Summary: When a new threat turns into something much bigger, Matt Murdock finds help in the form of a woman with a very different moral code, and struggles to choose between himself and the Devil.
Matt Murdock x Reader //Past!Winter Soldier x Reader
Matt had been outside for a longtime. Of course, deep down Foggy knew that Matt was more than capable of withstanding the cold- there was a lot Matt could withstand. His best friend had been through a lot, between being beaten until he could hardly stand, being shot and stabbed, and having a buildingcrumble on top of him. Somehow Matt had always made it out alive; sometimes he came out in pieces, but always alive. It stood to reason that of all things, Matt could handle the bitter wind and snow just fine. But that didn’t stop Foggy from worrying.
Summary: When a new threat turns into something much bigger, Matt Murdock finds help in the form of a woman with a very different moral code, and struggles to choose between himself and the Devil.
Matt Murdock x Reader //Past!Winter Soldier x Reader
Matt had been outside for a longtime. Of course, deep down Foggy knew that Matt was more than capable of withstanding the cold- there was a lot Matt could withstand. His best friend had been through a lot, between being beaten until he could hardly stand, being shot and stabbed, and having a buildingcrumble on top of him. Somehow Matt had always made it out alive; sometimes he came out in pieces, but always alive. It stood to reason that of all things, Matt could handle the bitter wind and snow just fine. But that didn’t stop Foggy from worrying.
He’d been tailing Karen, mostly from a distance, all night. She was charming, so much so that it was very clear that she didn’t need any help. She carried around the same glass of champagne, balancing it between two fingers, as she casually asked about the show and its dancers. From what Foggy could tell, they were eager to share: yes, they had put in a lot of work and yes, they did know Y/n. Some of them had worked with her from the very first show, others had only met her this year, but they all had the same things to say. She was a quiet, private person, and didn’t spend a lot of time at the theater or go out to parties or bars with the rest of the cast. But she was funny and kind and charming, like Karen… and she ran her own studio a few blocks away, teaching dance at a ridiculously discounted rate.
Foggy made sure to note the address, and pulled it up on his phone. The other dancers had never been there before, but apparently she alsolived above the studio in a small flat- which was odd, he thought, because the ABT theater was known for paying rather handsomely.
And, as in most workplaces, there were rumors. Expensive alcohol fed into already swelled egos and gossip, both of which ran rampant in circles of artists. Most of the rumors were typical: that she’d slept with half of the ensemble, that she had earned her role as the princess by sleeping with the director. Foggy wished that he was surprised by how many rumors seemed to revolve around who slept with who, but then again… He’d been to college.
And then there were rumors so dark, they were whispers shared only over the rim of an alcoholic beverage.
“Do you believe it?” Karen ducked her head, her shoulder brushing against Foggy’s.
“We’re gonna have to owe Brett some serious favors to pull this one,” he said, smiling at a group of passing women.
“This wasn’t in the papers at the Bulletin,” Karen sipped idly at her champagne glass, watching over the rim. “Which means they either pulled the story, or it wasn’t… juicy enough.”
“Or someone got bribed… Or threatened.” Foggy sat his half-empty glass on a passing tray, using his free hands to smooth out his jacket. “What about Urich? He definitely would’ve—“
A violin screamed, the sharp, sudden screech of it echoing in the cavernous room. Foggy’s hands shot to cover his ears as Karen turned toward the source of the interruption. The crowd had also taken notice, a wave of craned necks all pointed towards the double doors, which had been abruptly shoved open.
It took a moment, just a few precious seconds, to register what was happening. Foggy couldn’t see over the ocean of people between him and the door, but a moment later, the ocean became a panicked wave as the attendees began to push and shove their way through the crowd. Where they were going was unclear, as they moved in opposing directions, and the only goal Foggy could register was away.Shouting began to fill in the emptiness left by the abrupt halt of music, and Foggy felt Karen grab his arm and start pulling him toward the double doors that led to the balcony.
In the ensuing chaos, Foggy caught only a glimpse of the source of panic- a snow white, flowing cape that dragged along the ground behind a massive figure. The beast of a man had not been moving, but the hood that covered the head of the figure had turned, slowly searching the crowd, and then Foggy was forced to turn and follow Karen toward the doors.
Others had started moving that way, too, most of them probably unaware that the balcony was not a safety net. There was no way down, not without falling five stories to the cold, unforgiving ground. But Karen- Karen was not looking for an exit, for a way to escape the caped intruder. She was headed for Matt and Y/n, and Foggy prayed they had time to find another escape.
***
The doors had burst open, a cacophony of screams and stampeding footsteps following in its wake. The crowd had dispersed like a bomb, the frantic silk and wool clad swarm of partygoers rushing toward one of only two sets of doors leading out of the ballroom.
Matt pushed you backwards behind him, his hand still groping your shoulder as he moved you as far back from the rush of people as he could.
“You have to run,” he was saying, his voice almost lost in the sea of horrified screams.
“Runwhere?” The iced over railing pressed into your back and you looked over it, quickly calculating the likelihood of surviving a vault over the side. It was… not ideal.
“When I say go,” he was saying, suddenly turning to grab your arm and pull you sideways, following the railing back around toward but off to the side of the doors. “You go.”
Pursing your lips, you didn’t take the time to ask what it was he was planning on doing- this lawyer, blind and in way over his head, was no match for an assassin capable of killing not just one, but three—
The crowd pressed close, their bodies huddled together. It was indiscernible as to who was who, and if the attacker decided to pick them off one by one…
But it was advantageous. You stayed behind Matt, letting him and the endless sea of frightened people conceal you as you silently toed off your heels, leaving them dangerously close to the edge of the balcony. You’d have to be unbelievably fast to dart past whoever was coming, lithe enough to slip below his grasp if he got too close, and hoped that he didn’t have a gun.Even you couldn’t outrun a bullet.
“Give me your shoes,” Matt said, holding out a hand. You frowned at him, but carefully knelt down to gather them in your hand.
“Matt!Matt!”A familiar female voice screeched among the timulting choir of cries as she pushed her way through the crowd. She had tried, hard, to reach you, but she and the stout man clinging to her back as he tried to keep up had not made it before the slow, heavy footsteps reached the doorway.
Karen’s eyes locked on yours, and Matt let go of your shoulder as she slid alongside you and gripped your hand.
“Get her out,” Matt said, carefully taking your heels in his hand. “Get out and keep running. Get her to the office.”
Karen didn’t respond, but her hold of your hand tightened as the figure slowly turned their head, scanning the crowd.
He was a mountainous man, visible even over the heads of frightened people. The long white cape draped over his back brustled in the wind, sucked back from his form in a dramatic flourish. Beneath it, a navy blue and orange suit pulled tight over his broad chest and the thick muscles of his arms and legs.
He turned his head, revealing the mask settled firmly against his face beneath the hood: a stark white skull, the eyes glowing amber in the darkness of the balcony.
Your heart rose into your throat, pulsing against your trachea and threatening to strangle you. The fear made it hard to breathe, and your mind rushed to warn you that you were failing, but it was overwhelmbed by a strong, solid voice echoing a sentiment you’d clung to for years.
Fight or fly, pretty bird. No time to feel anything else right now.
The slow, calculated movements of the hooded figure mutated as his head stopped turning, scanning the fearful crowd as the glowing eyes landed squarely on your face.
He reached for the belt tightened at his waist, the slick glide of a blade cutting through the unforgiving air. It twirled gracefully over his fingers, the hilt pressing delicately into his palm.
It happened in a moment. His arm raised, crossing over his body, and then the knife was soaring through the air, slicing through the snow and wind with precision. It was fast, so fast that you’d had little time to grab Karen by the back of her head and force her into a crouch beside you- but the knife didn’t come, didn’t bury its way into your abdomen or the arm you’d slung up to protect your head.
“Karen!”
Matt’s voice was further away now, and you shot to your feet, ready to defend against the mammoth that was inevitably stalking toward you. The rest of the crowd had started moving, rushing like a herd of gazelles back into the ballroom, toward the doors that led to safety on the other side of it.
You followed them, squeezing Karen’s hand, dragging her impossibly fast through the crowd. She nearly tripped, and you glanced down long enough to see the knife buried in the side of one of your stilettos.
Matt was nowhere to be seen, not through the rush of people around you, and you slowed your pace, turning frantically to search the crowd for the gleam of red from his glasses. Somewhere, you could hear the dull thud of impacts, flesh beating flesh, and the muted thump of your heart in your throat quickened as you released Karen’s hand.
“Go,” you shouted, stooping to grab the shoe. The knife twisted in your hand as you pulled on it, tearing the plastic of the shoe as you wiggled the blade free. “Karen, go!”
No one else was going to die because of you.
Karen didn’t run. She grabbed at you, flailing as you tossed the shoe back to the ground. She screamed your name as you pushed against the crowd, like wading through too deep water as you fought to reach the fight some distance behind you.
The stout man, no doubt Matt’s partner, had caught up, and grabbed you by the arm as you slid between the people separating you from your attacker. The crowd was thinning as people reached the ballroom and ran for the safety of the doors.
“What the hell are you doing?” Nelson’s fingers slid off your arm as you shrugged him off. You didn’t wait to see if he ran as you broke through the crowd to find the white-clad attacker standing at the edge of the balcony, his arm outstretched beyond the railing. He was gripping a thin strip of fabric, the tail of which snapped in the wind like a red flag. Matt’s tie.
Matt himself was nowhere to be found.
“Hey, asshole!”
His head turned as the knife left your fingers, the tip aimed for the center of his head, and you didn’t wait to see if it met the sleek bone of his mask before you were running at him, cursing the long skirt of your dress as you aimed your foot for his rib.
The knife bounced off of his forearm as he deflected it. In the same fluid motion, his hand wrapped tightly around your foot. You swung your weight up, using his hand and the momentum as a boost to push yourself onto his shoulders. You wrapped your legs around his head, squeezing your thighs on either side as your elbow drove down into the top of his skull.
His arms wrapped around your legs, his hands gripping tightly to your waist. He pulled, moving forward, and yanked your body up. You went over his head, his hands letting you freefall, and slammed into the concrete ground. Pain shot through your back as he stepped around you, tilting his head curiously. The moment of reprieve was not enough, your teeth grinding against the pain as he dipped down, wrapping his thick fingers around your throat.
Lights danced behind your eyes as you gasped for air. Several of your nails snapped as your fingertips tried to pry underneath his grip. His fingers tightened as he lifted you up, pulling you toward him until your face was level with his. The glowing embers of his eyes bore into yours, reflecting back the brazen image of your face as hues of blue flushed over your cheeks.
Your legs swung up, the left wrapping around his arm to keep your weight from pulling down on your throat. The other foot connected with his ribs, as hard as you could manage, and his grip on your throat flinched- just enough to get a swallow of air.
His free hand reached for his belt, sliding another knife free. It caught the gleam of light from the ballroom and your eyes widened. The flat sides of the knife were textured with a familiar feather pattern, and as you aimed another kick toward his hand, he drew back his arm with the tip aimed at your face.
His head snapped abruptly to the side, the sickening sound of a crunchas something blunt hit his temple echoing across the balcony. His hand released your throat and your back hit the concrete once more as the black batton bounced off his temple.
You rolled as he swung the knife down, the blade scraping against the concrete below him, and flipped yourself up onto your feet. Gritting your teeth, you grabbed the bottom of your dress, ripping away the excess silk.
He was moving toward you again, the knife flipping over in his hand. You wrapped the silk around each hand, holding it up in time for the knife to glide through it instead of your face.
You let the fabric go, barely sidestepping the knife as he brought it down once more. There was something familiar in the way he fought, the precise movements following you as you evaded him across the balcony. He turned on his heel as you dove under him, rolling to your feet on the other side, and would have brought the knife down again, except that something- someone- had come between you.
The figure was broad-shouldered but slim, his shoulders tense as he grabbed the knife aimed for your head. The red leather of his glove squeezed the attacker’s hand, and the two pushed against each other as you rolled back to your feet.
As the large, imposing man swept his foot underneath your savior, he jumped backwards, and you got a good look at him in the light spilling out of the ballroom.
He was clad in red, head to toe, his suit molded to a muscular form. The leather was interrupted only seldomly with sleek, black fabric along his vital areas. He was wearing a mask that covered the entire back of his head, and when he turned his face to follow the caped assailant, you could trace the stubble along his jaw. The mask had two horns, short and rounded, above his forehead.
Pushing off the ground, you rocked to the balls of your feet, ready to rush forward again. His hands flexed, gripping onto the second batton in his left hand.
“Go,” he said, voice deep, aimed at you though his face was still trained on the other man. “Go, now. Don’t look back.”
Your weight shifted, and you turned without sparing a second glance. The man in the cape wasn’t here for the other man- it was likely he would chase you down, and the further you were from innocent bystanders and the man in red, the safer they were.
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