fear of god [Matt Murdock x F!Reader]

Sodom & Gomorrah.

You spent all day asleep. The sun had even begun to set as you walked to the Red Light District. Despite its closure to the public tonight, the local news crew begins its 7 o'clock report. Luckily, from your place on the sidewalk, you can't hear the reporter speaking. You're glad about that. It'd only kill you. There's a long stretch of sidewalk outside the club, and a small gate that creaks as security opens the doors. Things are lining the gate, small trinkets and such. It smells like flowers and burnt candle wax. Your eyes brush over the handwritten notes and photos. It's clear that they were loved.

Ren Porter. 19.

Lights flicker on, catching your attention. The big, burning neon sign presents the name of the club in all its glory: 'Ingenue'. It's pale pink. You wish you could appreciate it more. But the sun is getting low and you've barely woken up from your sleep, and you're tired and distraught. And you can't stop thinking about Ren. Could you have saved them if you had only entered the alleyway? Or would you have been killed too?

"Y/N?" Looking to your left, you feel as though you almost turn pale at the familiar face, "I... I don't know if you recognise me, I'm-"

"I do," you accidentally interrupt, frowning at yourself, "Sorry, yeah - I do remember you. Bells friend."

"Yeah," she gives you a polite nod, tucking her black hair behind her ears, "I was... I worked with Ren, too."

"God, I-I'm so sorry," the frown on your face is harsher as you try not to let tears build, "I'm, uh, I heard what happened last night. I'm very sorry for your loss."

The inner corners of her eyebrows lift and she looks down, her feet a few inches from a bouquet of white flowers. "Yeah," is all she mutters, her voice low and solemn, "yeah, thanks. What're you doing here?"

"I don't know," you mutter to yourself, gritting your teeth against one another as you stare down at the concrete. You look forward, at the small group of people beginning to crowd under the glow of neon. "How long is this place going to be shut for?"

"Maybe forever," she answers, returning a wave to someone in the distance, "we don't know. They're saying it's temporary but... I don't believe it much."

"I hope they're right," you give her a tight smile, trying your best to stretch your lips and force the joy.

"We're celebrating our last night here, kind of like a memorial," she adds, more of a statement than a pleasant invitation, "you're more than welcome to come."

"Oh," you shake your head, "I don't know... are you sure?"

She looks up at you, her brown eyes striking through her green makeup. Placing a hand on your shoulder, she gives you a tender smile and a kind nod, "I'm more than sure."

And that's how you're nine drinks down, sitting and talking with people from all walks of life. Some are long-time customers, others are great friends. Some are workers here - bartenders, waiters, dancers, security guards - others are partners.

One is the owner. Cherie. She wears her hair in waves, long and thick, highlighted by little jewels here and there. Under the stage lights, her dark skin glows marvellously. When she raises a glass, she presses her thick lips into a tight smile. You can tell she's putting on a brave face.

"They aren't with us anymore, not by body anyway," Cherie announces to the group, standing upon the stage in front of a pink, velvet curtain, "but they remain in our hearts and in our memories. And they won't be forgotten, not by us and not by anyone; not ever again."

A few people call out, cheering, drinking, raising their hands. The music grows louder, the lights dim a little. People begin to dance in their drunken stupors, you're sitting at a booth barely able to see the lights and figures pulling you to your feet. The music is so loud. It's stupid but you feel like you can barely hear it either. Okay, you drank a little more than you usually do. A lot more than you usually do. When you rise to your feet, you barely find your footing, nearly tumbling back down onto the leather cushioned seat. It's so comfortable though, you could sleep there. You could stay there forever. Tomorrow when everyone leaves and they shut the lights off and lock the doors, you can be left behind; asleep in the booth and unaware of the world outside. That's a drunken fantasy.