#chair yoga moves

[luveline]

Mothers day lil fic with eddie x reader from june baby? 👉🏻👈🏻

mom!reader, 1.5k “Big stretch!”

You hold your arms above your head, stretching as tall as you can go. Your t-shirt rises and exposes the soft stretch of your tummy, stretch marks decorating your skin and lightened in the sun as you lean to your left side.

“Okay, now we count. One, two…”

“Three,” Junie says. “Five, six, seven.”

“You forgot four, babe. Let’s try again, okay?” You stretch to your right side. “One, two, three…”

“Five, six, four–”

You giggle. Junie, who wasn’t doing a very good job at copying your yoga poses to begin with, hears you laughing and drops her short arms to her sides. “Tummy!” she says, jumping forward to push her hand into your stomach.

“I’m telling Eddie you did that. So nasty.” You drop your arms.

“Tummy,” she says again, poking at your belly button.

You catch her hands in yours and level her with a feigned glare. “What are you trying to say about my tummy?”

She beams. It’s lovely to have a little baby that looks like you. Her joy is yours, her smile made up of your lips and teeth. She’s a mirror, and you could never not think she was gorgeous —it makes you gorgeous too.

“Guess we’re done stretching?” you ask.

She lifts her hands to your sides, a gesture to be grabbed. You lean down to collect her and drag her up for a hug, holding her low at the back to encourage face to face time. “What, you’re not talking to me?” you ask warmly.

She touches your neck.

“I know,” you say. You’re pretty sure you get it.

Outside, tires roll across grass and road alike. You listen for the whine of Eddie’s van as it parks, grinning all over again when it comes. He’s not supposed to see you today, it’s Sunday, he has too much stuff to do.

If he’s outside, it means he swapped his shifts again or called out, which means he’s gonna give you one of his speeches about being sickly sweet in love with you. You can pretend you don’t like them as much as you want, but there’s no better feeling than being loved like you’re something special.

You open the door before he can, and he needs it, anyhow. To your confusion, he’s carrying a cellophane wrapped bouquet made up of a hundred different colours and a white box in the other, arms full and naked, no jacket to hide from the early summer sun. Your eyes widen as he gets to the steps. He looks like he made an effort to see you (and it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t always, you love him as he is, but you can’t help asking yourself why).

“What’s going on?” you ask.

Eddie smiles. “What do you mean?”

“What’s the stuff for?” There’s a bag hanging from his elbow.

“This stuff?” he asks, cresting the last step.

“Hi,” Junie says.

“Hi, babe.”

“Hi.” She reaches for the flowers. “Pretty.”

“You think so? I got them for your mommy but I’m sure she’ll share them with you.”

You’re nonplussed as he moves in to kiss your cheek and skirt around you. “Come on. This stuff’s heavy,” he says, the cellophane crunching against his chest as he squeezes past you into your home.

“Eddie, what is that stuff?”

“You don’t know what day it is today?”

You think about it for a second at least. “No?”

It’s not your birthday, not Junie’s. You and Eddie can’t have made it to your first anniversary already, but perhaps six months? You try to do the maths in your head. Eddie puts the white box on your kitchen table, the bag on Junie’s high chair, and the flowers by the sink.

“You really don’t know, do you?” he asks, some sympathy in play.

“Eddie, we did stretches!” Junie says from your arms.

You offer her to him. He wraps her up and makes it look easy, baby on his hip. Quick kiss pressed to her cheek. “Yeah? Mom’s got you doing yoga again?”

You’re drawn to the box like a magnet.

“What is it?” you ask.

“It’s for you, babe,” he says easily, smiling as Junie tucks a curl behind his ear. “It’s all for you. You can open it.”

“You sure?”

“Of course I am. Open it up.”

You take the box’s lid off, lips parting in surprise. Happy Mother’s Day has been written in white writing against a baby pink cake. It’s simple, without frills, but it’s sweet and it looks soft to the touch.

“Is it today?” you ask.

“Yeah, babe. I can’t believe you didn’t know.” Eddie shifts Junie forward to stop her from tangling his hair. “That’s a lie, I totally can. Quick, come here.”

You slot into his side, expecting the kiss, but not the second one against the apple of your cheek. “Happy Mother’s Day. I would’ve been here sooner, but I had to make sure my mom knew I was thinking about her first.” He taps your noses together before pulling away. “You’re the best mom ever, so. Me and June got you some presents. No biggie.”

“Junie got me this?”

“Who do you think wrote on the cake?”

Eddie pretends to eat Junie’s hand, to her delight. You feel the cardboard of your box between your fingers, no attempt made to hide the achingly huge smile that’s taking shape. “And the bags for me too?” you ask.

Eddie can hear it in your voice. “The bag’s for you too, of course. You're the mother.” He snarfs against Junie’s wrist. “Um-num-num.”

You drag the bag from Junie’s blue and orange high chair across the table to peek inside. It’s a flat, paper bag from a clothing store, so the contents surprise you for being much more than clothes. Your smile gets worse with each item unveiled from its tissue paper depths: a humble box of fancy chocolates, a bag of your favourite chips, a small black box and a pair of pyjamas wrapped together with a ribbon.

You hesitate with the box, hand atop it, head tilting toward your shoulder. Eddie doesn’t notice your hesitation, or at least he’s pretending not to, pretending to nibble Junie’s sleeve where she’s laughing it up in his arms.

“What’s in the box?”

He looks up quickly. Not pretending. “Oh, that’s– If you don’t like it, I can take it back. It’s nothing crazy.”

“You’re proposing.” The box is shaped for a bracelet or necklace rather than a ring.

He nods severely. “Will you do me the honour?”

You laugh softly and line your thumb to the box’s seam. It opens on a tense hinge, clicking into place.

It’s a bracelet made up of silver beads. There’s a small flat-circle charm between the beads, that, upon closer inspection, harbours two hearts, one bigger than the other.

“It’s nothing fancy, okay? So if it breaks you won’t feel bad. It’s real silver though, you don’t have to take it off much if you don’t want to. I don’t know. I think it’s, like, a reminder of her when you’re not together.” Junie whines, encouraging Eddie to press another peck to her cheek as he hugs her tighter, and takes a step closer to you. “If you don’t like it, it’s really fine.”

You slip the bracelet onto your wrist. It goes without saying you’ve never had much jewellery.

Taking his face into your hands is easy. Holding him tenderly is second nature. “Thank you,” you say, eye to eye, willing it to sink in deeply. “I love you.”

“Yeah, I love you, too. And Junie loves you more than anybody. You deserve to know that.”

“I do,” you say, glad when he puckers up for a kiss. You kiss his pouting lips misaligned to nobody’s worry, adding another for thankfulness, and a third just because. He’s smirking before you’ve so much as pulled away.

“And thank you!” you add saccharinely, stroking Junie’s cheek, though the idea that she had anything to do with your gifts is funny. “I wouldn’t get to be a mommy if it wasn’t for you. I love you.”

“Love you,” Junie says distractedly, more interested by the stud earring in Eddie’s lobe.

He gives you both a soft, soft look, startlingly yards away from his previous smirking. “You’re the best girls in the world.”

“You're the best boyfriend.” You curve an arm around him to steal him and press your face into his arm. “I love you,” you say, smushed. “Thank you so much for everything. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he says.

“I really love you.”

“Yeah,” he says, his nose touching your head as he cranes his head down to you. “It’s okay, sweetheart, I love you too. You deserve it, alright?”

Junie pats your head. “Love love love you. Kiss?”

She almost blinds you trying to kiss you in the eye as you turn your face toward her, but it’s nice.

[iid-smile]

geto would...

if you were dating them series.

lay next to you when you're cramping. he already has a heat pad against your abdomen, pillows and blankets adjusted to your liking, and he just lays there with you. his eyes would trace over your expression constantly, and down to where your arms clutch over your waist. if you're okay with touch, his hand would rub over your thigh, up to your shoulder, cup your cheek, and run all the way back down. he'd let you bury your head in his chest if the cramps are particularly bad or if you just feel a bit embarrassed. he'd hum every time you whimper or groan to remind you that he's there, and gently kiss your neck every now and then.

buy you tights. i think he would prefer tights over bare legs. around winter time, he'd buy you all sorts of tights that go well with a lot of outfits. lined tights that keep you warm are a must have. honestly, he prefers black tights over skin coloured ones as well. when the two of you are sat around, he likes circling his hand around your lower thighs and knees. the material separating his skin from yours, and his warmth slowly seeping through the fabric, transferring over to you.

rest his chin on the top of your head. don't worry, you don't have to be short for this. if you are short, he'll do it when the two of you are waiting for something while standing, like the bus or a queue. may hug you from behind, or hold somewhere in between your shoulders and upper arms. height doesn't matter when you're sat on a chair. he'd place his chin down and wrap his arms around your neck while leaning down. and he's warm. for some reason, it feels ten times warmer when he does it while your sitting compared to standing. 100% the best when he's wearing a sweater or cardigan and he has sweater paws! (bonus points if his hair is down!!!)

play the pepero/pocky game with you on a daily basis. the more he does it, the less it is to tease you and the more it's an excuse to kiss you with a sweet flavour. there's not a single day where the two of you haven't done it, and it doesn't necessarily have to be with just the coated biscuit. you've tried gummy worms, marshmallows, rainbow belts, twizzlers, anything thats long enough to give some suspense before your lips actually touch. even when one of you are cooking and you want to try something like fries, spaghetti, rolled up crepes, you still do it. this time, the kiss turns into only a peck so the two of you can pull away and have time to chew.

stretch with you. after his atrocious posture in high school, he promised himself to stretch every morning and keep his back crack free at all times. when he does this, he does move around on the mattress a lot, so sometimes it shakes you awake. though stretching does remind him of a certain someone (iykyk), he doesn't want think about it and tries to associate stretching with you instead. he'd help you out with getting in the right positions, or investing some time into easy yoga that you can both get into.

─────────────୨ৎ─────────────

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。this feeling inside of me— | gojo satoru

wc: 1.5k

summary: you make gojo realize that this twisty-pop!-y feeling in his stomach might just be jealousy. 

contains: written with f!reader in mind but no pronouns are used, mild jealousy, mentions of some of the students, lots of stifled laughs and held back grins!, mostly fluff really, gojo just doesn’t understand what he’s feeling! 

a/n: split this into two parts: the first half (this one), lighter and more central to reader’s perspective, while the second half (the next part), darker, and more central to gojo’s perspective. best read after ‘so this is what it means to be in love’ because there are some references made! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love 03. so this is what it means to be in love + (extended scene) too good to be mine <-you are here -> 3.5b. —will i ever bring you peace?

Gojo’s been… hovering lately.

He hangs around you a lot more than usual, following your footsteps around your apartment as if he didn’t just spend the night and stay in bed with you all morning. 

You’d think that’d stop at work, but nope. 

For someone who hates sitting still, Gojo’s spending an awful lot of time doing nothing while watching you rifle through folders and documents you’re meant to type away. He sits by the chair in front of his desk, feet propped up and fingers tapping on the wooden surface enough to push you just to the point of going a little crazy. 

Tap.

You could have sworn you’ve read this line already. 

Tap.

This paragraph feels entirely too familiar at this point. 

Tap—

“Satoru,” you sigh, smile half-annoyed-half-guilty as you switch your attention to the man in front of you, “do you have extra work to finish today?” 

You’re trying to ask kindly, after all, Gojo rarely chooses to sit by the paperwork he’s been assigned to do (even though he doesn’t really do any of it because it’s mostly left to you). 

He stops tapping, moving to rest his cheek on one hand as he flashes you a grin so lovesick you think it’s infectious—the corners of your lips are curling up too. 

“Just working on spending more time with you.” 

Of course he says something like this; the most powerful man in jujutsu society transformed into the ever-charming sweet-talker that being your lover brings. 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as you chuckle—the look on your face a reflection of his. As annoyed as you are that he’s distracting you, you’re endeared. 

“You didn’t have to come with me, you know.” 

Today is his day-off after all. 

He hums, eyes set on you with cerulean sincerity, “It’s boring without you, though.” 

Strands of white fall to kiss his eyelashes and you reach forward to brush them off—his hair is getting longer now, you note. No doubt he’s going to ask you to accompany him for a haircut soon. 

His nose scrunches under the space your fingers hover over and you draw them back, “Clingy.”

—which he’s always been, but even moreso lately. You don’t know where all of it is coming from, how it’s even possible for him to be clingier than normal, but the past weeks have definitely shown you that he is more than capable. 

Gojo loves grocery runs, but only when he’s able to wander around the breakfast and candy section while you go through the long list of essentials and ingredients that need stocking up on. 

Not last week though. 

Instead of beelining straight towards his usual spot, he stayed right where you were, pushing the cart whenever you needed him to and reaching up on the top shelf for things you’d normally have to ask some other kind sir to get to. He stays close to you, body draping over yours as you line up for the checkout queue—long limbs, long torso, long everything engulfing you.

It’s endearing, and cute, and oh so Satoru, but the days after that find him following you everywhere—picking you up after pottery with Megumi (as if you can’t make it back home alone), insisting on doing a taste test on cooking lessons with Inumaki, and even joining you on that afternoon yoga class you reserved for (initially) just you and Yuuji. 

You wonder what’s causing this, why he’s acting this way lately.

“Well, I have to be or else Yuuji might really steal you away from me.” he jokes, elbows propped on the table as he rests his chin on clasped hands. 

You know that he isn’t actually threatened by Yuuji—just that he wants more attention from you, some that you give to the pink-haired boy too eagerly and so easily. 

Still, it’s weird whatever he’s feeling right now, a bundle of unrest bubbling in his stomach these days. He isn’t familiar with it, doesn’t really know what to call it, just that he knows when it hits—like knots waiting to pop at any minute.  

You stand up from your seat to make your way to him, glancing at the clock across the room; you suppose there’s no point trying to squeeze in any more work for the last 20 minutes before you’re set to clock out. 

Gojo pats his thigh, as if beckoning you to sit; he manspreads like crazy but you think it makes sense for moments when he wants to hold you like this. 

Once you position yourself on his lap, he snakes an arm around your waist as you sling yours around the back of his neck, landing a soft peck at the tip of his nose. The hand resting on your hip rubs gently. 

“Is that comment still bothering you?” you ask, scratching the short buzzed hair of his undercut. 

You catch his eyes then, sky blue with a troubled sea.

Now that he thinks about it, it probably did start with the videos. 

Gojo Satoru is a man of many accolades: the strongest, a lone child prodigy, the best teacher (self-proclaimed); at some point he was also the world’s saving grace, and you’d think after that he’d decide to lay low for a bit, have a change of pace—but no.

The man you love has also, apparently, become a social media heartthrob after garnering attention for vlogging your dates. For the memories, he had said, but of course, it’s never just that when he’s as pretty–if not prettier–than the models you see on magazines and billboard posters. The video goes viral and suddenly you’re made very aware of just how coveted he is across all generations. 

He feels the first pop! in his stomach when he finds the comment under a 10-minute video of your day out in the park. He blacked out, he’s sure, but some loser said something about how you were so hot and completely out of his league.

As if he doesn’t know that already, but it’s how confident user ManInATux69 typed that you should just leave Gojo and be with him instead. That one stung a bit; maybe even got to his head, and it’s ridiculous because it really is just some faceless person on the internet. 

But maybe that’s really how this feeling started. 

“Of course not,” he pouts, eyes avoiding yours as he looks to the side, brows furrowed.

You stifle a giggle as you wait, biting the insides of your cheek as you stare at him. A mental countdown until—

“Maybe a bit.” he mumbles after a few blinks, pout deepening as he turns to you. He always comes around to tell you the truth, without fail. 

It’s endearing, and cute, and oh so Satoru. Your Satoru.

“You wanna tell me how you’re feeling exactly?” 

If there’s one word Gojo will use to describe you, it will always be lovely. You have always been so gentle, so kind, never pushing, always asking lightly. 

You’ve sat through all his non-answers, so he thinks it’s just right, fair, that he gladly offers up his heart to you, now nestled into the palm of your hands as he lays all these feelings down, bare, intended just for you. 

He takes your free hand and places it right at his center, the space between his chest and abdomen. It’s warm as his hand dwarfs yours, forming it into a fist and twisting it into his skin. 

“Feels like a knot first,” he begins, before jerking your hand slightly as if to emulate a pop!, “then it pops.” 

And you think, that for all he sees and knows, it’s ironic that he can describe a feeling so vividly yet not know what it’s called—what it could possibly mean or be. 

“Do you think you’re jealous, Satoru?” you ask, smiling, fighting back a giggle (again), tone teasing. 

Hm, he thinks, is that what this is? 

Jealousy? 

He stares at you, lips parted slightly as you watch it register to him slowly. 

“Would explain why you’ve been hovering,” you chuckle, stroking small circles with your thumb. 

“I have not been hovering.” he snaps out of it, almost offended. 

You give him a look, eyebrow raised and mouth set in a smirk as if to say: really?

He relents, taking your hand to interlace your fingers with his, “Maybe a little.” 

Kisses are dotted along your knuckles, his eyes closed as if to ground him. You’ve known Gojo for so long that you can tell when he’s still figuring out how to say whatever it is he wants to—and your heart warms at the fact that this side to him is one he only entrusts to you. 

“There’s no competition, you know,” you whisper, the sky opening back to you, “I love you.” 

Your words are weighted, meant for him to hold and keep in the parts of him that doubt what he means to you. And it might sound a bit silly, to be this affected over a comment from some nobody, but you don’t want to leave any room for uncertainty—for your inaction to once again feed into his insecurity. 

He hums, soft vibrations flowing through his lips still pressed against your hand. Red is starting to bloom across his cheeks to his nose, and he mumbles, “Just want to be sure I’m good to you.”

a/n: the first and second part wouldn’t have fit in tone if i put them in one fic, so i split them! the second part will be a bit darker, more serious, but will discuss more of where the feelings stem from in the first place! 

thank you notes: to niku @stellamancer for listening to me and being there when i seriously needed it writing this!! & to dilly and somi my bbgirls!! @crysugu @soumies for always cheering me on, especially during the slump!! 

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[zepskies]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGdFgGL1y/

I’ve been loving this trend and then realised this could literally bmd Ben and reader asking him to show how he would’ve moved to her in the 80s and even better cause he literally experienced it, I can see him being unwilling to entertain but slowly caving in when he sees she’s not breaking and giving him attention until he tries

LOL that's adorable. 😂 Thanks for thinking of Break Me Down (Soldier Boy x Reader)! Seems to be a theme this week lol! I went ahead and watched that TikTok and again it got me imaging the thing...

Imagine Soldier Boy (Ben) "Sliding Up" to You in the Club

I can imagine that coming up in conversation if the reader in BMD was being subjected to watching another one of his music videos. She'd be teasing him, of course, but he'd be defending himself and his career choices. It was the 80s!

And for your information, Ben says, women were fucking falling over themselves to have him sign their Rapture albums. It was frankly irritating when he went out. Sometimes, he just wanted to relax with a smoke and a glass of bourbon at the club. You scoff at that one.

He looks amused. "What, you think you would've been the only girl in America who didn't cream their panties when I showed up?"

You shoot him a wry brow raise. Do you have to remind him how you two met? Being tied to a chair with zip ties comes to mind.

But then, something else occurs to you. The first time you and Ben actually met was in a smokey club in Medellin, Colombia. You'd been "undercover" then, and though you hadn't danced with him, it makes you think...

"Okay, let's say we're at the club," you pose, with a sly smile. "It's 1983..."

You find the song "Too Shy" on your phone; quintessential 80s pop. The smooth riffs start playing. You get up to start vibing near him in the comfort of your living room. You're just swaying side to side with a little sensuous, playful bounce to your step, your hand movements simple.

Ben doesn't want to smile, but you're making it difficult as he lounges half across the couch.

"Come on. How would you slide up on me?" you taunt.

He arches a brow. "Slide?"

"You know what I mean. What was your move, huh?" you ask, teasing him with the curve of your ass and the sway of your hips in your yoga pants.

You saunter closer to him, beckoning him over to you. All the while you sing to yourself, "Too shy, shyyyy. Hush, hush, eye to eye..."

Ben rolls his eyes, reluctant to rise to your bait. But eventually, your teasing is too much for him to ignore. He pulls himself off the couch and comes up behind you.

He takes your hand while you're purposefully facing away from him, and smoothly turns you around, guiding you back into his arms like he's Fred Astaire. You utter a little gasp and grab onto his shoulders. Your gaze flicks up to his with a smile.

His lips curve as he looks down at you. He matches the vibe of the song as he moves along with you, but then he turns you around, holding you from behind with steady hands sliding down the curve of your waist. His strength is tempered just enough for you to feel it.

He gradually moves closer with every bounce of the beat, and soon every part of his body is molded to yours. Your hands fall over his as you subtly lean back against his chest.

He bows his head near your cheek, smiling, because he can hear your heart beating a little faster. His lips brush the shell of your ear.

"Gotcha."

AN: Once again, this turned into a little headcanon/imagine that I wasn't expecting. 🤣 Last post before I'm off on a trip all weekend! 💚

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[miss-celestial-being]

jake peralta going on a blind date that boyle set up but she’s actually completely his type

literally the love of my life tysm for the request

-

"No. No. No. No. No. No. No. And did I mention, no!" Jake says exasperatedly. "You see, I knew you would say that which is why I already set up the date with her." Charles rebuttals. He tells him your name as he taps rhythmically on Jake's desk. "She's thirty-two, she loves herself some Tay-Tay, and her favorite soup is crab bisque. I met her in my hot goat yoga class." "Ew, what." "Yeah, I'm hearing how that sounds now. But still, I think you'd like her. Who knows, by the end of the night you may just be smushing booties." Jake groans, "God, Boyle, don't say smushing booties." "Right, yeah, yep," He picks up the file from Jake's desk, turning to the man as he walks away, "Shaw's Bar, 8 o'clock."

Charles turns back around and bumps into Terry as he walks to his desk. He groans as he crushes his yogurt cup in his hand, "Damnnit, Boyle." "Sorry," He says as he backs toward the exit of the bullpen. He rapidly clicks the close button once inside the elevator, evading Terry's angry gaze. "Jake sighs as he looks back at his computer.

"So, hot date tonight, huh?" Amy asks as she leans around their computers to smirk smugly at him. "Uhm, no. I'm not going," He says, his eyes not leaving the screen as he types mindlessly. "What? Why not? Charles says she's perfect for you." "Exactly: Charles thinks she's perfect for me. Knowing him she's either some hot goat yoga-loving freak, or-" "Or actually perfect for you. I think you should give it a shot. I mean, you're constantly complaining about how horribly dull your love life is," Jake frowns, "Hey, now, I wouldn't say horrible dull-" "Yes you would, and you have. Now no more fighting, you have a date to get ready for." Jake looks at the time at the bottom right corner of his monitor and sighs, "All right, fine. But when this all goes to total shit, I'm blaming you." Amy rolls her eyes with a grin and opens the next file from her stack as Jake makes his way to the elevator.

-

The bell rings as Jake opens the door to Shaw's Bar, his free hand shoved in his jacket pocket. The warm, boozy bar air fills his nostrils as he steps toward the bar, the glass door closing slowly behind him. He looks around the bar, hoping to instantly recognize the mystery woman, to no avail.

The bell rings again as Jake asks Hank for an orange soda on the rocks. The bartender sighs exhaustedly as he pulls the Crush can out of the mini fridge from behind the bar. "Jake?" A voice asks as someone taps him on the shoulder. He turns around, and his mouth opens and closes like a fish as his brain short-circuits. "Or not?" You laugh awkwardly, "I'm really sorry about this, I was told someone would be here, but it looks like he stood me up." You sit one chair over at the bartop, sighing as you rest your chin on your fist.

"Hi," Jake says as he hold out his hand, "I'm Jake." "Oh," You breathe, "Sorry. You didn't say anything and I just thought- Y'know what, never mind, I'm probably not what you were expecting." Jake smiles, "Well, you're right there. Charles told me he met you in a 'hot goat yoga class'." You cringe slightly, "I honestly didn't even know his name, I walked into the wrong building and he started talking to me about his friend Jake." "Sounds about right." You both laugh and he moves to the chair between you.

"So, my weird friend tells me you like Taylor Swift," Jake starts and the conversation lasts hours, the orange soda on the countertop left completely ignored. "All right, time to wrap it up. The bar's closing." Hank says as he wipes the counter. "Oh my god, how long have we been here?" Jake asks him, surprised. The bartender ignores him as he moves on to another part of the bar. You look around to find the bar completely empty.

You laugh quietly, "This was fun," You say softly as you exit the bar, "We should do this again-" You're cut off by a sudden surprising kiss, Jake's hands holding your cheeks gently to keep you close. Your eyes flutter closed and take the collar of his shirt in your fists. He pulls away, mumbling out a quick 'noice' before getting pulled back into a kiss that leaves him gasping for breath.

-

ik this ended abruptly but its a school night and i have to go to bed so this is as good as we're getting today

i really hope you liked this bc jake has been on my mind for ages and i couldnt find many fics here sadly

dont hesitate to request more

[itsthestutterforme]

Copy That (Jack Reacher x ex!wife!reader)

Summary: Much against his preference, he gave you a call and asked for your help. When a hit was hired to take you out, he deeply regrets getting you involved.

Notes: GIF is not mine, this is not a beta’d read, protective Reacher, soft Reacher, reader is black, technically this is a drabble but there will be more drabble with the same characters

—

“Who’s able to hack into a system with this much encryption?” Rocoe asks, linking her arms over her head as she leaned back into her chair.

“Let me see,” Reacher turns the monitor to face him. There’s a black screen with a singular white box that asks for a password.

Obviously it’s more than a password. They probably beefed up their cybersecurity when he noticed someone getting too close to their operation, Reacher thought to himself.

“Finlay, do you have any friends in cybersecurity security that we can trust?” Roscoe asks.

“Negative,” Reacher knew exactly the person for the job. He hadn’t spoken to you in years, and he didn’t want the first time he contacted you to be when he needed something.

But he didn’t have any other choice.

You wanted out of field work two years after your operations team disbanded. In that way, you were opposite of Neagley, your best friend.

You liked being in the comfort of your own office, free to do anything you’d like when waiting for the decryption to crack.

Life with you was domesticated. Life with you was peaceful. A level of peace he wasn’t sure he would feel again, even if he went back to his favorite home town growing up.

“Reacher?” Roscoe asks, touching her forearm to bring him out of his thoughts. “Where’d you go?” “Nowhere, I’m right here. I know someone,” Reacher finally says, pulling out his burner phone.

“Really? You have friends?” Finlay jabs, earning a glare from Reacher. He dialed your number and put the phone on speaker.

You were in the middle of doing a headstand lotus on your yoga mat when you heard your phone vibrate.

It was from an unsaved number. There was two people that would call from unsaved number: Neagley or Reacher.

You answered the phone and moved across your office to close all the blinds. “Y/L/N,” you answer and you were met with silence.

“If this is some ploy to scare me, you really suck at it.” Reacher stared at the phone, his heart pattering wildly in his chest.

You just had that effect on him.

You were about to hang up the phone when you heard a low baritone say your name.

You looked down at the number before bringing the phone back up to your ear. “Reacher? Is everything okay?”

You peeked through the blinds of your office and saw no one suspicious but you can never be too careful.

“I, uh.” Reacher starts, earning confused stares from Finlay and Roscoe. They hadn’t seen him speechless before.

He takes the phone off speaker and goes outside for some privacy. “Y/N, I need your help cracking something. You’re more than welcome to say no-“ “Send it over,” you interrupt.

“I can’t. It’s likely they’ll track the IP address to you and pay you a visit.” “Let them try.” A proud smile makes its way on his face. That’s my girl.

“It’s safer with us. I’ll send you the coordinate incognito.” “Jesus, Reacher. What have you gotten yourself into?”

“It’s something I have to finish,” “How long should I pack for?” His silence told you all you needed to know.

“I’ll be on the next flight out,”

**

You stepped off the metro with your carry on suitcase by your side and a backpack on.

You downed the rest of your coffee and tossed it in the waste bin before advancing towards the escalator. You scanned the area for Reacher with no avail but Reached saw you.

He didn’t want to call attention to you by calling your name so he watched as you waited for the escalator.

“Wow, she’s.. ” Finlay trails off when Reacher’s gaze left you to stare at him. “Really pretty,” Roscoe finishes. “She’s clearly your girlfriend,” Finlay adds.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” “You’re rather protective of her. You care about her.”“That doesn’t make her my girlfriend,”

“Uh guys, where’d she go?” Roscoe starts. The group looks at the empty space where you were previously standing.

“Fuck,” Reacher rushes down the stairs, Finlay and Roscoe not far behind. I should have never took my eyes off of her, Reacher thought to himself. If she dies, I swear to God.

Meanwhile, you stood over the man who had pushed you a few feet into the metro tunnel.

He had pressed a knife to your throat while his teammate searched your belongings. They expected you to be a quick kill.

You had to say you were a bit insulted that they only sent two men after you. They must not see you as a physical threat. That was their mistake.

He laid at your feet, his eyes widen as he looks up at you. He peers over to his teammate who laid dead on the tracks, his neck split wide open.

You slowly approached him and he attempted to crawl away from you. The blood from his chest wound stains the pavement under near him.

You wasted no time as you pressed your boot down on his trachea. He gripped your ankle, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

Thrusting your foot down, you crushed his trachea and watched as his chest slowly falls to a stop.

You slung your book bag over your shoulder and rolled your carry on back to the metro docking station.

Reacher had his back toward you, he was talking to two people you didn’t recognize.

A younger woman looked over at you, her mouth fell open at the sight of you. You’re sure you had blood splattered across your neck and face.

She mumbles something to Reacher and spun around so fast, you’re surprised he didn’t crack his neck.

In the blink of an eye, he was in front of you. He doesn’t say anything at first. You admired the stubble that was forming on his face.

You were always a sweetheart for facial hair. He held your face, turning your head from side to side in search of wounds. His hand gently trailed down your abdomen.

He continued his silent survey until you said, “Reach, I’m fine. The blood isn’t mine.”

His gaze fell behind you before returning to your face. He raised his brow and you nodded at his silent question. They were dead.

“I should have kept my eyes on you. This is my fault. I’m sorry.” “Hey, you taught me well. I handled myself. Besides, it was only two guys.”

“What did they use?” “Knives,” you said with a smirk. “They didn’t stand a chance,” he says, making your smirk widen. “No, they didn’t.”

“Sorry to interrupt but uh,” Finlay hands you a hanker chief, motioning to your face. “We should go. You’re getting stares.”

“Y/N Y/L/N, pleasure.” You reached down to grab your luggage but Reacher beats you to it.

You didn’t bother arguing with him, you were occupied with getting all of the blood off of your skin while it was still wet.

“So.. are you Reacher’s girlfriend?” Finlay asks as he opened the trunk and Reacher slide your luggage inside.

Roscoe looked at you expectantly, which tells you that she has a crush on him.

You don’t blame her. He’s Jack Reacher after all.

“No, I’m his ex-wife.” You answer, setting your book bag next to your luggage before closing the trunk. Roscoe’s mouth fell once again, along with Finlay’s.

They stared at you as if they were waiting for you to say just kidding. You slide into the back seat and Reacher joined you.

“Close your mouth, Finlay. You’ll catch flies.” He says before closing the door.

“Care to tell me what happened the last time you were at the metro?” You asked when you all piled into the car.

“What do you mean?” Roscoe asks as Finlay pulls off the curb and descends into exit to go onto the freeway.

“The way you were looking for me was frantic. It makes sense why Reach was worried, but not you two. Something else happened at the metro station. Someone was taken out like they tried to take me out. Who was it?” You explain.

Finlay and Roscoe looked shared a look but didn’t say anything.

“There was a woman. Her name was Molly-“ “Molly? As in Molly Gordon?” “You know her?”

“Joe brought her as his plus one to my sister’s baby shower. God, that’s.. how’s Joe holding up?” You asked, your mouth felt dry at the new information.

Reacher looks at you, his features hard as stone. Your heart sank in your chest the longer you stared at him.

You felt compelled to reach for his hand in comfort but you had to remind yourself that he wasn’t big on public affection.

Nor was he big on being vulnerable in front of people so you kept your hands in your lap.

“How long?” You asked after a pause. “It’s been a few days now,” Finlay confirms. “They got too close,” you said with a sigh.

“How many people have died?” “Five so far,” Roscoe answers. “And that’s just the ones we found,” Finlay adds.

“So they’re dropping people like flies and it’s still a state police matter?”

Bringing in the FBI and the CIA will only push these people into the hiding. We need to lure them out and kill them.” Reacher explains and you nodded in agreement.

“Copy that,”

[wannab-urs]

You’re So Dark

Pairing: Professor!Dave York x Grad Student!f!Reader

Summary: There’s only one thing you really want out of this conference – your research adviser, Dave York. 

Warnings: smut, professor/student relationship, reader is a brat, this is very close to a self insert fic so she’s also a cocky little asshole, power dynamics, age gap (Dave is in his late 40s, reader is at least 21 but not specified), Dave is conflicted, that’s why he’s such a dickhead, Divorced!Dave, drinking but no one is all that intoxicated, unprotected PIV (but he has a vasectomy and reader is on BC), creampie, oral f!receiving, lots of arguing, no use of y/n. WC: 2.4k

A/N: Based on a true story. Just had this idea out of nowhere, don’t look at me. Thanks to @pedgito for the beta <3

Dave York Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi | Playlist

You knock on his door, wearing nothing but a skimpy tank top and shorts. The conference doesn’t start for a while, so you put on comfy clothes following the long car ride. That’s not your only motivation, though, for showing up at his hotel room in barely anything. 

The hotel is nice, nice enough that you feel underdressed in the hallway. You’re set to present your paper on John Donne today at 2. Your research adviser Dr. York – Dave – had picked you up at your apartment at 5 this morning to drive you both to the conference. He’s presenting his latest paper. Something about journals kept by British people during World War II. 

You shift your weight from foot to foot waiting for him to answer the door. Finally, you hear the chain drop and the door opens. He eyes you up and down, one eyebrow quirked, before turning around and walking back into the room. 

“Are you wearing that to the conference?” He’s already settling back into the shitty desk chair by the window. You look down at your outfit and then back up to glare at the back of his head. 

“Yeah. Obviously.” You lay back on his bed and stretch your back, sore from the 5 hour car ride. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Working.” 

You roll onto your stomach and look at him. The mid morning light casts a glare over his screen, but only serves to highlight his features. You hate how pretty he is, how much you want him.

“Are you wearing that to the conference?” He’s wearing navy dress pants and a tight white t-shirt that is definitely a size too small. 

“I have a dress shirt.” He seems irritated today. Shoulders tense, sentences clipped. You wonder if it’s you that has him all worked up. 

You slide off the bed into the floor and go through some simple yoga poses. Your back is really messed up from that car ride. You sit on your knees and walk your hands forward as far as they’ll go, dropping your head to the floor. You sigh as you sink into child’s pose, feeling the stretch in your sore hips and back. “What are you working on?” You ask, voice muffled by the carpet. 

“Will you shut up?” You snap your head up to look at him. He’s fucking tetchy today… and he hasn’t looked over at you once, as far as you can tell. 

“Make me.”

“When have I ever been able to make you do anything?” 

You sit back on your heels and tilt your head to the side. He’s almost shaking, he’s so tense. You’ve never seen him like this. “You never ask nicely.”

He wordlessly scoots his chair back and spreads his legs, still typing away on his laptop. You crawl over and settle yourself between his legs. He still doesn’t look at you.

“What do you want, Dave?” 

“For you to stop talking.”

“Is that all you want?”

“No.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“You’re such a fucking brat.”

You lean in and drag your lips over the bulge in his slacks, hear the sharp snatch of breath, the clack of keys as his hands hit them all at once. 

You’re not going to do it until he tells you to and he isn’t going to ask. It’s a standoff. He thinks he has to let you make the first move. Does this not count as a first move? You in such a supplicant pose, gazing up at him from between his thighs. 

“You should go get dressed. We have to leave soon.” Quiet, strained, so unlike his usually smooth and confident cadence, and still not meeting your eyes. He rolls the chair back so you have room to scoot out. 

Your cheeks sting with rejection, but you know he wants you as bad as you want him. He’s just afraid of the consequences. You slip out from under his desk and retreat to your room to get changed. 

–-

The conference goes as smoothly as it can – it was your first ever presentation at something like this, and you definitely got tripped up on some of the questions the audience asked you. Afterward, Dave drags you outside to a group of people. He introduces you to Will, Laurie, Anna, and Doug. They’re colleagues, friends, that he often meets up with at conferences. 

“Wanna come with us to get drinks?” Anna asks. 

“Sure!” you agree before Dave can turn them down. He scowls at you, but turns a megawatt smile on when he looks back to Anna. 

“Sounds good,” he says through his teeth. 

Dave gossips in your ear all night, filling you in on each of his friends. Will and Laurie are both supposedly polyamorous and only hook up with each other at conferences, but Dave knows Will’s wife has no idea. Anna is in trouble with her school for a presentation she did last year, and she had to have today’s presentation reviewed by her department chair before she could present. Doug has a thing for Anna, but she’s married. 

The gossip is a good holdover, but you’re antsy the whole time. You sip vodka sodas slowly while your mind whirs with the possibilities of tonight. Dave drinks whiskey on the rocks, jokes with his friends when he’s not whispering in your ear. 

You and Dave go out to smoke, leaving everyone else in the bar. You split an American Spirit with him. 

“If you only smoke when you drink, why do you have a near empty pack of expensive cigarettes?” 

“I drink every night.” 

“God you’re pathetic.” 

“Not as pathetic as the grad student with a thing for her professor.” 

“Fuck you. You’re not my professor.” 

“Oh, so you do have a thing for me?”

You’d thought that was obvious from your earlier attempt to blow him.

 “You know what’s actually pathetic, Dave? The professor who wants to fuck his student.” 

“You’re not my student.”

 “Oh, so you do want to fuck me?” 

He puts out the cigarette in the ashtray and stalks off inside. 

By the end of the night, you regret agreeing to go out, desperate to get back to the hotel and get Dave alone. This may be your only shot at getting what you want from him and you can’t waste it. You say goodnight to everyone, tell them how nice it was to meet them all, and head out, Dave close behind you. You think you catch Laurie giving him a knowing look, but you can’t be certain. 

You walk back to the hotel, your arm brushing his. Out of nowhere, Dave chuckles and pushes his shoulder into you. 

“What? What’s funny?”

“Nothing. I like that you step on the sewer grates.”

“What?”

“The drainage grates. My ex wife was terrified of them. She’d rather walk in the street than step on one. You don’t even hesitate.”

“Oh.”

“I just mean– I don’t know what I mean. You’re brave.”

“Thanks,” you say earnestly, looking into his eyes. 

“You’re welcome.” He averts his gaze, looks back down at the ground. You think he might be blushing. 

You get to the hotel and the lady at the desk gives you and Dave a strange look. An “I know what this is and I don’t like it” look. You roll your eyes and stalk over to the elevators, punching the button with more force than necessary. You didn’t think it was that obvious, the dance you two were doing around each other. 

The ride up to the tenth floor is tense. Dave doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a word. When you get up to where you’re supposed to split off, he asks if you want to come to his room for a drink. You say yes and follow him to his room. Now the nerves really kick in. It’s fine, you’re fine. You wonder if he’s gonna reject you again. It would be cruel after inviting you to his room, but he’s never really been kind. 

When you get into his room you sit on the bed and take off your dress shoes, your coat, and the blazer you’ve been wearing all day. He pours himself a bourbon from the minibar and offers you one. You take the cup in your hand, sipping the liquor and feeling heat trail down your throat. He knocks his back in one shot and stands in front of you at the bed.

You stand up, putting you inches from his body. You cover his bulge with your hand, squeezing lightly and nip your teeth at his throat. “Do you want to fuck me, Dave?” 

He shoves you backward with a growl and you fall on the bed. He tugs your trousers off and lowers himself between your legs. He licks you over your panties, feeling how wet you already are. He hooks his fingers into the gusset of your panties, knuckles brushing your entrance. 

“Oh you’re soaked for me, baby girl.” 

“Don’t call me that. Ew. God. Ew.”

“Fine. Brat.” Dave tugs your panties down and tosses them on the floor. He pushes your thighs apart and settles your legs over his shoulders. He covers your cunt with his mouth and flicks his tongue against your clit. You let out a moan and bury your fingers in his short hair. He flattens his tongue against you and you ride his face, grinding his aquiline nose into your mound as you move against him. 

He brings a hand up to press your stomach down, holding you still while he slips two fingers of his other hand inside you. You keen loudly at the stretch, squirming as he sucks your clit into his mouth. 

You’re so wet you can hear the wet squelch of your pussy around his fingers. He crooks them upward and you buck your hips hard enough to break the hold he has on you. 

“F-Fuck, Dave. Please,” you whine. 

“So polite when you finally get what you want,” he mutters into your cunt. 

He’s making you feel so fucking good, you’d let him say anything right now. He strokes your sweet spot almost methodically, like he’s had a lifetime of practice that led him here, making you whine and moan and squirm pathetically on just two of his fingers. Your grip tightens on his hair as you feel white hot bliss crawling up your spine. 

“Fuck. Dave. Gonna come.”

He doesn’t let up, the firm strokes of his fingers driving you higher and higher until finally you reach your peak and come crashing back down. You shatter, your pussy clenching rhythmically. 

“Can I fuck you?” Dave’s voice is rough and low like he’s been yelling.

“Do you have a condom?” 

“Do I need one?” 

“I mean I’m on birth control” 

“Oh I got snipped when I divorced Carol, that’s not what I meant” 

“They had vasectomies in the 1800s?”

“Are you clean or not?” 

“It’s a little fucking late to ask that, man, you just had your tongue inside me, but yeah.” 

“Fair enough.”

Dave helps you up the bed until your head rests on the pillows. He takes your shirt off, stripping your bra with it. He’s fully dressed and you’re bare before him. He leans down and kisses your neck, before his lips trail down to your chest. He sucks a mark into the soft skin of your breast. You start unbuttoning his shirt but he just pulls it off over his head, an urgency that wasn’t there before taking hold. 

“Need to be inside you, fuck.” 

He shucks his slacks down as far as possible without getting up and immediately slots his length against your slit. You reach down and adjust him yourself, lining up the tip with your entrance. He mutters something about “impatient” but pushes inside you anyway. He’s long and thick and he makes you feel so full. When he’s fully sheathed inside you, your eyes roll back in your head with pleasure. 

“Fuck. You’re huge, Dave. Fuck,” you whine, as if he needed the ego boost. 

You gasp his name as he starts fucking you, your fingernails digging into the skin at his sides. You pull him into you, urging him to fuck you harder. He growls and picks up the pace, the slapping of your skin, your loud moans, his grunts fill the room. 

You get lost in it a little, your mind slipping into that space where all you can think about is the sensation of his cock spearing you over and over. 

He slips a hand between your bodies and presses the pads of his fingers to your clit, rubbing in small circles. You throw your head back and scream his name as a wave of pleasure crashes over you. Dave fucks you through it, thrusts slowing but not stopping yet. 

“Where?”

It takes you a second to process what he’s asking. Where do you want his cum? 

“Inside. Please.”

“So polite. Fucked the brat right out of you, huh?”

You’re too fucked out to respond with a witty comment, so he must be right. He thrusts into you deep and you feel his cock pulse as he spills inside you. The sensation almost makes you feel like you could come again. 

He pulls out as soon as he’s finished, rolling to his feet and heading into the bathroom. The bastard doesn’t even seem winded. He comes back from the bathroom holding a wet washcloth in his hand. Dave wipes up the mess between your thighs and tosses the rag onto the floor.  

It’s after he’s cleaned you up and is standing in front of the bed that you notice his body. He’s more lean and muscled than you could really see beneath his dress shirts. You wonder idly if you’ll ever see him like this again. His bare, broad chest. His happy trail leading down to his unbuttoned slacks. 

He strips off his pants, leaving him in his briefs. His thighs are toned too. You kind of wish you’d gotten to explore his body more thoroughly. He crawls into bed and lays beside you, but doesn’t fit his body against yours the way you want him to. Never one to not get exactly what you want, you snuggle up to his side, throwing your arm across his chest. He readjusts and holds you close. 

“Didn’t take you for a cuddler.” 

“Didn’t take you for a missionary guy. Guess we’re both full of surprises.” 

“Don’t act like you didn’t fucking love it.” 

You hum noncommittally. It was probably the best sex of your life, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

[feasibilities]

Afternoon Tea | Jim x Married!Reader

Synopsis: Jim visits his best friend's wife while she's home alone.

Warnings: Soft Fem!Dom, Jealousy, Cheating, Dub-Con, Unprotected Sex, Past Voyeurism, Oral Sex, Guilt

Author's Note: I started classes late last month and had some health issues but I'm doing better. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Jim’s jealousy towards Chris made no sense. He had a beautiful wife and managed 2 children with her with little issue. Why should he be jealous of a marriage to a younger woman that happened because of a midlife crisis? 

“Hey, Jim. Come in.” You beamed. He loved seeing you smile. 

“Hey.” Jim said softly, taking you in. 

“I just came from yoga class, so excuse my attire. Would you like some tea?” You apologized, walking to the kitchen. 

“Sure, no problem.” He replied, distracted by how your leggings hugged your legs and ass. He took a seat at the table to gather himself. Pouring him a mug, you gave him a dish of sugar and lemon. 

“Thank you.” He said warmly. Curious glances were exchanged between you two before he broke the silence. 

“How have things been with Chris?” He inquired.

“Good, I suppose.” You trailed off. Noticing your apprehension, he decided to pry. 

“You sure?” Jim asked.

“Well, Chris wants to have kids but I would like to wait until I finish graduate school. I get that he’s older but this is really important to me.” You revealed, fiddling with your wedding ring. Jim was humored by your youthful vocabulary.

“Having kids is a big responsibility. Danielle and I met at university but waited until we graduated. I know he can be difficult to deal with at times but someone like you can convince him.” He said, sipping out of the mug. 

“You’re so much easier to talk to.” You said, sitting in the chair adjacent to him. Your gaze lingered on him. You felt butterflies in your stomach as you studied his features. Truthfully, he was much more intriguing than Chris. You hated Danielle for getting to him first. 

“How do you keep things exciting? Chris can be good time but you seem way more fun.” You said, scooting closer to him. 

“Oh, I’m no fun at all.” He said, shaking his head with a smile.

“I think you are.” You spoke softly, touching his arm. He tensed at the contact and sat his mug down. Jim was interested in whatever your plans were but worried about the consequences of fucking his friend’s wife. 

“Uh, I think I should go. It was nice speaking with you. Thanks for the tea.” He said politely, standing up. You grabbed his wrist and led him to the living room. Before he could protest, you shoved him on the couch and began undressing. Jim’s face turned bright red when your bra fell to the floor. This was much better than the time he spied on you taking a shower during a family vacation. His lecherous reminiscence was interrupted by you standing over him. 

“Do you want me, Jim?” You cooed, holding his chin. 

“Yes, I always have.” He answered embarrassingly quick. You climbed onto his lap and kissed him harshly. His large hands moved to your ass and massaged the soft flesh. You nipped at his bottom lip. Jim suddenly flipped you on your back and perched between your legs. He stared at you at like a dog waiting for direction. You quickly realized you could get him to do anything you wanted. 

“Go ahead.” You said. Jim’s tongue swirled around your clit as you yanked at his peppered locks. He took in the redolent scent of your trimmed pubic hair. His hands moved up to your breasts and hovered over them. Noticing his hesitancy, you pressed your hands over his and moaned sweetly. His tongue slipped into your damp heat. His pale blue eyes flickered open and his thumbs teased your nipples. You rocked against his face as you chased your high. After cleaning you off, he sat up to catch his breath. 

“Good boy.” You praised, smearing the moisture on his lips. You pulled him down and straddled him. You hurriedly unbuckled his pants and slid them halfway down his legs. 

“Wait-“ Jim started, wanting to use protection.

“There’s no time.” You whispered, sinking onto his length. A low groan escaped him as you slipped your fingers into his mouth. There was a marked desperation in his eyes. You relished in your newfound power. 

“Suck.” You ordered. You felt him suckle on your fingers gently. Rutting against him, you saw that Jim was already close. His heart was beating rapidly and his hands found the soft flesh of your hips. A tender kiss on his forehead made him fall apart. Hot spurts of his seed spilled into you. You embraced him as he came down from his high. Reality seemed to sink in for him as soon as it was over. He was overwhelmed with guilt and dread at the thought of his friend’s wife carrying his child. 

“I’ll take a Plan B. No worries.” You smiled innocently. 

“I-I have to get back for dinner.” He said nervously. 

“Stay.” You cooed. Despite his obligation, he couldn’t pull away from you more than a second. 

[justwinginglife]

hi!!!

can you write one where Soshiro notices Y/N's fatigue and how much Y/N was overworking during training, after Y/N stayed up all night , working out, training, studying, meditating, and putting drinking and eating as second priority , for multiple days in a row until she coughed up blood from it thinking that she's not strong enough, Soshiro instantly takes notice how tired, and feverish Y/N was acting and made her rest and you can choose what he does after :)

In His Care

Soshiro almost died.

He almost died fighting Kaiju #10 and you couldn't do anything to save him. The thought plagued you constantly. You weren't fast enough, strong enough, brave enough, smart enough to save him. But you would be. You'd never be that weak again. You couldn't bear it.

Soshiro instantly noticed something was wrong when you'd started to visit him less and less in the infirmary. How could he not notice? Your presence in his life was a blessing and he always counted down the seconds until he could see your smile, hear your laugh. But lately, you hadn't been coming as frequently and he wondered where you were slipping away to.

The answer was the library, delving into more kaiju knowledge. Or the gym, training until your muscles were on the verge of tearing. And still, it wasn't enough for you.

You'd picture him collapsed on the ground, dripping blood, unable to move, unable to defend himself. And suddenly you'd have the strength to train again, train faster, train harder. And you studied so much kaiju anatomy that you thought your eyes might shrivel up from staring at the pages so intensely.

At first, you'd just forget to eat. You'd be so sore from working out that your stomach couldn't take it anyway. Then, when your stomach was begging you for sustenance, you'd actively refuse it, saying to yourself you didn't have the time to waste on things like food and water. You didn't even sleep anymore.

If you needed to relax, you'd meditate and you'd do yoga, training your mind and your flexibility, but always training nevertheless. After all, a kaiju could barge through the front doors at any moment and Soshiro was still healing.

You'd be enough this time. And if somehow after all this, you still couldn't save him, you'd damn well be courageous enough to die fighting by his side.

You didn't even realize you'd been visiting Soshiro less and less, as he was always present in your mind. Even if -against your will- you accidentally drifted off for a moment, you always dreamed of him. It wasn't until the lack of food and drink caused you to hallucinate seeing him and the mirage faded before your eyes that you eventually realized that you needed to actually go see him. So, after yet another long night of training, you weakly stumbled down the hall to the infirmary, almost tripping through the door when you arrived.

His happiness at finally seeing you again was quickly overturned by his concern and worry for you when he saw the sorry state you were in. You tried to speak and the effort caused you to cough up blood. He instantly pulled himself out of bed, ignoring that he was still recovering himself, and quickly sat you down in a chair beside him. Without even saying anything, he wiped the blood from your mouth with his sleeve and then shoved a straw in your mouth, gesturing for you to drink.

You were too exhausted to resist and so you gulped down his water. Any guilt you might have felt for being so weak and making him worry was quickly washed away, as you were too focused on the refreshing feeling of the water quenching your thirst as it flushed down your throat.

You could tell he was watching you carefully and the thought made you flush a little. Soshiro sighed, his breath thick with relief, as he saw the color returning to your pale, sickly cheeks.

He pinched the bridge of his nose before speaking. "Baby... love... what's going on with you?"

You were unsure if you wanted to tell him the truth. You hesitated as your breath caught in your throat.

"You look exhausted, dear. Have you been eating? Sleeping?"

You shook your head slowly and winced as his gaze hardened.

You thought he might scold you, yell at you even. You were prepared to defend yourself, prepared for an argument. Instead, his voice came out surprisingly soft. "Why not? What's wrong?"

Your heart melted at how gently he was handling the situation. It's like he knew you needed his love more than his lecture. You sighed. You couldn't keep the truth from him anymore, not when he was being so sweet and considerate. Not when you'd neglected to visit him to show him how you also cared for him. He deserved this from you.

"I... I want to be strong for you. I can't... can't watch you almost die again. I wasn't good enough to save you. I need to do better, be better. I need to be there for you when you need me." You choked out, your throat still aching from being previously deprived of hydration.

His eyes softened further and he wrapped his arms around you, careful not to squeeze too tight in case you were still sore from your training. "So you've been training this whole time then?"

You nodded, a tear slipping out this time.

He brushed it away gently. "It's okay baby. It'll all be okay. I'm okay, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I never want you to feel like you're not enough, okay? You did your best, that's all I could ask for. If it's my time to go, then it is, okay love? But I promise I'll do my best not to die on you anytime soon, wouldn't wanna make my beautiful girlfriend cry after all." He kissed the path your tear had taken down your cheek.

Then he picked up your trembling body and set you on his bed. He immediately slid in beside you and nuzzled against you. "Let's just rest for now and I'll get some food in you in the morning, yeah?"

You whispered your agreement and he kissed your forehead before dozing off beside you.

He did, in fact, keep his promise because when you woke up, there was a full buffet ready for you. You were unsure how he had managed to sneak so much food into the infirmary but your growling stomach was grateful.

He spoon fed every bite to you slowly, making sure you didn't choke. You were still remembering how to eat again, after several days of going without food. He even licked a bit of ketchup off your lips and you flushed at that. He beamed at his ability to bring such a pretty color into your cheeks.

And you made sure he ate too. After all, the two of you were in this whole mess because he was injured and needed to recover. You made sure he could tell just how much you loved him too, you didn't want to be the only one being taken care of.

Then, when the both of you had finally healed up enough, he proposed training together. He knew you wanted to be better for him, and he wanted to be better for you- he didn't ever want to scare you like that again. He also just wanted to monitor you and make sure you didn't overwork yourself. He did make you verbally promise to never do that again, but sometimes when it looked like maybe you were training just a little too much, he'd pick you up, throw you over his shoulder and deposit you onto his bed, settling himself on top of you so you couldn't move. You didn't mind. You knew he did it out of love and you loved it.

As long as you could take care of him and he could take care of you, that was all you needed.

[ceasarslegion]

OK...I'm asking....

Yay!

So this happened in what I consider the worst job I ever had. And that is saying something because I very much worked retail in a mall. I had just graduated uni, I couldn't afford toronto anymore, and I needed a full-time job to make ends meet now that the stability of university was gone. So I went to edmonton because I had one family member I could stay with until I got on my feet. And I was not in a position to turn away a job that paid.

So I took a door to door sales position. For telus. I can hear the canadians in the room wincing so to everyone else: telus is one of the three whole mega megacorporations that control the ENTIRE canadian telecommunications network. And all three of those companies are buddy buddy and have us all by the balls. That's why canadian phone plans are the most expensive in the world. Not in the developed world: in the WORLD.

The meth lab incident happened on my 3rd whole day on my own. I was in St. Albert, which is this suburb of edmonton that is like if a kale smoothie and that guy who won't shut up about bikhram yoga had a baby they abandoned in an HOA meeting. Which is what makes this that much more unhinged: it was in the most cookie cutter suburbia part of the EMR.

So I was doing my knocks in my blue Jay's hat and my telus branded polo shirt with my clipboard and I knock on my next door. I'm greeted by a middle aged woman who proceeds to dump on me that she's divorcing her husband of 30 years and moving to New Brunswick. I'm like okay cool I just wanna sell you cable packages, good luck with that?

I write that off and continue along the cul de sac until I knock on this other lady's door. And when I say talkative I mean a real chatty Kathy. She practically grabs me by the collar and plops me down on her deck chairs, shoves a coffee in my hand, and says "HEY TELUS GUY DID YOU KNOCK ON METH GUYS DOOR???" And points to the house of the lady who just told me she was getting a divorce

At this point I have forgotten about my commission. I have forgotten about my shitty supervisor and how every part of this job sucks and how I wanna go back to Toronto. I have thrown away my clipboard I have started sipping her coffee that could very well be spiked with something and I go "you have to tell me about the meth guy"

That house I knocked on? The weird oversharing lady who was getting a divorce? Her husband was running a meth lab out of the basement THEIR ENTIRE MARRIAGE and she ONLY FOUND OUT THEN?? He called it his man cave and said that she wasn't allowed in?? And then one day she went down out of curiosity and it was a METH LAB??? All the bonuses he said he got at work were meth money.

I'm still enamored by how this happened. Did it not smell? Like for those who don't know edmonton there is a HUGE meth problem here. Like across the political aisle we all agree that something has to happen about all the meth, the details get foggy and that's where people argue, but needless to say I have smelled and been offered meth before just by virtue of living downtown. That shit REEKS. Like you know meth smell because it somehow smells like the word "meth." You will know what you are smelling even when you've never smelled it before. And it lingers. It hangs. It gets into walls. I know when I've taken a train car before because the smell of that guy who hotboxed it with meth smoke last week will still kinda be there. There's no way that house didn't smell like ass down to the foundation.

And the "you arent allowed in my man cave" excuse... im enamored by both the sexism towards his OWN WIFE and the way she just... went along with it for 30 years? Never set foot down there? The sexism and the just believing it?

I kept trying to steer the conversation back to the meth lab and this lady I was on the porch of kept actively trying to buy internet deals from me. Like she was the only person I ever pitched who was TRYING to get my bundles. I ended up just handing her my list of products and told her to check off what she wanted and was like "more meth lab?" And she went right to "yknow i think if I was your age I would've been a boy now. We didn't really have those terms when I was a kid" I DID NOT BRING THAT UP MA'AM I DONT HAVE TIME FOR YOUR GENDER CRISIS TELL ME MORE ABOUT THE METH LAB

That job was so shit that that was the only one I ever quit with no back up plan and did not regret for a second. I then went to the mall and handed out CVs and got my retail job by the end of the week from doing that.

[chinolondoner]

Author looking for readers

I'm not sure of the best way of getting people interested in the work of an unknown writer...

Plopped down in the middle of a tropical, Latin American setting, Lullaby for Bishop is set to be a hard-boiled detective series with four main characters: a veteran private investigator in the twilight of his career; a muscle-bound professional wrestler fulfilling one of his pivotal, childhood ambitions of solving strange and wild mysterious; as well as a pair of rumbunctious, teenage, high school girls constantly causing a scene and tagging along for the thrills.

You can preview the first half of chapter one further down below and catch up on the remainder, along with the totality of chapters two and three, all completely for free if you visit my Patreon. It's going to be a little while before this first book in the series is actually finished and officially published, but I feel the smarter move would be to try and elevate as much of a buzz for the featured world and characters before then as possible. I also plan to put out additional pre-release chapters in the near future (likely three at a time). If I have somehow managed not to bore you and you're still eagerly reading, then I do hope you enjoy the launching meta in this tender work in progress and stick around for future updates. Thank you for your interest!

---

Chapter One

Nervously, Donny Boy had begun rubbing his fingers on the back of his neck, seated patiently a narrow foot away from the front of the desk while waiting for our bastard detective to stumble back into his office, suddenly realizing that the price tag had not yet been plucked away or removed from the fanciful hat he was wearing and was still dangling off the rounded edge of the brim.

Looking around the room for a trash bin he could use, Donny Boy's eyes gradually panned across the office, taking note of a few of the usual mosquitoes left splattered on the frosted, scarlet-lettered glass on the door. Dizzying groves of zigzagged patterns tying in the décor on the wallpaper, he spotted an old, unused desk tucked-away in the far, opposite corner of the room, heavy with dust and weighed down by sprawling stacks of postcards and unrecycled newspapers.

His wandering eyes glancing up the rearing rays of shattered sunlight filling in through the narrow, broken blinds on the window, Donny Boy had noticed the row of fancy kettlebells neatly arranged across a flat and sturdy, iron bench scooted against the wall, a dirty, rolled-up yoga mat, along with this stationary, exercise bike for the purposes of one's daily, cardio workout.

Looking up at the rougher dust build up over the years along the edges of the blades on the ceiling fan, Donny Boy was suddenly lured back from his current distractions after Detective Howl Bishop slid back into his office, tossing a used washrag onto his desk after wiping his face and smelling of minty, nicotine gum and aftershave.

“So, what do I call you, kid?” Howl had asked while taking a seat in his chair behind his desk.

“Don should be perfect. Growing up, my next-door neighbor used to call me Donny Boy.”

“Donny Boy, huh?” Howl fought against his urges to fidget with a stack of papers in his drawer. “Sounds good to me, kid. So… are you some sort of circus performer or something?”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean…”

“Your arms… They're freaking huge!”

“Oh… Yeah… I do struggle at times finding clothes that can fit me properly. Also, I wasn't really sure whether or not I should've worn a suit jacket.”

“Yes…” Howl would peek over the top of his desk and study Donny Boy up and down, a salient tone of fascination in his voice. “You really are quite the physical specimen, aren't you?”

“I suppose I do enjoy a good workout,” Donny Boy replied, a little bit bashful.

“You do have a basic understanding of the type of job you're here applying for today, don't you?” Howl asked.

“I believe so… The ads in the newspaper said Experienced private investigator in search of young and capable partner…”

“That's right. And being a private eye, it's important to have a plethora of tools at your modest disposal. One of those tools being the ability to effortlessly mesh into your surroundings. It's important not to stand out too much when in a public crowd or when casually photographing somebody's license plate from across the road. At the moment, I'm having some doubts on that possibly being a strong suit of yours given your current… how should I say… physique.”

“Oh… Well, to be completely honest with you, Mr. Bishop, I haven't even paused to consider that as a possibility.”

“Yeah, well, thinking a few steps ahead is also an invaluable tool to have.”

With more than a quarter of a century of busy detective work under his belt, his hair having grown white as Winter's ashes and the once buoyant Spring in his footsteps having lost some of its feather throughout the years, Howl Bishop was originally from the lands of sunny, Southern California, born on a weekday in a rushed and overcrowded hospital in the blighted city of Los Angeles.

Brought up in a bohemian household, Howl's anxious mother was a failed, Hollywood actress turned “new-age” healer and father was a meddling screenwriter that had spent more of his time obsessing over the quality of the ink in his typewriter than ever inundating his children with any orderly grants of wisdom.

Standing at six-foot even in height, a strong, conquering jaw and with an even tan across his arms and facial features, Howl was one of the many foreign expats sailing over from the States in purge of more permanent roots in Pan de Leones. Old, brown, leather belt holding up his wide, beige-colored slacks, Howl always wore floral, Hawaiian shirts when in settled eye of the public, mixtures of white and pink and with a couple of loose buttons up toward the collar.

With his sharp, Anglo features and light attire, it was entirely common to mistake Howl Bishop for a possible tourist visiting Latin America for the first time, sightseeing across the country and falling for obvious scams at the nearby market. That is, of course, until one caught an initial glimpse of Howl's encyclopedic knowledge of the city's urban layout and sprawling geography, along with his ease of verbal fluency when communicating in Spanish, often conversating with local barkeeps and store merchants on objects ranging from the wise and esoteric to the lurched, mind-numbing, and trivial.

“I would like to procure a general gauge on how comfortable you might be interacting with the more unsavory avenues of human society,” Howl would lean back into his seat and ask, clamping his hands together and placing his palms over his stomach.

“Could you be more specific?”

“In such line of work, one all too often will find themselves having to calmly intermingle with unrested eyes of broken glass and scoundrels. Do you possess any real-world experience dealing with scum and the morally compromised?”

“Uhm…” Donny Boy appeared curtailed by Howl's question, unsure of how to respond. “I once dated a girl that refused to pay off her parking tickets,” he said.

Without managing to reply, Howl simply stared in confusion from his seat across the desk, reevaluating his initial impressions on the kid. Then, squinting his eyelids a little, he felt inclined to change the current subject and asked, “I don't mean to suddenly swerve off topic, but… have we met before?”

“What?”

“Well, I'm looking at your face, right now, and… I can't help but get the feeling that this isn't the first time that we've been in the same room. Do we know each other?”

“I do not believe we have ever met, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy was quick to point out in response, laughing out loud a little to himself while nervously shuffling around in his seat. “I've always done alright remembering faces and my mother had always told me it was rude to forget someone's name.”

“Hmm… I guess in my advanced age, my average perception of things has grown a bit muddy. I suppose I simply must be confusing you for somebody else.”

Wide, rugged shoulders, preposterous arms, and with a large, outward, and muscular chest, Donny Boy was young and handsome and had shaded, bronze-colored skin. His lightly brushed hair was a wild, sunflower-blonde of which he maintained in perfect tinge and kept the darker shadows of his roots regularly dyed. Along with the fancy, finely tailored fedora resting on his head, the crumpled price tag of which he had just recently stuffed into his pocket, Donny Boy wore a normal pair of rectangular, blue-framed eyeglasses, granting him a bit of a barbarous librarian kind of a look.

Dark eyebrows and with the small patch of facial hair on his chin routinely trimmed, Donny Boy had entered the office wearing a short-sleeved, white, button-up shirt, the generous, overfed muscles of his upper body appearing to want to tear through the clothing and with a clean pair of ruby-red suspenders attached to the waistline of his denim-blue slacks, tugged and strapped-up over his mountainous shoulders. He also had on a dorky, red bowtie for the occasion.

“How old are you, Donny Boy?”

“I'm twenty-eight years old, Mr. Bishop.”

“And what's your sleep schedule like?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your sleep schedule. Have you developed the habit of going to bed around the same time, every night?”

“I believe so. I've never been one to indulge in any late-night festivities. Why do you ask?”

“Well, when living the demented life of a private eye, it's not uncommon to have to commit to some later hours on the unplanned occasion: car stakeouts after midnight; navigating the craze of urban nightlife on foot; purchasing some nefarious lawyer a hundred shots of overpriced vodka at the stripclub just for a few layers of common information. Do you drink coffee?”

“I've never been much of a coffee drinker, no.”

“Well, you definitely should be. Sugar highs and caffeine are going to be your most reliable friends on those late nights when you most need them. Either that or… well… you know…” Bringing his hand up to his face, Howl used his finger to tap the side of his nose.

“Oh, no way, Mr. Bishop,” Donny Boy immediately replied. “I wouldn't even think of touching that stuff. I've always had a firm stance against any illegal drug use.”

“That's good,” Howl said. “I've noted my fair share of innocent souls throughout my time wasting away from drug addiction. A found sense of longed-for excitement is what initially lures them in. And then, after enough restless days turn to night, enough sleepless nights turn to chaos, suddenly they look up and… the neon lights on the street don't seem as vibrant as they once used to…”

Donny Boy would look at Howl with a sort of strange sense of wonderment, our detective's eyes having slowly migrated across the room toward the window, perceiving what, to him, had appeared to be an expression of profound fatigue captured on his face.

The sound of the vehicle screeching to a halt could suddenly be heard outside on the street, trashcans tumbling over and followed by the angry voice of a young woman shouting profanities.

“Oh no…” Donny Boy muttered underneath his breath, his eyes suddenly wandering over toward the window.

“What about your relationships?” Howl asked. “Do you have a wife or girlfriend? One of the more unfortunate aspects of being a private investigator is the difficulty you might experience maintaining a healthy inner circle. This is often a critical detail that turns the most people away.”

Donny Boy was completely distracted and had failed to pick up a single word, a growing look of nervousness on his face.

“Donny Boy, are you listening?”

The frantic sound of sudden footsteps quickly marching up a flight of stairs could be heard just outside the door to the office, followed by the reactions from Howl's trusted secretary demanding an unknown grouping's identification and honest proof of appointment.

“Move aside, lady! You don't want to have to get injured!” a young woman's voice hollered in response.

“How have they managed to find me?” Donny Boy wondered out loud to himself.

“We have you outnumbered and we're very upset!”

“What the hell is going on out there?” Howl began to react.

Suddenly, managing not to completely fly off its hinges, the door to the office was viciously kicked open, creating a sudden gust of wind that would travel across the room, knocking over a slanted stack of printed papers off the corner edge of the desk.

Standing in the open doorway, visible tension throughout her arms as her hands were forged into concrete fists, a young, teenage girl had a rancid look of anger on her face. A dark, navy-blue blazer over a knitted, bright, yellow skirt, the young woman was dressed in a traditional, school-girl's uniform and had her hair cut down short, visible scrapes and bruises on her knees giving out impressions that the girl was perhaps a bit of a rowdy tomboy.

“Nayaiko! I found him! He's in here!” the young girl shouted back over her shoulder.

She would then come into the office, and shortly afterward, her thin silhouette appearing in the doorway, an additional and secondary, young woman showed her face and seemed equally upset at the current moment. Dressed in an identical uniform as the first, this second girl had her hair much greater in length and stood with long and beautifully braided pigtails poking out the sides of her head.

The second girl entered the office and shut the door.

Standing over Donny Boy who seemed to be trembling in his seat a little, the first girl snarled out of her nostrils and said, “This is the second time this week you tried to ditch us…”

“This honestly isn't the best time, girls,” Donny Boy said, his voice a bit shaky.

“You know, we were standing outside the changing booth for thirty-five minutes before we realized you weren't there,” the second girl would report. “You told us you were trying on some hats!”

“I did! Look!” Donny Boy then lifted the hat up off his head to showcase. “I ended up purchasing this really awesome fedora for myself. It's really cool, isn't it?”

Neither girl seemed to want to take the time to respond. They simply crossed their arms in defiance and stood with a pair of inconsolable scowls on their faces.

Continue...

[realdramalove69]

A Mothers Love pt 2

(All characters are 18+)

The spa employees at Mellow Springs were busy getting ready for the day; laying out towels, dressing the massage tables, ensuring the pools and saunas were in tip top shape. They had a full schedule and even had a “very pregnant” client coming by for the first time. The receptionist assumed that meant this expectant was close to giving birth to a single baby, eager to get in a last day of relaxation before becoming a mother.

None of them were prepared for the waddling, panting, sweaty pregnant young woman that waddled through their front doors.

Casey had to hold onto her mother’s arm as they walked through the glass doors. She had managed to dress in the new yoga pants and maternity shirt Steph had bought her yesterday but even still her belly peeked out the bottom, the pants unable to make it up the baby bump and her shirt barely covering her swollen belly button. They went to the receptionist, a slim blonde woman in her 20s wearing scrubs, who was busy on the computer, not looking up until they were right in front of her.

“Welcome to Mellow Springs…oh my,” the receptionist said, glancing at the overly fecund girl in front of her.

Casey’s cheeks grew hot as she felt the eyes of the receptionist on her stretch marked belly. She tried to pull down her shirt while Steph rubbed her back reassuringly, stepping forward and checking them in. Casey, unable to stand much longer, sat in one of the waiting room chairs, her belly quickly filling her lap and her shirt riding up more.

“My apologies,” the receptionist said as she shook her head, quickly regaining her composure and pasting on a large smile. “What's the name for the appointment today?”

“Casey and Stephanie,” Steph said. “Casey is in need of some pampering today.”

Casey smiled weakly at the receptionist, rubbing her belly as the babies kicked. Her whole body ached from being so stretched and full. She couldn’t wait to get in those pools and feel weightless for a moment.

“May I ask how far along we are?” the receptionist asked, worried her nervous voice would give away her curiosity. “It’ll help the massage therapist better understand your needs.”

“8 months,” Casey groaned. “With quints. If that matters.”

“W-with…quints?”

Casey nodded. “Five babies in here.” she patted her belly. “Believe me I didn’t want that many either.”

The receptionist forced a smile as she typed on the computer. “Okay, well that is certainly not common but we’ve had many pregnant women come through here before. It looks like you have the full spa package today so we’ll start you off with the prenatal massage and facial before moving to the sauna and pools for some meditation and aromatherapy. We have robes in the locker room for you and slippers as well. Please follow me.”

Steph heaved Casey back onto her feet, the young woman groaning as she pushed her hands into her lower back and shuffling after the lithe receptionist. Casey yearned to have the body of the receptionist: thin and muscular, perky small breasts and a flat stomach. Instead she had inflated into this giant baby machine, unable to even reach around her own belly anymore.

“Alright, feel free to leave any belongings in the lockers and put on your robes and slippers. When you’re ready head through those doors and your massage therapists will take it from there!”

Casey held up a robe, knowing full well it wouldn’t come close to closing around her belly. “Do you have any…bigger robes?”

“Um, let me check in the back,” the receptionist said. She hurried out of the room, leaving the two women to undress.

Casey sat heavily on a bench as she stripped her shirt off and kicked off her sandals. She rubbed her hands over her moving orb, willing the babies to chill out for even just a moment. Steph sighed and smiled, patting her daughter’s belly and feeling her grandbabies inside.

“Don’t worry honey,” Steph said. “You’ll feel nice and relaxed in no time.”

Steph gathered her daughter’s clothes as Casey sat naked in the too small robe. The receptionist came back with only a slightly larger one, leaving her bump fully exposed for all to see but at least covering her swollen breasts.

“I’m sorry we don’t have any bigger ones,” the receptionist said.

“It’s fine,” Casey grunted, standing and holding the robe over her massive mammaries. “I’m used to nothing fitting anymore.”

The two women shuffled into the next room, a long hallway stretching before them with many doors leading to other parts of the spa. Soft music played throughout the building while the scent of lavender and eucalyptus permeated the air. Two women appeared at the end of the hallway walking towards them, ready to take them to their private massage rooms.

The two massage therapists nearly stopped in their tracks when they saw the pregnant teen, her belly so big and round it couldn’t be covered by any robe, her tits barely hidden under the plush fabric. Her swollen feet looked cramped in the cheap flip flops they were given and the look of strain on her face made it seem like she would give birth any moment.

“Hi!” Steph said excitedly, waving the women over. “Are you here to take us back for the massages?”

“Y-yes,” one woman said. She had her brown hair in a tight bun and a look of shock on her face. She seemed to be around Steph’s age, short and chubby but still fit. “I’m Tiffany, this is Ivanka. We will be…uh..sorry, we are taking care of you two today.”

“Who’s stuck with me?” Casey groaned.

“Don’t mind my daughter’s attitude, she's just feeling a little…strained right now and is in need of a good pampering,” Steph said.

“I will take care of you,” Ivanka said, a slight accent in her voice. Her blond hair was similarly tied up and her younger face looked more severe. “You are very pregnant! Are you sure you aren’t going to give birth soon?”

“I wish,” Casey mumbled.

“She has a few weeks left growing these five little ones,” Steph responded, glaring at her rude teenage daughter.

“Right,” Tiffany said. “Well follow us. Steph you will be in this room with me and Casey you can follow Ivanka next door.”

The four women walked down the hall, Casey bringing up the rear as she struggled to follow the skinny women in front of her. God I wish they would all get huge like me. Maybe then they’d stop staring, she thought.

Steph waved goodbye for now to Casey as they went into their separate rooms. Inside her room Casey saw an extra large massage table covered in soft blankets, the smell of incense and the sounds of light music helping calm her nerves. Ivanka set to work preparing the table, inviting the young mother to take off her robe and lay on her back.

Casey hesitated, grippin the sides of her heavy belly. She hadn’t been naked in front of anyone but her mother since the night she got pregnant with this litter. With careful steps she waddled to the bed, taking off her robe and handing it to the taller woman, before grunting as she sat heavily on the table. Ivanka helped the young mother get her legs up and eased her down onto her back. She carefully draped a towel over her large breasts and her lower half, giving her some modesty but leaving her baby belly exposed.

The constantly moving orb towered over Casey, nearly 3 feet above her. She could see her babies kicking, the weight of them making it hard for her to breathe in this position. Ivanka smiled as she grabbed the oils and began to massage the big bump. Her hands felt so soft and the warm oil soothed her stretched skin, making the young mother involuntarily moan from the pleasure of it.

“Try and relax, mama,” Ivanka said, moving her hands all around the cramped orb. “These are some big babies in here! No wonder you’re so tired all the time. Let’s get your muscles nice and loose.”

Casey closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of her bump being so thoroughly touched and pressed on. She felt Ivanka’s hands move down to her hips and thighs, massage her swollen ankles and feet. She came back up to her shoulders and chest, massaging her breasts and making her leak little milk droplets. She hadn’t realized how sore her breasts were until she felt the slight relief from the building pressure.

“Alright, let's turn you on your side,” Ivanka whispered. With a lot of effort they got Casey turned over, her belly hanging off the side of the table and her ass barely on the other end.

“Oof, babies please calm down,” Casey whimpered. Ivanka rubbed her bump again, soothing the infants within.

“Let me know if it's too much pressure,” Ivanka continued as she orbited the fecund teen and started massaging her back. “You are very tight back here.”

There was no denying Casey was in absolute heaven. She moaned and whimpered throughout the whole massage, her body finally relaxing after eight months of stress eating and growing five big babies. She rubbed her belly as Ivanka rubbed her back, feeling how absolutely huge she was, seeing how far her belly stretched from her once thin torso. Tears began to form as she realized just how close she was to giving birth to these five.

“Oh, Miss Casey, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” Ivanka asked.

Casey shook her head. “No, sorry I’m just really…overwhelmed I guess. Look how huge I am! And I have to give birth to all of them?!”

Ivanka smiled and rubbed her belly again, her touch softer as she scratched where Casey hadn’t been able to reach in months. “I think you are very beautiful. You are creating life!”

Casey wiped her eyes. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course! Look at you glowing with all these babies inside you. I hope to have so many some day.”

Casey felt the woman run a hand under where her belly was laying on the table, pushing her up onto her back again. Casey groaned as all the weight came back onto her chest and lap. Ivanka kept her hands on her bump as she walked around to Casey’s feet, disappearing behind the pale mountain. The soft hands ran down her thighs, pulling her legs wide and exposing her throbbing pussy.

“What’re you doing?” Casey whimpered.

“Do you want to feel even better?” Ivanka asked as she scratched her nails up and down Casey’s inner thigh. “Back in my country, women like you are treated like royalty. The ultimate mothers are able to produce many many babies at once. I cannot wait to have my own babies like you. Hmm I know what you really need.”

Casey felt a shudder run down her spine. She hated to admit it but this pregnancy made her so hormonal she was instantly wet at the touch of the massage therapist. “Is-is-is this allowed?” she stuttered. She felt her knees bend as she bucked her hips the best she could.

“Hmm only for our most special of clients. We are here to make you feel relaxed after all. What better way than to give you some release.”

Ivanka pulled Casey further down until her legs were hanging off the bed. She watched as the lithe woman disappeared behind her belly mountain, feeling her hands spread her wider as her tongue lapped at her sensitive folds.

“Oh fu-fuck!” Casey cried. Her clit was on fire! The woman knew how to treat this big pregnant woman right and Casey gave in, letting her lick, bite, and eat her out until she came hard, arching her back with her eyes rolling in the back of her head.

After she came she slumped on the table, limbs limp and belly heaving up and down as she tried to catch her breath. Ivanka wiped off her mouth and smiled, patting the moving orb of her belly.

“You are going to be a great mother,” Ivanka reassured her. “Now let's get you seated again for the facial.”

The rest of the treatment went on as normal with Casey getting a facial and a hair/head massage. Ivanka helped her up and back into her robe before leading her to the sauna.

“Enjoy the rest of your stay here,” Ivanka said with a wink. Casey blushed and entered the sauna and joined her mother.

It was easy to see where Casey got her curves and good looks. She was the spitting image of her mother, though just a few inches shorter. Steph was always curvy but after having Casey her hips had widened and her breasts stayed perky if not larger than average. She looked up as she saw her daughter waddle in and sit on a wood bench, taking off her robe and leaning back, still recovering from her massages. A sheen of sweat soon appeared all over Casey as the steam enveloped them.

“Feeling better?” Steph asked.

Casey rubbed her belly in wide circles, her cheeks growing red as she thought about Ivanka’s tongue in her. “Mm hm. The massage was really good.”

Steph smiled and adjusted her towel. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. After the sauna we’ll go lounge in the pools for a while.”

Casey nodded, feeling her stomach rumbling. It had been awhile since breakfast and the quints were getting hungry again. Steph could hear her daughter’s stomach and placed a hand on the ball of flesh.

“They’ll have snacks over there too. I made sure of it.”

Steph grabbed their robes, covering Casey’s exposed chest and helping her to her feet. They left the sauna and went to the pool room where a large heated pool waited for them to float in. With the help of her mom and an attendant Casey walked carefully down the steps and into the warm water. Instantly her back felt a million times better, the weight of her pregnancy floating away.

“Oh my god this feels amazing,” Casey moaned, her hands still on her bump. She could see her babies kicking under the water. “We need a pool at home.”

Steph laughed as she disrobed and joined her daughter, the two women naked in the warm water. Attendants came through with trays of fruits and pastries, setting them on the edge of the pool for the young mother to eat. Casey quickly grabbed a few pastries and scarfed them down.

“I’m glad you’re having a good time,” Steph said. “I wanted you to feel pampered and refreshed for your next surprise.”

Casey swallowed. “Surprise?”

Steph smiled big. “You know Carol who I work with? She has a son who’s about your age–”

“Moooom! I don’t need anymore boy troubles! Look what happened last time” Casey held up her bump to emphasize her point.

“I’m not saying he’s going to be your boyfriend. You just seemed lonely lately and I wanted to help you find some new friends. His name is Steve and he’s about a year older than you. He goes to college in town, he builds computers and robots, and you guys like the same music. I thought it was worth a shot.”

Casey grumbled, still eating on the fruit and pastries. “What if he sees me and is disgusted? I’m a fat cow! Who would want to be friends with an 18 year old about to have five babies?”

Steph could see the tears in her daughter's eyes. She swam over and held her daughter close to her naked bosom.

“Oh sweetie I promise he’s excited to meet you. I talked with Carol yesterday and she said he couldn’t wait to come meet you.” Casey sniffled a little. “And if he’s awful to you I’ll slap him for you. Okay?”

Casey nodded. She had to admit, having a friend would be nice. “Okay. I’ll meet him. But I don’t want him to be staring at my belly the whole time.”

“I know honey but it’s hard not to.” Steph chuckled, patting the belly full of her grandbabies.

“When am I meeting him?”

“Tonight for dinner. We’re going to go to your favorite Italian place!” Steph jumped up and down excitedly.

Casey sighed. She loved her mom but sometimes it felt more like she was her friend than her parent. She was admittedly excited to meet this mysterious man but her nerves were growing. She turned back to her food, eating the rest of it quickly but wanting something more substantial.

“Mom, can we get some burgers on the way home?”

An hour and many drive thrus later, Casey and Steph walked into the hair salon to continue her day of pampering. She barely fit in the hairdresser’s chair, her bump squished between her fat thighs. The stylist draped the cape over her but her bump was still visible beneath it.

Casey opted for something simple but cute, the stylist giving her long brown hair a trim before curling it and making her look like a new woman. Next were her nails, a mani/pedi and a bit of makeup to cap off the day of pampering. They headed back home so Casey could get changed and rest before the dinner.

Steph sat her daughter on the couch and left the room, coming back with a dress in a bag. She stood in front of her daughter and unzipped it, showing her a beautiful dark purple floor length dress. It of course looked huge but Casey knew it would barely fit her giant belly and tits.

“Do you like it?” Steph asked. “It’s got plenty of stretch to it, don’t worry.”

“I do. Thank you, mom. For everything today. It really has made me feel better.”

Steph smiled, tears in her eyes. “Of course, honey. I’d do anything for you.” She leaned down and hugged her daughter tightly. “Now let’s get you dressed. I got you matching flip flops so you don’t have to worry about walking in fancy shoes.”

It took a while to squeeze the pregnant girl into it but when she looked in the mirror Casey had to admit she looked pretty. The dress perfectly fit her swollen breasts and hugged her belly in all the right places, making her look big but not disgustingly huge. It went down to her knees instead of the floor (her belly really hogged a lot of the fabric) but it was comfortable and flowy and it covered her belly more than anything else she had worn recently.

“I’m nervous,” Casey said as she looked in the mirror.

“You look amazing! He’s going to love you. Just be yourself.”

Casey sighed deeply and held her belly in her hands, feeling her big babies moving but somehow not hating it as much as she did this morning. Her heart was pounding and her stomach felt full of butterflies but she had to admit she was excited at the prospect of a potential new friend. Hell, maybe he’d even want to stick around when she had all these kids.

With a deep breath and another hug from Steph, the two of them got into the car and headed to the Italian restaurant.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Little Duckling

Author’s note: reposting my old work on this side blog! Let me know if you’d like to read a specific one. Thank you for reading!

Warning: pregnancy and childbirth

Saturday 10pm

Justin had been asleep for almost two hours as you folded laundry and put it away in the nursery. Your induction was scheduled for Monday morning promptly at 8am and everyone within the Chargers organization knew that this was happening because your husband absolutely hated taking the day off. But this was understandably a special exception to the rule. You’d spent the last 9 months mentally and physically preparing yourself for this moment but the idea of having a human being relying on you for everything was still such a daunting task that you almost wished the day wouldn’t come. Not until you felt completely prepared at least.

And then the ache in your back and hips reminded you that your baby girl was quickly running out of room and would be making her entrance soon, whether you and your husband were ready or not. On the bright side, your stomach had dropped significantly in the last few days, allowing you to breathe easier and for Justin to poke fun at your pronounced waddle. He affectionately started calling you Mumble last week, from Happy Feet. The dad jokes were coming in strong.

You heaved yourself out of the chair you were parked in and were headed off to bed before a slight pain wrapped itself around the base of your stomach. The pressure moved from the back to the front, settling on a spot underneath your belly button. You stopped walking and used the wall to support yourself, rubbing small circles around the area until it passed. As a Braxton-Hicks veteran, you continued your trek to the bedroom, completed your nighttime routine and headed off to bed.

Sunday 2am

It happened again. The slight twinge of discomfort had you holding your breath for about 15 seconds before letting go and you had to take several deep breaths to recover. After a few minutes everything was normal again and you had to turn around to make sure that Justin was still asleep next to you. Throughout your pregnancy he’d become a much lighter sleeper, often waking up at ungodly hours to get you snacks or a few nights when you caught him talking to your belly, whether it was talking about the playbook or just telling her he couldn’t wait to meet her, it warmed your heart just the same. But you were thankful for now that he just missed that entire exchange because you were definitely not in labor…right?

Sunday 7am

You were definitely in labor. On a Sunday, when the Chargers were playing the Broncos at home. Of course. You’d experienced three contractions so far, just about four hours apart so you had plenty of time. There was no way in hell you were telling Justin. As soon as it was appropriate, you scooted yourself out of bed and went down to the home gym for some prenatal yoga and a good stretch, hoping it would provide a boost of positive energy. Then you hopped in the shower, allowing the warm water would relax your tense muscles and maybe help you delay the inevitable.

By 8:30 Justin was awake and making breakfast for the two of you while you sat on the couch watching New Girl. He brought your plate and a cup of orange juice to you which you were grateful for, but the thought of putting anything but the juice in your body made your stomach turn.

“Are you alright? You’ve barely touched your avocado toast and you’ve been devouring it the last few days.” He ran a gentle hand on your forehead like he was checking your temperature and caressed your cheek when he realized you weren’t abnormally warm. “I can make you something else before I leave if you want?”

“No, I’m fine! Just not hungry yet, I’ll probably eat later.” You lied through your teeth, desperately hoping that he would let it go. The excuse seemed to satisfy him enough for him to head back upstairs to watch some film and get ready. An hour and a half later, he headed downstairs just in time to find you stretching out your back, the cramp beginning to wash over you.

He replaced your hands with his own, slightly lifting your stomach to take the weight off for a bit. “Your stomach is hard as a rock,” he observed furrowing his brows and starting to piece things together. “Are you sure everything is ok?” His soft voice attempted to mask his worry filled words.

“Yeah I’m having a fake contraction, you know they’re so common these days.” You rushed out, attempting to use his extensive research against him. He could probably write his own version of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” with his newfound pregnancy knowledge. It was both impressive and scary how much he had grown to know what’s going on in your body before you did.

Although he nods his head in understanding, his face is still full of distress. And you could tell he was analyzing your words and tone of voice for any sign that you were lying, leaving you to mentally curse at the fact that he knew you so well and you’d need to work extra hard to convince him to go on like this was a normal day.

Although he let out a deep sigh, he didn’t ask any further questions. “I know, I just hate the thought of you being in pain and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

You tap his wrist so he can slowly drop your belly and you turn around in his arms. “You’re so cute, but it really isn’t that bad. A lot less painful than playing with ankle that’s hanging on by a shoestring I can tell you that.” You chuckle, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your back and you felt compelled to return the favor, sensing he too needed some comfort. “Here’s what’s gonna happen today though. You are going to go and kick Denver’s ass then you’re going to come home, we’ll celebrate and then tomorrow you’ll be on your way to being the greatest dad to ever live. How does that sound?”

Justin chuckles, giving you a peck on the lips, nose and forehead. “If I’m half as good a parent as I know you will be, then I know I’ll be golden.”

“Stop it before I start crying, you know I’m super hormonal right now this isn’t fair.” You mumble, tears brimming your eyes. He gives you one last kiss before reminding you to call your friend Dani to stay with you, even though your moms were on their way to your home.

Once he pulled out of the driveway you could relax, letting out a deep sigh and patting your swollen middle. Crisis averted.

For now.

Sunday 12pm

Contractions were officially every hour and Dani was trying her best not to freak out in order not to freak you out. But she was definitely freaking out. What started out as more intense period cramps were becoming a lot sharper, so much so that you couldn’t even focus on Encanto, which was the last sign you needed to know that this was the real thing. You did manage to eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and take a nap while she was with you, fluffing your pillows and telling you that you were doing amazing. Three hours later, there was a knock at the door and Dani went to open it for Holly and your mom. The two becoming best friends was probably the cutest thing in the world and your mom had even flown to Oregon three days before just to spend time with Holly and drive to California with her. They were the sweetest. And of course they brought snacks. There were lactation cookies for you in the freezer already but they brought more and they brought an abundance of food to eat during the game, which usually would have made your day, but today all it did was make you want to stick your face in the toilet.

You greeted the two women with hugs as Dani helped set up their spread and they immediately asked how you were feeling.

“I just woke up not too long ago so I’m feeling great now. Very ready to not be pregnant anymore so I can see my f—ohhh wow. Ow.” You groaned, one hand on your contracting belly and the other gripping the counter for dear life.

Dani’s eyes bug out of her head as she moves to rub your back. “That was the roughest one yet.” She was right, this one left your whole body sore, a loud reminder that things were definitely moving along.

“This one?” Your mom questions, looking between you and Dani. Then, she and Holly exchange a look.

“Oh my gosh sweetie, you’re in labor!” Holly exclaims, “we need to get a hold of Justin immediately. I’ll call Mark, I’m sure he’s already at the stadium.”

You cannot shake your head fast enough, “there’s no need to call him yet, that was the first bad one. And this game is important.”

“It’s Justin hun, every game is important,” Holly laughs, giving you a loving squeeze.

“But you know what’s even more important to him? You and that baby girl that’s getting ready to meet us soon. Are you sure you don’t want to tell him now?”

“I’m sure,” you sigh, allowing your mom to guide you back to the couch, sinking down into it with a groan. “Once the game is over he’ll be here and we’ll go have a baby. But not a moment before.”

Admittedly, it was getting harder to focus. Justin was playing great, but of course so was Bo Nix. The Chargers would score and the Broncos would answer. The Broncos would get a stop and the Chargers would force a punt. You were entertained but the battle happening within you was the most interesting one to the people in your house.

Your mom had gone down to find your birthing ball, which helped for about half a quarter, just in time for a Ladd McConkey touchdown to put the Chargers up by 10. By the end of the third you were forced into a squat behind one of the couches, spreading your legs to hopefully ease the increasing pressure on your hips. You breathed through the contraction, the sensation sending a pins and needles feeling near your tailbone. Holly made sure you stayed hydrated, having secretly texted her husband halfway through the fourth quarter when the game was firmly in hand to have their son home as soon as humanly possible. Contractions creeped on 30 minutes apart, leaving you panting and groaning in discomfort until your muscles relaxed.

Fifteen minutes later, you were pacing around the living room and you had to stop to hold onto the couch again, your mom helping you roll your hips as you felt thin beads of sweat building around your hairline. Things were getting real and scary and you needed Justin.

“What time is it?” You murmured, cupping your stomach with a hiss as the baby moved.

“It’s 7:15 and he’s on his way home, baby.” Your mom whispers, sensing your increasing distress, “he’ll be here soon.”

“My back hurts,” you state suddenly, a slight tremble in your voice. “Everything really hurts.”

Your mom grabs at your hips, squeezing them together to apply counter pressure, giving you momentary relief.

Dani was in charge of timing contractions and all you knew was the moment in between them where you could actually form a coherent thought. Time was no longer real. You headed upstairs for some time to yourself and a wave of nausea hit you and you emptied probably everything you’d eaten the entire day, which in hindsight probably wasn’t much. But you weren’t in the headspace to think clearly right now. You walked back towards to the bedroom and clutched the doorway, visibly feeling the heaviness of the baby moving down, almost sending you to your knees if it weren’t for the solid, calming presence that was suddenly in front of you.

“Hey babe.” You breathe out, feeling a little unsure that your legs were capable of holding you up until you could sit on the bed.

He pulled you into his arms as close as your belly would allow and pressed his lips your forehead. “Hi. Glad I could make it back in time. I knew something was off with you this morning,” he narrowed his eyebrows at you when he pulled away, walking you slowly back into the room placing a firm hand on the small of your back, making circles with it while holding your hand with the other. “Alright baby…long have you been in labor?”

You let out a dry laugh at his disappointed dad look. “Since 10 last night I think? But let’s focus on the important things, you played great and you won but man you guys really took a minute to shut the door on ‘em.”

“Right, the important things.” He says with a knowing smile. “I know you love football as much as I do now, but if you told me earlier I would’ve been at your side in a heartbeat. You know that, right?”

God, you hoped your baby had his caring heart. “I do know that, I really do. But I also knew that you’d be able to do both. The Chargers are your family too and—”

A contraction creeped up on you, leaving you to hold onto your husband’s forearms with a sharp sound of pain, the pressure reaching an overwhelming peak that you hadn’t experienced before.

“Squeeze as much as you want, it’s okay.” His voice attempts to soothe you but you couldn’t hear him over the animalistic grunt that escaped you. Your body tensed involuntarily and he could see your stomach hardening as the tension continued to build. There was nothing more he could do than hold you through it, until something gave way and the floodgates opened…literally.

Even he sounded breathless by the end of it. “Your water just broke.”

Sunday 10pm

Contractions in the house were terrible. But contractions in the car, with no cushion from the water bag made it feel like she was right between your legs.

“Justin, you have to go faster. Please.” You panted out, desperately clutching the grab handle and leaning your head back with a loud moan. “Can you turn on the air, I’m dying in here. And I need to put the seat back, my back is killing me, I’m sorry.” You felt like a turtle stuck on its back, waiting for someone to turn it over and set it free.

“Yeah, yeah do whatever you need. And you don’t need to apologize,” he pats you on the leg, “do whatever makes you comfortable, we’ll be there soon.” He kept looking between you and the road, slightly worried that he’d have to deliver the baby in the car. The only thing that slightly reassured him the whole drive was your sigh of relief when the fan came on. First babies were supposed to take a while but he’d missed the entirety early labor, so from the sounds that he was hearing he figured you were in or at the very least extremely close to the transition stage. His grip on the steering wheel tightened and remained that way until the birthing center came into view. Your parents had called ahead and would meet you there when given the word, so all you had to do was check in and you were brought to your private suite.

Seven centimeters dilated and without painkillers made your husband question any football toughness he thought he had. You were so close to meeting your baby and he was a mix of anxiousness, nerves and excitement. Most of all he felt so much love and admiration for your determination and strength. Holding off on telling him you were in labor so he could be there to get the job done with his teammates was one thing and it was a complete whirlwind to be there with you while you worked to bring your baby into the world.

Once he was finally able to tear his eyes off the baby’s heart monitor, all of his focus was back on you. He wasn’t going to say anything but the agony in your voice was really starting to take a toll on him. Months of mental preparation for this moment was nothing like the real thing and he felt utterly helpless, desperately trying to maintain some sort of control and be helpful in any way.

“Honey you’re shaking, are you cold?” Without even giving you time to answer he was up on his feet, reaching for his bag to grab the blanket he’d seen you drape over yourself on several movie night occasions.

You shake your head while your teeth continue to chatter, reaching for his left hand, “I think it’s the adrenaline. I’m okay I promise,” you shift uncomfortably in bed, trying to just go along with how your body is feeling and reacting. Your belly tightens, a white hot pain generating an unexpected moan as you palmed your stomach. Justin places his hand on top of yours, whispering to you that the contraction is almost over and constantly reminding you that you’re doing great.

The two of you decided to use gravity to your advantage and walk around the building since the entire floor was closed off at your husband’s request. He couldn’t risk anyone leaking the most private and cherished moment in his life.

“I can’t believe this is our last night as a duo.” Justin whispers, walking at a snail’s pace while you waddled alongside him. “It’s been a great ride, pal.”

“Wouldn’t want to do it with anyone else. And I have a feeling this ride is going to get a lot more interesting from here on out.” You gave your belly a soothing pat.

He strokes your back as you sway your hips again, “thank you for choosing me to be the one that gets to do this with you. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, more than anything in the world.” You grin, pulling him in for a soft kiss. His hand cups your face as he pulls you in even closer. The kiss oozed joy and gratitude. Your husband wasn’t a man of many words, but his actions spoke volumes.

You squeeze his arm again suddenly as pain bubbles deep in your core and you rip yourself away from him to press your lips together to stifle a yell. “We need to get back to the room. Now.”

The noises leaving your body would have horrified you if you weren’t already sitting backwards on the toilet wearing only an oversized t-shirt, with your legs spread and the man of your dreams digging his thumbs into your back. “Harder please,” you groan, feeling like your tailbone is seconds away from shattering.

“I’m not getting a break,” you cry, clenching your jaw, leaning back and asking him to help you up. He hooks his hands under your arms and basically lifts you to your feet. “It’s not stopping, I can’t—oh fuck.” It felt like you were going to throw up, but out of the other end, which could only mean one thing. “She’s—Justin she’s coming right now. I have to push.” You took a breath and focused completely inward, your entire body going rigid, shaky straining sounds of effort pouring out of you.

The quarterback immediately sprang into action,“easy babe, breathe. I’ve got you.”

You held onto one of his hands and moved into a squat on your shaky legs as he pressed the red button on the side of the bathroom door, allowing your midwife to come in.

The baby felt like it was seconds away from falling out, everything suddenly feeling like it was moving a mile a minute. The midwife was saying something but the ringing in your ears was so loud you couldn’t focus on anything but getting your baby delivered.

After another throaty shove, you came back to yourself a little, feeling a gentle hand rubbing your shoulder. “Babe? You gotta slow down. Take a second, I can already see her a little bit you can give yourself some time.”

“I can’t, the pressure is too much!” Tucking your chin to your chest, you let out a yelp as you push again, using him as a solid wall to rest against as you spread your legs to give your baby more room. “Holy fuck your baby is huge,” your husband and the midwife both laugh, “I’m sorry it’s just—this is really hard.”

Pushing felt good, even though it left you shaking like a leaf in a cold and sweaty frenzy. At some point during the delivery he’d pushed your hair back with his lucky headband that was always around his wrist if it wasn’t on his head. It was the most intense experience of your life but you took one look at those bright green eyes and he reminded you that he was with you the entire time and you knew you could do anything with him by your side.

Remington Grace Herbert was born Monday morning at 1:42am with those exact same eyes that you fell in love with.

“Hi Remi,” Justin sobs, kissing her cheek. “We’ve been waiting for you, baby girl.”

“She sure knows how to make an entrance.”

You hand her off to her dad after scooting over to give him more room on the bed. He wraps a free arm around you, securely holding her in his other one, totally in awe. “She’s so perfect. You’re perfect. You did so amazing, I’m so freaking proud of you.” He kisses the side of your head.

You cuddle into him with a content sigh, “Our perfect little duckling is finally here.”

[chaotic-iguana]

how about a five where Javi rejects the reader, so the reader like gets really sad, but one day Javi hears she is going on a date (is not true, Murphy made it up) and he rushed to her apartment and confesses and reader is like ?? What are you talking about, super angsty but super fluffy? Pleaseeee

Out of time | javier peña x f! reader 

summary: javi rejects reader. repents like the idiot he is. (i love him) he is a FOOL in love. fight me. 

wordcount: 2.1k

warnings: rejection, angst and fluff, hurt and comfort basically, happy ending. 

A/N: i got you, anon. this promt is the perfect apology for the last one. repentance fr. love u ALL. let me know what you think. also nothing against “hippies” just giving murphy pov. i do however as an indian have a  bone to pick with fake white yoga gurus. it’s gotta be appropriation. 

masterlist

Javi had never been heartless before. Never been cruel before. Now, as you pointedly hunched over your desk in an effort to ignore the chortles and cheap jokes that kept sounding from the men crowded around his desk as they all stood around a nameless note someone -you- had slipped onto his desk. 

He laughed boisterously with them, before crumpling the paper in his fist and dropping it into the bin next to his chair. You refused to so much as raise your head and look his way, feeling the crushing wave of heartbreak sweeping through you. It wasn’t until you felt a tear on your cheek that you realised that you had started crying, and so you muttered an excuse about getting some coffee before rushing to the bathroom and sobbing in a closed stall. So much for Valentine’s day. 

It wasn’t until the end of the day, when you saw him walking your way in the parking lot, that you met his eyes. And you could see, with the set of his jaw; the arch of his brows, that he knew. Before you could scramble into your car, he was yelling after you. 

“Is your new hobby being extended to everyone or did I win the lucky draw? Cute note.” 

Oh, that bastard. 

You scoffed, looking him straight in the eye. “Call it a moment of weakness, Peña. Thought I felt something for you, and it was Valentine’s day. Pretty sure all I feel now is rage, you asshole.” 

A laugh from him. “Don’t be like that, hermosa. Let me know if you feel something between your legs for me, alright?”

Scowling, you turned from him and got into your car. You could have sworn he looked like a kicked puppy as you pulled out of the parking. These past few weeks, you had caught him looking at you more often. Finding excuses to touch you more often, too. A hand on your back, fingers accidentally grazing yours, his knee pressed against your thigh in Murphy’s backseat. Fucking idiot. You didn’t even know if you were madder at him or yourself. You know him. All of fucking Bogota knows him. God knows how you were foolish enough to think he felt anything except for between his legs. 

A few months go by, excruciatingly slowly. It’s as if time itself has decided to fuck with you. You miss his gaze on you, his hands, his smile, him. You’ve been avoiding him like the plague. Stopped looking at him even when he was in the same room, hardly spoke to him even if it was in the middle of a raid, declined Connie’s many many invitations to parties you knew he’d be at. It was just easier to pretend that February the 14th had been a completely normal day. You’re just tired of all of it. It would have been easier not to have said anything at all. 

What you were completely unaware of, however, was that you had a sneaky little shit for a partner. The fact that he had clocked what was going on immediately was completely unbeknownst to you. Both of you pining silently with what Steve dubbed “moony heart eyes”, the radio silence, and the fact that you had stopped talking to Connie just so you didn’t have to show up to her parties? Something had gone wrong. Initially, Steve thought that maybe Javi had made an unwanted move on you - and had damn near scuffed him to death - until he saw Javi’s eyes the next day. Haunted. It seemed that you had managed to take more out of the man than Escobar had. But you weren’t faring much better, either. Irritated and tired and grumbly all the time, refusing to so much as look in Javi’s direction. But you both were pretty much just staying out of each other’s ways, not causing any trouble, so he let it go. For now. 

But then Steve and Javi had to chase a lead down together, and Javi introduced him to an informant who - with a little imagination - looked like your spitting image. The same hair, terrifying similar voice, and a lopsided grin, just like yours. And it clicked. The day that had started it all, and the “anonymous” note Javi had gotten. The idiocy with which you both had handled the situation made him want to run unarmed into a sicario’s den, but he came up with another idea instead. 

Just before a weekend he knew on good authority that you had no plans except for lounging in bed, he started nudging and hinting to Javi the randomest shit about you. Just to reignite the interest. Almost like, you know - bait. 

“Man, her hair looks good. I wonder if she got it done?”

“Hey Peña, d’ya reckon that’s a new skirt? Connie’d kill me if I didn’t ask where from”

“Javi - look - she got her nails done. Before an op? Doesn’t that get a bit…impractical? Hey, I’m jus’ asking.” 

Each time, Steve was met with an irritated eyeroll, scoff, or just flat-out ignored. But around midnight on Friday, he ‘bust out the big guns’, so to speak, making an offhanded comment while jutting his chin out in the direction of your chair. 

“Good thing she left early. Never woulda made it to the date tomorrow mornin’ otherwise.”

Which, instead of being met with the usual options, was met with Javi’s brain almost short circuiting. The sight of his friend, gaping like a fish as his eyes practically bulged out of his head while he stammered out the easiest one-syllable word in the English language is one Steve can never forget. Or let Javi forget, either. 

“W-wha-what?”

And so, like the most devious matchmaker on the planet, Steve proceeded to make up some utter bullshit about a boy he’d supposedly seen you around with, one that had apparently asked you out tonight to meet him for ‘brunch’ tomorrow. Just to fuck with Javi, he made the guy from LA, and a tourist. And white. And the kinda hippie who did yoga and spoke about his newly-discovered chakras all the time. 

Javier could feel the blind panic clawing at his chest, his heart threatening to burst. He didn’t know exactly why, but he had hated every single second you hadn’t spoken to him. Laughed at his jokes. Flashed him your smile, even the sarcastic one. He missed your quips and the way you groaned and swore at him when he pissed you off. He’d convinced himself he could live with that. But this? A date with some idiot he knew wouldn’t treat you right? He couldn’t understand his own feelings compelling him to pack up in a frenzy, ignore Steve’s pointed laugh, scramble into his car and drive straight to your apartment. He didn’t even stop to smooth his hair back, or fix the wrinkles in his shirt from slumping in it all day. No, all that mattered to him in that moment was you. Who was he kidding? He knew exactly why he felt the way he did. He’d just been under the illusion that ignoring it would make it go away, but it hadn’t. He had to fix this now. 

Standing on your doorstep, Javi blinked for a second while marveling at how fast that drive had been - he’d barely registered doing anything since he heard the word date come out of Steve’s mouth. Hesitation clamped a hand over his mouth, his body, and he stood frozen, unsure of whether to knock or just turn around. But if not now, never, right? And who knew how long he would live? Wasn’t this a time he should be getting what he wants, spending time with the people he…loves? 

Before he could overthink himself out of doing it, Javi raised his fist and rapped it against your door, twice. And when you opened the door, rubbing your eyes and standing there in your sleep shorts and an oversized shirt, it took a second for his brain to catch up. It wasn’t until you were squinting at him, then stumbling over nothing as your eyes widened that he realised where he was. The hurt on your face in the split second before you moved to close the door had him jamming his foot in the doorframe. 

“Just hear me out, hermosa. I promise if you want me to fuck off after that, I will.” 

After waiting for you to nod and open your door wordlessly, he stalked after you, further into your apartment, stunned by how homely it was. The walls had pictures of you and other people laughing, of art and paintings and sketches that seemed to all have been done by the same person; the sofa was a rich brown leather and the fluffy throw on it just a shade lighter. Everything was carefully coordinated, in color and texture, and he couldn’t help but note the contrast. Some of his stuff was still in boxes. He’d been in Colombia for longer than you, and his stuff was still in boxes. The difference was laughable. 

But when he heard a sniffle from ahead, he found himself walking faster - practically walking into you - before he was planting his hands on your shoulders to turn you around to him, and then gripping the sides of your arms as if they were his salvation. His eyes searched yours, and the heartbreak he found as you tried to look away threatened to make his knees buckle. So he hooked an index finger under your chin to tilt your head up to him, resting his forehead against yours. Moving his thumb to smooth out the furrow in your brow, he huffed at the stubborn frown that refused to budge. 

“I am sorry. I truly am. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t know how to react. I want you, and I did then, too. But I just…didn’t think it was real. I swear I thought you were joking at first. It’s why I let the guys see. Then I saw you in the parking lot, and you were actually sad, and I just panicked. I just don’t think I was ready back then. But I swear to God, I can’t bear another six months of the cold shoulder. I love you, you know. I’ve just been too much of an idiot to realise it.” 

For a whole minute, you just stare at him unblinkingly. Then, suddenly, your face crumples, limbs slackening in his grip. He holds you through it, letting you sob into his chest as he coos reassurances and apologies to you until you pull back from his embrace to look at him questioningly once more. 

“Why now?” Your words make Javi smile, and he cocks a brow at you. 

“You really thought I’d let that idiot take you out before I told you how I feel?” 

You look even more confused now, which is confusing him in turn. 

“Wait, what idiot?” There’s no twinkle in your eye - no smirk tugging at your lips. Not a joke. 

“The one who…asked you out?” Javi cocks his head at you, watching your frown deepen. 

“Who?” The absolute befuddlement on your face is on the verge of making him snigger, and he feels his lips twitching already. 

“The-does Murphy know? That you weren’t busy tonight?” His overworked mind supplies the answer to him, and he has never more in his life wanted to punch and hug his other partner simultaneously. 

“Oh, yeah. He asked cause Connie wanted to know if she could come over? I guess she must have gotten caught- oh. Oh.” Javi gives you a moment to reach the same conclusion he did, and both of you end up bursting out in laughter at the same time. 

But Steve was the one with the biggest grin when, come Monday morning, a bottle of premium whiskey and a brand new watch sat on his desk with a little note: 

Well played, motherfucker. 

What is it they say about couples adopting each other’s habits when they get into a relationship? Javi’d picked up your so-called hobbies within a weekend. 

You ended up spending enough time with each other to pick up everything else, too. Call it cliché, but atleast you weren’t boring. Or, you know, going on dates with imaginary guys that existed only in Steve’s extremely limited imagination. Win-win. 

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist: @imherefordeanandbones @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore,@millerscoffee, @ nostalxgic, @sscorpiiiio, @pedrosaidsheispunk dividers by @reveriesources

[anikaluv]

I'LL BE THERE —

❤︎︎ pairing:  Miles (e!42) × fem!reader

❤︎︎ genre: fluff

❤︎︎ cw:  stalking , Miles being a barbie kinnie, reader realizing there’s no escape lmao

❤︎︎ summary: Miles was your ex from a year ago, and you had completely moved on, blooming in your new life. So, why was he just now popping up everywhere?

❤︎︎ w/c: 800

❤︎︎ a/n: Was thinking about how Barbie has a million different jobs and went like, “What if that was Miles?”

E!42 MILES getting so frustrated in an argument you two were having; looked you dead in the eyes and spat, "If you don't like that shit, you can get up and leave."

E!42 MILES being genuinely shocked when that is precisely what you did, thinking this was just gonna be another one of the little squabbles you two were used to having

E!42 MILES realizing in the next following months that you could live perfectly without him and move on, while he, on the other hand, was going through the worst turmoil of his life

E!42 MILES deciding that whether or not you wanted him in your life, he needed you in his. So he was going to get you back no matter what

E!42 MILES turning around to greet you with a cheeky grin on his face at the cafe you’ve been a regular for the past 6 years as the barista going, “Hello precious, ¿Qué será para ti hoy? (What will it be for you today?)”

E!42 MILES ignoring your look of surprise as he jots down your usual order that he already has memorized and then has the audacity to look back into your eyes and ask, “Can I get a name for the order, please?”

E!42 MILES a few days later watching as you pull in your cart full of groceries to checkout and couldn't help but laugh mischievously when your jaw dropped when seeing that he was the cashier. (He made sure to scan your items very slowly)

E!42 MILES becoming the bus driver of the bus you took every day to work. Pulling up to your bus stop, opening the doors, tipping his hat, and greeting you with a playful smile. "Mornin', mi vida (my life), pretty day, ain't it?", ignoring your eye roll as you stepped onto the bus.

E!42 MILES who “coincidently” ditches the home gym he’s been using since he started being the prowler and starts going to the exact same gym as you, sucking in his breath when he sees you squat in those tight seamless shorts

E!42 MILES who’s happy to treat you and your niece to some ice-cream at the park inside of the ice cream truck he now works at, playfully chuckling at you as you arrogantly shoved the money into his chest.

E!42 MILES sitting comfortably in a salon chair at your normal nail salon as a nail tech, ready to paint whatever design you desire on your delicate fingers

E!42 MILES who types into his computer at your local bank as your bank teller, prepared to enter in your weekly / monthly checks when you walk in. Taking your check out of your hand to observe it, acting shocked like it’s not its about the same amount every time. “Woah, cariño (darlin’) , did’nt know my girl worked this hard.” (He was proud of you, he knew his girl could achieve anything she wanted on her own )

E!42 MILES who welcomes you openly to his salon chair at your favorite hair salon when your usual stylist “happens” to be out of town going, “Hey mami, you want the usual?”

E!42 MILES at your library organizing books loudly while you’re studying for a important exam, holding his finger at your lips when you’re about to explode and scream and whispers, “Baby, this is a quiet environment, quiet your lips f’me aight?”

E!42 MILES clocking in as your yoga instructor at your yoga studio only on the one day of the week you go, wearing a purple headband with a tight tank top and yoga pants that showed the ass you didn’t know he had. You groaning as he does doggy style shouts, “Thats it ladies! You want to really arch your back like this!” while smirking. (Kelly Clarkson’s “What doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger” is playing in the back)

E!42 MILES who works at your local mall at Nike on one knee in front of you happily assisting you put on one of the pairs of shoes, locking eyes with you the whole time wearing that smug grin he always got. (When he was finished you kicked him in the face before he got up, but lets be honest, he probably fell in love more)

E!42 MILES being on the plane you were taking to move and get away from him. Wearing his flight attendant uniform and slowly making his way down the aisles. Finally getting to you and turning to you as that cute scowl appears on your face while nonchalantly saying, “Would you like some pretzels, ma? They gluten-free.”

E!42 MILES chuckling loudly when you downright ask him why was he following you everywhere like a stalking creep, amused that you haven’t gotten the message yet

E!42 MILES picking up your chin to make you give him all of your attention, leaning down to where your lips brushed against each other, and spoke in a quiet tone no one else heard,

“Doesn’t matter where you go or what you do conejita (bunny), I’ll be there."

ENDING A/N:  Is this really extra and extremely unrealistic, damn right. But its funny.

TAGLIST: @janaeby @bellstwd @nmgstuff @axeoverblade @zaddyskye69 @agstuffsworld @spidrstar @laylasbunbunny @missusmorales @popeheywardssecretgf @lumineliax @fukingsad @wisteriaflowersss @crxss01 @joliety @fiannee @sylisan

TAGS:

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♥︎ 𝖇𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖕𝖍𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝖗𝖚𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 ♥︎

♥︎ Pairing: best friend!jongho x ghost!chubby!fem!reader, ghost!mingi x ghost!chubby!fem!reader

♥︎ Genre: fluff/angst (sorta)/supernatural au/suggestive

♥︎ Summary: Choi Jongho's apartment has a ghost problem and you're it. For so long you've been his little secret but, after spilling his secret on a drunk night out, he makes things more complicated for himself than he ever could've imagined.

♥︎ Word Count: 2.3k

♥︎ Warnings: You're a ghost, babes. You and Mingi are ghosts. So your life/feelings as a ghost are expressed but nothing super heavy/dark. Light expression of sexual thoughts. Cursing. Mention of other members. Intro to a love triangle. This one's Jongho focused w/ intro to Mingi at the end, & that's all, darling.

♥︎ A/N: Why am I writing multi-part (posting pt 2 this weekend) supernatural fic where you find yourself in a Jongho/Mingi love triangle? Because it's halfway to Halloween. Jk. I did it cause I wanted to and I'd do it again. Mwahahaha.

“A ghost? Like dressed in a white dress floating around your apartment going ‘Booooo’ ghost?” San teases, raising a skeptical eyebrow in Jongho’s direction.

Jongho groans, taking a seat at the polished wooden table at the center of the break room. He should’ve known that running his mouth to Wooyoung after one too many drinks would lead to all of the guys finding out about it. Anything you ever tell Wooyoung goes in one ear and right out of his mouth.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Jongho almost wishes he were a ghost himself. “She doesn’t go ‘Booooo’ and she doesn’t wear a white dress.” 

Seated across from him, feet kicked up on the table, Woo sports a mischievous grin. “So, what does she wear?”

Hongjoong sneaks up behind Woo, wringing his hands on the back of his chair. “Leave him alone” he hisses, popping Woo in the head with a half empty water bottle. Woo flinches, crying out in pain. “You might be the boss but that doesn’t mean you can hit me!” Hongjoong just rolls his eyes, nudging him out of the chair and taking it for himself. “That’s exactly what that means.” 

A thousand thoughts swirl around Jongho’s mind. There’s no way he’s answering that question. But the silence is getting to him. The curious stares of his three best friends dare him to blurt out details they’ll no doubt use to torture him with. “Yoga pants and a t-shirt” Jongho mumbles under his breath, instantly regretting his decision to speak.

Hongjoong squints, leaning in closer, “Did you say…yoga pants and a t-shirt?” San freezes in place, a fork full of salad hovering near lips that curl into a smile as Hongjoong repeats the words. 

His three friends burst into laughter. Especially Woo who can't keep from howling at this new bit of information. Hongjoong tries and fails to supress some of his amusement but the other two couldn’t care less. They’re almost doubled over in disbelief. “Boys, I think he’s finally lost it” Woo says, patting Jongho on the shoulder.

Jongho grabs him by the wrist, squeezing it just enough to make his annoyance be known. “I’m stronger than Hongjoong. If I hit you I’ll break something.” Knowing better than to test him too much, Woo pulls his hand back. “Hey, leave him alone!” San demands, coming to Woo's defense, “It’s not his fault your apartment’s haunted by a phantom yoga instructor.”

Drinking down the rest of his coffee at record speed, Jongho rises from his chair. “Fuck you guys.” He turns to Hongjoong, his stone face plunging the room into silence once more, “I’m taking an early day today.” 

Hongjoong must admit he thought it was a prank when Woo first told him what Jongho had confessed at the bar the night before. The girl who lived in the apartment before him died in it. He only found out after he’d already moved in and weird things began happening. Nothing scary. Just small things like the TV being on when he knew he turned it off. Cups being rearranged in the cabinets. His downstairs neighbor asking him to keep the music down in the afternoon when he knew for a fact he hadn’t been home all day. It was weeks before he actually saw her and he was sure he’d, as Woo so eloquently put it, “lost it”.

The ghost...the girl...she was nothing like the ones he’d seen in horror movies or heard about in scary stories growing up. In most ways she was like any other girl. She wasn’t transparent, she definitely didn’t go “Boo”, and she had no intentions of freaking him out. At least not any more than she already had.

She just couldn’t pass on and she didn’t know why. So they struck up a deal. If she helped around the house and kept the music down he wouldn’t try to get rid of her. A part of him enjoyed the company of his new ghostly friend. She was gentler than a lot of the guys he hung with. Easier to open up around too. A perk he’d only come to appreciate in this moment was that she couldn’t run her mouth either. 

Feeling a tinge of guilt wash over him, Hongjoong shoots the other two an icy glare that tells them to give Jongho a break…or else. “Look, we’re sorry. Really” Hongjoong apologizes, “You’re just not the type of person to believe in these things. I mean, come on. A ghost?”

“Ooh, ghosts? I see Halloween came early” Yunho sings, strolling into the break room. Sensing the tension, Yunho goes straight to the refridgerator to grab his lunch. He tosses it into the microwave, the beeping of the few buttons he hits the only sound filling the room. He turns to the others, arms folded across his chest. “Is anyone gonna tell me what’s going on or…”

All eyes are on Jongho who refuses to meet anyone’s gaze. “I’m not saying it again” he says defiantly, heading for the door. “Jongho’s house is haunted” San spills out, his mouth now full of food. “By a yoga instructor” Woo tags onto the end. Jongho glances over his shoulder, his hand wrapped around the doorknob. “She isn’t a yoga instructor!” Anger boils up inside of him again as he prepares for yet another person to laugh at him. It never happens, instead Yunho seems almost happy.

“Wait, you guys are serious aren’t you?” Yunho asks, secretly praying that this isn’t some sort of joke. Jongho sighs, relieved that at least someone isn’t set on being an asshole today. “They aren’t lying. My apartment’s haunted…or whatever.” Yunho’s eyes light up in a way that makes Jongho instantly uncomfortable. He’s never looked at him this way before and he never wants him to again.

Before Jongho can resist, Yunho’s long arms are wrapped around him as he squeals with joy. “This is amazing. Can I come over later?”

“What? No!”

“Come on, don’t be grumpy my little teddy bear” Yunho pouts, “I swear on my life you won’t regret it.”

Jongho drops his head and closes his eyes. Maybe if he wishes really hard Yunho will go away. “I won’t regret it because you aren’t coming over” he says through gritted teeth.

Never one to be defeated, Yunho decides to pull out the big guns. “Let me come over or I’ll hug you every time I see you for the next month!” Threatening any of the other guys was easy. Jongho could do it in his sleep. But Yunho? That’s a different beast entirely. It doesn’t matter what Jongho says or does. If Yunho wants a hug he’s coming in for one. He’s relentless and Jongho knows it. There is no other option. 

“Shit…fine” Jongho relents, “You can come over but don’t make it a thing.” “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Yunho cheers, “You won’t regret this. I swear to you.” Jongho moves to break free of Yunho’s loving embrace when the break room door opens once more.

Yeosang stands in the doorway taking in the current scene being played out before him. He clears his throat, forcing a smile. “Uh, hmm. Right. Should I come back later? You seem…” His gaze trails up and down Jongho’s body, “Busy.”

“Aah! I hate it here!” Jongho whines, storming out of the break room. Hongjoong jumps to his feet, peeking his head out after him. “We love you too!” 

“Mmm, this smells wonderful” you hum, eyes closed as you inhale the aroma rising from the pots on the stove. It takes some time to pinpoint each scent. Roasted chilies, garlic, wine, braised pork. Sometimes if you picture it in your mind, remembering the times you’ve had it before, you can almost taste it again. How long has it been since you really tasted something? You push the thought to the back of your mind. It’s best not to think that way.

“No drooling in the food please” Jongho teases, sliding in beside you to switch a burner off. You poke him in the side, making him jump a bit. “I’ll have you know I can’t drool!”

“I’ve seen you sleeping. You can drool. It’s like ectoplasm or something.”

"Ectoplasam? You're banned from watching Ghostbusters ever again" you say, easing yourself up onto the counter.

Laying back on the smooth marble, you stare up at the new overhead light Jongho had installed after he moved in. It’s black at the center with long, illuminated arms outstretched like sunbeams. How long has it been since you saw the sun? Not through a window or on the TV but outside. Outside? What a silly thought. There is no outside. At least not for you. Not anymore. 

Shifting your focus to something less depressing, you decide to do one of your favorite things. Watch Jongho cook. Watching him do anything is entertainment enough for you if you’re being honest. Especially tonight when his clothes perfectly accentuate the shape of his body. You dare not lay eyes on him in the shower but you imagine it’d be quite the sight to see.

“Picturing me naked again…” Jongho accuses, turning around to playfully pinch your belly. Rather, pinch where it would be. His hand goes straight through you, it can’t be helped, but it tickles for both of you. “Get your head out of the gutter and your hand out of my small intestine Choi Jongho” you giggle, propping yourself up on your elbows. “Sorry” he apologizes, turning back to the stove, “Pretty sure it was your appendix though.” 

Classic Jongho. Always intent on getting the last word. You’ve never met someone who spoke so little but had so much to say all at the same time. In the years since this apartment became your permanent residence a few other people have come and gone. The girl with the dog that never stopped barking and the guy whose girlfriend smelled like raw onions.

Unfortunately, death hadn’t dulled your sense of hearing or smell so when it all became too unbearable you chased them off. Sent a few dishes flying off the shelves, made the microwave explode, put all of the furniture on the ceiling. They never made it a month before running away.

This one, though, you never imagined chasing off. He has the cutest pet turtle that doesn’t bark at all. No stinky girlfriend to speak of and his cologne certainly adds a sweet smell to the apartment. And he can see you. More than that, he wants to. 

As Jongho grabs some plates from the cabinet you notice that he’s only grabbed two. Typically he’d throw one in for you too even though you technically can’t eat it. Why would he want his best friend to see that he sets a place for his pet ghost? The instant the answer to that question dawns on you, a knock at the door sends you into a frenzy. This is it. It’s happening.

You zoom into the hallway where a full body mirror hangs on the outside of a closet door. Twirling around you smooth over your clothing, inspect the subtle gloss on your lips. “How do I look?” you ask, reentering the living room with your fingers toiling away at your hair. Jongho watches you for a moment. You’re so clueless sometimes that it’s adorable.

“You look how you always look.”

“Which is…”

“Pretty. Perfect. Beautiful. Life changing” he rambles, showering you with the compliments you were fishing for. Not that he doesn’t mean them.

You hop on the couch, sitting on your knees like an overexcited puppy. “Thank you! You can open it now!” Knowing he has to move quickly before he changes his mind, Jongho braces himself for the worst and opens the door. 

“Okay, where is she?” Yunho asks, pushing his way through the partially open door. Scurrying over from the couch, you follow behind the tall man. Jongho rarely has anyone over and when he does naturally it’s to see him. It’s difficult to contain your excitement about having a visitor of your own.

“It’s nice to see you too” Jongho says, dripping sarcasm. “Ghostly beauty, reveal yourself!” Yunho calls out to the empty space around him. “He’s funny” you laugh, inspecting his rather impressive dinner attire, “I like him.” Jongho rakes his fingers through his hair, sure he’s lost a few strands from stress. “Yeah, that makes one of us.” 

“You’re making this weird” a deep voice sounds from behind you. The voice is different from others you’ve heard in recent memory. Up until now every voice has seemed to come from a distance. The ones you’ve grown familiar with, like Jongho’s or the ones on your favorite shows, feel closer than others. None of them come close to this one. The clarity is entracing and, without a thought, you’re hunting for the source of the sound.

Trailing in behind Yunho you see another tall man, every visible inch of his skin covered in artfully executed tattoos. In a knit sweater and a pair of jeans, his clothing is far less formal than Yunho’s. He wears black circle rimmed glasses that compliment the sharpness of his nose. As you approach, you see your reflection in them and are almost embarrassed by how hypnotized you appear. Thank god he can’t see you. 

“Who is this?” you ask Jongho, without glancing back. A puzzled Jongho locks the door, unsure what to make of your stranger than usual behavior. “That’s Yunho, I told you…”

“No,” you interrupt, “This one. Who’s this one?”

Your question does something to the nameless man standing before you. It’s as if the world has come crashing down around him. He’s flooded with every emotion he’s ever known of, some he didn’t know he could feel. “Mingi” he speaks to you and only you. Mingi closes the space between you, stars shining in his eyes. He can see you.

Yunho gasps, hands thrown over his mouth, "Holy shit, she can see him too..."