#I could’ve made her a ship captain in retrospect…… oh well

[crab-san]

What if Luka Megurine was a water-type trainer

[norcumii]

Feral!Kenobi plunnie

I’ve a ridiculous partial plunnie, and no idea what to do with it.

So here it is for the internets, hopefully someone wants to play with it because beyond pretty visuals and some silliness I got nothing. Also, much mock grumpy gesticulating must be made towards @dharmaavocado  because I’m sure I was inspired by her talk of Amnesia AUs (and her recent Leverage AU snippet was inadvertently what kicked things off, so thbbbbbt). Also thanks to @dogmatix because she helped plot SHENANIGANS.

*****

SO! AU time! It’s been like, at least 2 years of this damned war, and Rex is now in a stage of P I N I N G for a certain General Kenobi. He’s professional enough to not ever say a thing, and Kenobi seems ignorant. That’s good enough, right?

Then Kenobi faffs off somewhere, as he is wont to do, and disappears for about a week. The 212th has been left to handle themselves like the ADULTS THEY ARE, while Skywalker, Ahsoka, and Rex sail off to rescue someone’s moronic ass. They follow his trail (no I have no idea what that’s a trail of, which is yet another reason I’m not writing this for reals) to some obscure planet and a weird Sithy type temple thing that looks ominous and feels even creepier in the Force. There’s not much to this temple thing, and the main chamber’s roof has caved in.

That looks recent. As a matter of fact, a bunch of the rocks have been cleared away, like someone was underneath them at the time they came down. There’s a decent amount of blood, too –  

Along with the crushed remains of a familiar lightsaber. Also something the Jedi can tentatively identify as some kind of Sith artifact, though according to Ahsoka (she geeked out about some old relics in the Archives for a project several years ago), no one knows what they might have done.

Fuck. So good news, Obi-Wan is probably alive – the rocks look like they were moved from underneath, not from the outside. Bad news, his lightsaber is toast and there was a mysterious Sith artifact involved. There’s no hint of which was cause and which effect: a lightsaber can be rigged to cause an explosion; the roof could’ve trashed it and the artifact when it came down; the artifact could’ve caused who knows what kind of damage.

They spread out to search the area a bit more closely. Rex is prepared for trouble, but something still gets the drop on him. One minute he’s prowling around checking the bushes, the next something is tackling him. If he weren’t a well-trained soldier and a clone genetically tweaked to keep up with Jedi, he’d be dead. As it is, there’s a scruffy cloaked figure trying to kill him with a set of fancy ritual knives that had to have come from the temple. They tussle for a bit, Rex JUST managing to keep them at bay while getting in a few good hits. The Jedi finally charge in to the rescue, Force shoving the figure into a wall.

The hood of his cloak finally falls, and Obi-Wan Kenobi is looking at them like he has no idea who they are.

*****

There’s possibly a bit more fighting before the trio’s certainty that it’s someone they know and care about sinks in enough to convince Kenobi to back down and listen. See, he has no idea who he is, or who they are, or a lot of things, really. His memories overall are just gone – no hints, no remnants, no suspicious feelings. His skills are all there, including the Force, though he doesn’t always know he’s using things. He just does stuff. General knowledge is fuzzy – he knows about the Republic, but while for instance he knows there’s a chancellor fuckall if he knows who it is.

The other three are Very Concerned, and take him back to the Twilight, then/or the Resolute. Anakin has investigating to do, Ahsoka can research from the ship, and Rex is trying to grapple with the knowledge that after the fact, in retrospect, Feral!Kenobi almost killing him was disturbingly HOT (oh help what do?). Jedi don’t fight like that, this is not normal, and Rex is very, very confused.

*****

“Feral” is accurate. Kenobi doesn’t seem to give many shits about societal niceties (he can observe them, he just doesn’t have much reason to care), and he keeps his shiny knives and just prowls around the place. He’s sparred with a number of the ARCs on board, and kicked ass in ways that The General would not do – also hot, though the general consensus is that the contrast between this new Kenobi and the old one is just too jarring and weird to overcome chain of command and propriety. He doesn’t have the serenity or the tendency of the General to sink into the background: it’s not that he’s arrogant, it’s just that this is a man who has no memories of why he might be uncertain about himself or his place in the world.

*****

This weird little dance goes on for at least another week. It’s late evening, and Rex is almost at his cabin, almost able to faceplant in his bunk and contemplate how these new circumstances are beyond weird and just fucked up. Then Kenobi stalks up to Rex in the empty corridor, and from the way he rakes a look over the Captain, he can tell the aggressive thing is a turn on. He doesn’t waste any time before speaking. “I’ve been feeling you pining halfway across the ship, and it is a very large ship. Did we used to fuck?”

The floor doesn’t open and swallow Rex whole, unfortunately. He tries to stammer out a few things, which is interesting because he has no idea what he might possibly say. Kenobi steps closer, and Rex backs right up to his door. “That’s a no, then. Might be fun to.” He plants a hand on Rex’s breastplate, pushing enough for the pressure to be felt but not enough to actually trap him. “Interested?”

“General–!”

“No.” It’s like all the intensity just cuts off, for all that Kenobi doesn’t pull back, doesn’t move an inch. “Not anymore. I don’t remember being him, for all we know I won’t ever remember being him. I’ll use the name, but not the title. That’s not who I am now.”

“But you might be.” The notion’s plagued him a bit, helped keep a bit of reserve in the face of this man stalking through the halls, utterly certain of himself. “Isn’t that how it goes in the holos? Second crack on the head, forget everything between that and the first one?”

“That’s not how head injuries work,” Kenobi says, dry as he used to be, even as his posture and attitude are still sex on wheels. “There’s no decent explanation for this, several possible causes, and that’s a problem for the other me if he ever comes back. Would it make life difficult for you, if we fucked?”

Little gods, he wishes Kenobi would stop saying it like that, and the bastard can probably tell, and it doesn’t help that the aggressive thing and the attitude are intriguing. “Probably,” he admits with more honesty than he really intends.

Like that Kenobi is several paces back, hands to himself though the posture is still predatory. “Then it’s all your call, Captain. If you’re interested, I’m sure you can find me if you come looking.” He turns, takes two steps, then pauses and glances back. That is sultry in the way the rest was all matter of fact, direct. “Hm. We might have to try that.”

Try what? Rex’s brain manages to ask, before ‘come looking’ sinks in and he just goes red. Fucking asshole of not-really-a-general has already disappeared by then, of course.

*****

So that all builds to some aggressive smutty fun times, because Feral!Kenobi loves pushing (and making Rex blush) and once he’s over the initial reactions Rex enjoys pushing back. For reasons unknown I don’t think Obi-Wan ever gets his memories back, but he’s FAR less likely to fall for persuasive bullshit and political idiocy than in canon.

No idea where or how that goes, though. Just pretty mental images of Feral!Kenobi who thinks fighting is right next door to fucking in terms of a good time, and Rex who is flailing along realizing this hits a LOT of kinks he did not know he had.

~end

[heartavenged]

THINGS I LOVED ABOUT AVENGERS ENDGAME

SPOILERS.

Based on the amazing post by @saieras (21 things I loved about endgame), anything pushed by blockquotes (the little line on the left), and some of the titles, come directly from said post --DISCLAIMER -- and means I agree completely.

1. THE FIRST 20 MINUTES

Expectations? Chuck them out the window. They weren’t kidding when they said all promotional material came from the first 20 mins!!! I loved how they got right into the thick of things, cameras blazing, completely no nonsense. And CAROL omg. Also I did NOT expect Thanos’ death to be, Just Like That.

CAROL, again.

2. THE TIME JUMP

Very, very smart move. I liked everything about the time jump. It lets us view the event with a lens of a world shattered, a world that has had the chance to come to its senses and reel from the catastrophe.

3. TONY CONFRONTS STEVE

I have firmly been Team Iron Man since Civil War, and Tony is my favourite character (I am not okay), so suffice to say that I loved how, even weakened with malnourishment, he got in Steve’s face, and everything he said.

4. THE LANGS

Just. Every joke he made. Fantastic.But also I did not expect to shed my first tear at his and Cassie’s reunion. That was great.

5. DOMESTIC TONY

Tony and Morgan. Such a real, cute father-daughter relationship. ‘Mommy send me to rescue you’ and ‘Love you three thousand’ filled my heart with joy.

6. INTERN

Tony and Peter’s photo (...)  AND THAT PHOTO WAS HIS. In HIS HOUSE. FRAMED. I REALLY wish we got more but that moment was very powerful. Still, I was unsatisfied. I wanted Tony to cry. I wanted Morgan to also know about Peter. Basically I want more canonical proof of Irondad Spiderson. Like, listen, this is the one loss that haunts Tony to this day. Peter’s death was the kind of pain that made Tony terrified of going again, for fear of losing Morgan

7. THE NYC SCENE

ALL of it. From Tony the security guard, to him talking shit about his own deodorant, to him giving himself a cardiac arrest to cause a diversion and being like this is fine, nothing to see here. And Hulk vs stairs. And STEEB. OMG STEEB. “Hail Hydra.“ “I’ve got visuals on Loki.” “I can do this all da–“ “Yeah. I know. I know.“

“Bucky… Is… ALIVE“

And butt jokes. So many Steve buttjokes. I don’t ship stony, but that is the closest y’all will get to a stony suggestive scene.

ALSO LOKI just yeeting himself outta there. That’s ma boi!

8. FRIGGA AND THOR

Nuff said. Mama Frigga is the best.

9. TONY AND HOWARD

It’s really great how adorable Tony was throughout this scene. And… while Howard was NOT redeemed, it’s nice to know he did love his son. And it’s great that Tony got some closure.

10. PEGGY AND STEVE

Out of the Big Three’s scenes with their “significant past people”, this one was the least impactful for me, as they didn’t even talk, BUT in retrospect it set the scene for later perfectly.

Also because I don’t much care for Steve.

11. GAMORA

This is GREAT and showcases her character very well, who she really is despite who Thanos raised her to be.

True, the minute she realizes Thanos’ plan is to wipe out half the universe, she is so clearly appalled (I don’t think she really knew what he planned for after he gathered all stones), and immediately starts to reconsider her position on the whole thing.

12. CLINT AND NATASHA

Their friendship was on full display during this film. Their scenes. And how it was all platonic. The entire audience knew, as soon as they landed on Vormir, that one of them wasn’t going to make it.

- I knew it would be Natasha , though, Clint and his family, and Natasha and her whole “I need redemption, I’m still trying to be a better person” -

Back to the Vormir scene: it was amazing, and heartbreaking, the lengths they were willing to go to make sure they were the sacrifice, like, how they were willing to injure if it meant the other were alive at the end. Clint and Natasha were never my favourites (except around Avengers), but I will forever applaud Scarlett Johansson and Jeremy Renner for their outstanding performance.

13. THE BIG THREE FIGHT THANOS

Thor’s lightning and Tony’s Iron Man tech combining to kick purple ass, all of three of them holding the titan back while the others tried to crawl out of the rubble. Still, the “big three fight” was mainly focused on Steve, in my opinion.

Like previously stated, I’m not a greeeat Steve fan, but even I have to admit that Mjölnir zapping to his hand at that precise moment was awesome. I cheered right along with everyone else. Which also justifies Thor grabbing it along from the past and possibly, maybe, most likely, leaving his past-self without it?

Anyways, cue tears at each shard of the shield.

14. THE ENTRANCE OF THE HEROES

If I was crying before, the moment that Sam hails Steve, and Shuri, Okoye and T’Challa walk through that first portal I was outright sobbing.

Words don’t do justice to the emotion I felt at seeing ALL my heroes assemble for the last time. At each new face I cried harder. They didn’t forget anyone and that made me so fucking happy. 

I felt as if I could climb into the screen and fight alongside them, I felt powerful enough and fired up enough to do it too. And that’s the magic of that scene, thank you cast and crew. Thank you MARVEL for the incredible build up, I thought it was worth it.

15. PETER AND TONY

How Peter goes straight for Tony and cute rambling mode is already turned on, but Tony can’t even speak, and just falls into the hug in a parallel of their “hug” in Infinity War.

“Oh, this is nice!”

The moment is essencial since Peter, and not really any of the other tens of trillions* that vanished in the snap, is the reason Tony embarks in the time travel venture, even when it could’ve cost him so much. So it validates his choice, besides his being, you know, a true hero.

16. CAROL’S ENTRANCE

I missed her in this movie. I mean, I thought she would be in almost every shot, but maybe that was just because I think she’s fantastic. Her entrance, tho.

“What are they shooting at?” “Something just entered the atmosphere”

And then blast! Singlehandedly destroying the mothership (Thanos’ looks so fucking offended and we can see any conviction of victory waning from his expression), and kicking some ass. Way to establish dominance early on girl!

I mean, I played with the idea of Infinity-War-Thor being equal to Carol, (and maybe, maybe, he could’ve come a close) but now? She’s so clearly in another level... No words except: goddess.

17. PETER IN THE BATTLE + CAROL

Instant kill mode

So proud of him. The way he flips in, and is instantly like Woah this is a Big Fight!!

“Hey Peter Parker. Got something for me?”

CAROL. CArol listen. You are his mom now. That’s how it works with that damn kid. (...) It be like that sometimes.

I don’t think Carol would ever be around enough for anything close to parental relationship (plus, May is Peter’s mom), but that boy will worship the hero-shit out of Captain Marvel.

18. MARVEL’S HEROINES

If my crying had eased a bit from the general assemble moment, I fucking cracked again here. They are so tough, and powerful, and beautiful.

As a woman, it was so damn empowering and important to see all of them up there, together, each with their own background and their own strengths. I love how we had all kinds of women - warriors, mothers, princesses, generals, wives, captains, businesswomen, scientists, girlfriends, assasins, friends, witches - and all of them fighters.

I also can’t wait for the gifset and the final still - it’s gonna be my background for about everything.

Also RESCUE. OMG. PEPP. And the battlefield fighting side by side with Tony.

19. TONY’S SEND OFF

His death. I was glad Pepper was the last one there, to tell him it’s okay, they’ll be fine, he can let go.

AND PETER. Peter was there, trying to talk to him, sobbing and breaking down. This is what I wanted, going in, if Tony were to die. And this is what I got. You just know this is going to haunt him in FFH.

And Tony himself. His immense sacrifice, the moment he knew what he had to do, the moment Strange held up that finger. One way. UGH.

Of course I knew Natasha wouldn’d be the only one to die, but damn, I’m still feeling the hole his amazing fictional character left/ is going to leave in my life. Literally the only one (Peter was of course safe with Far From Home around the corner) I didn’t want to die. I loved him before my heart was inflated with Stark-family feels.

The lake house was so peaceful and I loved how it showed that after all his trouble, his PTSD, Tony had found a home and a family (even if somethings haunted him).

The picture, and how devastated Peter is can only mean that between Homecoming and Infinity War they grew closer, which had always been what I wanted. But I wanted to see it! Fanfiction will have to continued to lull my pain, I guess.

Speaking of fanfiction, Harley being at the funeral is all the proof my little fanheart needs to claim they’ve not only been in contact through the years, but had a mentor/parental relationship as well.

The question for me now is: how well do the boys know each other?

20. AND FINALLY, TONY. RDJ.

Thank you. Beyond all words, Thank you.

This has been one hell of a ride.

FOREVER IRON MAN

[banrionrua]

FIC PROMPT: BELLAMY AND CLARKE AS JIM AND PAM

it’s like you looked right into my soul and came up with the prompt of all prompts, the prompt of my heart and I love you for it. hope this isn’t absolute trash and sorry it took me so long, I got distracted watching PB&J videos for days on end and have no regrets.

also on ao3

‘the church was plan b’

In retrospect, they should’ve expected this, really.

This wedding was proving to be one shit-show after another, from Jasper tearing his scrotum at the dance party the night before in Monty’s hotel room (splits and keys in pockets were never a good idea) and Clarke (the only sober person left in the hotel) having to spend the night at the ER with him, to Murphy getting banned from the hotel bar approximately five minutes into the night for howling like a wolf and trying to steal three bottles of Jack Daniels, and even to Bellamy himself, who did the one thing they were afraid every and anyone else would do: spill the beans about Clarke’s pregnancy at the rehearsal dinner, in front of her extremely conservative grandmother, Mee-Maw, who then called Clarke a jezebel before refusing to come to the wedding ceremony.

Still, it was hard to put a damper on the day he’d been waiting just about his whole life for.

If someone had told Bellamy Blake five years ago that he’d be marrying the pretty blonde from reception at Factory Station Paper Company, he would have laughed in their face, and then all the way home, too.

Because life wasn’t that good and kind to him, historically, and because timing was a bitch. For years, she had a boyfriend (fiance, if he was being honest) - Finn, the ass of the century who worked down in the warehouse. And Bellamy, he’d just been a kid from the other side of the tracks looking for a steady enough job to get him and his sister by after his mother died. 

So, for a long time, he’d been content to just be her friend. She was his best friend, and God, he was lucky for even that. He came into work everyday thankful for that much. It was a shitty job at a shitty little paper company, and somehow, he still loved every minute of it because of her. She’d changed everything.

It took years, and a lot of waiting (he was a Blake, and patience wasn’t natural to them), and sometimes he thought he’d suffocate from the heavy weight on his chest that threatened to explode more and more everyday as he fell deeper in love with her.

But somewhere, somehow, along the way, his luck changed. She caught Finn with his other girlfriend, Raven, and from there on out, she was short a fiance and had gained a friend. He’d moved away to another branch to try to move on before it all went to hell, then moved back months later when branches merged, with Echo in tow, and it didn’t take Echo all that long to realize he loved her, sure, but not with his whole heart, not the way he loved the receptionist he was always planning pranks on Jasper with, and not the way Echo deserved to be loved. That crumbled, too.

It took tearful confessions and entirely too much time, but somewhere, somehow, he finally got the girl.

The girl he was fifteen minutes away from calling his wife.

So, yeah, despite all the craziness, despite the chaos of inviting their entire office and two mismatched, overbearing families, none of whom listened to their do’s and do not’s for the wedding….he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

He was kicking around a soccer ball outside the chapel with Ethan, their ringbearer - Wells Jaha’s foster son and the light of Thelonious’ eyes - when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. He couldn’t even stop the stupid grin that came at seeing her name pop up with the photo of her licking frosting off his cheek from Fourth of July last summer.

God, he was a goner.

“Are you sure there aren’t any rules against calling me right before we go into the church, Princess? Wouldn’t want to jinx it this late in the game…not sure we could get any of the deposits back at this point.”

“Probably not.” The smile dropped from his face and his stomach sank as soon as he heard her broken voice, sniffles on the other end. “Can you just…come here, please?” She sounded so small, so unlike herself, and he took off before she even hung up, rushing through the back doors of the church to find her.

Please don’t tell me she’s changed her mind. Oh shit, what if it’s the baby? What if something’s wrong? Please, please….

He practically skidded into the small room they’d given her to wait in, finding her sitting on a piano bench sniffling, but even through all his worry - he froze.

Because there was Clarke Griffin, dressed in white, looking more beautiful than he could’ve ever imagined. He was sure he didn’t deserve her, or any of this, but he was thanking every one of the gods, anyway.

“Wow,” he breathed out. “Clarke, you look….wow.”

She let out a watery laugh, “I look like shit.”

He walked over and sat down beside her, thighs pressed against each other, and gently reached out his hand, brushing his thumb against her cheek, feather-light. “Clarke Griffin, I’m not sure you could ever look like shit even if you tried. You look…so beautiful, Princess.”

“No, I don’t,” she said miserably, swiping at her eyes gently, trying not to ruin the makeup Octavia had done for her earlier. “I knew when we found out about the baby that I wouldn’t be able to wear the perfect dress o-or high heels, and that was okay, really, but now I tore my veil and that was the one thing I could control and I just….”

He tried not to show his relief that it was just the veil and not something more serious like his paranoid mind had immediately jumped to, but she still looked so miserable and he’d give anything to make her smile, especially today.

His eyes landed on scissors on the desk to their right behind him, and he reached out, grabbed them, and cut his tie in half.

Her eyes widened, “Bellamy! ”

“Now we’re even,” he shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face. Her eyes shone with more tears, but she was starting to smile, at least. She lifted her hands, motioning a camera click - they’d promised each other to take mental pictures of all the best moments this weekend, something Vera Kane had suggested to them. It was a joke at first, but this?

This she’d remember forever.

He leaned forward, kissing her forehead gently and resting a hand on her barely-there baby bump hidden under the silk of her dress. She sighed and melted into the touch, and he could feel the tension rolling off her body, finally. “They’re all driving me insane, Bell. Jasper and my mom and Thelonious and everyone….I thought this day was supposed to be our day, you know?”

He knew. And honestly, how could they have expected any differently? God love them all, they really were good people, they were just a lot to handle, their friends and family. She was right. Their wedding was supposed to be about them.

This? All this pomp and circumstance, all the decor and frill, it wasn’t them.

He stood then, having made up his mind, and reached out a hand to her, wordlessly. She looked up at him with furrowed brows, but he just smirked.

“Bellamy, what…”

“Do you trust me?” She gave him an unimpressed and still entirely confused look, but put her own hand in his, letting him help her up. He might be crazy, too, but she trusted him more than anyone in the world. That’d been a given a long, long time ago.

“What are you up to, Blake?”

He gave her a quick kiss, still smirking into it. “You’ll see.”

****************************

“Oh my god.”

He closed the passenger door behind her as she got out of the car, jaw still dropped at his surprise. How could they have a destination wedding in Niagara Falls without stopping at the actual falls?

Besides, he’d heard somewhere that boat captains could help them out with the whole marriage thing.

They’d left everyone behind at the church - they’d still be there when they got back, but who cared? This day was about him and his wife.

They could figure the rest out later.

They pulled their blue plastic ponchos over their wedding clothes and walked onto the Maid of the Mist hand in hand, and maybe this wasn’t the grand, majestic affair that Abby Griffin had pictured for her only daughter, or the ‘poppin’ wedding of the century’ that Jasper had certainly planned to dance down the aisle at (they’d found his YouTube playlist of “Best Wedding Entrances Ever - Bellarke Wedding?” the week they’d gotten engaged), but this?

This finally felt right.

Sprays from the waterfall rained on them just as the captain came out and performed their little ceremony, splashing them from head to toe and making Clarke laugh, carefree and blissfully. (Bellamy reckoned it was the best sound in the world, only to later be tied with the sound of their daughter’s first cries when she’s born.) 

He lifted his hands, taking a mental picture, and whether the wetness on his cheeks was from the water or his own tears of pure joy, he couldn’t be sure, but her face looked just the same.

When he kissed her for the first time as his wife, he was sure, for the first time ever, that fate was real, that someone in the great wide universe had been looking out for him after all, because life had led him to Clarke Griffin, and they belonged to each other now.

He said as much a little later as they stood at the front of the ship, her leaning into his side, head resting on his shoulder. She turned to look up at him before leaning up to kiss him again, and it was slow and soft and as magical as the thousands of other kisses they’d shared before, and the millions he planned to keep sharing with her for the rest of their lives.

“Thank you for everything, Bell. For being you. For marrying me. For this plan B of yours….I can’t imagine a more perfect day,” she all but whispered, and he kissed her cold, wet forehead, not able to stop touching her, to stop reminding himself this was all real.

“This wasn’t plan B,” he clarified after a beat. She looked up, that crease between her brows back, confusion written on her face. “Plan B was the church. This was actually Plan C.”

“What was Plan A?”

He turned to her fully now, moving a stray piece of damp hair from her face and gazing at her with all the love in the world. The whole world might be out there, but in that moment, she swore there was no one else but them, in this moment, and if she could pick one moment to live in for the rest of her life, she knew it would be this very one.

“Plan A was marrying you a long, long time ago. Pretty much the day I met you,” he said, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it, and she choked on a happy sob, kissing him again because of all the billions of women in the world, she, Clarke Griffin, knew what it was like to be wholly, completely, unconditionally loved by Bellamy Blake.

****************************

They were over an hour late to their own wedding ceremony, nearly soaked, hair ruined, veil torn, tie cut, and never happier.

When Jasper winked at Monty, and turned on his iPod to ‘Forever’, they couldn’t even find it in them to be upset. Harper quickly apologized to Clarke, knowing this had been explicitly on the Do-Not-Playlist, but Clarke just smiled, telling her to go on.

She looked up to the altar, locking eyes with her husband, and he shook his head with a little shrug. She reached her hands up and took another mental picture.

Yeah. This is perfect.

[hookedonapirate]

A Birthday Surprise

Summary: It’s bad enough Emma was goaded into helping her college roommate throw a surprise birthday party for her boyfriend who Emma hasn’t gotten along with since they’d met. It’s even worse when he accidentally walks in on her in the shower thinking she’s said roommate. Talk about a birthday surprise he’ll never forget…

A/N: This was meant to be a birthday gift for my dear friend @rouhn and it’s way early, but I decided to post the first half to cheer her up. I hope it at least makes you smile, and I hope you can find inspiration to finish your story, Lydia!

Thank you @resident-of-storybrooke and @teamhook for taking a look at it and for all of your help!

Starts with Millian, but definitely ends with Captain Swan.

Rated: Explicit

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

Part 1/3

“Crap! We’re out of milk.”

Emma casually shrugs in the entryway sipping her mug of cocoa and cinnamon, indulging in the sugary hot liquid as she watches her roommate frantically run around the kitchen making pancakes. Milah’s trying to at least.

“How can we be out of milk?!”

There’s butter smudged on the countertop, there’s white flour dusted all over everything, including her angry friend and a spot on the floor where Emma can assume Milah tried to clean up a broken egg based on the smeared yolk, glop of egg white and remnants of egg shells.

“Do you need any help?”

“No, I told you I can do this on my own!” Milah shrieks in vexation. “I don't need any help. It's Killian’s birthday and I'm perfectly capable of making him chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast on my own, without your assistance,” she insists, adding some ingredients in the bowl, her pale features twisted in disapproval at her unfinished concoction. “I just need to get some milk.”

Emma responds with an eye roll, because how could someone forget an important, yet basic ingredient such as milk? Okay and there may be several other reasons to be annoyed.

For weeks, Milah’s been droning on and on about doing something special for the guy she's been seeing for four months now. And although Emma's been helping her plan his birthday party, adding her input with every last detail—the decorations, the food (not to mention the pirate ship cake she picked out), the invites and even what gift to get him (she unfortunately knows the man better than his own girlfriend does)—Milah won't let Emma help make him breakfast. Don't ask her why because she has yet to fathom a reason.

Milah can't even cook a box of macaroni and cheese, which is why the task of making most of the meals is always left to Emma. But Milah wants this day to be special, and absolutely insisted on making pancakes by herself. So, Emma just leans back and watches her roommate make a complete fool out of herself.

“You know, you could've just made pancakes from a box. They probably would've turned out better anyways,” Emma teases waggishly.

Milah flashes a scowl and sets the mixing spoon down to pick up a rag and wipe off her mess from the counter. “I'm going to the store to get some milk. Killian’s supposed to be here in twenty minutes, but if he does arrive before I do, I'm sure you could occupy him until I get back?” Milah drops the rag and approaches Emma, clasping her hands together, her lips forming a pout. “You two can get along for two seconds, right?”

Emma emits an exasperated sigh as she turns around, making her way out of the kitchen. “Consider him occupied,” she assures her roommate, and at the same time, she's anxious to hop in the shower because she really doesn't want to be seen by him in her current state. She may hate the man's guts but the thought of him looking all gorgeous and cleaned up while she’s in her bathrobe with no makeup and her hair a disheveled disaster—well, she just can't give him that kind of satisfaction.

“Oh, and can I take your car? Mine’s on empty.”

“Go for it. The keys are in my purse,” Emma replies dimly and proceeds down the hallway, wishing this day would fly be as quickly and painlessly as possible.

“Thank you, Em! I'll be right back!” Milah calls out, and with the jangling of Emma’s keys and the door flying shut behind her, Emma is left to her own devices and traipses into the bathroom, turning on the shower.

Seriously though, is the guy worth all of this trouble? He's just a man Milah will probably grow sick of after a few more months anyway. During the year she and Emma have been roommates, Milah has gone through five short-lived relationships that ended badly (on his end at least). Milah is always way less involved in the relationship than the guy is, so when she cuts him loose, she wipes her hands of him and literally has another man in her sheets the very next night. So really, Emma doesn't know why her roommate is going to all this trouble for this one guy. And if Emma is being honest, she feels sorry for Killian even though she cannot stand him. He's smug and cocky and overall a huge pain in the ass. He hangs around the apartment way too much and she can't understand why they don't go to his place more often. And the reasons she hates him has nothing to do with the fact that Emma had met him before Milah did. No, she had reasoned a while ago that she hated him the moment she’d met him.

• • • •

It’s a Monday morning during her second semester of junior year at the University of Camelot as Emma hurries across the campus with her bag of textbooks slinging over her shoulder. It had rained overnight, so the grass is slippery and wet, and there are puddles scattered among the parking lots in front of the various buildings. In retrospect, she should've rethought her outfit as soon as she walked outside and stepped onto the wet concrete, considering she’s wearing her favorite sweater—a white Camille that her mother had gifted her for Emma’s nineteenth birthday—but she takes her chances and plunges through it, her long, golden curls bouncing behind her. The boots she’s wearing are receiving the rough end of it anyway, collecting mud around the edges, but they’re old and tattered so she’s not too concerned.

She’s crossing a small parking lot in front of Cricket Hall, the psychology building, when she's nearly run over by a motorcycle, dodging and falling in a puddle and dropping her bag in the process.

Emma curses, utterly humiliated as she struggles to get up, but the sound of the motorcycle cuts off and there's suddenly a hand being extended to her and bright blue eyes looking down at her. All of the air leaves her lungs and she can't do anything but take in the black leather, dark unruly hair and rough scruff on the sharply shaped jaw of the man who has almost run her down with his stupid bike.

“My apologies, love. I didn't see you.” His sultry British accent and kind words tear Emma from the trance she's fallen into and she shakes it off, not accepting his help as she tries to push herself up. But she's all wet and the ground is too slick, so she falls again splashing in the mud and huffs in frustration. This time, she reluctantly accepts his assistance because, well to be blunt, her dignity’s already been thrown out the window, and she's covered in mud so there's really no way to amend the situation at this point. She takes the offered hand, and the contact sends a bolt of electricity through her body.

He pulls her up as she grumbles under her breath, and when she's finally standing, she quickly releases his hand and peers down at herself to assess the damage. Her favorite sweater is completely ruined. “Shit! Look what you did! I'm covered in mud, my bag and the sweater my mother gave me are ruined and I was supposed to be in class two minutes ago! How am I supposed to show up late, or at all for that matter, looking like this?!”

Emma's expecting another heartfelt apology or for him to at least sound like he's sorry for ruining her clothes or her bag (Shit! Her books are probably ruined too!), but to her chagrin, he only picks up her bag, a scowl settled in his handsome features as he holds it out for her to take. “Like I said, I didn't see you.”

“Yeah, well maybe you would've if you were watching where the hell you were going.” Emma snags the bag from his hand and unzips it peeking inside and pulling out a book that is now drenched from the mud puddle.

The guy only shrugs and replies with, “Yeah well maybe you should watch where you’re going,” before he leaves her fuming with anger.

“You owe me two new school books!” she shouts after him, but he keeps walking away, “and a new sweater!”

“I’ll get right on that, love!” he calls back, increasing the distance between them.

Emma is furious as she watches him casually sashay across the lawn, as if he didn’t just almost run her over with his damn motorcycle.

“I’m not your love!”

He whips around and lifts a flirty brow, throwing a wink and that big stupid grin as though to argue with her statement before turning and proceeding his trek.

• • • •

Stupid bastard.

He never did replace her books, Emma thinks resentfully. Untying her robe, she lets the satin fabric fall from her naked body and hangs it up on the hook before stepping into the shower. It’s hot and steamy, but it feels soothing on her skin as she dips her head back to get her hair wet, running her hands through the golden tresses.

Flashbacks of her early encounters with Killian flicker through her mind as she appreciates the peaceful shower time that doesn’t involve annoying roommates barging in to steal her hairbrush or blow dryer and then using the items in the bathroom while Emma’s still showering. Needless to say, Emma appreciates the quiet moments.

The campus is not even that big, considering the small college town, but Emma had managed to run into Killian several times after he’d almost taken her down with his bike—the library, the cafeteria, the student center—and neither of them were any more pleasant.

“Oh look; it’s the douchebag who hit me with his motorcycle,” she would remark, and he’d always respond with a sardonic grin and make the comment, “Oh look; it’s the lass who couldn’t watch where she was going. I better steer clear and make way for the enchanting princess,” he always teased, whirling his hands around in a worshipping gesture to which she reacted with an exaggerated eye roll.

For the better part of the previous semester, Killian was like a moth to a flame or one of those annoying gnats buzzing around in her ear that wouldn’t go away, but somehow he’d managed to grow on her. Not that she would ever admit it to his face. She guesses it all started when she’d helped him get rid of a girl he wasn’t interested in by pretending to be his girlfriend for a whole five minutes at a party.

• • • •

“Well, well, love; I guess you are good for some things after all,” he taunts sarcastically as Emma removes her hand from his and pushes him away, while cursing under her breath. She really needs some alcohol right now. To think, she could've had the luxury of being in her own home, studying for finals, but instead she went to this party in hopes of forgetting about her upcoming exams on a Friday night before being holed up in her apartment, studying all weekend.

Heading for the beer keg, Killian is hot on her heels, following behind her like a lost puppy dog begging for a bone. She accepts a red solo cup filled with beer that she’d watched one of the guys pour for her and takes a big swig, wiping her lips as she leans back against the wall.

“You owe me,” she mumbles, and he flashes one of those heart-stopping smiles that she absolutely hates.

“Aye, love. I really do.” His eyes are bright and full of warmth, and it’s the most sincere she’s ever seen him, and maybe it’s the alcohol in her system talking, but she kind of likes him like this. “I am truly sorry for ruining your sweater,” his voice is soft, every word laced with apology, and she loses a sharp breath when he steps closer. Their eyes are locked, and Emma gulps, feeling the heat between them as he licks his lips. She definitely does not feel the loss when he takes the cup from her hand, and leaves shortly, bringing her back another beer. “Almost running you over and ruining your things without making it up to you was very bad form on my part.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Emma brushes his words off with the flick of her hand before taking the drink, their fingers brushing in the process. Her heart flutters (just a bit). Raising the beer to her lips, she downs the bitter liquid in one graceful gulp before releasing a not-so-graceful burp. When she lowers the cup, Killian’s eyes are on her, and he appears to be genuinely impressed and rather amused.

“You may look like an angel, but you drink like a pirate,” he chuckles.

Yep, his intense, stormy blue eyes definitely require the liquid courage she just doesn’t possess in order to engage in any sort of civil conversation with this guy.

And it’s working.

Emma’s actually having a decent time, which she didn’t even think was possible when she was dragged to this place by her roommate, Milah, even though Emma insisted they both had to study. But of course, Milah talked her out of spending a Friday evening working on “boring school shit" only to ditch her for some guy the second they walked through the door, like she did pretty much every week since they’d moved in together

It was nine months prior, the start of junior year, when Emma had offered her small, two-bedroom apartment to the raven-haired coed; they had met in Visual and Cultural Communication class (if Emma told someone she knew what that meant, she'd be straight-up lying) where they sat next to each other complaining about their looney professor. Emma had been low on funds at the time, and was desperate for a roommate to alleviate the financial pressures of college life. The building she’s staying in is located in the heart of the area’s collegiate life, but it’s far more expensive than it’s worth. Plus, she was lacking a female companion before Milah moved in, so it was much more lonesome being on her own than dorm life was during freshman and sophomore years.

“Em, there you are!” Milah’s words sound in her ear as she strides over, swinging her arm around Emma’s shoulder.

Emma can tell her roommate had indulged in a couple drinks as a lazy smile curves her lips, eyes dull and glossy. “I've been looking everywhere for—” Milah cuts herself off when she looks in front of her, seeing Killian standing there with a charming grin on his face. Her mouth gapes open, hazel eyes dancing with intrigue as she stares at Killian like he’s a fucking Greek God or something.

Emma can’t comprehend the effect he has on the female population. Okay, she kind of gets it. The guy is smokin’ hot and makes even the popular, attractive college boys look like a disgrace to the male species.

Killian's hair is artfully disheveled and he has those blue bedroom eyes that definitely do not have a swooning effect. And what is with all the leather he wears?—she has no clue, but if he’s going with the cliché biker look, he’s succeeded and she may or may not have told him that a couple of times when she had to see his stupid handsome face around campus. He certainly wears the leather well, with his sinfully tight pants and his black jacket with a skull and crossbones on the back, which completes the outfit.  

“Em, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Milah asks, towing Emma from her thoughts, and she blinks a few times, gesturing between them.

“Milah, this is Killian—the guy who almost ran me down with his bike—and Killian, this is my roommate, Milah.”

“Ah, so my reputation precedes me.” His smile widens as he chuckles and takes Milah’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, his eyes connecting with hers.

And Emma does not feel the smallest pang of jealousy in her gut. Certainly not.

Milah’s breath is stolen, and she tries to gather words, never taking her eyes off of the British man. Milah’s doing her best to stay calm and collected, but it’s clear to Emma that it’s an internal battle, which is quite strange because normally Milah is very confident with the college boys. She normally runs the show, so to speak, when it comes to the opposite sex. “I—Umm—Em here has mentioned you,” she finally musters.

Emma watches them intently, glancing between the two of them, and she can see that there’s a bit of interest buzzing in his eyes, but he’s also torn as he averts his gaze, staring at Emma and gulping thickly.

She watches as her roommate flirts with Killian, Milah’s cheeks flushing as she laughs at his attempt to make jokes.

Deciding two glasses of beer is just not enough, Emma disappears briefly, but not before Milah hands Emma her empty cup and throws her a wink.

“Thanks, Em. You’re the best.”

Emma grumbles under her breath as she returns to the keg to acquire some more beer.

Killian shares a few drinks with them, along with some laughs and playful banter, but neither he nor Milah drink as half as much as Emma does.

She doesn’t know exactly why, but she’s pretty sure she drank her body weight in beer—she doesn't even like beer. She can barely stand, and is starting to get tipsy when she foolishly attempts to climb on a table to dance, but instead she starts to fall before she's even up on the surface, landing safely in a pair of strong, warm arms with an “oomph” flying from her mouth.

Grabbing his shirt and clutching onto him like he's a life source, she looks up seeing Killian peering down at her. A lazy smile pulls at her lips. “Thank you for catching me,” she manages, her words breathy and slurred.

He flashes an adorable grin in return. “Thanks for being a great catch,” he quips, his words making her heart stutter.

She’s vaguely aware of her roommate or anyone else in the room as they stare into each other’s eyes. His strong, spicy cologne is fogging her already inebriated senses as she presses her palm to his chest, feeling the soft hair tickle her skin, her thumb brushing over the opening of his buttoned shirt.

“You smell very nice,” she mumbles, her smile never fading, eyes never leaving his.

Killian chuckles. “And you’re being awfully nice. I think you’ve had a wee bit too much to drink, love. Why don’t we get you home?”

Emma doesn’t argue; everything around her starts to spin, so she wraps her hands around the back of his neck, tucking her face into his chest. Even though his body is firm and tone, he’s surprisingly soft as she snuggles her cheek into the fabric of his shirt, luxuriating in the warmth radiating from his body and the unsteady heartbeat buried underneath.

Milah covers Emma with her jacket so she doesn't catch a chill in the coolness of the night, and Killian effortlessly carries Emma back to their apartment.

He delicately deposits Emma into her bed when they reach her room, and she immediately curls into a ball, trying to stave off the urge to vomit as she's draped in a sea of blankets.

“I’ll get her some water,” Milah states before leaving the room.

Emma feels the bed dip and the press of Killian’s warm lips on her already heated forehead, but his kiss somehow manages to send a pleasant chill down her spine. “Get some rest, love. You’ll feel better in the morning.” His words are soft and sweet, causing Emma's breath to catch in her throat as she idly ganders up at him.

He’s still hovered over her, so she takes the opportunity to raise her hand to his chest, and the room is dark but the moonlight is draping into the room and she can see Killian’s mouth as she keeps her gaze there, contemplating how those lips would feel on hers. He cups her cheek in his hand, and his touch warms her belly as he smiles down at her. “I think I like you this way, Swan. I should get you drunk more often,” he teases, caressing his thumb over her the apple of her cheek.

Emma’s consumed in his gaze—his touch—and she almost thinks he might kiss her (if he did, she might let him).

“Here you go, Em.”

Suddenly, Killian is pulling away from her, and Milah is offering a glass of water, so she gulps it down, trying to forget the fact she really wants to kiss him.

It’s definitely the alcohol speaking.

Killian stands from the bed, and Emma watches as Milah places her hand on his bicep. “Thank you so much for helping me bring her back. This is the first time I've ever seen her drink so much.”

“It’s not a problem, love.” Killian flashes a smile, and Emma feels the pang of jealousy in her gut, but she doesn’t know why.

“Maybe we can hang out again soon?” her roommate suggests in a flirty tone, fluttering her lashes at him, her eyes full of hope.

To Emma’s dismay, he offers a soft nod. “Aye, definitely. I look forward to it.”

Milah bites her bottom lip, attempting to contain her excitement as she grabs a pen from her purse and takes Killian’s hand, scribbling down what Emma assumes is her phone number. By the time she’s finished, Killian is blushing as Milah kisses him on the cheek. “Great. I can’t wait.”

Suddenly, all of the blood has completely drained from Emma’s face, and she quickly gathers the strength to yank the covers away and removes herself from the bed, feeling the urge to vomit. “I'm gonna be sick.” Emma stumbles and starts to fall, but Milah rushes over, helping her up.

“Emma, let me help you to the bathroom.” She pulls her arms around Emma, holding her up.

“Do you need my assistance?” Killian asks, his voice full of concern.

“No, that’s okay. I can take it from here,” Milah replies and they say goodnight before Killian leaves the apartment.

Emma doesn’t make it to the bathroom and pukes all over Milah’s shoes.

The next morning, Emma is groaning as she slowly drags herself out of bed. Thankfully Milah had closed the curtains so Emma couldn't be blinded when she woke up, but still, her head is pounding and it feels like someone is continuously pounding her brain with a hammer.

She carefully makes her way to the kitchen and slides into a chair at the table where Milah is quickly attentive, and gives her some water and aspirin.

“Morning sunshine.” Milah’s voice is bright and cheery, and it sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

Emma vaguely remembers what had happened last night and how Milah took care of her, but she’d been hoping it was a dream. “Did I really vomit on your shoes?” Emma mumbles as she takes the aspirin and glass of water.

“You did,” Milah replies casually, taking the seat across from her, “but luckily I was borrowing yours.”

“Oh good,” Emma mutters, and is very grateful at the moment, practically throwing the pills in her mouth and guzzling down the cool liquid.

“Emma, can I ask you something?”

Oh, fuck.

Judging by the tone in Milah’s voice and the way she’s staring at Emma with her bright hazel eyes, she knows she’s in trouble. She swallows the water down her parched throat and sets the glass on the table, placing the pads of her fingertips to her temples, trying to dull the ache of her throbbing head. “The room has finally stopped spinning, so you can ask away, I suppose.”

Milah draws in a deep breath and stretches her arms over the table, grabbing Emma’s hands and take them into hers. “Look, I’ve been thinking a lot since last night… and I just wanted to make sure it was okay if…” Milah pauses, eyeing her with uncertainty, and more memories of last night flash through Emma’s mind, so she has an idea of what her roommate is about to ask her. “I gave Killian my number last night, but then after he left, it hit me… you always complain about him whenever you see him, but when I joined the two of you at the party, you both seemed… pretty chummy…”

Emma arches a brow, glancing at Milah in confusion.

“It occurred to me that you might actually like Killian, and I don’t want to intervene or steal him away if you have feelings for him.”

Emma would have laughed if she didn’t feel so nauseous. “Are you kidding me? The guy’s a huge pain in my ass. Of course I don't like him. I was only being nice to him because I had alcohol in my system,” Emma makes sure to express adamantly. “I mean, you know I never drink, but I had to in order to put up with him. So of course I don't mind you going out with him. You should.” Emma regrets the words as soon as they fall from her lips. “You’re both single and I could see you were both getting along pretty well.”

A slow smile takes over Milah’s face, excitement lighting up her eyes, and Emma’s throat grows dry again. “Really? You don’t mind?”

Emma shakes her head. “Of course not. You should definitely go for it.” She doesn’t know who she’s trying to fool—Milah, or herself. “Besides, you don’t need my permission. You can date whoever you want.”

“Come on, we are friends; at least I’d like to think so, and I don’t wish to step on your turf or do anything to make you upset.”

“You are right—we are friends—but I promise; you won’t be stepping on any toes,” Emma assures, offering a forced smile.

Milah stands up and hurries over, pulling her into a suffocating hug. “Thank you, Em.”

Regret is coursing through Emma as she lets her eyelids fall shut, sighing deeply in Milah’s hold. She realizes in that moment that she has to stow away any or whatever feelings she holds for Killian. It’s simple. Emma was being honest when she agreed and acknowledged that Milah was correct—a friendship really has blossomed between them, and that is something rare for Emma, so she doesn't want to let her friend down. She wants Milah to be happy. Besides, with her friend’s reputation, Emma figures she’ll be dating Killian for a week before letting him loose like she’s done thus far with other guys she’s dated.

• • • •

Emma could have kicked herself every day since then. She still despises him, but every now and then they're still able to engage in decent conversation like normal human beings, and she is constantly reminded what a huge mistake she’d made every time Emma's breath catches in her throat when he's around. Her pulse speeds up and she wonders what would have happened if Milah had never prevented that potential kiss from happening. Emma's confident that if her roommate would’ve seen them kissing, she never would've given Killian her number or asked Emma if it was okay that she went out with him. Emma muses she would have had more time to realize her feelings for Killian, and more time to accept them. Now it's too late.

Emma sighs exasperatedly as she lathers soap all over her body with a loofah, thinking about what she has to do today. She needs to make sure everything goes as planned for Killian’s surprise party. His friend, Victor, was taking him out for drinks after class to buy Emma and Milah some time to make the final preparations for the party. Then Victor would bring Killian to their apartment so they could surprise him with all of his friends and family.

~*~

When Killian pulls into the parking lot of the student apartments and takes off his helmet, he's a bit confused when he sees that Emma's car is gone—he was under the impression that she’d be there—but he's not complaining. He's looking forward to having some alone time with his girlfriend on his birthday. He's a tad earlier than she had told him to be there, but he figures she won't mind.

Using the key Milah had given him a few weeks ago, he unlocks the door to the ladies’ apartment and enters, shutting the door behind him. He goes into the kitchen, seeing the mess on the floor and the countertop, and peeks inside the bowl. He guesses Emma had been making pancakes and left to get milk, so he doesn't think much more about it. Emerging from the kitchen, he looks around the empty apartment and makes his way towards Milah’s bedroom when he hears the shower running.

A small smirk is tugging his lips as he quietly walks over to the bathroom door, gently cracking it open and hoping to surprise her.

The air is thick with steam as he shuts the door with a soft click, locking it just in case. He unbuttons his shirt and starts peeling away his clothes, trying to be as quick as he can. Normally shower sex was not an option for them because her roommate was always there when he was over, and he always tried to respect the fact that she lived there as well. He and Emma may have gotten off to a rocky start, but he likes to think of them as friends. She can put up a mean front on occasion, but she seems to always be there when he needs her. Milah is great but she is always too distracted doing everything she can to enjoy college life before it's over.

He has a lot of fun with her, but he doesn't see her as the type of lass he'd like to marry. And Milah is certainly not the type of lass to be held down.

Fully naked, Killian grabs the end of the shower curtain, and his heart is racing; he hopes he doesn't piss her off too much by scaring her, but he's hoping to make it up to her. Taking a deep breath, he braces himself before quickly pulling back the curtain and jumping in, stepping behind her and grabbing her hips.

“Morning, sexy.” The sinful, throaty words barely leave his mouth when she whirls around and screams for dear life, and he sees green eyes and wet blonde hair, realizing the woman in the shower is not Milah.

It's Emma.

"What the hell are you doing in here?!” She shrieks furiously, her face white and eyes blown with shock. Killian is stunned in his spot, but before he can move, Emma’s flailing her arms around, frantically trying to push him out of the shower. He stumbles in the process and grabs the slippery shower curtain, pulling it off the hooks and taking it down with him… along with Emma.

They both groan as he lands on the tub floor with a thud, protectively wrapping his arms around Emma's very wet and very naked body. Pain is shooting through him, and the water from the shower head is beating down on them as she struggles to push herself up, almost kneeing him in the groin in the process.

“Careful, love.”

This only pisses her off further and she sinks into him, hitting him in the chest out of frustration. “You stupid bastard! Why the hell would you think it would be okay to join me in the shower?!”

“Swan, it was an accident,” he tries to assure as he gently takes her hands in his, trying to calm her while playfully wagging his brow. “Not that I don't enjoy being on my back, attacked by a gorgeous naked blonde,” (more specifically by Emma, because bloody hell he does) Killian razzes, earning a deadly scowl. “I saw Milah’s car parked out front and I thought you were—” Before he can finish, Emma snags her hand away, pressing her index finger to his lips to shush him. Losing a breath, he's pretty sure his heart actually skips a beat as she looks down at him. He’s quickly pulled in, getting lost in her steely gaze; he finds himself drowning in it. And as she removes her finger and runs her hand down his jaw and his neck and then his chest, slowly sifting her fingers through his matted hair, there's no longer anger in her depths, but still a fierceness hidden underneath the emerald surface. A fierceness that he’s enjoyed since the first moment they’d met. He can also detect the vulnerability and honesty lingering there.

There are no words, only the sound of the water cascading over them, hitting the porcelain tub, and the sounds of their heartbeats and wobbly breathing. He’s vaguely reminded that they are both naked when she shifts ever so slightly and his body is quickly reacting to hers as his hands find her hips, giving her a gentle squeeze. Emma gasps and her mouth is parting softly as they get caught up in a challenging stare, both of them trying to see who’s bold enough to make the first move.

Swallowing thickly, he wonders what it would be like to kiss those soft, wet lips; he's often dreamt of this with no intention of acting on his desires. He licks his lips, and before he can even act, Emma’s cupping his jaw in her hands, crushing his mouth with hers and pressing her body into him. A rough groan rips from his throat as he finally feels her soft wet lips; she tastes more decadent than he'd imagined. And she smells like strawberries and cream and tastes like cinnamon and chocolate. Her tongue sweeps across the seam of his lips demanding entrance that's he's more than willing to give her. He wraps his arms around her, parting his mouth invitingly and letting her tongue dance wildly with his.

He knows this is completely wicked and wrong, and he's going to hell—she is not Milah after all—but he's high on all of the sensations and feelings and emotions coursing through him. Everything he's harbored inside for this woman has suddenly bubbled to the surface, and the unspoken desire that has sizzled between them for many months has popped and is now speaking volumes.

Her naked breasts are pressed to his chest, pink nipples erect against his hair as they devour one another, completely consumed. Emma's tongue is insistent, greedily exploring his mouth, her hands clutching onto him as she writhes in his arms, ignoring the water hitting her back.

Killian playfully nips on her bottom lip and she responds by grinding into him, pressing her center against his groin to egg him on. Groaning roughly as her wet folds are continuously gliding along his length, he’s completely overtaken with pleasure. His hands begin roaming her slippery body on their own accord, pulling her closer and caressing her back, her hips, the sides of her breasts, feeling the beads of water pooling underneath his fingertips. Emma moans in delight, feeling his shaft harden against her, and that's when he forces himself to rise from the cloud of lust he's caught up in.

He gently pushes her away, tearing his lips from hers and catching his breath as his eyes widen in panic. “Emma… we can't do this.”

Shallow pants fill the air surrounding them, and Emma's lips are swollen and her eyes are painted with lust, but she offers a reluctant nod. “I know.”

With that, Emma carefully pushes herself off and grabs Killian’s hand, helping him up. They try not to stare at each other directly, for fear of giving into temptation again, but Killian is still hard as rock… and apparently Emma is not finished with him yet. He tries to avert his gaze but he can feel the burn of Emma's lustful stare seeping into his bones, and before he knows what's happening, Emma is on her knees, her hands sliding down his hips, reaching his thighs and she’s running her tongue up his length.

“Oh fuck…” Killian melts a little, trying to keep his knees from buckling underneath as Emma curls her fingers around his erection and starts stroking him up and down, dragging the skin and muscle in her endeavor as she tightens her hold, causing him to harden further.

“Just relax,” she murmurs in a soothing voice.

His breathing is moving in a slow, shallow rhythm as he peers down at her, catching those beautiful glowing eyes clouded with lust.

“You don't have to do anything. Just let me take care of you.” Again, she slides the flat of her tongue along his fully hard cock, her eyes locked with his.  

“Emma…” he attempts to argue, but his mind is foggy with heat, the water is cascading down her perfectly rounded breasts making his cock twitch and he’s too aroused; Emma's tongue feels way too good.

“Shhh shhh shhh…”

His pupils are dilated as he watches her intently, his hand affectionately caressing her cheek, but he doesn't stop her.

Firming her grip on him, she slowly moves her hand up and down, squeezing slightly at the base before relaxing at tip and repeating over and over again. His dick is throbbing painfully in her hand as she smirks and kisses the velvety head. “Just consider this a birthday present,” she insists; her voice is seductive—completely wrecked with desire—her emerald eyes piercing through his soul as she awaits for some sort of signal of approval.

Deciding that he doesn't possess the willpower to resist her, no matter how wrong this is—he is dating her roommate and best friend for crying out loud—but he has longed to be with Emma for quite some time, and finds himself nodding to her request.

Emma grins mischievously before wrapping her red, swollen lips around him, suckling idly on his belled tip and lapping at the slit with her broad tongue.

“Bloody hell.” The whispered words are cracked with desire as his body shudders, surrendering to this striking blonde goddess who’s kneeling before him. He leans his head back against the shower wall as she takes him in her warm mouth, slowly devouring his length.

“Gods, that feels so good Emma, keep go—keep going” he grunts roughly before gently sinking his fingers into her wet tresses.

Increasing her speed, Emma loosens her jaw even further, massaging his balls gently with her hands and bringing him closer to the edge. “Bloody hell, woman. You're trying to kill me with that wicked mouth of yours,” he whimpers, and begins rocking his hips, tangling her wet golden strands around his fingers without forcing her on him as he hits the back of her throat. He's so caught up in her wonderful mouth, her amazing tongue dragging along his length; he completely loses his mind to the pleasure she's bringing him.

Sensing he is almost there, she starts humming around his cock, creating vibrations and is rewarded with a deep groan. His eyes roll to back of his head, feeling his orgasm approaching with rapid force as she takes him over and over, drawing his cock in her throat as deeply as she can. The pressure’s building, and his body is overwhelmed with heat; he's completely unwound as he lets himself go and thrusts his hips at a maddening pace, his hot come exploding into her mouth as he curses her name.

“Fuck, Emma…” He can barely manage the strangled words as he slumps against the wall, attempting to catch his breath and waiting for his heartbeat to slow. His hips are stuttering, his body wincing as Emma sucks on his tip swirling her tongue roughly around the head and licking the last remnants of his orgasm. Killian clutches onto her shoulders for extra balance, trying to keep his wobbly legs from collapsing underneath him as she rises and presses her lips to his ear whispering, “Happy Birthday, Killian.” Emma steps out of the shower, and he quickly feels a shiver from the loss as he tries to gather his wits.

Bloody hell.

Happy birthday, indeed. He's so fucked, but what a birthday this is already turning out to be.