Clinging onto the metal bars high up, observed you, your targets. You watched at least ten men walk around the warehouse. Wooden crates were scattered around. One of the men in suits, pointed at one the crates. A slimmer man revealed a crowbar, breaking the wooden panel. Intrigued, leaned you a bit forwards to get a better look. The man was grinning, taking out a weapon. So that was what they were shipping. Of course these were Kingpin’s men. Sudden grunts caught your attention as they came from somewhere in the back. You gasped seeing an injured man being crashed against one of the crates. Kingpin’s men started shouting, drawing their guns.
It didn’t take any seconds for the warehouse to be noisy with gunshots. A dark figure came in sight, moving stealthy. From the way he was moving, knew you he was interfering. – “Oh, no you don’t!” – said you to yourself, getting up to your feet. You clamped onto the first metal bars, setting your foot on the third one. You helped yourself up, setting your two feet on top. Beneath you was the other vigilante having his way. Blocking gunshots and kicking kingpin’s men. You set yourself off, doing a backflip. Landing on your one knee, struck you a pose, cause why not. Some of Kingpin’s men shouted, pointing firmly at you.
You got up with not a scratch. Shots were fired at you, making you avoid them by staying low to the ground. Getting back up, stood you before the guy. You had taken a hold of his weapon, pointing it firmly up. He tried to work his way through your force with no help. You winked at him before throwing a blow against his stomach. Your hands releasing a bit of energy. The guy flew across the room, crashing into the wall that left a large crack from where his body hit. – “Oops.” – said you innocently, holding his gun sloppy in your hand. You threw it away with a mischievous smile. Another henchman came running over to you as you firmly grabbed him by the throat.
You easily lifted him up from the ground, his feet dangling. The devil was caught off guard, suddenly a new sense overwhelming him. He moved his head a bit to the sounds, trying to listen in. He had clearly heard the blow against the wall. He inhaled sharply, hearing another heartbeat. Steady and calm. Clenching his jaw, knew the devil that he wasn’t alone anymore. Someone had shown up, trying to steal his work. Grunting agitated, grabbed he a guy by his throat, smacking him to the ground. It pissed him off that someone else was trying to play hero.
You ignored Hell’s kitchen’s devil, working your way through Kingpin’s men. Shots were fired as you did a few backflips, avoiding them. With no way of seeing where you were going, straightened you your back again, bumping into someone. – “Sorry!” – you called out, peeking over your shoulder at the red leather fabric of a suit. You only heard a clearly annoyed sigh, followed by him grabbing a hold of your shoulders. You shrieked it out, getting thrown over his shoulder, falling onto the ground. – “Stay down!” – breathed he at you, his chest moving heavily with his deep breathing. You shuddered in pain, rolling over to your side. Damn the devil had some moves.
The devil turned himself around as you swung your leg over the floor at him. It hit his ankle, sending him falling flat forwards. He pushed himself up with a deep groan. Touché thought you. He was clearly agitated now as he was ready to teach you a lesson or two, was it not for the few remaining men of Kingpin that required his attention. They were making an escape for it with some crates. You saw him turn his head to the direction of the sounds, without actually looking it. It was more like his ear needed to see then his eyes. He spurted away, going after them as you slowly pulled yourself up. Brushing some dust of your sleeves, allowed you him to take down the last men.
You saw it coming but let him have his go on it. He pushed you with his elbow against the wall. You chuckled in pain from the impact. – “Who are you?” – called he out, pushing his arm deeper onto your throat. You weren’t letting him intimidate you. – “Who’s asking.” – replied you, moving your lips closer to his. He could feel your breath on his lips, making him shudder away. – “What are you doing here?” – asked he then. – “Same as you.” – answered you calmly. He didn’t answer back, just looked at you. observed you. He moved his head a bit to the side, so that his ear was closer to you. You swallowed a bit, finding the silence a bit tense.
He suddenly smiled, turning his head towards you again. He let go of you, turning his back on you. – “Hell’s kitchen has no place for you!” – stated he, making very clear to you that he worked alone. You removed yourself from the wall, creeping up on him. – “I wouldn’t mind dancing…” – started you, coming to stand behind him. Very close that your chest was almost touching his. Moving your hand up, wanted you to let it slide down his shoulder. – “with the devil.” – finished you in his ear, your hand hovering over his shoulder to go towards his chest. With a quick grip had he his hand around your wrist. It startled you a bit, catching you off guard. He spun himself around, a dark grin on his lips. He took a step closer to you, his face inches away from your head.
You breathed out slowly, feeling his breath on your jawline. – “Believe me…” – whispered he to you. – “You couldn’t handle a night with the devil.” – your entire body shuddered from the tension he was releasing on you. It made him smirk, your heart pounding like a maniac. Before you knew it had he reached one of the broken windows. He sat on the frame, looking over his shoulder to you. – “Stay out of it!” – called he out to you, disappearing into the night. You puffed loud, crossing your arms. – “Who does he think he is?” – called you out loud, speaking to yourself and some unconscious men. – “As if he is the only one with a vendetta against Kingpin.” – scoffed you out. Hearing sirens in the distance, took you, your leave as well. Disappearing into the night. For it would not be your last night. No one was going to stop you, not even a devil who had such dare.
***
With heavy rain in your face, were you running stealthily over the rooftops. A guy who moved like a freaking ninja in pursuit. You jumped over a metallic pipe, slowing your tempo a bit down. The guy in pursuit, almost flew over it, making you gasp loud. You ran up to the end of the rooftop, being surprised by a fall to death. You gripped onto the edge, looking down at the deep alleyway below. Of course there was the fire-escape hanging on the side of the building, but it was too low for you to reach. You quickly turned around, standing face to face with one of Kingpin’s trusty men. He pointed his knife at you, luring you out. You took a few steps closer to him, readying yourself to fight him. You motioned for him to approach you as you were ready to take him on.
Just as he was about to run over, was he suddenly gone. The devil standing in his place, grunting loud. You saw Kingpin’s man rolling over the rooftop, being hit by the devil himself. – “I told you to stay out of it!” – called he out, pointing at you as his face was still facing Kingpin’s man on the ground. – “And I decided to ignore that stupid ass decision.” – replied you, hearing him chuckle. – “I’m not going to ask you again! Back off!” – yelled he out, this time turning his head towards you. – “We’ll see about that.” – said you, running up to him. You kicked him in the stomach, releasing a blow of energy on him. The devil got throw almost across the rooftop, smacking against the other edge.
You tilted your head a bit to the side, focusing your attention on kingpin’s men. – “We weren’t finished yet.” – said you, cracking your knuckles. You readied your fist, feeling the energy flow through your veins, building up in one spot. Your hand started to glow in a shade of white. You screamed it out when you received a blow against your cheek. You stumbled down, seeing the devil hover over you. – “What are you?” – asked he of you, clearly still trying to figure you out. You got up to your feet, calling it out as you lashed out to him. He easily blocked your punch, standing face to face with you.
Pulling yourself away, went you for another round. He easily blocked it as well. You threw in a kick, making him catch your leg before it could hit his body. You hadn’t been storing any energy in those limbs, so your punches weren’t as strong as before. He suddenly pushed you away from him just as kingpin’s man waved with his knife in the direction of both of you. His knife landed in the space between you, leaving the devil to grab his arm. With a punch of his elbow, released he his grip on the knife. You gritted your teeth, not finished with the devil, throwing a punch at him. He easily predicted what you were going to do, pulling the guy before him like a human shield.
You hit him in the stomach, sucking the air out of his lungs. The devil then tossed him aside, kicking you back. You stumbled backwards against the edge of the rooftop. – “You really want a go at this?” – asked he, motioning with his hand for you to come closer. Wiping your nose with the back of your hand, got you back up. – “I do!” – spitted you back, not wanting to give him the pleasure. He curled up a smile, readying himself. You did the same, walking in a circle with him. Almost like a dance. You clenched your hand, collecting your energy in your fist.
You noticed a slight change in the devil’s body language as if he sensed what you were doing. You called it out, going for him. The devil did the same, ready with his fist. The two of you were about to clash when Kingpin’s man made his debut again. You quickly staggered back, missing his knife by an inch. The devil kicked him in the face. The guy stumbled your way as you punched his other cheek, sending him wobbling back over to the devil. – “We make quite the team.” – breathed you out. You swore you could see a tiny smile on his lips. – “Don’t push it!” – replied he, kicking the guy in his sheen. He sunk to the ground, calling it out in pain.
The devil went after you again. He wanted to make it clear to you that he worked alone. Taking much pride in it. He grabbed you by the shirt, your back leaning over the edge. – “I’m not saying this again!” – called he out, pushing your back firmer on the edge. You took a hold of his wrist, wanting to be sure that he wouldn’t suddenly let go. If he did, you would simply tip over the edge into the darkness. – “I don’t need you!” – the tone in his voice firmly as he spoke every word out slow and with a deeper meaning. Your heart rate went up at the sudden sense of danger. You were hanging on the edge, your life in the hands of another. – “Do you understand!” – continued he.
In a split second fell you weightless. Your body being held by feathers, your scream caught in your throat. Your mouth was wide open as your hands clawed desperately in the air, no sounds coming out of it. The devil had widened his eyes, feeling that his hands were empty. He came leaning over the edge, listening to your heartbeat. It was racing up in high speed, making him clench his jaw. Kingpin’s man had punched him with the back of his knife between his shoulders, releasing his grip onto you. You managed to hold onto a bar of the fire escape, breaking your fall a bit. The sudden snap made you release your grip, landing on the lower platform of the fire escape, squealing in pain. The devil jumped over the edge, landing on the highest platform.
He then made his way stealthily down, constantly focused on your heartbeat. He made it to where you were, kneeling beside you. – “Are you hurt?” – asked he worriedly. You gave him a push against his chest, not knowing what kind of charade he was putting on. – “You dropped me!” – yelled you at him. – “I…I…I didn’t meant to.” – answered he. You seated yourself down, putting pressure on your back. – “Right! How am I supposed to believe you didn’t just wanted to paralyze me, so I was out of your way.” – groaned you out, inhaling sharply from the pain.
“I’m not that cruel.” – responded he. – “Playing with the big boys is harder than it looks, right.” – added he with a slight bit of mockery towards you. You punched him in the shoulder to act out on him. You tried to stand as he quickly came to your aid. – “I don’t need your help!” – bit you at him, throwing his hand off your arm. You took a hold of the stairs, groaning in pain as you tried to make your way down. Your movement got pulled to a stop by a hand around your arm. – “Look you can’t be walking the streets like that!” – pointed he out, making you exhale deep. You spun around to him, sighing loud for him to hear. – “Well what would you have me do then?”
A large panel got slide aside as it functioned as a door. He gave you a small nudge in your shoulder, telling you to enter. You stumbled forwards as he pulled the ‘door’ to a shut. – “Make yourself at home.” – said he, walking casually around you. – “Who are you?” – questioned you, looking upon the most normal apartment. – “What, you think I lived in a cave or something with knifes hanging on the walls.” – chuckled he out, making you roll your eyes. – “No.” – answered you, stepping deeper into his apartment. – “just… different.” – you swallowed, moving slowly, biting through the pain. – “Sit!” – demanded he off you, pointing at his sofa. You limped your way over to it, letting yourself fall into the comfy seat.
You exhaled relieved, feeling some pressure released from your spine. He returned to you with a pack of ice, handing it over to you. – “You really gonna keep the mask?” – asked you curious. He pressed his lips together, turning his back to you. You shrugged your shoulders, placing the pack of ice against your back. You immediately shuddered in both pleasure and pain. He made his way over to his table, hesitating to take his mask off. He exhaled deep, bringing his hand to the back of his head. With one pull, tore he his mask off his face. Exposed and feeling a bit weird, breathed he out deep. Placing his mask down, was he still doubtful if it was a right thing to do.
Without thinking much further, walked he back over to you. He seated himself down. You noticed him, gulping silently at his handsome face. You had expected a messed-up face, scratches, and scars all over the place. Instead were you staring at a handsome young man with a clean face. - “A face! Does the face has a name as well?” – called you out loud, seeing him crack a tiny smile. – “Mine is Y/n if you were wondering.” – said you as first, letting him off the hook a bit. – “Matt.” – answered he. – “How’s the pain.” – asked he, pointing at you without looking away from the wall he was facing. – “It’s… it’s alright…” – replied you with a slight narrow of your eyes.
There was definitely something off about him. – “Why are you doing this?” – continued he to ask. – “I mean playing vigilante.” – you moved a bit uncomfortable, clenching your jaw at a sting of pain. – “I…I…” – you exhaled deep, looking down at your own lap. – “Kingpin hurt someone close to me…family… I’m not letting him get away with it that easily.” – Clenching your hand, channeled you subconsciously energy at your hand. Matt sensed it again, inhaling sharply. – “What is up with that?” – you blinked surprised, looking at your own hand as if seeing it for the first time. – “Oh…” – breathed you out. – “I’m… I’m what you call a mutant. I can channel any kind of energy through my body, releasing it with a good blow or so.”
“What’s up with you.” – shot you right back, wanting to know his deal as well. Matt swallowed slowly. – “I’m blind.” – confessed he. You hummed baffled. You leaned a bit closer holding your hand out. You wanted to poke him in the cheek with your finger to see if he truly was what he said he was. Before your hand even reached his cheek, had he his grip around your wrist. Not even moving an inch with his head. He pushed your hand down, getting up. – “You can spend the night here, but then you leave, Y/n.” – you watched him go into another part of his apartment.
Exhaling deep, sunk you deeper down into his sofa. Before the morning light were you gone already. Matt slowly awoke from his alarm. He stretched out, remembering he had let you in yesterday. He got out of his bed, walking into the grand living space. He couldn’t hear another heartbeat, making it certain that you had left. He exhaled deep, feeling a bit disappointed that you had left already. Frowning at his own thoughts, laughed he loud. He should be glad you were gone, for the devil works alone.
***
You jumped into an alleyway, thinking you were there first, but Matt landed in the same alleyway as you at the same time. – “You’ve got to be…” – mumbled you out, seeing Matt turn his head in annoyance at your presence. – “I told you to stay the hell away!” – called he out. You walked over to him, pausing close to his ear. – “I don’t listen very well.” – whispered you at him, continuing to strut away. Matt inhaled sharply, coming after you. You were making your way over to the building when a grip around your ankle, made you fall flat forwards. Matt walked past you, shrugging his shoulders.
Clenching your jaw, pushed you, your fist against the ground. Getting up quickly, ran you around the corner. Matt stood in the doorway, waving at you as he closed the door before him. It made you groan out loud annoyed that he kept getting in your way. The door wouldn’t budge as he must have blocked it. Letting all the energy flow towards your hand, clenched you, your grip. Wanting to make an entrance, punched you the brick wall. Clapping your hands together, walked you in, stepping over the crumbled bricks. – “Honey I’m home!” – called you out loud, wanting Matt to hear you.
You stood a bit lost in the dark room, wondering if there was even a fight going on. It wasn’t until you heard clear punches being sold, that you smirked. You made your way quickly up the stairs, seeing Matt already busy in the fight. He punched a guy in the face, making him stumble on his feet. You grabbed the guy by his shoulder pulling him towards you. Handing him one of your own punches, fell he to the ground. Matt turned to you stunned, like a lion that had just been stolen his piece of meat by a hyena. He turned his head swiftly to the side, listening in as someone approached him. He diverted him, allowing him to crash into you. You fell to the ground with the man laying on top of you.
“Huh, I guess not fast enough.” – joked he out with a deep chuckle. You pushed the man off you, wanting to punch him as Matt pressed his foot on the man’s stomach. He swayed his finger from side to side at you, telling you no. You called it out in annoyance that he kept proving to be better then you. You got up, walking away, letting Matt have his way with him. Matt felt a bit disappointed that he couldn’t taunt you anymore. You dodged knives and punches with such swiftness it almost seemed graceful. Matt and you were both stubborn in your fights, constantly trying to proof to be better than the other one.
Almost out of breath, delivered you a final blow. You turned your head, widening your eyes at a sudden heavy weapon. – “F*ck.” – breathed you out, seeing the weapon point at you. It was like a rocket launcher, ready to fire. Matt sprinted up to you, tackling you just when the rocket was launched. You smacked to the ground, rolling over with Matt’s arms around you. The rocket hit the wall, blowing a huge piece of the building up. Matt was laying on top of you, holding his head down, his lips close to your jawline. Crumbled pieces of building fell on top of him, shielding you from it. A wave of dust made its debut as well, coating the both of you.
Matt coughed loud, lifting his head a bit up, his lips inches away from yours. He froze, hearing your heart beat loud and clear. It was speeding up as he couldn’t ignore his own heart racing up as well. – “You okay Y/n?” – asked he, his breath against your lips which felt so intimate. You slowly nodded, answering afterwards as Matt couldn’t see what you did. He pulled himself up, leaving you breathless. He held his hand out to you as you took it, letting him pull you up. The guy with the rocket launcher threw the weapon away as it only had one hit. Matt puffed his chest up, clenching his jaw. He made his way over in a very intimidating way.
You followed close by, wiping some dust off your face. Matt grabbed the guy by his shirt. He smacked him against the wall, dragging him along it. He then released his grip onto him, sending him rolling on the floor. He made his way over, kicking him in the stomach. It turned you a bit on at how brutal he was handling him. When blood was gushing out of his nose, called you him to a stop. He stopped, his blooded fist, hovering the guy’s face. He let go of him as you moved by his side. You stared at Matt, feeling a sudden urge wanting to kiss him. He must’ve felt the same as he grabbed you.
He moved his hand to your shoulder, moving your hair up as he tried to reach your cheek, kissing you firmly. Your body shuddered at his kiss that felt so violent on your lips. Pulling him closer to your body, kissed you him deeper. Matt moved his thumb up towards your nose, trying to feel more of your features. Both of you pulled away out of breath. You nudged him with your hip. – “Does this mean we’re a team Matt?” – questioned you with a smile. Matt shook his head with a silly smile on his lips. – “I’ll think about it.” – whispered he out, cupping your cheeks to kiss you again.
Matt Murdock x Mutant!Reader, Bucky x Mutant!Reader Part 5
A/N: Part 5 is here my lovelies! I hope you all enjoy! As always, feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated and let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list. Have a lovely day! ✨✨✨
Summary: Imagine being the daughter of Wolverine and an FBI agent. You used to be a part of Bucky’s past. A distant part of his past that he had forgotten over time, until one day, he sees your face shadowed behind the public eye, like an apparition, almost as if you didn’t exist. Confused over your existence and questioning whether what he saw was real, broken memories of you come flooding back to him, and Bucky finds himself scrambling to search for clues that would lead to who you are and why he feels as if he had seen you before. You on the other hand had moved on, starting a new life for yourself and even finding yourself working with a certain lawyer. After the horrors you faced, you wanted to leave your past behind you, eventually forgetting mostly everything that ever happened. That is until the former Winter Soldier brings those memories all back.
Warnings: language, angst, blood and violence. Trigger warning, this chapter involves descriptions of a crime scene: homicide and sexual assault against a minor, so please do not read this if you feel this may affect you. I will also input trigger warnings around the areas that this theme is mentioned.
You pulled up to the sight of the crime scene you were just called into after working on some files at the office during the morning, parking your car on the side of the road that led to a local hiking trail as the lights of the cop cars danced across your face in patterns of reds and blues. You remained in your seat for a moment, your knuckles turning white from gripping your wheel as you stared off into the distance, drowning out the sound of the police radios with deep and steady breaths as you tried to prepare yourself for what you might come across. You usually liked to keep yourself preoccupied, whether it was your work or other simple things like reading a book, it helped to distract you from whatever it was you needed to take your mind off of. But now that you didn’t have your head buried in files and reports, your thoughts began to drift off to what had happened earlier. Various speculations ran through your head as you tried to analyze the things Matt had said to you and why he had even done so in the first place. Perhaps you were overthinking it. Sure, Karen was an extremely attractive woman, and you found yourself feeling silly for even thinking of the idea as if Matt knew what she looked like. But it wasn’t so much that, it was the way she looked at him that made you doubt everything he told you. Maybe the things he said were just a ploy, one of his lawyer tactics to get you to get over the anger you had for him so that you would end up helping with his case. If there was one thing he was good at, it was his way with words. Matt almost always knew what to say and he could be persuasive at times. And if there was one thing you were good at, it was knowing whether he was being honest or just being full of bullshit. If only you could have deciphered which one if it weren’t for your emotions getting in the way.
Turning off your engine, you stepped out of your car, squinting your eyes against the glare of the sun and searching the faces of the officers nearby. After throwing on your sunglasses you spotted the familiar head of dark brown curls sticking out from behind a Buick. Upon spotting you, your partner Pedro who was leaning against his car, waved you over. “Gomez.” You walked over to him, giving him a short and polite smile.
“Afternoon y/l/n. You feeling better?”
“Yeah. So what have we got here?”
“They found a dead body about a mile off the trail.” Pedro told you before walking alongside you to the destination.
“Any witnesses?” You brought up, your eyes focused on the dirt and pieces of mud that started to coat the tops of your boots while keeping a lookout for anything that could be a piece of evidence as you trudged deeper into the thicket of trees.
“A park ranger. Said he heard something between the trees and went to check it out and that’s when he found the body.”
“And the suspect?”
“Fled the scene before anyone arrived.”
“Any identification of a vehicle?”
“As of yet, no.”
“What about the media? They haven’t heard about this yet have they?”
“No. I have a few officers stationed outside in specific areas to block off all possible access to the scene.
"Good. Not a word of this to the press. Not until we know what’s going on.”
“Got it.”
Some time had passed, though not much. The sun was still high in the sky, its rays shrouded by the dense leaves and branches of the trees that covered the grounds. The smell of pine, damp soil from the moisture left over by the morning fog, and the smell of sap leaking from the cracks of trunks filled the air as Pedro and you hiked off the trail and ventured deeper into the woods, following the two officers in front of you. When you began to approach the area of concern, there in the distance your ears picked up on the sound of people moving about, paired with the soft chatter of voices as they discussed important issues with each other that seemed to blend with the preferred quietness of some. You noticed how some of them were unsettled, their muscles stiff as they carried out their duties while the rest carried an air of composure and focus resulted by the years spent working in the field. The familiar dark blue uniforms of the police and the black windbreakers with the printed word “Forensics” in white block letters were seen moving about the area inside the yellow tape that went around the perimeter.
“Here we are.” Pedro commented as the two of you ducked under the tape while making sure to be extra cautious where you stepped. “Hey, before you go any further,” Pedro stopped you, his eyes searching the ground as he tried to find the right words to say. “this…..this one is different. It might…….upset you.”
***Trigger Warning Beginning***
You gave Pedro a puzzled look, searching the clouded look in the dark chestnut depths of his irises that were shadowed beneath his brows that were currently knitted together. Being mindful of his words, you turned your head in the direction on your left where the trees had formed a clearing, the sun shining some light onto the patch where most of the others were gathered. You had caught note of the faint smell while you were still a distance away, a smell that you could never get used to, the sharp and stinging smell of rot that burned the inside of your nose and made you want to hurl. You knew there would be a dead body before you even arrived at the scene. Having knowledge that a location had a dead body was one thing, seeing it was another. The thing when expecting corpses was that you never knew just what to expect.
Just a few feet away, towards the center, a few personnel of the forensics team were crouched near the ground with their cameras, their flashes going off in clicks and sparks of white as they snapped multiple shots involving different angles of the body that was there. It seemed as if time had slowed down as you moved closer to investigate, your feet were heavy, like someone had tied weights to them using iron chains that burned against the flesh on your ankles. You could feel the eyes of those around you, hear the heartbeats of the members of the crime scene unit as they took a quick look at your stone like face before stepping aside as you passed. You nearly gasped at the sight, feeling your heart stop in your chest and fall to your stomach as your eyes bore into the lifeless face of the girl that lied there, a child.
“My god.” You breathed out with a clenched jaw, the ends of your lips turned downwards as you struggled to get ahold of the image. The girl, of age 14 or 15, lied there unsettlingly amongst the patch of grass, her skin ghostly white and the curls of her blonde hair splayed out behind her. It looked almost as if she were sleeping, and the somewhat peaceful image that was displayed haunted you to the core because of the monstrosity that lurked behind it. She was placed on her back with her hands folded neatly above her stomach, holding a single lily between her thin fingers. She was dressed in this white georgette dress that stopped a bit above her knees, the white fabric hinting just the faintest shade of pink while flowers adorned her hair, an assortment of lilacs and daisies. One would think that after working in this field after a certain amount of time, you’d get used to seeing stuff like this. But no, it never got easier. If anything, you just didn’t vomit like you did the first time you saw one.
“There’s speculation this one might be tied to the other 3 girls that were found.” Pedro crossed his arms over his chest as he watched you get a closer look.
“The other three? You mean the other 3 girls that were found in rivers in Massachusetts and Rhode Island? I read the files.”
“What can you make of it?” Pedro asked as he pulled out a notepad and pen from his pocket, the tip of the pen hovering over the paper as he waited for your observations.
“The murder victim is female, age 14 or 15.” You stated, pulling up the fabric of your pants before crouching down to your knees while slipping on a clean pair of gloves, the dry texture of the latex sticking against your skin as you pulled it over your wrists. “This one is fresh, killed not too long ago unlike the others that were in the later stages of decomposition. I’d say the time of death was……7 hours and 16 minutes ago. There’s….some bruising on her wrists that look like rope marks, silk.”
“Silk?” Pedro quirked a brow. “How can you tell?”
“The imprint of fibers.” You pointed to her wrists.
“What else?”
“He had her locked up, tied her up to make sure she wouldn’t escape. But he didn’t starve her, no, she was well fed. It looks like the suspect put some makeup on her. Not a lot, just some blush on her cheeks and some lipstick. Her nails are clean. She was……..groomed well, there’s hardly any traces of dirt on her. She has………..” You gulped, your nails digging into your palms as you pressed the back of your knuckles against your mouth.
“What is it?”
“There’s uh, bruising………near her inner thighs and uh……….signs of sexual assault.” Your voice came out in a broken whisper. “…………Have the forensics found any traces of semen?”
“None.”
“He made sure to wash her up. Fucking bastard piece of shit.”
“Hey.” You felt Pedro’s hand on the back of your shoulder. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Can we please move further?”
“……….What do you call the cause of death?”
“There’s no severe signs of strangulation or physical trauma.” You sniffed over her body with twisted lips, using your senses to pick up on any certain smells that could be a clue before recoiling from the acidic scent that burned through your nostrils, making you cough as a result. “Nightshade poisoning from ingestion. Hang on………..she’s wearing perfume.”
“Perfume? Any idea what brand?”
“………..Eleganter Schwan 06.”
“Say what?”
“Wait…….there’s more.” You stopped him, closing your eyes and breathing in the air. “There’s……leftover traces of cologne…………Clive Christian’s Original Collection.”
“You think the suspect was wearing it?”
“Positive.”
“How did you know what brands they are?” Pedro looked intently in surprise at the side of your face, watching the way your eyes darted around as you started to put everything together.
“I was studying abroad in France the summer of my sophomore year in uni and the place I was staying at was right next to a perfume shop. I used to have this little routine where everyday after class I would stop by the shop and test out the little sample bottles, a new perfume each day until I found the one I liked.”
“Makes sense, so what’s your analysis?”
“The suspect is a male, early 40s. He’s careful, made sure to leave no witness or any pieces of evidence that could lead back to him. But this,” you pointed towards the girl. It’s like he wants to show off, like he wanted us to find her.”
“Why the hell would he want us to find her?”
“To show off. If he wanted to hide her he could’ve hid her or dumped her in the river like the rest but no. The bastard wanted to show off his twisted sense of sentiment, which explains the elaborateness. He’s also wealthy.”
“Wealthy? What makes you say that?”
“The perfume and the cologne. They’re priced at about half a thousand each. The dress is Armani which is close to a thousand dollars.”
“Jesus. Who the hell would spend so much on someone they’re about to kill?”
“Someone with a lot of money to spare.”
“What else can you make out?”
“Whoever did this……this man, sounds disgusting but I think he loved her.”
“People don’t exactly kill the ones they love.”
“Which is why he did all this, it’s……..his way of honoring her death.” You gestured to the flowers. “You see, he thought he loved her, most likely has a twisted idea of what love is. But no, this man was obsessed with her, obsessed with her innocence, which explains the color of her dress and the flowers, they represent innocence and purity. His obsession with her also explains why he fixed her up like this. See those faint markings on her throat?” You pointed to the barely noticeable purple markings that lined her throat. “He tried to strangle her, but didn’t have the heart to finish the job. He also could have stabbed her or shot her, but that would have ruined her….image, so he poisoned her. I have a feeling this was his first planned target. Probably saw her somewhere in public when she caught his eye, maybe walking home from school? But he didn’t want to get to her yet so he killed the other three to satisfy his impulses. He took care of her, in his own sick way. Made sure to use soft ropes that are somewhat gentle on the skin, fed her and dressed her, and adorned her with flowers as if she was some kind of taxidermy that needed to be prepped and displayed.”
***Trigger Warning Ends Here***
“That’s one hell of an analysis Special Agent y/l/n.” You heard someone behind you speak up.
“Sir.” You stood up, turning around to your boss, the special agent in charge of your unit, Jack Morgan. He was a tall, thin man of age 50 with scattered gray hairs that lined the ash blondes of his hair. A pair of clubmaster glasses sat on the hook of his nose, the bottom rims of the frame somehow disguising the dark circles that sat under his hollow eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“No worries.” He waved you off with a polite smile sitting on his thin lips. “Any clue that might lead to identifying the suspect?“
"Not yet sir.” You shook your head. “I’m working on it. But I feel close.”
"Well. We better get this bastard in handcuffs fast before he does it again.” Jack nodded with his hands in his pockets before walking off to speak to one of the deputies. “Let me know if you find anything y/l/n.”
“Of course sir. I’ll let you know.”
“So what now?” Pedro turned towards you as the two of you walked away for a moment.
“I’ll look into the surrounding buildings near the school she went to including the ones around her home, see if there is a possibility he lives in one of them, or at least visits them and etc. I’ll also check into the local perfume retailers, see which ones carry the brands I mentioned and get a list of who had bought them. We also need to keep a lookout on any gardens in the area. He mostly likely has a garden set up specially for his poisonous plants.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’ll see what I can find too.” Pedro nodded before noticing the distant look into your eyes. "You okay? I know this case mustn’t have been easy for you.”
“It’s just…..a lot to take in you know.” Your shoved your hands into your pockets as you kicked the dirt at your feet. Your voice had a slight tremble in it as a shiver ran through your body. You couldn’t tell if it was the cold breeze or the crime scene itself that wanted to make you curl into your blanket and hide. But, you were also beyond furious, disgusted, and even scared, scared of what this asshole of a man was capable of. You couldn’t even seem to get yourself to stay still. Your hands and legs were itching to throw on a pair of mma gloves and go to the nearest martial arts club and go full force on a punching bag, kicks and jabs and all, maybe even throw the damn thing though the wall. Better yet, you wanted to find the fucking bastard that did this, maybe even beat his face in a little, use him as your punching bag before locking him up. But more than anything you were furious with yourself, upset that you weren’t able to find out who this sick fuck was.
“You think you’re able to…..you know.” Pedro nodded towards the corpse of the girl. Him and your boss were the only other people, or non-mutants rather, that knew about your past and what you could do, after all, it was Charles who had recommended you to them. After you were pardoned, they needed to know just who was coming in to work for them.
“I don’t know.” You faltered. “I’ve done it before with living people, but this, this is different. I’m a telepath, not a necromancer.”
“She was killed recently.” He noted as he followed the doubtful look in your eye. “Maybe there’s a chance some remnants of her……energy or…soul is left.”
You stared into the face of the girl for some time, your lips pursed in thought at the paleness of her face that was probably once radiant and full of life, now cold and lifeless and never again given the chance to do the things that most children her age will be given the chance to experience. Everything was stolen from her. You couldn’t imagine what the parents must be going through, to hear that their little girl was lying dead somewhere due to the hands of some murderous bastard serial killer. “…………I can try. See if it works. I just………don’t know if I’m ready for what I might see.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t to.”
***Trigger Warning begins here***
“No. Whether I want to or not is not important. But this,” you pointed towards the girl. “This is important. I need to be up close though in order to see if I can pick up on something.” You walked back over to the girl’s body once the forensics team had left, crouching down on the ground where she lay while Pedro kept a lookout for you to make sure no one noticed. You breathed in a heavy sigh, taking a few reps of deep and heavy puffs of air to prepare yourself for whatever horrors you might face before closing your eyes and hovering your gloved hand over her head. Your mother had the gift of sight, just like you, and she too was able to read the thoughts of those around her. But the visions she received were different than yours, she was able to see ahead into the further, of events that have yet to come. You tried to hone in on the advice Charles had taught you. Being a telepath himself, he was able to help you with a few things in order to harness your power, like reaching out for something that had meaning, something that invoked a strong sense of emotion in you. So you followed his steps.
At first there was nothing, just the sounds that were present to the mortal ear; like the gentle breeze that whispered through the leaves of trees, the sound of footsteps against the patches of grass and dirt and mud, the chirping of birds perched in the branches of the trees around you, and the few uttering of voices discussing a mixture of the mundane and subjects related to the case. There was a certain stillness in the nature around you that one would have thought to be peaceful had they not seen the corpse that laid amongst the grass, and the feeling of it twisted your stomach in words you could not explain. It was too sunny for a day such as this.
With another deep breath, you started to zone out your surroundings, cutting out the voices and the sounds of nature until you could hear the sound of everyone’s heartbeats, and then finally their thoughts. In the beginning, it was chaos. You winced against the many voiceless words that belonged to the minds of those around you, each one thinking of something different than the other. Step by step, you cut them out, focusing instead on the mind of the lifeless body of the girl that laid in front of you. You struggled, straining to see anything, hear anything, but there was nothing, just emptiness. Yet you pushed on, desperate to find something. Your brows were knit together at the center of your forehead from your effort, the strain you were inflicting on yourself causing a vein to pop out at your temple.
And then there it was, faint, and hidden in the depths of something beyond the physical, like looking at a screen or a mirage far off in the distance. So you reached towards it, focused all your strength on that faraway image. And then it hit you like a bus. You were engulfed with screams, screams that belonged to the little girl that completely enveloped you and pierced your ears. It felt as if these invisible iron chains had wrapped around you, pulling you closer into the depths of her mind. And that is when the nature of your surroundings had vanished and you found yourself looking through her eyes. There was this room, but all you could see was the ceiling, a white tiled ceiling with designs molded into each panel and a chandelier hanging from the center. Your arms and legs were tied, constricting you of any moment on what felt like a bed beneath you. A dark shadow moved from the side of the room, and that’s when you saw him, a face of a man hovering over you, the angle of the light casting a shadow on his face that made him resemble a demon with a sickening smile that stretched from ear to ear.
***Trigger Warning ends here***
You awoke from the vision with a start, your heart pounding and your forehead beaded with sweat as you struggled to breath, choking on the air in your lungs. You felt a warm liquid run down from your nose, the taste of copper filling your lips as a sickening sensation suddenly overcame you.
“Y/n?” You heard Pedro’s voice, muffled against the ringing in your ears as if a loud explosion had damaged them. You struggled up to your feet, the world around you spinning as you swayed with each step. You heard his voice call out for you again, but all you could focus on was your vision becoming more blurry by the second with each step you took as you tried to exit the area. After pushing past the yellow tape, you held onto the tree next to you for support, the throbbing in your head getting more powerful by the second. With a cold ice-like sensation washing over you, you doubled over and vomited onto the dirt in front of you before collapsing to the ground, your vision becoming black as you lost all consciousness.
When you had awoken, you found Pedro crouched next to you, his eyes trained on your face as he pressed a cold washcloth against your forehead.
“Ugh….” You groaned, shifting your body to notice that Pedro had sat you up against the tree. “Did I pass out? And please tell me I didn’t fall on my puke.”
“You were unconscious for a good two minutes. And no, you didn’t fall on your puke. You okay?”
“I don’t know. I got dizzy all of a sudden.”
“……….You saw something didn’t you?” Pedro had stopped, lowering the washcloth down to his side as his eyes searched yours, both out of concern and out of curiosity.
You stared at him for a moment with a solemn expression, the pain you had experienced through the girl visible in your eyes. “……….She was in so much pain.” You choked out. You wanted to cry, to scream, anything to make all that you felt go away. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t so much as shed a tear or else you would risk being taken off the case for involving too much emotion.
“…………What about the suspect?”
You looked away for a moment, recounting the things you had seen. “I……I couldn’t see his face. The room was dark. She was in so much pain Pedro.” You lied. Lied about not having seen his face. You had seen every detail of that bastard’s face, and it was everything you needed. You knew what you had to do.
Pedro nodded his head in understanding before listening quietly at what you had told him about what the girl had been through, his jaw clenched in anger. He felt guilty for making you preform such a task, believing that he had endangered you in some way. “I shouldn’t have put you through that.”
“No Pedro, it’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong. I agreed to do it. It was to help with the investigation, to help catch this sick bastard remember?”
“You should go home.” Pedro gave you a regretful smile. “Get some rest. You look like shit after that.”
“You’re telling me.” You gave him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before getting up with a grunt as he helped support you up.
“Need me to walk you back to your car?”
“Nah. I’m fine. Thank you though Pedro.” You went back to your car, giving Pedro a wave as you went while he watched you go with a look of worry written across his dark olive skin. Something was off about you, and he had a gut feeling that you had not told him the whole truth regarding the vision you had.
When you returned back to your parked car, you took out your keys and unlocked the door, opening it up to get into the driver’s seat until a small piece of paper caught your eye, falling down right beside your feet. You stared suspiciously down at the dark gray rectangular piece of cardstock that looked to be a business card, seeing no print or writing on the side that was currently facing up. “What in the?” You muttered out, taking a quick glance around before dropping down to pick it up. The card was thick and smooth, of a matte finish, and felt heavy in your hands as you brought it up to your face. Small ridges lined the surface as you ran your thumb across the texture. Something about this card seemed off, causing the world around you to feel cloudy as an unnatural feeling started to form in the pit of your stomach. With trembling hands, you turned the card around to see a five letter word hand written across in maroon ink. A name. Laura.
summary:life isn’t all that bad as a former black widow turned hit woman. that is, until you meet a certain pain in the ass vigilante.
and end up needing his help.
word count:3.3k
warnings: ANGST, injury, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt no comfort, claire cameo my beloved!, matt makes bad decisions because he feels guilty, mentions of black widow traumas (mainly abuse & human trafficking)
author’s note: yes, my update schedule is every other week now, but i’m feeling generous today. also a little more matt pov, because the reader’s feelings are not completely one sided. enjoy this angsty chapter.
Fic Trade Prompt: "Sometimes the ‘Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’ just needed a shoulder to lean on.“
Notes: I only ever saw the first season of Daredevil. Also, I mostly chose to write this particular fic trade response because I wanted an excuse to write something that, for me, was a shoutout to His Dark Materials, a book series I’m enormously fond of.
I don’t actually know anything about Catholicism, however, and as a Christian myself, I realize His Dark Materials is not exactly a reliable source for learning about the topic of religion. If you are Catholic and something in here is incorrect, I implore you to inform me so that I can fix the problem. If it’s so horrendously awful that a mere edit won’t work, I’m even willing to rewrite it.
In more specific-to-the-fic information, this is one of my few fic trade responses where I tried my hardest to stay within the word count restrictions. Alas, I still went over…and trying so hard means that this really isn’t near as sensory-overload-descriptive as I would want something from Matt’s perspective to be.
A Matter of Sanity
Matt woke up that morning to a barrage of sensory assault: warm sunlight splayed across his skin; humidity from the bathroom down the hall dampened the short hairs on his face; the smell of strange perfume sticking to the semi-cooled sheets beside him and his familiar shampoo drifting through the air. Toast had been made–and nearly burned–in the kitchen sometime that morning. He could hear the medicine cabinet closing, then bare feet padding toward him. Through all these floating, fuzzy feelings sliced his injuries from the night before: cuts, bruises, blisters, maybe a sprained wrist.
“Morning, Mattie.”
Andthere was the reason he had not meditated after the fight, the reason his wounds felt as fresh as though he’d got them minutes before.
Said reason lighted on the edge of his bed and slipped soft fingers into his sleep-mussed hair. “Did you sleep well last night?”
In answer, Matt let out an incomprehensible moan. As far as he could remember, not much sleeping had taken place in the apartment the night before. Still, he wasn’t one to quibble over what he’d been doing instead. Seconds later, he sat up, forcing you to stop playing with his hair so that he could wrap his arms around your waist and put his cheek against your moist, bare shoulder.
“Are you sure you’ve never done that before?” he mumbled.
You laughed, a sound that always caused a pleasant unfurling sensation to spread through Matt’s stomach. “Sorry. A girl has to have some secrets, even from her all-knowing, all-seeing blind lawyer friend.”
“Is that what we are? Friends?” Matt chuckled himself and tightened his grip as he pressed a kiss to your skin. “You are the worst nun I have ever met.”
Another laugh, then you gently patted his cheek with your shower-warmed hand. “Well, maybe that’s why I decided not to be one anymore. What do you want for lunch?”
The weight on his mattress vanished at the same time your body did.
“Lunch? What time is it?”
Frowning, Matt turned in the direction he heard you moving–toward where you had left the majority of your clothes the night before. Whether he had pulled them off or you had, he couldn’t quite remember. Then a more important question popped out of his mouth:
“Did you say you quit being a nun?”
You only bothered to answer his first two questions: “It’s nearly eleven o’ clock. Figured if you wanted to go somewhere, we’d better head that way, and frankly, Matt, there’s nothing in this apartment but beer.”
“Eleven? It’s Thursday. I can’t go to lunch. I’m already late for work–what was that about stopping nun-ing?”
“I called in for you. Foggy whined about you skipping over a woman as usual, but–”
“[Name],” said Matt. “The thing about your job?”
You heaved a dramatic sigh. “I quit, okay? I was going to tell you when I came over last night, but after all that, I kind of figured I didn’t have to anymore.”
“Some clarification might have been nice.” Matt hadn’t felt an overabundance of guilt at sleeping with you. It took two to tango, after all, and you’d been just as willing as he had. Now some dread began to creep in. “Why’d you quit?”
A huff sounded from behind the fabric of the shirt over your face. “I met a tall, dark, handsome stranger beating the tar out of a Russian slave trader in an alley, and he made me rethink my life choices.”
“That’s a cliché.”
“So’s a blind ninja fighting slave traders in New York.”
“Not exactly.” Pressing his lips together, Matt slid out of his silk sheets. He knew his shirt was not far away, but he hadn’t started pulling it on yet when he went on, “I didn’t mean to have you quit.”
“Matt!” you groaned.
“You can’t come with me. I didn’t mean to make you to feel useless.”
“I’m a grown woman, and I make my own choices. Youdidn’tmake me feel or do anything–and I know I can’t go with you to punch Russians. I just wanted to do a little good for Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Youwere doing good for Hell’s Kitchen. With the Church.”
“Have to disagree with you there. And I’m not going back. You can’t make me. I want to experience the world. I want to helpyou.”
“I already said, you are not–“
“Iknow,” you interrupted. “There’s more to do than break people’s bodies, you know.”
Matt stared at you, or stared roughly in the direction he knew you continued to pull on various articles of clothing. Another sigh issued from there.
“When I got here last night to give you the news, you were bleeding and shaking from head to foot. There’s nothing to eat here but booze and bread. You can take care of yourself, but you’re not very good at looking afteryourself.”
He had never really thought about it that way. His work as Daredevil was vital; eating, less so. Matt already healed faster than most when he wasn’t busy deflowering ex-nuns, and what didn’t heal after that, he could plow through just fine. On the other hand…
“Are you inviting yourself to move in?” he asked.
There was an obvious smile in your voice when you answered, “Well, you are the reason I’m presently homeless and unemployed. If you hadn’t seduced me away from a life of worship and piety, I’d still be doing my holy work, Matt Murdock.”
“And you’re absolutely sure you’re done with being a nun.”
“I think what we did last night pretty much sealed the deal.”
“And there’d be more of that.”
“I’m leaning toward yes.”
“And you really want to live here. With me. With the giant blazing billboard right outside the window.”
He got a pillow to the face for his trouble, or would have, had he not caught it before it smacked him in the nose.
“Does it sound like I can afford to be picky about where I’m staying? I’m sure about all of the above. I can always move out once I find something else, if you decide you hate having me here.”
Your tone turned just a little uncertain at the end of that sentence. Matt stood and stepped carefully (in case of more pillows) over the smooth floor toward you.
“I won’t hate having you here,” he said. “Now that you mention it, it might be nice having someone here when I get home bleeding at two in the morning. To fuss over me and put me in place. When can you start?”
“Immediately.” You shoved something soft-ish into his chest. Pants, he realized as felt the hard button. “Now get dressed. It’s getting toward noon now and all that sex makes a girl hungry.”
“Right,” Matt said, and quickly started to pull on the pants.
Definitely the putting him in his place part, then. But maybe you were right. Maybe sometimes, the “Devil of Hell’s Kitchen” just needed a shoulder to lean on. He’d have to see, but he was leaning toward yes, too.
-summary; Matt comes home to find his cross missing. -warnings; blood, religious imagery. -a/n;Blue Horses, Mary Oliver
It had been a rough night. Matt could barely walk. He stumbled up the stairs, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. He was dying, maybe he was already dead. He struggled to unlock his front door. You listened from your place on his couch. You listened as he struggled.
The smell of you was the first thing Matt noticed. He breathed a sigh of relief. His apartment was warm and dry and it felt good to be home. You didn’t move. Normally, you would wander over to him, help him to the bathroom. But not tonight. Matt felt and fumbled his way to the couch. He collapsed into you. He wrapped his arms around your waist. You were familiar. Matt felt the life flow back into him, his skin warming under your hands. He could smell your perfume, your shampoo. It all calmed him. He ran his hands over your skin, mapping you out. He came up to your shoulders and then ran his fingers through freshly washed hair. His thumbs stroked your cheeks. You didn’t smile like you usually did. His hands were leaving trails of half-dried blood behind them, all over you. He dropped his touch to your neck, where he noticed something new.
You weren’t particularly religious. You never had been, not since Matt has known you. He first approached you because he could smell the lapsed-catholic guilt that radiated off of you. And he never left. Neither did the guilt. Matt had never known you to wear a cross, not like he did. You never usually wore necklaces at all. He could feel your rings digging into his thighs. He could hear your earrings chime with every shake of your head. But this necklace was new.
He took the chain between his fingers and ran them down, down until they reached a very familiar pendant. A cross, cold against his skin. This wasn’t yours. Suddenly he noticed the lack of a cross around his neck. It was his.
“You’re hurt,” you state. “You’re weak, Matt. You can barely stand.”
“I thought that’s how you like me,” he joked. “I think I look good in red, no?”
You shook your head. Blood was drying on your skin and you felt dirty, sinful. Hail Mary’s would not make up for this.
“This is mine,” he tugged harshly on the chain and your head lunged forward, your lips brushing against his.
“You forgot it here before you left.”
You unclasped it. Matt heard the cross jingle. He felt your hands behind his neck, cold metal on his chest. The chain settled around his neck. Matt touched yours again, it was bare.
You watched as Matt stood. He pulled his shirt over his head. His whole chest was covered in red. He rest on knee on the couch and leaned over you. His hand cupped your jaw, holding you still so he could kiss you. His tongue swept into your mouth and all you could taste was blood. You pushed Matt away.
“I don’t like it. Go wash it off. Patch yourself up.”
“Help me,” Matt pleaded.
You hovered your hand over Matt’s. He could feel you trembling. You were shaking uncontrollably. Matt knew what you meant. If you tried to sew him up, you’d only hurt him more. Matt nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. You scrubbed your hands and face clean in the kitchen sink. You scrubbed until your skin was raw. Matt reappeared behind you silently. You jumped at the feeling of his hands on your hips. He smelt clean. You were comfortable again, leaning back against his bare chest.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“You don’t have to make it pretty. It’s blood,” you pleaded. “it’s not meant to be pretty.”
“Everything is beautiful if you want it to be.”
“Maybe the desire to make something beautiful is the piece of God that is inside all of us.”
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.
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
The ballroom music flowed between the voices of a thousand strangers. It wasn’t Tchaikavsky, but something slow and simple. Matt wasn’t sure who wrote it, but the string quartet positioned on the small platform near the door had drawn the attention of several guests. They were all dressed in matching blacks, the pages of their sheet music turning every few minutes.
The calming tune was juxtaposed by Matt’s severe alertness. With so many people, their heels clicking and boots squeaking on the marble floor, dresses dragging against the ground, the sickly sweet scent of wine and champagne, jewelry clinging against glass, laughter echoing against the huge glass windows that faced the dark skies of New York, hushed whispers of gossip, conversations about who had performed in Prague or Versailles and who vacationed there or who was dating who or who had invested in the Lincoln and whether or not the wine was the right age or the champagne sweet enough or did they have something dry—
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
The ballroom music flowed between the voices of a thousand strangers. It wasn’t Tchaikavsky, but something slow and simple. Matt wasn’t sure who wrote it, but the string quartet positioned on the small platform near the door had drawn the attention of several guests. They were all dressed in matching blacks, the pages of their sheet music turning every few minutes.
The calming tune was juxtaposed by Matt’s severe alertness. With so many people, their heels clicking and boots squeaking on the marble floor, dresses dragging against the ground, the sickly sweet scent of wine and champagne, jewelry clinging against glass, laughter echoing against the huge glass windows that faced the dark skies of New York, hushed whispers of gossip, conversations about who had performed in Prague or Versailles and who vacationed there or who was dating who or who had invested in the Lincoln and whether or not the wine was the right age or the champagne sweet enough or did they have something dry—
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
The ballroom music flowed between the voices of a thousand strangers. It wasn’t Tchaikavsky, but something slow and simple. Matt wasn’t sure who wrote it, but the string quartet positioned on the small platform near the door had drawn the attention of several guests. They were all dressed in matching blacks, the pages of their sheet music turning every few minutes.
The calming tune was juxtaposed by Matt’s severe alertness. With so many people, their heels clicking and boots squeaking on the marble floor, dresses dragging against the ground, the sickly sweet scent of wine and champagne, jewelry clinging against glass, laughter echoing against the huge glass windows that faced the dark skies of New York, hushed whispers of gossip, conversations about who had performed in Prague or Versailles and who vacationed there or who was dating who or who had invested in the Lincoln and whether or not the wine was the right age or the champagne sweet enough or did they have something dry—
There was stimulus everywhere, most of which Matt filtered through and pushed aside, concentrating as he tried to listen for a sound he hoped not to hear. If the assassin came into the ballroom, he needed to be prepared. So he listened for knives hidden under clothes, or boots with steel toes, and kept tasting the air for hints of metal.
That, and he was waiting for Karen or Foggy to spot the ballerina. They had agreed, with little argument, that Matt should be the one to seek her out. Undoubtedly she would refuse Karen, who was doing a much better job at speaking to the fancy to-dos than either he or Foggy could. She was smiling, laughing at the right times, subtly trying to find out who was friends with the lead dancer, digging for information the way only a really good reporter could.
Foggy had acquired himself a drink, swiped up from a tray being carried by one of several trays being carried throughout the venue. He mingled, too, keeping his eyes open as he smiled and sipped at the too-weak alcohol.
Matt swiveled his head, listening for mention of the name or any sign that someone was not who they claimed to be. A bump on his shoulder got his attention, however, as Foggy moved in close.
“She’s at the bar,” he said, his eyes trained on the figure sitting at the bar. She had a martini, one she had yet to drink, her finger idly tracing the rim. “Third seat. She is… damn.”
He didn’t need an explanation. The woman was damnbeautiful- even from here he could smell the rich scent of her perfume, could make out the way her dress snaked over her form, leaving little to the imagination as she twisted sideways in her seat to speak to her costar. A laugh danced on her face, her eyes alight with alertness as she listened to his terrible jokes. Matt frowned, tilting his head as he caught the powdery, chemical smell of too much makeup. Her face was done up, of course, with red lipstick and mascara, but the smell was far more potent than her face would suggest.
“Got it,” he said, wrapping his hand more firmly around his cane. Foggy turned towards Karen, whispering in her ear, and her eyes flickered to watch Matt head towards the bar before turning her attention back to the well-suited man she was speaking to. Matt ignored them, blocking out any and all things that weren’t the woman sitting at the bar.
***
He was still talking. Minutes had ticked by as you did your best to be vaguely interested, letting yourself smile over the lip of your champagne glass as Danny- one of the other dancers, currently playing a prince- kept going, and going, and going, about the new boat he’d gotten just before the snow blew into New York. He’d been trying to convince you to take a trip to the Bahamas with him and his supermodel friends after the run of the show, but you weren’t interested in sunbathing on a deck in the ocean, or drinking wine coolers in your bikini– at least, not at the moment. There were sharper, more pressing things on your mind, and none of them involved getting on a boat with Danny.
But, bless his heart, he was trying very hard. He had that smug grin, standing too close as he leaned on one elbow and signaled the bartender for another round of drinks. You’d made the mistake of drinking your champagne just a hair too quickly in an attempt to still yourself, to stop yourself from telling Danny that no, you did not want to go on vacation and no,you were not going to sleep with him orhis supermodels.
You’d had enough. The perfectly poised mask you’d been wearing all night was starting to slip, and you could feel yourself moving toward another catastrophic failurethe longer you sat there. Clearing your throat, you excused yourself from Danny, ignoring the falter of his grin.
The glass windows overlooking the city were separated only by the double doors leading to the balcony. They pushed open soundlessly, the cold night air standing the hairs on your arm on end the moment you stepped outside. It was far too cold to be outside in only your dress, but for a moment, it was welcome. The snow melted the moment it landed on your bare shoulders, and the railing was iced over under your hands. You gripped it tightly, peering over the edge.
If you had stood there, alone in the cold as frost coated the city, for a few minutes longer, you might not have been there when it happened. You might have already gone to the green room, dug out your suit, and been on the roof of a high-rise downtown. You might have been getting on the elevator, or back at the bar with Danny. You might have had a drink or danced or found someone, anyone, to take home with you.
But you weren’t alone, and so you didn’t do any of those things, and it just might have saved your life.
Instead of doing any of those things, instead of spending some time alone, contemplating the things you mightdo, the double doors opened. You let go of the railing, flexing your fingers as the feeling returned to them. A stranger came through the ballroom doors, the light spilling over fresh snow between you.
Like everyone else, he was dressed in a suit, but it was different from the tailored numbers you’d been looking at all night. It wasn’t quite as expensive, and didn’t fit quite as perfectly. Confusion painted his brow, and the corner of his lip turned into a lopsided frown. His eyes were covered with glasses, and when he stepped onto the balcony, the light caught the red tint of them. It wasn’t until that moment your eyes slid down to the cane tapping lightly against the snow.
“Something tells me this isn’t the hallway,” he said.
“No,” you said, voice low as he moved closer. He started, presumably unaware of your presence before you spoke. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“That’s okay,” he said, the frown melting into a small smile. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting something.”
“Just needed some air,” you cleared your throat, looking at him curiously. “The, uh, the hallway is on the other side of the ballroom.”
“Guess I got disoriented.” He chuckled nervously, clutching the cane in both hands. “You alright? It’s pretty cold out here.”
“Yeah, yeah. I just got…”
“Overwhelmed? I know the feeling.”
You tilted your head, moving closer, getting a better look at the stranger. His face was soft, much softer than most men, even with the rugged beard kissing his jaw and the lines of stress over his forehead. He was handsome, well put together despite the small details that only someone like you would pick up: the fibers coming off of his suit, the scuff on his shoes. His watch wasn’t brand-name, neither were the glasses. He was out of place, and somehow… That put you at ease.
“Can I be candid, mister…”
“Murdock,” he said, sticking out his hand. You took it, letting his palm slide against your knuckles. For a fleeting moment, his hand remained in yours. The moment hovered in the air like static, more intimate than any handshake ever ought to. His calloused fingertips brushed over your wrist. You did the same, feeling the steady pulse of his heartbeat in his veins. You smirked, realizing what was at play. “Matthew Murdock. Please do. I think that would be a nice change of pace, maybe for the both of us.”
So, he felt it too. Knowing that he was out of place, that he was not somewhere he should be. Even if he couldn’t see the scuffs or wrinkles or the small, almost imperceptible tear near the collar of his shirt, he knew what it meant to be… different than everyone else.
You shook your head, clearing out the intrusive thoughts.
“This party,” you said, swallowing down the part of you that had leaked out, that had felt Matt’s pulse; that tiny sliver of you don’t have to wear a different face right now. Faces weren’t everything- your voice had to remain just as well-kept as the rest of you. “It’s a reception for a ballet.”
Matt’s lips twitched into a smile. “You’re wondering why a blind man went to the ballet.”
“Well, frankly, Mr. Murdock-”
“It’s uh, you can call me Matt,” he said. “You didn’t give your name.”
“Matt. Yes, I am wondering that.” You fidgeted with your necklace, sliding the chain between your fingers.
He seemed to think it over, his head tilting back and forth for a moment. “Uh, well… I grew up in a church.”
“A church?”
“Orphanage,” he clarified. “Lots of kids, we only had one TV. But we had plenty of records, mostly Gospel, you know? But we had lots of classical ones, too. Vivaldi, Handel. Tchaikovsky, he was my favorite.”
“So you came to listen,” you finished, nodding despite the fact that he couldn’t see you.
“Yeah, more or less,” he said. “And my friend, Foggy, helikes the dancers. Not sure he cares much for the dancing itself.”
You laughed, all too aware of that sentiment. “That tends to be a popular motivation,” you told him. “Though I’m glad to hear there’s people out there who still appreciate art for what it is.”
“Music is the only art people like me canappreciate,” he said, switching the cane to his other hand. “So I have to appreciate it twice as much.”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily true. You just have to appreciate things like dancing in a different way.”
“Really?” Matt’s brows rose, like he was waiting for an explanation. You pulled your lip between your teeth, eyes narrowed as you looked him over. “How do you propose that, miss-?”
You stepped into his personal space, gently wrapping one hand around the cane. “May I?”
His head tilted, ever so slightly, the gleam of his glasses blurring the image of you in the lenses. His grip on the cane relaxed as you carefully pulled it out of his hand, leaning it against the wall beside the door. The music from inside was muffled by the windows separating you, Matthew Murdock, and everyone else. But you could still pick out the notes, and could recognize Pachelbel’s Canon in D tapping on the glass.
You reached for Matt’s hands. They were cold, his palm icy as you placed one on the small of your back, keeping a hold of the other. Your left hand rested on Matt’s shoulder, feeling the smooth wool between your hand and his muscles. The confusion on his brow smoothed over as you swayed.
The snow fell around you in whispers, tiny flurries dotting his hair and shoulders. He let you move him, the space between you so tight, you could feel the warmth of his breath. His heart beat just a hair faster under your hand on his shoulder, and the hand in yours wrapped carefully around your palm.
“The thing about dancing is,” you said, keeping your voice as quiet as the falling snow. “You can feel it, too.”
Matt pressed his fingertips against the silk of your dress, settling into the dip of your back as the two of you turned in tight, perfect circles. You were figures in a jewelry box, locked away from the rest of the world. Closed off from the party and the city, pressed closely into the arms of a man you’d just met, a man who couldn’t see the way your eyes ticked over his face as you read him.
There was so little and so much to see in the slight upturn of his lopsided, suppressed smile. As though he was trying to hide it, the muscles around his mouth strained to keep the smile from stretching into a wide grin.
“I don’t know what I expected,” he said, his resolve slipping as his lips cracked into a toothy smile. “Hope I don’t step on your feet.”
You hummed quietly, letting your body guide you. “You’re doing well,” you said. “You don’t need to see to trust your body.”
Matt didn’t tell you that he couldsee, that the outline of your form burned red with each slight movement. This close, he could make out the flush of your cheeks from the cold, the way you shivered as the snowflakes dotted your skin and melted against your warmth. He could see that, too, the warmth radiating from your skin in little waves of flame. Every hair that caught in the slightest breeze was a spark, every tilt of your head burned like coal. His world was on fire, and you were glowing embers pressed against the front of his body.
You, on the other hand, were tracing your eyes over his face. You’d been looking at him from the moment he stepped onto the balcony, but he had been so reserved, before, with his shoulders squared and his head held high. But now, with the two of you confined to the balcony as though trapped in a snowglobe, inklings of Matt Murdock- not the lawyer, not the vigilante- had begun to seep through the cracks. It was true you didn’t knowabout his other life, but pieces of the man he was when no one else was looking had started to shine through.
Your eyes lingered over the small, long-healed scars along the edge of his hairline; the rough grain of his skin beneath his beard; the crooked shape of where his nose had been broken at least once; the thin scars from where his lip had split open morethan once. These were the details of a man who had been scarred by something that left marks on more than just his skin. It was strange, to see them on someone who seemed so innocent on the surface. Even through his glasses, you could make out the slow, dripping molasses of his eyes, his lashes barely missing the lenses when he blinked. His lips were soft, despite the split running through them, and he smelled distinctly of sandalwood cologne; under that, though, was a touch of smoke and sweat.
You’d flirted before. It was part of the job,something you had learned much sooner than most girls. You learned it in tandem with your ABCs and mathematics, at a school that had very little in mind in terms of actual education. It was a go-to, for men like Danny, to flirt your way through a conversation to get exactly what you wanted, be it information or to lure someone into a false sense of safety.
Flirting with Matt Murdock had come as naturally as breathing. It was slightlymore difficult when looking up at him through your lashes or licking your lips wouldn’t work, but being pressed against the front of his body like this was effective.
What you weren’tcounting on was for the flirting to feel so… real. It was easy to separate flirting from your real feelings toward someone. You were never going to get on a boat with Danny, but it hadn’t stopped you from laughing at his jokes or placing a hand on his thigh.
Dancing was something intimate. Something so much a part of you, it was impossible for you to go about your day to day life without it showing through- like the cracks in Matt’s smile. You walked on the balls of your feet everywhere you went, moved gracefully in things as small as reaching for dishes or cleaning your apartment, getting coffee or putting groceries away. Even driving your motorcycle was a feat of precise elegance.
And here you were, using a part of the real you to flirt with the lawyer. Part of you longed to rest your head on his shoulder and close your eyes, or find out for yourself exactly how soft those split lips were. But that- that was toofar, too intimate. That would more than cross the line- that would blur the line between flirting for a distinct purpose and flirting because you just wanted to.
“Well,” he said, his tongue poking out over his lips. He drew his lower lip in slow, like he was tasting something sweet, wanting to relish the flavor of it between his teeth. “I have the best dancer in New York as my partner.”
And, just like that, the snowglobe cracked. Your fingers curled against the wool of Matt’s jacket, and the genuine smile on your lips felt like plastic. He didn’t notice, or if he somehow did, he was unchanged. Reflexively, you looked up at him through your lashes as you sighed.
“Here’s where you’ve made your mistake, Matthew.”
The corners of his mouth twitched into a slight frown. You stopped turning in circles, suddenly becoming all too aware that you were freezing. The snow had moistened your skin, and the cold had begun to settle in your bones. Your lungs swallowed the steam from Matt’s lips, indiscernible as to whose breath was whose.
“What do you mean?”
“You weren’t looking for the hallway,” you pointed out, focusing on the warm wool under your hand and the even warmer expression on Matt’s face. “You were looking for me.”
“You never told me your name-“
“Exactly.” Your fingers dragged over the lapel of his jacket, remorseful for letting go of his heat as you stepped away. “But you knew who I was anyway. I’m guessing because your assistant-“
“Office manager.” Matt’s face hardened, knowing he was caught, his shoulders settling back into their upright, squared position. “Karen’s the office manager.”
“-sent you because she knew I wouldn’t talk to her. And for what, to convince me I need lawyersto babysit me? Or has your questioning come to a dead end?”
“Another woman is dead.”
“People die all the time-“
“Another Russian. Someone I’m betting you knew. Tatiana Klashnik?”
Matt’s eyes flickered back and forth behind his glasses, trying to discern whether this surprised you. Your heart remained steady. The wind howled, snow flurrying around your heels. “You can’t help me.”
“If you tell the police-“
“They won’t help me either.”
Matt bit the inside of his cheek. “Does this have anything to do with why you left Russia? You, and Anastasia Petrova and Tatiana Kalishnik?”
Your eyes narrowed. You shouldn’t have been surprised that he and the other half of Nelson and Murdock had done their research. There wasn’t much for them to find, thankfully, but it didn’t bode well that they had been able to connect you to Ana and Tatiana.
“It’s a short leap from you to them. How long before this… murderer comes for you next?”
“I can handle myself.”
“So could Ana,” Matt said, his voice low. “So I’m told. Did you know about the guns?”
The cold air pierced your lungs. The wind dragged the skirts of your dress with the snow, a rush of silk and ice sliding against the concrete. “Yes.”
“So it’s not a coincidence you took Karen to where the Night Wolves hang out.”
Flakes of snow landed heavily on your eyelashes. “I wouldn’t have taken her there if I thought she’d be in danger.”
“I need you to tell me. Just- tell me why, so I can help you.”
You swallow down the cold air, shaking your head with a dry chuckle. “I know the sort of criminals you defend, Mr. Murdock. I’m not one of them.”
You stepped around him, pushing towards the door, but he moved, quickly, catching you by surprise when his hand gently caught you by the wrist. His hand was still warm from being tucked against your back. His grip was tight enough to freeze you in place, but not enough to cause any amount of pain.
“Criminal or not, you don’t deserve to die.”
“And what if I do?”
Matt’s hair ruffled in the cold wind. His lips remained parted, clouds of breath circling around his face. “Whatever you did, whoever you used to be, this man is hunting you down and he doesn’t care-“
He stopped, his head snapping towards the windows. You looked past him, at the blurred shapes beyond the frosted panes. His back and shoulders tensed under the wool jacket.
“Do you hear that?”
You focused, hard, hearing only the distant sounds of the city, and the eerie howling winds from the east. “Hear… what?”
His hand still holding your wrist tightened as he tugged you backwards, the snow crunching under his feet as he moved so that he was between you and the doors. He let go of your wrist, but his free hand gripped your shoulder to keep you placed behind him.
Looking Up: [Request]Matt Murdock x reader where the reader was born with GAD (General Anxiety Disorder) and she also suffers from depression and it’s just really fluffy
See You Again: [Request]One shot where the reader is a burlesque dancer in a famous house and one day Foggy and Matt got an invitation after doing good work for the house owner and the reader ends meeting Matt after the show and they turn a fluffy couple
Broken: [Request] One-shot with Matt Murdock and the reader dealing with a miscarriage.
Catch Me if You Can: [Request] “If you jump out that window with that teddy bear, you will suffer my wrath"
summary:life isn’t all that bad as a former black widow turned hit woman. that is, until you meet a certain pain in the ass vigilante.
and end up needing his help.
word count:3.3k
warnings: ANGST, injury, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt no comfort, claire cameo my beloved!, matt makes bad decisions because he feels guilty, mentions of black widow traumas (mainly abuse & human trafficking)
author’s note: yes, my update schedule is every other week now, but i’m feeling generous today. also a little more matt pov, because the reader’s feelings are not completely one sided. enjoy this angsty chapter.
Your fingers trembled against the thin slip of paper. Its vague, yet incredibly daunting words had made your head spin— but that could’ve been the blood loss. You pulled your lip with your teeth in a futile effort to keep it from wobbling, and ignored the growing stinging in your eyes as tears threatened to bubble to the surface.
“What is it?” Matt questioned as he closed the door behind you softly as to not disturb the neighbors or draw any suspicion to you.
“Nothing, just… eviction notice.”
“Mhm,” he agreed dryly, navigating the obstacle course of your living room to set you down on your couch. “Read it to me.”
“It doesn’t even matter,” you dismissed despite the shaking of your voice betraying your cavalier words.
“Remember, I can tell when you’re lying.”
“Matt, please…” you trailed off weakly, as you sunk into your couch, groaning aloud quietly in a mixture of exhaustion and pain from your run in with the random hitman, and the growing crushing feeling on your chest from the threat of the note.
For a second, you wondered if the note referred to your more recent work in the city, but the sign-off of a spider told you everything you needed to know. Somehow, you’d prefer the threat of exposing your more recent night job to your time as a Black Widow. Your past would truly never stop haunting you.
Yet, you supposed that it was really only a matter of time. Part of you knew, deep down, that you would eventually have to pay for the crimes that you’d performed under someone else’s order, but that other naive part of you had just a sliver of hope that you had been worried for nothing.
You were becoming more and more light headed by the moment, a mixture of blood loss, the reservoir of adrenaline from the fight finally running dry, and now the final punch of imagining the new life you’d built for yourself crumbling before your eyes. Your vision was obscured by a vignette of darkness, making the design of your ceiling fade in and out of your line of sight until everything went black.
-
Your heart rate was slowing down, and it was slowing down quickly. Matt mentally scolded himself for not calling Claire sooner as he opened his burner phone and clicked the one and only contact, before setting the phone on speaker and placing it on your coffee table.
He kneeled down by your side and pressed two fingers against your pulse point, not that he needed to be any closer to hear your heartbeat, but feeling your pulse against his fingers gave him an odd sense of comfort. You were okay for the moment. Well, maybe not okay, but not dying just yet.
Scolding himself once more for wasting time, Matt went right to work with what he could do while he waited for Claire’s more expert assistance. With the already ripped fabric of your pants, Matt attempted to make a tourniquet to slow down the bleeding as much as possible.
After the third ring, Claire picked up the phone. “What’s wrong?” she slurred sleepily. Clearly, Matt’s ringtone had woken her up from her slumber.
“It’s not me this time. I’m going to send you my location, and I need you to get here as fast as you can.”
“Shit,” she murmured, the phone barely picking up on it. “Okay, give me a bit.”
-
“Did you meet each other at fight club?” Claire asked as she got to work unloading her rather extensive emergency kit.
“Something like that,” Matt murmured as he paced back and forth through your living room. To say he was on edge was an understatement. His ears were flooded with the sound of blood continuously pouring out of your wound, his mouth metallic with the taste of the soaked and hastily made tourniquet, and the scent of copper assaulted his nose. The instruments of Claire’s kit sounded far too canny for his liking, and his clothes were practically clawing at his skin with every second that your rather large wound remained open. Though he knew it was unlikely, the thought of you dying on that couch was making his stomach do acrobatics.
“What happened, Matt? Really,” Claire questioned as she began to clean your wound.
“It’s a long story,” he dismissed, not interested in divulging your complicated history, with the knowledge that he’d be asked to explain some of his more questionable decisions.
“You called me because a random woman was stabbed and bleeding out; instead of, I don’t know, bringing her to an emergency room, or calling 911. I think you can tell me what happened.”
Matt finally stopped his pacing and sat down in a stiff, slightly scratchy chair. “It really is a long story, Claire. I don’t want to distract you,” he offered.
“I’ve dealt with worse distractions than a little story,” she shrugged, threading a suture. “So what’s her deal?”
“She set me up one night to kill me. She’s uh, a contract killer, but I haven’t smelled death on her in a while. We kept having run-ins at night where she would try to kill me, and I would try to stop her, but she started pulling her punches more and more.”
“Jesus, Matt. That’s- why are you helping someone who’s been trying to kill you? Did you stab her?”
“No! And it’s more complex than just that. We accidentally met outside of our nighttime gigs. It was, uh, a mutual friend, which obviously complicated things-“
“Let me guess, things like your feelings?” Claire quipped as she began to work on you.
“Things like not murdering each other,” he grit out. Sure, it wasn’t the complete truth. Matt had only stooped to considering murder when it came to Wilson Fisk. With you, it was much more complicated. He’d grown to enjoy your little game of Cat and Mouse, liking sparring with you like his life depended on it— because it did. Yet, there was a palpable change in you following the exchange where you could’ve killed him, but didn’t. That exchange, mixed with you being the friend that Karen had so much to say about, had begun to create all sorts of problems for Matt. Problems that he didn’t particularly care to think about, let alone get into with a former lover.
“That was maybe a few months ago,” he shrugged. “We’ve seen each other less and less frequently since then, but I was out patrolling tonight and I heard distress. Distress from her, specifically. I came as fast as I could, and there was another hitman trying to get her for not getting me.”
Claire nodded quietly as she cut a stitch. “And she’s a no hospital girl, like you?”
“Yeah,” Matt breathed out. He noticed a spike in the previously steady pattern of your breath as Claire began to work on another suture, and suddenly words were slipping out of his mouth, “be careful.” Heat flooded his face. Of course she would be careful. This was herjob, and she’d patched Matt up more times than he could count. But for some odd reason, Matt was frightened for you.
Claire shot Matt a death glare. He could practically feel the daggers pressing into his skin based on the sharp intake of breath and the shift of muscles within his face.
“Sorry,” he added.
“I understand. You finally get a girl around who’s as crazy as you, and you want to keep her. And keep her safe. I promise she’s in good hands.”
Matt wasn’t a fan of how heat was rushing to his cheeks at her unfairly accurate statement. In a weird way, you both were oddly compatible, but Matt didn’t want to give that train of thought too much power.
-
Claire finished stitching you up not too long later as Matt held an ice pack close to your burning forehead. He could practically feel your skin from all the way in the kitchen, and he was well aware of how uncomfortable you must’ve been feeling from your own radiating heat. He would be concerned for infection due to your fever, but he didn’t smell any of the telltale signs, which made him believe you were in the clear.
You seemed so defenseless laying there as Matt hovered over you. Your breathing was deep, yet strained, sweat had been pouring out of you, and the smell he’d come to know as a stress hormone was ever present on you. It was so odd to perceive you like this, almost intimate. Matt couldn’t deny how his heart ached for you, despite him writing it off as sympathy for a hurt person.
Claire shuffled around as she picked up and disposed of used items, eventually pausing when she picked up a sticky note that was sticking out from under your torso.
“What’s this?” she asked aloud out of pure reflex. Matt’s head snapped up from you to Claire, curious to know what the note truly said.
“I’m not sure. She wouldn’t tell me before she passed out.”
“It just says ‘We know what you really are. And it’s only a matter of time before the rest of the world does too,’ and it’s signed off with a drawing of a spider. Whatever that means.”
“Hmm,” Matt grumbled aloud, not really sure what any of it meant. Maybe she’d finally been caught for her various hits. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that either, but he didn’t want to voice his thoughts in an effort to not get Claire involved in anything messy and unnecessary. “Thank you Claire, again. You really don’t know how much I appreciate this.”
Her lips parted in what Matt could only assume was a sweet smile. “I know, Matt,” she gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I don’t need to hear heartbeats to know how you feel. Try not to self-sabotage this one too, okay?”
Matt rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t completely deny it. “Goodbye, Claire.”
“Night, Murdock. I’ll see you next week when you break your ribs in three different places.”
“Ha ha,” he laughed dryly as Claire approached the door, sending off one final farewell as she left.
Matt sat down with a huff on the same seat that he’d waited on while Claire stitched you up, his mind laser-focused on Claire’s words and implications. At first, she’d been teasing about the two of you being together, but by the time she’d left, she was dead serious about whatever it was that was going on between you two.
Matt no longer did relationships. That was a luxury that he’d proved time and time again to himself that he could not afford. Silk sheets, artisan desserts, one night stands, and friends were already pushing it, but real relationships only caused trouble. While it certainly didn’t help that romantic relationships were the most distracting of them all, he somehow always ended up putting himself or his partner in serious danger— Claire was kidnapped, Elektra died… twice, Karen had been kidnapped and had absolutely gone through the ringer, and if tonight was any indicator, you would fall into that same trap. Pursuing anything more with you would only end in tragedy.
Matt ran a stressed hand through his hair. This little thing between you had to end tonight. He was going to find out who sent you the note to see if it would help him figure out who wanted him dead, then leaving.
He’d never been so sure of anything. He needed to extinguish anything that was there with you, and do it as soon as humanly possible.
-
When you woke back up, your brain felt like it was filled with lead. The world around you was foggy and buzzing, and for the life of you, you couldn’t grasp onto a single coherent thought. Slowly, things began to come back to you. Through your windows, you could tell that the sun was high in the sky. It was day, likely the afternoon. You were on your couch, but you weren’t sitting on its typical soft microfiber, rather than a harsh and loud piece of plastic. Your leg was stiff—likely from being stretched out for so long—and throbbing—likely from being stabbed in the thigh not too long ago.
You winced at the pain
“Matt? Why are you… What?”
“You were too injured for me to handle, so I had a friend over,” he passed you a glass of water and a gel Advil pill. “Drink. Your tea is cooling off on the coffee table.”
He sat down on the side of your couch by your extended leg and sighed softly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?” you asked, genuinely confused.
“What the note said. My friend, she’s sighted. She described the note to me after she was done stitching you up.”
“Oh,” you said plainly. The note. Your heart dropped once again as your memory was jogged by that dreaded piece of paper.
“You didn’t ever stop and think that your actions have consequences? That if your job is to commit felonies-for-hire, you won’t eventually be stopped in your tracks?”
“I really appreciate the lecture after I almost died, like a few hours ago.”
“And you didn’t die thanks to..?”
“Your sighted friend, apparently. Stop being a smartass. The note isn’t about that. It’s about…” you hesitated. You weren’t particularly in the mood for a stroll down memory lane, but it seemed more likely now than ever that Matt was going to need to know the full story in order to represent you in court. “Listen. I lived a very different life once. Not by choice.”
You inhaled deeply, shifted uncomfortably on your crinkling plastic-lined couch, and braced yourself for whatever might fall out of your lips next.
“I was just a girl when they took me to the Red Room. I never had parents, I didn’t know any better, and I fell right into every trap they set for me. I hadn’t even reached double digits before they began training me to be a Black Widow. I guess my body count reached the double digits before I did. It was like I was constantly living through a nightmare. I mean, what kind of eight year old knows the most effective way to slit a man’s throat? Or slip toxins into a mark’s drink?” your hands trembled as you spoke, and you set them on your stomach to attempt to ground yourself. “I should’ve been playing with dolls, or my friends. Instead I was spending every waking hour of the day training, or on missions.”
“But I was raised only to be a killer, nothing more. Not a kid, not a woman; a weapon, to be manipulated and used at anyone’s disposal. I was brainwashed more times than I could count, and it seemed like every time I managed to snap out of it, they’d pull me right back in. But the final time, er- most recent time, Natasha Romanoff, TheBlack Widow, y’know, the one who works with the Avengers, was able to free my mind, and take down the Red Room, where they trained us, in doing so. Her and her sister helped me get set up here, to live a normal life, or whatever,” you sighed, fighting back the stinging feeling behind your eyes and the growing knot in your throat.
“You see how well that worked out. I’m sorry Matt, for what I did to you, for how things played out between us. I guess doing hits was like muscle memory for me, it was almost nostalgic, in the way that people miss all sorts of fucked up things from their childhood. I figured it was fine, I was only getting people who really deserved it. I stopped countless abusers, rapists, and human traffickers, and I was getting paid along the way,” you frowned and fiddled with your fingers. “In fact, the only reason that I stopped myself from getting you too when I had the opportunity was that you were taking out the same people as me. If I killed the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, how many other girls just like me would have the same fate as me? Or worse? How many innocent people would have to suffer because I wanted to make my life easier.”
A tear escaped past your eyelid, and you expertly caught it before it had the chance to roll down your cheek.
“I guess that doesn’t matter right now. Someone knows that I was a Widow, and they’re going to make my life hell for things that I did when I had not one ounce of autonomy over myself. That’s what that letter meant. The DA’s gonna prosecute me, Matt,” the dam seemed to have broken as tears continued to slide down your cheeks. You didn’t bother wiping them, it wasn’t like Matt was going to see. “I can’t do this without you Matt.”
He was silent for a moment, his teeth gritting. You couldn’t believe that you’d bared your soul for him, only for him to meet you with silence.
“I’m sorry,” he began after far too long. Your heart sank like a million pound anchor to the bottom of the ocean. “I’m sorry, but this has already gone too far. You need to find someone else.”
His words felt loaded, as if they weren’t only related to your potential case, but to whatever had been blossoming between you two.
“Please, Matt, you’re the only one who understands,” you pleaded. Feeling hurt and desperate were understatements. Never in your life had you been so vulnerable with anyone— you’d given your body to Matt, and now the pain of your past that you hadn’t shared with anyone before. He knew about your more secret life, and you were more than aware of his. Matt was the only person who really understood you, the good and the bad.
But maybe, that was the problem.
You’d heard murmurs about Matt’s tumultuous dating life, along with his somewhat inconsistent friendship habits. But you weren’t coming to Matt as a romantic interest, or even a friend. You just needed him to save you, one last time.
“I’m sorry, but I just can’t. It’s Foggy, he’ll never-“
“Don’t pin this on Foggy, Matt. Just say it. You don’t want to take on this case. That’s fine but.. just claim it yourself.” It only hurt more that Matt would take the coward’s way out on something as important to you as staying out of jail for things that you weren’t even sure you were completely lucid doing.
“I’m sorry, Y/N. I really am.
“Stop it,” you attempted to hiss it out, but you were sure it was far more pathetic sounding than you wanted it to be. “Stop saying that you’re fucking sorry. If you were really sorry, you would help me.”
You wiped the tears off your cheek with your arm in one fluid stroke. “Fuck off, Matthew. I can’t even… I can’t even look at you right now,” you were at war with the lump in your throat. This hurt so much more than a broken promise, or the idea of having a shitty public defender. You’d bared your soul to Matt, and he had no other reaction than empty apologies for deciding that you were a complete lost cause. “You need to leave.”
Matt didn’t protest as he got up from your couch, he didn’t even react when you threw the mug of now lukewarm tea at him. He just quietly walked to your door, as if he was completely unfazed by everything that had gone down between the two of you in your apartment.
“You promised me, Matt,” you quietly murmured out, knowing he would be able to hear. Matt continued past the door, not bothering to acknowledge you, or your parting words at all.
“You promised,” you whimpered out one last time, completely hopeless and dejected just moments after your door had closed.
Matt willed himself to ignore your shaky whimpers and the taste of salt from your tears as he exited your building. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it?
