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anitalenia · 2 years ago

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━━━ .°˖✧ soulmate au ⋆˙⊹

꒰ঌ definition ໒꒱ 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ, 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑦, 𝑜𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ below you will find sub genres under this category, as well as some useful pairings for this trope. for educational writing purposes <3

note: several of these can also be used in other tropes as well, just depends on how you write it and interpret it.

╰₊✧ ﾟOTHER LINKS . ྀི ⊹ masterlist | romance tropes |

taglist | prompt list | symbol packs | dividers page

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulbond

₊˚⊹.* ♡ red threat of fate

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate marks

₊˚⊹.* ♡ alternate universe

₊˚⊹.* ♡ mating / mates — can be omegaverse but doesn’t have to be

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates who share each others dreams

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates who share injuries

₊˚⊹.* ♡ the name of their soulmate is tattooed on them

₊˚⊹.* ♡ the worlds colorless / gray until you meet your soulmate and then you see colors

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your birthmark or tattoo matches your soulmates

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you have a watch / time ticks down until you meet your soulmate or you’re given a certain amount of time at birth

₊˚⊹.* ♡ can’t be physically too far from your soulmate or it hurts you both

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you’re soulmates on opposing side of war / your soulmate is the enemy

₊˚⊹.* ♡ the simple one where you feel a spark / sensation when you touch your soulmate and you just know

₊˚⊹.* ♡ there’s a handprint on your body where your soulmate first touches you

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmates voice is in your head

₊˚⊹.* ♡ when you sleep your dreams are what your soulmate is seeing in their real time / their pov

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you form a telepathic link with your soulmate until you find them

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you share a strong physical link where you can feel the same things the other person is feeling while they’re going through them / the sensation of something cold, burning, when they’re having sex

₊˚⊹.* ♡ the closer you get to them the easier it is to find them. ex: colors get brighter and brighter as you approach, their voice closes in, their thoughts get louder / more frequent

₊˚⊹.* ♡ once you hit a certain age / one night a year you swap bodies with your soulmate to find as many clues as you can as to where they are (girllll I’d just book a flight to my body)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ being next to your soulmate heals you from things you otherwise wouldn’t heal from

₊˚⊹.* ♡ only your soulmate can kill you

₊˚⊹.* ♡ two immortal beings searching for each other / immortal soulmates that become human once they get together to live a mortal life together

₊˚⊹.* ♡ human soulmates that live immortal lives once they find their soulmates so they can live forever together / once they hit a certain age

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you grow up with your soulmate and at a certain age there’s a ceremony that finalizes it / you spend those early years learning about the other person and falling in love with them

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate is the other half of your magic / your soulmates and yours magic is compatible and mixed with your magic it’s stronger than ever

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you keep being reincarnated until you meet your soulmate / once you do you remember all your past lives together with your soulmate

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate who has trauma involving the touch of another person so they hate touching people

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate who is deaf so the other must learn sign language

₊˚⊹.* ♡ a celebrity who has fans always claiming to be their soulmate / celebrity can never find their soul mate because of this and goes on a search + they have major trust issues now

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates who live right down the road from each other and always JUST miss each other at grocery stores, parties, drive past each other a lot etc.

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates who live on the opposite ends of the earth / when one is asleep the other is awake

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate unlocks your magic / makes you more powerful

₊˚⊹.* ♡ one soulmate is blind and can’t see the colors of the world anyway

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you choose from a group of people who your soul mate should be after a series of tests / learning about and falling in love with them (almost like the bachelor )

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate who is terminally ill

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate is in a coma and always has visions / dreams of what their soulmate is doing

₊˚⊹.* ♡ an immortal soulmate who constantly goes through mortal soulmates because they keep dying

₊˚⊹.* ♡ an immortal soulmate who has lived centuries, eons even, alone and searching for their soulmate

₊˚⊹.* ♡ a soulmate with different beliefs / religion from their soulmate and must overcome those differences

₊˚⊹.* ♡ one or both soulmates are asexual

₊˚⊹.* ♡ hopeless romantic soulmate is very gullible to people lying about being their soulmate

₊˚⊹.* ♡ childhood best friends have kids at the same time, and their kids are soulmates

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate who must wait for their soulmate to be born / grow up before they can get together

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates who stop aging at the same time until they meet their soulmate, then once they meet their lives resume

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your other eye is the color of your soulmates. ex: your soulmate has brown eyes, you have blue. one of their eyes is blue and one of yours is brown

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate is your boss / you were a lowly worker. it would go against the rules and get you both fired + can be a dystopian kind of thing

₊˚⊹.* ♡ basically any alpha & omega mating stories — omegaverse

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate always has your favorite song in their head

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you subconsciously hate / love foods / activities your soul mate does

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmates separated by war or something tragic + they write letters to each other and don’t get together until they’re very old

₊˚⊹.* ♡ childhood soulmates separated as kids reacquainted as adults

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you can write to your soulmate as they’ll receive it no matter where they are (writing on paper, the letter will appear to them)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ writing on your skin and your soulmate sees it

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you’re an artist, and your soulmate always has doodles all over themselves that you do to yourself

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate is allergic to animals and always finds themselves sneezing throughout the day because you basically run a petting zoo (you’re an animal person constantly surrounded by animals)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate is a criminal and you’ve been trying to lock them up for years or they ARE locked up

₊˚⊹.* ♡ universe where soulmates are very very rare / thought to be extinct but you find yours somehow and don’t know what it means

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate is an ethereal being whose been watching over you your whole life to protect you / guide you OR they’re just a supernatural deity in general

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you run a cupids business to help soulmates meet each other but you haven’t found yours yet

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you can choose your own soulmate and have a ceremony to officiate it whenever you two want

₊˚⊹.* ♡ you don’t believe in soulmates until you meet yours

₊˚⊹.* ♡ your soulmate is someone evil and your family isolates you from them to protect you + your soulmate has never stopped trying to find / get to you

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate is a powerful being who knows you’re their soulmate, but they know they can’t act on it until you do / you’re a mortal and soulmates are all about divine timing so the powerful being can’t rush it sooner than it’s supposed to be done

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate is an evil being and upon meeting you they turn good (or you can turn evil and join them)

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate au with multiple soulmates at once. you all struggle to adjust to mundane living and romance since you’re dating 3+ people at once + it’s really just a soulmate orgy 😲

₊˚⊹.* ♡ soulmate is someone you used to bully (tease) or vice versa

₊˚⊹.* ♡ in a dystopian setting where your soulmate is considered someone bad and you can be sentenced to death for being together / loving each other

₊˚⊹.* ♡ romeo and juliet au where you and your soulmate can’t be together because of family ties

very helpful soulmate trope link I found by @thegeminisage | took a lot of inspo from them

will update when I think of new ones. hope this helps if you’re not sure what story to tell but you want something new <3

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theblogwithoutfear · 1 year ago

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Rereading The Red Thread rn

Decided to read while my pasta (ironic I know) was cooking. Got too caught up in the story and my pasta overcooked, turned mushy and gross lol

Just kidding @pastafossa I love u and ur work, its worth my ruined rigatoni

#the red thread #daredevil #daredevil fanfic

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catsafarithewriter · 7 months ago

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Day 5: Bodyguard

A/N: This is the second (and final) half of the red thread au that I originally posted as Day 1: Red Thread of Fate's prompt. Due to the length, and realising it also related well to today's prompt, I decided to split it. (I'm also running a day late, so I'm using today's 'free day' (usually used for a ficlet of my own choice) to catch up!

Muta has watched over Lady Haru Yoshioka ever since he was appointed her bodyguard.

Longer, in fact.

Over the years, he has seen parades of princes present themselves before her. He has seen hordes of heroes make hopeful promises of breaking her curse. He has seen herds of knights riding in, and then riding out when all their bluster came to naught.

He has learnt that, deep down, they're all the same. All men, seeking money or power or glory, and seeing Haru as nothing more than a stepping stone to their success. And he should know: it was an encounter with one such monster that set him on the path of bodyguard.

The difference is, this time around Haru seems to have forgotten that.

This Humbert - not Baron, Muta knows the man is not a baron, for no titled lord would travel with so little, without even the whisper of an entourage - is no better than the rest. He has seen too many of Humbert's ilk to believe otherwise.

"He's a liar, Chicky," Muta warns Haru while she takes a constitutional walk around the gardens. "He's not even a baron."

Haru's stride doesn't break. "You seem awfully sure of this, Muta."

"Well, he can't be. What kind of noble travels with only a talking cane for company?"

"A cursed one, perhaps?"

"A disowned one, Chicky."

"And how do you know that?"

"I heard yer father talking about it."

She looks back then, raising an eyebrow she has perfected from him. "And my father is always right, huh?"

"The source was sound." When she doesn't look convinced, he adds, "He's been here long enough that even your father is gonna look into things. He sent a messenger to Humbert's family. Turns out, he's been disowned."

"And?"

"And, if he's happy to lie about that, what else is he gonna fib over? Yer can't be sure he isn't just like the rest. Saying whatever he needs to get him where he wants to be."

"You cannot be sure of that."

"Nah, but when have any of the wannabe heroes been decent? And he's cursed."

"So am I."

Muta shakes his head roughly. "That's different, Chicky, and we both know it. Men like him, curses like his, they come from a certain kind of action, a certain kind of karma. Beasts, they don't get like that because of some family curse, but because they did something. What do you think he did?"

"I don't know, Muta," Haru says.

"Yer do. Yer know what kind of people get cursed."

"Yes, but he's not-"

"Not what? Cruel? Selfish? With a face like that, he's probably gotten pretty good at hiding it, 'cause it's already on the surface. Yer can't trust him, Chicky."

Haru does pause now. The roses she stands beside are in full bloom, blood-red and clustered with thorns. Despite all this, she rolls a blossom between her fingers. "No one else has bothered to make an effort, Muta." She doesn't look at him. "We both know all the wannabe heroes only try to break my curse because of the gold or the chance to marry into my family. And they've all given up the moment their plans came to nothing. But Baron... he's stayed."

"He's stubborn. It doesn't mean he's honest."

"It means something, Muta. At least to me."

Warning bells ring in Muta's ears, even louder than when he realised Baron had his eyes set on Haru. He realises Humbert has given Haru something more dangerous than proclamations of love or vows of curse-breaking.

He's given her hope.

When they rejoin Baron, he's buried up to his elbows in paperwork. An ocean of files and documents floods the desk, and it's only by some nifty elbow-pinning and sheer luck that it hasn't cascaded to the floor yet.

Muta raises an eyebrow. "Natori's gonna have yer head when he sees the mess you've made of his records."

"I have a system," Humbert insists. "I think." He pauses, and glances up. "Which one's Natori? Is he the..." and Humbert gives a wild grin, "one?"

"Nah, he's the," and Muta mimed readjusting imaginary glasses, "one."

"Ah. Duly noted."

Haru approaches the table and inspects the chaos. "Dare I ask what you're doing?"

"The logic, I think, is sound," Humbert says. "There may not be records of the identity of the peasant girl, but there are records of everyone who officially attended."

"And?" Muta prompted.

"And, that means that every eligible lady who officially attended the ball can be ruled out."

Haru perches on a stack of books remaining from a previous spat of research. "So you're trying to identify a single peasant girl out of... how many?"

"Many," Toto says with a tired sigh. "I have try to tell him that the chances of singling her out are next to impossible, but..."

"Next to impossible is not quite the same as actually impossible," Humbert says cheerfully. "Between the two lives a little island of fated serendipity."

"And have you landed on this little island?" Haru asks.

"...No." Humbert retrieves a list that is on the seabed of the paperwork. It's long and every inch is inked with names. "So far, these are the individuals I have identified as being present and eligible in the area at the time of the balls, but who did not attend."

Haru doubtfully takes the list. "And you're going to... what? Contact every single woman here - assuming they're still alive - and ask if they happened to attend a ball several decades back while wearing glass slippers?"

"...Yes." Humbert begins to say something, and then pauses. The magnitude of his task begins to dawn on him. "I didn't say it would work but it's an idea. And a novel one at that."

"What are you going to tell my father? You can't admit you're looking for this woman."

"I shall be sure to give some other clever reason for my search," Humbert says. "I shall disguise the important questions among the rest, so no one realises my true intent." He holds out a hand for the list. "I've just found another possible candidate. May I have this back?"

Haru hesitates. "No one's ever gone to such lengths for this."

"Then I shall be the first. Or possibly the most optimistic." Humbert smiles. "If it can help you, it must be worth a try."

Muta doesn't miss Haru's smitten grin as she returns the list.

The search turns up nothing. Of course it does. Muta could have told them that - but then again, Muta could tell a whole lot of things, and none of them will do anyone any good. For instance, what good will it do to tell them that peasant girls become peasant women, who marry travelling merchants and go on to see the world? None at all, and it would only add more questions to the mix.

Still, Humbert searches. It lasts for a good few weeks, nearly a month and to the end of Lord Yoshioka's patience, before he admits defeat. For weeks, Muta watches as Humbert travels out into the city and countryside, disappearing from Haru's side to question woman after woman after woman, all to no avail.

There must, Muta thinks, be easier ways for a cursed noble to earn some gold.

"I must admit, there is one thing that has been bothering me for a while," Humbert says, another week into dead ends and wild goose chases. They're in the library, as they so often are, and even Muta has begun to begrudgingly relax. This has become routine. Safe.

(He still doesn't trust Humbert. Not officially.)

"Only the one?" Haru teases.

"Well, one novel thing," he amends. "It's taken me until now to put my finger on it... no pun intended, but when you originally told me of previous attempts to remove the thread, you said that you already knew you couldn't cut it off."

"Yes. And?"

"Your exact comment was that you've known since you were a child."

"Yes. And?"

Humbert doesn't reply immediately, but instead seems to consider his next words with care. "It's merely that... from the official records, it seems as though your father only turned his attention to breaking the curse when you were some years into adulthood."

Haru says nothing and, after a hesitation, Humbert seems to take this as confirmation to continue.

"It only occurs to me now that it seems... odd, chronologically-speaking, that you should know such a thing long before your father sought to break it."

Haru looks away from him, and only Muta catches the bittersweet smile that flitters across her face. "I guess I could tell you that it was merely an accident of youth, that my hand slipped while eating and that my knife should have cleaved straight through it, but..." She shrugs. "Well, would you believe me?"

"Do you want me to?"

She looks to him then, and Muta can read the softening of her shoulders, the guard dropping. "Would you? If I asked?"

"Yes."

She dances her hand over her gloved fingers, brushing past the littlest one and its unseen thread. It's a nervous tic, Muta knows, but one that helps steel her. "When I was a child," she said softly, "I hated what it represented. I hated the choice it took away from me and the stranger it tied me to, but most of all I hated how only I seemed to see it as a curse. For my whole childhood, everyone around me acted as though the fairy had misjudged, that I'd been given a blessing in disguise..." Her little finger curls into her palm. "The funny thing is, once everyone started to treat it as a curse, then it felt like a blessing."

"How?"

"I realised that had I not been cursed, my father would have already had me betrothed, regardless of my own interest." Her hands flit across her finger again. "This curse gave me a little breathing space, the ability to be more than just a bride or wife." She chuckles weakly. "Of course, I became relegated to prize instead, but given that no one seems able to win said prize..."

Humbert lets her trail off. For several moments, there's only the ticking of the library clock and the sound of birdsong from the windows.

"Haru... do you want the curse broken?"

She smiles wanly. "Well, I don't think I get much say in that, either way."

"I could leave."

"What?"

"I am here to break the curse," he reminds her gently. "And if that's what you want, I will stay here until I find a way. But if you don't want it broken, then I should go."

"Do you have to?" Haru asks. "Couldn't you just, you know, pretend to be working on it?"

"Haru, your father is already wary enough of how much time I've spent here. He's only tolerated my presence this far because all reports show I am working to break it." He glances to Muta, as if wondering whether the guard is one of the lord's informants. Muta could put him out of his misery, assure Humbert he reports to no one, not least of all the lord, but he doesn't. "And, if I continue to find novel ways to try to undo the spell, then one day I might just succeed."

Haru is quiet for a long moment. "What did you do?" she asks softly.

"Do?" Humbert echoes.

She nods to his face. "To, you know, get your curse."

He doesn't quite stare, but he does still. His posture doesn't alter, and yet Muta gets the impression that's only hiding the whirring of his mind as the cursed noble tries to make sense of the sudden topic change. "Is that really the question you want to ask?"

"Yes."

His smile is soft. Sad. "Then I'm afraid it's not a flattering portrayal of the person I once was. But, then again, you've probably already guessed that."

"Curses like yours," Haru says quietly, "they come from a certain kind of action. A certain kind of karma."

"An act of selfishness," Humbert translates.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't need to." Now, Humbert finally shifts, leaning forward to the desk. It looks like a steadying action. A bracing action. "On the estate where I was raised, my father would throw winter feasts – large, extravagant affairs catering to the comfortably moneyed – and when I came of an age, I was charged with greeting our guests. As the youngest of three brothers, I was excited to finally be able to play a part, a role I took to with a good deal of earnestness."

He hesitates.

"An old beggar-woman came to the door that bitter winter night. She was cold and suffering and far from the kind of person my family would look kindly on, and I..."

"You refused her entry," Haru finishes.

"I refused her entry." He doesn't meet Haru's gaze, and Muta wonders if he's still seeing echoes of that night. "I knew my father would be angry if she was seen by our guests on that most auspicious of nights, so I refused on the first time she asked, and the second, and on the third she revealed herself to be a fairy. I prided my family reputation over the life of another, and for that I was transformed into the beast you see today."

Humbert passes one hand over the other, in almost the same way Muta has seen Haru do so many times before - but in Humbert's case, his fingers brush over the gap between sleeve and glove. A sliver of ginger fur is just visible; a fragmented reminder of Humbert's curse, while the rest of the evidence - save his tail and face - is so carefully hidden away.

"How old were you?" Haru asks.

"Old enough to have known better, that's all that matters."

"Such curses can be broken-"

"Not this one, Haru. Not anymore; too much time has passed."

"No, but... at first." Haru's nose wrinkles into a grimace. "If you had met someone, fallen in love..."

"To do such a thing, I would have to meet people," Humbert says. "And my family were mortified by my transformation."

"You're not hideous-"

"Not by the details of my apparance," he clarifies, "but by what it represented. Like you said, a curse like mine come from a certain kind of action." He glances to Muta. "Not incorrectly, but to have acknowledged my enchantment would be to admit one of their own was capable of such selfishness, so I was hidden away. When I eventually decided I had had enough of being a secret, I left, but not before the curse had become permanent and my family disowned me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It was my own doing that left me like this."

"For your family, I mean," Haru says. "They shouldn't have abandoned you like that, they should have tried to help..."

"Yes, well, families are complicated things. Their help can come in all kinds of forms, even the kind you don't want." Humbert pauses, and then adds, "Sometimes, I think the fairy did me a kind of mercy."

"Howso?"

"Well, if life had continued, uninterrupted, I would probably still be there, echoing the kind of heartlessness I was raised in. By forcing me to become an outsider in my own home, I saw their callousness for what it really was. It made me want to be everything they weren't - to help without self-interest, to be kind merely for the sake of it - and it brought me here."

He looks to Haru then.

"I am glad I met you, Lady Haru. But I think we both know it is time I left."

"I don't," Haru says stubbornly. "You don't have to go, we can find a way, a reason for you to stay, even if it's not to break the curse-"

Humbert gently takes Haru's left hand and lifts it to his lips. She stills, cheeks flushed in a way no other do-gooder has prompted before. Humbert sees this, and smiles sadly. "We both know that my continued presence here will only make things... messy. Someday, Haru, this curse will be broken or you will find your soulmate, and in either scenario I can be nothing more than a bystander."

"I can refuse," Haru says hoarsely.

"Your soulmate? The suitors your father has ready?"

"Both. Either. All." She clasps her hands around his. "I want to choose you."

"You don't-"

"I do."

"Even after everything I've just told you-"

"I do," she repeats, this time with heightened fervour. "I want to choose the man who, despite knowing it might make me hate him, told me the truth. I want to choose the man who took a curse and used it to make himself kinder, who grew from it in a way my own father never has." She leans forward, speaking quicker now, as if afraid she is going to lose the moment or her nerve, or possibly both. "I want to choose the man who has spent months trying to break an impossible curse, who picked through decades-old records looking for clues, who saw me as a human, not a prize. I want to choose you, Baron Humbert von Gikkingen."

"Chicky..." Muta starts gently.

"Not now, Muta! I know, I know it's impossible, but I-"

Muta drops a hand onto her shoulder, and the rest of her argument is gone as she looks to him.

Muta has watched over Lady Haru Yoshioka ever since he was appointed her bodyguard.

Longer, in fact.

To some, taking on as a secret godchild the daughter of the man who had broken the heart of the previous godchild would be mere folly. But Muta has always been stubborn. And a bit petty. Admittedly, perhaps a lot petty. Other fairies would have washed their hands of the whole family, but Muta had suspected that the daughter of a man like Lord Yoshioka would need more help than most.

After all, a man who married for riches would surely ensure his daughter did the same.

So what better revenge than giving his daughter the kindness to find love on her own terms?

Because he's discovered that sometimes blessings like golden carriages and glass slippers can be a curse, and sometimes you have to make a curse into a blessing to save someone. Sometimes, the best blessing you can give someone is the abliity to choose for themselves.

"Choose," he says.

A heartbeat passes. He thinks she's not going to understand, or not follow through, but then she's tugging her gloves loose and then Humbert's. Her own she shakes off at the end, struggling against the sudden adrenaline-fuelled trembling, and then she holds Humbert's hands - one cursed palm in another.

She twists the red thread of fate around her fingers and somehow - impossibly - finds an end.

"You," she says to Humbert, and she ties it around his thumb. "I choose you."

#red thread au #cat writes #tcr fanfic #tcr birthday bash #the cat returns #tcr birthday bash 2024 #day 5 bodyguard #i would have loved to put more foreshadowing for the muta reveal #buuuut somedays the clues just don't line up #this duo i think i will add to ao3 in time #also was the 'nearly impossible' line a mangled misremembered princess brde reference? youll never know

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pastafossa · 14 days ago

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"Love Leaves A Mark" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, Pure Fluff)

I've been working on this for a bit to celebrate the release of our older Born Again!Era Matt, and happily I can say this one's now done, which means I can finish up another little oneshot I have and then get back around to The Red Thread's next chapter. This is written with TRT!Reader in mind, but I also tried to write it vaguely so it's easy enough to enjoy even if you haven't read that massive saga. Also if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications!

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings for this fic: None that I know of, they're just being cute and in love as they grow old together. There ARE some vague physical changes described that are standard in aging but that feels pretty normal.

Fic Summary: You and Matt are growing older together, and you're both loving every second of it, including the physical changes that come with it.

“Did you get more toothpaste today?” you called sleepily, lifting one leg to idly scratch at your calf with your foot. You worked your toothbrush over to the other side of your mouth, wrinkling your nose at the taste. Nine years you’d been using your husband’s toothpaste and you’d never gotten used to the flavor, or lack thereof. You’d be damned if you didn’t use it regardless, though. “And Mini’s food?”

“Picked up both.” The low rumble of his voice was sleepy and distracted as it drifted out of the bedroom. Outside the little brownstone you both now called home, the snow continued to fall in thick, heavy flakes, muffling the roar of the wind and the few cars still out on the street despite the late hour and travel ban. You were grateful for that storm. In all the time you’d been with him you’d never had a problem with the Devil’s nightly rounds. Loving Matt meant loving Daredevil, too. But you still treasured evenings like these when he was able to stay in with you, your purring, cuddly husband happily playing the role of your favorite blanket. “I may have also stopped at the bookstore and gotten you something on the way home.”

You paused, shifting your gaze meaningfully toward the open bathroom doorway. You probed curiously at the psychic connection between you, a subtle attempt to discern what it was he’d picked up for you. All you got was a playful nudge back. He didn’t even have to try all that hard anymore, smoothly deflecting you with all the ease of swatting away a pillow.

“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His voice was an amused whisper in your mind. “You’ll have to figure it out the old-fashioned way.”

You scrubbed faster at your teeth, grinning at his laugh in the other room.

“I don’t know how you have any gums left considering how often you do that,” he mused as you leaned down to rinse your mouth out. You quickly shoved your toothbrush back into the penguin-shaped toothbrush holder before flipping off the light and padding out of the bathroom.

“The benefits of genetic tampering,” you said dryly, joining him in the bedroom. He was already settled into bed, sitting up with his back against the headboard, a well-worn book beneath his hand. Down atop his blanket-covered feet, a large, round black void of fur had arranged itself into a perfect circle, no head or tail to be seen. Matt tipped his head as he tracked your eager circling of the room, the barest little smirk quirking his lips. You scanned around for anything new, hunting along the walls and the bookshelves that had managed to migrate their way into the bedroom once your shared office slash library had gotten too full. Books had a tendency to breed like rabbits between you and Matt. “Where?” “Your nightstand. I figured you’d probably want to dive in.”

You darted over towards your nightstand.

“No way,” you breathed, sitting down on your side of the bed and snatching up the first of the three new hardbacks he’d placed on your nightstand. “This one—I thought it was going to take another week at least before they released it. How did you…?” “I kept checking with Hanna every time I passed by her bookstore.” He cleared his throat as you flipped open your new copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy to a random page, the much-loved scent of new paper and ink filling your nose. “Eventually she took pity on me and finally let me buy this one early with cash. Although she wasn’t sure why you wanted this one when you have so many other translations already.”

“It’s Palma’s new translation,” you murmured distractedly, dragging your finger down the flowing lines of poetry, your eyes skimming rapidly over the page. You could already spot some of the changes. “I have the first translation he did of the Inferno, but this is the first time he’s done the entirety of the Divine Comedy, and he’s tweaked his previous translation. It’s supposed to mimic the rhyming scheme Dante created more closely. Not easy when you’re shifting it from Italian to English. Dad’s going to have kittens when he hears the Devil got me my copy before he got his.”

Even without looking at him, you could feel Matt’s smug satisfaction. “You should call him so I can hear him swear.” “Call him yourself if you want to rub it in.” You snorted in amusement at Matt’s neverending desire to goad your adoptive father Ciro, who admittedly had a habit of goading back. At the very least their jabs had become less hostile over the years, the two of them now closer to sparring partners than actual enemies. You leaned over to look at the other two books Matt had gotten you, your brows shooting up. “And you got me Emily Wilson’s translations of the Illiad and the Odyssey? You’re spoiling me, husband dearest.” “You said last month you were thinking about picking them both up. I figured I’d check if they were there.” There was a rustle of blankets behind you, and a slightly irritated, ‘mrrp?’, presumably as Matt adjusted his feet beneath the fuzzy black hole curled up atop them. “Consider it an early anniversary gift.” “Not that I’m not grateful, but you and I both know it’s January, dear.” You set Dante back down atop the stack of books before swiveling on the bed to face Matt. You started crawling across the mountain of blankets and silk sheets toward his grinning form. “Our anniversary is months away.” “The anniversary of our first kiss, then.” His smile only grew wider when you reached him and threw your leg over him to sit astride his waist. It was something he welcomed as he always did, his hands setting aside his book immediately in favor of you. He slid his palms warmly up and down the fleece covering your thighs, pausing here and there to knead at the muscle just because he could. It never seemed to matter that he’d touched you a thousand times before. He treated every moment like this as if it were the first. “A few hardbacks are the least you deserve.” “Lines like that make me want to marry you.” You sighed, draping your arms comfortably over his broad shoulders, lifting one hand to idly card your fingers through his dark hair. He hummed beneath your touch, tilting his head openly into the fond drag of your fingers like a big cat. “Buying a woman hardbacks? In this economy? Put a ring on me, Mr. Murdock.”

“Now Mrs. Murdock, how would your husband feel about you saying things like that?” His voice was a playful purr, words thick and glutted thanks to the drag of your nails. You were pretty sure his eyes had rolled back behind his closed eyes. “He’d, mmm, hunt me down until his dying breath if I laid so much as a finger on you. As for me, my wife is… not inclined to let me go gently.”

“You’re goddamn right I’m not.” You sprawled out against his chest, dipping your head. He met you halfway, touching his lips to yours. You gave him a warm, lazy kiss, faint traces of copper and cinnamon passed from his smiling mouth to yours. The familiar taste of him, the softness of his skin, the sweet warmth of his breath in your mouth soothed you in a way little else could, and you drew him deep into you on a slow inhale, humming against his lips. His chest rumbled contentedly beneath you in response, his hands sliding up from your thighs to squeeze and rub affectionately your hips. “And don’t you ever forget it.”

“Never,” he murmured against your mouth, chasing after you to steal another kiss when you tried to lift your head. You ran your fingers through his hair again, sighing at the soft, playful brush of his tongue against your lips, giving it a mischievous nip of your own that made him rumble another pleased noise beneath you. His voice dropped further, all lazy warmth and possessive hunger, shades of the Devil coloring the edges like a painter’s brush. “Mm, my wife, all mine.” “Your wife,” you agreed fondly. “One who’s cut people before and will happily do it again if it keeps you safe.”

“Your services are very much appreciated.”

“They should be since I fully intend to sit in a pair of rocking chairs with you one day in our old age.” You brought your hand around to scratch your fingers lightly through the coarseness of his beard, making him groan breathlessly in delight, his back arching just a little beneath you. He’d been letting his beard grow in for the past week or so. You were unsure if it was by choice or if it was simply that he’d felt too busy to take the time to shave. It had been a while since you’d last seen him with a full beard, though, a few years at least. And to your pleasant surprise, there were a few changes. Your fingers petted curiously over the small patches of silver scattered around. “I’ve even kept you alive long enough that you’ve got grey here in your beard now. That’s new.” His brows rose in surprise, his eyes fluttering open where they’d fallen closed. “Really?”

“Yup. It’s very handsome.” You stroked at the prickly grey strands before your hands slid back and up to his temples, tracing the few strands of grey there just as affectionately. His cheeks had even turned the tiniest bit pink at your praise. “Some here, too. Just a little at your temples. You gonna be my silver fox, Matt?” “I guess so. That’s what I get for letting you pet all the color out over nine years.” He heaved a great sigh beneath you as if his care sheet instructions didn’t specify he get at least ten minutes of petting each day, without which he would wilt away. “You made me look old.” “Oh please. You don’t look old. You look human.” Your fingers left his hair so you could poke him pointedly in the chest. He threw you a wounded look, all furrowed brow and big sad eyes that you weren’t falling for even a little. “Also, you gave yourself those grey hairs, thank you very much. You’re the most stressed man I’ve ever met. Half of what you put yourself through would have turned anyone else’s hair white by now.”

“Fine. I’ll admit that I may have done… a few things that were somewhat stress—” “Got a building dropped on you. Fought Nobu in tissue paper. Got shot in the head. Used a neti pot to snort some fucking rusty tap water full of amoebas and tiny shrimp—”

“That last one still really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

“You have no idea. One day I’m going to kiss you and taste brain shrimp, I just know it.”

He snorted. “You say that like I don’t have my own list of all the things you’ve done that have almost given me a heart attack.”

“Alright, so my list is also… a bit long.” You tilted your head, watching his eyes shift absently around. After so many years with you, he was no longer self-conscious about letting you watch his eyes this closely, much to your delight. In the low light of the bedroom, his eyes were a soft, dark brown rather than the green or grey they could shift to during the day. Beautiful as always, especially with the little crinkles at the corners of his eyes, lines that now seemed permanent even when he wasn’t smiling. You brushed your thumb over a few of those lines, your playful tone falling away into something more serious. “What if I like it, though? These parts of you that are getting older? Like these laugh lines.”

He furrowed his brow pitifully. “Now you’re telling me I’m wrinkly, too?”

“Oh, fuck you!” you huffed, his body shaking beneath you as he laughed. “You know that’s not what I meant. Stop deflecting, I’m serious.”

“I’m know you are, even if you’re telling me I’m a grey, grizzled, wrinkled husk.” He groaned theatrically, rolling his head back. “You should just bury me if I’m that old.”

“Not a chance. Not when I love everything I’m seeing. Like these…”

You leaned in and planted a kiss on the laugh lines in question, feeling them grow deeper under your lips as he smiled.

“And these…”

Another kiss, this time against one of the grey patches in his beard, making him sigh.

“...and goddamn do I love all this, too,” you murmured, sitting back so you could drag your hands hungrily down the front of him. There was no part of him you didn’t love, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little obsessed with the dark hair now edging up past his shirt collar—so much of it now that he’d finally given up on shaving his chest and let it all grow back—and the slightly thicker lines of his abdomen and hips, both of them a touch softer than they had been almost a decade ago when you’d first met him. You’d know; you’d been laying on him almost every night for most of that decade, barring a few rough patches and business trips.

“Mrs. Murdock,” he breathed in feigned shock, as if he wasn’t aware of exactly how much you enjoyed both his chest hair and the whole of his body from top to bottom, “are you insinuating something about me?” “You mean like insinuating I’m the reason you now eat regularly and aren’t so dehydrated that I can practically draw a map of your veins by sight?” You squeezed at the meat of his abdomen and hips greedily, your voice growing smug as you kneaded at him. Your touch made him chuckle and squirm beneath you, only drawing more protests from the cat trying to sleep on top of his feet. “Yes. Yes, I am. You’re welcome for the health, by the way. You’re aging like a fine wine, husband dearest. And it makes me happy.”

His face softened at that, one hand leaving your hips to lay against your sternum. “If your heart wasn’t beating so steadily, I’d say you were just trying to flatter me,” he mused. “But… me getting older really is making you happy, isn’t it?”

“It is. I…”

You paused for a moment, struggling to put into words what you were feeling. His hand at your hip edged up under your shirt until he could rub his thumb soothingly at your skin, content to wait while you figured out how to say what you wanted to say.

“I think it’s that… there was a time when I wasn’t sure if you’d live long enough for me to see you grow old with me.” You cupped his face in your hands, treasuring the way his eyes fell slowly closed and he leaned into your touch so openly, so easily. It had taken so much work to get him here, where he felt comfortable accepting your love and your affection, but it had been worth every ounce of effort. You traced over his laugh lines again with your thumbs before skipping down to the faint smile lines at the corners of his mouth, a mouth that pursed to kiss your thumb when you swept one over his lips. “But you did. I’m getting to see it. That’s special to me. I want to see that… that you’re still alive, that you’re living long enough for these things to happen. I want to see all these little grey hairs, and wrinkles, and the way your body has gotten a bit softer, because every little piece of you that gets older represents a moment I didn’t know if I’d get with you.”

He drew in a shaky breath before his eyes fluttered slowly open again. And in the dark of his eyes there was such a reverent joy, such a bone-deep love filling their depths that it almost took your breath away. You’d never tire of seeing it, even if you both lived for another fifty, another hundred, another thousand years, joined in this lifetime and in whatever came next. Religion had nothing on being loved fully, wholly by Matt.

“I could say the same thing about you,” he breathed, his hand at your sternum sliding up to cradle your neck, thumb sweeping gently over the thin skin above your pulse. He pressed just a little, just enough to tug your skin back and forth. A moment later, he tugged you in until he could feather a kiss against your pulse where his thumb had been, lingering there as you nuzzled into his dark hair. “And spots like right here.”

“What’s changed there?”

“The texture of your skin. How much it moves when I touch it. I like to think,” he whispered against your throat, “that your skin’s a little looser here now, more worn in, because I’ve stroked at it so much that I’ve changed you permanently. It’s a sign of just how much I’ve touched you, how many times you’ve trusted me and let me put my hands here. It’s never mattered to you how scarred those hands were, how covered in blood. You let my love leave a mark.”

He tightened his other hand against your hip next, taking hold of the curves that had changed as you’d journeyed through the years with him. “And you’re softer now, too, just like me.” From there he smoothed his hand affectionately upwards over your ribs and up past your breasts, mapping over all of the places your body had begun to show your age like his: stretchmarks and small wrinkles where once skin had been smooth and tight, scars from old battles now faded and ragged with time. The journey his hand took was made with reverence, tender and heavy with intent, his smile so very soft and almost… wondrous. “I may not be able to see you, but I can feel you growing old with me, too, sweetheart. More curves, a few wrinkles. It’s like I can feel your body sinking deeper and deeper into a life with me.”

“That’s what happens when love winds up being your gravity.” You leaned in to kiss his forehead lines. “A decade of being drawn in by you.”

“Mhm. And up here.” He shifted his hand at your throat to cup your face like you had his, his thumb tracing the corners of your eyes. “Laugh lines. Because our life’s made you laugh so much that it changed you. They weren’t there the first time I put my hands here. But they are now. Signs of how happy you are with me. And there are more every year, because you… love me enough to stay.”

“Hey, my Devil-Man,” you whispered, tilting his head up until your forehead could meet yours. He didn’t bother to hide the vulnerability in his eyes, this old wound of his. It was mostly mended now, when it came to you, but sometimes that furrowed scar inside his heart still made him ache. “Do you need me to remind you again? I’m not going anywhere, husband of mine. There’s nowhere you’ll go that I won’t follow.”

“I know.” His eyes fluttered as you stroked at his skin. His arms left your face until he could wind them tighter around you, pulling you in tight against him until his every breath became yours. That seemed to settle him some, the weight of you against his chest, especially when you dropped your head to his shoulder, nuzzling in against his neck. “That’s… that’s just it. With me, you see… moments you didn’t think you’d have because you didn’t think I’d make it. And I didn’t think I’d have this with you, either. A home, wrinkles, greying hair. Not because I didn’t think you’d live long enough, but… but because I never thought I’d find someone who could love me enough to stay this long. To love me this long. Long enough that I could feel you grow old with me.”

“Loving you has never been a chore, Matt.” You breathed in the scent of his skin, soap and the faint copper of blood, traces of cinnamon and just him. It was a scent you knew better than your own. You lifted your hand to run your knuckles down his cheek, tracking your way through his greying beard, hoping that your touch would help your words sink in. He slid his hands up under the back of your shirt to drag his palms smoothly down your back, comforting himself with the feel of your skin as he tilted his head, listening to your heartbeat. It wasn’t because he thought you were lying, that much you knew. But he’d told you once he found the truth soothing when hearing something that might make him feel otherwise vulnerable. Something like this, this old wound of his, absolutely qualified. “And it never will be, no matter what comes at us. If you need me to remind you of that every day, I will. I’ll tell you that over and over again, until the day we die and get buried in matching coffins.”

“The same coffin,” he said quietly, tipping his head to nuzzle at your temple. “There’s a reason we took ‘Till death do we part’ out of our vows. No parting, even in death.”

“Do they even sell double coffins? If so, I’m down.” “Even if they don’t, I’ll tell Foggy to make sure I end up in yours with you.” “I think I should end up in yours.” “Why?” “Because everyone will just assume your coffin’s extra heavy due to your goddamn audacity.” He burst out laughing beneath you, his body shaking and almost throwing you off him entirely. “I’m just saying,” you continued, trying not to grin as he choked out more laughter, “you live your life in a very particular way, man without fear. ‘Christ, why is his coffin so heavy?’ And our friends can just say, ‘well, you know, it’s Matt Murdock’ and it’ll explain everything. No one will notice me shoved in underneath you so you can lay on top of me forever.”

“It’s a date,” he said, still huffing in amusement. A pointed paw tapped at your back before starting a walk up your spine. “Speaking of which, looks like someone’s eager to get in on the cuddling.” “Behold, offer to cuddle and both Matts will appear,” you snorted as roughly twenty pounds of scarred black cat trod his way stubbornly up and onto your shoulder, rasping out an indignant meow that sounded like he’d been smoking a pack a day for the past seven years, because how dare the two of you do this without inviting him. “I’m about to be sandwiched, I think. Hello, Mini-Matt.”

Sure enough, Matt’s smaller clone enthusiastically rammed his head against your temple, making you grunt, before doing the same to Matt’s chin. He was already purring like an old motorcycle engine in a request to get in on what seemed like a nice, cozy cuddle pile, as if Matt would ever turn the cat down. Sure enough, Matt leaned in, planting a kiss to Mini’s big fuzzy forehead before turning and laying a much gentler kiss on yours as Mini draped himself over your shoulder, stretching one paw out to pat Matt's face. “Something tells me you don’t mind, though.”

“Not even a little.”

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