fear of god [Matt Murdock x F!Reader]

Sheep / Slaughter.

Matthew had taken to the rooftop. Perched upon your apartment building, he sits and surveys the surrounding area. The city's never quiet. Sometimes, he wishes it were. But then, it wouldn't be the Hell's Kitchen that he had grown up in; the city where he lost his sight, lost his father, and the very same place that taught him how to survive. As he sits upon the ledge, his helmet masking his face, Matthew closes his eyes and takes a long, shallow breath. He clears his mind, tuning into your apartment. The television is still on, he can hear the same broadcast from this morning. Your days are cyclical lately, there is nothing to distinguish them other than the morning news reporters saying goodbye to their audience before being replaced by the night crew. Your electricity bill must be sky high but Matt knows that you don't care.

He hears you writing most of the time when he isn't tuned into the city. You scribble in a notebook or type fervently on your laptop. You move so quickly that he can't keep up with the words you write. Late at night, he hears you get up from your couch or your bed and he knows he has to hide in the darkness. You take the stairs to the roof and you peer out into the night. He knows you're waiting for him; for Daredevil. And each night, you leave the roof, your fingertips ice-cold, and you go back to the apparent safety of your apartment.

There's a thump coming from your bedroom window. Even Matthew hears it. You can't hear the footsteps tentatively making their way towards your living room. But Matthew does - and he recognises they're not yours. Another bump. Matthew hears another set of footsteps and he tenses, listening intently. You cautiously rise to your feet, unwrapping the thick blanket from your shoulders as you peer towards the darkness.

You have half a mind to think it's him, Daredevil, finally putting an end to the radio silence and cold shoulder he's been giving you. As soon as you take a step towards your bedroom, you see the distinct outline of two, large people. In an instant, you're cowering back at the loud crashing sound coming from your living room window. Someone's come crashing through, planting themselves between you and the invaders. You can't help but cower back, letting out a yelp as you stumble back.

"Stay behind me," Daredevil looks down at you, brushing a piece of glass off of his shoulder. You stare up at him, in utter shock and relief. You rush towards your kitchen, crouching down onto the floor and pressing your back against the drawers. Daredevil turns towards the men who emerge from your room. Daredevil can smell their sweat, their anticipation, their adrenaline, and their anger, "So, who first?"

You can hear the sounds of the fight; the grunting, the screaming, the sound of punch upon punch landing, things being used as weapons and breaking. All the while, the broken window allows the nightly wind to whip past the building, incredibly loud as it shakes the room. You can hear Daredevil grunt, muttering a few words before you hear the deafening smack of a body against the floor. A few footsteps make their way toward you and you hold your breath. Reaching up, you slowly open the cutlery drawer - there's no way you're not going to defend yourself against these assholes. A hand traps yours against the drawer, slamming it against your wrist and you cry out in pain. It isn't the man you were expecting.

Richard Deacon smiles down at you, pushing the drawer further into your skin. You grip onto a knife, peering up at him as you wince. "Oh, don't look so surprised," he scowls down at you, his lips forming into a slight pout, "I told you your days were numbered. Stand up, you pathetic whore."

As he swings the drawer open, you grip the knife and use all your force to swing at him. You're able to cut him, just across the cheek as he stumbles back. When he smiles wider, staring down at you with widened eyes, you swing again. "Look at you!" He jumps back this time, letting out a giggle, "That's the thing about you... females - you never stop fighting, do you?"

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you sneer at him, aiming the kitchen knife right at his abdomen. You watch his every movement, waiting for a chance to swing again - or waiting for him to come at you.

"I'm here to watch you die," he states simply, face falling dramatically as he takes a step forward. He barks out a laugh when you instinctively cower back. "I hope you're not like the rest. I hope you don't struggle against it. At some point, the realisation sets in that there's nothing you can do. You can't scream. You can't run. You can't continue to fight back because you've used all your energy and your adrenaline is spent. That's the part I like the most; the hopeless realisation. You can feel it already, can't you?" Deacon tilts his head down at you, jumping forward and ripping the knife from your hands despite your flailing, "Your satanic bodyguard is unconscious. You're alone. Nobody's coming to save you."

"You're wrong," Daredevil mutters, pulling Deacon back by his shoulder before smashing his bloodied knuckles into his nose. Daredevil pulls him by the collars before placing a hand on the side of his head, shoving him into the brick wall.

Deacon sputters, his eyes shutting as he holds onto the knife tightly, "You think you're a saviour? You let scum and filth permeate this city."

"You are scum and filth," Daredevil pants back, ignoring Deacon's laugh, "and you won't be here much longer."

"What, are you gonna make your first kill, huh?" Deacon cocks his head to the side, taking a step towards Daredevil, who shoves the man onto the floor, "Kill me, come on! Prove me right."

Daredevil stares down at Deacon. He's the last of his men here, the other two ran off into the night as soon as they saw the fight was unfair. It would be so easy - so goddamn easy - to press against his neck for a while, holding him there. It would be so easy to see how much this piece of shit likes someone watching him squirm. He deserves it but Matthew knows it isn't up to him. "You're not worth the blood I'd have to clean off my hands," Daredevil glares down.

"Oh, too bad," Deacon exclaims, shoving his right hand forward. Daredevil goes stiff for a moment before he looks down at the knife in his side.

"No," you gasp, shaking your head, "no, no, no."

Deacons a terrible aim, he hasn't hit anything vital - but God, it still hurts like Hell. Grunting, Daredevil tugs the knife from his body and throws it to the ground, still staring at Deacon who clambers to his feet.

You watch Daredevil rise to his feet, towering over Deacon. He pushes the man against the wall, knocking his head back against it with a loud crack. Deacon laughs, his nose beginning to bleed as his body aches under Daredevil's grasp. Seeing his weakness, Deacon uppercuts Daredevil in his wound. The man lets out a shout, crumbling to his knees.

You stare up at Deacon, who strides over to you. His eyes are wide, scanning your tormented face. "Tick-tock," he grimaces, "your days are still numbered."

As Daredevil rises to his feet, Deacon sprints to your bedroom. The man in red follows shakily but stops when he sees your open window. He's gone. Suddenly, your hands are on his shoulders. "You're hurt," you whimper, walking around to see his lower stomach coated in blood, "shit, you're-"

"He didn't h-hit anything important," Daredevil responds to you, suddenly feeling the room spin, "'M fine."

You shake your head at him, pushing him back gently so he sits on the bed, "You're not fine, you're bleeding out in my bedroom."

Daredevil lets out a pained grunt, pressing his back against your bed. He looks down at your hands, which are now unstrapping his suit. "N-No, no, stop," he weakly brushes your hands away from him.

"You need help," you respond back, more sternly, "I'm not gonna watch you die. You could have a concussion, I need you to take your mask off."

Daredevil's heart picks up and he lifts himself up, trying to stand from your bed, "I-I have to go."

"No, stop! Please!" You exclaim, pressing a hand against him as he tries to take a step, "You're losing a lot of blood, you're going to pass out soon, you need to go to a hospital. I'm serious."

He sees the light of your bedroom flick on and the sound of the lightbulb feels like it's pounding in his skull. "C-Can't, sweet-hea-rt-"

Sweetheart...

You remove your hands from him, narrowing your eyes at him, "You need to take that mask off now."

Daredevil slumps onto the bed, letting out a loud grunt. He's disoriented, that much you're sure of. When he raises his hands weakly, you feel your heart catch in your throat. The clasp around his red helmet for a moment, before he removes it.

Matthew Murdock stares ahead, his heart erratic, "I'm Daredevil."