#like instead of just lunch I’ll pack you a kill kit too

[okurrroye]

The only correct response from Clara finding out Jonah was hunting nazis should’ve been

“WITHOUT ME?!”

[starryeyedweeb]

Valentine’s Day with BNHA

A/N: I know it’s late for Valentine’s Day, but this is about the fifth time I’ve tried posting this because every other time it never got a single note even though all of my other stuff does pretty well??? So not to be that person, but if you see this I’m begging you to give it some love because it’s one of my favorites!

*DISCLAIMER*: As I’m over eighteen, I write all underaged characters aged up to be eighteen or older.

Contains: As always, sickly-sweet fluff; gender-neutral

Characters Included: Todoroki Shoto, Bakugou Katsuki, Yaoyorozu Momo, Shigaraki Tomura, Dabi/Todoroki Touya, Aizawa Shota

Valentine’s Day with...

Bakugou Katsuki

As expected, Bakugou thinks that Valentine’s Day is kind of ridiculous and isn’t too keen on celebrating

When his friends ask him what he’s planned for the holiday, it results in a bit of a rant

“Valentine’s is a shitty holiday for shitty partners to try and make up for being shitty. I take them on dates and spoil them all the time, so why should I make a big deal about a random day in February?”

But because he wasn’t a shitty partner, he knows he has to do something for you

“Oi, do you want to go hiking?” he asks shortly on Valentine’s morning, already dressed for the occasion. “We can go to that spot you’ve wanted see for a while.”

You agree- eagerly.

You honestly weren’t the biggest fan of hiking until you started dating Bakugou, who’s obsessed with it

It’s like meditation to him- one of the best ways for him to find a calm and clear mindset- and the two of you always have your best conversations when you’re out on a hike

Plus he looks amazing in his hiking clothes

The trail in question is further outside the city than most, and when you arrive, it’s pleasantly deserted

With backpacks swung over your shoulders, the two of you start down the rough path, which cuts through a thick forest

When you first started hiking, you could barely keep up with Bakugou, but you had gotten much better at it over time and are now able to comfortably keep pace with him, even holding his hand part of the time

The trail is mainly uphill, though, and periodically he will all but force a water bottle into your hands

“Get a drink. I don’t want you getting all dehydrated on me.”

When you reach the peak of the trail, which is a flat clearing overlooking the city below, Bakugou indicates for you to sit down and pulls out two bento boxes that he had packed prior to the event

Though there’s nothing heart-shaped nor unnaturally red or pink inside, the box is sweetly filled with all of your favorite bento foods

And of course, they all taste amazing

“Katsuki, this is so good!”

“I know.”

“Come on.” You playfully push his arm, feeling his muscles rippling beneath his jacket. “Seriously, though, thank you. Life has been so crazy lately, and this little break was perfect.”

“So you’re not upset we didn’t do anything more, I don’t know...” he trails off, furrowing his brow and running a hand through his hair, “...on theme?”

“Of course not. Stuff like that is for shitty partners who use a holiday as an excuse to make up for being shitty. They’ll go right back to their behavior the moment the day is over.” You interlace your fingers in his and hold his arm with your free hand. “This was perfect.”

Bakugou can’t resist a smirk and short chuckle at your sentiment, realizing exactly why he’s with you

“Hey, what’s that look for?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “Kiss.”

You reach up and press your lips to his, and his arms wrap around your body, holding you close

When you pull away, you cast a glance out at the tranquil cityscape below and reluctantly check the time.

“Do you think we should head back down?” you ask.

“No. I want to stay here a little while longer.”

Todoroki Shoto

As one of the top heroes, Todoroki Shoto is a hard man to get alone, but you have high hopes for Valentine’s Day.

On the morning of February 14, the two of you check into the luxury hotel he had booked for a romantic staycation, awaiting an entire day of activities planned around the resort: lunch and dinner reservations, a couple’s massage, seeing the hotel’s nightly show...

Only for it to all be completely foiled before it even starts when Shoto gets an urgent call about a villain incident gone badly wrong, with as many heroes as possible desperately needed to help.

“Go ahead and do everything we had planned,” he urges as he’s leaving, rushing through a parting kiss. “I’ll be right back.”

But you know that it’s not going to be as simple as “I’ll be right back.”

The moment the door shuts behind him, you can’t help but turn on the TV and flip to the news, trying to find out just what Shoto had gotten himself into

The danger of the situation makes you sick with anxiety, and you have to turn it off almost immediately for the sake of your own sanity

Trying to follow his wishes, you go through the motions of the day you had planned, but instead of reaping the intended benefits of rest and relaxation, your brain is completely clouded with worry for Shoto’s safety

Which is only amplified when the hotel lobby has the news on with a crowd of people clumped together before it to see what’s going on, and the receptionist approaches you to ask if you’re alright

Dark falls with no sign of Shoto, but your heart leaps when you get the news notification that the battle is over

You turn the news back on for live coverage of the heroes that participated being interviewed about the events, but your stomach knots once again when you see no sign of Shoto

They haven’t mentioned any casualties, you wonder, but have they missed him or something?

When a knock echoes throughout the room, a cold feeling of dread washes over your body

You freeze and merely stare at the door, sure you’re about to receive the news that’s the worst nightmare of any partner of a hero

Until the door opens, and reveals Shoto holding a bouquet the size of his torso, looking a bit battered but otherwise alright

You launch yourself across the room, and he drops the flowers to engulf you in his arms

“God, Shoto,” you sob. “No matter how long I’ve been with you, waiting and worrying never gets any easier.”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs back, stroking your hair. “But I’m here now. I’m fine. I ran here the moment I could get away.”

When you finally allow him to pull away, he hands you the flowers, and you call room service for a vase and a first-aid kit

You sit Shoto on the bed and tend to his minor wounds, then order some of your favorite comfort foods for a very late dinner

Shoto is never one to discuss his missions right after the fact, so instead you just talk about nonsense things, like the most recent episode of your favorite show to watch together, and where the two of you wanted to go on your next vacation

Afterward, the two of you lay in the dark, so tangled together that it’s nearly impossible to tell who’s whom

Neither of you are tired at all, realizing fully that the privilege of getting to hold each other like you are was almost taken away that day

You feel your eyes start to well up at just how much you love the man next to you, realizing how much you need him

Shoto seems to sense that you’re going to a dark place, so he traces his fingers lightly against your cheek and breaks the silence.

“I forgot to tell you. I extended our stay here so we can still celebrate like we were planning to. I’m sorry I had to go today.”

“Shoto, you don’t have to be sorry.” You cup his cheek back, a few tears spilling out of your eyes as they meet his. “I’m just so glad you’re safe and that you’re here with me.”

Yaoyorozu Momo

Recently, an adorable little paint-your-own-pottery studio had opened on yours and Momo’s route home

You two had always meant to go for a fun date, but never really had the time, so when a Valentine’s event is announced, you both leap at the opportunity and reserve your spots right away

When Valentine’s Day arrives, you and Momo show up half an hour early for the event, wearing coordinating shades of red and pink

Laughing at your accidental matching, the two of you kill the time until the event begins by taking a million photos together

When the doors to the shop open and you’re finally allowed in, Momo’s eyes nearly pop out of her head in excitement, and you just know it’s going to become a regular date spot for the two of you

The shop is decorated like a romantic tea shop straight out of a cheesy movie, with lace doilies marking work stations, faux roses as centerpieces, and red, white, and pink balloons covering the ceiling

The special event involves painting spindly teacups with handles shaped like hearts, the workstations supplied with punch and sweets, all colored and shaped for the holiday

“Look at these!” She exclaims, picking up the ceramic cup at her workstation. “What should we paint on them?”

“Why don’t we do a matching design?” you suggest. “That way we can remember this even better.”

“Yes, let’s do that!” she agrees. “What design should we do, then?”

You two decide to keep it simple: paint the mugs solid baby pink, stamp tiny red hearts all around, and then Momo would use her elegant handwriting and paint both of your initials in calligraphy on one of the faces.

You ready your stations and sit shoulder-to-shoulder as you work, chatting and giggling the entire time, occasionally nudging each other playfully with your legs

“Could you hold the cup at this angle for me while I do the calligraphy?” she requests, which gives you an excuse to sit even closer to her, the scent of her rosy perfume engulfing you

“I wish I had handwriting like that,” you whine, watching her paint the graceful swirls of your initials, followed by the date below.

“I can teach you,” she offers, coming to stand behind you. “Here.”

She puts her hand over yours, and guides it along in the shape of the letters, her free arm looping around the front of your shoulders in a casual hug

“See? You’ve done it!”

“It still doesn’t look nearly as good as yours.”

“Well, my heart stamps don’t look nearly as good as yours. I don’t think I applied enough pressure.” She returns to her own seat, stares at you for a few moments, then giggles. “Speaking of, you’ve got paint on your face. Come here.”

You lean forward so she can wipe off the paint with a gentle touch, and she places a kiss on the now-clean spot.

“There. All better.”

When the two of you finish painting the mugs, you turn them into the counter so they can be finished in the kiln, then sit by the window of the shop to enjoy your sweets while you wait

“I’m very excited about these cups,” Momo says, reaching out for your hand. “They’ll be a lovely little keepsake.”

“Me, too,” you agree, resting your head on her shoulder. “It’ll be nice to have tea in them every evening.”

“Exactly. And if there’s ever a time when we have to be separated, whether it be for hero work or some other reason, we can bring our cups with us to remember that the other is always there, waiting to come have tea together.”

Shigaraki Tomura:

Despite his villainous ideals, in romance, Shiggy is actually quite sweet, if not a little clumsy

When you first became close to him, his unhealthy lifestyle and lack of self-care worried you, so you made a habit of cooking for Shigaraki, and leaving a week’s worth of nutritious meals in the League’s fridge for him

He had never revealed this to you, but he appreciated it so much, and wanted to return the favor

When Toga mentioned something about Valentine’s Day, he knew that it was his perfect opportunity, and made his plans by ordering everyone of the League to get out and stay out for the night

He then did some research about something good to make you, wracking his brain to try and remember what you’ve mentioned liking, until he remembers a very important fact:

He can’t cook.

At all.

Has never even once tried.

Which poses an obvious problem.

He panicked for a few moments, until he landed on a new, and possibly better, idea

When you arrive for the date, dressed comfortably (because, as much as you love Shigaraki, you know that there’s no way you’ll be going out for Valentine’s Day), you’re a little bit surprised to find him standing in the kitchen

“Shiggy?” You approach the counter warily. “What are we doing tonight?”

“I can’t cook. I want to know how.”

“You want me to teach you how to cook?”

“Yes. I want to know how to make your favorite meal.”

“Okay. That’s simple enough.” You make to join him in the kitchen, but he blocks your path.

“No. I want to make this for you. Just sit down and...tell me what to do.”

That proves to be quite a bit more difficult, as you never truly understood just how hard it would be to explain cooking to someone that has never used more than a microwave before

The music you had put on in the background was quickly drowned out by his frustrated swears, and you can tell that there are times when he almost loses his temper, but holds it together for the sake of your Valentine’s gift

A couple of utensils do fall victim to his decay, though, and he subtly tries to sweep the remains away in embarrassment.

At one point, his poor knife technique leaves a decently sized cut on his finger, and you jump into action, running for a First-Aid kit

“I’m not a child,” he mutters as you clean the small wound, avoiding your eyes.

“I know,” you reply lightly, pressing a playful kiss to the bandage you had just secured.

As Shigaraki comes close to finishing the meal, you raid Kurogiri’s stores for your favorite bottle of wine, pouring two glasses and setting them out on the table.

“Does this look right?” Shigaraki asks once the final timer goes off, warily holding out his creation.

“You tell me,” you answer. “I’ve made this for you before. It looks the same to me.”

When the two of you sit down and portion out the meal, Shigarki neglects his own plate as he watches you take your first bite

You fight to keep your face neutral, because honestly, it’s god awful, even though you had been right there the whole time, telling him exactly what to do

But you really didn’t expect anything more from a first time-cook, and even though the flavor is completely wrong, you still enjoy it, because you can practically taste how much this prickly mass-murderer actually cares for you

And as twisted as your situation is, you wouldn’t change it for the world

“Is it good?” Shigaraki mumbles from across the table, pulling you from your thoughts.

You take a sip of your wine. “Thank you so much, Tomura. This was such a thoughtful gift. I really appreciate it.”

“I knew it. It’s shit.” He pushes his own plate away in frustration. “I just wanted to pay back a favor and I can’t even do that right.”

“Shig, what did I just say? I appreciate this so much.” You round the table to his seat, rubbing his shoulders and planting a kiss on the top of his head. “Of course your first attempt doesn’t work. But that gives us something new to do together. For tonight, we’ll order some takeout, but starting tomorrow, I’ll give you another cooking lesson, and then another, and another, and another... as many as it takes until you can make a whole meal for me by yourself. Deal?”

He meets your gaze with a puppy-dog expression, placing his palms over where your hands rested on his chest.

“Deal.”

Dabi/Todoroki Touya:

Let’s just say that Dabi isn’t one to ignore traditions.

He’s one to very openly and dramatically oppose them.

You were anxious if not a little worried to see what he was going to have planned for Valentine’s Day- but, honestly, as his partner, you’re equally as unconventional in your own ideals

And he doesn’t disappoint, coming home with tickets to a ghost tour at the most haunted spot in town.

“Do they even do these on Valentine’s Day?”

“Obviously. That’s when I got the tickets for.” He shrugs. “Apparently it’s a thing that people do.”

“Hopefully not very many people. You know how we hate crowds.”

“And hopefully it’s not overtly themed for this asinine holiday.” He takes your waist and whispers the next words in your ear. “The idea of a dark room and an invisible audience is romantic enough.”

“Oh, stop it.”

“I just made you more excited, didn’t I?”

“You’ll have to wait until the day to find out.”

When Valentine’s Day arrives, you dress for the occasion and meet Dabi at a glamorous hotel in an older part of town

Before the tour begins, the guide allows the guests to go to the bar for some drinks, and begin to tell the story of the hotel and the paranormal activity that had sparked the attraction

Dabi seems uninterested, taking in the architecture of the historic buidling and peering down random hallways

“I’m getting bored of this,” he mutters in your ear. “I’m ready to see something interesting.”

“Shh, Dabi, I’m trying to listen,” you whisper back.

He responds by pinching your ass. “So, are you in a naughty mood tonight? Noted.”

“Stop it,” you mutter, lightly pushing him away, but your flushed skin is a dead giveaway to how you truly feel about the situation.

When the tour actually starts, you and Dabi round out the end of the group as it descends into a long, dark hallway.

Eventually, you feel Dabi’s hand leave its spot around your waist, but you’re so distracted listening the tour guide tell stories at the front to even notice.

Until cold hands grab you from you behind and give you a violent shake, growling animalistically in your ear

You let out a terrified scream, but the laugh that comes after is all-too-familiar

“Dammit, Dabi!” you gasp, doubling over to your breath and quiet your heartbeat.

“Aha.” His hands trail down your sides and squeeze your waist. “Gotcha.”

You eventually reach the main event of the tour, which is an old storeroom that had been unused for years due to the intense paranormal activity

Dabi actually stood still next to you with his arm slung around your shoulders, interested for the first time that night as the guide used the ghost box and actually got answers from the spirits that occupied the room.

Though there are a few times when you have to stop him from pulling some prank to scare the other people taking the tour, trying to convince them that they’re actually in immediate danger of possession

When the event is over, however, and the guide is ushering people back down the hallway, Dabi pulls you into a closet, igniting a small flame on his palm and pressing a finger to his lips

When the noise of the crowd filing out is gone, he presses forward forcefully and starts to bury you in deep, passionate kisses

“Wait, wait.” You pull back once you realize what his idea is. “Isn’t this a little...scary?”

“Isn’t that what makes it fun?”

Aizawa Shota

Valentine’s Day happened to fall around one of Aizawa’s busiest times at UA, and he was so tied up and tired that you had barely seen one another lately.

So, when he remembers what’s coming up and drowsily asks you what you want to do for Valentine’s Day, you surprise him.

“I’ve already made plans for us,” you reveal, handing him a printed itinerary. “I booked us a spot at a day spa. Those are all the treatments we’ll be doing.”

“Why’d you choose this? I’m curious.”

“You need some time to relax, and I want to spend time with you when your mind is on something other than which one of your students is going to get broken next.”

“Fair enough.”

On the morning of, the two of you check into the spa, and are instructed to go change into the fluffy bathrobes they provided

“Do I really have to put this on?” he complains, holding it as one might hold a dirty diaper.

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask, already changed into yours.

“I don’t know how I feel about my chest being out on display like this.”

“Well, I’ll like it.” You snake your hand up his shirt and rake your nails down his skin. “C’mon. We’re going to be late for our couple’s massage.”

Once Aizawa has reluctantly changed, the two of you start off your day with massages and facials

You had arranged for him to get a special eye treatment, and the small sounds of relief from his table reveals that your gift is very much appreciated.

“Are you relaxed?” you inquire as you move on from the massage room to your next destination.

“More relaxed I’ve been since I stepped through the doors of UA for the first time.”

“Well, are you relaxed enough to get a hair treatment?”

“Honestly? Bring it on.”

When Aizawa is laying back in a chair, a towel wrapped around his head and a styling cape draped over his robe, you can’t help but snap photos of the slightly comical scene

“Are you taking pictures?” he grumbles.

“Do you mind that I am?”

“Just as long as my students never see it.”

“Noted,” you reply, adding the photo to an album of embarrassing pictures you planned to show them at the end of the term.

After finishing the hair treatment- Aizawa’s hair looking better than you could ever dream yours would- and moving on to a high-tech infrared light treatment, you finished out the day with a soak in the spa’s top-rate onsen, reserved for just the two of you

You sit in comfortable silence in the hot water, bodies pressed close to each other

Shota’s arm was draped around your shoulder, and you loosely held the hand that fell across your body

When you lay your ear on his chest, you notice that his heartbeat is the calmest you’ve ever heard it

“So, did the spa serve its purpose?” you ask, tilting your head up to gaze at him.

“It did. Though I think it was less the spa’s doing, and more the fact that I spent an entire day with you.”

You hum happily, reaching up and tapping his chin. “Nice and well rested now, are you? You sure look pretty.”

He chuckles lightly, running a hand through your hair. “So do you.”

“Well, there’s still about an hour left until our dinner reservation,” you observe, noticing the clock on the wall. “Is there anything you want to do to kill the time before then?”

“We’re both sitting in hot water, naked,” he replies matter-of-factly. “The answer should be obvious.”

[locke-writes]

Things My Heart Used To Know

Author: locke-writes

Title: Things My Heart Used To Know

Prompt: Once Upon a December - Anastasia, Frank Castle For: @commander-writergirl​ ‘s 800 Follower Writing Challenge

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,962

Frank woke up at four in the morning. He never needed an alarm anymore and found that even though he'd been done with the military life for quite some time, he still couldn't shake the routine. Carefully he slipped from bed hoping that he wouldn't wake you, you'd been out all night with Matt and needed to rest otherwise he wasn't sure how long it'd take for your wounds to heal. Watching he noted that you were still sound asleep as he walked through the apartment into the kitchen. Quickly he added some food into the dog bowl and refilled the water before he opened the fridge to count the number of ice packs. You were low so he scribbled a note in case you woke up and he walked down to the corner bodega to pick up some more.

He always had the same excuse for the cashiers, they'd become used to him coming in for the same things by now — bandages, ice packs, pain relievers. Boxing wasn't too far off from the truth, he did spar now and again with Matt and had been to the gym more frequently but he figured no one in the bodega bought the excuses. He just hoped that they hadn't figured out the truth.

Two months ago Frank had decided to stop being the Punisher. It just seemed as though it were the right time, he felt that maybe he wasn't needed any longer. Matt had a handle on Hell's Kitchen long before Frank started popping in and Matt could go back to being the sole vigilante if he wished. Well, not the sole vigilante but the vigilante that was talked about the most. Frank hadn't asked you if you would give up your nightly crime fighting jaunts, he couldn't ask, yet he hoped it was something you would stop on your own.

The Punisher was born out of a need for revenge, he had existed out of a need for revenge for a few years. And then slowly that need for revenge was dwindling, then slowly recovery was taking over. Frank was learning to live with his grief, to accept it, to embrace it, and then to let it go. The Punisher ceased existing really when the revenge rampage ended, Frank simply had begun to use the identity as some sort of safety blanket which wasn't practical, he could let this go, he could just be Frank Castle again. And so he did, and so it was.

But you were not a vigilante because of revenge, you weren't even a vigilante because you felt that you needed to get a hold on the crime in the city yourself. You'd become a vigilante for the simplest of reasons, Matt Murdock came barging into your bedroom one night asking if you had a first aid kit. You ended up bandaging him and talking about what it was he was doing. After some hesitance and refusal to train you, Matt gave in and after a few months you began to patrol with him.

What had started out as two roommates who fought crime at night turned into Matt being one of the most recognizable crime fighters and then you, the one that people never spoke of because they were warned against it. Matt fought crime out of a sense of justice, the more people who talked about Daredevil, the more fear it brought into the hearts of any criminal. You did it for stress relief and because yes, the city did need to be put under control a bit, however if anyone spoke of someone working side by side with Daredevil then the surprise of your being their was slowly diminished.

It went this way until Frank showed up.

Work, normal work, had come first which meant Matt's meeting with Frank was missed. You'd heard of The Punisher, not by name but by actions and you had warned Matt that he might end up running across the mysterious man one night. Matt brushed you off as overly concerned but when you heard from him the day after his run in with Frank, Matt confessed that he had wished he had actually listened.

Frank Castle was not a man who frequently came up in conversation after that. Matt had become his lawyer, had dealt with the fact that he had escaped from prison and had since moved on. You were, you supposed like most, intrigued by the man although you would never ask Matt to introduce you. It never occurred to you that you might actually be introduced to the man. Well, introduce wasn't exactly the truth, more like instructed to meet Frank at a diner in the city.

That was how it all began.

You weren't given any further instruction other than to meet Frank that day. Whatever Matt had in mind was left to you and Frank to figure out. There wasn't anything you could do to help him other than to point him to a few good pet stores where he could buy dog food at a reasonable price. When you questioned Matt later about that first meeting he refused to admit anything about trying to set you and Frank up. He simply assumed that your nightly activities would come up in conversation, or so he told you.

For Frank he wanted to keep any and all emotions in check. For you, a relationship was out of the question. As a lawyer you were often busy juggling multiple cases at once, this had always been the excuse as to why you weren't dating. Frank just wanted to fully process and grieve the loss of his family before becoming involved with anyone any time soon. From that first meeting at the diner the only thing that was struck up was some sort of friendship, one where the most frequent visitation was the occasional lunch if either could make it.

Soon enough Frank figured out who you really were. It wasn't hard, there were only so many excuses you could make for bruises before Frank put it together. There was no denial from you, there couldn't be, Frank was a vigilante as were you — a small club but one filled with some sort of loyalty. He wouldn't tell who you were and you wouldn't let on who he was to the few amount of people who might be unaware. It was the unspoken vigilante code.

And so it was.

He knew you, you knew him. Occasionally you patrolled together but Frank liked to work alone, he knew his ‘methods’ as you called them, were much different than yours or Matt’s. Frank feared that if you saw him as The Punisher, saw him in his full wrath that everything you’d built would come crashing down. If there was even a look of disappointment on your face Frank couldn’t bare it. Couldn’t bare it because of the plain fact that he was in love with you. Frank wasn’t sure how it happened just that one day when you walked into the diner and smiled at the fact that he’d already ordered your favorite, he felt this rush of bliss flow through him, a rush that Frank took to mean that he was in love. That same day Frank looked into therapy. If he was in love with you then he needed to work through his past, needed to grasp what he had done and how to properly acknowledge, accept, and move past the death of his family.

It took time, months upon months of work with his therapist and some group therapy sessions that although he was reluctant to attend he found immensely helpful, but slowly Frank found himself healing. Slowly Frank Castle felt like he had before everything came crashing down around him. He’d talked about you in therapy, how you made him feel and after some time he even broached the subject of dating. After what he’d been through, his therapist advised him to take it slow but felt that as long as Frank believed he was ready then there was nothing stopping him but his own self.

There was never a plan. Frank hadn’t really thought further past the concept of him being in love with you. After that there wasn’t much else for him to think about, at least that’s what he kept telling himself each and every time he came close to confessing. He thought it would happen rather in a way that seemed comfortable, familiar, rather he couldn’t seem to get the words out when you went to your weekly lunches together. Instead when he did confess it was in a fit of anger, not directed at you specifically but more directed at the actions which had nearly killed you, nearly left him alone in the world again.

On nights where you were on your own you left a bag on your apartment rooftop with a burner phone to contact Matt or Frank. You’d called Frank, asking him to meet you on the roof, you were injured, enough so that you knew you needed medical attention and help downstairs. He was on the rooftop in thirty minutes and as he saw you sitting there with a hand on your leg to keep pressure on the wound he found the anger boiling over. The tension was palpable yet you refused to acknowledge it until he was helping you stand.

“Care to tell me what’s gotten you so upset?”

Frank grimaced, “Nothing”

“Would you like to tell that to the steam coming out of your ears or should I” you teased in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

“You should be more careful. You might end up dead”

“I should say the same to you Frank. I went out alone tonight, I came back injured. It’s nothing you haven’t done yourself”

He finished wrapping your wounds, “That’s different.”

Leaning on him you went to stand, “I don’t think it is all that different”

“It is different! It’s very different! You think anyone would care that I died, you think anyone would feel anything for me! But you, you think I could live if I lost another person I loved! I don’t know how Matt would handle it, or Foggy or Karen or anyone. Hurt fine, a bruise and some blood, fine but god what do you think would happen if…”

Frank was nearly finished with his statement when suddenly you were kissing him. At first his mind was racing, then he realized what he had said and kissed you back. Pulling away you rested your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry, I…I didn’t know, I never thought.”

“I wanted to say something, wasn’t sure if you’d feel the same way”

You nodded, "I'll be more careful Frank, I promise"

That was the first night Frank spent at your apartment, he never slept just held you in his arms as you drifted off. All of it seemed like some dream to him at that moment, if he fell asleep he might actually be waking up and you wouldn't actually be there, maybe you never really existed. But morning came and you were still there beside him convincing him that this was real that when he held you it wasn't a ghost, not some memory of someone he'd lost again, this was you, this was really you.

After that Frank became more open and honest with you, not that he hadn't before but he know told you things he thought he'd never tell anyone. The relief was that you weren't afraid of what had happened and what he had done, you didn't try and rationalize it or forgiven it but you let it be and you understood what had occurred. You also didn't judge him for going to therapy, something he greatly feared. There was never judgement, there was only ever understanding and with Frank that meant more than you would ever know.

There were no secrets between you and Frank from that point onward. Nothing could be kept from one another, after all what was the point in keeping small secrets when he already knew what your vigilante identity was which was the most important secret he could possibly keep. With everything, honesty was key.

As time went on your relationship only strengthened. At first you hid it from Matt, wanting the peace of a new relationship without Matt being the over protective friend you knew he could become. But when he was made aware that you and Frank were together he was supportive, somewhat surprisingly so. The only downside was that now he was always after you on patrols, trying to keep you from getting into to much harm as he knew Frank worried about you.

Frank began living with you. You began meeting some of the friends he'd made in group therapy. Frank found a steady job working at an animal shelter where you ended up adopting two pitbulls. Life moved on, time went on, the rooftop confession seemed like so long ago. Eventually Frank decided to let go of The Punisher, it was a conversation that he'd been wanting to have with you for some time, afraid of what you might say or think.

At first it was hard to wrap your head around it. The Punisher was who you had met, perhaps now it seemed like a separate entity, a separate being but at the start Frank Castle and The Punisher were one. He confessed that he felt as though he was no longer needed as a vigilante, that his way of fighting crime was now just endless destruction something that caused more chaos than it stopped. He confessed that he feared one night you'd get a call saying that he was dead, that everything you and he worked to build would come crashing down because of one simple mistake.

Frank was happy, the anger that had created The Punisher, the need for revenge, was no more. As such, The Punisher should be no more.

After the talk, after Frank releasing the part of himself that still held on to The Punisher, you began to think. What Frank had said made sense. Hell's Kitchen wasn't crime free and it probably never would be but slowly the need for vigilantes would cease. Matt had taken care of the dark underbelly of the city all by himself before you joined, it wouldn't be difficult for him to do it all over again.  Maybe it was your turn to let go and return to a normal life.

It was the only secret you kept from Frank in the year and a half that you had been together. The only secret you would probably ever keep from him in fact. The nights when you were out on patrol you came home, stayed on the roof and contemplated leaving it all behind. Months had passed since Frank had left being a vigilante behind and you hadn't stopped thinking about potentially stopping your crime fighting ways, each night you looked at your injuries and wondered what it would be like to walk without pain, to not have in ache in your side when you breathed.

And then it happened. You had to call Frank up to the roof, your ankle was swollen but you knew it was a sprain and not a break, no the break was in your arm and your ribs. The ER that he'd taken you to didn't question it when you said you'd been mugged, an easy excuse to come up with. They didn't question the extent of the injuries or how you knew what they were before you'd even been X-rayed. You just sat in the waiting room until they could bring someone around with a sling.

That night Frank was worried again, worried you could have died and unlike the night when he confessed he was in love with you, you were worried about the same thing. That night you made your decision and thought of your future.

You worked out the details with Frank first. A fresh start, away from it all, away from his past and towards some future that the two of you would build together. Frank wanted to be near a beach, he wanted sun, you couldn’t be without a city nearby. California seemed like the perfect fit, after searching for a few months you both ended up with jobs that were willing to wait for you. Frank would be helping run a series of pitbull rescues while you’d landed an executive position at a marketing firm both within the same city. Then came a house with a backyard for the dogs and soon enough you found yourself telling all the friends you had made in New York. It was hard to let everything go but you promised visits and you promised phone calls and you knew that they’d still be a part of your lives even if you weren’t physically there.

And then it was time. The end of an era as Matt joked.

Sitting in the passenger seat of the truck that was filled with everything you were taking to your new home you didn’t feel an ounce of regret. What you felt was hope. You were leaving an old life to start something new and with Frank. All you had was hope in what was to come and love for the person who was next to you.

All Frank had was a new outlook on life. He’d had strength, ongoing recovery, love, and an engagement ring he was holding on to with a plan to propose as soon as you were all moved in.

He’d led a life of pain and grief, he was glad now to lead one of love and joy.

[let-it-raines]

Not Your (soul)Mate {4/?}

Killian Jones doesn’t like the idea of soulmates. He sees how happy his friends are with theirs, but he still doesn’t like the idea, not when he’s found love and lost it time and time again only to still not know his sign. He has no markings on his skin, no voices in his head, but then one day he meets Emma Swan and everything changes. Because, well, he may not have ink on his skin to tell him who to love, but the very first time that he hears Emma’s voice he knows that she’s the one for him. Then again, that could simply be his desire talking. After all, for every word she speaks, he becomes aroused. 

It’s not the worst thing in the world to be incredibly attracted to a beautiful woman, but things aren’t that simple when she doesn’t have any interest in being his soulmate. 

He’s screwed. And not in the good way.

Rating: Mature

A/N: As always, thank you to @captainsjedi for her art, her support, and her general kindness throughout all of the time that’s been spent working on this story! You’re the best 💛

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @scientificapricot @lifeinahole27 @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @galaxyzxstark @emmas-storybook @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @artistic-writer @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @xellewoods @thejollyroger-writer @cssns

-/-

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath before pulling her finger to her lips, trying to sooth the paper cut. She’s literally broken her arm before. How does a paper cut hurt so much worse? That just doesn’t seem right or something. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“For someone who works in an office, you swear like a sailor.”

She holds the middle finger of her free hand up to David while her legs begin to tap underneath her desk to try to make her focus on something else other than this pain. What did she do? Slice her entire finger open on a document about Leroy being drunk and disorderly at the Rabbit Hole last night?

They’ve got to switch to digital files.

And Leroy has to stop getting drunk and then serenading the people who live in the apartment building across from the Rabbit Hole at two in the morning.

And they really have to get another bar in this town, especially with how many tourists that they get in the summer months. Granny’s doesn’t count. She goes there more than anyone else, especially when she meets up with Ariel on their lunch breaks, but it is not a bar atmosphere even if she sells alcohol, most of which is stronger than the stuff at the Rabbit Hole. Granny knows how to pack a punch. Then again, Ruby has to get it from someone.

“Fuck off, David,” she bites, pulling her finger out of her mouth and looking at the miniscule damage that’s been caused there. How in the world does that cause this much pain? It’s probably extra because Leroy haunts the paper or something. She may have lost her mind. “This hurts.”

“Wash it and put a band-aid over it,” he shrugs, looking up at her over her coffee mug. Sometimes she hates that ever since Graham quit (apparently it was too hard to look at her face after they broke up even if he was the one off living with his soulmate) it’s only she and David in this department. Storybrooke is too small a town to need a lot of detectives, and even though most of the time she spends her time doing the work of a patrol officer, at least she gets paid like a detective.

There are perks.

And she loves David, but sometimes it’s too much to spend all day with him.

Today is one of those days.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“Not a Captain quite yet.”

She rolls her eyes at his cheeky smile at the same time that she rolls her chair back and across the room to the area where they keep their coffee machine and their first aid kit, oddly enough. She’s pretty sure they also keep extra ink in this cabinet as well, but David is always the one who changes out the printer stuff anyways. If their printer doesn’t work, she always heads downstairs and uses the one in the bullpen.

It’s really not because she’s lazy. The printer is evil. Pure evil.

“We have got to switch to a digital filing system,” she tells David as she unpeels the band-aid and wraps it around her finger. “I know we don’t have the money for it, but we should do a fundraiser or something. I’m sure Mary Margaret would love to put on a bake sale.”

“How much money can a bake sale make?”

She shrugs her shoulders and twists her chair around before propping her feet up on Graham’s old desk, her boots banging against the wood. “I don’t know, but my other option was making a calendar with all of the hot male cops in it. Like, sixty percent of Storybrooke would buy that.”

David scoffs and pulls his head back, his face practically in his neck while his brows furrow together, all of those little old man wrinkles coming into play. He’s such an older brother type. If she’d ever had any family, she imagines he would be the type of sibling she’d want. She loves Mary Margaret, but she’d kill her if she had to spend all of her time listening to that never-ending optimism about every little aspect of life.

“Why only the male cops?”

“Because the equality here sucks, and I don’t think Ashley and I can fill up an entire calendar. Plus, you know, women have been objectified for thousands of years. You guys can have a turn. Also, it’s illegal for me to show my nipples in any kind of publication that’s not HBO. You can show yours even though our nipples look the same.”

“You’ve compared my nipples to yours then?”

“Gross,” she moans, tilting her head back in a laugh so that her hair falls over the back of her chair. It’s kind of hot in here, June really living up to its reputation, so while she’s still very unfortunately thinking about the similarity in her nipples (she’s thought the word nipples far too many times in two minutes) to David’s, she pulls her hair up into a ponytail, fluffing it out in the rubber band so that it’s no longer on her neck. “Let’s not have that conversation again. Like, ever.”

“Agreed.”

After messing around for a little while longer, she rolls back to her desk and goes back to her paperwork. She’s behind after missing half of work yesterday to go to the dentist, so she’s still got quite the dent to make in her stack. This town should not have this much paperwork, and she swears half of this stuff should be filed at city hall anyways. One day this town is going to make sense. She loves it, really. It’s the first place that’s ever felt like home for her, but it’s all kinds of weird.

Just as she’s made her way through half of her paperwork, there’s a knock on their open door, and she turns to see Ashley holding a large basket.

“Hey, Ems. This basket was dropped off for you at the front desk.”

“Are you sure?”

Ashley holds up a white card, the word “Swan” written across it in neat, scrawling script. If this were any other town, she’d be convinced that someone was trying to poison her or something, but this really only seems like some kind of creepy gift.

Not a murderous one.

“Well okay then,” she mumbles to herself before getting out of her chair, her legs aching a bit from how she’s had them crossed, and walking to take the basket from Ashley. “Did you see who dropped this off?”

“Mr. French did. It’s from his bakery. I’d recognize those blueberry muffins anywhere. If you don’t eat them, I’d be happy to take them off of your hands.”

She laughs and looks down into the basket. It’s full of bread. Like, a hell of a lot of bread. It’s mostly rolls and baguettes, but she sees the muffins and a few cinnamon rolls in there that she would recognize everywhere. Living with Belle means they always have books, but her dad always sends them baked goods and flowers too. She’s never quite gotten the full story of how Mr. French came to own a flower shop and a bakery, but he’s pretty much got the Valentine’s Day market down.

Smart man. People lost their minds over Valentine’s Day.

“You can have the rolls, but these muffins are all mine. I’m not going to refuse free food.”

“Smart lady. I’ll see you guys later!”

“Bye, Ash,” she says as Ashley walks away and she turns back into the office, placing the food down on her desk and pointedly ignoring the smirk that David’s got painted on his lips right now. She is not acknowledging that, especially since she already knows what he’s going to say. “You want a muffin?” she asks instead, picking a chocolate chip one out and unpeeling the wrapper before popping a bite in her mouth. “They’re really good.”

“I didn’t know you were dating someone,” David teases, reaching over and grabbing a roll. “And that he is very into bread.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” she murmurs under her breath, not caring that her mouth is full. David knows not to tease her about her love life, and here he is doing just that while eating her food. Traitor.

She guesses she did offer it to him, but that’s beside the point.

“Really?” he hums, and before she can stop him, he reaches over and grabs the envelope that she hasn’t opened yet, snatching it away from her grasp as she gets up and tries to take it from him, practically tripping over a filing cabinet and nearly stubbing her toe into David’s desk while he holds the card in the air (sometimes she hates how much taller he is than her) and reads it aloud. “Swan, since you said we couldn’t steal the bread from Belle at dinner, I figured you’d like some delicacies that still stem from the French family.”

It takes her less than a second to realize who sent her the bread basket, and it takes her approximately two seconds to figure out how she’s going to strangle him with a baguette.

Killian Jones.

Killian freaking Jones.

That’s not his middle name, but she feels like it might as well be. Or maybe something a little more crass. What the hell is he doing sending her a bread basket? She gets it. She does. It’s a clever callback to their dinner last week. The dinner that was so clearly a set up from their friends.

It doesn’t matter how many times she asks them to stop interfering with her love life, they never do. And there they were trying to set her up on a date with the one person who she doesn’t want to go on a date with. There they were setting her up with a man she can’t even speak to without getting aroused. She’s had months to let that settle in, and it’s still the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard in her life.

She’s heard a lot of ridiculous things too.

But Killian was nice, if not a little inappropriate sometimes with some of his jokes. She gets that though. She’s not a prude. She’s got a sailor’s mouth and likes to talk about sex and make innuendos as much as the next girl (if that girl is a mix between Ruby and Mary Margaret), so she’s used to it. She finds it funny. She finds him funny if she’s honest with herself, but liking Killian is not something she ever really plans on doing even if he’s hypothetically her soulmate.

(It’s easier to say hypothetically instead of admitting it to herself every single time she thinks about it.)

A part of her is still convinced that something else is going on, but she can’t figure any other explanation out. She’s spent weeks, literal weeks, thinking about it while trying to go to bed at night and is left alone with her thoughts and with the sounds of Belle and Will in Belle’s bedroom. Eventually they have got to move in together because Emma’s not sure how long she can live sharing a wall if Will is going to stay over.

It’s always the quiet ones who make the most noise.

But she gets it. Soulmates aside, they’re still human beings. They didn’t instantly fall in love, and not everything is perfect. They have issues and fights, and honestly, the tiny part of her that has faith in this whole thing is only reassured by that. She doesn’t want perfect. She’s never wanted perfect. Really, she hates the whole concept of perfect.

“You’re perfect, Ems.”

She shakes that thought of Neal away and looks back to David who is still smirking, looking for all the world like the cat who ate the canary, and accepts the fact that even though Killian Jones is not the worst person in the world, that doesn’t mean she has to run and leap into his arms and let him sweep her away with his accent and charm and…bread. She can still go about her business like usual. They’re not friends, and they don’t have to be.

Their text conversation that one night aside.

“Who sent you this food?” David asks again, sitting down in his desk chair and tossing her the card. She lets it fall to the ground, landing just below her desk. “And don’t lie to me. I can apparently ask Belle or her dad.”

“It’s nothing.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing.”

“Look at the red on your cheeks! That’s blush!”

“It’s June. It’s called a sunburn.”

“Blush.”

“I hate you.”

He rips off another piece of bread and takes a bite. “You love me, but alright, I won’t ask who your mystery man is just yet. I know you’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

“That,” she chuckles, “is not ever happening.”

It takes until a little past six to get all of her paperwork finished, but she finally does, her hand only cramping the slightest bit. She’s serious about some kind of fundraiser for the department. She needs a computer system that’s better than the one they have now. And, yeah, maybe a bake sale won’t work, but that calendar will. Mary Margaret and Ruby alone will buy the place out.

(Mary Margaret because she’s supporting David; Ruby because she likes hot men.)

They’re most likely not doing a calendar, but she’ll come up with something. Maybe she can go to city hall and see if they can find a little room in the budget. She’s sure there has to be room somewhere. Hell, they haven’t been paying the extra detective’s salary since Graham left. It’s probably all sitting in a bank account somewhere.

Maybe they can get a better coffee machine while they’re at it.

She could go for some coffee right now as she walks past Granny’s on the way to her apartment, nodding her head at some of the families that pass by. It’s summer in Storybrooke, which means family after family is flooding into town to use their beach and stay at the few rental houses that line the dock area. It’s a nice place, she can admit that. It’s part of what drew her here from Boston in the first place. She needed out and away from a large city and wanted somewhere nice and quiet, at least for a little while.

She’s been here for seven years.

And maybe she doesn’t get out to the beach as often as she used to, but she’s usually always working. Plus, it’s crowded all summer long. She has to go early in the mornings to get any peace a quiet there, and mostly it’s too cold for that. This is Maine after all.

She’ll go running there in the morning, really work up a sweat before work, maybe even see the sunrise.

Who is she kidding? She’s not going to get up early enough to see the sunrise.

A little bit after, though.

Ten minutes later she gets to her apartment building, taking the stairs the three floors up with her basket of bread and walking inside to find Belle sitting on the couch drinking a glass of wine and watching an episode of the Bachelor. She has a lot of thoughts on that show, most of them probably pretty insulting, but if she’s drunk enough, she can find it entertaining enough.

Though, she’ll never understand why there’s a show on finding love when everyone already has that predestined partner.

Money. Publicity. Ratings. And the occasional time when someone very literally finds their soulmate on the show.

“Hey,” she tells Belle, dropping her keys onto their tray. There’s her chapstick too.

“Hi,” Belle greets her, twisting around before turning back to look at the television. “This guy just jumped over the fence on here, and they can’t find him.”

“How can they not find him? They live on a compound.”

(So maybe she knows more about the show than she’s willing to admit.)

(Maybe she can be a bit more into it than she’s willing to admit.)

(Maybe she watches with Belle because this is when they get to hang out and when Belle breaks out the good wine.)

“He jumped over the fence to get out of the compound because the girl he loves just broke up with him.”

“No,” she gasps, walking over to the couch and placing the basket on the table before plopping down on the couch and pulling Belle’s fuzzy white blanket over her legs. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do when Belle does finally move out because all of the nice stuff in the living room is hers. “Are you serious? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, apparently he was – ” Belle stops talking while she watches the host chase after the fence jumping guy (she can’t remember his name). “Why do you have a giant gift basket of food from my dad’s bakery?”

Well shit.

“Oh, um,” she mumbles, messing with the tips of her hair, “someone dropped it off for me at the station today.”

She’s very pointedly not looking at Belle who she knows is looking at her. This Bachelor rerun is very exciting. How could she possibly look away? She can’t. It’s against the rules.

“Who?”

“Um, I don’t know,” she sighs as she reaches forward to grab another muffin, stuffing it in her mouth. She really does have to go running in the morning if she’s going to eat all of this. “There was no name. It was an anonymous donor or something. Probably just someone wanting to thank me for helping the town.”

Her eyes cut over to Belle, and she sees her readjusting her seat, sitting up on her knees while a grin slowly starts to form on her face.

Shit.

She’s about to get interrogated.

“Let me call my dad and ask who ordered this. He can tell us that way we know.”

“No, no, no. Let’s not do that.”

“Too late. I’m calling him.”

“Belle.”

“I’m doing it.”

She watches Belle pick up her phone, already dialing her dad, and in a move that she’s not proud of, she practically jumps over to Belle, grabbing her phone out of her hand and snatching it away unlike how she wasn’t able to grab the note out of David’s hand.

“Ha,” she laughs, standing up on the couch and backing away with the phone, “now you can’t.”

“Did you get drunk at work or something?” Belle chuckles, falling back against the couch cushions. “I mean, you can’t keep my phone forever, and also, I can just walk to go see my dad. So I’m thinking you know who sent you the basket, and you should definitely tell me. I’m going to find out no matter what.”

“If I tell you,” she begins cautiously, slowly settling down on the couch and taking a deep breath, “you have to promise to listen to the explanation and not make a big deal out of it. because I promise that it’s not a big deal.”

“You’re blushing. It’s a big deal.”

She rolls her eyes, throwing Belle’s phone back at her. “I hate you.”

“You do not.” She feels like she’s had this exact conversation before. Talk about Deja vu. “Now tell me. No one came into the library today, and I have been starved for entertainment.”

“Have you ever considered reading a book?”

“Ha ha,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest. “So funny. Now tell me who this is from before I walk to my dad’s.”

There’s suddenly a very interesting piece of lint on her blouse, and she focuses on picking at it while she mumbles, “Killian Jones sent it.”

“You want to say that again?”

She groans and throws her head back, clenching her teeth before looking at Belle. “Killian sent it to me.” Belle’s eyes light up, her lips parting to say something, and Emma holds up a finger before she can finish. “No, we are not dating, and no, we did not hit it off with each other the other night. While you and Will were arguing over your vacation, he made a joke about taking the bread and making a run for it. I told him we weren’t doing that, and for some reason he decided to spend far too much money sending me the largest basket of bread I’ve ever seen.”

“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard,” Belle practically squeals, jumping up and down a little on the couch. “Oh my gosh, I have to tell Mary Margaret.”

“I will rip the pages of a chapter out of one of your favorite books if you tell Mary Margaret.”

“Traitor.”

Yep. Definitely a sense of deja vu here.

“You’re the one who’s about to make a big deal out of nothing and who’s only going to make it worse by telling Marg.”

“It’s cute. Killian likes you. He’s obviously trying to impress you.”

“I don’t want to be impressed,” she huffs, scooting down further on the couch and toeing her shoes off before she takes another bite of her muffin, the crumbs falling on her shirt. “I want to go to work and do my job and then come home and watch the History Channel without anyone interrupting me. I don’t need a guy trying to make me smile with baked goods.”

“Oh, hon,” Belle sighs, reaching over and placing her hand over Emma’s, the compassion in her eyes so different than the glint of teasing that was just there, “it’s okay to flirt and have fun every now and then. Killian is a nice guy. He’s not trying to hurt you.”

“Just hurt my waistline.”

“Yeah, maybe that. Look, I can tell this is bothering you, and since I know you, I know it’s probably some deep seeded fear that no one but you knows about that’s going to make you drive yourself crazy. Don’t overthink the gift. That’s all that it is. And I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you.”

She doesn’t say more because she doesn’t want to say more. Belle is right. This is about more than Killian being playful and teasing her. It’s about the fact that Neal did the same thing. So did Walsh. Graham did too, really, but she wouldn’t ever categorize him in the same douchebag category as Neal and Walsh. She probably wouldn’t categorize Walsh the same way that she does Neal, and he cheated on her. For months. And she didn’t even really care at the end of that even though she’ll never see the Fourth of July in the same way again. She was already checked out and resigned to herself never finding someone who she could trust.

And Neal…she doesn’t want to think about Neal. She can’t. It hurts too much.

That’s why Killian and his flirting and his bread basket terrify her. He can so easily charm her, is probably already on his way there, and if this whole magnetic thing between them really is their sign, that terrifies her all the more. Because what if he is her soulmate, and what if they still can’t make it work?

What if?

What if they’re the ones who can’t make it work?

But it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t know him, not really. She barely knows anything about him, and unless he keeps hounding her with random gifts that are going to make her go up a jean size, it’s not like she’s going to have to see him that much more.

So it’s all just fine.

When her alarm goes off the next morning, she almost turns it off and sleeps in, but something keeps her up and gets her going so that she’s lacing her sneakers and tugging on a sports bra and some leggings as she makes her way down to the beach, starting at the pier closest to her apartment and running until her legs burn and her chest aches while all of her other problems melt away. She runs and runs and runs until…

Well, until she sees Killian himself running toward her, his dark hair flopping up and down with his movements as his brother runs beside him, the two of them seemingly racing each other on the sand. She knows the moment he sees her because he falls behind Liam, his step faltering a bit before he speeds up again and moves toward her with this goofy grin on his face that almost makes her stop in her tracks, her feet sinking through all of the sand.

“Hey, Emma,” Liam yells to her, stopping his jog right in front of her. “I didn’t know you ran this early in the mornings. Elsa never mentioned that.”

“I usually don’t,” she gasps, reaching up to wipe the sweat from her brow and avoiding Killian’s gaze as a wave crashes behind her, sea mist reaching the skin on her ankles. Really, all that does is allow her to see the muscles on his stomach under his shirt, and she’s not sure how that helps. “I had a lot to eat yesterday and am trying not to be majorly bloated. Plus, I missed the beach.”

Killian coughs, and her eyes finally find his and notice the way his jaw is ticking. She almost forgot the effect she has on him, but she can tell that he’s squirming a bit, that he hasn’t spoken.

Why are the seagulls on this beach so damn loud?

“Don’t you just love the beach?” she continues, her lips pressing into a smile while she looks right at Killian. “It’s so beautiful, especially in the mornings before all of the crowds get here. I bet you guys spend a lot of time out on the water with your jobs.”

“Not as much as I’d like,” Liam admits, looking over to his brother. “Killian gets to a little more than me, though. He’s very hands on. Maybe one day we can take you out on one of our new boats that we’re test driving. I’m sure Elsa would love that.”

“I would love that too. We can make it a whole thing with some of our friends. Wouldn’t you love that, Killian?”

“Aye,” he grits, his fists clenching at his sides. “That’d be great.”

Her body tingles at his words, the beginnings of arousal pooling between her thighs, but as they continue to talk, she ignores it and makes sure that she gets more words in than him. It’s more fun than she thought it would be, and it only causes her a little pain. Maybe he doesn’t deserve her to torture him like this, but she did have to endure a lot of teasing from her friends yesterday like they’re all high schoolers. What’s fair is fair after all.

“Alright, lass,” Liam says a few minutes later, beginning to jog in place, “we best be going and let you finish your run.”

“Okay. I’ll text Elsa about that day out on the water, okay?”

“Sounds great.”

Liam begins to jog out of the way, and she thinks that Killian is going to join him, but instead he steps closer to her, his beard briefly scratching her ear as he leans in to whisper, his breath hot against her ear. “Two can play at this game, love.”

[thefandomimagine]

Matt Murdock Boyfriend Headcanons: Matt meets the Avengers.

A/N: Pietro is alive, just like in the movies, however instead of being on a very long vacation after all the shit that went down with Ultron he decided to join the team. Also you work at a bakery because reasons. Word Count: 1393

The first Avenger he ends up meeting is Clint. 

The two are you are in your apartment making out on your couch after coming back from a wonderful date when Matt suddenly pulls away and tells you he can smell blood.

5 minutes later, after you both have double checked all your injuries to make sure that it isn’t coming from either of you Clint barges in; clutching his left side tightly and muttering an apology.

 “Sorry about this Y/N but your place was closer then the tower.” 

You quickly rush over to Clint’s side to help him make his way to the couch, giving the pair a quick introduction before telling Matt to grab your first aid kit. 

“Matt this is Clint Barton aka Hawkeye. Clint this is Matt Murdock my boyfriend.” 

“Nice to meet you.” “

“You too, wish we’d meet when I wasn’t bleeding out though. Like at a bar or something.”

While your stitching him up Clint suddenly realises how awkward a situation he’s in.

“I interrupted your date didn’t I.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.”

“MATT!”

When Clint thinks you’re out of earshot while your getting him a blanket and pillow so he can spend the night on your couch he gives Matt the typical protective big brother talk (the first of many).

“You hurt Y/N and I’ll put an arrow through your dick.”

When Matt meets Sam and Steve it’s once again by accident and he begins to wonder if this is how he will meet the other Avengers (it is).

Matt and Foggy had been settling a case in the court house near where you worked so the three of you had made plans to meet up for lunch.

You end up sat at a little cafe in one of the outside tables. Just as the three of you are about to order who comes running up but Sam and Steve. 

“Hey Y/N. Fancy seeing you here.”

“I could say the same for you two, what are you doing in Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Wanda and Pietro come back tonight so we though we’d surprise them with a taste of home. Best place for authentic Sokovian cuisine is apparently in Hell’s Kitchen.”

It’s at that point that you remember that you are not alone and begin to introduce everyone.

“Guys this is Matt my boyfriend and his best friend Foggy. Matt, Foggy this is Sam Wilson aka Falcon and Steve Rogers aka-”

“Captain America. I know I had your comics as a kid.”

“Most of us did Foggy.”

After you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom Matt is once again subject to the big brother talk, much to the amusement of Foggy.

When meeting Wanda and Pietro Matt’s lucky that you’re a quick thinker else his secret identity would have been blown.

Your patching him up after a rough night of patrol when there’s a knock on the door. You and Matt both freeze hoping that whoever it is will just go away but a few seconds later the knocking restarts, much faster; insanely faster. Realising that it’s most likely Pietro (because who else do you know can knock that fast) you turn to Matt and come up with an excuse to his injuries.

“You were mugged on your way here.” 

Luckily for you both his Dare Devil suit is in your wash basket and Matt has already changed into some of his spare clothes that he keeps at your place

Wanda ends up healing Matt while Pietro runs to get his favourite take out, which you all end up eating while watching shitty TV shows because no one really has an idea of what else to do at 2 am.

While your packing away the first aid kit and making sure that Matt’s suit is well hidden under your dirty clothes Matt is once again threatened, this time being the most terrifying.

“If you hurt her you will not see me coming Matthew, think about it one second your at your office the next about to be dropped into a volcano.”

“I still do not know the extent of my powers Matt do you really want to risk it?” 

He meets Bruce next, when he comes to the bakery you work at for a box of muffins to celebrate another win.

Bruce is pretty chill compared to everyone else that he had meet so far, spending the majority of their meeting talking about your baking skills.

“Have you had Y/N’s pancakes, she made them one morning for breakfast at the tower and it was one of the best things I’d ever eat.”

“Yer she makes them at least once a week, they’re really good; though her chocolate cake is way better in my opinion.”

"I know what cake I’ll be asking for for my birthday.

While your out in the back looking for a box for Matt Bruce gives him the same treatment like the rest of the team.

“The big guys very fond of Y/N, hate to see you at the end of one of his rages Murdock.”

It’s very awkward and very brief when Matt meets Vision for the first time.

The two of you are cuddling in bed nearly asleep when Vision suddenly comes phasing through your bedroom to alert you that you’re needed for a mission

“Forgive me for intruding Y/N however we were unable to reach you.”

“Next time knock first Vision, you nearly gave me a heart attack.”

While your out of the room, grabbing the rest of your gear Vision continues with the trend of threatening Matt, which mostly falls on deaf ears because Matt is to damn tired at that point.

Matt meets Tony and Rhodey when Tony finally comes to your apartment to fix your DVD player that he promised to fix and that you didn’t need to go out and replace because he’s a genius so of course something as simple as a DVD player will be easy for him to fix.

The majority of the time is Tony questioning Matt about possible improvements and inventions he can make to help the blind.

“So the accessibility on the Stark Phone-”

“Is terrible.”

“And the Stark-”

“Every Stark product has terrible accessibility.”

While you and Tony are arguing over the mess he has made in your apartment Rhodey tells Matt stories of the missions that he’s been on, both for the Airforce and the Avengers.

“And I’m like ‘Boom you looking for this’.

After nearly 3 hours and a now smashed DVD player later you head to the electric shop 5 minutes from your apartment, leaving Matt at the hands of Tony and Rhodey who attempt and faili miserable to intimidate him.

Meeting Thor is the most embarrassing introduction, even worst than Vision.

Somehow (cough*Tony and Clint*cough) Thor ends up with the address to the firm and similarly to Rhodey begins to tell tales of his adventures, although it sounds more like an hour long tale of ‘I have killed all these different creatures and powerful beings and if you hurt my friend this is what you look forward to’.

“I am Thor, son of Odin slayer of...”

Foggy records the whole thing and puts in on Youtube, it gets a million views in less than 5 hours.

When Matt meets Natasha you’re 99% sure that she planned it.

Natasha had decided to make sure you got home alright after you had returned home from a mission. Of course when you made it to your apartment Matt was waiting for you, your favourite takeout still warm on the counter and your favourite ice cream in the freezer. 

“Natasha this is-”

“Matt Murdock attorney at law and your boyfriend.”

“Why am I not surprised you know that.”

You give Matt a quick kiss and thank you before you excuse yourself so that you can get out of your gear and into some clean clothes.

Natasha ends up not saying anything to Matt and she doesn’t have to. Everything about her immediately tells him everything he needs to know. Without saying a word Natasha becomes the scariest person that Matt has ever come across and the twins previous threat was flown out the window.

[kill-it-with-an-x-burner]

Have you ever tried writing original fiction? I think your works are good!

I was usually coerced into joining poem writing contests when I was still a student, but I’m not really much into writing original fiction.

However, I did write one back in high school. It’s about a cat whose owner died and was left to his nephew. Said cat is not very fond of his new human, but he eventually ends up looking after him anyway.

Since it’s for a “Best Original Fiction First Chapter” contest (or something along those lines), I only wrote the opening chapter. There is no official ending to the story.

There’s probably a lot of mistakes and the flow of the story might be shit, but I literally copy-pasted it from the document (no revision whatsoever), so pardon the bad writing of ol’ high schooler me. :’D

Without further ado, here is “How to Raise a Human for Dummies”.

Summary: Basically, even after taking care of him, my debt-wringing drunk bastard of an owner still died and left me to (watch over) his nephew. I can't decide who's worse.

(More under the cut.)

Ah, sweet, sweet couch. How I never want to part with you ever again. This silky fabric, this soft cushion, and mhmm, this velvety texture.... I'm in heaven. I can see the brat glaring at me on the side, but who cares about him?

Oh, you must be wondering who I am.

The name is Schrodinger. My owner calls me by that name — sometimes Schro, if he's too lazy to say my entire name (and why he gave me such a long-ass name remains a mystery to me) — but when he's drunk, which is practically most of the time, he just says a weird mix of my name and some other guy's during his slurs.

I'm your regular, run-on-the-mill tom cat. A few superstitious people thought of me as bad luck, because of my pitch-black fur and heterochromatic eyes. Honestly, humans… if I was one, I'd probably flip them a finger.

Anyways, I've been living in the streets as a kit until I was taken in by a pure, kind-hearted man.

...Oh, who am I kidding?

My owner's the biggest bastard of them all. Why he even bothered to pick little ol' me all those years ago, I'll never understand. I've been staying with Carter, my owner, for five human years (that's around thirty-six years in cat lifespan, mind you!) and I still don't understand how he thinks.

Maybe some things will just remain a mystery.

It's kind of sad to think that I'm still single and haven't got laid with a dazzling female kit out there, but I'm thinking that I've been scarred into celibacy, seeing as I was exposed to my owner's... nightly endeavors for every single day of my life; unless he was on duty, I suppose. If there was a world record for the highest number a person beds everyday, Carter would've won, hands down.

As a cat in general, I'd never thought of anyone as my owner. We felines are highly proud creatures; the most majestic and most graceful of them all. We don’t need humans to survive. However, as much as I hate to admit it, Carter took me in during my most miserable moment, and I owed a lot to him.

Besides, the man makes the best cat food I've ever eaten.

Our relationship isn't entirely owner and pet, though. Even if I regard him as my owner, it ends up with me looking out for him. God knows how many people tried to kill him, both on and off-duty, and I can't deny I haven't tried it myself. Not only that, Carter was neglectful of his health at times, and I often find myself threatening to scratch him if he doesn't get his lazy ass off his bed.

You could say that I'm living the easy life — barring the fact that I take care of a grown man in my own way — since I'm in a cozy home, well-fed, and well-groomed everyday.

Recently though, that has not been the case.

Basically, even after taking care of him, my debt-wringing drunk bastard of an owner still died and left me to (watch over) his nephew. I can't decide who's worse.

Honestly, that man had the gall to just die off without telling me. Do you have any idea how many life-and-death situations he had survived?

You see, Carter is a military officer, and he's been sent off to various wars and human skirmishes. He comes back home — sometimes gravely injured, most of the time, not — but still alive. The man has the tenacity and survivability of a damn cockroach!

That civil war in Afghanistan? That mini skirmish in Vietnam? That dispute with North  Korea? That one time he almost bled to death but still lived anyway? Hell, I even spit out hairballs into his whiskey back when he forgot to feed me for a day and he hadn't choked to his death!

He's gone through it all, and not once was his life taken away.

He's not supposed to die. I was counting on that, you know? I mean, he was too much of a bastard to die. He was a liar, a horrible drunk, a womanizer, a manipulative little snitch, and I figured he wouldn't die simply because God would do anything to keep him away as much as possible.

That's not the only issue here. The most infuriating part was that he left a will, in which he gives all his assets (and me) to his sister (regardless of the irony, if you get what I mean), who had a son (that was bad); Carter's fourteen-year-old, snot-nosed nephew.

Why did he do that?

...Damn you, Carter.

I had plans on my own — only that people don't know I can think — and you've ruined them.

When news of his uncle's death reached him, I saw him writhe in despair. Me too, I thought at the time. Why am I stuck with a brat like you?

On the other hand, Collins (I couldn’t be bothered to learn his given name) was sitting there on the side, wishing for his own death. The brat was suicidal, from what I heard, since he blamed himself for his father's death and his own evil uncle got to go before he did.

I have this impression that unhealthy mentalities run in the family.

At least Carter went out with style. I mean, he was chasing after some runaway terrorist in Africa and then he got mauled by a pack of lions and that managed to kill him, just because he wasn't paying attention, I think.

Death isn't something that anyone should ever take lightly, but I can't help but see the humor in it. “And then he got mauled by a pack of lions because of his stupidity”.

Hah.

Obviously, Collins can't appreciate it. He thinks it's an insult that Carter went first. They did say that there's only rest for the wicked.

As I said before, Carter left me to his nephew.

It was hate at first sight, I admit.

I like kids, I really do. Even when they're trying to pull my tail, I'd still find them adorable.

However, something about the brat just rubbed me the wrong way. I despised him and he loathed my very presence. It was a mutual hate relationship. Every time I strutted by, I'd hiss and try to scratch him. Every time he saw me, he'd give me a glare and would try to grab me.

I'm proud to say that he's never won any of our clashes. Those scratch marks on his arms were proof of that.

The brat and I… I don't think we'd ever get along. Besides, he's creepy. If I only knew that Carter's death would tantamount to raising some twisted little kid, I would've ran away the moment he died.

Obviously, I didn't know. That's why I ended up in a house (which has a killer couch, by the way) with Carter's awesome sister and her fucked up son.

Speaking of Carter's sister, Rachel was a single parent and thus, was out of the house most of the time — which meant, the brat and I were often alone, and trying to gut each other every time.

Collins was a lousy investment. He was mentally twisted, he was scrawny, he was clumsy, he wasn't smart, and he had zero self-esteem.

The sensible thing to do would be to stay away from the brat. The best decision, in fact, would be to leave the kid and sleep on the rooftop until Rachel comes back or something. Unfortunately, we seem to have this magnetic connection that compels us to be in each other's presence despite our mutual hate.

For reasons extremely unclear to me, I'm spending a lot of time hissing at the brat, when I shouldn't even bat an eyelash at him.

…

Hot damn, I'm actually looking out for the kid.

…No, no. I'm only doing this for Rachel.

Really.

Rachel, I really do love you and think of you as a goddess sent from paradise, but you make the worst cat food ever. What is this reddish-brown lump in my bowl? I poked it a few times and I think it moved. There goes my lunch. I'm going to have to settle with rummaging the neighbor's trash can. Never ours, because similar... things definitely ended up there.

I looked over at the brat, and his face seemed a bit green. I took a peek at his food and grimaced. It was a green thing and... was that supposed to be mashed potato? It looks like a mush of poop. I don't even want to know how mold got to his food when all of Rachel's ingredients were fresh.

Great. Carter's sister is an awful cook. How did Collins survive up to this day?

Then I remembered that a few of my owner's money went straight to him, instead of his mom. Maybe there was a valid reason why Carter sent me to their house.

I was bemoaning my fate when someone rang the doorbell. Getting curious, I walked to the doorway and saw a man around Rachel's age. He had brown hair, contrasting the family's trademark blonde hair, and blue eyes, which sort of clashed with the family's gray ones. The guy was carrying Chinese food and some cans with a picture of a cat on them.

Yuck.

If there was something I disliked more than the brat, it was commercialized cat food. However, Rachel's cooking represented death itself and I'm not taking any chances. I'd rather take the canned cat food over her grub any day.

The new arrival's not that bad, I guess. He had this fatherly aura around him. I eventually learned that his name was John, and he was Rachel's current boyfriend. Well, that, and the fact that Collins hated him with every fiber of his being.

...I knew there was a reason I liked this man.

Then once Rachel left the kitchen, the man instantly got rid of her cooking.

Go, lover boy, go! Rid us of these monstrosities!

When he had disposed of those... things, he brought out that Chinese food and those cans of cat food. I had the urge to hiss when the smell of the cat food wafted to my nose. Ugh. I still can't stand the stench, and the taste would be stale, too. But I guess I'll just have to make do with it if I don't want to starve.

After he gave me food, he gave a box to the kid, and I can see that he didn't want to eat it if it came from the man who wanted to get into his mother's pants. Oh, come on, you whiny brat. If I could put up with cheap cat food, then you can put up with perfectly decent Chinese food from your mother's lover boy.

When John took a dumpling, I thought, this is gonna be good.

If I was human, I would've laughed my ass off already. But I wasn't, so I settled with staring smugly at the brat who had the time to glare at me while John was distracted. The glare wasn't intimidating, no. It more or less resembled a pout.

That didn't deter John from his mission.

Oh, sweet lord, he thought that Collins wanted to be spoon-fed (or chopstick-fed, whatever, you get the idea). It was, simply put, hilarious.

"Stop treating me like a little kid."

"You're only fourteen, Peter."

"That's already grown up in my books!"

"Don't be like that. Here comes the train, choo-choo!"

Hahaha, I can't stop.

They went on, with Collins (or Peter, whichever) spouting hurtful personal comments. Not that hurtful, though, and that gave me the impression that the brat was only pretending to hate John. I think he genuinely likes him, seeing as the man paid him attention his mother could not, but couldn't accept him since he didn't want his father to be replaced. Brat probably believes in that 'I have only one father and mother in my lifetime' business.

I think John has the same idea, too, since he's smiling fondly at the brat.

Feh.

Humans.

This was why I hated commercialized cat food.

My stomach rumbled painfully as I howled, trying to catch Rachel's attention. The brat was sneering at me, but there seemed to be something else in his eyes.

Oh, great. The last thing I needed was pity from snot-nosed brats.

"Aww, don't you worry, little kitty," Rachel cooed at me. If I wasn't feeling miserable right now, I would have appreciated the attention. Alas, I am too far deep willowing in my own agony.

If you are curious, Rachel and the brat brought me over to a veterinarian to check what's wrong with me. They still don't understand that it was the fault of cheap cat food. I hissed at the idea of it, and they think it's because we passed by the neighbor's chihuahua.

Ah, that common misperception that cats and dogs are mortal enemies. A cat and a dog have a hissing-slash-barking fight and people think the rest of us are like that, too. To be honest, I love dogs just as much as I love kids, and that's probably why I'm sticking around the brat despite my huge dislike for him. He's all bark and no bite.

I was cut short of my musings when the veterinarian came and checked on me. When Rachel asked for the doctor's verdict, the man replied something about foreign substances in what I eat. "What did you feed him last night?"

Rachel showed him the can of cat food and I saw the doctor's eyes widened. "I think I know what caused your cat's stomach ache. This food here has a high content of science, science, science. Science, science..."

Or that's how it sounded to me, who didn't give a damn about human education. Why they're studying that much, I'd never see the reason. You see, we cats only learn three things: how to hunt, how to scavenge, and how to beg. All three are vital for survival if we want food or shelter, even if the last one is a bit degrading on our part.

To see humans taking up a lot of subjects and topics was something that any animal wouldn't understand.

I can see the brat was also confused. Meanwhile, Rachel, who somehow managed to understand all that technobabble, happily replied to the doctor's rambles. "Oh, I see. I'm so dumb that I've never thought of science, science, science!"

Geeks, I sniffed disdainfully.

"Ah, speaking of which," The doctor said. "What is your cat's name? I need to make an official clinical record for him for future references."

"Oh, um... actually, I have no idea," Rachel admitted, unabashedly. "My brother never stated his name in the papers, so..."

"Why not give him a name now? He is your cat, after all."

When I saw the brat smirked, I knew something bad was going to happen. Collins tugged at his mother's skirt and giving her his best puppy-dog eyes (I blanched at the sight. Brat has many ways to go before he can be as good as his uncle), he spoke in a clearly forced childish voice.

I winced, thinking that the two adults bought his little charade, but he can't fool me.

"Mom, why not name him Mr. Fluffles, just like that kitty cartoon on the t.v.?"

I hissed at him. Screw the brat. He knew I hated that sorry excuse of a show!

Rachel's eyes sparkled. Oh, hell no. "That's a great idea, sweetie! Okay. From now on, he will be Mr. Fluffles!"

Damn you all. The name is Schrodinger. S-C-H-R-O-D-I-N-G-E-R. The brat knows my name! If you can't pronounce my name right, just call me Schro. Over my dead body will I be called 'Mr. Fluffles' of all things!

While the doctor and Rachel were distracted, the brat smirked at me and mouthed, "You're going to lose."

I hissed at him more. I am not going to lose!

I lost. Badly.

It was bad enough that they named me Mr. Fluffles, but to put it on the official papers and get a degrading hot pink collar with that name on it? I'd be the laughing stock of my fellow felines!

I curse you, Collins. You are the child of the devil, I swear.

My only hope was John's opinion, but even he thought it was a cute name. John, you traitor. I'll get you, just you wait!

At least I had a consolation prize that made the brat sulk all day long. Apparently, John wanted to bring Collins to a kiddie fair and Rachel agreed. Hah. It made me feel a tiny bit better, since he was grumbling and being grumpy because of it. The brat yelled, complained, and kicked all he wanted, but nothing he did changed his mother’s nor John's mind.

We did go to that embarrassing kiddie fair. For serious, for real, we went to a kiddie fair. On one hand, it is the perfect thing to have a family bonding. On the other hand, John made Collins go to an embarrassing kiddie fair.

It's good that I couldn't talk, and it's good that I have a great poker face. Otherwise, there was no argument that this would end any way other than Collins trying to kill all of us (except Rachel) with a pout of doom and with him being eternally humiliated in the eyes of his peers. Heh. Kiddie fair. A fourteen-year-old boy in a kiddie fair filled with screaming hysterical toddlers.

This was even better than John, spoon-feeding extraordinaire.

This is good for me, too. It distracts me from my morbid little thoughts and gives me free entertainment to boot. If I wasn't bothering the brat or complaining about my life, I would find myself thinking of what-could-have-beens and looking around for Carter. I kind of miss that bastard.

Speaking of which, John was trying to coerce Collins to ride the carousel with him. People were staring at the lone teenager at the fair.

"I'm not going to ride that thing."

"It's not that bad, and Rachel often told me on how much you loved the carousel."

"That's the key word right there, 'loved'. I've grown out of that phase."

"I firmly believe your inner kid is still there."

"Stop embarrassing me."

"I'm not!"

"...I'll kill you."

"I'm just dragging you off to ride the carousel with me. God, you're bloodthirsty."

"I have a pocketknife and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Don't talk to me with that tone, young man, or I'll give you a time-out."

Hah, and they wonder why other people stayed away from us during the entire trip to the kiddie fair.

In the end, I thoroughly enjoyed my days with Carter's relatives. They weren't all that unbearable— even the brat, to some extent. In fact, they were downright funny and I guess... it's not hard to be fond of them. I can see why my owner cared in his own demented way.

Maybe living with them wouldn't be so bad.

That still doesn't change the fact that I hate the brat.

Yup, this is the fic. That’s it.

I didn’t win the contest btw.