#father lantom

Summary: Matt goes back to his apartment after seeing Foggy. He just wants to rest, but someone won't let him just yet. 3x03 AU. w/c. 1.1k

ao3 link

Warnings: 18+, smut (it's not great) kinda fluff, angst (bc it's Matt), swearing - think that's it, let me know if I've missed anything.

No Y/N, gn reader.

Please don't post to other sites or into AI.

I'm not sure about the title but whatever.

Anyway, hope you like it! ❤️

Summary: Matt meets an unlikely friend while being the more pathetic version of Phantom of the opera, hiding below Clinton Church. (DDS3)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Jamie Calloway (Fem OC)

Warnings: 18+ only, mention of religion, and religious trauma, kinda mentions of somewhat arranged marriage, panic attacks, faith uncertainty, allusions to emotional abuse/indoctrination

Word count: ~3k

Authors note: quick edited there will probably be things I missed. Please let me know if you enjoy!

Other Chapters

Tags: @bunnywritesfanfic @castbound2358 @ace-degenerate-13 @multifandombliss

Reblogs + Feedback appreciated and highly encouraged

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Chapter 1: The runaway.

The church bells didn’t just ring. they vibrated through stone and bone alike. Even down in the cellar, the wedding march bled through the ceiling, bright and relentless. Like it had something to prove.

Matt’s fists drive into the hanging bag harder than necessary. Leather cracking, chains rattling. For a moment, it works—the noise, the rhythm, the impact swallows the music.

Until it doesn’t .

Until he notices the pattern. The way his strikes falls into step with the music. Like his body had already surrendered to the march.

He stops mid-swing.

A sharp breath. Then a low, frustrated groan as he let his forehead rest against the wall, knuckles still clenched.

He couldn't shut it out.

He pants against the wall, only pulling away when silence once again fills the crypt. He rolls his neck and resumes the pummeling.

The silence is the only peace he knows, until he hears a door slam open, and shouting above. Just as quickly, the door slams shut, and there’s clicking heels.

Matt tilts his head, tuning in: a panicked heartbeat, frightened breaths, and uncertain steps as someone runs through the church’s depths. The sounds draw closer. The heels stop, replaced by the softer padding of feet descending the cold stone steps into the crypt.

Unsteady, breathy sobs echo, accompanied by the rustle of heavy fabric, as a stranger enters Matt’s den.

He feels his way around the corner, and he hears her. A bride, a woman, had run from the wedding above, and with a soft thud, lessened by the layers of the dress she was in, fell to her knees in the dim crypt.

He could feel the raw, jagged energy of her cries. The way her breaths hitched and broke. She was unraveling, her chest rising and falling frantically. Each sob that tore from her throat left a sharp echo in the air. Her hands were shaking, tugging at the seams of her dress in a helpless rhythm.

“Oh god,” she gasped, trying to steady herself, her voice breaking. “Oh god—”

He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate. He moved toward her, urgency in every step.

“Get it off,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper through the panic.

His hands, rough and clumsy, slid to the back of her dress. He felt the tight, unforgiving lacing of the corset, his fingers tracing the knots with a practiced urgency, working to undo what bound her,

The fabric was merciless. Fighting it only pushed her further into panic. His fingers could not make sense of the maze of fabric tying her into the fabric prison.

“Brace yourself.” He warns, voice dark. His bound hands grip onto the sides of the corset, fingers brushing her skin, leaving goosebumps behind. He draws a steady breath. In a surge of strength, Matt tears the corset open, the seams ripping violently. He drops them, the back of the dress hanging open.

The woman’s breaths barely deepen, as she falls forward to her hands and knees, her body free from its prison. Matt can hear her blood pumping through her back, to the indents in her skin from the corset.

She breaks into sobs. “What have I done?” Realization dawning on her with twice the panic now. “Oh dear god” her breaths are still coming chopped and uneven.

Matt stands nearby, unsure of how to help further. His hands flex at his sides as if the answer is somewhere in the tension that lingers in his fingertips. Of course, it’s not. The crypt feels smaller now, the walls closing in with every broken breath this strange woman takes. The remaining panic of a choice he wasn’t able to grasp.

“Hey,” Matt speaks, softly. Careful, not wanting to make anything worse. “You’re alright. It’s over. No one will find you down here”

He grimaces at his words. They’re thin and inadequate for the situation.

The woman is still on her hands and knees. One hand holding her up, the other curled against her chest as she tried to ground herself.

“I left him,” she breathes, voice raw. “Right there at the altar… I just… ran. I can’t believe I did that” she’s barely controlling her breath.

“Easy, easy…” his voice is hushed. Gentle enough to guide her thoughts from the edge of her panic.

“Slow it down,” he tells her. “Just breathe first. Nothing else matters” he finds himself demonstrating, in through the nose, out through the mouth.

She takes deeper, longer breaths. Matt can hear her heart beat slowing to a regular rhythm.

“I thought I could do it.” Her voice trembles "What they wanted— What I was supposed to want.”

Matt tilts his head. Listening to her words and everything that lays beneath.

He lets them sit in the silence of the crypt, for a moment. A pipe dripping in some far corner, her breaths better, but still uncertain.

“You made it out” he speaks, voice low, tensed. “That’s enough for now.”

“I did it..” something changes in her voice. Light. Airy, not good. “I’m free.” She breathes, the air almost stolen from her lungs by the remnants of her panic.

She goes limp before she can finish. Matt catches her without a sound. One arm beneath her legs, the other against her back, holding her close enough to feel the heat of her panic. He stands, shoulders braced, and carries her through the shadows of the crypt, dress rustling against him.

He finally sets her down on the rickety bed in the corner, that he’s called home for a couple months now.

For a moment, there’s nothing.

Matt sits beside her, the damp cloth resting against her forehead, his hand lingering a second longer than it needs to. The air is cold enough to bite. It helps. Keeps him present.

Then, whispers emerge.

Followed by footsteps descending the stairs.

His head lifts slightly.

Two sets.

One measured. Controlled. Each step was placed with purpose—but heavier than it usually was. Deliberate.

A warning.

The other is uneven. Fractured. Breath catching between steps. A heart that can’t decide if it’s angry… or afraid.

“Father Lantom,” his voice is low.

The father steps out of the shadow of the stairs into the dim light of the crypt.

“Matthew.”

he pauses. “We’re looking for a runaway bride. Have you heard anything?”

“Down here?” he murmurs. “Father, I assure you… this is no place for a bride.”

Behind Lantom, the second man shifts, agitated. Shoes scrape against stone. His pulse hammers- too fast, too loud. Not worry.

Expectation.

Ownership.

Matt’s jaw tightens.

“I’ve heard nothing,” he says.

Both he and father Lantom know it’s not the truth. But they also know that this.. interrupted union doesn’t seem to be one that should occur.

Father Lantom is quiet for a moment. “If anything comes up please let me know.”

Matt’s jaw twitches. And he can’t help himself.

“Maybe you should ask why she ran,” Matt says. “Not where she went.”

“She fears God's plan, and Father Lantom will set her right.” The third voice speaks.

Matt kills the mock laughter before it can leave him. “God’s plan. Right.” His head tilts “let me tell you about go-”

“Matthew,” Father Lantom’s voice is both a warning, and a plea for mercy.

Matt’s jaw twitches as he holds back the words he wants to say

“If I hear anything I will let you know.” He says. Voice low and calm, yet bristling with tension.

“Thank you.” Lantom says and turns to the man behind him, whose presence made Matt’s skin crawl. The man had Agitated Matt to his core with a single sentence.

“Sir, let us go ask the nuns. They were in the garden. Perhaps one of them saw Miss Calloway leave.” The priest redirects, and Matt stands, almost on guard until he hears the footsteps recede out of the belly of the church.

When he is certain they are not returning for the moment, he returns to the corner the bed is tucked into. He sets some spare clothes out on a chair by the bed. A baggy tshirt, and a pair of sweats, Simple. Practical. She’ll want to change when she wakes, swap the half-torn dress for something whole.

He sinks into the chair at the foot of the bed and pulls the Bible toward him. A low murmur slips past his lips. His fingers trace the raised dots, moving with practiced certainty. Eyes closed, lips part over the passages, desperate for a voice he can’t hear.

A few pages later, Matt tilts his head.

There she is.

The shift in the strangers heart beat. She suddenly sits up, her gasp cutting through the air sharp as a knife. He hears the dress rustle as she ensures she’s covered

“It’s alright,” Matt says. “You’re safe here.” His hands paused on the braille beneath his fingers. He closes his eyes, not for himself, but to let her feel less exposed. “There are clothes on the chair.”

He can hear her breaths level out. Her eyes are on him. Taking him in.

“Who… who are you?” She asks, voice shaking in uncertainty.

“I’m a Good Samaritan”

“And… does this Good Samaritan have a name?”

Matt hesitates, head tilting again, surveying her. “Matthew.” His voice is low. He slides his bookmark into place and the bible snaps closed, a short echo lingering in the air.

“Matthew.” She mumbles. Her voice is threaded with worry. “They’ll..come looking,”

“They already did.” Matt stands, the scrape of his chair harsh on the floor. “I told them you weren’t here. They’ve gone, checking the rest of the church.”

“But they’ll come back.”

“Father Lantom, yeah. The other one? He won’t.” He leans in slightly, his senses sharp as he listens for the third man’s rhythm.“He’s gone. Probably out on the streets now, looking for you.”

A soft, trembling sigh escapes her.

“your name?” His voice is direct, low, attempting to sound apathetic.

She hesitates, taking in the surroundings.

“Jamie. Jamie Calloway.” She lets her name linger in the air for a moment before clearing her throat.

“There’s a shower in the laundry room.” Matt vaguely motions toward a sliding door, voice low. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks,” she gathers the sweats he left behind and pads to the shower. Turning back. “And thank you for not handing me over— I..cant go back—not to that.” she admits before vanishing into the shower room.

Matt tilts his head. The click of the door. The hiss of water, sudden and sharp in the quiet. He doesn’t move. Listens.

A slow breath. A pause. Nothing else. Then he turns, senses alert, air shifting around him, waiting for the next sign, the next hint of movement.

It comes shortly later. He recognizes Father Lantom’s steps returning. This time alone. Matt meets him in the centre of the crypt.

“Matthew.” His voice is calm. His robe shifts as he folds his hands together. “She is safe?”

Matt’s jaw twitched. He hated that the father just…knows things. “For now.” He says. Listening past the father to ensure he is alone.

“Her family is looking for her. Her fiancé will not remain quiet for long. This will escalate.” Father Lantom warns.

Matt’s expression hardens. “Let it.”

Father Lantom’s body shifts. He straightens his back “you say that as if you welcome escalation”

“I am not afraid of it.”

“I very much know that, Matthew. That is what concerns me.”

Matt’s body tenses in agitation. He hated how the priest could read him as well as he reads others. He elects to ignore his words of concern.

“Something is wrong with her fiance. I could hear it when you were both down here. It wasn’t love. It was Possession. Control dressed up as devotion. I will not surrender someone to a life of suffering under the twisted words of god.”

Father Lantom is.. silent. Stunned for a moment in the truth Matt speaks. “Matthew I believe that Go—”

“If you’re going to spew that God’s plan line to me again I wouldn’t bother.”

“No, Matthew.” Father Lantom corrects “I was going to say, God put you in her path to deliver her from that life of suffering.”

Matt grunts and turns his head slightly, catching the sound of the shower turning off. “She’ll be out here in a moment.” He brushes past the words Lantom says, not wanting to acknowledge them, or the bristling effect they have on him.

Father Lantom nods. “I would..like to speak with her. If that’s alright?”

Matt lets out a dry laugh. “You’ll have to ask her that.”

The door creaks open and Jamie leaves the bathroom, auburn hair loosely braided, some shorter strands around her face. The sweats Matt provided hang off her frame.

Breath stills in her throat as she sees Matt standing with the priest. Scared, like a deer caught in the headlights. Her eyes dart to every escape plan, every shadow marks a way out. Every doorway, a path to freedom.

She’s frozen like prey cornered.

“No, no it’s alright.” Matt’s voice cuts through her cloud of worry. calm, strong.

“It’s only Father Lantom”

“I’m not going back.” Jamie says, voice almost steady, but still cracks under the weight of the day.

“Nor would I expect you to.” Father Lantom says, voice the pinnacle of calm understanding.

Jamie pauses, shoulders relaxing. She wasn’t expecting that response. There was no rehearsed guilt, no familiar script. Not the same words her family had pressed into her, over and over, like they were the only truth she was allowed to carry.

Father Lantom takes a step, one hand out as an offering. “You get to choose your path, now. You are not bound by what they have taught you. God's plan is what is right in your heart.”

“You don’t have to figure it all out… not tonight,” Matt inserts, voice low, edged with something raw, almost broken.

“But you do have to face it—the truth inside you. What you want. What you believe… not what they told you, not what anyone else wants you to be. You are the voice of truth.”

Jamie watches him closely. Each word coming out of Matt’s mouth feels like a shadow, an empty echo. He’s hollow, broken at the seams, carrying the city’s weight and it’s crushing him alive. The words aren’t his. They’re just for her.

A flicker of peace fills her chest, but nerves are stronger. “I-I don’t know what I want…” her voice is raw. Honest. Afraid, yet hopeful.

Father Lantom nods, his hand brushing lightly against her shoulder, retreating the moment she flinches. “Forgive me,” he says quietly, bowing his head a quick moment.

Matt’s head tilted, hearing the flinch. Her heartbeat stuttered, her breath caught, and in that instant, a low, searing fury ignited in his veins.

Lantom’s gaze lingered on her, patient, worried. He spared a glance towards Matthew.. “Clarity comes with time, Miss Calloway. You’ve already taken the first step… by finding your voice.”

Jamie looks between the two man. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Matt turns slightly so he’s facing her a little more.

“I’ve got a place… I’m not—” He stops, swallows it down. “I can’t stay there.”

A beat, heavier this time.

“But you can. It’s… better than going back.”

Jamie’s brow furrows. “I don’t wish to impose-“

“You wouldn’t be”

She hesitates. “Only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” His voice is steady, short.

“10th and 47th. Penthouse corner. Entry code is 1021. key’s above the door frame.”

Jamie stands speechless. Who was this man? So beaten down. So broken. And yet he gives to the world from his empty cup.

Father Lantom is the first to break the silence. “I shall call you a cab, Miss Calloway.” He nods, and walks in his slow, measured place back to the stairs of the crypt.

Jamie nods and turns back to Matt. She takes a step closer to him. Hesitating a moment before hugging him. Her head slotting against his neck with ease.

“Thank you.” She says. Her breath was hot on his neck.

Matt feels a tug inside him, a comfort he doesn’t believe he deserves. He scrunches his nose, pushing it away. Still, he hugs her back, slow, careful, almost penitent. His hand lingers, a brief, quiet confession: even he needs this.

“I only did what anyone with a good conscience would.”

He gives her a polite squeeze and she pulls away. She pauses. A kiss to his cheek, warmth blooming from where her lips touched.

“You did much more than that, Matthew. You gave me a second chance at life. Something most everyone deserves, but few get.” She gives him a last squeeze to the shoulder.

Matt can feel her gaze on him. Her heart was steady now. For the first time since they’d met.

“You’re right. So few of us get second chances. Don’t fumble yours.”

Jamie pauses, glancing back to see Father Lantom now waiting to escort her to her cab.

“You’re worthy of a second chance too, Matt. Everyone is worthy. You just have to decide to take it…. Like I did.” She nods her head, turning and taking a few steps.

Matt stiffens, jaw tight, breath shallow. Her words settle on him like a weight he can’t shake. Worthy… he wonders if he even knows the meaning of the word anymore.

Before Jamie gets too far, his hand slides around her wrist. Firm, yet too soft for a man so down on his luck.

“If they bother you,” Matt changes the subject entirely. “You let me know.” His voice leaves no room for debate. “I’ll ensure it doesn’t happen again” Jamie gets a feeling that this man is not lying.

“I…”

“You let me know.” His voice is dark. Stern. Not towards her, but the situation.

“I’ll let you know,” she concedes.

“Be well, Matthew” her feet pad towards Father Lantom.

Matthew listens to their footsteps receding into the main church, while he sits on one of the holds of the crypt.

Praying to god he wouldn’t hear her voice again.

part one. part three.

marci stahl - tortoshiell cat

marci is a tortoiseshell cat because tortoiseshells are known for their strength, independence, and sharp emotional clarity. tortoiseshell cats have a reputation for being assertive and strong-willed. they know what they want, and they do not soften themselves unnecessarily to make others comfortable. marci has that same directness. she is emotionally perceptive, intelligent, and unwilling to accept weakness or dishonesty. visually, tortoiseshell cats are made up of complex, interwoven colors. nothing about them is simple or singular. marci reflects that emotional complexity. she is capable of ambition and pragmatism, but also deep loyalty and care, especially toward foggy. tortoiseshells are not passive companions. they are equals. they challenge, they push, they demand growth. marci doesn’t exist to emotionally protect others from reality. she forces them to confront it, because she understands that survival requires strength.

claire temple - norwegian forest cat

claire is a norwegian forest cat because norwegian forest cats embody resilience, nurturing strength, and calm competence. they are large, steady cats built to survive harsh environments, and claire exists in exactly that role. she moves through chaos without losing her composure. norwegian forest cats are natural survivors, adaptable and capable of enduring difficult conditions while remaining emotionally grounded. claire is constantly surrounded by violence, injury, and instability, but she remains calm and functional. she provides care without losing herself. these cats are also deeply protective. they don’t seek conflict, but they will not abandon those who need them. claire consistently places herself in danger to help others, not because she seeks recognition, but because her instinct is to heal. visually, norwegian forest cats have thick, protective fur, almost like armor, which reflects claire’s emotional resilience. she protects others, but she also protects herself. she knows when to step away to preserve her own well-being.

billy russo - silver bengal cat

billy is a silver bengal cat because bengals are defined by their beauty, intensity, and underlying volatility. bengals are visually striking cats. their coats look almost unreal, patterned and reflective, designed to draw attention. billy’s physical appearance is a central part of his identity. his beauty is not incidental, it is something he uses. something he relies on. bengals are also highly intelligent and emotionally intense animals. they form attachments, but those attachments can shift into aggression if they feel threatened or abandoned. billy’s emotional instability reflects that same volatility. he experiences attachment and betrayal in extremes. bengals are also predators at their core. even when domesticated, they retain the instincts of something wild. billy carries that same internal wildness. he moves through the world with charm and confidence, but underneath that exterior is someone shaped by abandonment, trauma, and the constant need to prove his own worth. his beauty and his violence are inseparable parts of the same identity.

brett mahoney - gray american shorthair

brett is a gray american shorthair because american shorthairs represent grounded morality, patience, and quiet integrity. mahoney is someone who exists within a flawed system but maintains his internal ethical compass. gray american shorthairs are observant, steady, and emotionally balanced. they are not impulsive or attention-seeking. they assess situations carefully. mahoney consistently demonstrates restraint and thoughtfulness, especially in his interactions with matt. there is mutual recognition between them, a quiet understanding. american shorthairs are also adaptable. they survive in many different environments without losing their essential nature. mahoney navigates corruption and moral ambiguity without allowing it to fundamentally change who he is. he remains stable. dependable.

father lantom - birman cat

lantom is a birman cat because birmans represent spiritual calm, emotional gentleness, and quiet guidance. birmans have a serene presence. they do not impose themselves, but they offer comfort simply by being present. father lantom exists in matt’s life as a moral anchor, someone who offers perspective without forcing control. birmans are deeply patient animals. they allow others to come to them. they do not demand trust. they earn it through consistency. father lantom never tries to dominate matt’s choices. he understands that matt must navigate his own internal conflict. visually, birmans are soft, light-colored cats with gentle expressions, reflecting warmth without fragility. there is something emotionally safe about them. father lantom provides that same emotional safety. he represents compassion without judgment. even in moments of fear, he remains emotionally present. his strength exists in his willingness to care without condition.

sister maggie grace - chartreux cat

sister maggie fits a chartreux cat because chartreux are quiet, emotionally reserved, and deeply devoted without being outwardly expressive. they are known for their silence and watchfulness, often observing more than they act. maggie carries that same emotional restraint. her love exists in what she does rather than what she says. chartreux cats are also incredibly resilient and calm under stress, which reflects how maggie remains steady during matt’s suffering, offering stability without overwhelming him. there’s a softness to them, but it’s protected by emotional discipline, shaped by years of endurance.

stick - oriental shorthair cat

stick is an oriental shorthair because oriental shorthairs embody severity, discipline, and emotional detachment shaped by survival. oriental shorthairs have sharp, angular features and highly alert postures. they are constantly aware of their environment. nothing escapes their attention. stick exists in that same state of constant vigilance. he is never at rest. oriental shorthairs are also highly intelligent, but emotionally selective. they do not express affection easily, and when they do, it is often masked by harshness. stick cares about matt, but he expresses that care through control and discipline rather than comfort. oriental shorthairs are survivors. they are not softened by hardship. they are shaped by it. stick’s entire identity is built around the belief that emotional attachment creates vulnerability. he denies himself softness because he believes survival requires emotional isolation. but beneath that severity, there is still attachment. still care.

luke cage - british shorthair cat

luke is a british shorthair because british shorthairs embody stability, emotional steadiness, and quiet protective instinct. british shorthairs are large, physically solid cats with calm temperaments. they do not react impulsively. they observe. they endure. luke carries that same emotional and physical stability. he absorbs pain without breaking. british shorthairs are not aggressive animals, but they are incredibly strong. they do not need to display violence to establish dominance. luke protects others not through fear, but through presence. there is safety in him. emotional safety. physical safety. british shorthairs are also deeply dependable. they remain constant even when everything around them changes.

danny rand - turkish angora cat

danny is a turkish angora because turkish angoras embody spiritual sensitivity, restlessness, and dual belonging. turkish angoras are elegant, almost ethereal cats, but they are also highly active and emotionally complex. they are creatures that exist between worlds, never fully belonging to one environment. danny lives in that same state of displacement. he belongs to kun-lun and to new york, but he is never fully at home in either. turkish angoras are also deeply intelligent and emotionally perceptive, but they can appear naive because of their openness. danny’s belief in purpose and destiny reflects that same openness. he trusts in meaning. he seeks balance. visually, turkish angoras have light, flowing fur that gives them an almost spiritual presence. danny carries that same energy. he is something shaped by forces larger than himself, someone trying to reconcile identity and purpose.

colleen wing - japanese bobtail cat

Read on AO3 → https://archiveofourown.org/works/88202786 by BlackKat2907 In which Karen shoots Dex in the head, and instead of dying, Dex wakes up right before Fisk is attacked by the Albanians. Now in the past, Dex has to decide if he's going to fix things for the better or makes things infinitely worse. Words: 1901, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Daredevil (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Other

Characters: Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Matt Murdock, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, Karen Page, Wilson Fisk, Vanessa Marianna Fisk, Frank Castle, Elektra Natchios, Ray Nadeem, Father Lantom (Marvel), Margaret Murdock

Relationships: Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter/Matt Murdock, Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter & Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Karen Page, Frank Castle & Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Frank Castle & Matt Murdock, Matt Murdock & Elektra Natchios, Vanessa Marianna Fisk/Wilson Fisk, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson & Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

Summary: Matt has often been asked about the accident that blinded him and what happened after. No one ever asked about the day leading up to it.

Until Karen does.

Over cheap wine and take-out in his apartment, memories unfold. A movie night with his dad, a school day filled with colours and small victories. The choice that changed everything. In the hospital, Father Lantom offers Matt words he will carry for the rest of his life, shaping his faith and the way he understands what he’s lost.