Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Looking between the two of you, Daredevil knows he wouldn’t change meeting you or Peter for the world. You, Peter, Foggy, and Karen make his life better. 

But, God, does he hate Speedrun Sundays.

He feels completely exhausted, knowing he has to watch the two of you and tally up scores. You and Peter’s hearts are practically racing in anticipation as both of you chant, “Speedrun, speedrun, speedrun!”

“You can’t ‘speedrun’ crime fighting!” Same thing he’s been saying for months.

Then without fail, one of you replies, “Not with that attitude.”

Matt sighs before waving you off as Peter whoops at the permission given, swinging off immediately while you scramble to follow along. The usual routine of Speedrun Sundays is simple enough: try to stop the most crimes between the neighborhoods before it hits 3AM. Every crime is 10 points, an extra 5 points per criminal in said crime, and 2 points are taken off every snarky quip said. That last one was removed after realizing you and Peter always came back with negative points. If the two of you team up, the points are divided. Simple enough. You two fight crime, and Matt gets to relax a bit. Right?

Wrong. 

The two of you are absolute tornadoes of chaos. Blurs of unrestricted glee that take down any crimes that come your way. Overall, it sends the crime rate down immensely, but after Claire calls him and complains about you sending too many perps to hospitals that they're attempting to implement a 'Lineup Protocol’, he makes it more restricted.

It’s practically a workout in itself to catch you, only by chance does he find you all when he needs to by listening to the terrified screams of your victims. Other than that, It’s a blessing for his senses sometimes because he usually chills at a rooftop before hearing your distant calls of, “Car theft! 3 guys!” Daredevil takes note in his head and waits for Peter’s robbery to finish. Sensing the air move as you swing towards Peter’s location to snoop, he follows along. Hearing you curse, Matt smiles at the sound of about 6 guys groaning at the beating Spiderman just gave them. You swoop down and try to take some of the remaining men, about 2 left over.

He hears a bone break and instinctively scolds, “Lineup! No breaking bones during the speedrun!”

“That wasn’t me! Peter did it!” He pauses, Peter whimpering and furiously apologizes to the man before you called out excitedly, “30 extra points for broken limbs! Let’s fucking go!” Matt heard another bone break and winced at a new scream coming from the same man.

“You couldn’t have chosen another guy?”

“Oh. Right.”

Matt is about 50 percent pretty sure that you’re not…good. Don’t get him wrong, you’re a kind, sweet, amazing person in his mind. You use your money to help others, give donations as much as you can, and even make foundations using different names. You volunteer when you can, act polite in public, and act like a parental figure to Peter. But other times, he’s in awe at how much you don’t act human. He knows you’re a mutant, but this is different. Like you not taking notice of how emotionless you get when it comes to specific crimes, the lack of hesitation in using your strength. In other situations, too, such as the times civilians thank you for saving them and he feels you look between him and Peter for social cues.

Matt just takes it in stride. He usually has significant others try to play the ‘savior’ role. Leading him around, ‘protecting’ from the world, etc. It’s a big difference to be on the other side of that. Sort of. The two of you feel so similar, that there's no protector in whatever this is. Just LineupandDaredevil . Both of you remind one another to eat, sleep, making sure you don’t spend all night patrolling. It’s completely equal.

But in this situation, your hysterical laughter while Peter apologizes to the man even more about the 2 new broken limbs, he is sure you’re definitely a psychopath. After dragging the man to the nearest hospital and you curling under the glares of the medical professionals, the three of you head back. You go into your apartment, jogging over to the locked box. You take off your mask, focusing on unlocking it gently before grabbing the prize and moving back to the rooftop.

Ignoring the actual points, he announces Peter as the winner to get him to stop feeling so sullen. You giggle and congratulate Peter who vibrates in joy before giving him the grand prize the two of you constantly fight for.

A stuffed animal that vaguely looks like Steve Buscemi that you two named Mr.Tofu. Direct quote from you. As far as he sensed, it’s a raggedy, long-snouted anteater that smells like stale graham crackers that were left out in the sun for too long.

Stuffing the toy in his backpack, Peter kisses your cheek and hugs Daredevil before giddily swinging away. Before he could turn to look at you, Matt feels your hand caress his hips. You walk in front of him and pout. “Is this punishment for breaking that guy's leg? You take away Mr.Tofu from me?” He kisses you gently as he nods, grinning against your lips when you kick his ankle and try to push him away. Matt pulls you tighter against him while you whine, “This is ageist! You only did it because he’s a kid.”

“When a kid is sad, you usually give them something to soothe them.”

“How do you know? Huh? You hiding a secret family from me? Are you secretly a serial family killer? If you get another family, name their kid Arsenal after me. Sounds cool as hell. I wouldn’t haunt you after if you did.”

“Please, shut the fuck up. I’m begging you.” Matt says, his pleas muffled against your throat as you huff, nodding and luring him back into your apartment before gently taking off his mask when you get inside.

Chapter Text

Contrary to what Magneto might say, you are not lonely. Sure you patrol almost every night, beat the shit out of a few people, ignore your coworkers, and don’t have any friends sans your neighbor. Even saying that is a stretch considering you only talk to her every few weeks. You’re also sure it’s only because her daughter sees you as ‘that cool neighbor who once threw her dad out of a window after he tried breaking into their apartment’.

…

Okay, so you’re lonely.

Lying on the edge of a rooftop with your hand behind your head, you look at the sky and think about your choices to leave the school. Was it the right idea? You know you had a support group with your family, but the two months of them walking on eggshells around you? Even your–Charlie didn’t know how to be around you anymore. Which is why you talked with the Professor and left.

Traveling around, learning new fighting styles, creating weapons, and just figuring out what you really are. You still kept contact with the Professor and (reluctantly) Magneto, but it was nice.

Especially meeting your first friend, Fionn, in Europe after saving his mutant wife, Lena, from some bigots. Not that she needed your help. Her claws did the majority of the damage.

As a gift, he offered to make you a costume when you drunkenly ranted about what happened, crying on Lena’s shoulder as she amusedly rubbed your arm. You rejected the offer first, spending another few months traveling before coming back and agreeing. It was a whirlwind of a time, spending weeks in his basement testing out suits, weapons, and spending nights in their arms. After a while, you two finally finished the suit, Fionn spinning his wife around as you breathlessly grinned at the kevlar suit in your hands before trailing over the whitened lenses of the mask.

That was the last night you spent with them before leaving after they urged you to return to New York. They knew it was just some fun, but they also saw the days you blanked out when seeing teenagers pass by, a numb look in your eyes when you watched Fionn and Lena dance in the moonlight.

So you left. Now you eat shit food every day, watch shows on Netflix that you can’t care to invest in, and let out your anger on any criminals that you pass by. 

 Yawning, you head back to your apartment and begin undressing in the living room before you freeze.

The bedroom door is wide open, and you can see through the doorway that clothes have been strewn around. Taking a moment, you realize no noise is coming out of the room. Not even breathing.

You huff and walk in, picking up the items on the floor and dropping them on the bed. A white envelope on a pillow catches your sight as you sit down. Fuck, you recognize that shitty handwriting. Ripping it open, you begin to read the letter.

Sweetheart,

I’m not like the others, you know this. I’m not going to scold you for leaving us and dealing with your emotions. You know what you need best. I know what you need best.

He’s right, as much as you hate to admit it. When you had decided to leave, all he did was give you a smile as he said, “Need a ride to the airport?”

What I, on the other hand, don’t appreciate is not being the first to know that you changed and moved back without telling me . Everyone saw you being criticized for permanently disabling some criminals and they were getting riled up for ‘misusing your image’. Magneto just admitted that it was you by complaining about the mask again.

“Should’ve never told him, that little snitch.” You grumble to yourself, clenching the paper at the reminder of how smug Magneto was when you called for your bi-weekly checkup and asked very reluctantly about suit ideas. To your surprise, he told you to keep the same format as your old one. “It suits a vigilante more than an X-Men. But I still think the domino would look nicer and suit your theme more. Wait don’t you dare hang up on me, young–”

You should’ve seen the looks on everyone's faces, my dear, it was wonderful. Jean choked on her drink and Bobby squawked like a bird. Although, I may have gotten a bit angry. Why not me? Why tell Erik and Charles, of all people. I? I would have worshiped your violence and sacrificed my world just to see the gorgeous look of deadliness in your eyes one more time. 

Ah. Charlie always did get excited whenever you acted a bit more lethal than usual. He’d stay silent when you were reprimanded, but then whisper in your ear how much admiration he felt watching you pull a man's arm out of their socket.

…

Okay, so the relationship might not have been the healthiest.

Anyways back to the reason I wrote this. 

I will never know if you will be ready for our love again, or if you ever will. But I am here just for you, you’re the one. You are it for me. Just give me a call and we can go wherever you want, I’d abandon it all for you.

I adore you.

JEAN-PHILLIPE

ps. People have started to call me Charlie. Do you see what you’ve done, my darling menace? My reputation. Ruined. Because my beautiful ex-partner decided to call me by my last name in public. Even nick-naming it. 

pps. Nice weapons. Would be a shame if some began to disappear, no?

Looking around, you notice a few daggers missing and even some gadgets nowhere to be found. Honestly, you aren’t that surprised. The two of you constantly stole one another’s weapons hence one of his guns hidden under your bed. After quickly checking to make sure it was there, you fall onto the covers. The comfort and love he gave you, you crave it. But it won’t be the same, you aren’t the same. You place the note in one of the drawers in your nightstand then snuggle under the comforter. 

Maybe you’ll visit that spider thing in Midtown tomorrow during patrol to distract your mind. Closing your eyes, you pause.

You feel a breeze hit your face.

For fucks sake.

“YOU BROKE MY WINDOW ON PURPOSE, ASSHOLE.”

Chapter Text

The two of you sit on the rooftop, swinging your feet while listening to the sounds of the city below and drinking smoothies. It’s calm, and you’d hate to ruin it.

“Kid, we gotta talk.”

But you have to.

Peter turns to you in confusion, straw hanging off his lip while you maneuver yourself to face him. Fiddling with your pants, you trail on, “I’m trying to be lenient about your whole relationship with Stark. That’s your business and I won’t act like your parent. But, I want your honest opinion about him after everything.”

He looks into the distance and hums, confliction on his face. It’s silent for a few moments before Peter begins, “I was…hurt. He treated me like some temporary sidekick and didn’t tell me much about what I was actually fighting for. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still my idol! He gave me this suit and taught me stuff…not that you didn’t either! It’s, uh, I’m wording this all wrong.” You shook your head and replied, “I’m not questioning anything, Pete. These are your feelings, but you have to know that with or without your new suit, you’re still Spiderman. You were Spiderman before Stark contacted you.”

He breathed. “Yeah. I guess I got caught up in the whole Avengers idea and y’know sort of brushed everything else off.”

“You were fifteen. A kid , fighting another man’s battle. Should you have known better? Yes. You’re a genius and know better than to jump into things. But, Stark is a fully grown adult with complete knowledge of what he was doing. He takes the blame, he isn’t a saint. I mean look at us.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue, but closed it. 

Grabbing his hand, you sigh and gesture him off the rooftop and into the apartment. Matt is sitting criss-cross on the couch with a mug of coffee in his hands, black mask covering the top of his face. “Nosy.” You huff at him, smiling gently as he grins and lifts his coffee in a mock toast. Peter follows silently behind, sitting next to Matt and letting the older man interlock their ankles together. You make your way into Matt’s lap and whisper to Peter, “How many cups do you think he’s drunk?”

“Probably 12.”

Matt snorts, “I am right here and it was only 3.” The two of you share a glance and you kiss the man softly, swiping your tongue over his lip for a moment. Ignoring Peter’s fake gags, you announce, “8.” Matt chuckles and grips your waist tighter, furrowing his eyebrows when hearing Peter’s heart stutter along with the sounds of sniffles grows louder. “What’s wrong?”

“Mr. Stark. He hid the truth on purpose, didn’t he?”

You pat Matt’s chest and get up, tuning out Matt’s gruff voice of, “ Peter, I can’t tell you whether he did it with… ” Shutting the door to the bedroom, you distract yourself from the muffled tears in the living room to clean around the place. It was only a few hours ago that Matt tripped over a jacket you left on the floor, making you cry and apologize profusely. 

A knock interrupted your cleaning and a brown tuft of hair peaked out. “Lye? Matt said we’re getting takeout and being forced to listen to his presentation.” You glance at his red eyes and nod, following him out the door to see Matt rubbing his eyes. He looks in your direction and pats his thigh, adjusting himself when you plop down on his lap again.

“Thank you. Both of you.” Peter says awkwardly, when you give him the phone to choose his order.

“Pete, it's just UberEats.”

He groans hearing Matt’s furious giggles at his own joke. “You know what I mean, asshole.”

You lean to kiss Peter’s forehead and murmur, “We get you.”