fear of god [Matt Murdock x F!Reader]

As it is written.

You put your notebook and pen away, eyeing the questions at the bottom of the page. The sunlight shines through the stained glass windows, painting your face in shades of red.

"No one knows betrayal like the Son of God." Father Lantom stands behind the altar, his eyes gazing into the small crowd sat at the pews, "Judas was Jesus' friend and a great apostle. Jesus loved him. And yet, as it was promised from the very beginning, Jesus was betrayed."

"Is this seat taken?"

You let out a small gasp, turning beside you. Narrowing your eyes, you tilt your head at the man, "Matthew... uh, no. Sit."

He pauses for a moment, his hand leant against his cane, "Y/N. I didn't take you for a believer - given all the lying your career requires."

"Hm," you give him a narrow look, watching as he sets his cane down against the wooden pew, "and I suppose law is a noble profession?"

"For me, at least, yes." He sits down, letting out a short huff. You can smell his cologne wafting towards you, filling your senses with pleasant hints of bergamot and faint smoke.

"I'd like to read a passage from the scripture, detailing his turmoil - for it's what led to his sacrifice, that we shall live in his image." Father Lantom flicks through the thin papers of the Bible.

Eyeing Matthew, you grit your teeth gently, "I'm not a believer."

"No?" There's a small smirk on his lips. You wish you hadn't said anything.

"No."

"What brings you here?"

"Nothing that I'd like to discuss with you," you admit, ignoring the shocked laugh that he throws your way.

"Wonderful," he mumbles quietly, "insulting me under Gods house."

"You're a believer," you state rather than ask.

"Well," he hums with a nod, looking down slightly, "I'm not here for the free crackers and wine."

The reporter in you wants to ask if he grew up Catholic. If, like you, his parents were religious and brought him up within the church. But you stay quiet because it doesn't make sense for you to be all that interested. And you face the stain glass window behind the altar.

Father Lantom finds his page, "When the evening of the Last Supper arrived, Jesus was at the table with the Twelve. He watched as they ate, for it brought him joy to see his friends fulfilled. Then Jesus said: My great friends, I tell you this with calm, one of you will betray me. This upset them greatly, and they began looking around at one another, searching for the one. But Jesus continued: The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. The Son of Man will go just as it is written. And Judas, his friend and the one who would betray him, said: You cannot be referring to me, Lord? And Jesus answered: You have said so. Betrayal never comes from your enemies."

"Hm, ever heard of that one?" Matthew mutters sarcastically, leaning towards you gently so as not to disturb the other parishioners, "print that in your paper."

"It wouldn't sell," you shoot back at him, "maybe plaster it in that run-down building you call an office."

His mouth forms a circle as he huffs out a breath of air, leaning back in his chair, "You're not fit for this holy place."

"I'm not here for leisure."

"How about pleasure?" He asks, sitting still and facing forward.

"No. Work."