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shedaresthedevil · 3 years

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I Should Be In Church But I'm Raging On A Sunday

Pairing: Matt Murdock X NB! Reader (reader uses she/they pronouns)

18+ Minors DNI!

Warnings: ANGST, Religious trauma, catholic guilt,afab!reader mentions of cancer/death, matt being a soft boi™, mentions of S.A(Brief, vague instance), violence

Word Count: 8,335

AN: My reader OC and Matt’s first meeting….in the cathedral, after mass, on a Sunday.

This is the origin story of my reader OC and Matt, at least the Daytime one. for my best Avocado @matt-erialgirl , I hope its everything you wanted. Don't worry, I'm already working on the nighttime one. This is slow burn yall, buckle up.

@freshabogados @loki-silver-tongued-god @pleasedin @mydeerprongsie1960 @lexlovescoffee

If you see a mistake, no you didn't.

please leave me a comment, I CRAVE IT. tell me what your favorite line was. What part absolutely destroyed you, etc.

He heard you before he "saw" you. Matthew heard the glide of the graphite against paper, the music in your headphones, and your heartbeat, strong and steady. Even through Father Lantom’s words, he could hear you. Matt could not pinpoint where you were, not with everyone still here for Sunday Mass and not without "looking" around and drawing attention to himself.

“Grief, while it is a difficult beast, can be beneficial. The loss of a loved one is never easy- it never should be, but it can teach us the value of what we have here, now.

“Incorrect. All it does is make you bitter.” Matt heard you whisper, continuing to mark against the surface of your work.

Father Lantom went on.

“Grief cannot be defeated, but we can learn to live with it, as difficult as that may be. Grief is something we must learn to coexist with.”

“Only because we don’t have any other choice.” You sounded resigned, certain of this.

“The lord does not grant us more than we can bear, remember that. Trust in Him.”

You scoff, placing a brush into your ink.

The sermon concluded, and communion was given. Matt was so focused on the sound of the brush softly sweeping across your piece that he nearly missed his.

“Something on your mind, Matthew?”

“No, Father. I’m just tired I guess.”

“Make sure to get some rest, being weary isn’t in your nature.”

“Oh, if only you knew.” He thought, raking his hands through his hair.

Matt agreed, bid the Father a good day, and made his way down the aisle, careful to reach for the pews for guidance that he didn’t truly need. He had forgotten his cane in a rush to get to the church on time- not that he needed that either. Matt was listening for you, and the further away from everyone else in attendance he became, the easier it would be to find you. He wasn’t certain why he was fixated on you, other than him being merely curious as to why you were not with the rest of the congregation if you were here for mass. He was curious as to why you were skeptical, if you were here and listening. But where were you?

The answer came to him as he paused under the balcony of one of the upper levels. You had dropped a brush, a soft sigh leaving your lips.

Up.

You were up in the gallery that overlooked the pews of Clinton Church, hiding from judging eyes.

Between the tattoos, the wine-colored stripe in your hair, and the overtly dark choice of clothing, people of the church tended to shy away from you.

“Good. Stay away.”

You didn’t want them looking at you anyway. But there was someone in the gathering of people you had not seen, or rather hadn’t noticed until today. You were in here to admire the craft of the cathedral, the architecture. You came every once in a while, to recreate its beauty on paper or canvas, and to escape; so you could simply exist without fear of being perceived. But he was here, second row, sitting by himself even though there were a few dozen people here for mass. He was nicely dressed, grey suit and tie. His feathery hair swept up and away from his face, the auburn hidden within the burnt umber strands shining in the early morning light that streamed in through the windows. Stubble covered his strong jaw, and round sunglasses covered his eyes, their burgundy hue casting a shadow on the planes of his cheek bones. The man was hauntingly beautiful, like a renaissance painting. He had not read along with the scripture, instead mouthing every word with his ample lips because he knew it by heart. You had started to sketch him before you had even realized what you were doing.

Did they avoid him too? Why? Was there something wrong with him too?

“Stop.” You chastised yourself aloud. “You’re finding commonality where there is none.”

You knew better, or at least you should. The master’s degree in psychology that hung on your wall should be a testament to that.

I should be in church but I’m raging on a Sunday, lie to confess, fuck it worry about it someday.

You let out a laugh, always surprised at how your music was almost always calling you out. But you were both at church and raging on a Sunday. You resumed your piece, dipping your brush into the red ink wash to colorize his lenses and their refraction. That would be the only color on the piece, and you were grateful you had chosen red as your colored ink of choice today. The man had begun to leave, and you turned your focus back to your work, not hearing his careful footsteps up to the location you were sitting in a few minutes later.

Matt was cautious, quiet. He stood in the entrance of your hiding spot, listening to you work. The smell of ink and graphite strong in contrast to the faint remnants of the perfume you wore. Sandalwood, patchouli and… something floral.

Then the answer came to him: Orchids. The floral scent was orchids. A client had gifted some to the office earlier that week and that was the exact fragrance. Matt had never smelled those three things together, but it was calming, heavenly even. The brush of the pencils and ink across the paper was rhythmic, almost comforting, like rain on the rooftop. He found himself smiling at your small hesitations when you thought about your next area to shade, amused at the way your nose crinkled and the click of the handle of your brush when you held it in your teeth. Your hair was shorter, whisking against your jaw as you shifted to get more comfortable. Matt had no idea what you were drawing, unable to discern the piece as it had no heartbeat, no breath to stoke the flames of his “sight”, but he could see your hands moving carefully across the page. Your demeanor changed immediately once a new song filled your ears.

“You see all the world to believe

That there's a lot inside of me

“But it's time that I'll come clean

I'm not what I seem, no

Some would say I'm possessed, yeah

But I'll confess, I've just been obsessed

With life and death and emptiness, I guess

Can't you see all of the change in me?

The movement of your hands stopped, unsure.

You took these starving limbs, try to see

Try to see what they could be

I thought it would be something

I thought you'd complete me

That you'd erase all the pain that I felt in my brain

If you fill my heart with love

Then you'd fill my voids above

And now you see I didn't change a thing

You pulled your knees to your chest, resting your head atop them.

What do you want from me?

I'm empty, I'm empty

I'm empty, I'm empty”

You breathed deeply, and Matt tasted salt in the air.

Crying. You were crying. Matt continued to stand there, conflicted on what to do. He could leave and pretend he never found you, or he could say something.

“Excuse me, are you alright?”

Your head snapped up, your body turning slightly. You took out your headphones to hear more clearly.

Your hands moved quickly as you spoke, not even deigning to look at him.

“I’m fine, thank you. Why are you up here?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

“I’m up here to draw in peace, which you are disturbing. I like the architecture of cathedrals. The pointed arches, the rib vaults on the ceiling, the stained glass. It’s more beautiful without people around to be honest.”

Your hands were still moving in time with your words, keeping up with your cadence. Signing. You were signing simultaneously, he realized.

“I don’t like anyone looking at my art before its finished, so I’d appreciate it if you left, please.”

“Ironically, you don’t have to worry about that part, at least not from me.”

You turned around fully, finally facing him. It was the man you had drawn, up here as though illustrating him with your ink had manifested him into your presence. His voice was… nice, low, even. Like someone who found everything to be loud, like he was trying to bring the volume down.

You outstretched your hands, palms toward the ceiling, and moved them side to side.

“What?”

Matt tilted his head, letting out a small breathy laugh through his smile.

Then it clicked for you, the pieces in place. His hands on the pews as he had walked down the aisle, the way people danced around him, the lack of using the text provided, the glasses. He was blind.

“Well, I feel incredibly stupid.”

“And why is that?”

“Well, either you’re a giant asshole that wears sunglasses inside, or I have been signing uselessly to a blind man for the past three minutes.”

His lips pursed, head tilting even further.

“I could see how that would make you feel that way. Are you…” he trailed off, thinking perhaps you were reading his lips? Matt tossed that thought aside; You weren’t facing him for majority of the conversation, so that could not be the case.

“Deaf? No, I’m hard of hearing in my right ear. I sign for my clients and for… never mind. If I Don’t continue to use it, I will forget it.”

“Clients?”

“I am a grief counselor, with a specialization in deaf adolescents.”

“That is way more interesting than what I am.”

“Overly- confident?” you offered, keeping your walls up. You had already given too much information. You wanted him to forget you were here, forget you existed, just like everyone else.

“No, I’m a lawyer. Matt Murdock of Nelson and Murdock.”

He extended his hand, and you shook it reluctantly. His knuckles were bruised, a deep dark purple like the sky right before a hurricane descends.

“A lawyer who boxes in his spare time from the looks of your hands.”

Matt smirked. You were observant, smart. He would have to be careful with anything he told you from this point forward.

“Something like that, yeah.” Matt replied, keeping his answer vague.

“Why do you care if people see your work? Surely the process is just as fascinating as the end result.”

“I need to have some air of mystery to me, don’t I?”

“I would say that hiding in the gallery of a church to draw has plenty of mystery.” He countered, testing the water.

“Fair enough. I care because I have this unnatural fear of failure. If no one sees the imperfect process, then they don’t know that I struggle to create, even when I want to.”

Why the fuck did you just say that? Why was this man so easy to speak to? Normally you were guarded, defensive, and unwilling to share minimal details, let alone intimate personal ones. Something about him put you at ease, and alarm bells went off in your head. Something was amiss, something wasn’t right. Fight or flight had engaged, and you didn’t want to fight in a church. You weren’t catholic, but you also weren’t disrespectful. Flight was the only option, so you started to pack up your work, attempting to appear casual.

Matt heard your heart rate increase, noticing your anxiety spiking.

“I’m not going to hurt you; I was just curious as to why you’re up here instead of down lower with everyone else.”

You ceased in your movements, a question weighing on you.

“I’m not Catholic, and therefore typically not welcome. If you’re blind, how did you even know where I was?”

Matt was taken aback at your bluntness; normally people danced around his lack of sight like glass. He loathed that, but your candor made him more intrigued.

“I heard you- well your music specifically.”

You head cocked to the side. Your music was not that loud, but maybe with the only other noise being Lantom’s voice for the past hour or so…it was plausible.

“So I guess you must just have super hearing. Is there anything you can’t do, Matthew?”

“Make a successful crème brulee. I always burn it, I can’t imagine why.”

“Funny. Have a good rest of your day Mr. Murdock.” You responded, moving to pass him and go down the stairs.

“Wait.”

It sounded somewhere between a plea and a command. Against your better judgement, you paused, looking up at him now from the stairs.

“Yes, Mr. Murdock?” you sighed, shifting in your boots.

“It’s just Matt, please. I didn’t catch your name.”

“I didn’t offer it. My names not important. Forget you ever saw me, Matt. I’m the physical embodiment of the devil’s own luck, and you don’t need any of that if you want to help others.”

You hurried down the stairs before Matt could say anything more. To your surprise, he followed you quickly for someone who supposedly couldn’t see. You were nearing the end of the pews, close to the exit when his voice rang out again.

“What the hell does that even mean?” he demanded, matching your stride.

Why thatchoice of words? What did you know?

“Never mind what it means Ma-”

You were cut off at the sight of Father Lantom heading straight for you.

“Ah, I see you’ve met our young artist, Matthew.”

“Good to see you Father, I hope you’re well.” You spoke politely. You had known Father Paul Lantom for years; he had been friends with your mother. Had been.

“I have indeed. I only wish I could see her work.” Matt jabbed; his tone equally as polite.

“I could describe it to you, if they will allow me to see it.”

They?

Reluctantly you handed over your portfolio, and Father Lantom thanked you…and called you by your name.

Matthew repeated your name aloud, satisfied with having an answer.

Lantom began to describe your sketches, and you hoped he would not get to your most recent piece that lay in the back of the pages. As fate would have it, he described it anyway.

“They’ve drawn you, too, Matthew. It looks just like you, the stained glass behind you is immaculate. I don’t know how you can even see all that detail from that far away.”

You felt your face flush, stating that you were simply farsighted, but otherwise your vision was near perfect as you reclaimed your portfolio.

“Thank you for that Father, it was quite enlightening.” Matt concluded, pleased with himself.

You turned to leave, feeling the Fathers hand upon your turned shoulder.

“How are you? Would you like to -”

“No, Father, I would not. Thank you, but no thank you. Perhaps another time.”

You continued to make your way to the door, hoping that neither would follow you. They did not pursue you.

Matt kept his head turned in the direction of your exit, knowing the door was only a few feet away.

“What was that about? She said something about her being “the embodiment of the devil’s own luck” I’m not familiar with the phrase.”

“She thinks she’s cursed. She had experienced quite a bit of loss in the past five years. I keep asking if they want council, but they won’t have it. They think they are beyond help, like someone else I know. They are hurting Matthew. They could use a friend.”

With that, the Father turned and walked away, leaving Matt standing there visibly confused. Matt rolled his eyes and rushed out the door after you. It took only a few minutes to find you, your perfume was that distinct. You had parked a few blocks down and were heading for your car. Matt wasn’t sure why, but he took a chance and called out your name. Your eyes lifted from your door handle and found him across from you, standing over your Veloster.

“Didn’t I tell you to forget I existed?” you spoke, firm.

“I just want you to answer my question.”

“What am I, on trial? I don’t have to tell you anything.” You snapped, irritated at his feeling of entitlement.

Matt swallowed. You were right. You owed him nothing.

“I don’t disagree.” He conceded, stepping away from the car.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong to follow you.”

Matt began to walk away, heading for home, when he heard you groan.

“Wait, Matt.” What had you gotten yourself into?

He turned, surprised at your words.

“I appreciate the effort, I do. I’m sorry too. I’m not used to people just being kind to me for no reason. Usually, they want something. You were just being nice.”

He heard the slight tremble in your voice, regardless of your attempts to hide it. This was incredibly difficult for you.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee and we can call it even?”

“Is it because you want to or because your catholic guilt is eating at you?”

He tilted his head once again, considering. “Would you believe me if I said it was both?”

“Shocking, but I’m going to have to decline.”

Matt gave an awkward smile and nodded, defeated.

“Because I don’t drink coffee. I know a place that has coffee and tea though. I’d like to take you there, as an apology for being such so suspicious.”

Matt flashed a charming grin, confidence renewed.

“You want a man you barely know to get in a car with you?”

“And a person you’ve just met has invited you into their vehicle and you’re considering it? I could be a serial killer Matt. I’m not, but I could be.”

“Sounds like something a serial killer would say, but I think I’ll take my chances.”

"Do you need help getting in? Or am I correct in assuming you're far more capable than you let on?" You asked, teasing.

You were trying so hard to not be hostile, fighting what had become your nature. You became unapproachable, and people stayed away…until Matt. It was as though the more you pushed him away, the harder he tried. No, not tried, pushed back.

Matt entered the car and buckled his seatbelt, you slid in shortly thereafter. He hears the click of your belt, the jangle of keys as you placed them in the ignition. The engine roared to life, settling into a smooth, yet still loud idle.

"You drive a stick shift, and you live in New York?" He chuckled, amused.

"Well, you know what they say, don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that." You muttered, your arm draping over the back of his seat as you looked to reverse. Once it was safe, you shifted gears and hit the gas, moving quickly along the streets. Had it been any other day or time of the week, you would have been in stop and go traffic.

"Aren't we going sort of… fast?" he asked, preoccupied by the way you were weaving your way through cars.

You laughed, turning down your music even further than you already had to be able to hear Matt.

"I guess so, why? Am I making you nervous? I've seen taxi drivers that are far more reckless than I am." You challenged, grabbing your sunglasses from the visor at a stop light.

"No, not at all. I’m just not used to sitting in the front seat I suppose. Where are we going anyway?"

"It's a little hole in the wall place called Fable Grounds. It's just outside Hell's Kitchen, if that's okay? Please tell someone you know where you’re going. I don’t want you to think I’m taking you somewhere to murder you." You explained, wanting to put him at ease.

He smiled and dear gods you swore your heart stopped momentarily.

“If I was under the impression that you were going to brutally murder me, I wouldn’t have gotten in the car. It’s green, by the way.”

You hit the gas, crossing the intersection and merging onto your exit.

“How did you know it was green?”

“Oh, I just heard the cars around you start to move is all.” Matt concluded nonchalantly.

You nodded, much to your embarrassment.

“You just nodded, didn’t you?” he sounded light, almost pleased.

“I did, I’m sorry.”

Matthew shook his head, a crooked smile forming across his lips.

“You don’t need to apologize every time you forget I can’t see, sweetheart. I have a question for you.”

Matt kicked himself internally; why had he called you that?

You tensed, not only at the proposition of a question but also at the term of endearment.

Matthew continued, hoping to change the subject.

“Father Lantom referred to you as she and they interchangeably, am I missing something?”

You breathed out, temporarily relieved. The question wasn’t aggressive, but the next part was always difficult.

“I, um… I use both she and they pronouns. Either is fine and you can use whichever you’re more comfortable with.”

Matt nodded, thinking.

“So, you’re non-binary? Is there any phrases or words I should avoid? I don’t want to make assumptions.”

Gratitude flooded through you, and you felt like you would cry; someone understood it.

“Yeah, and no, you can use traditionally effeminate terms if you want. They don’t bother me. You use he/him, right?”

“Yes, thank you for asking.”

Speaking to Matt was like breathing; it was involuntary and simple.

“I wouldn’t want to make assumptions.” You teased, mirroring his words from moments before.

The ride continued, both of you asking questions back and forth and talking like you had known each other for years. It was beginning to make you fearful; you couldn’t let anyone in, not ever again, but the more you spoke, the more natural it felt. Perhaps, just this once, you could break your rule.

You turned into the parking lot, the smell of coffee, tea, and sugar reaching you as you pulled into a space.

“This is the part where I’m going to need help, I don’t have my cane and I’m not familiar with my surroundings.” Matt said, getting out of the car and feeling around it needlessly to get to you. If he was going to keep up the façade, he needed to act the part.

“Of course. You can hold my hand or arm or whatever is most comfortable for you. Unless you’d like me to carry you.”

Matt extended his arm, telling you that just an arm and verbal direction would do just fine. You led him over the curb and up the stairs to the upper level where the coffee shop was. You tripped at one point because you were so focused on him, and Matt helped you regain your balance. He instantly felt every set of eyes on the pair of you as you entered the shop, and knew you were blushing.

He chuckled as you led him to your favorite table in the furthest corner, secluded and away from everyone.

“What’s so funny Matt?”

“You’re shorter than I thought you were.”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “What did you peg me at, 5’8?”

“I was thinking closer to 5’6 but yeah, I thought you were taller. Your personality just reads taller than… 5’2?”

“I am 5’3, thank you. How do you take your coffee, Mr. 5’10? I don’t see you as a fluffy coffee sort of guy, but you never know.”

“Surprise me. Nothing too sweet. Cream is also fine.”

You made your way to the counter, delighted to see Alexandria working. You had been friends for a long time, and she knew your order.

“One ‘big as fuck iced chai tea latte, no ice, extra whip and extra cinnamon’ coming up.” She recited, smiling upon your arrival to the bar.

“Actually, I also need something else today.” You clarified, glancing back at Matt who had his head turned to the window as if he was looking out of it. You weren’t aware, but Matt was listening. He just couldn’t help himself.

“That wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the man you walked in with, would it? I see you found a new friend?”

“You could say that. It’s more like he found me. Your best coffee, splash of cream, and… two spoons of sugar for him.”

“This is good. I’m happy for you, I really am. It’s a good sign that you’re moving past-”

Alexandria stopped speaking at the look you gave her. You had drawn a boundary with her about discussing last fall, in any context.

“All I’m trying to say is that I’m glad you have a friend, especially today. I know it’s not for the same reason as the thing I’m not supposed to talk about, but I know it’s hard all the same.”

Alex finished your order, stopping you as you reached for your wallet.

“It’s on me today, don’t worry about it. Go sit with handsome.” She said, gesturing toward the table where Matt was.

“Alex I can’t-”

“Please, let me be nice to you. I know you hate it, but it’s not out of pity. It’s because I care, that’s all.”

You sighed and agreed reluctantly.

“Is my favorite troublemaker here at least?”

Alex grinned from ear to ear.

“I’ll let her know you’re here, go sit.”

You made your way back to the table, setting Matt’s coffee in front of him.

“I hope I don’t have to help you drink your coffee too.”

“No, I can do that myself. Can I be forward for a moment?”

“Are you going refrain even if I say no?”

“Probably not. You aren’t Catholic yet attend mass. You attend Mass but hide from everyone there. Father Lantom seemed very concerned for you, yet you decline his offer for council. Why?”

You stared into your drink contemplating how to answer. You were already in deep, and you didn’t see the sense in lying.

“Father Lantom has known me since I was a child. He and my mother were friends.”

Matt did not miss the use of past tense.

“I hide from the people there because they either look at me like I’m diseased, or they stare at me with this…outrageous look of pity. I don’t want either of those things. My mother sang in the choir, came to church every Sunday. She was devout, honest, had the dirtiest laugh, and was the epitome of what a Christian should be. She loved everyone, the color of your skin, who you loved, how you identified - none of that mattered to her. My mother would give you the shirt off her back, and she did quite literally once or twice. ‘You help people if you can, because you should. Because it’s the right thing to do.’ She would tell me. She was bright, and brilliant and my biggest supporter. She was my lifeline, Matt.”

Matt shifted in his chair, listening. He didn’t like where this was headed.

You swallowed.

“And then she got sick. Cancer. Stage four, in her lungs. She had some in her spine and some in her brain. It was a death sentence. I knew it, she knew it. She told me to have faith.”

You felt hot, angry tears sting your eyes. You would not let them spill, not here.

“I would hear her praying in her bed through the wall of our house. Praying for God to give her strength, to give me strength. To heal her, to save her. I was the one who cleaned her up. I was the one that sat through chemo with her. I was the one who picked her off the floor when she fell because she could barely stand. I watched her wither away, day by day. Still, she prayed. She never wavered, not once. Until it was almost the end.”

“I’m sorry.” Matt whispered, brow furrowing in thought.

“Me too, because I’m the one that heard it. One night her prayers changed. My mother pleaded and begged for death. For God to take her, to end her suffering, to end mine. And you know what she got? Nothing, Matt. Silence. He didn’t save her. He didn’t help her.”

The tears fell down your cheeks, but you didn’t care; Matt couldn’t see them anyway.

“She suffered for five more months, and eventually we moved her to hospice. A week in, I told her that she could go. That if she was ready, she could go, that she didn’t have to stay for me. She died and I wasn’t even there. I left for a class and told her I’d be back right after. I gave my professor my phone and asked her to answer it if they called. They did. She died and I was taking an exam. My professor had stepped outside to take the call, and the way she looked at me… I knew. Everyone just stared at me, and I pretended not to notice, I had to finish my exam. My mom worked her ass off so I could go to college, I had to finish it. I have never completed anything so fast in my life Matt.”

It poured out of you, every detail and you were shocked but you just. couldn’t. stop.

“Today would be my mom’s 55th birthday. She died five years ago. I was 22. I go to mass to feel close to her, I hide because I don’t want their pity. They look at me like I’m a wounded animal that just needs to be put out of its misery and I cannot stand it.”

You wiped your face, taking another sip of your drink.

“They look at me like that. Exactly how you’re looking at me now.”

“Well, you see I’m not looking at you at all. I can’t, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”

A smile spread across your face, and you laughed, deeply from your chest. Matt thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

“No, I don’t suppose you can, but you know what I mean.”

“I do, and I am sorry about your mom. She sounds like she was a wonderful woman. The -”

“I swear to yourgod if you say, “The Lord works in mysterious ways” I’m going to throw my drink at you.”

Matt held up his hands in surrender, feigning dramatics.

“I wasn’t going to say that at all. And my god? What about your god?”

“I told you, I’m not Catholic. In a weird twist of fate, my catholic mother raised a pagan. She taught me the value of life, that everything has an energy, a purpose. I think she was secretly a witch to be honest.”

“I find most religions to be similar if you strip away the pretense and leave the basic components.”

“I agree but organized religion somewhat ruins that, at least to me. Some people get too caught up in the idea of a God that the don’t realize that they are using their faith as a scapegoat, as a justification to be awful. That’s the other reason I hide. Half of them don’t approve of me even being there or they don’t like how I dress, or both.”

“Then why do you even listen?”

“What?” you quipped, confused.

“Why do you listen to Father Lantom when he speaks?”

“How did… never mind. Just because it’s not my faith of choice, doesn’t mean something won’t resonate with me.”

How could he tell you were listening, even with your music in your ears?

“Auntie!” a tiny voice shouted, followed by the thundering of little feet racing toward your table.

A small child flung herself at you, her dark curls flying.

“Hello Rhiannon. What is all over your face?” smudges of black paint striped her face along with runes.

“It’s protection paint like you used to do at the renaissance festival!”

“Renaissance festival?” Matt raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“Yep! She was a knight because she didn’t want to be the princess. Sir Amaranth!”

“Look at you Rhiannon, you even pronounced it right!” You praised her, giving her another squeeze and a kiss to the head.

“She used to sing to before their pretend battle, she’s really good!”

Rhiannon lowered her voice and gazed over at the piano in the corner.

“Will you sing for us today, pretty please?”

Your smiled faltered; you hated this part.

“Not today, sweet girl. Maybe next time.”

Even lower still, Rhiannon spoke, “Is it because… you’re still sad?”

You nodded, forcing a smile yet again. “Don’t worry, I’ll be happy again one day, I promise.”

Matt listened to your heartbeat; lie. You truly believed that you would not be happy ever again.

Rhiannon made you pinky swear and twisted around in your lap.

“Who are you?” the child demanded of Matthew.

“I’m Matt, it’s nice to meet you.” Offering a friendly smile.

“I’m Rhiannon, I’m six. Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”

You gave Rhiannon a stern look, second only to the parental glare of her mother.

“Because my eyes don’t work. I can’t see, so I don’t have control of where I’m looking for the most part and that makes people uncomfortable sometimes.” He explained, gentle in his tone.

“Can I see?”

“RHIANNON.”

This child was dead set on embarrassing you.

Matt just laughed, insisting to you that she was fine and removed his glasses.

Rhiannon stared in awe at the blank gaze of Matthew Murdock. His eyes were brown, warm and inviting. He placed the red shades back on after about a minute. The small child twisted around again, cupping your ear to tell you a secret.

“He has really pretty eyes. He’s really pretty.” Rhiannon whispered, giggling into your ear.

“Yeah, I suppose he is, isn’t he? Go help your mom and I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Pretty? That was a new one for Matt. He had never been called pretty in his life.

You glanced over at Matt, who smiled still at the interaction between you two.

“You should keep him; he makes you happy. She would want you to be happy.” She said, hugging you tightly as your face crumbled.

She jumped down, waving goodbye to her new friend that couldn’t even see it. You watched her run to her mother, a pang of guilt lancing through you.

“She’s precious.” Matt said, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, yeah she is.” You stammered out, hands shaking as you signed.

“I don’t look at you with pity, I want you to know that.” He stated, unyielding in his conviction.

“I listen to you and I hear someone who is angry, and rightly so. You have been through hell and back, more than once. I’m certain there is more that you haven’t told me, that frankly is none of my business. I envy you; I don’t pity you.”

“Careful, Matthew. Envy is a sin.” You joked back, deflecting.

“It’s one of many sins I have committed, it won’t be the last either. I don’t hear someone who wants pity; I hear someone who is strong, resilient. It is your strength I envy. You have all these walls up to keep people out, and still, you have it in you to be kind. I don’t know if I could do the same, if the situations were reversed.”

“I am exhausted by my strength, Matt. Sometimes I want to be weak and give in, but I can’t. That’s not how I was raised, it’s not in my blood.” You whispered, feeling exposed at how easily he had read you.

“We have that in common. I just can’t seem to quit, my father instilled that in me. “Murdock’s don’t quit.” he’d tell me. He was a boxer, and he didn’t always win but he never quit. My grandmother used to say that we had the devil in us, the Murdock boys. Sometimes I think she was right.”

“I’m sure your mom was pleased at that notion. Knowing when to quit is a sign of strength, not weakness.”

Matt laughed, swallowing his coffee hard.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met her. I don’t even know who she is.”

You nodded, understanding.

“So, you’ve got mommy issues too, huh? Aren’t we a pair? Truth be told I don’t know how I do it either, Matt. I don’t even know how I manage to be kind. I have this darkness in me that eats me alive. I’m no good to anyone, that’s why I keep my distance. That is my anathema - everyone around me gets hurt. I use my greatest sin to keep everyone away, to keep them safe.”

“And what is that?”

“Wrath. I am angry, vengeful even. It keeps people far enough away that they can’t be harmed. If I hold everyone at an arm’s length, I can’t hurt them, and they can’t hurt me.” You confessed, still bewildered at the ability of Matt’s presence to make you this vulnerable. Your heart galloped in your chest; terrified.

Matt understood that feeling, all too well. He felt guilt for even having Karen and Foggy, and now he had added you to the fire.

“Sounds like we both have each other figured out pretty well.”

You laughed again, the melody a gravity pull to Matt’s ears.

“I guess we have. I’m not as mysterious as I thought. Damn, I’ll just have to try harder.”

Matt shook his head, disagreeing.

“You have plenty of mystery to you. I don’t know what your favorite color is or how you became hard of hearing, a tragedy really that you have withheld this information from me.”

“It’s black, but some would argue that isn’t a color so if had to choose one…phthalo green and wine red. I was born hard of hearing. It just sounds lower, muffled, I guess. Were you born blind?”

“No, I went blind from an accident, and that’s two colors. I’m not even sure what color phthalo green is, could you…describe it for me?”

You were taken aback at the request, but thought of how to illustrate the color nonetheless.

“Phthalo green is…. not quite green, not quite blue, and not quite teal. Somewhere in between all of those. It’s the darkest green in an evergreen forest, in the early morning where everything is still tinged with blue, right before the sun comes up.”

You wanted to paint him a picture, one that he might be able to envision. Listening to you talk was one of the loveliest things Matt had heard in a while.

You couldn’t read Matt’s facial expression, and your brain instantly assumed the worst.

“I’m sorry, was that too much? I guess I could have left it as somewhere between teal, green, and blue.”

“No, I just like listening to you talk.”

You were so used to being told you were too much and that you over explained everything, and this man just told you that he found pleasure in hearing you speak.

“I-”

Matt’s phone started to ring in his jacket pocket, cutting you off.

Foggy. Foggy. Foggy.

“I’m sorry I have to take this, would you mind?”

“I assume that’s the Nelson half of Nelson and Murdock? Justice never sleeps, does it? I don’t mind, go ahead.”

You went back to your drink, waiting patiently while Matt spoke to his partner. You looked around, not finding staring, pity filled eyes, but rather people carrying conversation, reading, and enjoying themselves. Maybe it was all in your head that people still looked at you that way. I had been five years since your mother, and nine months since the other incident. Maybe you could let yourself have this. It was… nice to have a friend, especially one that already seemed to understand you.

“Alright Fog, I’ll be there as soon as I can. See you soon.” Matt hung up and sighed, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“Everything okay? Do I need to take you home?”

“Not home, but the office. Foggy needs help going over some case details for a trial we have tomorrow. I’m really sorry to have to cut this short.”

“Were you having a good time? Shame. We’ll just have to come back another day.”

Matt agreed, you both gathered your belongings, and you took Matt’s arm to lead him down the stairs. You walked without fear of perception and found yourself smiling. Until both of your heads flicked to the left, hearing something no one else could.

“I said no, please leave me alone.”

You felt Matt tense beside you, anger roiling up inside him. Your rage was deeper, faster to surface.

You released Matt and made your way to the alcove behind the wall, a place where no one could see if they were sitting in the main common area. He had her pinned to the wall, hands in places they shouldn’t be. His back was to you, and the woman made eye contact with you, silently pleading for help. You winked, tapping on his shoulder.

“Get lost, I’m busy.” He grunted.

You would have none of that. You reached up, grabbing his chin in your hand, making sure your nails dug in, and turned his face toward yours.

“I believe she said no. Do you need a refresher course on consent?” Your wrath needed somewhere to go, and you felt this was a good place to put it.

Finally, he turned around, moving enough for the woman to get away.

“Go behind the counter with Alex, tell her what happened.” You spoke, hand digging harder into the mans face, drawing blood. Even though he grappled with your arm, your hold remained firm. She ran and the coffee shop went silent.

“Why don’t you mind your own business, bitch? Unless you want to take her place.”

Then he made a mistake; he hit you, hard across the face. Matt heard it and started to move but stopped when he heard you laugh. You licked the blood from where you had bitten your cheek from your teeth, looking up at the man through your hair. You moved the strands from your eyes with your free hand.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” You growled, ripping your nails across his face. He cried out, and you took advantage of his moment of weakness. You grabbed him by the back of the neck, shoving him hard against the wall and onto his knees. His face slammed against the surface, smearing blood along the light blue paint. You pulled his arms behind him and dragged him backwards into the light, so everyone could see the face of a coward. Matt stood in awe as he “watched” you carry out his punishment. The moment you released him, he was scrambling backwards on the hard wood floor. Your footsteps were quick, light and intimidating. He tried to sit up, only to be met with your fist across his face.

“I suggest” you began, grinding the heel of your boot between his legs to emphasis your words, “you stay down and listen.”

No one moved or spoke.

You leaned forward, applying more pressure with your foot. He screamed, flinching away as your fist rose again.

“If someone says no, that’s the end of it. Coercion is assault, keep your disgusting hands to yourself. If I ever see you in here again, I will do so much worse. If I ever see you again period, I will do so much worse. Understand?”

“You’re insan-”

You stomped your boot downward, impatient.

“And here I thought I was the one who was partially deaf. Let’s try again; do you understand me?”

He nodded frantically, desperate to get away.

“I can’t hear you nodding, I want an answer.” You commanded, not removing your boot.

“Yes, I understand.” He choked out, finally.

“Good boy. Now get the fuck out of here.” You whispered, releasing him.

Matt swallowed, head tilting to the side. Matt was not about to lie to himself and say he didn’t find it incredibly attractive to hear what was happening.

He struggled to get up, searching for someone to help him. His eyes found Matt and he appealed to him for help.

“Sorry sir, I’m blind. I didn’t see a thing.” He grinned, waving a hand in front of his face.

You were beginning to like Matthew Murdock more by the second.

The coward raced down the stairs- well as quickly as one could after having his genitals crushed by a knee-high doc marten.

“Sorry about the blood on the wall Alex.” You called back, offering to clean it up.

“Don’t worry about it, you’ve done plenty. Get out of here, and don’t drive too fast on your power trip.” She replied, beaming.

“It’s like you know me or something.” You took hold of Matts arm, sliding your sunglasses back on and heading towards the stairs. The little points at the top corners of the lenses were supposed to reminiscent of cat eyes but reminded you more of horns. Devilish was an accurate word for your actions, and you smirked at the thought.

“You hide from people looking at you with pity, but you can do that?” he asked, waiting until you were both in your car to ask.

“Wrath overrides anxiety, I guess. I will not be a bystander. I refuse.” The engine rumbled to life, and you drove Matt back to the office of Nelson and Murdock. You both talked and laughed the entire way there, finding solace in each other’s company. You parked in front of the building, a wave of disappointment washing over you. Matt saying your name got your attention, and you turned to him.

“I’m sorry, I zoned out. I didn’t hear you.”

“I asked if can I touch your face? It’s sort of how I see, but I wanted to ask before I did. It’s the only way I can make out what someone looks like.”

You looked up and nodded.

“Ugh, I did it again. You can touch me, Matt.” You agreed, sliding your glasses off so they wouldn’t be in the way. Doing so might smear your eyeshadow, but it had already been ruined by your crying earlier, so you did not care.

Matt slid his hands up your arms so he wouldn’t ‘accidentally hurt you trying to find your face’, not that he needed to.

You could hear him breathing, and suddenly your own felt too loud. Your heart pounded against your temple as his hands slid up your neck. His hands cradling each side of your face made you let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering closed. You had to resist the urge to lean into his hand, you were so starved for touch, and you felt safe with Matt. His fingers roamed delicately across your face.

Your eyes were smaller, slightly upturned from his best guess. His fingers swept over your cheek bones, they were high, but softly hidden by the roundness of your face. Your nose was straight and short, and Matt was careful of the piercing in your right nostril. Your breath hitched as Matts fingers ghosted over your mouth, his thumb catching your lower lip in its decent down your chin, your throat, his right hand coming to rest gently on the hollow of your neck. His left hand came back to you lips, wanting to touch them again.

You were beautiful. Curves and planes as opposed to angles and hard edges. He was close, far closer than he needed to be, and Matt felt your breath against his fingers as you opened your eyes. Matt removed his hand from your face, the other still placed on your neck. This was far more intimate than it normally was, and Matt could hear your heart thrashing in your chest. Matt was so distracted by your heartbeat that he did not notice the one that belonged to his friend approaching the passenger window.

“I’m going to assume that’s Foggy.” You concluded, pulling away from Matt and rolling down the window.

“Hey Matt, that’s one nice looking taxi.” Foggy joked, taking in the deep red color of the paint, the flecks of glitter in the color shimmering in the afternoon light. “I thought you were going to be here in like ten minutes.”

You looked at foggy, and instantly adored him. His fluffy hair, bright smile, and overall golden retriever demeanor made you grin.

Foggy stopped mid-sentence when he finally noticed you.

“I am so sorry, I am incredibly rude, Foggy Nelson.” He extended his hand through the window and Matt scoffed as his arm crossed his chest.

You giggled and shook his hand, offering your name. If he was friends with Matt, then he had to be safe enough to permit the gift of your name.

“I’ll see you next Sunday, okay?” Matt whispered, excusing himself from the vehicle.

“Will you though?”

You swore you could feel Matt’s eyes roll.

“Please, can I see you next Sunday?”

“Only if your eyesight is magically cured buddy.” Foggy inserted, patting Matt on the shoulder.

You couldn’t help but laugh at him, and assured Matt that you would see him again before you drove off.

You felt a weight in your chest lift, even in your reluctance to leave. You felt lighter than you had in months. Something about Matt Murdock was different, and you found yourself unable to stop smiling the entire way to the cemetery. You had one more stop to make before you went home for the night.

Unbeknownst to you both, you would cross paths again much sooner; both of you had a secret to tell.

#marvel #matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock fic #matt murdock x reader #daredevil fic #send help #matthewmurdockhasachokingkink #manwhore matt murdock #slow burn

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