Devil May Cry Wolf - Matt Murdock x Mutant Reader [Chapter Twenty]
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Story Synopsis: The first time you jumped, it was 2014 and you were nine years old. You were in the back of your parents’ car — then you were in New York, standing on the street … and it was 1992.
The second time you jumped, it was 1998 and you were fifteen years old. You were heading back home to Saint Agnes after school had ended — and then you were knee-deep in snow, in Russia, in 1970. Outside a Red Room facility.
The third time you jumped, you were twenty-five and had spent ten years training as a Red Room agent. Ten years training your body to use your mutation. Jumping in space was easy — jumping in time was not. But you did it. After ten years, you did it. Now you have to live with the trauma.
Five years later, killing is still the only thing you know how to do, and the only thing you do best. In 2016, a vigilante named Daredevil stops you from killing a man who attacked you. He tells you that you can do better. You think maybe he’s right. But in 2017, Matt Murdock is in the darkest place in his life. When you show up to save him, he’s not exactly grateful. And when he finds out that you’re the best friend he grew up with in Saint Agnes that disappeared almost 20 years ago — things get even more complicated.
You’ll have to drag Matt out of the dark while being jaw-deep in it yourself. And you’ll have to try your best to do better — when Matt is trying his best to do worse.
Chapter Synopsis: You find yourself in two compromising positions that each have a very different effect on you. You have a heart-to-heart with Tony Stark of all people. Matt gets a late-night visitor.
Warnings: Allusions to sexual assault. One sentence allusion to suicidal ideation.
Part 2 - Chapter Twenty: The Devil's Avenging Angel A/N: Yes. It’s been another year. I am sorry for that. Last year was probably the worst year of my life, mentally. But! Now I’m medicated, and I feel probably the greatest I’ve felt in a very long time. So part of the procrastination of this chapter was actually on me bro, I could not for the fucking life of me find the motivation to write for Matt Murdock. I thought the second season of Born Again would help bring me back but then I was procrastinating watching that and then I heard that (DDBA s2 SPOILER) Matt and Karen get back together??? And I unfortunately knew this would give me the ick for Matt and watching s2 would make my procrastination on Devil May Cry Wolf worse lmao. So I still haven’t seen it but one day I’ll get there. SO ANYWAY the thing that actually got me to write this chapter is because the ever lovely @splat1371 convinced me that I had a nice enough voice to do audio books so I started recording myself reading this story! But I knew I wouldn’t be able to notify anyone that I was doing this unless I posted a new chapter asdfghjhgtfrdsaazxfghjhgfd. Motivation comes from the oddest of places. So enjoy the audio readings! I just have them up for the prologue + chapter 1 & 2 right now. It can be difficult to find a moment alone when I can record them, so it’ll likely be slow updating on that front, but if you guys are enjoying it enough I’ll try harder to find times to do it. I am always so grateful to those that have stuck it out with me and stayed even when there have been literal years between chapters. You have been so so patient with me, and I can never thank you all enough for that. At the very least, I do have the rest of the story planned out, so I’ll never give up on it, it’s just a matter of how long it takes me to write it all out. I love you all so much. Please enjoy this new chapter!! Oh also!!!!!!!!!1 Please check out @anoddsightcomeoutatnight! They posted some DMCW edits that they made and they’re so well done and so cool!!!!!!!!!!!!1 They made four so far and I’m screaming crying throwing up over all of them. You can find them linked on the DMCW Masterlist as well.
Your consciousness began to wake before your eyes did.
You didn’t want to wake up. Not now, when you felt so cozy. There was something warm and comfortable lying beneath you, and a heavy but pleasant weight was banded around your waist.
But your eyes blinked open of their own accord, and you found your cheek squished against Matt’s chest. Memories of the night before came back to you, and the urge to shut your eyes against the world returned when you remembered the ever-growing mess you were in.
You let out a soft sigh as you shifted to go back to sleep — and was promptly reminded of another detail from last night:
That the only thing separating your bare lower half from Matt’s clothed lap was a thin piece of fabric.
A thin piece of silk fabric.
Fucking red panties, you mouthed. You shifted again and immediately regretted it — a spike of something warm and gooey and frankly urgent hit you beneath the scrap of red silk. You bit your lip hard, blaming the annoying newness of the sober sensitivity and the fact that it had been way too long since you’d gotten laid.
You shifted once more in an effort to find a less compromising position — and found a pair of strong hands gripping your hips and restricting your movements.
“Stop moving,” came a gravelly, sleep-filled voice from above you.
Matt was conscious a few moments before Y/N was. In this place of almost-wakefulness, with his eyes still closed, there was no overthinking how much he was enjoying the feel of Y/N sleeping securely on his chest, wrapped up in his arms. Her scent enveloping him. The sound of her gentle breathing. The steady, even thrum of her heartbeat against his.
After a few moments, her breathing shifted, signaling to Matt that she was conscious. He was deciding whether to disturb the early morning peace by voicing his wakefulness when suddenly she was … wiggling.
She may have been trying to get comfortable again, but Matt knew that if she continued her movements then they were going to have a problem.
He. He specifically would have a problem.
A very hard-to-hide problem when she was lying on top of him like this, her hot core pressed against his lower half, with the— Fuck. The silk panties.
The red ones.
His hands came up to still her hips, probably a bit rougher than he intended. He realized then it was the feel of her soft skin under his hands and not the cotton of his sweater, which had ridden up her torso during the night.
This realization was not helpful.
“Stop moving.”
A million familiar, old-habit flirtatious retorts flitted through your mind as you lifted your head to respond — and they all died on your tongue.
Your face above was closer to his than you thought it would be. You could move it farther away, but you were frozen there— His breath fanning your face, your noses almost touching.
Things became very slow and fuzzy at the edges. This wasn’t— This wasn’t just getting riled up by being half naked on top of a man. This was … This was new. This was something you didn’t know what to do with. It felt like something was continuously pulling the air from your lungs — Your heart raced to keep up with the loss but it was losing, and the lack of oxygen was making you dizzy.
Matt’s body was warm and solid and comfortable beneath you, and you fit on top of him like you were made to. You never noticed before. Is this what being not sober for so long had taken from you?
He smelled really good. Had you ever had that thought before? Yes, your eidetic memory told you. Strange, though. Because it felt different this time, this close to him. If you wanted, you could lean down and press your nose to his neck. But that’s not where you wanted your lips.
That sudden urge to close the gap between you spun your head so forcefully that all thoughts left it.
Empty. Except Matt’s hands still gripping your hips.
Empty. Except your hands on Matt’s chest, your fingers just touching his skin where his shirt was unbuttoned.
Empty. Except Matt’s stubble would be a welcome burn on your face.
(In all honesty, you’d thought about kissing him before. You were very upfront with him and with yourself that you found him attractive. But. That was when you were numb. When kissing was simply a means to scratch an itch and nothing more. This… This was so, so different. Kissing, sex … none of that had ever felt like this before. Like your heart was being squeezed. And you didn’t even mind. Like you’d be okay with not kissing, with not having sex, if it meant that you could just stay here. Just have him be with you.)
Matt’s eyebrows knitted together, in part concern and part confusion, his head tilting to try to understand what he was sensing. Y/N’s heart was beating like she just ran a marathon — her breath had quickened, and she felt warmer than she did before.
It was like she was sick, or—
Or.
Head emptying of all rational thought, Matt gave an experimental squeeze over the flesh of her hips. Y/N’s breath hitched in response and a noise only loud enough for him to hear escaped her lips.
Fuck. That was his new favourite sound. He wanted her to make it again. Louder. He wanted to hear it over the quick drum of her heart. Wanted to feel it vibrate in her throat—
Vibrate. Vibrating. Something was vibrating.
“Y/N,” Matt breathed, and you were done for. Your body was ooey-gooey liquid and in that moment you would have done anything. Anything he asked. Anything just to hear him say your name like that again.
“Your phone.”
You blinked, and suddenly the spell was broken. You could hear it now — your phone buzzing in your clutch that you had left on the coffee table.
You grabbed it and sat up, still sitting in Matt’s lap, one hand holding the phone to your ear and the other hand gripping the back of the couch as if that would slow your racing heart.
“Hello?” Your voice came out breathy and high, and you tried to focus on correcting it.
It was Steve on the other end.
What the hell was he doing?
Matt let go of his grip on Y/N’s hips, letting his hands slide down to safer territory just above her knees.
He shouldn’t have been doing … whatever that was just then. He knew that Y/N was extra sensitive to touch now that she was sober. Knew that she was still learning how to handle everything that felt differently now that she wasn’t numb anymore. He shouldn’t have been taking advantage of that — and where was that going to go, anyway? Was he going to ruin their friendship just for a few moments of… Of course not. That could not happen again. He could tease her but he … that almost crossed a line that could not be uncrossed.
Steve was telling you that it was safe to come back to Avengers Tower now. You tried to focus on what he was saying about how they scoured the Tower for the assailant without luck — but you still felt dizzy and lightheaded, trying to quietly catch your breath and slow your heartbeat — you couldn’t find a way to pull your attention from the space where Matt’s body was still between your legs … resting comfortably on his large, well-toned thighs … his big, strong hands with long, slender fingers having left your hips but now settled just above your knees, making absentminded strokes—
“Y/N?” came Steve’s voice on the other end.
“Yeah I’m still here,” you managed to get out. “Sorry, I just woke up. Can you repeat the question?”
“I asked if you’re okay to come back to Avengers Tower or if you’d like to wait a bit longer to be safe?”
No. I want to stay here. Where it’s comfortable. Where I’m sitting in Matt’s lap in only silk red panties. I want to see what happens next.
The thought came to you suddenly and without warning and your cheeks flared with heat as you hammered down the unsolicited thought like you were playing Whack-a-Mole. “I’ll head back now. Thanks for letting me know.”
You said your goodbyes and hung up, and then, with a monumental amount of effort, you got off of Matt’s lap and stood. If you allowed yourself to stay even a moment longer, you feared for the state of your resolve. Which was new. You never had this problem before. This need. Before, back when everything was numb, sex was fun and enjoyable but it really was just to scratch an itch, or fill the time. And you were always, always in control. Of yourself, of the situation. You regulated yourself to one-night-stands with women, who were safer strangers, and only had sex with men you knew well enough. Always on your own terms.
Even before, even in the Red Room, when it wasn’t… It always served a purpose.
This was new territory for you, and you needed to lock that down as soon as fucking possible before you did something stupid like fuck your best friend and ruin the only relationship in your life that really meant something.
Matt sat up as Y/N gathered up her dress and clutch. “You’re heading back?” he asked, even though he heard the whole phone conversation.
“Reality calls,” she stated in a mock-mournful tone. (To you, the tone was only half a joke.) “Well. The reality I created, at least.”
Matt could only muster the shadow of a smile at her joke. She knew he disagreed with what she was doing with her fake life. It wasn’t an argument he was going to bring up right now.
And a thought came to him, unbidden: If I had tried something with her, would she have stopped for him?
If we had done something together, would she have told him the truth?
No, of course not. That’s the reality she’s created for herself.
But by the next second Matt knew he was being a hypocrite. Because he’d done it himself, hadn’t he? With Karen and Elektra. He’d made Karen believe he was just a blind lawyer who got into accidents a lot. Who didn’t even agree with what Daredevil was doing. (“Do you believe in what he does? You know, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?” “Mmhm mhm, um … I uh … heh.” “What?” “I believe in the law.”) He didn’t tell Karen about Elektra, because Elektra was part of Daredevil’s life, not Matt Murdock’s life. And when feelings started to make things messy … he maintained that the two of those were separate. Until the two halves of his life collided and everything came to a crashing halt.
So he … understood. To an extent. The compartmentalization. The lying about your other life. But he also knew it wouldn’t last. And it would be messy when it was over.
(Also…
Also.
In the back of his mind, in the back of his throat, sitting on his chest.
It sat.
The ugly feeling he didn’t know what to do with.
The thing that tried to get his attention when he realized Y/N would be leaving Matt to go back to him.
It was getting harder to ignore.)
Your eyes lingered one last time over Matt, over the little bit of revealed skin on his chest where his shirt was unbuttoned. Gave yourself a second longer because Matt had his pensive face on and seemed to be lost in thought.
“I’ll see you tonight for patrol, right?” you asked, getting his attention.
His head lifted, then he nodded.
You turned, about to leave, then added, “You’re not getting this sweater back, by the way.”
Matt breathed a chuckle through his nose and smiled, and with that, you were satisfied enough to go.
It was the day after, and most of the Avengers (including Steve) had left on a mission very early in the morning. You were in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee, when you noticed Tony walking in. That’s right, he wasn’t on the mission list. They must not have needed him for this one.
“Think fast,” Tony said as a greeting, and he tossed something to you.
You caught it and looked down where it sat on your palm.
It was a one year sobriety chip.
“Two months is really good,” he said as you looked up at him in surprise. “It took me a year to even get to two months.”
You blinked at him as he sat next to you. This you really didn’t expect.
“When I have bartenders in the Tower they know to make my drinks without alcohol,” he continued. “So I don’t have to be flashy about it. Imagine headline: Playboy Billionaire Philanthropist Tony Stark Goes Sober — How Long Can He Keep That Up?”
You glanced back down at the chip, turning it over in your hands. “Who knows about this?” you asked.
“Just Bruce. Now you.”
You were baffled as to why he would confide such a sensitive secret with you when he hadn’t even told the whole team. “...Why?” Why me?
“I guess to show you, uh…” He seemed uncomfortable with the open vulnerability of the moment. “That you’re not alone.”
You stared at him. You didn’t expect him to … share something so personal with you. And to do it for you. People didn’t do that. Offer pieces of themselves to strangers. Well, you weren’t a stranger — but you may as well have been.
(Outside Matt. Outside Matt who, as Daredevil, had reached his hand out to you before he even knew that it was you.)
It was … nice.
Tony began explaining a little of his history — his childhood, his father that never had time for him, the death of his parents. How partying just became a part of his life and one day he realized that he was relying on alcohol to get through the day. How Pepper, his person, made him realize he didn’t want to do it that way anymore.
Like Matt had done for you.
And, in that moment, you made the decision to offer a piece of yourself back.
“I have an eidetic memory,” you said quietly.
“Wow, impressive,” Tony remarked. “I didn’t know that about you. Must’ve made getting your doctorate pretty easy, huh?”
You didn’t answer his question. Instead, you clarified, “I don’t forget anything. And when bad things happen … I can’t forget.”
You saw it on his face that he was realizing why you brought up your memory all of the sudden. “Ah. That must be difficult for you.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to verbally confirm or deny that. Difficult didn’t seem like a strong enough word. “I’m sorry about your parents.”
Tony nodded. “I’m sorry about … whatever it is that you went through.”
The emotion hit you unexpectedly, choking your throat and stinging tears at the back of your eyes. Not many people had said that to you. And even though he didn’t know what he was sorry for … it still meant something to you. And for once, here in the Avengers Tower, the emotion in your voice wasn’t a lie. “Thank you.”
Tony put an arm around you and squeezed your shoulder. “If you ever need to talk, or you think you might relapse, or you have relapsed … I’m the last person in the world that’s going to judge you. Whatever, whenever. I’m here.”
And the smile you gave him was genuine.
Steve got back an hour ago from the mission. It had been a few days since you last saw him. The rest of the Avengers, including Tony this time, were needed elsewhere. You weren’t really bothered with the details unless your skills as a medic were needed. So it was just you and Steve, alone in the Tower.
There was something you wanted to test.
The movie you had put on to watch together was forgotten background noise as you and Steve were making out on the couch.
The two of you hadn’t had sex yet. You figured the part of the soft, innocent medic you were playing would want to take things slow. But now was an opportunity to amp things up a bit — and test how your new sober sensitivity would react to the main event.
You were half on Steve’s lap. He had one hand on your waist and one hand cupping your face. So far, it wasn’t enough to trigger your sensitivity, but you were just getting started.
Steve’s hand cupping your face moved to your back, supporting you as he slowly laid the two of you down on the couch.
He was on top of you. Kissing your neck.
You were breathless.
You were— You couldn’t—
You couldn’t breathe.
No— This wasn’t like before— This wasn’t a good feeling this time—
He wasn’t crushing you —Steve supported his own weight to keep from being too heavy on top of you— and yet a claustrophobic feeling began surrounding you on all sides— Your eidetic memory was rapidly pulling memories to the forefront, other times when you had been on your back like this, when a heavy and uncomfortable weight laid on top of you like this, when your neck was being kissed and pleas fell on deaf ears and a line was crossed that meant you’d never be clean again—
You tried to shut it out— Steve was good, Steve was nice, Steve was safe, that’s why you picked him, that’s why he was the best choice, that’s why he was the only option— He’d never push you, never hurt you, never force you— You felt safe with him— No, you should feel safe with him— But you— Why don’t you—?
PLEASE
PLEASE
PLEASE
STOP
You must have gone rigid, because Steve lifted his head to look down at you. “Are you alright?”
NO
NO
NO
NO
“Yeah,” you said, and you winced at the unconvincing tone.
Steve frowned at you. “Do you want to stop?”
GET OFF ME
GET OFF ME
GET OFF ME
“Is that okay?” you forced yourself to ask, keeping up appearances, like you weren’t two seconds away from puking your guts out.
“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, leaning back to get off you.
You couldn’t muster a better excuse than, “Could you just excuse me for a sec—” as you got up and rushed to the bathroom.
You teleported into your apartment bathroom and vomited into your toilet. Again. Again. Until you were dry-heaving and there was nothing left in your stomach.
Hysteric sobs came without warning, leaving you gasping and crying on your bathroom floor— You held your knees to your chest, feeling yourself slipping into memories again—
The red room the red room the red room—
Instinct had you reaching for Matt, your body prepared to teleport itself to his apartment— But you shut down that impulse.
This part of your past, you had not explained to him yet. You didn’t know if you ever could. If you could find the words. If you could find the strength.
It felt shameful. It felt silly. What an insignificant thing to want to die over. Would Matt think that, too?
Worse, would he treat you differently? Keep his distance, keep his hands to himself? That’s not what you wanted. You wanted touch. You wanted to be touched. Held. Stroked.
Memories of Matt caressed phantom hands over your skin, the places he’d touched you— Your cheek, your neck, your shoulders, your arms, your back, your chest, your stomach, your waist, your hips, your thighs… and by some miracle, your sobs began to subside. Your body began to calm.
You allowed yourself a few minutes to take deep, even breaths. You used the breathing method Matt taught you (in for four, hold for seven, out for eight), letting your eidetic memory run through moments with Matt— The heavy but comfortable press of him on top of you, his body between your thighs, his face against the crook of your neck, his lips pressed just lightly against your skin…
The feel of his hands all over you, checking for injuries, gently stroking places that were much more sensitive than they were before…
Matt underneath you a few days ago … comfortable enough to sleep on, lying on top of him in just his own sweater and the red silk panties you had picked out for him, his hands a rough but welcome grip over your hips…
You breathed. And breathed. And breathed. The tears were dry on your cheeks now, staining your skin and smudging your makeup. You could still feel the bile in the back of your throat. You breathed, feeling empty, feeling like you cried out all your energy. All your strength.
You mustered the last bit of whatever you had left to get up and walk to your bed, where you had discarded Matt’s blue sweater. You laid down, curled around it, and hugged it to your chest. Pressed it to your nose and inhaled its scent. It still smelled like him.
You closed your eyes. You closed your eyes for a long while.
Until finally, you stood. You fixed your makeup. You teleported back to the bathroom in Avengers Tower, travelled back in time to the moment after you’d disappeared.
Then you returned to the living room like nothing had happened.
It had been a few weeks since Tony Stark’s party and there’d been silence on the Fox Mask front. Not much on the child trafficking ring, either. Matt could tell Y/N was starting to get frustrated — no news was not good news in this case, and he knew she was anxious to take this guy down. He didn’t blame her. It seemed like the more this guy showed up, the less they understood about him.
When Matt showed up to work that morning, the vibe in the room was palpably down.
His eyebrows knitted together. “What is it?” he asked instead of greeting Foggy and Karen.
Karen was holding a newspaper in her hands. “The White House made an announcement today.”
That didn’t sound good. “What kind of announcement?”
“They’re instating a registration … for mutants,” Foggy explained. “All mutants in the country have to register their identity and what their mutation can do. Matt … this is bad.”
“I’ll say, it’s unconstitutional,” Matt said. “On what grounds do they think they can get away with this?”
“We’re not bringing this up as a legal problem, Matt,” Karen interrupted.
“Although we may have to deal with it at some point,” Foggy piped in. “This is gonna hit those with low income the hardest and that’s our bread and butter.”
Karen continued as if Foggy hadn’t spoken, finally voicing the point: “Y/N is a mutant, isn’t she?”
You were grabbing a couple things from your apartment when your phone buzzed and Matt’s name lit up on the screen.
You held the phone between your head and your shoulder, your hands busy organizing a few things. “Terri’s Taxidermy Office, how can I help you?”
“Have you seen the news lately?” came Matt’s voice.
You scoffed. “Do I look like someone who watches the news? Wait— Sorry, I’ll answer that one for you: I do not look like someone who watches the news.”
“The government just instated Mutant Registration.”
You paused what you were doing, your attention successfully captured. “Is that what it sounds like it is?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, one step closer to facism — I always knew the US could do it if they tried their very best. I think Germany has a plaque they could give them,” you joked drily.
Matt didn’t laugh. “I need you to stop with the jokes for a second. Do I need to be worried about this?”
“Worried about the state of your country?”
“Worried about you.”
You were touched by his concern, but also knew it was unnecessary. “Matt, you know how I live my life. I’m careful. I’ll be safe.” Translation: I’m already living an intricate lie and I know how to not get caught. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Easier said than done.”
“Are you coming to patrol tonight or do you need to be a slave to our capitalist society again?” Matt had missed the past couple nights of patrolling due to a big case he, Foggy, and Karen were working hard on. And with the Avengers gone on another mission, you were bored out of your mind by yourself.
“That sounds like Russian propaganda.”
“I’ve met Karl Marx and if he could see Russia now he wouldn’t call that communism, trust me.”
You could hear the hint of amusement in Matt’s voice. “Did you get him to sign your copy of The Communist Manifesto?”
“He hadn’t written it yet. Guess who gave him the idea for it?”
“And now we’ve hit bullshit.”
“You can’t tell I’m lying over the phone. Check and mate, Murdock.”
He chuckled. “To answer your question: Yes, unfortunately I have to stay in the office to work on the case tonight. Although I don’t technically think you can call us slaves to capitalism if we’re being paid in favours and muffin baskets.”
“Touché. I guess I’ll go out all by my lonesome again.”
“Be careful, okay?”
“Yes, Mom.”
Karen watched Matt hang up the phone, bright smile still on his face like it had been throughout his conversation with Y/N.
He was so much lighter and relaxed these days. Since Y/N got sober, since the two of them started speaking again… It was like a weight had lifted off his shoulders. Everyone important in his life knew about him being Daredevil. His childhood best friend had returned from the dead, in more ways than one. Things were going well for Matt.
Except in one category.
It was so clear to Karen that Matt was in love with Y/N. That Y/N was in love with Matt. And at some point Y/N dating someone else was going to become a problem, that much Karen could see. Not only because Y/N’s entire dating life was a lie, but because she was lying to herself.
Karen had never seen Matt smile at anyone the way he smiled at Y/N. The way he smiled just talking on the phone with her. And maybe there’d been a time when that would have stung, but Karen didn’t feel that way about him anymore. All that was left was concern. One way or another, someone was going to get hurt.
Matt was asleep.
He’d gotten to bed late after spending hours burning the midnight oil on the Jefferson case. He thought about calling Y/N to check in, but he figured that at this time of night, she probably would’ve called it and gone to bed as well.
Matt was asleep.
Until a crash woke him up.
Through the wall he could hear it — two figures, one on top of the other on top of his kitchen island — the second being choked by the first.
Matt didn’t have time to think about who it was or how the hell they got in here — he rushed out of his room to intervene—
The first let go of the second’s throat, and the second figure sharply gasped for air—
Matt froze. He kept tilting his head, trying to understand what was happening in front of him, feet glued to the floor in a moment of shock—
He knew that breath. He could be dead and still know that breath.
The second figure coughed and breathed a desperate, “Matt.”
There was no mistaking her voice now. “Y/N?”
She was injured. Too injured. The copper in the air was overwhelming his senses — the sound of her breathing synonymous with a broken rib — the thickness of her voice like there was blood in her throat—
The first figure jumped off Y/N onto the floor. All of it was happening so fast, too fast—
The figure lifted their arm, pointed in Matt’s direction. Among the copper, Matt could taste gunpowder— “I don’t care when this is,” the figure said, and their voice came out distorted. Matt heard the unmistakable sound of a gun clicking into place, ready to fire. “I’ll kill him a thousand times if I have to.”
“NO!” Y/N cried out. With whatever strength she had left, she tumbled off the kitchen island and rushed at the figure—
They collided,
and then they were gone.
No no no no no no no no—
This couldn’t be happening, where did she go, where did they go, how was he supposed to find her, save her, help her— Make sure he didn’t lose her again?
Matt felt utterly useless, helpless— He listened, he listened for blocks but he didn’t hear them, didn’t hear her—
Wherever she was she wasn’t nearby—
Damn you, Y/N, why didn’t you stay and let me help— Why did you chose to go where I can’t follow—
What can I do what can I do what can I do what can I do
All he had were his fists. Useless useless useless—
Call someone, he should call someone— Who? Who could possibly help here? Not Foggy, not Karen, not even Frank—
The Avengers. It would mean outing Y/N’s secret, but he didn’t care about that right now as much as he cared about her being alive—
Y/N had given him a special emergency line to the Avengers Tower, just in case—
He grabbed his phone and called the number and listened to it ring and ring and ring and ring and he didn’t even know how he was going to explain this to them but he needed to do something—
Finally, finally someone picked up: “Avenger’s Tower.”
Matt thought his ears must be tricking him. The voice was female, sleep-filled and groggy, but also— “Y/N?”
“Mm?”
“Y/N is that you?”
“Matt?” Her voice came out slow and slightly slurred. “Why’re you calling the Avengers’ phone? What time is it?”
“Are you in Avengers Tower? Are you okay, what happened?”
“What?”
“What happened with Fox, Y/N?” He couldn’t get himself to say Fox Mask anymore. It sounded too tame now. It made the animal just a mask. That wasn’t what he was. He was a fox. Nasty, cunning— Breaking into Matt’s home and taking the thing that mattered most to him—
“What the fuck is going on?” This time, Y/N’s voice didn’t come from the phone but from in front of him, where she was now physically standing in his apartment.
Matt didn’t waste any time— He went to her and started checking her for her injuries, running his hands under her shirt, over her stomach, chest, back— Moving up to her neck and her face—
“Hey hey hey,” Y/N said in a tone that was half soothing and half panicked. She grabbed his hand that was cupping her neck, arm still under her shirt, and she held it there. “I’m okay. I’m okay.” She moved his hand farther down under her shirt and pressed his palm to the bare skin over her heart, just above her breast. He could feel it beating under his hand. Could hear the sound of it echoing in his ears. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Matt stroked his other hand over the bareness of her stomach, as if a wound would appear there any second. “You were here, you were—”
Only then did he get the bigger picture. The Y/N standing in front of him right now was barefoot, wearing soft clothes —pajamas— and was very uninjured. The copper taste from before was gone.
That helpless feeling returned as Matt put it together. The Y/N he saw, the one bleeding and being choked by Fox, the one that disappeared— it wasn’t his Y/N. Not the one from this time.
A future version.
Which meant his hands were tied.
Matt gripped Y/N, by her waist, by her shoulder — as if he could change anything by holding onto her and never letting go. He pressed his forehead to hers, a frustrated noise leaving his mouth. “I can’t tell you.”
You can’t tell the past self what the future self said, that’s like Time Travel 101. I can’t know anything about my future. Keep it to yourself. It’s not safe for me to know. That’s what she told him. That’s what he had to stick to.
“You saw Future Me, didn’t you?” she said, putting it together.
Matt’s jaw locked.
“Tell me,” Y/N said softly.
He shook his head. “You said—”
“I know what I said,” you gently interrupted. This was everything that terrified you — your Future Self meddling in your past, the possibility of paradoxes, that fox mask— And yet. For once, you found a way to will out against the fear. “But if the fucking Fox is involved, I need you to tell me.”
So Matt explained. How Fox and Future You suddenly ended up in his apartment. How injured you were. How Fox was choking you. How Fox threatened Matt with a gun, and then Future You tackled you both into oblivion.
You felt like you were going to throw up. It was the same as the night of Tony’s party. Just more questions, more things unexplained—
“No,” Matt said suddenly, like he was backtracking on what he said. “He didn’t just threaten me. He said… He said, ‘I don’t care when this is. I’ll kill him a thousand times if I have to.’”
The realization was like a wave. “He was there to kill you.” Something clicked. Like a switch flipped, all the fear in your stomach stoked into something like anger. “He was there to kill you.”
You stood from where you had been sitting on the couch, listening and stewing in your panic, no longer letting yourself indulge in the dread. Now there was a focus to all of this; a purpose; a drive. “No. No. Not fucking happening. He can fuck with Russo and he can fuck with Bucky, but not you. If he wants you dead he’ll have to go through me first.”
“He is going through you, Y/N!” Matt yelled, in half rage and half panic. “That’s the problem here — not me. He is out there, somewhere, killing you, and there’s nothing we can do about it! Nothing I can do about it!”
“I’ve been through worse; I’ll be fine—”
“No! Y/N—” All his frustration, all his helplessness, it welled and overflowed and if Matt could see then all he would see right now is red, red, red— Useless, useless, useless, just a pair of bloody fists and nothing else—
Matt slammed the back of his hand across the coffee table, knocking a glass into the wall that shattered upon impact.
“Matt—”
He grabbed Y/N by the upper arms, squeezing, desperate for her to see and understand his point of view— “I just got you back.”
There it was.
He missed so much time with her. He hurt for twenty years, a cavernous hole in his life that he just had to deal with. And by a miracle he knew he didn’t deserve, God gave her back to him. He wanted more time. Selfishly, he wanted more time. He wanted all the years she was gone, all the years she could have been with him, and then some.
But maybe he was being punished for wanting too much. For asking for too much.
“I just…” He breathed, trying to reel in his anger, and his grip on Y/N loosened. He already felt the guilt of the bruises he probably left there. Matt shook his head. “I just got you back,” he repeated in a quieter voice. “I won’t lose you again.” He dropped his arms and his head dipped, exhaustion suddenly consuming him.
You knew what he felt, because you’d felt it for yourself. After all, you too had sat at his funeral like he had sat at yours. You too were faced with coming to terms with the death of your best friend — and you, like him, had refused to accept it.
And you refused to accept this, too. Fox chasing after him. No. No. The Fox could chase your tail all he wanted, could scare you, could hurt you, could even try to kill you— But you wouldn’t let him touch Matt. Not a fucking chance. And you wouldn’t let him succeed in putting you into the ground, either. See, that was his mistake. When it was just you, you were terrified. But now Matt was involved.
And you would make him regret it.
You reached out and touched Matt’s chin, angling his attention back to you. “Hey. I’m tough. You know that. I won’t let this asshole kill me. And I am not about to let him kill you.”
Matt’s eyebrows knitted together, like he was still unconvinced. “How can you be so calm about this?”
“Because I’m handling it,” you said. “Somewhere out there, right now, I am handling it. Look, I’ve had my differences with my future self in the past —which is a weird fucking sentence, but— for once, I … I trust her. I trust her to protect you. I trust her to keep you safe. I know that she will, because I am not going to let anything happen to you.”
Matt took Y/N in, remembering how frightened she was the night of Tony Stark’s party, and thought how different she seemed now. Angry and resolute, instead of scared. Her heart rate was up but still steady. There was no shaking in her now. She was steadfast. Unbending and unyielding.
And a brief image flitted through his mind: An angel.
An avenging angel.
Sent for him. Sent to protect him. Sent to keep him safe.
But a memory of another Future Y/N overtook that image and made him feel sick again. He sat down, feeling his strength leave him with every passing second that he was helpless to do anything. “What about the other time? The other time with the other Future You? The ‘hypothetical’ question.” He had been trying not to think about that conversation for so long, but it sat, festering, in the back of his mind. And now he needed to talk about it. “You said—”
But Y/N held up her hand. “I don’t think you should tell me.”
Matt’s already boiling frustration began to bubble over. “But I told you about what happened tonight.”
You nodded, and for once there was something calm and sage in you. “I know. But I don’t think I’m supposed to know this. I know it doesn’t make sense, but there’s a difference. I don’t think I’m supposed to know the details about that conversation, or else it wouldn’t happen, y’know?”
The fraying patience was clear on Matt’s face. “No. I don’t know.”
You took a breath. You knew this was hard to explain. You didn’t even really understand it yourself — it was just a feeling. “I need you to trust me.” Something turned sour in your chest, at the realization that you weren’t sure where Matt stood on this. On trusting you. “I know you once said that you trust me.” He said it back when she wasn’t sober and she didn’t even trust herself. “But . . . maybe you only said it to make me happy. I don’t know if you do trust me and after everything I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t—”
“I do,” Matt interrupted her, because he needed her to know. Of course he did. But this wasn’t about that. “But Y/N … this…”
“I know.” Finally some emotion broke out in your voice. The fear you’d been holding back. You kneeled in front of Matt and took his face in your hands. “I. Know. I know what you’re feeling. I know. Time travel is fucking scary. I don’t know what’s going on with me and Fox. I don’t know why I came back to talk to you. I don’t know why Fox wants you dead; I don’t know how all of it ends — And it fucking terrifies me. Everything that I don’t know.” Tears welled in your eyes, but your voice remained even. “But for once. I am choosing to trust myself.” It was a huge leap of faith. Monumental. But you had to make it. For him. For your own sanity. “I am choosing to believe that I am making good choices. That I have a reason. That I . . . that I know what I’m doing.” That was the scariest part. You were not one to make good choices, have good reasons, or know what what the ever loving fuck you were doing. With yourself; with your life; with any of it. All of it. But that’s what trust was. Putting your faith in someone else, or in this case, a future version of yourself. And trusting that you were doing your best. “And I am asking you,” you continued, “to trust me, too. To put your faith in me.”
Matt’s face was breaking and he felt like he couldn’t keep it together and all his fear was pouring out, pushing out — the fear that he could lose her again, the idea that he would be alone again— But he did. Trust her. He knew he trusted her. And so he would. He would put his faith in her.
“Okay,” he breathed, though it might have been the hardest fucking word he ever had to say.
Y/N gently stroked his face, then gave him a shallow smile. “Looks like you’re not the only one in my circle of trust anymore. Look at that. Progress.”
And despite everything, Matt breathed the shadow of a laugh.
You got up and sat next to him, pressing into his side. You held his hand and let out a long, deep sigh. “I’ll tell you what, though. I better have a good fucking reason for saving Bucky Barnes’s fucking life.”
Matt’s head turned to you, surprise on his face. “But I thought that you—”
“I know.” You had wanted to pretend it wasn’t you with Fox that night, preventing Fox from killing Bucky. Couldn’t understand it; didn’t want to believe it. Let yourself believe it had to be someone else. But you couldn’t keep pretending that anymore. “But this proves I’m wrong, doesn’t it? Because it’s the same event.”
Matt’s eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
“Was I wearing the mask?” Your wolf mask. “Tonight, with Fox?”
Matt paused to think, then nodded.
“It’s time travel and it’s teleportation and I no longer believe in consequences. Whether we started at Tony’s party and ended up here or started here and went to Tony’s party, it’s the same. It’s the same fight.” The realization hit you, then. “It’s the same fight there, too. In that alleyway outside Saint Agnes when I was ten.” The two figures in the altercation — one with a fox mask and one with a wolf mask. “The same fight. The fight. To beat him. And when it happens, I’ll make sure I’ll be ready.” Matt’s mouth was still pulled in a hard line when you looked at him, so you said, “You’ll help me be ready, won’t you?”
Matt turned his attention to Y/N. Her smell, her breath, her heartbeat. The feel of her skin against his. Her warmth against his body. He’d never be ready to give it up again. “Of course I will,” he said softly.
Y/N tucked herself closer into Matt’s side, lying her head on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, though the words were firm. “I’ll make sure it will be.”
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