#there are so many fun anatomy things I get to work with next chapter. *rubs my gay little hands together* theres a lot of agreed on

[foxgloveinspace]

fox your tags on the falcon/pigeon video are sending me

i can’t wait for the rest of your fic because those tags are going to haunt me. i need to witness how falcon/pigeon coded sam and rinzler are (i still want to say rizzler every time i see his name)

ok, but the thing is, is that this is totally how i see them, in the sense that Sam does some dumb shit, and kinda flirts without expectations, but it WORKS. It works on Rinzler, and he's just stoically standing there.

but also, in this annalogy of Sam being a pigeon and Rinzler being a hawk, the pigeon is a god.

So a god is doing dumb things (like trying to take off on a lightjet without knowing how to make it work completely) with witty one liners and it's working.

[keys-to-the-kinkdom]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Characters: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Additional Tags: Body Modification, Consensual, Consensual Kink, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Strap-Ons, Geralt gets a vagina, and loves it, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rituals Summary:

When Geralt gets curious, Yennefer uses her magic to indulge him. Neither of them expected quite how much fun they would have with his new anatomy.

The fire had burned down to softly glowing embers, filling the room with a soft glow. Yennefer lay draped over Geralt’s chest. They breathed together as the sweat cooled on their bodies. Geralt rumbled in quiet pleasure. Yennefer yawned and snuggled deeper under his chin.

‘I didn’t think it was possible for someone to come that many times in a row,’ Geralt murmured, running a warm hand up and down her back.

Yennefer chuckled. ‘It’s difficult not to when you’re being fucked by a cock as nice as yours,’ she said.

Geralt hummed and lay still for a long while.

‘How does it feel?’ he asked eventually.

‘How does what feel?’ Yennefer asked, sounding like she had been asleep, or as near as made no difference.

‘Getting fucked,’ Geralt clarified.

‘I can show you sometime, if you want,’ Yennefer mumbled, then began to snore.

It took Geralt a long time to get to sleep after that. The words bounced around his brain. They were still there in the morning, taunting him by popping up at the most inopportune times. The thing was, Yennefer had fucked him many times before. She had a variety of cocks, some more realistic than others and they had made enthusiastic use of them. Somehow, Yenn had made this offer sound different.

It all came to a head when they sat down for their evening meal.

‘What did you mean, last night?’ Geralt asked, ‘When you said you could show me sometime.’

Yenn’s smirk was truly beautiful, if a little bit ominous.

<hr></hr>

The ritual ink was cool on Geralt’s skin and he had to resist the urge to scratch it. Yennefer stood outside the circle and began her chant. The Elder words meant nothing to Geralt, but he could feel the rising Chaos taking effect on his body. Unlike the mutations, it didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel entirely pleasant either. He breathed through it and then all of a sudden it was over. He stood very still, not wanting to break Yenn’s concentration in case she was still working. He took inventory of his body. Nothing hurt. The space between his legs felt... different somehow. It wasn’t like he was ever particularly aware of his dick, but the absence of it screamed in his senses. He pressed his thighs together and nearly moaned at the sensation. His newly created clit was sensitive as hell.

‘Feel good?’ Yennefer asked, looking up and smirking.

‘Yeah,’ he moaned, ‘feels so good.’

‘Want to take your new cunt for a spin?’ Yennefer’s smirk was downright filthy. Geralt couldn’t help but moan again.

He would never be quite sure how they got to the bed. Every step rubbed the fabric of his braies against his clit and shot little sparks of pleasure up his spine. There could have been portals involved for all he cared, but the next thing he knew, he was flat on his back in Yenn’s huge bed, moaning into her mouth as she kissed him and raked her fingers down his chest.

‘So, darling,’ she purred, ‘would you like to find out how it feels to get eaten out?’

Geralt’s whine was embarrassingly high and thready, but Yennefer kindly took it for the assent it was and helped him scramble out of his braies. The cool air hitting his bare cunt felt amazing and highlighted just how wet he was already. He felt dizzy with it, warm and wet and <em>aching</em> to be filled. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t muster the words. Instead, he reached out and flailed around until he could grasp Yenn’s hand and pull it to his temple. He felt her slip inside the edges of his mind, hovering there with a vaguely questioning air.

<em>’Is it always like this?’</em> he thought at her.

She laughed. ‘Not quite. It’s all new to you. Your body is used to processing arousal differently, so it’s a little overwhelming for you at the moment. It will get easier, especially if we get you off a few times.’

She removed her fingers from his temple and slid down the bed. He spread his legs at her urging and felt her settle between them. Her warm breath ghosted over his centre and he quivered with a sudden onslaught of need. The first touch of her tongue to his folds set him keening in startled pleasure, his hands fisting in the sheets below him so that he wouldn’t grab at her hair. He needed more. Thankfully, she seemed to sense his desire and pushed the flat of her tongue against him, letting him rock into her. One of her dainty hands pressed down on his hip, not enough to hold him in place but enough to make him want to stay. He stilled, belly quivering as she enfolded his clit with her lips and swirled her tongue around. His thighs clenched and he howled at the feeling. She repeated the motion, driving his need higher and higher. He could feel something building at the base of his spine, desire pooling through his hips and into his achingly empty cunt. She sucked harder and flicked her tongue just so and the feeling cracked apart, shivering through him and causing him to wail out. He could have been shouting words, but he wasn’t sure. Everything was subsumed by the rush of blinding pleasure. He could feel his cunt spasming on nothing and wished he had something to clench down on. The feeling spread out through him, fading slowly and leaving him twitchy with fizzing aftershocks and Yenn gentled her mouth. Eventually, she pulled away entirely and let him pant through the last of the feeling. Yet, even after he’d returned to something approaching a baseline, he was still desperate for something more.

‘Was that everything you hoped for?’ Yenn asked, licking her lips with a smug little grin.

‘Yenn, Yenn, please, I need you to fuck me,’ he gasped.

Her smirk grew wider and darkly predatory. She slid from the bed and made her way to the small chest by the wall. Geralt whined, knowing exactly what the chest held.

‘I’m not going to start too big,’ she told him, perusing her selection. ‘I know you want it, but the stretch will be more intense than you’re anticipating. I don’t want to hurt you.’

Geralt nodded, frankly uncaring as long as she fucked him with <em>something</em> as soon as humanly possible.

It was both far too long and hardly any time at all before Yennefer was crossing back to his side, a slim wooden prick in her hand. It was one of the pretty ones that curved, with two ends, one for her and one for him. She let him see it as she teased one end between her legs, letting her slick drip down over it until it glistened and slid in easily when she pressed. Once it was fully seated she whispered a handful of words and Geralt’s medallion leapt on his chest as her violet magic sank into the wood. This time, when she stroked her hand down the external end of the prick, he could see her shiver at the sensation.

He felt himself grow wetter as she prowled towards him. When she settled between his legs, he reached for her, stroking a hand down her side. The position was a familiar one from all the times Yennefer had used her collection of wondrous pricks to fuck him silly before, but there was something different about knowing that she was soon going to be slipping into his warm, wet cunt. The reversal felt somehow illicit and all the more thrilling for it.

Yennefer brushed her fingers up the inside of his thighs before she lined the slim head of her prick up with his entrance. He felt himself spreading around it, the stretch odd, but not unwelcome. It almost, but not quite, burned and he whined at the edge of <em>too much</em> that he was feeling. 

‘Ready?’ Yenn asked, catching his eyes.

He was too overwhelmed to speak, and just nodded at her, but she was used to that and took him at his word, pushing in slowly and steadily. Geralt threw his head back and howled as he was split open. He had just enough of his faculties left to be thankful that she had chosen one of her smallest pricks, because even with that, the stretch was intense. He felt it as she bottomed out in him, their hips pressed flush together. Her breasts heaved as she struggled to stay still and let him adjust. It took a moment, but he finally felt like he wasn’t going to fly apart immediately. He twitched his hips and moaned at the sensations sparking through his nerves.

‘Move,’ he groaned.

Yennefer raised one eyebrow at his demanding tone, but started twisting her hips in a sensuous wave, thrusting in slowly and steadily. The head of the wooden prick pressed against a spot just inside him that felt wonderful. He couldn’t help but match her rhythm, caught between rocking her into that spot and taking her as deep as he could to feel the stretch. He could feel that same pressure building, but it plateaued before it could break. No matter how he moved or how hard Yennefer thrust, he was caught. He whimpered.

Yennefer laughed, not unkindly. ‘A lot of people need a little helping hand when they’re getting fucked,’ she explained and reached down to fondle his clit with one hand. Her long, dextrous fingers wrapped around it, gently tugging and pressing. The pressure was suddenly building again, much faster now. 

When Yennefer bent over and kissed him, all teeth and delicious possession, Geralt lost himself in a wave of pleasure. His whole body tensed and shook and he ground down on the hardness inside him, chasing the shocks of pleasure it provided. He was vaguely aware of the noise he was making, but he didn’t, <em>couldn’t</em> care when his whole body was lit up with such incandescent sensation. 

Eventually, he relaxed and began to come down from the intensity. Yennefer pulled out of him just before it became too much and let him pant quietly for a moment. 

‘D’you want?’ he asked, waggling a hand vaguely towards her.

She laughed, ‘I came while you were busy, but thanks for checking.’

Geralt hummed and drifted for a while longer. He listened to the sounds of Yennefer cleaning off the wooden prick and returning it to its place in the chest. He heard her splash some water into the bowl and wet a cloth, then run it between her legs. He flinched a little as she came and did the same to him, cleaning up his slick and sweat and also causing twinging aftershocks to light up his clit. She threw the cloth aside and then climbed into bed to wrap around him, stealing his heat as she always did.

‘Was that everything you wished for?’ she asked, quietly.

‘How long will it last?; Geralt asked.

‘I tied the spell to your own innate Chaos, so theoretically, as long as you want.’

‘Hmm,’ Geralt hummed, happy and sated, ‘Think I might keep it a while. Maybe until after winter.’

[bngtanah]

The Difference Between Boys & Girls | o1

summary: Sam & Erin are university students who share a cheap one bedroom apartment above a shitty takeaway restaurant. Due to the limited space, they’ve grown accustomed to sharing just about everything, including the occasional kiss. Despite the amount of time they spend together, their complete comfort in sharing a bed, etc, the pair continues to hold on to the idea that they are completely “platonic.” None of their friends believe this excuse, but as ridiculous as it sounds the unconventional living situation truly does seem to work for them.

Well, it used to anyway..

pairing: Jung Hoseok (Samuel Park)  x Named OC characters: meet the cast.

word count: 10k+ genre: angst, smut, fluff

chapters: o1| o2| o3| o4| o5| o6| o7| o8| o9| 10| 11| 12| 13| 14

warning: boyfriend!hoseok, jealous!hoseok, friends to lovers trope, college au, angst, sexual themes, slow burn, ambw

a/n: i am a fool. I accidentally deleted my blog so this is me re-uploading EVERYTHING.

"You headed out?"

Erin's head whipped around in her roommates direction as he appeared in the doorway of their shared bedroom. He was shirtless, for no proper reason, jogging pants barely clinging to his hip bones. Sammy and Erin, to a certain extent, had stopped being shy being half-naked or completely naked around each other after a successful year of living together, and keeping things from becoming noticeably awkward between them. It was almost a tradition for them to freely walk around their tiny apartment space in the dead of winter or in the sweltering heat of summer in next to nothing.  

She turned in her seat to fully face Sammy as he flashed her one of his infamous megawatt smiles. It always amazed Erin how he did that, going from smoldering and sexy one second to unexpectedly adorable the very next. It was a talent if she ever saw one. Erin inhaled and clenched the makeup brush in her hand with a tighter grip.

“Uh, yeah. Some girls from my study group invited me out for a drink” She nodded, tapping the fluffy end of her powder brush against her knee as she did her best to keep her eyes focused on his face and not his bare chest.

“I don’t really feel like going, but it beats lying around here doing nothing with you all night,” She shrugged.

Sammy rolled his eyes and drilled his toned shoulder into the doorjamb. "You make it sound like we don’t have any fun just lying around" He replied with a gentle pout.

"Oh, so much fun," Erin reassured with a hint of sarcasm. "But I’m sure they will kick me out of the group if I keep turning down their G.N.O’s."

"They sound like shitty friends; why would you want to go out with them anyway?"

"Well, there aren’t too many people falling over themselves to hang out with an English major, some of us have to take what we can get" Erin chuckled and turned back to face the mirror to finish constructing her 'I don’t really want to be here’ face. Minimal makeup and boring straight hair.

"I enjoy hanging out with you, am I not enough?" Samuel shot back.

Why were they debating this?

The question nearly fell from Erin’s lips because it almost sounded like her roommate was trying to convince her not to go. It was a stupid thought but one that had to be considered.

"Sammy," Erin sighed. "Are you bored or something? You're a big boy I'm sure you can find some way to entertain yourself when I'm not here," She craned her head to look at him again, "Maybe catch up on some of the 'anatomy' research I caught you doing in the living room last night?"

The slight frown that was forming on Sammy's lips disappeared into a broad grin in response to Erin's statement, making her stomach flutter just slightly. She always enjoyed seeing him laugh, especially when she was the cause.

With him partially distracted, Erin took the chance to subtly drink in every inch of his toned skin. He wasn't overtly muscular, more lean than anything but cut where he needed to be. Erin concluded that he had the years he spent dancing to thank for that.  His face… Sam had a face that wouldn't seem like much at first glance but there was simply something about him that made you want to keep looking once he caught your eye. Strong jawline, straight nose, deep-set brown eyes that turned into half-moons whenever he smiled, which was often. It convinced Erin that he could make any person fall in love by doing something as simple as breathing, and you'd find yourself becoming jealous of the air that filled his lungs because it could touch him in places that you couldn't.

Not that she was in love with him, but she would be an idiot not to notice what a total hottie her roommate was.

“Whatever, noona.”

His voice snapped Erin out of her haze.

"Go out with your book nerds and paint the town beige," Sammy pushed away from the threshold, padded into the room and came to stand behind where Erin sat.

It should be noted that Erin wasn't entirely dressed either. She was in her robe, bare underneath, and silently willing her nipples not to get hard. The vanity mirror she set up cut Sammy off at the neck so all she could see was his torso just about pressed up against her back. He leaned down bringing his cheek close to her own.

She inhaled softly. The scent of his soap and cologne filled her nostrils and almost made her eyes flutter with satisfaction. She held it together though, no matter how much Erin harped on and on about not feeling anything but friendship for Samuel the past few months made it clear she wasn't sure what the hell she felt anymore.

They had been friends long before they decided to live together. Having seen each other through all the lows and highs of life since high school, it wouldn't be a stretch to say that they were more than just friends. They were basically family. Which was why Erin just couldn't bear to question exactly what had been going on between them lately. The closer than normal contact, him asking to share the bed with her because the pullout couch was messing with his back, all the goodbye kisses that seemed to linger for a second too long to be innocent. All signs pointed to the fact that he was feeling the same kind of attraction that she was, but even with all that evidence Erin just couldn't muster up the courage to call any attention to it.

Sammy brought a hand up and brushed it through gently through Erin's hair. Inwardly, her muscles tensed at his caress, and ripples of energy splintered everywhere. Erin's hair just happened to be an erogenous zone for her, but apparently only when Sammy touched it, which he did often enough.

"If you really want to go have some fun, then I'll stop bothering you," Sammy stated, twirling a strand around his index finger.

His voice sounded coarse like the words pained him to say out loud, that was probably just Erin's imagination.

Instead of responding Erin shrugged her shoulders and reached for her darkest tube of lipstick that wasn't actually black. Dreary colors usually did the trick to scare any guys planning to target her as an easy lay. To the weak of heart, they seemed to suggest hypersexuality, dabbling in witchcraft or both. Which meant whatever lame pickup line they had planned would not fly with her.

“Don't make it sound like I'm locking you in a cage here by yourself.” Erin said after a few seconds, biting into her lip when Sammy's hand smoothed down to her shoulder.

His brow scrunched, and his lips pulled down at the corners. “There's only so much I can do when you're not here.”

Erin snickered and began lining her lips in plum lipstick. “We have internet and a laptop, go nuts.”

“That's only fun when I think you're gonna catch me.”

Erin's eyebrow quirked, but she ignored that minor revelation “You're so gross.”

Sammy laughed again and that curious hand of his moved back up to Erin's neck, his thumb rubbing circles at her nape.

“You're distracting me,” She said through a soft breath.

“Ah, sorry,”  Sammy dropped his hand, but he didn't move from his spot. His eyes zeroed in on her lips while she put on her lipstick. “Is that new? I really like that color on you noona.”

Capping the lipstick, Erin smiled gently and looked forward, her eyes connecting with Sammy's through his reflection in the mirror. “When exactly did I become noona, by the way? In the years we've known each other I can count on one hand the amount of times you've called me that.”

Sammy smirked and shrugged his shoulders, "You don't like it?"

It was quite the opposite, actually. If Erin had a smidgen of confidence, she would tell him she absolutely adored hearing him call her 'noona'. She was over the novelty of the age gap a year after moving to South Korea but there was just something about the way Sammy said it. It wasn't said condescendingly or begrudgingly but with genuine love and Erin could feel that.

"Nah, it makes me feel old."

"Well, that's too bad because I enjoy saying it to you-" Sammy lowered his frame until he rested on his haunches with is chin just about resting on Erin's shoulder. "Noona."

He was too low for her to elbow him like she wanted to so Erin settled for judgmental glare before returning to her makeup. "Keep this up and I'll be waking you up in the middle of the night just to gush all about all the guys I make out with tonight, with vivid detail."

Sammy cocked a lopsided grin. "I doubt that will happen. When you spend nights making out with guys you don't want to give it up to, I usually just hear you lock the door and bzzzzz." He replied, complete with sound effects and what could only be described as his imitation of a stroke victim having an orgasm.

"Out! Right now, that's enough out of you for the night" Erin exclaimed through a mixture of laughter and embarrassed groans, turning to smack him a few times on the shoulder.

Chuckling, Sammy rose to his feet.

"All right, all right I'll go but I do have one question for you," He said as he stared down at Erin, placing his hands on his hips, and wetting his bottom lip with his tongue. Erin dug all ten of her fingernails into her kneecaps to get a hold of herself.

"What's your question, Samuel?"

"Are you planning on bringing anyone home tonight?"

Erin paused, suspicion making her eyes squint gently. That was a question she'd never heard from him before. "Why?"

"Just answer the question, Erin."

"I....don't know, probably not. Why?"

"I just wanted to know if I'd have time to try out my new noise-cancelling headphones tonight."

With that Erin rolled her eyes and stood to face him, "I've had enough of you Sammy, get out. I need to get dressed and you’re just distracting me with foolishness." Sammy only chuckled then shuffled toward the door, whistling.

Just as quickly as he left Sammy's head popped up at the corner of the entrance again. Erin stared at him expectantly.

"Why don't I come out with you tonight? I know for a fact that you only tolerate those book club girls and I know Kasey won't be coming because I was eavesdropping earlier. Come on, I'll do you a favor. ,"

Erin's fingers strummed the vanity top as she contemplated her roommate's suggestion. The girls from her study group weren't exactly nuns, but they definitely weren't the most fun to hang with on a Friday night. They also probably wouldn't take too kindly to Erin inviting a guy to their 'Girl's Night Out'. However, having Sammy around all but guaranteed that she would have a good time tonight, even if it meant getting on their bad side.

It seemed worth it right?

"Can you promise to be on your best behavior?"

He shrugged. "Probably, but that depends on what you mean by 'best'."

"Like no challenging random people to a dance off, no hitting on any of my study group members..."

Sammy laughed. "Ooh, don't think I can agree to that last request, I've been on a kind of book smart, nerdy girl kick lately."

"Ugh, whatever just don't make it obvious" Erin replied, grabbing her cellphone. "I'll text Kim and tell her I have a....friend joining me."

Sammy beamed and immediately rushed over to envelop Erin in a smothering hug, making her blush like a silly schoolgirl in return. "We're gonna have a blast, noona."

Erin grinned and stroked the smooth skin on his back softly. "I wouldn't speak too soon."

The smile on Sammy's face faltered slightly, but he made no attempt at letting her go, his hands found their way into Erin's hair again and she shuddered slightly. A response that did not go unnoticed by Sammy since their bodies were practically sandwiched together. "You don't sound convinced."

"I don't control the future; we could get hit by a car on our way there. Go cover up your nips. We have to leave soon, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah" The lean boy replied as he slowly released Erin from his grasp and began making his way toward the door for the third time that night. He paused for a second once he was in the doorway and turned to glance at Erin who was combing through her hair, "Can I make a suggestion?"

"This better not be something silly."

"Wear your hair up."

Erin blinked a few times at her reflection before her eyebrow shot upward and she swiveled her head in Sammy's direction, waiting for him to elaborate on his random suggestion.

His expression was serious, and his eyes almost appeared to be darkened. "Your hair up, with that dark lipstick…? You look irresistible."

A pang of electricity sparked right through Erin's core, it took every amount of self-restraint in her not to cross the room and smear her perfectly applied lipstick all over his toned chest.

Instead, she chose to cover up her attraction with a pleasant smile while obediently complying with his request.

 "Up it is."

[blurry-fics]

Study Date

Pairing: college!Josh Dun x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1645

Request: This was a request from the lovely @applecakeradio who asked me to do a part two to Fire Alarm! It’s not super necessary to read that one before this fic, but it’s one of my favorites so I still recommend you give it a look!

Author’s Note: As mentioned above, Fire Alarm is one of my favorites, so getting a chance to write more for it was super fun! You’d think I would right more college!AUs considering I am in college, but I guess not... anyway, lots more sequels to fics coming in the next few weeks! :) (gif credit)

You slid your laptop into your bag and pulled it up over your shoulder, muttering quiet apologies to people as you brushed past them. Today’s lecture had been boring, as most of them were, but you were just glad to be done with it until next week. The only exciting part had been that Josh had sat a few rows in front of you, meaning that you had been able to stare at him instead of paying attention for most of the class.

You turned your music up as you followed the stream of people out of the lecture hall. Dark clouds filled the sky outside, but it wasn’t raining which you were thankful for. There was nothing worse than arriving back to your dorm soaked from the knees down.

Your roommate was nowhere to be found as you returned to your room. They had the tendency to stay out during the day, and as long as they made it back by the next morning, you didn’t really stress yourself over their whereabouts. Besides, who were you to complain about having the room to yourself?

You grabbed your laptop and took a seat at your desk, already flipping through pages of your anatomy textbook to find what pages you had to read. Your browser had just finished opening when there was a knock on your door. Figuring it was your roommate who had forgotten their keys, you quickly got up and opened the door.

It wasn’t your roommate.

“Hi,” the boy smiled, pushing his curly brown hair back from his face. “I’m glad this is the right room.”

“Uh, hey, Josh,” you returned his smile.

You and Josh hadn’t spoken much since the fire alarm incident last week, aside from a few shared smiles as you passed each other in the hall or glanced at one another in anatomy class. The whole situation had already been written off as a fluke in your mind and you had returned to admiring him from afar.

“What’s up?” you asked, breaking the silence that had formed between the two of you.

“I was just wondering if you wanted to study with me in the lounge,” he shrugged.

“Oh, um, yeah! Let me grab my stuff.”

Josh took a small step inside your room as you gathered up your study materials. His eyes wandered over all the posters and photos that covered your side of the room. It was hard not to feel at least a little embarrassed.

“Alright, I’m ready,” you said as you desperately tried to balance all your belongings in your arms.

“Great. Do you mind if we stop by my room?”

“Not at all.”

You followed Josh down the stairs to the third floor. He snapped his fingers as he walked down the hall, finally stopping at a door towards the end. Two name tags were stuck on it, although Josh’s was starting to peel away at the edges.

“You can come in, if you want.”

You took a small step into Josh’s room, too nervous to venture much farther. His roommate was sitting on one of the beds, tapping at keys on an electronic keyboard. He had headphones on, so he didn’t immediately notice when you walked into the room.

“This is my roommate, Tyler,” Josh said, gesturing to the boy on the bed. He looked up and waved at you with a smile. “This is Y/N, we have anatomy together.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tyler said quickly before sliding his headphones back on.

“He’s not big on talking,” Josh said quietly to you as he grabbed a textbook. “But he’s cool.”

You nodded and looked at the stuff on Josh’s wall. It was mostly posters for bands that you had never heard of before, but there were a couple pictures of his family and friends scattered around. Tyler’s side was a lot cleaner than Josh’s.

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Josh said, grabbing his keys from where he had tossed them on the bed and walking out of the room.

You and Josh headed downstairs to the lounge that was on the first floor. There weren’t many other people there, so you had no problem snagging a couch. It only took a few seconds for it to become covered in textbooks and papers.

“What are you working on?” Josh asked.

“Just the reading for anatomy. Not very exciting.”

“Is any homework exciting?”

“I guess not.”

Josh pulled out a folder that was covered in a variety of stickers. Most of them were for bands or local radio stations. You thought Josh had mentioned something to you about working at your school’s radio station, but you couldn’t be sure.

“What is that?” you asked as he pulled out sheets of music.

“A lot of stuff,” he laughed lightly. “Some of it is for classes, but there are a couple pages from music Tyler has written. He wants me to figure out some drums for it.”

“That’s really cool. Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it.”

You grabbed a nearby page and began to look over it. The word “Forest��� was scribbled across the top in messy handwriting, accompanied by a few other little notes. The sheet music didn’t really make any sense to you since you weren’t a drummer, but it was still nice to look at.

“I had no idea you were a musician,” you said, handing it back to him. “I just thought you liked music.”

“I mean, I do,” he grinned. “But I’ve also been playing drums since I was little. Tyler and I have been talking about starting an actual band, but we’re not sure that we can do it with just two people.”

“Sure you could. Plenty of people perform on their own, so why couldn’t you two do something just as good?”

Josh seemed to like that answer, “You have a point.”

You smiled and flipped to the assigned reading in your anatomy textbook. It actually seemed like it might be decently interesting, unlike most of the other chapters you had been stuck reading over the last few weeks.

“Have you finished the lab for anatomy?” Josh asked. He was still sorting through his papers.

“Yeah, I finished it up last night.”

“How was it?”

“Not too bad, all things considered.”

“Do you think you could, maybe, help me out with some of it? I tried to finish it last night, but I got stuck on labeling the diagram.”

“So that’s why you wanted to study with me,” you laughed.

“No!” Josh smiled, rubbing at his arm. “I swear, I actually just wanted to study with you. It also just so happens that you’re really good when it comes to anatomy.”

Don’t make a dirty joke, Y/N.

“I’m just teasing. I’ll totally help out.”

“Thank you so much.”

He grabbed his laptop and began to open his lab report. You, meanwhile, skimmed over the assigned chapter and wrote down some of the bolded terms and their definitions. Midterms were drawing near and you needed to make sure that your notes were as comprehensive as possible.

“Alright, here’s what I have so far,” Josh said, setting his laptop down between the two of you.

You scooted over a little so that you would better be able to see what was on the screen. To your surprise, Josh did the same so that your legs were now pressed up together. It was hard not to smile at even the smallest amount of contact.

“What you have so far looks right,” you said. “What were you having troubles with?”

“I was just getting the arm and leg muscles mixed up in my head.”

“Did you try using the textbook?”

“Yeah, but that diagram looked totally different and I couldn’t tell what was what.”

You spent the next twenty minutes helping Josh figure out which muscle was which and how to tell them apart for future reference. Thankfully, he seemed to be picking it up pretty quick.

“I think you should teach the class,” Josh laughed. “That taught me more than our professor ever has.”

“I took anatomy in high school so most of this is just a repeat for me, but thanks.”

Josh grabbed his laptop and scooted away from you, leaving your leg feeling a lot colder than it had been. Now that he no longer needed your help, you went back to reading through the textbook.

The two of you stayed in the lounge for the next couple hours, occasionally asking each other for help or taking study breaks that involved telling high school stories or things that had happened in your other classes. You were genuinely enjoying time with Josh outside of class, and you were hoping that maybe this wouldn’t be the last time you two studied together.

“Well,” Josh said, shutting his laptop. “I’m starving so I think I’m going to head to the student union to grab some food.”

“Oh, ok. Thanks for inviting me to study with you.”

“Yeah, it was fun. We should definitely do it again sometime.”

“Agreed.”

Josh grabbed the rest of his things and started to walk back to his room. You decided to stay in the lounge for a little while longer, at least until you finished the reading, before heading back to your own room to make some food. Of course, this plan was short lived because Josh was quick to grab your attention again.

“Actually, would you want to come with me to grab some food?”

“What were you going to get?”

“Not sure yet. I’m open to suggestions.”

You smiled, “Yeah, let me just drop my stuff off in my room.”

“Meet you back here in five?”

“Yeah.”

Josh walked off and you quickly gathered up your things. Maybe you wouldn’t have to admire him from afar, after all.

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (18/?)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala. Killian Jones is that celebrity crush. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost. What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.

Rating: Mature

A/N: I wrote this chapter awhile ago, and I was so proud of the movie title I made up…I checked Netflix the other day, and they have the same movie. So, you know, either I saw the movie without realizing it, or Netflix has some explaining to do…I kid, I kid :D Thank you guys for continuously being the best!

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic​ @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious @thejollyroger-writer @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @notoriouscs

When he got the call in the middle of August, he felt actual butterflies in his stomach. He’s always hated that turn of phrase, but oftentimes, it’s the only phrase he thinks can actually describe what it’s like to be so damn nervous that he feels as if something seriously wrong is going on in his body. He could feel it in his stomach and in his throat. Hell, he could feel it in his fingers some days.

He was excited.

He was terrified.

It happens sometimes. He wishes it happened more often, but honestly, he wonders if it keeps the excitement for what he does alive to get to read through scripts to find the rare gem that actually speaks to him instead of liking everything that passes over his desk. This one, though, the more he reads it, the more he thinks about it, the more he gets inside of Michael’s head…the more he wants it.

Which is probably why he’s about to throw up as Robin drives him over to meet with the producers and the casting directors. He’s not even really auditioning, just talking to them, but it feels like he’s doing his first audition all over again. It had been for an extra with one line in Grey’s Anatomy, and he felt as if he was attempting to prove himself to be Tom Hanks or something.

It was ridiculous.

He didn’t even get that role. It was one line. He’s pretty sure he was supposed to be ordering coffee or something.

His phone buzzes in his lap, and Emma’s name pops up, instantly calming him down for a moment.

Emma: Go kick ass today, KJ! I love you!

Emma: I also love your ass, but that is totally unrelated to what I’m supposed to be telling you right now.

Killian: I love you too! I’ll try to kick arse with my good arse just for you!

Emma: That’s all I ask.

He does kick arse if he says so himself, the meeting going far better than expected. They want him. He knew that they wanted him, but they actually, seriously want him. He’s still got to do negotiations, to work out a few details and to screen test with potential costars, but he’s got the role if he wants it. It’s all early in the preproduction stages, but damn is he excited.

“You look like Roland after I let him eat more than one donut,” Robin laughs as they drive away from the lot and make their way to go get lunch. “You excited?”

“Obviously, mate.” He pulls out his phone and texts Emma about everything, knowing that she’s at work right now and can’t really talk. He really wants to tell her anyways. “And nothing compares to your son on a sugar high. Absolutely nothing. It’s like he’s been possessed.”

“He has been. By sugar.” Robin pulls off of main road and down into one of the business districts. “You want to go in somewhere or do take out?”

“We can do take out. Just pick something out Roland will like since we’ve got to pick him up from school.”

“He’s not going to be hungry.” “He is if we have any kind of junk food, and I feel like we deserve junk food.” “Because we’ve worked so hard today?”

“Exactly.”

Sure enough, when they pull up to pick-up at Roland’s elementary school, the boy climbs in the backseat, buckles himself in, and then immediately asks for some of the fries Killian is eating.

Like clockwork.

-/-

He swears that every Labor Day weekend his corner of Santa Monica gains at least half a million tourists. He’s sure that’s a bit excessive, but it’s only Thursday and people are absolutely everywhere. It’s to the point that he’s in the grocery store trying to stock up for the weekend, and he can’t turn anywhere without running into a cart with someone stocking up on beer and any kind of junk food he can imagine. He can’t really say much, not when he’s doing the same thing, but he absolutely cannot wait to get his things, check out, and get home before he has to drive to the airport to pick Emma up for the weekend.

He should have just ordered online and had his stuff delivered, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he wanted when he thought about it the other day after he and Emma had talked.

Emma’s had a hell of a few weeks at work, has pretty much wanted to pull her hair out nearly every day, and even though he saw her two weeks ago before he had to come back to California to meet with the producers for this movie (he wishes they’d give it a temporary name other than Project 783 because he’s a bit tired of calling it that), she was too stressed for either of them to really enjoy it. It’s been a long summer. A good one but incredibly long.

He’s pretty sure there’s several songs about long hot summers, and that’s pretty much been his entire summer. With a lot of airports and Uber rides and living out of his overnight bag.

But Emma’s coming in today, is already on her plane, and is staying through Monday. They’ve got his premiere for Highland Waters tomorrow night, a day to themselves on Saturday, and then they’re spending Sunday out on the Jolly with his family, Anna and Kris included. He’s pretty sure Anna has texted him at least five times a day double checking that Emma is definitely going to be here this weekend. Despite how much time Emma has spent with Elsa, she keeps missing Anna.

Anna is not okay with it in the slightest. Sometimes he thinks she’s been his sister-in-law for his entire life instead of five years with the way she treats him. She’s refreshing, and he’s completely sure that she and Emma need to meet on soft ground for when Anna inevitably tackles her.

Yeah, she’s definitely going to tackle Emma.

After he finally checks out and loads his groceries in the car, he drives home a little faster than he should and quickly puts everything away. He’ll have to tidy it all up later, but he needs to go ahead and make his way to LAX because he already knows that traffic will be awful. It nearly always it, and this weekend is going to make it worse.

Sure enough, he’s late to show up, but he hasn’t gotten a text from Emma letting him know that she’s landed, so he parks in hourly parking and makes his way inside, taking the long route to avoid the photographers that stake out at the exit nearest to the parking lot. He doesn’t see her anywhere, but considering it’s at least thirty times more insane than the grocery store in this small corner of the airport, he doesn’t exactly expect to right away.

Killian: Have you landed?

Emma: Yeah, but we’re taxiing right now.

Emma: My legs are so stiff, and the man next to me has talked for this entire flight.

Emma: Ah, shit. He just asked if I’d get dinner with him.

Emma: Why are people so weird?

Killian: What did you say?

Emma: Obviously I said yes.

Killian: Bring me some takeout from wherever you go.

He keeps texting back and forth with her until the texts stop and he’s left simply standing there watching and just waiting for her to show up somewhere.

“Hi, hi, hi,” Emma sighs as she jogs up to him at the airport, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding onto him as he tugs her closer, the bill of her baseball cap rubbing into his cheek with the sudden embrace. “How long have you been waiting here? It took forever taxiing after we landed, and then I had to pee, which I pretty much refuse to do on the plane which was hard because I had coffee…and yeah. Sorry for being late.”

“I absolutely do not mind,” he promises, quickly brushing his lips over hers as many times as he can before things turn inappropriate in a very public place. “Even if you were obviously going out to dinner with that man. I’ve just been watching people get black suitcase after black suitcase mixed up with other people’s very similar suitcases.”

“Sounds like quality entertainment.” “Right? Your flight’s luggage is coming out on this belt in front of me, so yours should be here soon. I’m surprised you didn’t do carry-on.”

She shrugs, pulling back from him and tightening the plaid shirts that’s wrapped around her waist. “Too much stuff. I wasn’t exactly sure what to wear tomorrow, and Ruby convinced me to bring…a lot. I figured you could help. Plus, my foundation went over the TSA limit for liquids weirdly enough, which I found out at security. That was a fun time.” “Sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure, Swan.” “I have. Look, there’s my suitcase. Let’s go.”

Emma practically jogs off to get her luggage, and he wonders just how much coffee she’s already consumed this morning. It’s got to be quite a bit, and he knows that she’s definitely going to crash in the middle of this afternoon. But it doesn’t matter. She’s here. She’s here, and he’s absolutely convinced that they’re going to have a wonderful Labor Day weekend with all of the plans that they’ve been making.

He hasn’t been this excited for a weekend in a long time.

-/-

“I like this,” he croons as he walks up to Emma at the counter in his bathroom that he’s come to think of as her counter. All of her stuff is there, the things she leaves behind both on accident and on purpose, including the damn toothbrush she ordered replacements heads for and had them sent here instead of to her home. He’d already signed up for the refurbishment ones, but he didn’t let her knows that when she texted him about the delivery. So now he has an entire dentist’s office worth of toothbrushes.

“Thank you.” She finishes putting her earring in and then turns around. “If I move from side to side, the fringe shakes.” She demonstrates for him, twisting and turning so that the white fringe on her dress moves with her, and he’s about as fascinated with it as he is with the smile on Emma’s face. It’s almost like she’s living some kind of childhood moment she never got right now, and all he can think is how happy he is that she’s happy. And how much he wants to spend the rest of his life with her.

He’s known it for awhile even if they’re not there yet, but he’s there. And he’s perfectly happy to go at Emma’s pace. He knows that she’s it for him. All this summer, the months of flying back and forth, of getting brief moments of time together and even more talking on the phone, it’s been difficult, but it’s kind of reaffirmed things for him on what he wants out of life. Emma’s not the first woman he’s been in love with, she’s not even the second or the third, but she’s it in every big sense of such a small word. He somehow…somehow he just knows it with every fiber in his being.

God, he loves her. More than anything.

“See?” Emma laughs, looking up at him as the fringe stops moving, resting back in place and framing her body. “I bought this dress forever ago and have never worn it. It looks okay for the premiere, right?”

“You look stunning, my love,” he promises, taking her hands and kissing her knuckles so he won’t mess up her makeup. His lips move along the skin of her hands until he’s kissing her wrist, right on the small black dot. “And this is perfect.”

“Thanks. You look nice too. Very handsome but,” she reaches up and runs her hands through his hair a little bit, “your hair is too flat. You gotta add a little life to it.”

“How embarrassing will it be for me to admit that I usually have someone do my hair for things like this?”

“Only a little,” she laughs, continuing to mess with his hair, which feels far too good than it has any right to feel. “Why didn’t you for tonight?”

“Smaller event. I’m not even wearing a tie or anything.”

Emma rolls her eyes before turning around and picking up her lipstick and reapplying the red, her tongue poking out the slightest bit. “You are obviously in shambles.”

“Thank you for your never ending support.” He can see her wink in the mirror. “Always.”

The show sends him a driver, which he really didn’t understand for something like tonight when it’s simply a miniseries premier and not a movie, but he’s not going to complain about not having to worry about how much he’s had to drink when thinking about them getting home. So he thanks Steve, before helping Emma into the back of the car, her dress seemingly always in movement, and loading in himself.

Robin’s waiting for him when they pull up to the hotel where they’re hosting this thing tonight, and Steve drops them off at the front entrance where he can see Isabelle getting out of her car as well. Apparently, the producers are trying to schmooze them one last time.

“You ready, darling?” he asks Emma, taking her hand in his, lacing their fingers together as Robin walks them through the front doors. “Yep,” she says quietly, her eyes darting around the room that’s bursting with people. “This is kind of weird.” “Aye, I know. It’s pretty unconventional.” “A pipe burst down at the theater where they were going to do this,” Robin explains, “and they’re having to redo all of the upholstery. And this was a good last-minute option even if things are a little unconventional for it being a show.”

“That’s shitty luck.”

“It is, but this is a nicer place if I’m honest.” They walk into one of the ballrooms, and there’s a wall set up for them to take pictures by, a group of photographers and journalists already taking pictures and interviewing some of his costars. “Jones, you know what to do here. Take your picture alone, then some with Isabelle, and then you’ve got one interview at the end. Emma, you can stay with me if you want to.”

He looks over to Emma, and she nods her head, smiling at him even if her eyes are blown a little wide. “You going to be okay, darling?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She squeezes his hand before releasing it. “Go do your thing, KJ.”

So he does, standing and taking pictures, alternating between smiling and staring at the cameras with an emotionless look. This, to him, has always been one of the most awkward parts of his job. It’s not the interviews. It’s standing alone and having people take pictures of him. So he’s eternally thankful for when Isabelle finishes hers and comes to stand next to him, wrapping her arm around his waist and smiling.

“You’ve got these crazy eyes going on right now, Jones,” she laughs, all the while her pose never fades. “I’d try straightening those out.”

“It’s the damn flashes and the way it’s far too dark in here.”

“You’re supposed to be a professional,” she teases. “Get it together.”

“I would, but your shoes are just so bright that I’ve been blinded.”

She hits his back – hard – and he laughs while they continue to move across the small carpet until they separate to do their own interviews. She’s one of his favorite costars, someone who he actually likes to talk to outside of work, and even though they’ve been finished filming for months, he knows he’s going to miss her when she flies back home to New Zealand instead of staying here.

When he’s finished talking, having gone through Ezra’s entire backstory once again as well as explaining just how excited he is for the miniseries to begin, he makes his way through the doors, figuring that’s where he’s supposed to go. It’s definitely different than he’s used to, not at all familiar, so he waits inside the impromptu theater that he’s just stumbled into until Robin and Emma also come through the doors with smiles on both of their faces. Good.

“You want to get something to drink, KJ?” Emma asks, coming up to him and poking her fingers at his chest. “Because I know for a fact that you hate watching yourself on screen, and I feel like you are going to need a couple glasses of rum for that.” “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“No,” she promises, wrapping her arms around his neck while he rests his on her hips, feeling the soft material of her dress under his fingertips, “I am not. I’m just trying to make life more bearable for all of us before you whine and moan all about your performance in the show.”

“She’s right, mate,” Robin laughs. “You’re going to give us all hell this entire time.” “See?” she nudges, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and pleasantly scratching his skin. “You need something to drink. Plus, I think there may be food.”

“Swan, I would never dare bring you somewhere without food. I’m not a madman with a death wish.”

“That’s a good plan for you.”

After they get their drinks and Emma finds herself some food (“They have mini cheeseburgers, KJ. I knew your job wasn’t worthless.”), they settle themselves down into their seats while people continue to move around them. Isabelle comes to sit next to Emma, and they absolutely hit it off. It’s wonderful, even if most of it is them teasing him, but Emma’s just got this smile on her face, her eyes lighting up with joy…and it’s all he wants. He wants her to be happy, and if it means him suffering through being made fun of and having to watch himself on screen, it’s completely and totally worth it.

Plus, there are other scenes that he’s not in, and those are okay to watch. Those are brilliant to watch because it’s a bloody brilliant show. Emma gasps in all the right places, laughing at all of the totally inappropriate places when he’s doing something like sword fighting, and she spends the entire time whispering a live commentary in his ear that has his stomach rolling while he stifles his laughter in her hair and in her shoulder as he runs his lips across her bare shoulders every time he gets a chance. She smells like her hairspray, her perfume, and a little bit of rum on her breath. He enjoys the spice of it.

He enjoys her.

“That was brilliant,” Emma sighs when it’s over while the room claps. “Is there any way you can get me the entire thing, like, right now? I kind of want to know what happens next without you giving me spoilers.”

“I don’t think I have that power.”

She groans, stretching out her legs in the seat while her head falls back. “What good are you?”

“I thought we already established that the sliders you consumed earlier were what I was good for.” “That’s what your job is useful for. You, on the other hand, need to be worth something.”

“I’ll just have to think on that, love.”

He’s not sure if he ever comes up with something he can be good for since he can’t get Emma the entire season on Highland Waters, but he does get her some more food and a refill on her drink as everyone settles around the bar, chatter and laughter filling the room while music plays on the speakers overhead. He’s not exactly sure who all is here, most of the faces unrecognizable to him, so he assumes they’re executives instead of the crew he was so familiar with while filming. He would recognize the crew.

“So tell me,” Isabelle sighs as she comes up to he and Emma in the lounge by the bar, the wine in her glass sloshing around, “how in the world does Killian Jones get someone who is such a catch like Emma here?”

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” Emma teases, settling herself down on his thigh while he wraps his free arm around her waist, the other hand holding his glass.

“You have literally known her for three hours, Isabelle.”

“Yes, but in those three hours, she has informed me that you organize your fridge and pantry as well as everything else in your house like you’re in some kind of organization club.” “I am not embarrassed by the fact that I’m organized. Emma should be embarrassed by how much of a slob she is.” “Hey,” Emma laughs, adjusting herself in his lap while she slaps his hand over her stomach, “I am not a slob. I’m not a slob,” she repeats to Isabelle, “and really, the weirdest thing about Killian is definitely that he eats his salad without combining ingredients. Like, if there are strawberries in there, he eats all of them before moving onto the lettuce.” “That’s not weird.” “That’s really weird, Jones. I can guarantee it’s not the weirdest thing about you, but it’s pretty weird.” Someone calls out her name, and Isabelle looks away, practically tripping over her own heels even as she stands still. “I’ve got to go, but I’m going to come back and find you guys later.” “So she’s drunk, right? She can’t actually that clumsy all of the time, and if she is, that was incredible acting in that first episode.”

“She’s definitely a bit intoxicated,” he chuckles, tilting his head to the side and brushing his lips across her jaw and down her neck while she moves and gives him more access to her skin, little moans escaping her lips. Bless her. “I think we may be too, but we’re sitting down.”

“Because we’re, ah,” she gasps when he bites down on her skin, and it sends a shiver down to the base of his spine, “intellectuals.”

“Big word there.”

“You really are drunk if you think that’s a big word.”

He hums, leaning back in the chair and yanking her back with him so that she giggles, the sound high and lilting even with all of the sounds in the room. “I think we should go home, Swan,” he growls into her ear as his finger start moving over her stomach, wishing the damn fringe wasn’t in the way. He loved it at the beginning of the night, loved the way it made Emma feel, loved the way it hugged her curves, but he’d really rather she not be wearing it right now.

“I think that sounds like a plan, Stan.”

They load back into the car and get a ride home from Steve. He can’t say he’s ever made out with a girl in the backseat of a car, not since he was a teenager and Liam would have lost his mind had he and Hannah Kirpatrick been in the house, but now as a thirty-three-year-old man, he does just that. She tastes like the spice of the rum they’ve both been drinking, maybe a bit like the chocolate she ate right before they left, grabbing it on the way out the door, and it’s intoxicating as always as her lips move against his over and over again.

They’re probably scarring poor Steve, but he honestly doesn’t care when there’s a white fringe dress on the floor of his living room.

-/-

“Okay, so remind me that I am not twenty-two anymore the next time we decide to go out and drink so much,” Emma groans when she wakes up the next morning, her voice far too loud for how much pain he’s in.

“You’re talking far too loudly.”

“Oh my God, so are you.”

He chuckles, even as his head pounds, and wraps his arms further around his pillow, burying his face in the softness while he tries to will everything away. “You are nearly five years younger than me, so you’re much closer to twenty-two and not feeling dead from drinking too much.”

“You have a bigger body mass. Harder to get drunk.”

He kicks out on the other side of his bed until he finds flesh with his foot. He’s honestly not sure what part of Emma’s body he’s kicking, but he doesn’t care. “Rude,” he mumbles into his pillow, turning a bit and opening one eye just so he can see her stretched out as well, her hair covering her face from his view. “You’re not supposed to comment on a man’s body mass.”

“You’re taller than me and weigh more. Your body mass is bigger. It’s not an insult.” He kicks at her again until she yelps. “I hate you so much.”

“You don’t.” “I do.” “Will you still hate me if I go make us some hangover food?”

“Pancakes with chocolate chips and whipped cream would be acceptable. And coffee. And bacon. It has to be cooked in the oven and not the microwave though.”

“Bloody hell,” he grumbles, rolling over in bed and letting his eyes adjust to the light, “how are you being so specific about what you want?” “I am a specific type of person.”

“Okay,” he sighs, slowly getting up from bed and letting his eyes adjust to light, “I will go make us all of that food, but I’m also going to make you eat some fruit, yeah?”

“Fine, Mary Margaret. I will eat all of my food groups.” “Don’t tease Mary Margaret when she’s got a good point. Besides, you eat salads all the damn time.” “Not when I’m miserably hungover and not picking everything out like you do.”

He’s miserable pretty much the entire time that he’s making breakfast, the medicine he took and coffee he’s drinking helping a small bit. Emma eventually joins him, her hair wrapped up in a towel on the top of her head while she’s changed into the sleep shorts she likes and one of his older t-shirts that she must have gotten out of one of the drawers in his closet. Misery loves company, so as he and Emma grumble and groan all while waiting for their food to be cooked, it’s not quite as miserable as it was.

Or maybe it is. He did drink a hell of a lot of rum yesterday.

But eventually he feels less like death and more like a human being. The food helps, even if he does have a lingering headache, but honestly the fact that they hoard themselves away in his bedroom with his curtains closed to block out the sun and do nothing but hide out under the covers while the rest of the country likely has a nice Labor Day Saturday helps the most. Plus, Emma grabbed bags of chips out of his pantry and brought them upstairs with her so they really don’t have to leave his room at all.

Except to go get water. Neither of them thought about water when they both really need it.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Emma speaks out of nowhere, making him turn his head to face her. She’s got a bag of salt and vinegar chips in her lap, something he already knows makes her tongue break out because his does the same, not that she cares about that, and if he were to shake out his comforter, he knows there’d be crumbs everywhere.

“For what, sweetheart?”

She shrugs, the bit of sunlight that’s peeking through the window casting across her face and hitting the green of her eyes, making them shine even more brightly than usual. “For your premiere yesterday, for getting the role for that movie that doesn’t have a name yet. I totally think it should be called After Life, though. People will think it has supernatural stuff in it when it doesn’t. It’ll just be about what happens after life  is over for someone you love.”

He laughs, scooting up on the mattress and inching closer to her, nearly sitting up himself. “I’ll have to tell the producers that. Get you a paycheck for the name and everything.”

“Always looking out for me.” “Undoubtedly.”

“But I’m also just…” she sighs, her entire body heaving with the movement, and it’s what gets him to sit up against the headboard with her. “I’m proud of you for who you are, for getting this life for yourself, for not letting your past define you any more than it has to.” “Emma, what’s all this about?”

“Nothing,” she promises, putting the chips on the table next to her while he watches her features, watches to see if there’s anything she’s not telling him. “I don’t know why, but I was thinking about the Sorellino’s, about how I was late because of work, and how at the end of the night you told me how proud you were of me. That meant so much to me, probably more than I can ever tell you, but I also realized that I never told you how proud I am of you for the life that you’ve built.”

Emotion lodges itself in his throat, as do the words he wants to say in response. He remembers that night. How could he not? He remembers telling Emma how proud he was of her, remembers the way her eyes lit up and her lips trembled a bit, and he also remembers her telling him that his mum would be proud of him if she were here to see him. And while he doesn’t think what he does is changing the world, he’s glad that he does what he loves. Emma telling him that his mum would be proud of him, well, that was just the same if not better than anything else she could have said.

It doesn’t change the fact that he can feel his entire body heat all the while thinking about Emma and how she thinks him to be a man who she’s proud of, a man who she wants to be with despite all of his shortcomings and failures.

“Thank you, my love.” He leans over and brushes his lips over hers, tasting the chips she’s been eating.

“You taste like onions,” she groans, her entire demeanor lightening instantly so that he laughs against her lips.

“You taste like vinegar, so you really can’t complain.”

“Lucky for you, I do have a fancy toothbrush compared to your regular, manual one.”

“You and that damned toothbrush, Swan.”

She winks, reaching over and grabbing the big of chips before popping a large on in her mouth. “You’re really going to appreciate it when I eat this entire family-sized bag of chips all by myself in the next hour.”

“Those were for you and Anna for tomorrow. She’s going to kill you before she even meets you.”

“Don’t be so salty, KJ.” Emma pops another chip into her mouth while he groans, scrunching up his face. “Totally worth using the word salty for the look on your face right now.”

[iamsoneurotic]

Enter, Levi: The Final Chapter Part I

Just when I thought I had been through it all… Enter Levi.

It’s currently 2 in the morning and I’m sitting in my kitchen with a freshly brewed cup of coffee. I must have a newborn! I feel like this particular post is going to take a long time to write because I’m using an iPad with the tiniest little Bluetooth keyboard ever built. My hands are so close together it’s like trying to type while playing “here’s the church, here’s the steeple”.

Screw it, I’ll just use the stupid virtual keyboard. The struggle is real, people.

Anyway, let’s just start from the beginning - It was Thursday and Rachael was incredibly uncomfortable. She had a checkup on Wednesday following a night of cramping and was found to be at 3cm. Ah Yes, the joys cervix circumferences again! As I’ve lamented many times before, the mention of that word still makes me want to self-lobotomize. It’s like nails on a chalkboard - if that chalkboard was located directly behind my sphincter. You know that feeling you get when you’re listening to somebody talk about losing a limb and you immediately start grabbing your own limbs just to make sure they’re all in tact? This is the same thing, except I have no cervix so I’m forced to improvise. Hence, sphincter.

Why am I telling you this. I’m sorry.

The baby had technically dropped but apparently there was still some room for him to drop more, and sadly 3cm + not fully dropped = no hospital admittance. It sucked, we had hoped she’d be further along. Granted we were still 12 days before the due date, but ever since the baby dropped, Rach had felt a TON of pressure in her backside and a lot of pain in various other areas. She was miserable. Later that evening we were at my parents and she began having actual contractions so we rushed home to get everything ready because as far as we were concerned it was ON. Rach went to bed and I got ready to make a pot of coffee in preparation for an all-night baby-extracting extravaganza! … Then the contractions stopped happening. Luckily Rach informed me of this before I made the coffee because she would have killed me if I had wasted a pot of her precious brown nectar.

Thursday arrived and still nothing, but the pain and pressure had intensified. To our knowledge, she had to be at least 8cm because the contractions from the night before were INTENSE, however the contractions were all but nonexistent now. Everything just seemed odd. At this point I had told Rachael to call her freaking doctor and make sure everything was alright - it all just seemed very concerning: Lots of pain, lots of pressure, then a night of contractions which just stopped happening with no explanation at all… Why is the female body so chaotic?? Rachael almost never listens to me when I tell her to call a doctor or go to the hospital because clearly that’s just too simple a solution - and if there’s one thing pregnant women are consistent in, it’s being irrational. Whatever though, we didn’t call a doctor and she continued to feel like crap for another night.

Can I just say that as a husband, when your wife is 9 months pregnant and miserable, be prepared to stand awkwardly by the bed doing nothing except making sad faces and saying “What can I do?”. That’s all we’re good for. Every time you offer to do something, she says there’s nothing you can do… But if you attempt to walk away (because nobody likes standing next to a bed frowning) she starts to moan uncomfortably as though your awkward presence is the only thing keeping her uterus from imploding. Also - don’t even attempt to rub her head, or her back, or hold her hand, or kiss her cheek, or really show any form of physical affection whatsoever because while your presence is apparently keeping her on life support, your touch is the bearer of pain and suffering. So don’t touch. Don’t talk. Don’t actually look directly at her. Stand there uncomfortably for as long as she requires you to stand there and keep frowning.

Finally, when she lets you leave the room, I would suggest leaving your phone behind, because the moment you sit down, you will be texted immediately about how uncomfortable she is… And your useless presence will again be required.

It’s like a Mexican stand-off except you don’t get the satisfaction of being shot at the end of it.

Per usual, I digress.

Friday morning came and Rachael was basically bedridden. Luckily her mom was in town from Maine and was able to help out a little while I worked from home to keep an eye on things. She decided to go with her mom and the boys to Dunkin Donuts. The girl could barely get in the car, but she sucked it up for the sake of getting out of the house for a little while… and also you don’t say no to Dunkin Donuts. It’s a rare delicacy here in Texas. There’s one that I’m aware of and it’s 20 minutes away. There could be more out there, but I’ve never seen one and ever since we’ve moved down here it’s become my white whale. Dear, Texas - get more Dunkin Donuts. Love, everybody ever. Anyway, my wife, my mother-in-law and the boys left and I got back to work. About 20 minutes later I got a text from my beautiful stubborn wife. “I’m effing miserable. Coming back. At DD now.”

So at this point I had finally had enough and demanded we go to the hospital - this time she obliged.

She got home about 20 minutes later and I ran out to the car to see Rach sitting in the passenger seat praying for the good Lord to put her out of her misery. I helped get the boys out and hurried them into the house so I could tend to Rachael. She was now standing beside the van in agony from all of the pressure and pain, balling her eyes out. I got our bags together and hurried us over to the hospital, fully expecting Rachael to be in full blown, 9cm labor…

4cm. What the serious EFF.

The nurse left the room and we waited for the doctor to return and banish us back to our home where nothing but a miserable existence of phantom labor pain awaited my poor, pregnant wife. It was a rough moment, but oddly enough the nurse walked back in and said she was admitting Rachael and they were going to break her water… BABY TIME!!!!

They started hooking Rachael up to all kinds of IV’s and machines and it was happening so quickly and unexpectedly that for a brief moment I envisioned the Beauty and the Beast “Be Our Guest” scene playing out - but instead of singing dinnerware, it was needles, blood and wires. It’s also possible I was just singing “Be Our Guest” to pass the time. Rachael thinks I sing too much. The IV’s are always a good time because Rachael was apparently born without veins, so whenever she needs to be hooked up at a hospital, they just stick her with needles until something draws blood. I doubt Rach even cared at this point, she was too busy puckering her butt cheeks to keep the baby from head-butting her in the anus... That’s obviously not what he was doing, but that’s what she said it felt like. Or maybe that is what he was doing. I literally do not understand female anatomy. Where do babies come out of again? It’s been a while…

I don’t know if any other dads agree, but I always feel like the nurses and doctors would rather I NOT be in the room. When you’re the father, nobody acknowledges your existence unless you’re in the way. If I stand too close to the bed I’m blocking something the nurse needs to get to. If I stand too far away from the bed, I look like I’m not being attentive to my wife… and also I’m still blocking something the nurse needs to get to. Being a dad in a hospital is the ultimate third-wheel experience.

Let’s skip to water breaking. Everybody loves a good water break.

They gave Rachael the epidural - which was absolutely horrifying because Rachael was fighting through a really bad cough. I don’t know if this was a life-threatening situation or not, but I can’t imagine a worse time to have a needle in your spinal cord than while suffering the sporadic condition of wildly convulsing until the tickle in your throat is gone. I’m happy to report that she didn’t cough and become paralyzed.

Anyway, wifey be all numb, time to break some water! The doctor pulled out that long pointy stick (the kind you kill vampires with) and rammed it on up there… Or maybe she slowly and carefully slid it up. I always close my eyes for this part. If talking about dilation is enough to make me want to die, shoving a sharp stick up there to break a baby balloon is more than my fragile neurosis can deal with. I always think I’m going to hear a pop, but instead all I ever hear Rach going “Ooooohhohoho man.”

So now the fun begins. Once Rachael’s water was broken, we focused on two wavy lines on the monitor. The top one was the baby’s heartbeat - it was blue. The bottom one monitored Rachael’s contractions - it was purple. I never pay attention to these things because I trust the doctors to understand them and relay to me any important information. What concerns me is when the nurse is intently staring at the monitor like she’s watching a murder happen and is constantly having Rachael switch positions on the bed. I get more concerned when I ask “Is everything okay?” and I have to wait 30 seconds to get a dang answer (it’s the same way with my boys, I always know they’re lying when they don’t answer me right away). So we both asked what was going on, and the nurse finally pointed out that with every contraction the baby’s heartbeat would drop. Supposedly this is normal, but the way the nurses were acting made me think something was definitely not normal. But we carried on.

5cm.

I’m real good at reading the monitor now - I’ve stared at it without blinking for at least a half an hour. Like clockwork the contraction goes up and the heart rate goes way down. The heart rate wasn’t even related to how big the contractions were. Small ones caused the heartbeat to drop just as much as the large ones did. At this point I was convinced that if Rachael were to fart the baby would just flatline. Rachael was becoming increasingly nervous, but fortunately she was facing away from the monitor so I could do my best to lie to her about what was going on. I’m a horrible liar. She at one point asked me if everything was okay (we seemed to be asking this a lot that day), and as I was saying “everything is fine” the heartbeat dropped WAY WAY WAY low and I dragged the word “fine” on for about 3 or 4 seconds like I was having a stroke.

So we prayed. There’s not much else you can do in those moments, just pray. The nurses were getting more and more distant, the heart rate wasn’t changing and we were a nervous wreck because we were getting no information and clearly something was wrong despite the fact we were constantly being told everything was normal and fine. Rachael finally made me ask if we should just do a C-Section. Or maybe she asked? I can’t remember. Somebody asked and the nurse replied with a big fat “Not sure yet”, then walked out of the room.

Comforting. But before Rachael and I could even really say anything to each other, the doctor came in with her nurse posse and declared “We have to do a C-Section right now.” They suspected the umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck, so without any hesitation, they rolled her off and threw a pair of scrubs at me as the door closed.

This moment is burned in my memory forever. I barely had a chance to tell Rachael that everything was going to be okay before they wheeled her away. I remember the look on her face, I remember the panic of knowing something is wrong with your baby... and then I remember just being alone in the room.

At least I wasn’t in the way anymore.

A few seconds later another nurse walked in and told me to get the scrubs on and if they didn’t have to put Rachael under, they’d bring me in for the procedure, otherwise I’d have to wait it out until it was done. I asked if everything was going to be okay and she replied that everything would be fine… I don’t even know why I asked, they said it was ‘fine’ every time and as it turned out, literally nothing was fine. I threw the scrubs on (luckily they informed me the scrubs go OVER the clothes, crisis averted) and I did what I was told: I waited. In moments of panic, the best solution is to just focus on what you need to do. The only problem was that there was nothing I could do. So I began frantically texting my parents about what was going on.

Word of advice - DON’T DO THIS. The knowledge of what was going on was bad enough, but to actually write it out and read it back to myself was horrifying.

So the tears start building up. I’ve officially been left alone with my thoughts for too long and with no distractions, and now I’m a neurotic mess. I hold it back though, knowing if I get called into that room I’d need to keep it together for Rachael. But then my mom called. If you’re on the verge of crying, don’t answer the phone when your mom calls. Awesome. Mom was crying, now I was crying, it was just a mess. So I hurry her off the phone because good lord, SOMEBODY needs to keep it the eff together and I start doing the routine - pacing, praying and panicing. For real, how long does it take to figure out if you’re going with anesthesia or numbness??

Enter nurse. I’m scrubbed up and ready to go… And then she tells me they put Rach under and I can’t go back. Fan-freaking-tastic. My heart sunk. My baby is being surgically removed from my unconscious wife and I’m standing in this room looking like a douche with a stupid pair of scrubs over my clothes trying not to freak out instead of being present for the birth of my child. As she explained the situation, I just looked down, attempting to pay attention but failing miserably because I was just doing my best to keep anymore tears from smudging my glasses. I don’t even remember what I said to her - I probably just asked if I could take the dang scrubs off now. There was literally no point in asking if anybody involved was okay because the answer was always “Yes, fine” regardless of how truthful that response was.

As the nurse rambled on sympathetically, another nurse walked in and started telling me the same thing - they had to put Rach under because the numbness wasn’t kicking in fast enough… Gee, thanks for the recap, this is just what I needed, a nurse with a hype-man. How thorough. I finally managed to ask how long it was going to take and the nurse replied very matter-of-factly: “Oh, the surgery is already done, he came out screaming. Everyone’s fine.”

…

Hey, here’s a thought, lady - LEAD WITH THAT NEXT TIME!

As I’ve made very clear at this point, I’m a man who cries, but I cry when it hurts. A joyful tear had never left my face until that moment, and the mention of my baby boy being okay was enough to not only shatter the floodgates, but also shatter the record for world’s ugliest cry... I ugly-cried hard. It was disgusting. I don’t even know what the nurse said after that, I didn’t care. At this point all I could think about was ripping my scrubs off like Hulk Hogan and kicking down the surgery doors to get my baby. But I refrained. The nurses left, and I again sat there and waited, trying to text my family through the tears that everything was alright.

As it had turned out, the doctor was right and the cord was indeed wrapped around his neck. They made a good call.

The next 10-15 minutes is a little hazy at this point. I know I called my brother to tell him everything that had just happened, but outside of that it’s all a blur. Right up until a nurse called me out of the room so I could finally see my third son for the first time. I almost knocked the doors over running out into the hallway just in time to see a nurse wheeling the bassinet up to me. I wasn’t even nervous, I knew he’d be beautiful - honestly, for all the trouble he put me through, he could have looked like a slug wrapped in bacon and he still would have been the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on because he was alive and he was with me.

… I’m happy to report he was the regular kind of beautiful though.

So on Friday, February 2nd, 2018 at 5:58pm, Levi Christopher Marianelli took his first insanely stressful breath into the world.

I asked if I could hold him. They said I couldn’t yet because due to the c-section, he was having some trouble breathing and they wanted to get him to an incubator - I think they saw the panic building up again and quickly told me that it was perfectly normal and he was already getting better, he just needed some help until he figured it out. Or something like that - really I couldn’t focus on anything anybody was telling me because I was so bent out of shape over everything. They gave me all of his measurements and I didn’t remember a single one. It’s not my job to remember these things, it’s Rachael’s job, and she was still unconscious. Crap, I haven’t even asked about her yet. Levi had a weight, he had a length, and luckily he had a name - and it’s a miracle I even remembered that little detail. In retrospect, I had a golden opportunity to name the boy anything I wanted! There was no buzzkill wife telling me I can’t name my own son Leviathan.

Fun Fact: “Leviathan” was actually the nickname we had given him after we decided on the name Levi and he began kicking Rachael’s fragile ribcage into oblivion every night.

Despite the fact I couldn’t remember his actual weight, I do know he’s the lightest baby we’ve had yet, and I’m okay with this. Noli’s a big boy and my arms can take no more.

I followed the nurses as they rolled Levi to the incubators, I just stared at him the whole time, rubbing his little head, taking a million pictures and silently thanking God for keeping him safe. As they prepared the incubator, they finally let me sit down and hold him while they got everything ready for him. Those few moments will always be one of my favorite memories. He was wide awake, but he was quiet as a mouse and so peaceful. I was so infatuated with him that I suddenly realized I hadn’t even asked about Rachael yet! I asked the nurse how Rach was doing. She let me know Rach was okay and asked if I wanted to see her. I didn’t want to put Levi down, but women hold grudges… “Yes. That would be delightful.”

I kid, I kid... Ish.

So I handed my son back over to the nurses, they placed him in the incubator and I followed another nameless nurse to see my wife… Only he didn’t take me to see my wife. He took me to the main desk to pay my stupid hospital bill. I should have been infuriated, but I applauded their tenacity and began to sign a whole mess of stuff without actually reading the fine print. It’s possible I sold Milo into scientific research and experimentation... He’ll be fine, I’m sure.

They brought me back to our room and told me Rach was awake and they’d be bringing her in shortly. Alone again. I sent the 8,000 pictures I took of Levi out to my family and stared at my phone as I received about a hundred “awwww” texts accompanied by a vast assortment of emojis and gifs. Then, like a dummy, I posted Levi’s picture to Facebook and announced him to every busybody I’ve ever known.

… Then I remembered that Rachael hadn’t even seen Levi yet and I had just sent his picture to every human being on the internet. This is why dads should NEVER be the only conscious people after a birth.

Finally, in rolled Rachael - a hot mess from the anesthesia. The poor girl was having a really rough time. She had told me later on that the last thing she remembered while being put under was having trouble breathing. So she went under thinking the baby was in danger and that she was about to suffocate… I’d say that’s a good enough reason to wake up freaking out. She was really upset, I felt horrible for her. She’d just gone through a really rough time and all she could do was beg to find out what happened to her baby. I quickly ran over to her and began telling her Levi was okay and that he was beautiful. She responded to it and sounded relieved, but would just start freaking out again seconds later and I’d have to keep reassuring her everything was okay. She’s always had a hard time coming off of anesthesia, it normally results in crying fits.

Eventually she began to calm down some, and it was just in time for Levi to come into the room. They brought him in and immediately put him in her arms. Rachael broke down crying as she held her baby boy for the first time and I started getting teary-eyed again (I need to watch some Schwarzenegger ASAP to replenish my man-supply… Wow that sounds dirty). I held it back this time though, just doing my best to take in the moment. I know I’ve said it about every birth we’ve had now, but it was one of the most beautiful sights I’d ever seen. Rachael finally had her baby and he was healthy, safe and sound. The girl hardly had any strength in her arms and she was covered in wires and IV’s, but holy crap did she keep a grip on that little boy. Moms are great.

It took 40 minutes in total from the time they rolled her away to the time she was reunited with her little Leviathan. Pretty impressive, though it felt like I had been waiting in that room by myself for a month. We always wanted an afternoon baby (thinking we’d be rested enough to enjoy him without being physically exhausted by a 3am birth), well we finally got our wish and it made zero difference whatsoever thanks to the most stressful 40 minutes of our lives.

Leviathan was an appropriate title after all.

Per usual, there’s a part II coming, but we’ll see how long that takes me to write… I’ve got 3 kids now.

I am but a man.

~ M.