabbed his brother’s shirt, pushing him away, the fabric burned where he had touched.

“I will get that bitch back, she’s carrying my son.” Eris scoffed.

“Good luck finding her, idiot.” He left, heading to his father’s office, just to find it empty. His heart started to beat rapidly and he immediately winnowed back, the cabin was empty, and the smell of his father and his guards was recent.

Eris was freaking out, he had winnowed back to every spot he knew she could’ve been held hostage, but it was in the throne room he found her, her whole body had bruises and her face was swollen, she was almost unrecognizable, Beron and Aeryn were there, smirking while he held his daughter.

"It takes a weak female to produce another one.” Beron said, pointing to the baby and Eris stepped forward.

“Leave them alone, please.” He begged and their smirks just grew wider.

“You’re a disappointment, I don’t want to see your fucking face around anymore, but you’re welcome to this traitor execution tomorrow.” Beron, rose a hand, dismissing him and ordering his guards to remove him, he was thrown in the mud by the front door of the Forest House, his mind was spiraling with ideas and he winnowed again.

The knife was on his throat before he even stepped out of the flames, Rhysand and Cassian looked at him, so it was the Shadowsinger that held the weapon against him.

“What do you want?” He said in his ear, and Eris breathed, the image of Y/N still fresh in his head.

“Help.” Rhysand signaled for Azriel to put the knife down and he did. “You need to kill him. Tonight.”

“We know we still have to fulfill our part of the deal, but we need to prepare, I can’t just send someone to kill him now.” Rhysand said and he turned to Azriel, the only one who understood what longing for a mate meant.

“ I need you to kill him, he will kill my mate, please Azriel, please.” He didn’t care he sounded pathetic, the fear of losing her was bigger than the fear he felt of his father. “He will kill her and I don’t know what to do, I’m desperate.” Azriel looked at him, the coldness was replaced by a sparkle of empathy and he looked behind Eris, waiting for approval.

“You wait here, we’re doing it tonight.” The shadowsinger said and Eris didn’t give a fuck, he threw his arms around the Illyrian, pulling him in for a tight hug, and his tears soaked the warrior’s clothes.

“Thank you for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome, High Lord.” Azriel said, gently pulling Eris away and disappearing through the shadows.

Rhysand’s inner circle listened patiently as he told their story, Morrigan held his hand the entire time, and by the end, he felt like he could really trust these people. He couldn’t sleep, waiting for Azriel’s return. He returned by the sunrise, her smell hitting him, he ran to the living room, where Azriel had just arrived with Y/N and Iris in her hands.

“You’re going to be okay, it’s over now.” Eris said as he held her closer, closing the distance between them, kissing her swollen lips with all the care in the world, her bruises were still very fresh.

“I love you.” She breathed and he felt his tears again.

“And I love you two so much. Thank you Azriel, I will be forever in debt to you.” The male just shook his head, leaving them alone.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The news of Baron’s death traveled fast, and those who knew or suspected that Eris was responsible for it, pretended they didn't, no one said a word, accomplices of an act of love.

“As the High Lord, you’re banished from the Autumn Court, if you’re seen in its territory once again, you will be executed.” His voice was commanding and powerful as he sentenced Aeryn, the male looked at him. “Consider this a kind gesture from your High Lady.” He said, leaving the cell his brother was being held.

Y/N was playing with Iris in their room, she looked at him, a smile on her lips, making her eyes shine brighter.

“Thank you for everything.” She said.

“I would do anything for my family.” He kissed her forehead and the baby in her arms, his family finally reunited as it was always meant to be.

#acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #shadowsinger #sarahjmaas #azris #eris vanserra #high lord eris #eris x y/n #eris acotar #eris x reader #moonlightazriel #autumn court

465 notes · View notes

theetherealbloom · 1 year

Text

NOTRE DAME - CH. 1

Chapter 1: At Least I’m Looking Down

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. In a city of darkness, will their connection illuminate a path to salvation 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,

Word Count: 8K

A/N: Hiya! Yep, I love Matt Murdock too! Lowkey took a small break from writing since I was getting overwhelmed with life ;-; I was inspired to try writing about Matt by these lovely authors @courtforshort15 and @bellaxgiornata <3 Am I writing two fic series at the same time? YEP. It’s going to be a very busy summer for me :>

Song: notre dame by Paris Paloma

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

dividers @/saradika-graphics

HELL’S KITCHEN, CLINTON CHURCH – NIGHT

As you diligently clean the hallowed halls of Clinton Church, your sweeping broom becomes a rhythm that lulls you into introspection. Memories flicker like shadows, teasing your mind, fragments of a past shrouded in mystery.

Amidst the dimly lit corridor, a whisper of a recollection dances on the edge of your consciousness. A stormy night, with rain and gunshots mingling with thunder. But the details remain elusive, like shards of a shattered mirror reflecting only fragments of truth.

With each stroke of the cloth, another piece of memory surfaces. An explosion of blinding light, a surge of energy, and a sensation of weightlessness. You were suspended in time, caught in a transformative moment that forever changed you.

Heart racing, you struggle to grasp the images. A younger version of yourself, eyes wide with wonder and fear amidst the chaos. But who were you before that night? What led you to that pivotal moment?

Memories slip through your fingers like grains of sand, but faint impressions remain. Faces and voices haunt you, leaving you with a longing for answers. Father Lantom, a guiding presence of solace, and Sister Maggie, a beacon of compassion within the church walls.

As you continue your tasks, the fragments fade once more, leaving unanswered questions lingering in your mind. But you find solace in the belief that one day, the scattered memories will converge, revealing the truth you seek.

Amidst the quiet diligence of your cleaning, a gentle tapping sound breaks through the stillness, drawing your attention. Your gaze shifts, and you find yourself captivated by the sight of Matt Murdock gracefully making his way toward the confessional booth. The name alone carries a weight, one that has reached your ears through the whispers of Father Lantom and Sister Maggie. With each step he takes, every subtle reaction and the enigmatic aura surrounding him stirs a sense of intrigue within you, casting a shadow of suspicion upon his every move.

With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, you choose to remain silent, your steps light as you retreat to the elevated vantage point. Hidden amongst the shadows, you observe him in the sanctuary below, your gaze fixed upon his approach to the confessional booth.

The murmurs of conversation, muffled by the confessional's veil, reach your ears as fragmented whispers. Though you cannot discern the words, you recognize the timbre of his voice, the weight of his confessions, as if they bear the burdens of a lifetime. In the quiet solitude of the rafters, you witness the profound moments of vulnerability shared within the confessional. In these moments, you feel a kinship, a shared understanding of the weight he carries upon his shoulders.

As you observe from the rafters, his confession comes to an end, and he exits the confessional booth. There's a subtle shift in the air as he stands still, as if he senses your presence lingering, watching him. A sudden jolt of realization runs through you. Did he just sense your presence? The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and a chill creeps up your spine. A moment of panic washes over you as you question whether your hidden position has been compromised.

You gather your thoughts and focus your mind, honing your ability to manipulate perception. With a quick burst of mental energy, you conjure an illusion that makes you disappear from sight, creating a diversionary tactic, a mirage that distorts the surroundings. The sound of a gust of wind sweeps through the rafters, rustling the shadows and masking any traces of your presence. You now vanish from Matt's limited perception.

Confusion etches itself on Matt's face as he stands there, his heightened senses attuned to the shifting atmosphere. He tries to make sense of what just happened, relying on his remaining senses to decipher the situation. Was it merely a trick of the wind? Or something else entirely?

Matt's head tilts slightly as if trying to catch any lingering sounds or vibrations, but the absence of visual confirmation hampers his ability to comprehend. His brow furrows as he ponders the inexplicable occurrence. Though he cannot see, he can't shake the feeling that someone was there, observing him. The mystery of the vanished presence lingers in his thoughts, leaving him with an air of intrigue and a touch of frustration.

Meanwhile, you retreat further into the shadows, holding your breath as you watch his perplexed demeanor. The silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the faint sounds of the church. As you observe him from your hidden vantage point, your heart races with a mix of adrenaline and uncertainty.

As Matthew turns towards the grand church doors, the rhythmic tapping of his cane reverberates through the hallowed halls, a somber melody that fades into the distance. Curiosity guides your gaze, and you find yourself peering through the nearby glass window, watching his silhouette as he gracefully walks into the embrace of the night.

A familiar voice, Father Lantom's gentle call, interrupts your reverie, and you reappear as your illusory form dissipates like a shimmering mirage. His eyes meet yours, holding a knowing glimmer, and you offer a sheepish smile in response. "Can you please come down from there?" he requests, a tone of warmth and concern lacing his words. "We could use your help in preparing dinner for the children."

Your sheepish smile widens, accompanied by a nod of affirmation. "Of course, Father Lantom. I'll be right down." As you descend from your hidden perch, you find yourself walking beside Father Lantom towards St. Agnes, the orphanage that holds pieces of Matthew's past. The curiosity that has been brewing within you finally finds its voice, and you can't help but inquire about the enigmatic young man who had just left the church.

"Father Lantom," you begin, your tone gentle yet inquisitive, "I couldn't help but notice that Matthew, he... he was one of the orphans here at St. Agnes, wasn't he?" You glance at the revered priest, hoping to glean some insights into Matthew's formative years.

Father Lantom's eyes reflect a mixture of fondness and understanding as he nods. "Yes, my dear. Matthew was indeed a resident of St. Agnes. He came to us with a quiet resilience, a determination to rise above the challenges life had presented him. Despite his circumstances, he displayed remarkable intelligence, compassion, and a sense of justice that would shape his path in profound ways."

You listen intently, absorbing the fragments of Matthew's past that Father Lantom is willing to share. The mention of his resilience and his unwavering commitment to justice only deepens your intrigue, strengthening the connection you feel towards the man who has become a subject of fascination in your life.

As you enter the bustling kitchen of St. Agnes, the aroma of warm food fills the air, and the sound of utensils clinking against pots and pans accompanies your every step. Sister Maggie and the other sisters are busy at work, their movements synchronized and efficient.

You join their silent dance, preparing the ingredients with care and precision. Sister Catherine, a gentle and nurturing presence, works alongside you, her kind eyes filled with compassion for the children in their care. Together, you create a symphony of flavors, each dish infused with love and warmth.

After the satisfying meal is served and the children's laughter echoes through the dining hall, Sister Maggie beckons you to a quiet corner. Her eyes carry a touch of concern as she shares her worries about one particular child who has been plagued by nightmares, struggling to find solace in sleep.

"Dear one," Sister Maggie begins, her voice a soothing balm, "we've noticed that little Sarah, who recently arrived at the orphanage, has been having trouble sleeping. Her nightmares have left her restless and weary. We've tried our best to comfort her, but I believe your presence and your unique abilities might offer her a measure of peace."

You feel a surge of empathy for the young girl, your heart yearning to alleviate her pain. With a gentle nod, you agree to assist Sister Maggie, grateful for the opportunity to extend your kindness and offer a glimmer of hope to someone in need.

Together, you and Sister Maggie make your way to the children's dormitory, where soft sobs and hushed whispers fill the air. The dimly lit room casts elongated shadows across the beds, a tangible manifestation of the children's fears.

Drawing upon your own experiences and the innate power that courses through your veins, you sit beside Sarah's bed, your presence a comforting presence in the darkness. With a gentle touch, you reach out, intertwining your fingers with hers. A soft glow emanates from your touch, casting a warm light that dispels the shadows.

At that moment, you become a conduit of solace and tranquility, soothing Sarah's troubled mind. Through the power of empathy and your own inner strength, you weave a tapestry of soothing images and peaceful dreams, gently guiding Sarah into a restful slumber.

As you withdraw your hand, a sense of fulfillment washes over you. Sister Maggie, who has been silently observing, offers a grateful smile, her appreciation evident in her eyes. It is in these moments of compassion and connection that your powers find their true purpose – to bring comfort and healing to those who need it most.

Once the turmoil has subsided, you and Sister Maggie quietly make your way out, seeking solace in a peaceful evening walk. The gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead as you and Sister Maggie stroll side by side. The moon casts a soft glow upon the grounds of St. Agnes, creating an ethereal atmosphere. In the quietude of the night, you find a moment to share your thoughts with Sister Maggie, a confidante and wise presence within the church walls.

"You know, Sister Maggie," you begin, your voice carrying a sense of wonder, "ever since I arrived here, I've been listening to the prayers and expressions of gratitude that echo within these sacred walls. Lately, I've noticed a recurring theme—a cascade of thanks directed towards a mysterious figure, someone in a black suit. It's as if this person has been saving lives, responding to desperate pleas for help."

Sister Maggie's eyes glimmer with a knowing twinkle, her response carefully chosen. "The workings of divine providence are often veiled, my dear. The Lord's angels can manifest in unexpected forms, cloaked in darkness yet bearing light. It is not for us to decipher their true nature, but rather to trust in the goodness they bring."

Her words leave you with a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. The identity of the man in the black suit remains shrouded in mystery, and Sister Maggie's cryptic response does little to quell your wonder. As you part ways and make your way back to the rafters, your mind dances with possibilities, eager to uncover the truth behind the enigmatic savior who has captured the hearts and prayers of those he has touched.

HELL’S KITCHEN, CLINTON CHURCH – MORNING

With eager anticipation, you gather your belongings, ready to embark on your journey to the community center nestled in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. Tuesdays and Thursdays hold a special place in your schedule, as they are dedicated to community outreach and engagement, allowing you to make a positive impact on the lives of those around you. As your footsteps echo through the corridors, a sense of purpose fills the air.

Passing by Father Lantom, who is immersed in the task of lighting candles, you offer him a warm smile and bid your farewell with cheerful words. "Goodbye, Father!" you chirp, the excitement evident in your voice. In response, Father Lantom's caring gaze meets yours, and he gently reminds you, "Be sure to return before darkness falls, my dear." His words carry a hint of concern, a reminder of the dangers that lurk in the shadows of the city you aim to uplift.

The bustling and busy streets of the city fill your ears as you make your way to the community center. People walk hurriedly, their footsteps echoing on the pavement, their urgent movements revealing the importance of their destinations. The city's energy envelopes you, blending with your own sense of purpose.

As you reach your destination, the community center comes into view. Its vibrant exterior stands out amidst the surrounding buildings, offering a haven of support and care. The sound of laughter and chatter emanates from within, a symphony of voices that lifts your spirits.

Stepping inside, you are greeted by Maria, an experienced social worker, and a familiar face. Her warm smile instantly puts you at ease, and you exchange pleasantries.

"Hey there! Good to see you," Maria says, her voice filled with genuine warmth.

You return her smile, grateful for the camaraderie and support that Maria provides. As you settle into the familiar rhythm of your work, you can't help but overhear snippets of conversation around you. The topic of discussion revolves around the Russian mobs that have been causing fear in the community.

"It's been the talk of the town lately," Maria says, her tone tinged with concern. "The Russian mobs are causing chaos and everyone in the community is scared out of their minds."

Your heart sinks, knowing all too well the impact such criminal activities can have on the lives of those you serve. "I've been hearing similar stories," you reply, your voice laced with empathy. "It's really tough to see how much it affects the people we work with, you know?"

Maria nods in agreement, her eyes reflecting shared worry. Together, you exchange stories and observations, discussing the challenges faced by the community in the face of these criminal elements. Amidst your conversation, you notice a group of elderly residents gathered in a corner, engaged in their own hushed discussion. Curiosity piques your interest, and you discreetly listen in.

"Did you hear about the masked vigilante?" an elderly man whispers, his voice filled with awe. “He's like a shadow in the night. Creeping up on those Russian thugs and striking fear into their hearts." Other elderly voices join in, sharing their own accounts and opinions of this mysterious figure who prowls the streets of Hell's Kitchen, delivering his own brand of justice.

Intrigued by their tales, you find yourself captivated by the notion of a dark avenger fighting for justice. The stories resonate with the underlying frustration you feel toward the criminals plaguing the community. As you continue your work as a social worker, the whispers of the elderly and the legends of the masked vigilante linger in your thoughts. Deep within, a flicker of admiration ignites, acknowledging the complexity of his methods and the results he achieves.

As you carry out your duties at the community center, a familiar face catches your attention amidst the bustling chaos. It's Claire Temple, a compassionate nurse known for her dedication to healing and her involvement in the community. She offers a warm smile, acknowledging your presence, and you find a moment to exchange greetings.

"Hey there! Long day?" you ask, attempting to strike up a conversation.

Claire nods, her eyes reflecting a hint of exhaustion. "Yeah, you know how it goes. But it's worth it. How about you? How's the community center?"

You smile, leaning in slightly. "Busy as ever. The Russian mobs have been causing a lot of fear in the neighborhood lately. It's disheartening to witness the toll it takes on the people we work with."

Claire's expression turns somber as she glances around. "I've seen some of it at the hospital too. It's a tough situation."

As the conversation comes to a natural pause, you feel the urge to express your concern. "Hey, Claire, everything alright? You seem a bit off. Is there something on your mind?"

She hesitates for a moment before offering a reassuring smile. "Nah, just a rough night. But I'll be okay. Thanks for asking."

You nod, not fully convinced, but respecting her choice to keep things to herself. "Alright, just remember, I'm here if you ever need to talk. Take care, okay?"

As you turn to leave, a thought crosses your mind. "Oh, by the way, Claire, why don't I come over to your place later? We can bring some snacks and wine, and have a little girls' night. It might be nice to unwind after everything that's happened."

Claire's eyes light up, a grateful smile playing on her lips. "That would be great. My place could use some company. Come on over."

Hours pass by as you diligently work at the community center, engrossed in the needs of those you serve. Time slips away from you, and before you realize it, nightfall has arrived. With a sense of urgency, you gather your belongings, eager to honor your commitment to Claire.

As you rush through the dimly lit streets, your phone buzzes with a notification. Glancing at the screen, you see a message from Father Lantom. It's a relief to know that he's aware of your whereabouts and won't be worried. You send a quick reply, assuring him that you're on your way to Claire's apartment and that everything is fine. The gesture brings a small sense of comfort, knowing that you have someone looking out for you.

As you approach the apartment building, your footsteps quicken with a touch of anxiety. You had also texted Claire that you would be running late. You can't help but worry that you may have kept Claire waiting for too long. Your delay was unavoidable, as you had to make a quick stop to pick up a bottle of wine for the evening. With the wine safely tucked in your bag, you take a deep breath and push open the door to the building.

As you reach the landing of the stairs, a shocking sight greets your eyes. A man in a grey suit lies unconscious, blood trickling from a wound on his head. A fire extinguisher rests beside him on the ground, a jarring juxtaposition to the serene surroundings.

Your heart skips a beat, and your mind races to make sense of the scene before you. Panic sets in as you instinctively realize the gravity of the situation. Without conscious thought, your powers surge, causing your form to flicker and vanish from sight. In an instant, you become invisible, your presence hidden from prying eyes. It's an unintentional reaction, triggered by the shock and uncertainty that grips you. It's as if your very being seeks to protect itself from the unknown dangers that surround you.

In the hushed atmosphere, you strain your ears, capturing faint murmurs drifting from above the stairs. Slowly, your gaze lifts to find Claire, her expression filled with disbelief and uncertainty. "What do we do now?" she whispers, her voice quivering with a mix of fear and confusion.

Before you can fully process her words, another voice interjects, the urgency palpable in its tone. "There's someone else... one floor up, watching us. Oh, no. He's young. He's scared." The words hang in the air, and your eyes widen as you spot Santino, a young man you've assisted with tutoring on multiple occasions.

Without hesitation, you witness Claire lean over, her concern evident as she calls out, "Santino?" However, the young man doesn't respond. Instead, he swiftly retreats from view, disappearing back into the safety of his own apartment.

Intrigued and compelled to uncover the truth, you make a silent decision to ascend the stairs cautiously, keeping your footsteps light and your senses sharp. As you ascend, you observe Claire engaged in conversation, her voice carrying a tinge of familiarity. "He's the one who found you in the alley," she reveals, her words drawing your attention.

Step by step, you ascend further, your eyes scanning the surroundings. And then, in the dimly lit corridor, you spot a figure clad in sleek black attire. A mask conceals the upper portion of his face, leaving only his mouth and stubble. It dawns on you that this is the vigilante everyone has been talking about.

"He's seen my face, too?" he questions Claire, a mix of curiosity and concern in his voice. Without missing a beat, she affirms his inquiry, her voice carrying a weight of truth. "Yeah."

The Masked Man lets out a weary sigh, his voice filled with a mix of exhaustion and determination. "Claire, go upstairs and find him. We're going to need help carrying Detective Foster to the roof," he instructs, his words laced with urgency. As he pushes himself off the wall, a grimace of pain crosses his face, his hand clutching his side. It's at that moment that you truly take in his appearance—completely battered, bloodied, and bruised.

You remain invisible, carefully observing his movements as he slowly approaches your position. Swiftly, you sidestep to give him room, ensuring not to impede his path. Claire, perplexed by the situation, breaks the silence with a mixture of concern and confusion. "What the hell are we going to the roof for?" she questions, her voice tinged with apprehension.

The vigilante, his steps weakened but resolute, begins his descent down the stairs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Less chance of someone in the building hearing him scream," he replies, his words carrying the weight of the dangerous reality they find themselves in.

You trail behind them, ascending to the rooftop, silently observing their actions. Your gaze fixes upon the Masked Man as he deftly ties the wrists of Detective Foster with a piece of rope, suspending him from the bars of a metal ladder. As he secures the rope, his attention turns to Claire, seeking information. "You find anything?" he inquires, his voice a mix of urgency and determination.

Claire's eyes shift to the cracked phone in her hands, a hint of frustration evident in her expression. "You smashed the hell out of it with that extinguisher," she remarks, the weight of the damaged device lingering between them. In the brief pause that follows, you take the opportunity to discreetly move across the rooftop, perching on the ledge as you listen to their conversation unfold.

"He had a badge," Claire continues, her voice tinged with uncertainty. The Masked Man remains silent, his thoughts concealed behind the mask that shields his face. Claire presses on, her voice filled with doubt, "What if you're wrong?" Without missing a beat, he retorts, his conviction unwavering, "I'm not."

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him hobble toward your position. Invisible, your powers working in tandem to conceal every scent, heartbeat, and sound, you remain undetected. In the midst of their exchange, you hear Claire's voice echo through the night air, laden with a sense of unease. "This is way past what I signed up for."

With a slight shift to the side, you create space for the vigilante as he leans against the ledge beside you. The moonlight casts a dim glow upon his features as he poses a question to Claire, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What exactly do you think that was?"

Claire takes a few measured steps toward him, her voice laced with a mix of frustration and determination. "I found a man who needed help, so I helped him," she asserts, her gaze unwavering. The Masked Man responds with a hint of skepticism, "Oh, yeah? That simple?"

With a pause that carries the weight of unspoken tension, Claire walks closer to him, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Do you really want to get into this in front of him?" she questions, a flicker of concern crossing her face. He responds with his firm voice, "He's out." Their attention briefly shifts to the suspended figure, and Claire suggests, "Maybe he's faking."

He then tilts his head for a moment, focusing his hearing on the man’s heartbeat before lifting his head again and shaking his head. "He's not," he concludes, the certainty evident in his tone. Claire points at him, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Okay, that right there, that's what I'm talking about," she retorts, her finger emphasizing her point.

As the Masked Man slowly removes his gloves, Claire presses on, her voice filled with a mix of astonishment and exasperation. "I find a guy in a dumpster, and he turns out to be some kind of blind vigilante who can do all of this... this really weird shit," she gestures emphatically, trying to find the right words to capture the extraordinary abilities she has witnessed. "Like smelling cologne through walls and sensing whether someone's unconscious or faking it. And on top of that, he can take an unbelievable amount of punishment without one damn complaint."

He responds with a charismatic shrug and a knowing smile. "The last part's the Catholicism," he quips, a touch of humor in his tone, revealing a glimpse of his own understanding of the role faith plays in his resilience.

Oh, God. As the words sink in, your heart skips a beat, and you feel a surge of mixed emotions coursing through your veins. It's him. It's Matthew Murdock. The realization hits you like a tidal wave, threatening to shatter the fragile balance you've managed to maintain. For a brief moment, doubt and uncertainty cloud your thoughts, and your powers waver, almost revealing your presence.

In the midst of this inner turmoil, you notice a subtle shift in the Masked Man's demeanor. His heightened senses catch a hint of your scent in the air, an unfamiliar yet strangely familiar aroma. Confusion flickers across his face, and instinctively, he turns his head to the right, as if searching for the source of the elusive presence that has caught his attention.

You hold your breath, frozen in the realization that Matthew, the man you've admired and been drawn to, is standing just inches away from you. The connection between you feels tangible, like an invisible thread linking your fates. But for now, you remain hidden, concealing yourself in the shadows, grappling with the overwhelming revelation that threatens to unravel the carefully constructed walls around your heart.

Claire, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, breaks the silence with concern etched on her face. "What is it? Did you sense something?"

You see Matthew's brow furrow behind the mask slightly as he tilts his head around, his heightened senses still on alert. "I'm not sure... I thought I detected someone else's presence, but... never mind.”

Claire's frustration is evident as she lets out a sigh, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "So, what? I'm supposed to take it on faith that I'm on the right side of this?" She points to the man unconscious behind her. Matthew lifts his chin, steady and determined. "You don't carry a masked man bleeding to death into your apartment on faith. You knew which side you're on the moment you found me."

Claire takes a moment to gather her thoughts, her gaze briefly shifting towards the unconscious man tied to the ladder. Matthew's question lingers in the air, and she turns to face him, her expression filled with a mix of determination and compassion.

"I'm a nurse. I work in the ER at Metro-General," she begins, her voice steady. “A few weeks ago, cops bring in three men. Said they were robbing tourists, beating them up pretty bad. Apparently, a man with a black mask took issue with their activities and decided to step in. I counted nine broken bones between them.”

There's a brief pause before Claire continues, her voice carrying a touch of vulnerability. “A few days after that, EMTs and my friend who’s a social worker brought in a 19-year-old waitress, said… some guy she knew waited for her after work in the parking lot, attacked her… tried to drag her in the alley. She said she screamed and screamed, and a man in a black mask heard her… and he saved her life.”

Matthew remains silent, his unseeing eyes fixed on Claire as she continues to voice her thoughts. The weight of her words hang in the air, the struggle between belief and doubt palpable in her expression. She gestures towards the unconscious and wounded man, frustration evident in her voice.

“So, yeah, word’s getting around.” Claire says, her voice tinged with a mix of skepticism and hope. "And I want to believe in it. I really do. But this?" She points to the man tied to the ladder, emphasizing the severity of the situation. Matthew, his masked face hiding half of his features, takes a moment, the silence pregnant with unspoken emotions. He licks his lips, a nervous gesture, before finally responding. "I know you're afraid," he says, his voice steady and determined. He takes a step closer, "But you can't let fear control you. If you do... these men, they win."

The tension between them is palpable, an undeniable connection tinged with both attraction and uncertainty. Sensing the weight of the moment, you turn your body away, facing the view of Hell's Kitchen. Swinging your legs gently, you take in the cityscape that never sleeps, the distant sound of sirens piercing the night. It's a moment of anticipation, waiting for Foster to regain consciousness.

APARTMENT ROOFTOP – NIGHT

Half an hour passes in tense silence as Matthew senses Detective Foster beginning to regain consciousness. Claire swiftly covers her face with a piece of white cloth, a makeshift mask to conceal her identity. Matthew turns to her, his voice low and commanding.

"Don't say anything, Claire," he advises, his tone firm yet measured. "Let me handle the interrogation." Claire nods, her eyes filled with a mix of apprehension and determination.

You move away from the ledge, positioning yourself a few feet behind them. The weight of the imminent violence hangs in the air, a familiar presence that you've encountered before. Your powers shimmer, rendering you invisible, your senses heightened and ready for the events about to unfold.

Detective Foster's eyelids flutter as he gradually awakens, disoriented and dazed. His gaze shifts, and as his vision clears, he realizes he is restrained and surrounded. His eyes settle on the imposing figure of the Masked Man and another presence standing just behind him, invisible to his senses.

Matthew takes a calculated step forward, his presence radiating intimidation and menace. The air around him seems to thicken with an invisible weight, amplifying the aura of fear he effortlessly commands. His voice lowers, taking on a deeper, more menacing tone as he addresses Detective Foster.

“Here’s how this is gonna work.” Matthew asserts, his words laced with an unmistakable intensity. “I’m gonna ask you some questions. You’re gonna answer them. If you’re lying to me… trust that I will know…” he warns, a predatory growl resonating beneath his words. “And I will be unhappy.”

The atmosphere on the rooftop becomes electric, charged with an unspoken understanding of the power imbalance at play. Detective Foster remains silent, his eyes darting nervously between Matthew and the concealed figure standing behind him. The weight of the situation hangs heavily in the air, anticipation building as Matthew prepares to extract the information he seeks.

With a calculated intensity, Matthew initiates his interrogation, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Where's the boy?" he demands, his tone leaving no room for ambiguity. Foster, attempting to maintain a facade of defiance, nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders and utters a blatant falsehood. "He's dead," he states, his voice laced with false conviction.

But Matthew, honed by years of honing his senses and instincts, instantly detects the deception. Without hesitation, his fist swiftly connects with Foster's head, the force of the blow causing him to cough out blood and reel from the impact. A mix of pain and realization flashes across Foster's face as he comprehends the gravity of the situation.

"This is what unhappy looks like. Where’s the boy?" Matthew asserts, his voice dripping with cold determination. The message is clear: the consequences of deceit will be met with swift and punishing retribution. At that moment, the power dynamic between captor and captive crystallizes, leaving no doubt that Matthew holds the upper hand.

Foster wheezes, his voice strained, as he tries to maintain a defiant front. "Why do you care? If he's not dead yet, he will be," he retorts, a hint of malicious satisfaction in his tone. Matthew refuses to be deterred, pressing forward with his interrogation. "Why did you take him?" he demands, his voice low and intense. Foster responds with an unsettling nonchalance, "Figured you'd come running."

Matthew's jaw tightens as he struggles to contain his anger and frustration. "And after I was dead?" he probes further, his voice laced with a mix of desperation and determination. Foster's expression remains indifferent as he casually replies, "Sell the kid, like all the others."

The weight of Foster's callous admission hangs heavily in the air, a chilling testament to the depths of his depravity. Matthew's control slips, fueled by a surge of righteous anger. With a swift and forceful blow, he strikes Foster once again, unable to tolerate the man's unrepentant guiltlessness.

Foster groans in pain, his facade momentarily crumbling under the weight of the assault. Through gritted teeth, he manages to utter, "I was telling the truth on that one," his words laced with a twisted mix of sincerity and indifference. Matt's frustration grows, his fist clenches as he deepens his voice into a growl, "I know."

Foster, unfazed by the gravity of the situation, chuckles audaciously. "We got you good, didn't we?" he taunts, his voice dripping with arrogance. Matt refuses to be provoked, his focus unwavering. "Who do you sell the children to?" he demands, his tone hard and unwavering.

Bleeding from his mouth, Foster nonchalantly shrugs, a chilling indifference in his demeanor. "I don't know. Whoever has the money," he replies, his words devoid of remorse. Matt's gaze intensifies as he leans closer, his voice low and dangerous, "Where's the boy?"

With a smirk, Foster taunts, relishing in the power dynamic of their exchange. "So you find him. So what? We'll take another. Kill me, somebody takes my place. Long as people are buying, we'll be selling," he states with a derisive shake of his head. "Nothing you do tonight will change that."

Frustration boils within Matt, his injured form visible through his labored breathing. Foster cruelly points out his condition, mocking his endurance. "But go ahead. Keep hitting me. Let's see who drops first," he challenges, a twisted glimmer of defiance in his eyes.

As the intensity of the interrogation grows and the urgency to obtain crucial information mounts, you recognize the need to take direct action. With determination in your eyes, you swiftly move to Foster's side, reaching out to grasp his wrist which is still tightly bound.

Drawing upon your powers, you tap into the depths of fear and horror, channeling them into a potent projection aimed directly at Foster's fragile psyche. With a surge of energy, you unleash a chilling manifestation of his worst fears, tailored specifically to exploit his vulnerabilities and force him to confront his darkest demons.

Foster's eyes widen in terror as the illusion takes hold, his screams of agony piercing the air. He thrashes against his restraints, desperately trying to escape the relentless torment of his own mind. Matthew and Claire, taken aback by the sudden eruption of fear and chaos, are momentarily frozen in confusion, unsure of what is transpiring before them.

To their amazement, Foster's torment continues unabated, despite their static presence. It becomes evident to them that there is an external force at play, something beyond their understanding. Foster's screams pierce the air, growing more desperate with each passing moment.

Suddenly, Foster's pleas for mercy are stifled as Matt's gloved hand forcefully covers his mouth, silencing his cries. His eyes dart around in confusion, searching for the source of his torment. His nose begins to bleed, a visceral manifestation of the sheer terror gripping his being.

Matt's grip tightens, a mixture of determination and concern etched across his face. He senses a force at work, but the identity and motives of this mysterious presence remain elusive. Uncertainty fills the air, mingling with the intensity of the moment.

And then, as your strength wanes, you can no longer maintain your hold on Foster. He pants heavily, clearly in psychological and physical pain. Sensing an opportunity to intensify the interrogation, Matthew seizes the moment, grabs Foster's collar, and menacingly states, "You're right... what you said before. I kill you, somebody takes your place, but they'll end up back here just like you, and sooner or later, one of you is gonna tell me what I need to know."

Matthew swiftly reaches for one of the ladder rails, pulling out a small knife and cutting the rope that restrains Foster. With a firm grip, he carries Foster to the edge of the rooftop, half of his body hovering over the precipice. His baritone voice deepens as he emphasizes, "This is important." Foster groans, and Matthew shushes him, whispering, "Shh! Listen, I need you to understand why I'm hurting you. It's not just about the boy. I'm doing this because I enjoy it." Matthew then pulls Foster up, fully leaning his body over the edge, and from your vantage point, you observe the unfolding events while trying to catch your breath.

Foster's desperate pleas of "No, no, no!" fill the air as Matthew whispers, "Where is he?" With no response from Foster, Matthew's anger erupts, his voice booming, "Where is he?" After one final menacing shove over the ledge, Foster gives up the location, gasping, "Underneath Troika restaurant. Eleventh and 44th."

Matthew pulls Foster back up and away from the edge, ensuring his safety. Once Foster is on his feet, he chuckles mockingly, taunting, "They'll be waiting for you. If you're lucky, they'll kill you before they start on the boy. It would be a shame for you to witness what they do to him." Matthew grabs Foster by the shoulder and forcefully pushes him off the rooftop. Claire shrieks in shock as she watches the man plummet, a loud crash resonating as he lands in a dumpster below.

"It's all right. He landed in the dumpster you pulled me out of," Matthew pants out, his strength waning. Claire's voice trembles with concern as she asks, "Is he dead?" Matthew tilts his head, listening for Foster's heartbeat, and shrugs, "He'll live."

As Claire gazes over the ledge, Matthew hobbles away, urging her, "You need to gather your things and leave. Don't disclose your destination to anyone." Matthew retrieves the remaining rope hanging from the ladder, while Claire turns to find him walking away. "What?" she questions, perplexed. Matthew grunts in response, "If he wakes up, he'll be back... and he won't be alone next time." He cuts the rope in half using the small knife and tosses it to the ground. Claire lifts up her cloth, expressing relief, "But he didn't see my face."

"That was just for effect, to scare him. He knew you were lying when you answered your door," Matthew explains, groaning in pain. Claire moves to assist him, but he raises his hand, signaling her to stop. "Do you have a place you can go?" he asks. Claire sighs, contemplating, "Well, there is one... but I'm not sure if she has enough room. I'm currently cat-sitting for a woman I work with within the hospital. Her brother is sick. She's in Oklahoma."

"What's the address?" Matt asks, his breath strained. Claire looks at him with confusion and asks, "Why?" Matthew replies, his voice wavering, "I'm thinking if I'm thinking if I make it through the night, I may need some help getting patched up," Matthew says with a pained expression. Claire sighs, understanding the gravity of the situation, and replies, "Tenth and 54th. Apartment 412, um, in the building above the liquor store."

Matthew senses her worry and reaches out, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Thank you, Claire," he says sincerely, his gratitude evident in his tired form. He takes a few steps away before Claire speaks up once more, her voice filled with doubt, "I don't believe you. What you said. I don't believe you enjoy this."

As you materialize on the floor, panting and visibly exhausted, Claire's concern immediately takes over. She swiftly turns around and rushes to your side, her voice filled with worry as she calls out your name, "I thought you were... How? Were you here all along? What is going on?"

Taking a moment to catch your breath, you manage to respond, your voice slightly strained, "I have powers. Abilities that allow me to... do things others can't." Claire looks at you skeptically, clearly grappling with the strangeness of the situation. You decide to bring up the recent alien invasion attempt as a reference point, hoping to put things into perspective. "You know the giant hole in the sky? The alien invaders that attacked New York? Well, I was sort of involved in that. It's been a wild ride."

Claire's expression shifts from skepticism to a mix of disbelief and awe. "Okay," she says slowly, processing the information. "So, let me get this straight. You have powers, there is a blind vigilante, and now we're here on a rooftop dealing with dangerous criminals. This is officially the weirdest night I've ever had."

You nod in agreement, acknowledging the surreal nature of the situation. "Believe me, Claire, it's just as strange for me. But right now, I need to leave. I need to go and help him rescue the boy."

Claire's curiosity takes hold, and she looks at you intently. "You were the one who made Foster lose it, weren't you? Why he suddenly started screaming at nothing?"

You nod again, confirming her observation. "Yes, it was me. I had to do whatever it took to get the information we needed. Foster was involved in something dangerous, and the boy's life is at stake."

There's a moment of silence between the two of you, as the weight of the situation sinks in. Then, Claire's voice softens, and she asks, "Do you know who Mike is? I mean, really know him?"

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your complicated connection to ‘Mike’ who was actually Matthew. "Kind of. Not really. We have a history, but he doesn't know me, and for now, I think it's best to keep it that way."

Claire absorbs your response, her expression filled with understanding. After a brief pause, she looks at you with a mix of concern and determination. "You're going to go help him, aren't you? Mike. You're risking everything for him."

You meet her gaze and offer a determined nod. "Yes, I am. I have a feeling he's caught up in something bigger than all of us, and I can't ignore that. I have to try to help him."

Claire's worry is evident as she says, "You better come back in one piece. I don’t know how I would explain all of this to Maria."

You give her a faint smile, appreciating her concern and support. "I'll do my best, Claire."

TROIKA RESTAURANT, UNDERGROUND – NIGHT

Your heart pounds in your chest as you step into the dimly lit hallway, ready to aid Matthew Murdock with your unique abilities. The air crackles with anticipation as you tap into the depths of your power, the energy coursing through your veins.

As you move forward, the sounds of scuffling feet and strained grunts fill the air, echoing off the walls. Shadows dance and flicker, creating an eerie ambiance that heightens the tension. Your presence is a secret, known only to yourself.

With a single thought, your surroundings come alive. Illusions spring forth, perfectly replicating the masked vigilante in every detail. The mobsters' attention is captured by these illusory duplicates, drawing their attacks away from Matthew. They strike at empty air, their frustration growing with each missed blow.

Your illusions become more intricate, weaving a web of confusion and fear. Illusory weapons materialize in your hands, gleaming with a phantom menace. The mobsters' eyes widen in terror as they face the illusion of imminent danger, hesitating for a crucial moment.

The hallway transforms into a maze of illusory constructs. Shadows twist and contort, creating false barriers that impede the mobsters' progress. Their footsteps falter, their balance disrupted by the ethereal obstacles you've conjured. The line between reality and illusion blurs in their minds, feeding their growing sense of unease.

Their swings and strikes meet nothing but empty space, frustration mounting with each failed attempt to land a blow. Illusory wounds appear on their bodies, and illusory blood stains their clothes. Cries of pain mingled with shouts of anger, chaos reigning in the narrow corridor.

Amidst the whirlwind of illusions, Matthew moves with grace and purpose, his senses honed to perfection. He leaps and dodges, striking with pinpoint accuracy, his relentless determination evident in every calculated move. The mobsters find themselves increasingly overwhelmed, their confidence eroded by the uncertainty that surrounds them.

And then, in a fleeting moment, Matthew turns, carrying the boy in his arms. His heightened senses catch a hint of your presence—the faintest scent, the echo of a heartbeat—before it dissipates into the night. There's a flicker of realization in his posture, an unspoken acknowledgment of your contribution to the fight.

With a final surge of strength, Matthew pushes forward while carrying the young boy. Your illusions continue to distract and disorient the remaining mobsters, allowing him to navigate through the chaos with unwavering focus. As the hallway fight reaches its climax, the mobsters are left reeling, their resolve shattered. You watch from the shadows, your breath steady but your heart still racing. The moment of triumph is shared, even if only for a brief instant, before you fade back into the anonymity that cloaks your true nature.

Matthew's focus shifts back to the task at hand, carrying the boy to safety. Yet, a sense of intrigue lingers within him. He feels your ghost, supporting him, but your identity remains a mystery. As he carries the boy, he silently vows to uncover the truth behind his mysterious ally once this mission is complete.

With the boy safe in his arms, Matthew continues his swift retreat, leaving behind the hallway and the echoes of your combined efforts. The enigmatic presence of your illusion powers remains a secret, for now, your aid in the fight is a silent testament to your unwavering support.

END NOTES:

I’m… IDK WHAT THIS ISSSSSS :D

YES. This is my take on the whole “guardian angel” role bcs it’s fun!

If you are confused with the reader’s back story dw I already have that sorted out.

HNGGG YES IM WRITING TWO SERIES. IN THE MIDDLE OF FINALS WEEK SHUSH. IM FINE =D

Okayyyy I hope you enjoyed T^T <3

- Grace

TAGLIST:

#matt murdock x reader #matthew murdock #matthew murdock x reader #charlie cox x reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #ethereal writes #etherealupdates

194 notes · View notes