daredevilkink | Prompt Post #2

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Prompt Post #2

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Claire isn't a nurse - she's pastor/priest/whatever and Matt meets her when he staggers into her (obv. not Catholic) church looking for a place to hide.

Once the danger passes, they get to talking, and he realizes that he's never been in such close proximity to a lady!priest, particularly not one who's so young and smart and obviously sexy.

Cue Matt being guilty and Catholic and wanting.

(idc if they fuck, I just want more of Matt's guilty boner in this world)

I don't know why I love this idea so much but I do!

ugh, I would love an au where catholicism proper had female priests but that might mean a ton of worldbuilding and I'm not sadistic enough to actually expect it (or masochistic to do it... *squints* ...yet?)

Waiting to live in that au, tbh

ayrt - saaaaaame

Oh no nononono, I think I was born to fill this prompt. I'll give it a shot.

Nobu’s men are close, too close, and there’s clearly something wrong with his ankle. Even though the pain is distant through the adrenaline, he can feel it grinding, threatening to give out. He needs to find shelter, fast. He knows his body’s limits.

But they’ve managed to herd him down a street that is amazingly free of scaffolding. The walls are high and forbidding around him. Locked up businesses with locked up windows, with no discernible way to scale to the rooftops. Damn, damn.

But there’s a church on the corner, with a tall, square bell tower that promises an escape to the roofs. He’s never been inside. He remembers it’s Protestant, maybe Presbyterian, but any port in a storm. He just hopes the gangsters don’t follow him in and smash things up on his account. He doesn’t think he can deal with a ruined church on his conscience.

Perhaps this was a bad idea after all.

But there’s a window propped open on the first floor (behind a fence, but that’s no trouble), and if that isn’t a sign, he doesn’t know what is, so he hurls himself inside. He tries to roll, but the impact on his ankle pulls a harsh grunt from his throat. No way he’s ascending a steeple like this. He bites back a curse – and hears a startled gasp echoing out from the front of the large, vaulted room.

“Sanctuary!” he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Please. There are bad men, evil men, after me, and they’ll kill me if they find me. I’m hurt. Is there somewhere I can hide?”

Improbably, the stranger rushes towards him, “Okay, okay, did they see you come in here? Let’s get you into the sacristy –” then she freezes. “The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Oh God. Oh shit.”

He really needs to get a different look until he’s cleared his name. “The explosions, the police officers… That wasn’t me, I swear it.” He’s in a church, she’s in a church, it’s time to get sincere. “In the name of Christ, on my father’s grave, whatever it takes. I don’t hurt innocent people and I won’t hurt you. Please.” He can hear the bark of voices searching, approaching. They don’t have much time.

The woman pauses for a long moment, then: “You had better not be lying about swearing to Jesus, or I swear to his big daddy I will kick your ass. C’mon. Follow me.” She turns, tense and determined, and he limps awkwardly after her between the pews.

As they ascend the stairs to the altar, his breath catches and he reflexively ducks his head. She turns and unlocks a door behind the pulpit – whoever she is, she must be staff, not an ordinary congregant holding a late-night vigil. Giving him a wide berth she gestures him inside. He pauses, trying to get a sense of the little room (lots of fabric muffling his hearing, the aromas of candle wax and wine residue and brass) – and there’s a knock at the church’s front door.

“Open up! NYPD!”

“They’re corrupt,” he gasps. “Maybe not even real cops.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice. Now, hide!” She practically shoves him out of the way to throw open the lid of a wooden chest inside the sacristy. She pulls out a huge piece of cloth, bundles him into the chest, throws the cloth back over him, and closes the lid over his head. It thumps against his forehead as it falls, cushioned by what must be altar linens.

Matt strains to hear her as she rushes off and unlocks the main doors. The fabric cocoon dulls his senses; he is encased in the smell of old wax. The echoes of the church – normally so soothing – make it hard for him to make out the conversation. There are…two men, maybe three. He could probably take them, but only by exposing the church – and his nameless protector – to harm. What a horrible place to hide, so few exits and so much potential for soul-scarring destruction. But there’s nothing to be done for it now, and the voices don’t seem to be getting any closer, so he sinks down into the layers of sacred fabrics and waits.

She returns and lifts the lid several long minutes later. “So I just lied to men with badges on the threshold of my church.” Her voice is hard.

“I’m sorry. Is that a problem for you?”

“God knows I’ve seen enough to be wary of the NYPD, but…I don’t like lying. Ninth commandment and all that.”

“Did they believe you?”

“I think so. They left.”

He bows his head, listens for the men’s conversation. They’ve started down the street. “Good. I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I don’t suppose that getting the hell out of here and letting me forget about this is an option?”

“I’ll go if you want me to, but… I’m sorry to put you in danger, but they’ll still be out there looking for me, and I don’t think I can evade them yet. My ankle.”

“So what do we do now?”

He lifts he shoulders guiltily. “We wait? You can just leave me. You won’t even know I’m here. I’ll just slip out –”

She huffs out an incredulous breath. “Leave you? Mister, I might have saved your sketchy ass, but I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“So…we wait. Together.” The moment stretches out into awkward, burning silence. “Is there…is there any chance you have an ice pack around here?”

“Great.” She takes a steadying breath. “Well, as long as I’m breaking every other rule…do you think you can manage stairs if I support you? You can come upstairs to my rectory and I’ll RICE that leg for you. We’ll just have to figure out how to sneak you out without my congregants seeing. Though I’d almost pay to see their faces if they saw our local demonic terrorist exiting my rooms, provided you don’t murder me in my sleep.”

He starts at that. “Your congregants –”

“What, don’t tell me you didn’t notice! Did you think I was playing dress-up?” She snorts incredulously and taps on something at her neck. And then another piece of the puzzle snaps into place – the rasp of fabric just beneath her chin that signals a priest’s collar. He should have sensed it from the start, but all the signs screaming “woman” had drowned out that whisper of stiff plastic at her throat.

“I’m so sorry, uh, Reverend. I guess I was distracted.” He feels like shit for ignoring all the evidence, for insulting her – but also for the sudden guilty rush of interest that sweeps over him. He’s never really known a female priest (pastor? minister?), let alone one who’s young, and brave, and gifted with such a lovely, low voice. “That’s no excuse, but –”

“Please, if I were that easy to offend, I would’ve needed to find a different job ages ago. Just, try not to get too weird about it, yeah?” He stammers his assent. “So let’s back up. Introductions. I’m Claire, Rev. Claire if you prefer, the rector here at St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church. And you’re the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Something like that.”

“No name, of course. Not with that mask.”

“Sorry.”

“And you’re what, Catholic?”

“The less you know about me, the better.”

She snorts. “Don’t even try that on me, mister. You literally flung yourself through a stained glass window while screaming sanctuary. Who else would have such a flair for the dramatic?”

He ducks his head and shoots her a coy smile; her heartbeat quickens. “I can neither confirm nor deny your hypothesis.”

“So the devil is Catholic! My Lutheran colleagues would eat that right up.”

“Oh no, my priest would kill me.”

“Yeah, yeah, your secret’s safe with me. Okay, you ready to get thee beside me, Satan? Let’s move. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.” He wraps his arm around her shoulders and she grabs his waist, and they begin the ungainly ascent to her apartment. His face is close, so close to her neck, and her long hair is fragrant with incense.

Oh, I love it! Please write more soon.

This reminds me quite a lot, actually, of the books by Julia Spencer-Fleming, featuring Reverend Clare Fergusson, who flew helicopters for the US Army before going to seminary and becoming the recotr of a church in upstate New York. In the books, she slowly falls in love with the local police chief ... not that I'm trying to give you ideas, or anything. *g* Just that the characterization of your Claire and that Clare are so similar, tough women with a compassionate side.

Knowing that someone is reading this is big motivation. Thanks!

While reading this I remembered that there was an article about a woman who became priest(?!) recently somewhere in the uk...though I forgot which religion was that

Anyway, I enjoyed these first parts! Claire's lines are A+ and I like how the story flows so well. Hope someone would catch a glimpse of them though and claire has to make up another story for cover him xD

this is great!

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Prompt Post #2

Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor

Re: Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor

Re: Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor

Re: Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor

Re: Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor

Re: Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor

FILL 1a/?: Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor

Re: FILL 1b/?: Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor

Re: FILL 1b/?: Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor

Re: FILL 1b/?: Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor

Re: FILL 1b/?: Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor

Re: FILL 1b/?: Matt/Claire - Claire is a pastor