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theetherealbloom · 1 year ago

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NOTRE DAME - CH. 2

Chapter 2: Sinners Come And Go

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

Paring: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

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

Word Count: 8.3k

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

Song: Mirage by Elina

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HELL’S KITCHEN, CLINTON CHURCH – DAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

METRO-GENERAL HOSPITAL – AFTERNOON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NEW YORK STATE SUPREME COURT BUILDING – AFTERNOON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CLINTON CHURCH – SUNSET

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A FEW DAYS LATER…

ST. AGNES ORPHANAGE – NIGHT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TENTH AND 54TH, APARTMENT 412 – EVENING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

VELOS TAXI SERVICE – EVENING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CLINTON CHURCH – EARLY MORNING

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

END NOTES:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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farfromstrange · 2 years ago

Text

Foreigner's God | m.m

Matt Murdock x avenger!OFC

Chapter thirty-six: this is me trying

Read part XXXV here ° series masterlist ° main masterlist

Summary: Eliza and Matt are both trying to move on, but recovery is a lengthy process and they're both not quite there yet. Fortunately, they have each other and as he holds her hand, she's more than willing to hold his so they can both get out of the woods together.

Warnings: Slight angst with hurt/comfort, Fluff, domesticity, established relationship, SEMI-SMUT (male receiving oral) 18+ MINORS DNI, sub!Matt, degradation kink, use of pet names, praise kink, slight (?) cum play, Matt Murdock's never-ending masochism, religious imagery and symbolism, talks about child molestation, bullying, antidepressants, drug addiction, and depression — use of mutant powers to make Matthew see (momentarily)

Other Characters: Involuntary Therapist Paul Lantom™️

a/n: Here are the 10,000 words I removed from the last chapter and about 7,000 more. I just switched up the planned chapter titles.

POSTING THIS EARLIER THAN PLANNED BC I REACHED 200 FOLLOWERS!

And because my dear @mrs-areallygoodlawyer said I should add a certain joke into one of the chapters, I did. I’m sorry in advance, it’s cringe but I found it funny. No regrets on this one.

Eliza stirred. The faint sound of birds chirping in the distance and a cold yet gentle breeze on the already frozen tip of her nose paired with a cocoon of warmth wrapped around the rest of her body coaxed her out of the depths of unconsciousness. She wriggled some more to get her shoulder back under the blanket, thankfully succeeding, and she slowly blinked the sleep from her eyes.

She was disoriented when she woke up, though she soon recognized the stone walls of the bedroom and the silky green sheets she was tangled in. The room smelled of Matt’s deodorant and the salt of his skin. His shampoo filled her nose with the scent of happiness hiding behind sandalwood and bath water. Brown strands of hair tickled her face from where his head rested on her shoulder.

The air in the room grew colder with each gush of wind that brushed over their entangled bodies. The blanket barely covered Matt’s large frame - he wasn’t wearing a shirt - yet he didn’t even as much as shiver.

He grunted, tightening his arms around her torso. “Don’t you dare,” he said, voice laced thick with sleep, hoarse and scratching in the back of his throat. His vocal cords weren’t quite awake yet, and neither was his body. His fingers drew lazy circles over the skin underneath his Columbia shirt, pulling her closer against his chest from behind.

She smacked his forehead when his beard and hair started to tickle her skin from the constant movement and he frowned disapprovingly. He buried his face in the pillow underneath his head, repositioning the arm under her head so that her neck rested in the crook of his elbow and he could pin her head underneath his chin.

Finally comfortable, Eliza melted into him. She almost fell asleep again, but her body had slept enough, and the ache that settled into her muscles kept her on edge. Her eyes were burning from the shed tears, dry and redder than sunburn. Her throat ached and her nostrils were raw from all the tissues she wasted.

Matt only sleepily slurred behind her. “How’re you feelin’?” he asked.

“Everything’s in pain,” she grunted.

He stroked along her jaw, then over her cracked lips and her swollen eyelids, ending his journey on the bridge of her nose, smoothing out the wrinkle at the top and then continuing downward. “Anything I can do?”

Her heart fluttered. “Yeah,” Eliza said and shifted, still trapped by his arm but free enough to turn and look at him. “You can kiss me.”

Running a hand through his messy hair, he chuckled. Matt rolled them over so she rested on her back, his body hovering over hers, and the heat radiating off of him distracted her from the open window. She raked her nails over his arms before coming to rest around his neck. His eyes looked even darker after waking up, eyelashes full, and lids hooded. His cheeks were just as red as she suspected her own were.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

“Morning,” she whispered back.

He dipped his head lower to brush her lips with his own. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah, this is probably the first time in a while.”

He kissed her harder this time, letting her feel all of him, though his caressing touches remained sloppy. “No nightmares?” he asked.

She keened when he scratched just the right spot on her scalp, releasing a sound that resembled a purr. “No nightmares,” she said.

“Good,” he smiled his signature lopsided grin. His hand applied pressure to the back of her neck, loosening the muscles with his expert fingers.

Whatever course he took to get this good with his hands, she thanked God for that.

“You’re still tense.”

“Yeah, I’m in a lot of pain.” She hissed at a particularly tender spot he hit. “My body feels like it’s on fire.”

“I could break my fingers on your shoulder blades. Baby, this feels bad. I know you said you slept better than usual, but your muscles feel like you were fucking tense the whole night.”

“That’s ‘cause I was,” Eliza admitted. “I still am. God, I’m so tired, Matt. Like, I’m so exhausted. Not just physically tired but exhausted, and even though I slept better it felt like I didn’t sleep at all. I don’t think I can move at all today and that scares me,” she said, her breathing growing shallower with each passing word. “It’s not just because I cried the whole day… I can’t move because my mind is tired, and now my body hurts too. So fucking much.”

He gave her a sympathetic look. “I know what that’s like.”

“What do I do?”

“How about I get you an ice pack to cool your eyes first?” He pressed his lips to her swollen eyelids. “They must be sore,” he said.

“And itchy,” she stated.

“Ice helps, trust me. I’ll get you some.”

“Thanks.”

“And then I’m gonna help you get dressed so you can have some breakfast. Your appointment is at ten, which means we should leave at either nine or nine-thirty. Zero at the end, right?” He slapped the alarm clock.

Seven-thirteen am.

“Hm, there’s enough time. And if it makes you feel better, we’ll get ready at eight, so it’s a full hour and you won’t have to stress.”

If she hadn’t cried all of her tears, she would have teared up again. Instead, she choked up inside, her lungs constricted with the overwhelming consideration he put in. It was remarkable that after all of this, he was still standing strong for her sake, never faltering in his attempts to make her feel better. And it worked, at least enough to make her sit up against the headboard, ignoring the soreness and the protest of her head that she just couldn’t fucking get up.

Matt pecked her lips on his way out. He slid the door open, still half-naked in the cold bedroom and she watched him tap into the living room, hand tangled in his hair as he made his way into the kitchen.

In his still sleepy state, he almost hit his pinky toe on the living room table, missing just by an inch when he felt the couch under his fingers and took a step to the right. From then on, he guided himself on the wall until he finally reached the kitchen counter.

He brewed the coffee first so the ice pack wouldn’t go warm. Eventually, he slipped into a shirt, remaining in his boxers for the time being. Her eyes were still on him, as blurry and hurt as they were. He was beautiful, not just objectively. She loved how he moved, how he smiled, how he thought, and how he held her when the world became too much to bear.

She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until after someone shook her awake again. Matt’s hand was warm from the cup of coffee he held, the other that was on her thigh rested coldly with the ice pack he picked up for her.

He smiled and she took it, rubbing her sore eyes before pressing the ice to her lids. She sighed. Her temples pulsated with every pinch of the headache that consumed her whole, but the cold made it a little more bearable.

“How about I give you a massage now?” he suggested.

She exhaled, “That’s too much.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

“No, I mean, it’s too much for me. I can’t handle this much attention right now. I’m sorry.”

When she dared to peek at him, her cheeks flushed not from the open window but from embarrassment, she found him grinning back at her. “Finally,” he said.

“What?”

“You just told me what you want.”

“Oh, that. I’m sorry?” she said.

He instantly grabbed her head, eyes stern with the disapproval. “No, not sorry. It’s a good thing. I was waiting for you to learn how to say no, especially to me.”

“Viktor never let me say no.”

Eliza timed the exact moment his fist tightened around the soft flesh of her thigh. His jaw clenched and the anger in his eyes burned bright. He was about ready to grab his suit, return to SHIELD and kill the man himself.

“I mean, Mueller didn’t care, he just took what he wanted, but Viktor punished me every time I dared to say no to him, and whenever I would cry, he’d add to his punishment and make it so much worse. The scars,” she pointed over her shoulder, “They’re proof of that.”

“Sweetheart…” Matt sighed. He wasn’t sure if he could touch her face, so he stopped his hand mid-air and dropped it back in his lap.

“So I stopped crying. I stopped saying no because tears are a weakness, y’know? He told me that weapons don’t weep and that deserved his punishment. I let him touch me, partially because I was afraid of the consequences if I didn’t, and partly because I thought it was normal. I thought men did this to all the kids, that it was just a thing fathers did to their daughters to show their appreciation – the lingering touches, and the sleepovers,” she said.

He nodded. “And that’s why you thought you had to let me have my way with you the other night, so I wouldn’t be mad at you?” he questioned, even though he already knew the answer.

Pressing the ice pack back to her eyes when a sharp pain tore through her optic nerve, she agreed silently, without words. He stroked his palm over her thigh, no longer grabbing it.

“I’m sorry. God! I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault I’m damaged goods.”

“Stop calling yourself that.”

“But it’s true. The men I’ve been with usually didn’t care about what I had to say, but I still went along with it. I feel so filthy now, and stupid for letting it happen. I feel stupid that I was so self-centered and careless that I screwed everything up, even myself.”

“You’re not. You’re not filthy.” He rubbed his face. “I wish I could take this weight off your shoulders, believe me, but I don’t know how. I doubt I even can.”

“God, no! You don’t want that,” she said. “You asked me plenty if I’m okay with the things you wanted to do, and I was okay with them because, with you, I feel comfortable. I can surrender my body to you and not feel like I’m being used. It’s just hard to articulate what I need sometimes, what I want or do not want, because I’m afraid there might be consequences if I do.”

“Sweetheart, there is no one that has the right to punish you for having an opinion about your own body,” he said, his eyes softening to the point she wondered if he was even real. “You have a voice. You are allowed to use that to speak your mind. You won’t be punished here for saying what you want or don’t want, and if someone dares to even touch you, I will cut their hands off with a dull knife.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Weird flex, but okay.”

“Matthew 18:8,” he told her. “And if your hand or your foot causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to enter life crippled or lame than with two hands or two feet to be thrown into the eternal fire.”

“Do you have a bible verse for everything?” she asked, more for shits and giggles than anything else.

“Yeah,” he said. “I memorized the whole thing as a kid because I had already read all of the books they kept on the shelves at the orphanage.”

That took a dark turn. “Oh. Didn’t you have friends?”

He chuckled as if she had just told him the funniest joke the century had to offer. “Me? No,” Matt said. “No one wanted to play with me when I was a little kid. They shoved me and bullied me because I was different. No one wanted to play with the blind kid out of fear they would damage me, and when I turned into a book nerd, they started laughing at me for it.”

She nudged him. “Kids can be cruel, huh?” she said.

“Yeah, you have no idea.”

“You didn’t deserve any of that,” she gently brushed his hair back, “and I’m sorry no one was there for you when you needed help.”

“No, it’s fine, water under the bridge. I dealt with it. Besides, this isn’t about me,” he said. “It’s about you.”

“I was molested as a little girl and that scarred me for life. You were constantly bullied. We’re both a bit fucked up,” she said.

“I guess you’re right, but-“

“Don’t downplay your trauma, Matthew.” Her eyes laid firmly on him. “You suffered through a life-altering accident as a kid, then your father died and you lived in an orphanage for the rest of your adolescence. That is trauma, and I would know. I’m the definition of a walking trauma bundle.” Eliza took a deep breath. “There is a lot more where that comes from, believe me, and also a lot more baggage to hate about me.”

“Eliza, what the hell happened to you to make you think like this?” Matt sighed when she only fluttered her eyelashes at him, “Actually, don’t answer that,” he said. “If I learn one more thing about what that disgusting human being did to you and the other children in the White Room, I’m gonna grab my suit and make sure he suffocates in his cell. SHIELD wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

The coffee spilled over the brim of his mug when he slapped it down on the nightstand. She had to physically pry him away from cleaning up the mess. Eliza called his name softly. “Matt…”

“That man deserves to be treated like a fucking canine. He deserves to rot in jail for the rest of his miserable life, somewhere in the middle of the ocean with a straight jacket on to make sure his hands never touch another innocent child ever again. I should kill him for what he did to you, Eliza. Viktor Volkov deserves to die.”

She kissed him to shut him up. “Stop,” she said against his lips. “Stop torturing yourself.”

“But he hurt you,” he growled. “No one is allowed to hurt you. What he did wasn’t fair. You were helpless.”

“But people will continue hurting me, it’s human nature. If you killed everyone who ever hurt me or is about to hurt me, there would be only half of the population left,” she said, chuckling slightly. She wasn’t sure why she found this so tragically funny. “What I’m saying is, there will always be someone who holds a grudge against me. I chose the life of an Avenger and that got me a lot of enemies in the process, not to mention the things that I did in the past. You can’t always protect me, and that’s okay,” she said. “Because I can protect myself. If you break your moral code… you can’t come back from something like that. I know it because I used to kill people for a living.”

Matt shook his head, determined to prove his point, but there was not a single one she could find. “You didn’t do it on purpose. I want to kill him for the sake of killing him,” he stated. “Maybe that’s the kind of man I am…” he lowered his head enough to hide the sheen of tears that had laced his eyes. “Maybe I was just trying to steer off the inevitable by putting on that suit and the mask and trying to enforce justice with my fists instead of doing the one thing that would draw a line under all of that.”

Eliza’s hands found him again, quivering, desperate to make him listen to anything other than what the little demon inside of his head had to say.

“Maybe this is what God cursed me to be. I mean, I’m going to hell anyway. My grandma used to say, be careful of the Murdock boys,” he said, “they got the devil in ‘em. You know, maybe she was right. I’ve long been thinking about it and my father… he’d be turning in his grave if he saw the choices I’ve made ever since he died. I screwed up everything he left me and then I ran. I always do that. And I don’t know why I blamed you for pushing me away when I would’ve done the same in a heartbeat as a chance to protect you from getting hurt by me.” He gnawed at his bottom lip. “We are so alike and I’m so sorry. I should have never doubted you and I shouldn’t have listened to you when you told me to leave. I knew this would happen.”

“Matt, no,” she stopped him before he could make it worse on himself.

“It’s true.”

“No. Stop saying that,” she said, “I know your father would be so proud of you. If he were here right now… if Jack Murdock would be standing here right now, he’d hug you and he’d tell you how much he loves you. And he’d see the man you grew up to be and he’d love you all the more because you’re strong. You didn’t let the demons destroy you. Instead, you tamed them and used them to your advantage. Your father loved you, so he wouldn’t even think twice about being proud of you, he just would be.”

Her words made sense while at the same time, they didn’t. He didn’t want them to be. Matt sneered. “Right, of course, because I’m the kind of son a father would be proud of,” he spat. “Someone who beats up criminals and abandons his friends and faith for a chance to be right.”

“Listen to me! You’re a good man,” she told him. “You might be damaged, but who isn’t? I know what it feels like to hate yourself to the point all you want to do is turn into someone else. My father died before I could tell him I forgive him and you told me he loved me, so he forgives me. Take your own words to heart, Matthew, because they matter something to you too. And your father loves you, even in death. He died for you. That means something,” she said, “and he’d do it again if he were here. You’re his son. You’re his legacy. He wanted the best for you and you got it. You made something out of yourself. Don’t throw that away for a chance to kill a man who doesn’t deserve to live. Sure, he doesn’t, but he also can’t die.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Eliza!” Matt ruffled his hair. “Why do you have to be so… so fucking supportive even when you’re the one who's breaking apart?”

“Because I love you!” She desperately clung to his wrists. “You know I do, so you know I’m telling the truth. I love you,” she said, pulling down where their foreheads could meet, “and I’m not going anywhere.”

He heaved, leaning into her touch. “Goddamnit,” he growled.

“I know what it’s like to want someone dead, so believe me when I say that I understand. I tried to kill him. I tried to take Viktor’s life in return for everything he did to me, for everything he destroyed and took away from me. I thought I didn’t have a choice. To get rid of his hands on me, I had to get rid of him, but that’s not true. Even if I had killed him, I’d still feel this way and I still would if you killed him for me.”

“But it’d make the world a better place.”

“While that might be true, do you wanna know why I didn’t kill him?” He nodded. “I heard your voice in the back of my head telling me not to because death is too kind for him,” she said. “You’re not that type of person, Matt. God didn’t curse you to be a killer. If you want to believe he got you into a blinding accident for a reason, it is to help people, not hurt them. You’re saving this city every fucking day; a person with only darkness and hatred in their heart could never do that. You are better than Viktor, you’re better than Hydra or SHIELD and you’re much better than the person I used to be. So don’t. Don’t break your moral code because of me, because you think you have to fix this. Don’t betray your faith because you feel guilty for something that was entirely out of your control. You’re too kind at heart, you wouldn’t survive that.”

He nuzzled his nose against hers. “What if you’re wrong?” he asked. “What if there is even the smallest sliver of a chance that my grandma might be right? That I got the Devil in me and that I can’t exorcise him because it’s genetics. Even though I know my father was a good man,” he said, “I saw what happened to him in the ring. Sometimes, his eyes would just go blank, like he was being controlled by a higher power. And he’d continue to beat the absolute crap out of his opponent.”

“But that doesn’t happen when you fight,” she argued.

“How do you know? I wear a mask.”

“I know you, Matthew.”

“Do you, really? I think only God knows what I’m supposed to become, and I’m starting to believe his intentions aren’t all too kind, that he wants me to fail and become the villain because destroying good things that come my way is just who I am. Your life went downhill from the moment I tried to stop you on that roof three weeks ago. Foggy’s life got turned upside down and now he’s stuck with me in a law office that doesn’t make money, burned by me being Daredevil and Karen… Fisk almost got to them and it’s all my fault. I destroy everything and everyone in my path. If that is not something the devil would do, I don’t know what is.”

The frustration wrapped around her like plastic foil. Eliza grunted. Her palms pressed to his skull tighter, erasing all possibilities to exit, and she opened her heart to him. She opened the door she had kept on her soul, on the burning red gem waiting in the core of her being, sustaining her like the beating organ pumping blood inside of her chest did.

Her eyes glowed red. It felt so good, no longer draining but powerful, and she felt no regrets.

“Matthew, look at me!” she ordered.

He shook his head. “No. Don’t show me my father and make him tell me I’m gonna be okay,” he told her. “I couldn’t handle that.”

Reality had changed around him, he could feel the shift in the air and the tingling under his skin. She reached for him, tugging at all the strings to his soul, to his perception and she lured him into the spell of crimson need.

“It’d be a lie,” he said.

She huffed. “That’s not what I’m doing. Open your eyes and look at me!”

“Fucking hell, what-“ he stopped. The world stopped. His breathing stopped. His heart stopped.

His life stopped.

Matt swore he died. He passed away and went to heaven, regained his eyesight, and ended up in paradise, the garden of Eden, God’s castle. He was dreaming, his mind mixing up the imaginary pictures he kept stored away in case he needed to pretend he was okay, normal, just for a moment. This couldn’t be real. He stopped existing. He died and vanished into dust, disappearing to another terrestrial world existing at the same time as the one she resided in.

She played with the hairs at the nape of his neck, letting her hands wander over his back and pulling him even closer. “Hi,” she whispered.

Tears sprung into his eyes. He touched her face and traced the features that were now a clear picture before him. He ran his finger along her lips, her jawline, the soft hairs of her brows, and then lastly, her actual hair.

She told him once she wouldn’t do it, but she couldn’t help herself. He needed something good, and perhaps this would help him to believe again, just for a moment. It was the first time she actively used her powers again and while it felt good, the power that ran through her veins was almost terrifying. She saw what she could do. What if she hurt him? But she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

She held him, loved him, and gently held him in her open arms. He was all she needed and all she would ever need.

“You’re real,” he breathed.

“I’m real,” she said.

“Oh… God.”

He couldn’t help but pray. Surely, this was all a dream.

“Am I anything like you imagined me to be?”

“Oh, no. Fuck, no! You’re so much better, sweetheart.” He swallowed the needy sob. “You’re so damn beautiful. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe you’re doing this for me. I can’t believe… Jesus. Hi,” he said and upon feeling her smile, he chuckled. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Eliza caught his tears, wiping them away, her fingers gentle as she did so. “I love you so much,” she whispered.

His eyes roamed her face, not daring to move away until he memorized every last crevice in her skin. If her face was already this beautiful, he could only fathom what she would look like underneath all of that.

“Don’t cry.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it. You’re making me see,” Matt sniffled, “That’s so… I don’t know what to say. God, fuck! What is happening to me?”

“You don’t have to say anything,” she assured him. “Because I’m here. This is real.”

He wanted to speak regardless of his loss for words. “I can’t even… Ugh! You told me you didn’t want me to see your face, so why-”

“You needed it. You needed something to hold onto.”

“You… fuck, can I just… Can I kiss you?”

Eliza nodded. He dipped his head and captured her lips. She sighed contently at the gentle caress, his hand resting on her throat and she held his wrist right there.

She heard him murmur against the skin of her lips, “This feels so much more intense now.”

“In a good or bad way?” she questioned.

In response, he kissed her again. “Good,” he said. “So fucking good. I don’t want this to stop, ever.”

“It has to, eventually.”

“I know, but for now, just… Let us stay like this. Let me look at your face for a while.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “we can do that.”

Time was a construct anyway.

She laid down, resting on her side and he mirrored her exact position. His hand remained in her hair, stroking it. Her heartbeat rang in his ears. He couldn’t get over how her skin felt while he could look at her. The way her eyes fluttered whenever he brushed her sensitive lips or her throat and the desperate sigh that passed them when he cradled her reddened cheeks in his hand. While her features were set in stone from the tension, she relaxed visibly at his touch and it was visible in the fading crease between her eyebrows, the wrinkle of worry disappearing for only just a moment.

He felt her features before, but nothing could have prepared him for this, and he hadn’t been able to open his eyes and see for so long, he forgot how overwhelming the world could be. If he saw the city, he would surely die. She was the only view he needed and when she would let go later, he would keep her face in his mind so every time he touched her, he could imagine what she looked like. It was a huge gift with an even bigger meaning. A gift he wouldn’t have asked for, she just did it for him and he had never felt more loved.

Matt chuckled, a lonely tear sliding down his cheek. He was so goddamn grateful. His struggle with faith didn’t matter when he had the greatest source of hope right next to him, willing to hold on for both of us even when she was hurting. She gave back what he gave her. No one had ever done that before, not for him at least.

“I love you so much,” he whispered. “You have no idea how much. I don’t just love you, I’m in love with you. I’m so deep in it, I don’t think I could get out even if I tried.”

“Eh, I got a faint idea,” Eliza smiled her brightest smile, the one that could easily outmatch the sun and made every room light up with her presence.

He traced his fingers over her features again. “Will you stay?” he asked.

She kissed the tip of his nose and he scrunched, chuckling softly at the display of affection. His forehead moved to press against hers again. “Always,” she said.

“Cross your heart?”

“Hope to die,” she finished, drawing a cross right over the left side of her chest.

He snorted, pulling at her hair slightly. “Don’t say that,” he said.

“Isn’t that how the phrase goes though?”

“Yeah, but we don’t hope to die.”

“Right… too soon?”

“A bit, yeah.” He scrunched his nose again.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Matt answered by pulling her into his side and tangling their lips as he did their limbs. To breathe, moved away only enough so he could inhale and exhale, his minty breath hitting her face. She smiled, a genuine one and the sight of it was even better than he imagined, too. His hands trailed over her sides before coming to rest on her shoulder blades.

Her shirt had bunched up slightly, bare skin touching his. The connection was so strong, he could feel it in every muscle and nerve. They screamed her name repeatedly, chanting it, praying as if she was the mercy God granted him. She was an Angel sent from heaven above, and he was the devil of Hell’s Kitchen who had once been an Angel too, and to her, he still was. He was pure at heart, no matter how much he liked to deny it.

One of his fingers ghosted over her hip. She shoved him away gently. “I see what you’re doing,” she hummed.

“I do too now,” he retorted. The smirk resting on his lips seemed almost content.

“Wouldn’t you like to know what I look like naked?”

“Perhaps,” Matt shrugged, “or perhaps I just want to feel your skin like this.”

“You want me to take my shirt off?” she asked, the question intended as innocent. “To touch my skin, I mean.”

He shook his head, removing his hand to return to her face. “I’m not spoiling the surprise that is feeling you up with my senses only.”

“So we just lie here?”

“Yeah, we just lie here.”

“Okay.”

He loved her so much and he kept telling her that, even long after her eyes returned to their normal color and his vision faded into scolding fire and nothing to make out.

She was gone, but he didn’t care because the picture lingered and he could still feel her. She was a part of him and his fingers knew her body inside and out. He didn’t need to see her to know she was beautiful, and it made him love her no less.

“I don’t know how I deserve you,” he whispered into the cold morning air. “I don’t know why you’re here, but I know I don’t ever want this to stop. I want to be the right man for you, if I can. Maybe if I try hard enough…”

“Hey, you don’t have to sell me on reasons to want you,” Eliza interrupted him, gentle hands touching his skin as always.

Always. She would stay, always.

“You don’t have to be scared you’re not enough, Matthew. What we have is enough. It’s good. You’re good. I mean, what if it’s just you and me and that’s all we needed to be? The world could just fall away and then it’d be only the two of us. Can we try that?”

“While all of that is true,” he said, “I’m not going to stop giving you more reasons to not let me go.”

“What came before won’t count anymore.”

“We can try that.”

Asking for help isn’t the hardest part, it’s the help itself that makes you feel like you’re going through hell with no way out. Your past happens to you all over again and you’re forced to stand by, watch and deal with it. And dealing with the pain is something that scorns an already broken soul.

They made it to Mrs. Darcy’s office with five more minutes to spare. Eliza’s feet remained glued to the asphalt, a summer breeze brushing through her hair and causing the fluffy strands at the top of Matt’s forehead to bounce.

His hand landed on the small of her back, giving her a gentle push. “You want me to go in with you?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. The last thing she wanted was for him to hear how fucked up she truly was. “I mean,” she realized she had answered way too fast, so she tried again, “No, I have to do this alone.”

Matt drummed against her jacket. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” That was a lie, but he didn’t question her about it. “You can go, I got this.”

He huffed, obviously disapproving of her choice. Still, he leaned down to peck her lips. “I love you,” he said.

I’ve been struggling with questions of identity as of late.

I used to like who I was. It’s not every day you’re given a second chance. You gotta honor it, right?

Second chances are meant to help you do better than the first time. For Eliza, this was her third chance to turn her life around and make something out of herself. She graduated from questioning her identity to having a revelation about who she was and who she had once been. She understood everything so much clearer now and yet when she looked into the mirror, she still saw the same stranger she met seven years ago when Nick Fury handed her the new ID and her passport.

There’s this emptiness inside me, Mrs. Darcy. It’s like there’s a hole in my soul and no matter how hard I try, I can’t fill it. Whatever connection to reality I had is just… it’s gone. You know, I like knowledge. I like knowing a lot of things, it keeps me on top of my game, but this- I know nothing about myself and it’s scaring me shitless.

She was more scared of what the truth would make of her than she was of herself, although her mental state was terrifying in itself. Every time she thought about what she had done in the name of trauma, she was left horrified.

Eliza stared at the painting of the curly-haired, faceless woman hung up on the wall behind the leather couch Mrs. Darcy currently resided on, one leg crossed over the other, arm stretched out over the length of the backrest, and her notebook resting in her lap.

“I’m fine,” she stated into the silence.

The therapist shifted, not even bothering to make a secret out of her amusement. “Really?” she asked.

“Except that I’m not,” she added then. “I’m not fine.”

“Okay.”

“I can’t keep pretending that all of this is normal. Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m traumatized, but there has to be a way to get out of this, right? There has to be a way to make the pain stop.”

“Well, there are many ways this can go, obviously,” she began to say.

“I’m not going back to rehab,” Eliza interrupted.

“Relax. Not what I was thinking. That’s only option two,” she said. “Option one consists of two conditions.” Mrs. Darcy leaned forward to mirror her patient’s posture. “One, I’ll prescribe you a series of medications.”

“And two?”

“Therapy sessions with me four times a week and once you’re feeling better, I want you to start considering support group meetings. And I want to conduct regular drug testing, just in case.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

“It’s for your own good.”

“Why don’t you just admit me to the mental hospital?” she bit back.

“Do you want to get better?” Mrs. Darcy challenged.

“Yes, but-”

“Then you don’t have a choice.”

Eliza groaned. She was afraid this might happen. “But I don’t want to be viewed as weak,” she said. “I don’t want to be the burden everyone has to take care of. I can’t do this again. I’ve been through hell before, but this feels so much worse and it scares me. I can manipulate reality, literally. I can make a blind man see, I can create things out of nowhere and change the way the world works with just the palm of my hand. At least that’s what the story of the infinity stones dictates.”

She scoffed. “I can do all of that, but I can’t fix myself. I can’t do that and it sucks. It makes my powers useless because everything I do just feels wrong. So all of this…” she said, “It makes me feel weak and I hate feeling weak, especially when there is an indescribable power running through my veins, right under my skin, waiting to be used for good. I tried them and it felt good, but only until my mind screamed at me and then everything sucked again. I thought I understood now. Truth is, I don’t. I know nothing and that’s scary as shit. So I can’t be the weak one, not anymore. I need to learn how to be this new version of myself and I can’t be weak during that. I just can’t. That’s why I’m terrified – why I was so afraid of asking for help. I don’t want to be weak,” she stated.

Her voice sounded like a needle on the ground of an empty and silent room with high walls and linoleum floors. Drop, ping, echo.

Her leg bounced in the same rhythm. Nails dug into the fabric of her jeans, pulling at the fabric. Her fingers searched for anything she could touch or hold onto - Mrs. Darcy tilted her head.

“You remind me so much of the scared young woman that came to me less than three weeks ago, questioning her identity.” She caught onto the familiar aspects, the behavior she had more than anticipated, and Eliza huffed once again. “You know who you are now,” she continued, “but to achieve that, you went through hell. And there is still so much left unsaid that you will have to figure out on your own now. That sucks, I agree with you, but there is a way for everything. You came to me, not the other way around because you are ready to take the hand that is offered to you. You’re ready to take the road to recovery so you can, as you said, make sure you learn how to deal with this new version of yourself. That’s not weakness, it’s strength.”

“How do you differentiate?” Eliza questioned. “How do you go about differentiating between strength and weakness? Is there a psychological guide to that or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

Mrs. Darcy smiled. “I’ve been doing this job a very long time, Liz. I know a strong person when I see one. The concept of weakness being a bad thing is a common misconception that comes with a lot of guilt, especially for those suffering from mental illness. It’s okay to be weak,” she said, “but as soon as you decide to get help when you’re feeling down, you’re already stronger than those who belittle you for it. And if you decide to let a doctor treat your condition, that is a huge display of strength that should and will be acknowledged. The question is just, will you let me help you without putting hurdles in your way?”

Eliza switched her eyes between the painting of the beautiful woman on the wall, the name of an artist she had never heard before signed at the bottom, and the therapist’s expectant face.

“Okay,” she decided, finally.

As hard as that choice was to make, the woman made a very convincing argument. Matt loved her, she wasn’t alone, and wanting to get better was a display of strength so she could heal from a weakness that was nowhere near self-inflicted. There was nothing to feel guilty for.

Mrs. Darcy nodded. “Good.”

“And I’ll be better after that?” she asked. “With the medication and the therapy and the support group meetings, will I get better?”

“If you take your recovery seriously, sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Remember how long it took for that to heal?” Mrs. Darcy answered, pointing at her covered stomach and Eliza instantly wrapped her arms around herself, the scar screaming in protest at the reminder. “At first, you didn’t take it seriously and almost got yourself hurt again,” she said. “Then, you let someone help you get better and managed to regain full physical capacity in just a couple of days…”

Eliza frowned. “And it’s the same with my head?”

“It’s the same with your head, yes. Quid pro quo. I give you medication and a very clear treatment plan and in exchange, I get your trust and cooperation to ensure your recovery goes smoothly.”

“Like physical therapy and doctor’s appointments went hand in hand?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not so different,” she whispered to herself. “And you got better.” Convincing herself was harder without the voice in her head coming to the rescue with her snarky remarks.

She missed her.

Eliza sat in silence for a moment, contemplating, thinking, and bouncing her leg like a madwoman on the border of collapse before she told the woman before her, “Okay, let’s do this.”

Mrs. Darcy extended the prescription in her hand. “We start today,” she said.

Today.

I can’t tell you who you are or who you’re supposed to be. I can only show you who you are to everyone else. Your name is Eliza Bennett. You’re the girl who has devoted her life to saving and protecting people to seek penance for what she’s done in the past.

You have to find your inner self by working with yourself.

Who was Eliza Bennett, really? The question still rotated inside her head. She had an answer now though. She knew what to say.

Who was she?

She was Alina Isolde, named after her grandmother, and the daughter of Guinevere Hunt and Anton Sokovin-Petrova. Genetically mutated through the reality stone, born like any human being, delivered to Hydra, and turned into an assassin. Saved by Natasha Romanoff, adopted by SHIELD, trained to be a spy, and then taken under Tony Stark’s wing where she became an Avenger.

Eliza Bennett was a daughter to two dead parents, a found sister, a friend and confidant, a teacher and a student, an addict, a victim, and, most importantly, she was a survivor. And through all of that, she became a lover, finally able to add a girlfriend to the list.

Eliza Bennett was someone made out of flesh and blood. Someone with a beating heart. Thud, thud thud, thud. She was alive, she was breathing, and didn’t have to live her life in miserable loneliness anymore. She was back on her feet, right where she needed to be, and the rest of the puzzle pieces would fall in place soon enough to complete the picture.

Long story short, she survived, and she had to give herself all the credit for that.

“Father,” Matt’s voice echoed off the high walls of Clinton Church. He stood in the middle of the aisle, the red and blue tinted light of the colorful windows falling on his face and reflecting off his maroon glasses.

Father Lantom stood at the front, going through the lit candles at the altar. He relit those that had gone out and removed the ones that were paid little to no attention. At the sound of his voice, he looked up and over his shoulder.

“Matthew,” he replied with a certain element of shock in his voice. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said. “Are you doing alright?”

“Do you have a minute to talk?” Matt asked him. He had some time to waste and he felt the desperate need to get some things off his chest, things he couldn’t tell Eliza. He wasn’t sure how. She was going through problems of her and adding to that his crisis of faith would only make her feel guiltier. And with the pastor, he knew at least that he understood where he was coming from.

“Do you want me to take confession?” the father asked, “Or do you want to chat over a latte?”

“If you have the time to spare, I’d take you up on that latte, if you don’t mind.”

“There’s not much to do today. Typical Monday morning. I’m sure I have an hour or two before this place starts to get crowded. Is that enough?”

“More than,” he said.

“Okay, then. Let’s get the coffee maker running. The last time you came to me for a latte, you didn’t finish it. Perhaps you could try not to waste that expensive stuff today.”

Matt chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare.”

They sat together in the back room, the brewing hot lattes resting on the wooden table. He scratched at the cracked porcelain, scraping off some of the lacquer that decorated the brim of the mug.

“So,” Father Lantom prompted, “What brings you here today, Matthew?”

“The last time we sat together at this table I asked you if you believed in the existence of the Devil,” he said. “You gave me an answer that might as well have been straight from a theology book.”

“I only told you the truth about what I believe,” he countered.

The oxidized heat from the coffee blew over his face. “That’s not why I’m here, father. I don’t plan on asking you the same question again.”

“Then what is it?”

With a sigh that parted the milk on top of the latte and destroyed the perfectly crafted cocoa topping, Matt slid the glasses off his nose and ran a hand over his eyes. Father Lantom took note of the dark circles adorning his under eyes and the dull brown his usually bright eyes had faded into. He took a sip from his beverage, watching as the man he’s known ever since he was a kid fell apart in front of him.

He stammered, the sounds not quite coming out and his eyes missed the mark as well. “Why,” he began.

When he didn’t continue, he raised his eyebrows, leaning forward. “Why what?” the father asked.

“The Bible keeps stating that God is merciful. He’s portrayed as the savior of humanity,” he said and the confession opened a vent without the possibility of closing it again. The words came flowing out of him like a broken tap, bitter and poisoned, though at the same time desperate and pleading as if he wasn’t talking to the man he’s trusted since he came to the orphanage but to God himself. “He’s someone who only sees the good in people and forgives those who make mistakes for their sins,” Matt stated, “and if you seek penance for your actions, if you confess and make amends, make up for your mistakes and put your faith in him, he’ll guarantee you a spot on heaven if, and only if, you keep trying to be better for him.”

“Technically, yes,” father Lantom replied.

“Technically? Isaiah – Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show mercy to you. For the Lord is a God of justice; blessed are all those who wait for him. Or Lamentations – The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. They all portray him as mighty enough to forgive you even for the worst of sins, even if it breaks one of the Ten Commandments.”

“You forgot Deuteronomy,” he butted in.

“Therefore know that the Lord your God, He is God, the faithful God who keeps covenant and mercy for a thousand generations with those who love Him and keep His commandments,” Matt recited. “No,” he said, and his voice took an even more bitter tone as he chuckled, “I didn’t forget. You know what Exodus says about protecting the innocent?”

Of course, he did. He was the pastor, after all. He ran the church. He helped raise the children at the orphanage and teach them the ways of the Catholic Church, but more in his way than the ancient, prejudiced things that most Catholics still lived by. He memorized the Bible up and down and he was probably the smartest person Matt knew when it came to religion and faith. Father Lantom raised him. He trusted him to tell him the truth, but as his faith started to fade and he started to doubt his purpose in life, the man’s words mattered only a little.

“When Moses said to the people, ‘Do not be afraid. Stand still, and see the salvation of the LORD, which He will accomplish for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall see again no more forever. The LORD will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace.’ God protected them. God is supposed to protect good people and punish the bad. He’s supposed to punish the sinners who feel no regret for what they’ve done and make sure that the saints, the ones asking for forgiveness, are safe and sound. He’s supposed to bring peace,” he said. “So why is it, father, that even the best people find themselves amid disaster, alone and exposed, and God’s not even answering their prayers? Why does he let bad things happen to good people?”

The mood in the room had dropped drastically, turning the air thicker and colder than before. “Matthew,” Father Lantom said, “That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself, to answer a question like that. I mean, if you look at all of the wars happening around us, you can do an entire digression on the topic and it still won’t be enough,” he told him, “because there is no actual answer to that. I don’t know why. No one knows why.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do then?”

“Language!”

“Sorry, father.” Matt tilted his head back, crossed his fingers over his chest, over the golden necklace dangling from his neck still, right under his dress shirt, and apologized to the crucifix he knew was hanging on the wall behind him.

“Right now,” he said, “every last bible verse I remember sounds like they’re pretension, a lie concocted by the prophets, and it’s making me think God isn’t as merciful as they claimed. He isn’t there to have the backs of those asking him for help. And he certainly doesn’t care about stopping the sins he claims to despise from happening and destroying the lives of innocent people.”

The father sighed again. While his voice had changed in volume throughout his speech, he remained calm. “You want the answer of a priest or my personal opinion?” he asked.

“I want an explanation,” Matt retorted, “not just an answer to shut me down.”

“I told you, there is no real answer. I don’t know why God does or doesn’t do certain things. That’s up to him and him alone.”

“Great, so God does what he wants, consequences be damned?”

“He’s not a person, Matthew. He’s a deity. Viewing him as an almighty savior is a common misconception, but I told you that once, back when you were a teenager. I told you that God can’t just interact with us whenever he pleases. He’s there to look over us and offer us a hand every once in a while through signs and prayers, but he can’t magically appear and end wars that the greed of humans has started. He’s not a wizard, he’s God. When bad things happen to good people,” the father told him, “It’s because certain things are meant to happen a certain way, but not because God dictates our destinies. Bad things happen to us because that’s just what life is. Life is unfair, it’s cruel, it’s vile and so we often forget that God is essentially supposed to heal our emotional scars, not our physical ones. He doesn’t intercept because he can’t. We write our own history,” he said. “He can’t change that. He made us this way for a reason, we just have to accept that.”

His fist collided with the table. “Fuck!”

“Matthew.”

“No, I have to…” He rose to his feet, starting to pace, but not even that would stop the boiling anger in his chest. “There are people who twist religion to hurt others. They torture and kill in the name of God,” he said. “And then there are children who are at the receiving end of that torture. Innocent little children who don’t know any better pray to God asking him to help them out, but he doesn’t listen. He never does. He just left her there after she cried for him countless times, and so she gave up.”

Her - Father Lantom raised his eyebrows. The pronoun changed the situation behind his words drastically, and he finally started to realize why he came to him to ask such a complicated question. A question he should know better about.

He exchanged his empty mug for the full one on Matt’s side of the table. “Keep going,” he urged.

Matt sneered. “She gave up on God, on faith, because God failed her when she needed him the most. And now that everything is over, he doesn’t even inflict punishment on the person who’s behind all of this. He could get away with it because there is no real proof for what he did; all of his victims are dead, except for one, but she’s broken now because of him, and facing him is not… it’s not a choice she’d want to make. And since she’s a young woman, no male-dominated court would rule in her favor. And I’m standing here now like a fool because I dedicated my life to enforcing justice, but in this case, I am helpless. The law is helpless, it’s flawed, it won’t do anything other than possibly release a dangerous child molester into the world,” he said. “He holds a grudge now, father because she hurt him and she destroyed everything he built for himself, and if he gets out of that cell alive… I might lose her for good this time. So right now, I’m just torn while she’s still suffering from his hands, and it pains me that I can’t help her. She never did anything wrong before he took her childhood. That doesn’t seem fair.”

“And what exactly do you want me to do about it, Matthew?”

“I need you to tell me how to keep my faith in God when all he does is fail me and the people I care about.” He stood with his hands on his hips again, eyes red and drained, and the faintest sheen of tears framed his face. “There is seemingly nothing I can do to change the fact that this man, this disgrace, ruined her life. Except for this one thing… If his case ever goes to trial, we’re screwed. She’s screwed. I can’t let that happen, so he needs to be erased from the narrative. If God won’t do something about it, I have to. I’d do it for her, I’d do it for every single one of his victims just to make sure no other kid has to go through the same shit again,” he said.

Father Lantom looked him deep into his sightless eyes when he asked, “What exactly do you mean by that?”

Matt sighed. “I need you to teach me how to believe again before I break the highest of the Ten Commandments.”

“Ah,” he said. “I figured this day would come.”

“You don’t understand, father. That man deserves to die,” he stated, “and every passing second makes it harder not to think about it. With every passing second, my hatred grows stronger and I want nothing more than to storm his cell and squeeze the life out of that miserable throat.”

“But you don’t want to kill him, do you, Matthew? I think that’s the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen talking, not you, not Matthew Murdock. You’re not like that. You’re not cruel, not ruthless, you’re just a man trying to protect his city. Murder is not your agenda, ever. You have to understand that.”

“I am Daredevil. I can’t change who I am, but I can be there for her and if I have to break this one rule,” he ground his teeth, “This one tiny rule to make sure she’s gonna be okay... Well, that’s not a hard choice to make. I’d choose her over God any day and that terrified me.”

“Would she want that?” he emphasized in hopes he would give more than he had to offer. “You give up your faith like that? For her?”

“No,” said Matt, “But she’s only saying that to protect me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Whose side are you on, father?”

The man answered without missing a beat, “God’s and the laws.”

“Well, then you’re more foolish than I thought you were.”

He grabbed his cane from the table, opened it, and slid the red-tinted glasses back on his face. Matt patted the wooden surface. “Thanks for the latte,” he said.

“Matthew,” father Lantom called after him, “Wait!”

He didn’t wait. He took the familiar road down the corridor, down the aisle, and out of the heavy double doors into the humid New York summer air.

The first few days were hard. Just when Eliza thought it couldn’t get any worse, the claws clinging to her soul dragged her further down. She flapped around desperately, trying to stay afloat, but the current was too strong. The waves slapped her across the face, forcing her under the surface. At first, she managed to swim up for air. She managed to keep her nose over water, at least, so she wouldn’t drown. Though the more water she swallowed, the more of it landed in her lungs. Breathing got harder, draining her of strength, and her arms only flailed aimlessly around the ocean. They were no longer strong enough to keep her up and she was so tired, she eventually gave up. She passed out and sank, heading straight for the bottom.

Antidepressants take a while to take effect. The stronger ones might hit faster, but until the body is fully adjusted, you won’t feel the effects.

She was afraid of what the pills would do to her. The last time she tried them, she lost control of her powers. But Eliza had no choice. She was dying, or she felt like she was, but she honestly believed that if she kept breathing, she would die. The pain tore through her chest, right where she suspected the soul was and paralyzed her entire body.

Every day, Matt supervised the intake of her medication closely - he would have forced them down her throat if she had said no. They were working. She hated to admit it to herself but the pills were working. The first two nights, she slept straight through. No nightmares, no dreams. Following the new substance in her body, her appetite increased and on the third day, she managed to force herself out of bed and into the shower.

Matt stayed. He called in sick for the week, causing a dispute between him and Foggy, but when he told him that Eliza was alive and that she was his reason for not being able to go to work, his friend eased up. Although he wasn’t pleased to hear that the girl he now considered something close resembling family was back and he didn’t even get to see her. Matt wouldn’t elaborate further, he couldn’t, it wasn’t his place, so Foggy simply took the information and tried to store it away before curiosity could kill him.

Eliza insisted many times that he should return to work without her, but he wouldn’t leave. He wanted to wait and take her with him the next time he stepped foot into the office, but the more time she spent cooped up together with him, the less she felt in control of herself.

She had no power over him, not even when she told him to spend a few hours at night outside. She told him to resume his activities as Daredevil until she was out of the woods completely and they could start anew, but even with that, he refused.

The chances of Matt getting hurt were higher as Daredevil than at home in bed with her, but Eliza saw the way he tensed whenever he heard something outside, and that hurt her more than seeing him with a black eye or a few broken ribs.

Sometimes he would sit on the couch long after he put her to bed, fists clenched at his sides as he listened to the sirens signaling another crime that hadn’t been stopped, another hurt civilian, and another criminal set lose on the streets of his beloved Hell’s Kitchen.

He spent more time in the bathroom, holding his head underwater, and when that didn’t work, he started to rearrange the kitchen to distract himself. Soft jazz music often played in the background, or he put on noise-canceling headphones and he wouldn’t talk to her until he was finished with whatever project he put his mind to. All because he didn’t want to leave her while she was at her most vulnerable. The less she suffered, the more he retreated into his shell, but that shell was see-through and offered little to no protection, only prolonged pain.

Eliza had enough of watching him run himself into the ground for the sake of her mental well-being. She had to get back out there, as did Matt. They desperately needed to get a life.

And when she finally got the go-ahead after two very cruel weeks, no one was more excited than her to return to a life of normal. As normal as it could get, anyway. Matt wasn’t pleased, but she refused to let him talk her down.

“Foggy sends his love,” he told her after a particularly draining phone call with his colleague about a case offer they received. “And he said he can’t wait for us to work together. Most importantly, he can’t wait to see you again. But he also said that you should charge your phone,” he pressed a kiss to her head on his way past the couch, “Which is something I keep telling you, but you won’t listen.”

She looked at the dead cell phone on the living room table. It still existed and it had all the necessary numbers to call to make amends, but every time she considered plugging it in, she stopped herself. They would find her if she did – Happy, Pepper, possibly even Tony. She couldn’t face them. Not yet.

Addicts anonymous offers twelve steps to follow on the journey to full sobriety. One of them is admission. Eliza had to admit to herself that she had a problem, but not only to herself. Forgiveness is only the eleventh step, yet truly the most important. Making amends with the past makes it easier to look forward to what lies in the future. Put a lock on the chapter and place the book back on the shelf, perhaps start a new one.

She made amends with everyone involved, except Foggy and Happy. She cared about them too much to look them in the eyes. In the case of Matt’s business partner though, she didn’t have a choice. He automatically became her boss when she took her boyfriend up on his offer, and since he told Foggy to finalize it as soon as she was able to leave the house and no longer pose a danger to herself or others, there was no way out. She wanted this, but facing him and Karen – especially Karen – after such a long time and everything that happened, was stressful and had her shaking just at the thought of it.

But life has never been known to be particularly kind, and her third chance started to look pretty good. Saying no to starting over out of fear of being rejected and hated by the people she loved would’ve been a foolish thing to do, and she no longer wanted to be foolish. She wanted to make the right choice and she had – facing the music was the hard part.

Eliza woke Matt that day with a slight nudge. He grumbled and rolled over, pressing his face into the pillows. The sensory overload made it harder for him to sleep, so even without his vigilante duties, he fell asleep only after three in the morning and often got up before her so he could make coffee.

This time though, she made sure she woke up before him. Perhaps it was the excitement of getting back into the world or she was too anxious to sleep; either way, she woke up way before the set alarm to return the favor Matt had given her many times before.

She went into the kitchen, bare feet hitting the ground with small taps that she hoped he didn’t pick up on. His blue dress shirt hung loosely over her figure. Yawning, she took the orange capsule standing on the counter, opened it, and poured a pill into her hand. Two more followed. They tasted bitter on her tongue before she managed to swallow them with some much-needed coffee.

Why would Matt ever voluntarily get up this early in the morning? She thought back to working out with Steve, and his schedule often started at five. That had been far worse than standing in the soft morning sun breaking through tinted windows in the apartment of the man she loved, but seven was still far too early for her liking. Eliza considered going back to bed, sliding under his protective arm, and sleeping some more, but the coffee was already done and she had other plans.

She had to get back on her feet and learn how to walk without crutches. She had to learn how to help herself, and for that, she had to put a lot more personal effort into the process. She had to want this.

Mrs. Darcy never pressured her to charge her phone and face what was left of her family because they posed a very obvious trigger she wanted to avoid while the effects of the antidepressants were still underway, but her sobriety was a very important aspect too and what she learned from the many meetings she had been to years before, making amends and asking for forgiveness plays a vital part in recovery. It would help her get better, not slow her down, so she inserted the charger into her phone, leaving it out to charge on the dinner table.

She would check again once the device restored itself after such a long time of being empty and unused.

Matt stirred when she lightly shook his shoulder, grumbling something inaudible before he rolled over and went back to sleep. She sighed. Waking Matt was a dangerous game, one most people would lose at. But she wasn’t willing to let him get away with it.

She swung her leg over his hip, straddling his sleeping frame. His eyebrows twitched - he could feel her heat right over his crotch and the sudden pressure applied to his body coaxed him out of unconsciousness.

“Matt,” Eliza whispered into his ear. “Matthew,” she said. “Wake up.”

He didn’t, although his hands came to rest on her hips as if his body had gotten so used to the motion, he didn’t even have to be awake for it.

If this was what he thought would happen, she had to disappoint him. Instead of grinding herself on his clothed cock, she pulled the pillow from under his head roughly. His head hit the mattress with a thud. Slowly, he started to blink back to life, but not in time to stop the fluffy cotton wrapped in silk from coming down on his face.

His reflexes came in motion when she hit him a second time, and by then he was already wide awake.

“What the-” he forced the pillow away from her hand, grabbing her wrists and crossing them on his chest. “What did I ever do to you?” his voice sounded ten times more attractive when it was still laced with sleep, groggy and hoarse, a sound born straight from his chest.

She grinned. Her chest filled with a sudden warmth that, the past couple of days, had been little to non-existent. The numbness subsided, leaving behind a state of relief, still clouded by exhaustion and thoughts she couldn’t shut off, especially not when it came to the man underneath her, but the pain was barely there anymore. Or she couldn’t feel it, anyway.

“You need to get up,” she told him.

“Why?” he challenged.

Eliza attempted to steal the pillow from her side of the bed. “Because…” he caught onto her sheepish plan before she could follow through on it. “We have to go to work.”

She barely even flinched when the pillow bounced off her face. “Rude,” she said.

Matt shrugged. “You started it.”

“I just wanted to wake you.”

“There are a million different ways you could have done that.”

“Oh,” she cocked her head to the side, “Is that so, Murdock?”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, sweetheart,” he said.

“You mean, like, suffocate you with this pillow?”

“That’s not… You know, some days, you terrify me a little.” He pinched his fingers together, not leaving space for air between the two. “Just a little,” he said.

She smirked. “I know,” she told him. Pecking his lips, she placed the pillow aside and brushed his bed hair back. “But you love me all the more for it.”

“Hmph,” Matt grunted in disapproval, but instantly melted into her touch when she kissed him again. His hands stroked up and down her back. “You’re lucky I love you, or else I would take your death threats very seriously.”

“Naw, don’t be afraid,” she cooed. “I would never hurt you, Matty.”

He squeezed the flesh of her hip. “I’m not afraid, especially not of you. I mean, those puppy dog eyes you give when you want something,” he stated, “they’re not very terrifying.”

“You sure?” Eliza squealed when he pinched her again, digging his fingers right into the most ticklish spot, and the sparkle in his eyes told her she screwed up. “Ow. Matt, stop it!”

“Why?”

“Because- HEY!” He dug his fingers into her waist, moving them back and forth and pressing further down until she was wheezing with laughter.

She rolled off and he followed, using his weight to pin her down and continued tickling her into the mattress. Tears ran down her face and the laughter got higher and more breathless with every move of his fingers. She couldn’t even fight back.

She gasped when he suddenly attacked her neck with kisses. Not gentle ones though. He found the spot behind her ear and used his stubble to scratch against the skin there. She squirmed.

“Stop it!” she laughed. “Matt, please. I mean it. Have mercy on me!”

He chuckled, answering plainly, “No.”

“Please, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean what I sa-ah-id.” Eliza clawed at his arm, giggling uncontrollably to the point her stomach hurt and she couldn’t move anymore. He had complete access now. “Would you stop?” she panted between squeaks, “This is unfa-ah- unfair! Matt, please. Oh, stop it! Time-out, time-out!”

He finally eased up.

“Jesus, I should sue you,” she took a deep breath, “for- for tickling assault.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Tickling assault?” Matt mused. “Seriously?”

“Yes, tickling assault! Look it up. It’s written in the Constitution.”

“Objection, speculation!”

“Overruled,” she said. “The plaintiff has evidence.”

“Oh, really? What does she have on me?”

“Evidence,” Eliza emphasized. “Evidence you won’t get to see without my very good lawyer present.”

“In that case, I take the fifth.”

“HA! I knew it!”

“That was not a confession,” he added. “I’m just choosing not to incriminate myself.”

She scoffed. “Weak! Hiding behind the fifth amendment to conceal the truth that you are, in fact, a serial tickler.”

He smiled even brighter at her playfully articulated words and the frustration of her bottom lip when she realized he was mocking her. “The fifth amendment is every US citizen’s right to take in a court of law. C’mon, sweetheart, if you want to work with me you have to know that,” he said, albeit teasingly.

“Oh, I do know that.”

“Yeah? Did you read the research material I gave you?”

A pause. “I watched Hamilton,” she said.

Matt didn’t protest when she slung her leg around his hip and rolled him onto the mattress, resuming her position in his lap. He chuckled at her previous words, the lyrics of the musical still stuck in his head from the many days before.

She had worn headphones while the soundtrack played on his laptop, keeping the volume down not to disturb him while he was sleeping. Little did she know that he had been awake the entire three hours, listening to her sing along under her breath, somehow memorizing every single word after the first listen. At first, it reminded him of the day the musical premiered and the album dropped on all streaming platforms, and he sat in his office across from Foggy’s and the former theater kid started to rap every last song loudly, including the sound effects, and it had caused Matt quite the headache when he did. But he loved him, so he never told him. He liked to compliment his singing to spare his feelings, but his rendition of the musical, the Foggy Nelson one-man show was not something he wanted to actively listen in on for a second time (and still he did because listening to him put his entire soul into every ballad was oddly refreshing, even to his sensitive ears).

With Eliza though, he knew that her voice already soothing enough to ease his nerves in dire situations. She had a nice voice, one he liked listening to. Every time she hummed Chasing Cars when she was nervous, he got a small glimpse into what her singing voice would sound like and while it was nowhere near trained, she sounded surprisingly good.

So he stayed awake while she sang along under her breath, too caught up in her head to remember that not even a whisper or the dampening of sound-canceling headphones could keep him from hearing part of what she heard.

Needless to say, he would listen to her do it all over again. He would take her to a karaoke bar right now and make her compete with Foggy if that was what it would take for her to sing for him. He knew that his friend would be down right away. Eliza, not so much. She hated public speaking - public singing would only be twice as horrible.

“I suppose Lin Manuel-Miranda’s songwriting is one way to learn about history,” he murmured, “but does it teach you anything about law?”

She hit him. Even playfully, her punches packed a certain force that had him flinch upon impact. “Shut up or I’ll rap the entirety of Guns And Ships in a very bad French accent right into your ear,” she said.

He snorted. “No, thank you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Matt happily sat up against the headboard, stroking the hair from her face - hair which he now knew the color of. He remembered every last highlight, the way the sun fell on the strands, and showed her in an entirely different light. He imagined her lips curling up again, her beautiful smile reaching his heart in streaks of yellow, warm like the sun. Her eyes probably eyed him up and down, her pupils blown from the change of light in the bedroom, and the color around it competing with her smile for a spot in the sun. He could feel the heat under her skin, the blood rushing to her cheeks, and he could see her face before his inner eye, skin colonized by a soft, red flush from the cold of the open window and the heat of him underneath her.

Eliza pecked his forehead, “But I suppose you can be forgiven.”

Matt’s cheeks flushed when she pulled away, the blood rushing to his head only because he realized he had been fantasizing about her in the middle of their conversation and the tune of her heartbeat told him that she knew.

“Oh, so it’s a not guilty verdict then?” he asked.

“Yes, I believe so. Your innocence was proven beyond a reasonable doubt.”

“Well, give my thanks to the jury if you happen to see them.”

“You can thank them yourself. They’re right here.”

“Where?”

She pursed her lips. “Right here. You gotta bow down a bit.”

“Like this?” He leaned forward.

“A bit further.”

He lowered his head. “Here?”

“You’re still missing some distance there, counselor.”

“Oh, I see,” Matt pinched her chin between his thumb and index finger, “I think I found them,” he said, and then, finally, he kissed her.

Eliza wrapped her arms around his neck with the most content sigh. His hand came to rest around her neck, the perfect necklace, and he didn’t have to pay for expensive jewelry for her to be happy with it. Their lips moved lazily against each other. There was no fight for dominance, no rush, only the two of them molded together like marble, not quite the same contrasts blending - one was darker than the other; one was the sun, the other the moon, black and white - but they still came in one piece.

He licked over her bottom lip, sucking the flesh into his mouth. She gasped softly, allowing his tongue to enter, though not without testing the waters first, waiting for her to open up far enough so he could swallow every possible breath that came from her throat. With the way their noses brushed together, oxygen became a rarity for their lungs, fighting to be granted at least some air with the other pressing so tightly against them.

The fact that Matt navigated his world through touch was a well-known fact. It was the main source of being able to paint a mental picture of his surroundings. The enhancement of his other senses added to that, of course, but the touch was the sense he relied most upon. He liked to touch what was his, showed his affection through lingering touches, held onto his friends any chance he got to keep them from leaving his side, and reveled in the feel of soft fabrics against his sensitive skin, giving the constant overstimulation a break.

At the same time, he experienced the affection of others much deeper than the ordinary human being. When she touched him, his skin felt on fire, and goosebumps adorned everywhere she touched. Every last spot sparked with electricity, sending signals to his brain, and she tickled just the right centers to cause imminent pleasure. The pleasure wasn’t often sexual. A mere release of endorphins and oxytocin relaxed his muscles and calmed him, soothing the constant hammering that caused his head to spin.

Arousal was the strongest sensation of all he could feel because it wasn’t just his sex that craved attention, it was all of him. Her touch could bring him to the edge of orgasm just by rubbing over his arms, his legs, even his hair, and while it was exhaustion to get so easily riled up, she made it worth it. He didn’t have to hold back. She refused to let him.

Her body moved to the rhythm of his kisses. adjusting ever so slightly to sit more comfortably in his lap. By then he could only count the seconds before she would feel the effect of her wriggling. The drug-like high his lips caused had her mind floating somewhere else. She only realized what was happening when he broke the kiss, breathing heavily, and he stilled her hips with a firm grip.

“Don’t,” he warned.

Eliza licked her lip, brows furrowing at his request. “What?” she said.

“Don’t-” Matt swallowed, “Don’t move.” The please he added ran silent.

“What are you talking about- oh.” She shifted, directing her eyes downward, and then she stilled, feeling the hard outline of his cock pressing against her panties. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip. “Oops?”

He must have gotten turned on pretty early, considering she could feel the wet patch of pre-cum soaking through both of their underwear and coating her folds. Except that she didn’t have any sex drive left in her. Even the sight of him naked didn’t have her clenching like it usually did. Though as she inspected his closed eyes, the blush on his cheeks, and the sight of his cock straining against the waistband of his underwear, she couldn’t help but feel a little proud of herself.

Matt’s fingers dug into her hips. He cleared his throat, daring to open his eyes again. “Sorry,” he murmured. “I wasn’t trying- I know you’re not- God, I’m sorry. That usually doesn’t happen. I’m not a fucking teenager anymore.”

She placed a finger on his lips. “Don’t talk,” she shushed him. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t- I mean, we don’t have to- I know you’re not feeling the same right now. I just need a moment to focus, to get the, uh, blood back into my head, but your wriggling isn’t helping. So please, Liz, stop moving.”

“I have a better idea.”

He did it for her all the time. The least she could do was return the favor - she wanted to put him first because he often came to short in life, always the savior, always the catholic, and always eager to serve and give pleasure rather than take it. He would never ask her to do it. He liked to swallow his needs to treat her own. More often than not they took down the road of his desires anyway but not because he asked but because it just happened. He got off, and he enjoyed it, but even Matt Murdock had needs that needed to be articulated more. He was clear about what he didn’t want, but when it came to asking for an act of service directed at him? He wasn’t going to do that without a little push.

Determined to make him cum first for once, Eliza took his hands and put them on the front of his dress shirt she wore. The buttons felt cold under his fingertips as he traced them, frowning, waiting for her to tell him what her mission was.

She didn’t want to have sex, but she would gladly go down on him. She would do everything it took to make him come undone for her. He could touch her however he wanted, as long as it brought him pleasure. He just didn’t seem to get the gist yet, too caught up in his head and embarrassment to make the connection.

She sighed wearily. Stubborn as ever, she thought. “Undress me,” she told him.

“Sweetheart, you’re not even…” he trailed off to play with the slightly oversize fabric again.

He wondered which one she wore. Was it a blue or a white one? He had a red one too, that much he knew because Foggy made him buy it after they graduated. He doubted she would choose the most expensive though, probably one he wore the past couple of days, one of the more casual shirts.

His cock twitched, painfully hard and rubbed against the silk of his boxers when she rolled her hips against his just enough to make him feel something.

“You’re right,” Eliza said, “I’m not at all horny right now, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be. I told you, it’s okay. I’d be glad to help you. Now,” she forced his hands away from her abdomen and onto her breasts, “Undress me.” Her voice lowered and she grew more demanding.

Matt gnawed on his bottom lip. Fuck. She was something else when she was determined to get what she wanted, more than willing to take control to let him lose it.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. However, he had already opened the first button by the time he finished talking. Her scent hit him stronger, his body wash and her perfume mixed with the freshly brewed coffee in the kitchen that had probably gone cold.

She shushed him. “I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Matthew.”

The next button plopped open and he reached inside, brushing his hand over her soft nipples. Why that turned him on as if she did the same thing to him, he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was voodoo, but he knew better than to complain. The heavy feeling of her breasts in his hand, the soft flesh tender and perfectly squeezable, had him groan.

“You want to kiss them?” she asked. If it hadn’t been for the context, he would have called her adorable, almost, the way she slurred her words to make him feel more comfortable.

Eliza guided his head toward her cleavage when he gave a faint nod, too turned on to answer. Once close enough, he grabbed both boobs tightly and buried his head between them. What it would feel like to squeeze them to make a tighter entrance and thrust his cock between them, feeling them bounce as he brought himself to orgasm all over her beautiful chest, her nipples perky and coated in his cum?

Fuck. He made himself even harder just from the mental image, the faint idea of the feeling settling in. He wanted nothing more than to fuck her tits, but that was something he had reserved for another time.

She let him suck several hickeys into her skin up until the point he was satisfied and she could pry him away from her boobs, eyes wide with curiosity as she stared into his hooded ones. “Tell me what you want,” she told him.

“I- n’ugh!”

She licked a long strip over his neck.

“I don’t know…” he sighed.

“Do you want me to suck you off,” she offered, “Stroke your cock,” her hand slipped lower, over his straining abs and his boxers, avoiding his erection for now and instead brushing his upper thigh, “Or do you want me to grind on you until you cum?” she finished, eyeing him for any signs of distress.

Matt fisted the sheets, nostrils flared, while the other hand remained on her hip. She cradled his face, scratched his scalp, and found his most sensitive spot, before sucking a purple mark into the pale skin of his chest. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, leaving behind a ghastly white underneath the full blackness of his lashes.

Eliza peeked up at him and the sight was truly victorious. The usually so strong, put-together, and sturdy Matt Murdock looked absolutely wrecked with his hair disheveled, lips swollen and his mouth hung open, the prospect of her suggestions driving him insane.

“Talk to me, my love,” she purred, licking over the hickey she left and adding another right underneath it. “What do you want me to do?”

He whimpered, not wanting to say it, even though he knew exactly what he wanted. He wanted her to do all the things she suggested until he was shaking from the sheer pain of overstimulation, his cock red and swollen and exhausted from the orgasms she would pull from him. It was a dark fantasy, something he couldn’t ask of her. Inflicting pain on him until he came while she sat by and watched - it was a scene meant to be played under different circumstances.

“I suppose I could just keep kissing you. That could make you cum, right?” she said. “I wouldn’t even have to touch you for that to happen. I mean, you’re already so painfully hard, you even wet my underwear like a desperate little boy who can’t even tell me that he wants to have his dick sucked. And here I was, foolishly thinking you were such a strong, big boy when you are actually just as much of a whore as I am, but too much of a proud brat to admit just how submissive to my control your little pet brain is.”

She stopped kissing him, realizing what had just passed her lips, and she pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh, God,” she stammered, “I’m so sorry, that wasn’t… I have no idea where that came from.”

This was, for the lack of a better word, outright filthy. And the worst part was that Eliza liked being in this position, finally in control and able to make him feel all the things he made her feel. She wanted to give back, and she wanted him to follow her needs.

The more surprised she was at his reaction. Matt swallowed hard, his muscles flexing and then he moaned loudly. Louder than he ever had before. His head writhed against the pillow. He was embarrassed - embarrassed that this turned him on so much, his cock bumped her cunt with a desperate thrust. She held his hips down, still staring at him.

How did they go from a tickling fight to this?

He barely choked out, “Again.”

And she raised her eyebrows even further. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Do that again. Say it. Fuck!” He was completely at her mercy now. “Please, sweetheart. Keep talking to me like that.”

Finally.

“Wow,” she jumped back into the condescending tone as if it were her second nature. “Are you really that desperate to be fucked?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Is that what you want? My mouth around your cock?”

“Yeah, I want it. I need your mouth. Fuck, I just… I need to cum so bad, baby. So, so bad.”

“Wasn’t so hard now, was it? Asking for what you want like a good boy.”

“Oh.”

“Of course, that would get you twitching. Me calling you a good boy. Is that what you want? Does my little whore want to be called a good boy while I go down on him?”

His back arched off the bed and she wasn’t even far enough to touch him yet. “Huh, pet, tell me. Do you want to be my good boy and cum in my mouth?” she asked.

“I already told you,” he whined.

“Tell me again.”

“Sweetheart…”

“Matthew,” Eliza retorted his name like sweet poison on her tongue and acid on his skin.

He hissed when she finally pulled down his underwear enough to free his aching cock. Matt was done for the second the cold air hit the mushroom tip. His body twitched. Her hands felt like thousand tiny needles. She scratched at his thighs, her mouth hovering above his crotch, but she didn’t touch him where he needed her most.

He wanted to curse her, but his voice betrayed him. “Please,” he whimpered.

Fuck. Perhaps that was enough to turn her on, after all. It sure filled her being with a sense of superiority, and that was quite attractive.

“Sweetheart, please,” he tried again, “Let me fuck your mouth.”

She clicked her tongue. “Tsk, that is not how this is gonna go.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, anything for you. I just need you to touch me. Tell me what I have to do.” His eyes trailed aimlessly over the ceiling. “Suck me off. Take my dick into your mouth. Do something, please. I just want to be inside of you. I want to feel you. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

“God, Matthew, I love it when you beg.”

“Please.”

“Yeah, keep those pleas coming until you cum,” she said. “That’s what you can do while I make sure you get the attention only good boys deserve.”

Licking up the base of him, she traced the protruding veins with her tongue. They pulsated with need. The tip of his cock was weeping, leaving traces of his impending release on his stomach. She licked the pre-cum off his sweaty skin, then returned to paying close attention to every outline of his cock. He was a whimpering mess, grabbing the sheets, the pillows, and the headboard, trying to keep his arms up. He wanted nothing more than to fuck into her mouth until he was coming and she was choking, but she had such a hold on him, he felt almost weak, restrained by her words and arms and that mouth of hers that knew just what to do.

“You are so good at that,” he breathed. “Please, just take it in your mouth. Suck me off, baby.”

She suckled at his tip, blinking up at him all innocently.

“Fuck! Move.”

Suddenly, her mouth was gone and he felt her eyes on him, disappointed and exasperated. “I don’t like that tone,” Eliza told him, almost like a teacher condescending to her misbehaving student, but not quite ready to inflict punishment just yet. “You can be nicer than that, can’t you? After all, I’m on my knees for you,” she said. “You can show me at least some gratitude, baby.”

Her hand replaced the touch of her mouth. She moved up and down his shaft, stroking her thumb over his slit, collecting even more pre-cum and using it as lube to move faster.

His hips bucked. She stopped, squeezing a little harder and he moaned, high-pitched and desperate. “Don’t fight against me, or you won’t get to cum at all.”

“I can’t,” Matt grunted, “it’s too much. I need more. I- I need you to move, now.”

“What do you say?”

“Please! Take my cock in your mouth, please.”

“Good boy,” she said. “You know what to say if it gets too much.” Her voice took a slightly softer tinge, though it didn’t last for long - only seconds after, she sank down on him in one go, ignoring her gag reflex as she took his full length into her mouth until he hit the back of her throat, thick, swollen, and salty on her tongue, pulsating with need and desperation, his orgasm only moments away. He was that sensitive.

Her throat kept him warm for several seconds. She didn’t move and the grasp she had on his hips and thighs prevented him from bucking up into her mouth. Eliza warned him with a simple look that if he broke free, she would stop. He felt her gaze burning through him. Matt had no choice but not to comply if he wanted to finish.

He licked his lip. “Please,” he exhaled. “Just like that, sweetie. I’m so close.”

She smiled smugly, having him right where she wanted him.

Fondling his balls, she could already feel him tense under her touch, and when she returned to suck at his tip, paired with the constant motion of her hand jerking him up and down, and the other squeezing his balls, his toes curled and he came with new intensity.

Eliza wasn’t prepared for the extent of his orgasm. She took him in fully, gagging at the size and the flush of liquid down her throat. Matt grabbed her hair, not to push her down but rather to pull her off. His cum spurted over her chest, running down her sternum and onto her breasts. The liquid was hot and sticky; she looked at the white now coating her skin and she sighed. His cum looked so good on her skin, she wished she could show him.

She swallowed the remains of his release in her mouth, then ran her finger through the thick, white cum on her chest and licked her fingers clean too, making sure to make as much obscene noise with her tongue and lips as possible, all just so he could hear what he had done.

Matt winced. His body laid slack against the mattress, chest heaving, and with his eyes closed – he looked so done, so messy. She smiled softly yet proudly at the picture he offered. The thought of taking a picture while he was still blissed out poked her. She pushed it down. He wouldn’t appreciate his nudes being taken, surely, especially since he couldn’t enjoy the same liberty. Although it sounded exciting to take his naked frame with her everywhere she went, ruined, covered in cum, and he was still begging for her, even with his mind rendered useless. He was submissive to her.

Wiping her mouth, she dared to crawl back up. She touched his face. Upon that, he flinched and she pulled back. “No touching?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Is there something you need?”

“Water,” he pleaded.

“Okay. Hold on.” Eliza reached beside herself for the bottle she always kept on the floor of her bedside. She opened the cap and handed it to him.

Matt finished most of the bottle greedily, then offered it to her. He nodded toward her lips and the cum on her chest. She totally forgot how messy she looked herself, and how much of him coated her taste buds. The taste was overwhelming, drying on her gums and lips.

She took the rest of the water and drank it, shooting him a thankful smile. With his dress shirt, she wiped at the cum around her nipples.

Only when his breathing had slowed, did Matt trust his voice again enough to form a logical sentence. “Thank you for doing this,” he said.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she resisted the urge to run a hand through his messy hair, “I told you, I wanted to do this. You deserve to be taken care of too, you know. You don’t have to worry about me all the time. I’m a grown woman,” Eliza said, “And you’d know if I was lying.”

“I know.” He closed his eyes. “I just feel bad that you didn’t… you know, cum. You probably didn’t even enjoy it.”

She propped her head up on her elbow, smiling at him, and he turned his head in her direction. “I don’t need to finish all the time, Matt. I enjoyed myself, believe me. It felt good to see you like this for a change. Made me forget about everything else.”

“You-” he swallowed, blushing once again. “The things you said…” She expected him to tell her he didn’t like it or that she did a bad job, perhaps, but he took her off guard with his actual answer. “When did you become so dirty?” Matt asked.

She broke into a rather flustered laughing fit. “Oh, my God!” She hid behind her hands. “I don’t know. The words just slipped out.”

“Listen, I’m not complaining, but that took me by surprise.”

“Trust me, I didn’t know I had it in myself either.”

He chuckled. “Let’s do it again,” he said.

Eliza stuttered. “Like, right now?”

“No! Not right now, but someday. Soon, maybe.”

“Okay, I’m down.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you are. There are also some thing I want to try with you-“

“Yes!” Her eyes mit up. “God, yes!”

He chuckled. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say,” he teased.

“If you were gonna tell me that you want to try out some BDSM stuff with me, I know exactly what you wanted to say,” she said.

“Well…” it was what he planned to say.

The excitement in her voice told him all he needed to know, silent confirmation that she was more than down to try.

“My answer is yes.”

“If that’s so, we have an agreement.”

“Hm-hm. We do. Until then…”

Matt recognized the sound of her voice. She left the unsaid hanging in the room, waiting for him to pick up on it and piece together the hints she gave, which were barely there but somehow he knew. He always knew what she was talking about without having to say anything.

He let the thoughts pass through the many systems in his brain, contemplating, weighing pros and cons, and then he listened to her steady heartbeat some more.

“We have to go to work, don’t we?” he said. His voice was soft, a gentle caress in the sex-scented bedroom.

Eliza smiled at him. “Yeah,” she said, “We have to. We can’t stay in bed all day.”

“Okay. You’re right.” He sat up, removing the blanket from his body completely, and wrapping her up instead. Gently, he nuzzled his nose into her hair. “I love you,” he said between two kisses to her scalp.

She hummed in response, eyes fluttering close. “Love you too.”

“I’m just gonna take a shower real quick. Wanna join me?”

“Mh-hm.” She took the hand he offered her, wriggling her legs out of the tangled sheets.

He picked her up before she could make her way to the bathroom. Eliza had gotten used to his antics. He liked to carry her. It was something she wouldn’t complain about.

“Did you take your meds?” he asked her then.

She gave a small nod. “All three of them.” Her heartbeat told the truth.

Matt remained satisfied with the answer, “Good girl.”

“Hey,” upon seeing the worry on his face when he set her down in the comfort of the small shower stall, she told him, “We’re gonna be okay.”

He sighed, eyes closing as she roamed his bare chest for something to hold onto, imprinting the way he felt into her brain. As if she hadn’t done that enough already, there would always be something that she missed and she wanted to make sure she got all of him.

“I know,” he said. “But as long as I’m alive, I’m always going to worry about you.”

They shared a kiss. She smiled into it, thankful and overall, finally happy.

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she concluded.

Matt chuckled as he felt the stickiness of her chest slowly subside under the hot water. He used the sponge and some of his body wash to gently brush over her breasts. “C’mon, let’s get all this cum off your chest…”

“Whatever you say, baby girl.”

He stopped. “WHAT?” his voice echoed off the shower walls before he burst out laughing. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

“Baby girl,” she shrugged. “I mean, you’re baby girl material. I found it fitting.”

“Oh, my God. This is awful,” he wheezed. “Don’t ever call me that again!”

“Sure thing, counselor.”

Matt cocked an eyebrow. He purred at the honorific, “Now that is something I can get down with.”

“But baby girl isn’t?” Eliza challenged.

“Never in a million years.”

“Bummer.”

“Where’d you even get that?”

“I have absolutely no idea. The words were just put in my mouth…”

“Well, try to think before you speak next time.” He pinched her side. “I don’t want to hear you call me that ever again.”

She giggled. “Alright, counselor. Whatever you want, you get.”

Her happy ending was right there. There was seemingly nothing she had to worry about anymore. And if she tried hard enough, which she planned to do, she was going to be okay, and all the pain would have been worth it in the end.

Good things come to those who wait, right?

And Eliza tried hard to make it all worthwhile.