#Prenatal Stretching

[aleaqmcure]

Keep Yourself & Your Baby Healthy with Pregnancy Exercises for a Smooth Delivery

Incorporating prenatal exercises into your pregnancy routine is essential for ensuring both your well-being and your baby’s health. Let’s debunk common pregnancy exercise myths and explore the benefits of staying active during each trimester.

We at Aleaqmcure have experienced Physiotherapists and Yoga experts who can help you with the Prenatal exercises to solve your pregnancy problems.Aleaqmcure helps you with pregnancy exercises with keep yourself and your baby healthy for a smooth delivery.

[strang3lov3]

Lavender

You receive a pleasurable massage from Ezra. (4.1k)

Tags - smut, massages, unethical!ezra, softest of soft!dom, wax play, hands in places hands shouldn't be, teasing, fingering, oral (f! receiving) masturbation, ezra creams his pants #creamernation, slight dom vibes from ezra, chamomille tea, ezra is a silvertongued menace, light foot action - assume reader has clean tootsies. Fic help - @endlessthxxghts and @beefrobeefcal thank you both for holding my hand through this!!! and for hyping me up, and for being the best part of my day!!! LOVE YOU!!! A/N - hey hey motherfuckers 😛 I hope you enjoy! First time writing Ezra and it’s for my beautiful @noxturnalpascal’s birthday that was a couple weeks ago 🩷 patti i'm not sorry for what i've done. also i love you.

After a sixteen hour drive back home from visiting your family, you’re in nothing but pain. There’s an awful, pinching feeling at your lower back, your hips and knees ache, and your neck is sore. Even laying down in your bed hurts. 

You try a couple of different solutions to remedy yourself. Ice pack, heating pad - you never know when you’re supposed to use one or the other. You try stretching, yoga, and increasing your water intake. But after four days of agony, you’ve had it. 

There’s a light-purple colored piece of cardstock that’s been hung up on your fridge by a magnet for the last few months. It’s a gift certificate to a spa called Lavender, you won it in a raffle at a charity drag show. 

Call (212) 929-5804 to schedule a 90 minute massage of your choice, and please bring this voucher with you to your appointment. 

I look forward to pleasuring you. 

-Ezra

You feel a flutter in your gut as you read those words: pleasuring you. Fuck, you’re so touch starved, and you begin to imagine what this Ezra could look like. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Before you get lost in your dirty thoughts about a massage therapist you’ve never even met before, you need to book an appointment. When you flip the card over, you see a list of services offered by Ezra. Massages of all kinds - chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for, but you schedule your appointment anyway. 

-

Friday at 6:40pm, you leave your apartment and begin walking to Lavender. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk away, which you don’t mind because the weather is cooling down and the leaves are beginning to change color. You enjoy the scenery. At 6:57, you walk into the small office for your appointment, a bell jingling as you push open the door. The shades are drawn over the windows, blocking out what little light is cast by the setting sun in the overcast sky. It smells smokey, like incense. Gentle music plays as you wait at the front desk for someone to help you. 

After a moment, a man comes out through a door behind the desk. He’s taller, his face is handsome under the low light. His hair is dark apart from a very prominent streak of white in his hairline, his beard and mustache are neatly trimmed and graying. And as he makes his way closer to you, you make out a peculiar curved scar on his cheek, right next to a sharp, aquiline nose. The man smiles warmly at you and you silently pray to any god that’ll listen that he’s your massage therapist, and not just the person working the front desk. 

“I believe you must be my 7 o’clock, yes?”

Hallelujah. 

“Yes, that’s my appointment.”

“Your name, my dove?” 

You’re going weak in the knees. He speaks in a low voice, a syrupy thick southern accent pouring from his pouty lips. You tell him your name, tripping over your syllables. The man chuckles,  “I’m Ezra. Pleased to meet you,” he says, taking your hand in his before pressing a gentle kiss to your trembling knuckles. “I sense anxiety, my dove. Would I be correct in that assumption?”

You nod. “A little, yeah. Sorry. It’s my first massage.” Ezra’s warm, chocolatey eyes roam your body and you feel flustered, “I uh - I have this…” you dig out the gift certificate from your purse, slightly crumpled now. “From the raffle at that drag show.” 

“Ah, yes,” Ezra smiles, taking the certificate from you. “Thank you,” he says, smoothing out the crinkles in the paper. He notices you tapping your fingers rhythmically on his desk, and covers your hand with his own. “There’s no need for anxiety, darlin’. You’re in good hands with me. Perhaps a cup of tea to soothe those nerves of yours before I get started with you?” 

“That’d be great, yeah,” you reply. 

Ezra opens a nearby cabinet. “What are you in the mood for this evening?”

“Not really sure,” you answer, humming as you think. “Do you have suggestions?”

“That I do,” he says. “I’d suggest somethin’ herbal, no need for caffeine so late. I’ve got peach, I’ve got chamomile vanilla…” Ezra trails off, moving various boxes in the cabinet. “Hot chocolate too, f’ya want.” 

“The vanilla one. Please.” 

“The vanilla one it shall be, then.” 

Ezra makes you a small cup of tea, sweetening it with a bit of honey per your request. He sits you down in a comfortable chair and carefully places the warm mug on an end table next to you, then hands you a clipboard. 

“Just some routine paperwork I’d appreciate if you’d fill out for me as I get your room situated. Hope that’s not an issue.” 

“Not at all.” 

Ezra thanks you and exits the room, leaving you to fill out the paperwork. It’s all the usual questions: Name, date of birth, email, phone number, emergency contact. After that it asks of any allergies, medical conditions, or major surgeries to be aware of. You answer each question accordingly, and then the last section is made up of questions about your massage preferences.

Massage type? (Chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue) - Unsure. 

Any areas of the body that need to be focused on or avoided? - Unsure. 

Preferred pressure? (light, medium, hard) - Unsure. 

Any other preferences or details you’d like to add? - Unsure.

You click the pen and lay it on the completed paperwork, then sip your steaming tea. You wiggle your foot as you anxiously await Ezra’s return.

“I’m ready for you, sweet dove.” 

Ezra’s waiting by the door behind the front desk. You drink the last of your tea and follow Ezra into the room, where he takes his clipboard back from you. The room is dark, darker than the waiting area. It’s lit by a couple of plain candles, warm light flickering against the walls as soft piano music plays from a speaker. “Your purse,” Ezra motions for you to remove your bag, then hangs it over a hook on the door. “And your jacket, if I may,” he murmurs from behind you, hooking his fingers between the collar of your jacket and your body, waiting for you to unzip it before he pulls it off of your shoulders and hangs it up. Your skin tingles as his fingers brush over you, just a taste of what’s to come. 

“Undress for me as I go over your paperwork outside. I’ll knock on the door and wait for your word before re-entering.”  

“How much? How…” you trail off, bashful as you try to complete the sentence. Ezra knows what you’re trying to ask, though. “To your leisure, darlin’, though my suggestion would be to the nude, jewelry and all. The choice is yours. And once you’re done, lie on the table for me. You may protect your modesty with the towel I’ve provided for you right here.” Ezra pats a white towel that sits folded on the counter, next to a little crystal jewelry dish. 

Ezra leaves, gently shutting the door behind himself. He examines your paperwork behind the closed door as he hears rustling on the other side, the sound of you undressing. You leave your clothes in a pile on a chair, then cover your body with the towel. You lay on the massage table, pleasantly surprised that Ezra’s been warming it for you. You’re still a little nervous, so you focus on breathing deeply and calming yourself down as you wait to hear Ezra’s knock. You listen to the gentle piano playing, trying to place where you’ve heard this song before. 

Knock knock.

“Come in,” you call out, and Ezra opens the door. He closes it again softly and stands by the counter, readying some supplies. “What’s this song?”

“S’a piano cover of The Cure,” Ezra answers. “Last Day of Summer.” 

“Mmm. I never really liked them,” you admit. 

Ezra chuckles softly. “To each their own, I ‘spose. But I must inform you that you’re missin’ out, my dove.” 

You’re grateful Ezra can’t see your smile or your bashful expression at the pet name as you rest your face in the cradle of the table. “I do like this,” you tell him. “The piano cover.” 

“I do too. Relaxing, ain’t it?” 

“Yeah, it is. Very.” 

“Indeed. Now, I’d like to go over a couple of items on your paperwork before we commence. I believe you had stated that you’ve never received a massage before, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’re unsure of your preferences or areas of your body I should pay special attention to or avoid.”

 “That’s right, yeah.” Ezra hums in response, then goes quiet. “...I hope that’s not a problem?” 

“Worry not, dove, s’not a problem at all. Jus’ means I’ll be takin’ a more…experimental approach to massagin’ your body, s’all.”

 “Oh. Uh…experimental how?”

 “Your massage will entail the utilization of a variety of techniques, to thoroughly explore all parts of your body. By my listenin’ to both your verbal and nonverbal cues, and by checkin’ in, askin’ you questions about how you’re feelin’,” Ezra explains, “I’ll get to know your body and how best to please you. It’ll make things run nice an’ creamy for us both.” 

“O-okay. That sounds good.” 

You’re in trouble. Each of Ezra’s words, spoken through a honey-sweet tone, goes straight to your core. You wonder how slick you are between your thighs, if Ezra’ll notice. 

“I believe we’re ready to begin, then, dove.” 

Ezra lights some dragon’s blood scented incense, then washes his hands with hot water. Best not to startle you with cold hands. He approaches you on the massage table, you can smell him even through the smokey scent of the incense. He’s clean and citrusy, you wonder what cologne he wears. He places something on a rolling table and then reaches for your towel, gently tugging the tucked in ends from beneath your body. “Lift up a little for me, my dove. I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You hoist yourself up, lifting your torso into the air so Ezra can pull the ends of the towel from under you. Cool air hits the skin of your exposed breasts, though your nipples are already hardened by your arousal. Once you lie back down, Ezra folds the towel down your torso so that only your ass and legs remain covered. “And I’ll be talkin’ you through my process, so nothin’ comes as a surprise.”

“Mm.”

“Gonna begin by drizzling some oil over your back, to keep your skin nice and properly lubricated as I massage you. Ready?”

“Ready,” you mumble. 

“But first…It seems you’ve forgotten to remove your jewelry,” he whispers, unclasping the necklace you wear. You lift slightly so that he can carefully remove the chain and pendant, then sets it down. Ezra takes the item he set on the rolling table, a massage candle that’s been burning for a while, the oil completely liquified. He holds it a couple inches above your back and then tilts it, hot oil dripping down your skin and surprising you. “My apologies, dove. I didn’t intend to startle you. You’ll get used to the warmth, I promise.” 

Ezra drips a bit more oil on your body, then sets it back down on the rolling table. “Gonna touch you, now,” he whispers. You sigh as you feel his hands finally touch your skin, calloused palms rubbing the oil from your shoulders down to your lower back. He begins by massaging your neck, thumbs sliding down your skin, over and over and over before traveling lower, massaging your traps and shoulders, the backs of your arms a little bit. His hands travel back up your shoulders where the skin meets your neck and massages with a firm pressure, causing you to wince. “Ohh, I know, I know. You’re quite tender, there, my dove. If you’d so kindly allow me to work out this tightness, I think it’d benefit you tremendously.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Ezra massages you by pressing firmly into your skin, thumbs moving in circles, back and forth. “Relax,” he whispers. “Soften yourself. I’ve got you. Breathe in…” 

You draw in a deep breath, Ezra’s movements momentarily pausing. 

“...And out.” 

On your exhale, he massages the tense part of your neck, satisfied at how you’ve relaxed your body for him. He works out the tension, “Good, attagirl,” he praises, hands sliding down the rest of your back. He uses long strokes to massage up and down your spine, then your sides. You let out soft noises, noises indicating pleasure, not pain. Ezra notices how you quiet yourself, voiceless exhales instead of moans. “You don’t have to quiet yourself on my account, dove. I encourage any vocal or physical manifestation of your pleasure.”

Ezra’s hands feel like magic as they travel up and down your back, squeezing and sliding over your oiled skin. He walks his hands down your arms, down your palms, pausing when he reaches your fingers, “I believe you’ve forgotten to remove some more jewelry, darlin’. May I take these rings off of your fingers?”

“Yeah, please.” 

Ezra wiggles your rings off of the fingers of your right hand, then the left. They make soft, metallic noises as they clink against each other in Ezra’s palm. “Beautiful rings, my dear,” he murmurs before setting them down on the rolling cart, next to the necklace he’d taken off for you. Ezra massages your forearms, your wrists, your palms and fingers, first one hand and then the other. When he’s done, you hear the soft shuffle of fabric as he moves to the end of the massage table, rolling his cart with him. “I’d like to ask for consent before massaging your feet, my dove, as I’ve been kicked before by some rather ticklish clients.” 

“I’m a little ticklish, too” you admit shyly. “I can never get pedicures because of it. Have to do my toes at home.”

Ezra chuckles. “I find that firm pressure is most effective in preventing that sensation. May I try?” 

“Yes, go ahead.” 

Ezra pours a bit of oil in his hands and rubs them together before reaching for one of your feet, your toes wiggling and curling at his touch. “Shh, jus’ relax,” he coos softly, smirking at your sensitivity. With a steady, hard pressure, Ezra massages your foot. “Focus on your breathin’. It’s ‘sposed to feel good, I ain’t tryin’ to play a dirty trick on you.”

The tickling sensation is there, but with steady, deep breaths, you’re able to control it and allow yourself the pleasure of having your feet massaged. You stretch out the way a cat does when it relaxes, and Ezra smiles in satisfaction. “There it is. Feel good?”

“S’good,” you sigh. 

Ezra massages from your feet to your ankles, then folds the towel up and over your ass to expose your legs fully. He massages from your ankles up your calves, and oh - it feels incredible. You moan freely, feeling more confident to do so after his kind encouragement. You melt under his touch, arching into it as he works up your thighs, drizzling more oil before rubbing your skin. His hands are kneading the plump flesh of your ass now, one hand on each cheek, his thumbs close to your pussy. He admires that pretty diamond shape of your ass and thighs framing your bare pussy, and he notices how you drip for him. “Ezra,” his name slips from your lips in a whimper as he spreads your cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the coarse hair that surrounds your cunt. 

“You seem quite enthused, little dove,” Ezra smirks. 

“Yeah…feel - feels good. So good, s-so…” 

“I’m pleased to hear it, my darlin’.” 

“Ezra,” you whine in betrayal when you feel Ezra’s hands leave your body, the pressure of his touch lingering on your skin. 

“My, such an ardent complaint,” Ezra remarks. “I hate to disappoint, but I implore you to trust my process. I won’t leave you dissatisfied, sweetheart.” Ezra unfolds the towel back over your body, then lifts it slightly, “Now, on your back for me.”  

You flip yourself onto your back, and once settled, Ezra folds the towel down to cover your lower half, leaving your breasts exposed. He keeps the temperature of the air in the room warm, but your nipples are hardened anyway, hardened by your arousal. Your heart pounds as you watch him, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. You turn your head to watch him reach for his massage oil candle, your breath hitching when you see his pants visibly tented by his erection. He doesn’t bother hiding it. 

Ezra watches you with dark, sparkling eyes as he drips the oil on your body, the candlelight flickering, illuminating his handsome features with a warm glow. He massages your shoulders and your chest, hands gliding over your breasts and abdomen, then back up again. You gasp when his thumb catches your nipple, and Ezra raises an eyebrow. He circles your areola with his thumb, pinching and twisting your other nipple gently, teasing you. “Fuck,” you cry out, raising your hand to hold Ezra’s strong, muscular, veiny forearm. 

“You’re doin’ so good,” he whispers, then places your hand down at your side. He pulls the towel down your body some more as he massages down your sides and your hips, lifting one of your legs so he can massage both sides of your thigh. Your legs are spread for him, pussy on display and glistening with your arousal. “Oh, little dove. Such a mess you’re makin’ of my table.” 

You bite your lip and whine as Ezra’s fingers just barely touch your lips, achingly close to where you need his touch the most. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I don’t wanna hear you apologizin’, sweetheart. I won’t stand for it,” Ezra lays your bent leg back down, then rounds the table and lifts your other leg. “‘Sides,” he says, “S’only natural, how your body reacts to my touch. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

You smile shyly as Ezra massages up and down your thigh, teasing you just how he did before. You tilt yourself into his touch, moaning as he approaches your wet cunt, waiting to feel his fingers between your folds. But you never do. 

“We’re comin’ up on the end of our appointment,” Ezra warns. “If there’s an area of your body that you feel needs special attention before we conclude, let me know.”

“Ezra–” You reach for his wrist and urge him to touch you between your thighs. 

“Something that still needs tending to, my dove?”

You nod frantically. “Please–”

“Use your words,” he interrupts, his voice low. “You have to ask me for what you want. I’m unable to alleviate your discomfort if you don’t tell me what you need, sweetheart.” Ezra’s fingers hover over your core, feeling the heat radiating from you. You stutter out something incoherent, and Ezra dips his fingers lower, ever so gently touching you. He traces your folds, waiting for your answer. “Ask me.” 

“I want you to make me come, Ezra,” you beg, “Please.” 

“I can do that in many ways. Tell me how, little dove. Tell me where you need me to touch you.” 

Ezra wears a crooked smile. This, this is his loophole. He knows that technically, as a professional, this is a line he shouldn’t cross. But he can’t help himself, you moan so sweetly for him even without his fingers buried in your cunt. Sensation is subjective, so you can’t say his teasing is intentional, deliberate. It’s your own reaction, and not Ezra’s fault if you feel aroused during massage - after all, it’s a completely natural response to physical stimulation. By making you ask - beg - for what he’s coaxed you to want from him, Ezra evades responsibility. This is on you. 

“I want your fingers in my pussy,” you breathe, pressing his thick fingers against your slick center. “Please.” 

Ezra inserts his middle and ring fingers into your dripping hole, feeling your muscles tense around his digits as he gathers your arousal. He pulls his fingers back out and then traces up and down your pussy, loving the way his fingers slip and slide through your slick folds. He circles your clit once, twice, then explores the feeling of your lips again. “Check in with me, darlin’, how are you feeling?”

You answer Ezra’s question with a mess of breathy moans, and he chuckles at that. He paints steady circles around your clit and glides his other hand over your oiled body, fingers catching your pebbled nipples. Ezra leans over and keeps his face close to yours, grinning proudly when you gasp as he pushes those two fingers of his back inside you. Your legs clamp shut around his arm as he curls his fingers rhythmically, stroking that spongy, sweet spot inside of you that makes you squirm. “Ezra, Ezra,” you cry. 

“Shhhh,” he hushes you, “Open up for me.” Ezra traces your face with his sharp nose, his hot, minty breath fanning over your skin. As you spread your legs, he bites your earlobe gently. “Stay like this now, little dove. Let me please you.” 

Ezra stands up straight again, his warm, masculine hand sliding down your sternum and your stomach, fingers reaching for that tight bundle of nerves between your thighs. As he works his fingers inside you, he circles your clit, using both hands to pleasure you. You’re close, and it’s taken no time at all. Arching your back, you tilt your head and close your eyes as you lean into his touch, focusing on your impending release. “Look at me when you come,” he commands. “Eyes on me.” 

“Fuck, Ezra–” 

“I know, little dove, I know,” he coos.

He replaces his fingers with his tongue, knees cracking as he kneels before you. By pressing a button beneath the table he lowers it, bringing you to a comfortable height for himself. You don’t notice him dipping his fingers into the candle, then shoving his hand beneath the waistband of his linen pants. He toys with his hard cock, stiff member aching, leaking just for you.

All you can focus on is the pleasure building deep in your gut. You watch Ezra, he’s gazing upon you with hooded eyes. He seems entranced by it all, the sensation of your pulsing cunt, the slick noises his fingers make while inside you. He hums at your taste, that sweet, musky flavor of your pussy. You tug his dark hair as he circles your clit with his tongue, “Fuck, right there,” you gasp. “Right there, Ezra, please.” 

As Ezra’s tongue slides over your clit, fingers steadily curling inside you, he pumps himself. His big hand slides up and down his shaft, he can feel each of his swollen, prominent veins under his palm. He grips himself tightly, fucking his fist with fervor. 

“I’m there, I’m there,” you cry. You come on his tongue with loud, frantic moans, maintaining eye contact, just like he told you to do. He works you through it, your pussy soaking his fingers, his nose, arousal dripping all the way down into his palm. Moans of pleasure shifting to noises of overstimulation, Ezra continuing to fuck you on his fingers as he fucks his fist. He groans against your cunt as he comes, painting his own hand with hot, milky ropes of his come. He drags his release out, teasing both himself and you as he comes down. 

Gently, Ezra pulls his fingers from your core, then pulls his own hand out of his pants. He turns to wash his hands at the sink but you stop him, reaching for his wrist. “N-need to taste you,” you breathe. “Let me taste you, Ezra.” 

Ezra smiles warmly. “I’m flattered by your enthusiasm to reciprocate the pleasure, little dove, but I must confess I’ve taken care of my arousal already. This is your time to relax and to immerse yourself in pleasure, not mine.”

You pout. 

“But if you desire to taste me…”

Ezra holds his hand in front of your face, fingers glistening with silky ribbons of his come. You bring his palm to your lips, then lick and suck his fingers clean of his spend, humming at the salty, heady taste. 

When done, Ezra helps you sit up. “I’ll wait out front for you to get dressed, and then we can schedule a follow-up appointment,” he says, a mischievous look in his eye. “Don’t forget your jewelry on my cart, little dove.”

Comments, reblogs, and asks are so very appreciated!! I love to hear your kind words about my work, they keep me motivated to write for you all <3

[whenthemusestrike]

Taking the leap

Lena frowned and stared at the computer screen. She had no idea the work that went in to get pregnant. Rubbing her eyes, she stared at the files of donors and jotted down a list on the pad of paper beside her. They had decided that they wanted someone who was at least biracial, if not fully African American. She went through their education and health background before closing the computer. She had ten on the list but wanted Stef's input.

She sighed and stretched her arms above her head. They had already gone to the doctor and she was starting her first round of hormones tomorrow along with prenatal vitamins. A nervous flutter started in her stomach and she bit down on her lips. This, this was actually going to happen. @x-muses-x

[aikaterini-drag]

Past And Present PART 3

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Summary: You think back to how you and Rafe first met and all the memories you’ve shared. You get emotional but Rafe’s always there for you.

Warnings: lots of fluff and sweet moments, soft Rafe, brother’s best friend, memories.

This belongs to the ‘Loving You Series’. Find it here.

It was a lovely morning.

The sun streamed through the windows, warm shafts of light kissing your skin. Rafe had already left for work but since you were feeling a little nauseous you stayed home. You were in your 2nd pregnancy month, feeling lightheaded and nauseous all the time. Rafe made you a light breakfast and refused to go to his company. But you were fine and Rafe had a very important contract to negotiate that day. It took a hell of an effort to convince him to go. He insisted you take your prenatal medicine and lie in bed. You also promised to text him every fifteen minutes to reassure him.

Satisfied that you had the day to lie down and relax, you stretched lazily in bed, a small smile on your face. The nausea was fading and you lovingly rubbed your still-flat stomach. Your life felt good, precious, and joyful. You were about to marry your childhood sweetheart and were expecting your first child.

Rafe Cameron had been in your life since you were a child. He was your brother’s best friend, his presence constant in your family house.

You vividly remembered being 8 years old and Rafe being 10. You smiled at the memory. It had been a sunny afternoon and you were playing tea-time in the backyard with your dolls, completely absorbed in your own little world. Rafe was playing video games with your big brother inside, your parents were at the supermarket.

“What are you doing, little squirt?” Rafe had asked, pulling you from your game.

“Don’t call me that,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “Go away.”

Rafe laughed and walked over to you, crouching down to your level. “Having a tea party, huh? That’s for babies.”

Rafe inspected your tea set and your small pink chair and table. He chucked as he held up a tiny plastic teacup. Then he picked up one of your dolls, Miss Sparkles, a new Barbie with silky long hair and a pink dress. He held it up before you could stop him.

“Hey, do you think dolls can fly?” he asked in wonder.

You frowned. “No, dolls can’t fly.”

“Wanna bet?” he grinned, and before you could protest, he tossed the doll into the air. The poor Barbie soared in the sky before landing in a mud ditch with a soft splash.

You gasped. “No! Rafe, you’re the worst!”

You ran to the mud pile and gently grabbed your doll, now covered in mud and filth.

“Hate you, hate you, hate you!” you mumbled, ready to cry.

“Nah, don’t start crying now,” Rafe ran to you, his face tight. “I didn’t mean it!”

“Why do you always ruin my stuff?” You sniffled, tears in your eyes. “You are the worst!”

“Take it back!” he said. “I just thought it would be funny!”

“Miss Sparkles is covered in mud. How is that funny?!”

Rafe sighed. “I didn’t think she’d land in the mud.”

“Well, what’s done is done now. You ruined her.”

You turned to move away, but he stopped you with a hand on your shoulder. Eyes on you, he took your doll and rubbed it messily on his hoodie. Your eyes widened. That was his favorite hoodie, a Christmas gift from his dad. Without flinching, Rafe cleaned the face of your doll, ruining his perfectly white clothing.

“Whoa…” you muttered, your mouth going slack.

“There! Your doll’s ruined, my hoodie’s ruined too. Now stop crying.”

“You could just clean her with water, you fool,” you said, your tears stopping. “Not ruin your hoodie.”

“I had to do something! That’s what came to mind. An eye for an eye,” Rafe said, handing the doll back to you.

You dropped the doll to the ground. “Leave me alone.”

And with that, you ran into the house.

Later that day, you found your favorite Miss Sparkles outside your room, sparkling clean and in better condition than you’d ever seen her. Your doll was wet but no longer smudged, her hair untangled. A note was tucked at the bottom of the box, saying “I’m sorry”. You smiled and secretly thought that Rafe Cameron was not such a bad boy after all.

Ever since then, your interactions with Rafe grew less and less animated. When he came to visit, he was polite and discreet. He hung out with your bother a lot and you remembered the sleepovers and the late-night talks you’d overhear about the girls they liked. For some reason, you didn’t like it when Rafe talked about other girls.

Sometimes, Rafe would pick you up from school when your parent;s or brother couldn’t. You would walk together, barely talking. Rafe would buy you ice cream but you watched him warily, fearing he might prank you again. But he never did. He never pranked or teased you ever again.

And then you finally started trusting him again. You were friendly to him and you could swear his eyes lit up whenever he saw you.

It was 4 years ago when your relationship turned intimate, your feelings molding into something deep and intense.

Rafe had been 26, and he had started a small real estate company with the help of his father. And you, at 24, worked at a library and volunteered at a local history museum. The position wasn’t a large one like the prestigious museums you’d dreamed of, but you were patient.

On that sunny afternoon, you were busy setting up a new exhibit on local folklore. You’d been working non-stop and you seriously needed to take a break. As luck would have it, your phone buzzed. It was Rafe.

“Little squirt?” he teased, his voice deep and warm.

“Will you stop calling me that?” You laughed affectionately.

“It depends. What are you doing?”

“I’m at the museum.”

“Are you free for lunch?”

“Sure,” you replied, smiling. “I could use a break.”

“Wait for me. I’ll see you in twenty.”

Rafe arrived five minutes early, sauntering into the museum in his fine linen shirt and dark blue trousers. You stared at him, your heart skipping a beat or two. His blue eyes sparkled, and he looked even better than all the art around him. He’d grown into a handsome man, tall and fit, his once-boyish features now chiseled and mature.

“Rafe,” you said, a smile spreading across your face.

“Hey there, Miss curator,” he greeted, pulling you into a warm hug. You felt the firmness of his body against yours, goosebumps awakening on your while body.

“Hey yourself, Mr. CEO,” you teased back, inhaling his clean masculine scent. You wished he’d hug you more, but he stepped back.

“Let’s grab a bite, hm?”

You hummed in agreement.

You settled in your favorite Italian restaurant, sitting in a small table outside. The place was bustling. Rafe sat next to you, the seat and table a little too small for his long legs and tall frame. You secretly laughed as you watched him try to make himself comfortable but once you sat beside him, he went silent. Your thighs brushed gently as you moved. You tried not to be affected as you chatted about work and life while eating.

“How’s the new exhibit going?” Rafe asked, taking a sip of his wine.

“It’s great,” you replied. “I’m focusing on local folklore and I’m honestly amazed at how many stories and traditions are out there. I can’t wait to show it off to everyone.”

Rafe smiled, his arm casually draping over the back of your chair. “You are incredible. You’ve always been.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling the warmth spread across your cheeks. “And how’s the real estate business going?”

“Pretty good so far,” he said. “We’re closing on a big deal next week. It’s been a lot of work, but it’s worth it.”

You grinned. “Remember when we were kids, and you used to tease me without end?”

Rafe chuckled. “Don’t remind me.”

“You are all mature now but back then, you were such a troublemaker.” You smiled. “Yet you always made it right. Like the time you ruined your favorite hoodie to clean my Barbie doll.”

Rafe looked at you, his expression softening. He didn’t reply and you both fell into an emotionally charged silence, watching each other. His blue eyes held yours, occasionally shifting to your mouth.

His hand, the one resting on the back of your chair, moved to cup your neck. Your breathing picked up, your heart rate increasing.

“What have you done to me?” he drawled, his voice dark and silky.

“Rafe?” you trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. You’d done nothing.

“Want to kiss you,” he said, his eyes caressing your lips.

You swallowed hard, a little explosion going off in your head.

Rafe wanted to kiss you.

Rafe wanted to kiss you.

Rafe wanted to kiss you.

Damn… your heart was somersaulting.

You came out of your high when he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, his eyes dilated.

Before you could think rationally, you did the unexpected. You cupped his face and pressed his lips to yours. He froze for exactly one second, then moaned and responded, his moist, firm mouth claiming yours. His lips were warm and tasted faintly of the wine he’d been drinking.

The kiss started slow and thoughtful but soon turned deep, with him crushing you to his chest, the calm shattered with his tongue. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, fast and strong. He possessed your mouth, his tongue tracing the soft fullness of your lips before slipping inside. Shivers of desire raced through you as you gave yourself freely to him.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathless. Rafe’s lips were rosy with your lipgloss, deliciously kiss-swollen. You wanted to kiss him again. Your own lips felt mumb from the heady sensation of his lips.

“Wow,” you whispered, wetting your lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he drawled, his eyes sparkling.

“Really?”

“Hmm…” His lips brushed against yours as he added, “You’ve ruined me.”

“Likewise,” you muttered in between slow kissed. “I’ve been wanting this… wasn’t sure if… if…”

His mouth covered yours hungrily.

“You’re mine.” He gazed into your eyes.

Your heart warmed. You nodded. “Only if you’ll be mine.”

“Baby, you squeezed my heart the day you cried after I ruined your doll. I thought I was just pitying you, but as I got older, it fucked me, turned into so much more.”

“So you fell first, Rafe Cameron,” you said smugly.

“Hmm… I fell hard for you, little squirt,” he said, kissing the pulsing hollow at the base of your throat.

“My brother’s going to kill you,” you said and felt his smile on your skin.

“I’ll take it. For you, I’d take anything, baby.”

And he kissed you again.

From that day on, everything changed.

He was no longer just Rafe, your brother’s best friend. He was Rafe, the man who shared your passions and dreams.

*Back to the Present*

The sound of your name being called out anxiously brought you back to the present. Wiggling on the bed, you sat up against the headboard and muttered a clear and loud, “I’m here.” Rafe dashed inside and knelt beside the bed, taking your small hands in his big ones. He was completely overwrought; his tie was askew, and he was panting, his face pale with worry.

“Rafe?”

“Hey, baby,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “I was a fool to leave you alone. I can’t focus with you being unwell. How are you, love?”

“Rafe,” tears gathered in your eyes. You struggled to hold them back but the memories of the past and seeing him now, so worried and loving, made you emotional all over again.

“Damn, damn it all,” he said, his expression going even more concerned. “I am an ass. Shouldn’t have left you.” He cupped your face and kissed you softly. “I’m here baby. What’s wrong? Should I call the doctor? We can go right n—”

“I’m fine.” You sniffled, hands clutching the lapels of his shirt. “Just emotional.”

“Emotional?”

“Hmm… I was thinking of how you teased me when we were little. And then of our first kiss at that Italian restaurant.”

“But you’re crying,” he said stubbornly. “I can’t take it, can’t take seeing you like this.”

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. “I know. It’s just… I was thinking of how good you are to me and the memories just came flooding. The tears, too.”

“Truly?” he asked tensely, a big palm spreading protectively over your stomach. “You are not unwell? The baby?”

“We are both alright. I promise. Hold me, please?”

“I’ll hold you all day and night, baby.”

Relief washing over his features, he crawls into the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against his chest. He kissed away your tears and you greedily enjoyed his body’s warmth, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothing your frayed nerves.

“I’m here. Always will be,” he murmured into your hair seconds before you fell into a deep, pleasurable sleep.

Reblogs, follows and any other kind of support are greatly appreciated. Sending hugs!

[greenlotusleaf]

I'm going to sweet-talk you into getting pregnant.

I'll dangle my lover in front of you, enticing you. So beautiful, so strong! Wouldn't you like me to share? Wouldn't you like to feel them for yourself? What about... all the way inside? I'll flirt and tease and beguile, winding you up with lust until you relent-- no, until you beg-- for the pretty cock that will change your body and your life forever.

Once your fate is sealed, I really begin to have my fun. I'm always touching you, caressing your belly as it ripens, reminding you of how big you're getting. I'll bring you every treat you crave, but I'll start to tease you as you plump up. Aww, can't button your pants? Let's try again, I'll help, you can't possibly be too fat for these *already*, can you?

I'll brag about my sex life with my lover, but I'll stop bringing them around to play with you. After all, you're simply too big for their tastes these days, the way you're ballooning up. Maybe after, if you lose all that baby weight, but at the rate you've been putting it on.... You know, last night when they bent me over, they said it reminded them of when they took you from behind. But I guess that was before your hips were so wide and your ass was so fat.

But I'll be sweet and caring, of course. I'll bring you prenatal vitamins, something to make sure your milk comes in early and strong. I'll massage your bloated tits for you, kneading you until you're a leaking mess. My, from this close, you can really see how much they've grown. See, next to my perky little breasts? Weren't you about the same size, a little while back? God, they look heavy. Maybe I'll take your broad, brown nipples into my mouth, tasting you, like my lover did when they were small and pink and cute.

I'll love seeing you bigger every day. I'll caress you, give you the attention you can't get anywhere else. It's so hot, the way you're getting so fucking huge, stretch marks vivid on your heavy belly. Maybe I'll get you off, if you ask me nicely, reaching down under your swollen belly to soothe your fire. You miss this kind of touch? You wish you could still get attention from the one who knocked you up, the one who did this to you? Oh, baby, isn't that what you're getting from me?

I think that, even after it's over, even after you've seen me play every card in my hand... I could still talk you into it all over again. Am I right?

[ohbabydollie]

mutual breakup!schlatt witha pregnant reader 😋

he’d be so protective making sure she’s always safe and doing stuff for her

anddd he LOVES the way her body changes. he’s obsessed with her bigger boobs, stretch marks, her nipples leaking, her thighs getting thicker, ect

so real

makes you stay in his apartment once you hit your second trimester

he just wants to be around you 24/7 :(

feeding you your cravings, making sure you take your prenatal, you don’t get hurt, etc. under the excuse of “it’s my baby too!”

he’ll be feeding you any and everything you could want

mcdonald at 3:45 am? ofc! jack in the box is closed? he’ll set an alarm to be the first one there if you want it for breakfast

he wants to show you how much he’s willing to do for you and your future baby

if you want to move furniture around he does it for you

baby proofs the house a few months before the baby comes

not to mention the way he obsesses over your body since you started to show

traces your stretch marks

loves laying in your boobs, giving them small kisses

putting a hand on your tummy

giving your tummy kisses

watching the baby move and tracing small shapes on your belly

even after you give birth he’s doting and loving

he has about three months worth of content to post ready in advance so he can just be with you and the baby

he knows how hard postpartum can be on you and wants to be able to support you as much as he can

he gets up to feed the baby, change the baby, etc.

doesn’t want you to be stressed and is there for you throughout everything

if you need to vent he’ll be there for you

he knows it’s going to be hard especially in the first few years and absolutely insists on you moving in with him (if you haven’t already)

everyone is secretly betting on how long it’ll take the two of you to get back together

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

Could I request some hcs with Atsv Miguel x Milf Reader? Instead of (Dilf) him with Gabriella like the fic on ao3 what about a mommy or spider woman mommy reader with his child?

ugh ima go crazy with this one yall *barking* like miguel enjoys a domestic life

Miguel O'Hara x Milf!Reader Headcanons

Miguel is definitely overprotective of you during your pregnancy. He always calls or texts to check in on you and the baby, attends every ultrasound and asks a CRAZY amount of questions, and if you're about to run out of prenatal vitamins, he goes to the store to buy you two extra bottles.

He attends to every need. If you call him while he's patrolling the city for a hot dog or a cheeseburger with a jar of mayo, you bet your ass he's buying what you're craving.

He adores your round belly. Hands have to be constantly on it. Whether the two of you lay in bed or out in public, his hands are always on your belly.

By your side the entire time during your labor. Massages your aching hips as you go through contractions and supports you as the two of you walk around the hallways. He wipes away your tears and tells you how good you're doing. He holds your hand as you push, smiling once he hears the cries of his newborn baby.

A little girl, because come on, he's a girl dad.

Miguel first makes sure both his girls are good before going to get your burgers, because during your 47 hour labor (yeah it was long) you were only allowed ice chips and you were STARVING. So he got you two burgers and a large fry, because his wife just went through hours of grueling labor and needs to fill that belly up.

Loves your body before the birth and loves it after. Your belly is wrinkly and covered in stretch marks, love handles pudging out and thighs big. He noticed once the two of you got home that you were having a hard time with yourself, and listed off a number of reasons why he adores your body, which actually took thirty minutes and if you hadn't stopped him he would've kept going

Miguel is appreciative of you. Nine months of growing his baby inside of you and going through a long labor, making him a father. He loves you for your time and sacrifice and always make sure you know it. Whether its buying you flowers every two weeks or kissing you all over, telling you how much he loves you

He'll get up in the middle of the night whenever the baby cried or allowed you to sleep in. He does skin to skin contact with the baby, sitting in bed with the baby resting on his chest while checking updates on the multiverse on his watch.

The baby will make noises of distress and he'll smile, turning off his watch and holding his little girl in his hands. "What, mamas? What is it? Are you hungry? Or were you having a bad dream?" He'll rock her a bit before she settles down, and place a kiss on top of her head, breathing in that new born scent. "I'll always keep you safe, mija. You and mama are my world. I promise you, that with me, you will never have to worry."

Once the six weeks of healing are up, the two of you do wait an additional few weeks before having sex. Miguel didn't want to risk hurting you or getting pregnant again, considering you just had a baby. So when the baby was old enough to stay at your parents house for a night, the two of you threw yourselves at each other like wild animals.

Miguel went crazy with his mouth on your cunt, pushing your legs down to your chest, tongue swirling all over your wet folds before slithering into your hole. He focuses on your pleasure first before his own, because after all, you were the one who sacrificed your body. He was just the guy who nutted in you.

Loves wrapping his lips around your aching breasts and drink your milk, rubbing his condom covered cock against your pussy before sliding himself in, you digging your nails into his back as pleasure consumes your body.

"Yeah, that feel good?" he'll groan into your ear, his lips coated in golden nectar. He grinds his hips slowly into you, making sure not to hurt you. Until you begged him to move faster does he fuck into you, his arms on either side of your head, moaning into your ear.

After sex, he'll clean you up, dress the both of you in his t-shirts (his shirt fits on him snug but it's like a night gown on you). Miguel will hug you close, kissing your neck, saying, "You've made my life 100 times better, you know that, right?"

Miguel loves the little family he has and will anything to keep his family safe.

[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.

[dellalyra]

Hello! I saw that your requests are open so if I may can I request headcanons for Nanami and Gojo when reader is pregnant? Like some random moments as well as how they act during the whole thing from telling them about the pregnancy! Also congratulations on thsu milestone!

Thank you and have a good day/night <3

AGH YAY I LOVE THIS thank u so much for sending this in!!!!

CW: I guess a lil nsfw, f!Reader, soft as hell, suggestive themes

✭ Pixie’s 1.5k Follower Celebration - send in headcanon requests! ✭

✵ NANAMI ✵

✵ you and kento had definitely been planning for a child, and actively trying. He was actually the one to suggest a baby at first, you’d been married for 2 years and he had always wanted to be a father.

✵ 100% the kind of man who would have you both taking fertility vitamins to help encourage a healthy pregnancy.

✵ safe to say - babymaking was the highlight for you both. The thought of you having his child drove this man insane (nanami breeding kink go brrr) he was literally insatiable.

✵ He was actually the one to sense you were pregnant, you had been feeling under the weather for a day or two, not thinking much of it since you’d been trying for only 2 months and it was November. But, then Kento brought you both home some delicious ramen from a local market and the smell had you SPRINTING to the bathroom. When he was done holding back your hair, he opened the bathroom cabinet and pulled out a test.

✵ When the two very strong lines appeared you jumped into your husbands arms as he spun you in a circle, whispering sweet nothings.

✵ During your pregnancy, Kento would not let you lift a finger. He was on you with your prenatal vitamins, smoothies, foot rubs, every type of Lamaze class you could think of

✵ god the other women in the Lamaze class were just fawning over your husband, arm around your swollen waist, attentive to every moment you make (and those muscles under his well fitted sweater helped)

✵ he made sure to read to your baby every night, as well as rubbing lotion into your bump to help the stretching skin.

✵ builds the crib and nursery furniture himself (from scratch), and helps you paint and prepare.

✵ you both decide on Yuuji as godfather

✵ just so prepared to be a dad man, literally came pre assembled as a father.

✵ Gojo ✵

✵ k SO one of two situations, yay surprise baby or you guys had like an ‘if it happens it happens’ situation going on, no pressure or planning

✵ I think Satoru had been scared to be a father at first, but then he realised that love isn’t a curse, and the love you two have is so powerful it can create a whole other person, not even his six eyes can do that.

✵ there’s no need for a pregnancy test , you come home one day and he freezes - you had been gone when he woke up that morning, a mission an hour or two away but short and easy. You got back around noon, and giggle at your husbands surprised face.

✵“baby, it’s … it’s not just you. i can see them.”

✵“okay mr. I can see dead people what are you on about?”

✵ he just lays a big hand over your still-flat belly, and you gasp, realising what he means. He can see the tiny amount of cursed energy coming from your womb. A combination of his and yours makes for a powerful residual. The little dot pulsed along with what he presumed was the baby’s heart.

✵“are you serious? please don’t joke ‘Toru”

✵ “shush, you’ll wake up our baby.”

✵ you both drop to your knees and he wraps his big long arms around you

✵ “we’re having a baby ‘Toru.”

✵ he warps you both straight into shokos office and by your teary smile and Satoru’s beaming face she just says congrats and pulls out the ultrasound machine.

✵ you’re 6 weeks along, “hey lil’mochi, this is your momma, and I’m papa, but she calls me dadd-”

✵ SPOILS YOU

✵ immediately you both go to the shop, baby clothes, toys, plushies, a whole new family car.

✵ literally ridiculous

✵ plans the biggest baby shower, he’s just so happy

✵ a little scared he won’t be a good enough dad but you shut that down straight away

✵ any and all cravings are catered to

✵ gets even more handsy and insatiable during your pregnancy, just seeing you swollen with HIS child makes him fucking FERAL

✵ PARENTING BOOKS

✵ at night, sits and chats with your bump, head laying on your lap facing the bump, your hands in his hair, usually stories of how he met you, embarrassing little megumi, how he annoys Uncle Nanamin, how awesome he is

✵ has planned an entire emergency plan for you and the baby, it’s eased his mind. He didn’t tell you, just put precautions in place.

✵ draws faces on your bump

✵ helps you bathe and shower and washes your hair because ‘Mrs. Gojo deserves whatever she wants.’

✵ fights with the higher ups and threatens them so much that they give you both a years parental leave, more if needed. Scary man <3

✵ has lists as long as him of name ideas, does not shut up about all the things he wants to do

✵ constantly posting and sharing photos of ‘pretty mama’

[aleaqmcure]

Keep Yourself & Your Baby Healthy with Pregnancy Exercises for a Smooth Delivery

Aleaqmcure helps you with Pregnancy Exercises with Keep Yourself and Your Baby Healthy for a smooth Delivery.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Comet Donati [Chapter 8: Fool’s Gold]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (+18), drugs, alcohol, smoking, Aemond being very horny for one person in particular, mental health struggles, pregnancy, bodily injury, illness, death, a Targaryen family reunion, the tragedy of a hammerhead shark.

Selected Chapter Quote: “Do you love him?”

Word count: 9.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: ​​@doingfondue​ @catalina-howard​ @randomdragonfires​ @myspotofcraziness​ @arcielee​ @fan-goddess​ @talesofoldandnew​ @marvelescvpe​ @tinykryptonitewerewolf​ @mariahossain​ @chainsawsangel​ @darkenchantress​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ @gemini-mama​ @trifoliumviridi​ @herfantasyworldd​ @babyblue711​ @namelesslosers​ @thelittleswanao3​ @daenysx​ @moonlightfoxx​ @libroparaiso​ @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics​ @mizfortuna​ @florent1s​ @heimtathurs​ @bhanclegane​ @poohxlove​ @narwhal-swimmingintheocean​ @heavenly1927​ @mariahossain​ @echos-muses​ @padfooteyes​ @minttea07​ @queenofshinigamis​ @juliavilu1​ @amiraisgoingthruit​ @lauraneedstochill​ @wintrr13​ @r0segard3n​ @seabasscevans​ @tsujifreya​ @helaenaluvr​ @hiraethrhapsody​​

Only 2 chapters left! 💜

“I could love you for more than a day,” you tell Aegon, smiling, drowsy, sipping you blush-pink Salty Dog at the rooftop bar in Kansas City. It’s June, tornado season: a clashing of contradictory air currents, quintessentially American destruction.

“Yeah?” he says, daylight spilling out of his gaps under the night sky: the gleam of string lights reflected in his cobalt eyes, the white of his teeth, the eternal-summer warmth of his voice.

“Yeah. Not on this planet, maybe. But on another, very similar planet.”

He clinks his glass against yours; grains of salt pop off the rims and land on the table like snow, like infinitesimal diamonds, carbon shaped by pressure and time and deadly heat into something cherished. The wind tears through his nearly shoulder-length blond hair. “To other planets, and other lifetimes, and other dimensions where we are all the least-damaged versions of ourselves.”

“Aegon,” you say, and you wait until he’s done downing his Salty Dog and is looking at you again. “Someone’s inability to love you has nothing to do with your merit to receive it. It’s about them, it’s not about you. And that’s especially true when it comes to parents. If your father can’t be there for you in the way that he should, that’s his deficit, not yours. He’s the one missing pieces of himself. He’s the one who has failed. You can’t use his inadequacy to measure your worth. You should be proud of yourself for succeeding in spite of him. You should be proud of the person you are.”

He’s spinning his empty glass between his palms, amused, perhaps somewhat anxious; he is afraid of the answer. “And what kind of person am I?” He waits for one of those familiar soulless tropes to resurface, the disaster playboy, the hot loser, the paradoxically remiss eldest brother, the addict, the slut, the comic relief.

You say instead, somehow knowing that it’s true: “A good one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Takeoffs and landings, highways and streetlights, tarmacs that stretch into the hallways of five-star hotels. You order virgin drinks when no one else is around to hear you do it. You buy prenatal vitamins and stash them in an Advil bottle. You sneak off to see a doctor while Comet is in Boston; yes you’re pregnant, yes everything looks good so far, yes you need to stop eating sushi and lifting heavy luggage. You stay out of hot tubs. You try to dodge secondhand smoke. You follow the band from city to city like children hopping on couch cushions strewn across a floor they say is lava. And now: cold porcelain, too-bright lights, crumpled on the bathroom floor of your suite in the MGM Grand. Sin City, they call Las Vegas. Like it was made for you.

You hear the swipe of a keycard and approaching footsteps, clop clop clop. When he appears in the doorway, you moan and try shield your face with your hands. You finally got your splint off last week in San Diego. “Please go away. Please.”

Aegon doesn’t listen. He gapes at you, chomping noisily on cotton candy flavored Bubble Yum. You can smell it; the sickening sweetness twists through your guts. “Damn, Stargirl. You look terrible.”

“Thanks.” You retch unproductively into the toilet bowl; there’s nothing left in your stomach to rid yourself of.

He’s wearing khaki cargo shorts, a neon green tank top, and—eternally, faithfully—matching Crocs. “Is it food poisoning? I don’t remember you being fucked up last night.”

Not that he’d know; he spent most of it snorting lines with Cregan. You lower the toilet seat, cross your arms over it, and take a deep breath. “Okay. I’m going to tell you something. But you have to not panic.”

“Sure.”

“And you have to not get wasted and accidentally announce it to everyone either.”

“That was not me talking. That was the Icelandic beer. And we’re not in Iceland anymore, so, yeah. Problem solved.”

“I didn’t want to tell you,” you say weakly, haltingly. “Not yet. Not like this. But I need somebody to help me hide it.” Just like Cregan needed someone to tell about Iris. And he chose Aemond. “Baela’s working on her ballet school applications, and I can’t burden Rhaena with something like this, and…wait…one second…” You yank up the toilet seat and heave into the bowl until the wave of nausea passes.

Aegon rubs your back, gentle and sympathetic. “Would weed gummies help?”

“No, Aegon.”

“Percocet? Oxy? Valium? I know where to get heroin in Vegas, but I wouldn’t want you mixed up in something like that.”

You gaze pathetically at him. “I’m eight weeks pregnant.”

“Oh, fuck,” Aegon gasps.

“It’s Aemond’s.”

“Oh, fuck! How…? When…?!”

“Tokyo. Club Camelot. Just once. And then we never talked about it again.”

“Jesus Christ, you love a spontaneous bar bathroom hookup.” He blinks a few times, processing this revelation. “You don’t have to have it, you know. If you don’t want to. You have options. Maybe you wouldn’t back in Kansas, but—”

“Missouri,” you whimper, staring miserably down at your silvery reflection in the water.

“Whatever. But we could fly you anywhere. If you wanted to not be pregnant anymore. If you decided to…uh…serve it an eviction notice.”

“I’ve thought about that,” you say, but it’s not quite true; you thought about it as an option, but not one of your options. “I know, logically, that’s probably the reaction that makes the most sense. But it’s not what I want.”

“Okay.” And if he has an opinion one way or the other, he’s doing a very good job of not showing it. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to resign at the end of this leg of the tour, and then I’m going to go home to Kansas City to raise my fatherless, clandestine bastard child.”

Aegon raises his eyebrows, chaotic blond hair falling in his face.

“That came out weird,” you admit. “But it is essentially accurate.”

“You’re just going to leave? You’re going to do this alone?”

“My parents will help me. They’ll be kind of horrified at first, but…they’ve been through worse. They’ll come to terms with it. They’ve been begging for grandkids since I was eighteen.”

“But you can’t leave,” Aegon says. And his large, murky, deep blue eyes are glistening.

“I have to go home. I have to build a life for myself. I can’t follow Comet around the world indefinitely.”

“But…but…so you’re eight weeks right now, right? So you have, like, I don’t know, over six months until the baby is born? That’s forever, Stargirl! That’s half a year! You could come to the fall shows in South America, and then visit London over the holidays, and…and…I mean I don’t even know what’s next for Comet after that, but you sure as hell don’t have to leave right now—!”

“Aegon, I could have complications because of the blood clotting gene thing. I could have a stroke, I could have a miscarriage. I need to be going to doctor’s appointments and taking leisurely afternoon walks and, like, eating vegetables and grilled chicken, not flying to a new city every couple of days while surrounded by booze and cigarettes.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” He sighs and sits down cross-legged on the bathroom floor beside you, rubbing his face with his hands. He looks at you from between his fingers. “One of our last U.S. stops is in Kansas City. You want to get off the ride there?”

“I think that would be for the best.”

Aegon says suddenly: “Let’s get married.”

“What?” Your nausea is now secondary to your shock. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. I’ll give you healthcare and child support and whatever.”

“You genuinely think that me marrying a cokehead sex addict is the solution to this problem?”

“I’m not a sex addict. I’m a sex enthusiast.”

“Aegon, I’m not going to marry you.”

He is wounded, pouting, childlike. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want some arrangement. No matter how well-intentioned or generous it is.” I want real, constant, conventional love.

Now he smiles, faintly, sadly. “And you want a different Targaryen.”

You grab the can of ginger ale you left on the bathroom sink and sip it tentatively, averting your eyes, not answering him.

Aegon says: “Aemond doesn’t know?”

“No. He has no idea.”

“You have to tell him.”

“There is a zero percent chance of him taking this well.”

“You have to tell him,” Aegon insists, pointing to your belly, not showing yet but soon, soon, so soon. “If you’re keeping it, then that’s my family in there. You can’t just haul it off to the hellscape that is the American Midwest and push the rest of us out of its life. It can’t be a secret forever. Aemond would want to be involved. I want to be involved.”

“I’ll tell Aemond,” you promise. “But not yet. Not while I’m still on tour, not while I can’t get away from him if he…” You hesitate, not knowing what you are trying to say. Aegon waits. “He’s going to think I did it on purpose. That I was trying to use him or fix him or something. He’s going to hate me.”

“You can explain,” Aegon says, but doubtfully.

“Explain what? That I stopped taking the pill, but then forgot I’d stopped taking it, and then remembered right after we had unprotected sex that I initiated, whoops, oh and also Plan B apparently doesn’t fucking work?”

“His super sperm work, that’s for sure,” Aegon mutters. “Hope mine aren’t that energetic.”

“I’m a nobody,” you say. “And I have a lot to gain from this, even if that’s not how I see it. And Aemond…he’s so goddamn mistrustful. He’s so convinced that no one could want him or believe in him in a way that is pure. I’m afraid to tell him. I’m afraid he’s going to say things in the heat of the moment that I won’t be able to forget.” Like when he called me a slut. Like when he said he loves me.

“The getting pregnant thing sounds bad,” Aegon concedes. “And, yeah…he will most likely not react in an even vaguely sane way. Because he’s Aemond, and that clown from the It movies lives in his brain. But he’ll process it for a few weeks and then he’ll come to the right conclusion: that you wouldn’t deliberately do something to hurt him, and that he wants to be there for you and the kid. And I’ll vouch for you.”

You shake your head, your eyes faraway. “I wish I could wait to tell him until he’s in a better place emotionally. Until he has something…anything…to latch on to…a plan for what to do with his life…”

“Hey,” Aegon says. Gingerly, he turns your face towards his with one hand. His cheeks are splotchy with pink sunburn. He’s sweating out White Claws and Coppertone Sport. “I know you think you’re doing this alone, but you aren’t. I’m going to take care of you.”

You look at him with tears brimming in your eyes, hot, ashamed, blurring out your vision. “You’re so different than Aemond. You’re weightless and warm like daylight. You glow. But you do that for everyone, not just me. And I can’t count on you.”

“I love you,” Aegon says. “Not in a Jack and Rose on the Titanic way. In a different way. But I’m never going to forget about you, Stargirl. I get that I might disappear for a while, but I’m never going to not come back someday.”

You fold into him: softness, effortless proximity, cotton-candy-scented kisses smacked onto your temple, arms that circle protectively around your waist. “I love you too, Aegon.”

“Think you’ll be able to walk over with us to the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay? Criston got everyone tickets to feed the zebra shark.”

“When?”

“Um, soon. But I can buy you some time. I’ll text them that I’m busy FaceTiming Selena.”

“You’re a saint.” Patron saint of mayhem. You groan as you crawl out of his grasp and towards the shower. “I might be okay in thirty minutes. Let me try to start feeling human and wash my hair and stuff.”

“You want some help?”

You stare at him from where you are kneeling on the cold tile. “Really?”

“Yeah. You look…wobbly. You sit on the shower floor, I’ll wash your hair.”

“But I’ll be naked.”

He grins, holding up his hands in a blithe shrug. “I’ve seen it all before, Stargirl.”

“You’ll be naked too.”

“Don’t think you can tempt me into any unwholesome activities, you unwed knocked-up vixen.”

You laugh; it feels incredible. “I will gratefully accept your offer. I might not have a choice, actually. I don’t think I can keep my arms above my head for that long.”

Aegon stands, walks into the shower, starts reading bottles. “You want to smell like Japanese cherry blossoms or a coconut?” He pauses. “A fatherless clandestine bastard child conceived in Tokyo. Cherry blossoms it is.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A series of walkways connect the MGM Grand to the Mandalay Bay. Comet moseys through faux cobblestone streets in the New York-New York, complete with steam-wheezing manhole covers and operational storefronts of pizzerias, delis, bakeries, Irish pubs. The band narrowly avoids being trampled by droves of exuberant children—and you are looking at children more closely these days, watching how their parents corral them, noticing what makes them happy or sad or afraid—in the strobing, bleeping arcades of the castle-like Excalibur. In the Luxor, modeled after the pyramids of Ancient Egypt and featuring the largest atrium in the world, Criston begs everyone to pose for photos in front of sand-colored statues of sphinxes and pharaohs. “Smile big for your mom, Daeron!” Criston orders between pictures. Shelby, as always, is wearing her camera-ready, gloss-and-veneers grin. She’s also wearing a stunning floral-print maxi dress with a slit up to her thigh, looking glamorous and graceful and very not-pregnant. By the time Comet arrives in the sleek, golden, tastefully nautical corridors of the Mandalay Bay, you are exhausted and dangerously nauseous. You try your best to conceal it.

“Are you okay?” Baela asks. She is scrutinizing you as you stand in the shark tunnel of the aquarium, bathed in rippling sapphire-blue light. Overhead the captive ocean swims by: sea turtles, sawfish, Galapagos sharks, blacktip reef sharks, sand tiger sharks (hideous, in your humble opinion), stingrays, horseshoe crabs, a metallic rainbow of shimmering fish.

“Stargirl!” Aegon scolds mildly, ambling over to massage your shoulders. “I told you not to eat all those New York-New York corn dogs!” He shakes his head and smiles casually at Baela. “You can’t take these Midwestern girls anywhere. They see battered meat on a stick and lose all control.”

“How many did you eat?” Baela says, studying your sweated, queasy, generally unwell appearance.

“I don’t remember. I don’t want to talk about corn dogs right now.”

“You think it might be food poisoning?” Aemond asks. He has appeared in the shark tunnel with a plushie grey beast clutched in one hand. He’s lurking several yards away, but his forehead is creased with curiosity, with concern. His right eye flicks to where Aegon’s hands rest on your shoulders—disapproval? appraisal? fascination? envy?—and then back to your face.

“No, just gluttony.”

“It’s one of the seven deadly sins, you know.” Aegon counts on his fingers. “Gluttony, and pride, and lust, and…uh…uh…oh, right, greed…and uh…”

“What is this, Bible study?” Baela says.

“You’d know all about gluttony, you whale,” Jace tells Aegon.

Aegon shouts back: “I am like a whale, Jace! I am a rare and celebrated mammal!”

Jace mimes shooting Aegon with a harpoon. And then, when Cregan turns to glare at him, he grabs Baela’s hand. Jace’s face is at last fully healed and he has no interest in jeopardizing that. “Come on, baby. Let’s go see the Komodo dragons.”

“Don’t vomit on any sea creatures!” Baela chimes as they leave. Soon only you, Aemond, and Aegon are left in the shark tunnel. Rhaena and Luke are petting stingrays at the touch pool; Cregan, Daeron, and Criston depart to take their turns feeding the zebra shark. And Shelby is…actually, you’ve lost track of where Shelby is. Hopefully getting mauled by something.

“You should see a doctor,” Aemond tells you, stepping closer, although gradually, meanderingly, as if by happenstance. “You look…not great. You might need IV hydration or something.”

“Seriously, I’m okay. I’ll live.”

Shelby peeks irritably into the tunnel. “Honeybunch! Hurry! We have to take a selfie with this fish in the background so I can caption it I’ll love you inFINitely!”

“Will you give me two seconds, please?” Aemond snaps. She retreats with palpable unwillingness. Then Aemond offers you the plushie: a hammerhead shark, you see now. Aegon takes a few steps away from you both and pretends to be enthralled by a sawfish as it glides over the dome of the tunnel.

“What is this?!” you exclaim, delighted. Your nausea has momentarily abated.

“It’s your souvenir for Las Vegas. You can keep it right beside your sika deer from Japan. Hopefully they get along.”

“It’s so cute, Aemond! And very unexpected. Thank you.”

“No big deal,” he says. “I saw it and thought of you, that’s all.”

You pet the tiny hammerhead shark, downy and soft and grey like a storm cloud. “These were in the other tank, right?”

“Those were scalloped hammerheads,” Aemond corrects you. “This is a great hammerhead.”

“Wow. Pretentious.”

He laughs, a miraculously beautiful sound. And as you gaze at each other, painted in sapphire light and the shadows of fish, you remember everything about Aemond, the way he tasted, the sounds of his whispers and his moans, the indescribable fullness as he eased himself carefully into you. And you think: What would happen right now if there was no Shelby, no Aegon? Would he touch me? Would he kiss me? “There are actually no real-life great hammerheads in this aquarium. Not anymore. They don’t do well in captivity. One was flown here back in 2001 and she was on display for a while, but then she died unexpectedly a few years later.”

“She died?” You cradle the plushie shark in your arms. Suddenly, without warning, there are tears welling up in your eyes. You are distraught. You are consumed by irrational pregnancy hormones. “And she was the only shark of her kind here? So she didn’t have anyone who could understand her? She must have been so lonely.”

“Um, yeah, I guess. But sharks really don’t have emotions like people do, they’re mostly brainstem.”

“It’s still awful.” A tear slips down your cheek and falls onto the plushie shark before you can swipe it away.

Aemond is alarmed. “Are you…crying? About a shark that died like twenty years ago?”

“It’s sad, bruh,” Aegon sniffles, conjuring up some tears in his large, oceanic eyes. “The only one of her kind, bruh.”

“Honeybunch?” Shelby whines, appearing once again at the mouth of the tunnel. “Honey Bunches of Oats?”

Aemond sighs. “Yeah. On my way.” And he goes to meet her. A squall of giggling, bewitched children rush into the shark tunnel, pressing their eager little palms to the glass. Aegon’s manufactured tears have vanished and he is typing out a WhatsApp message to someone.

You think, picturing Shelby’s Vegas-themed fingernails skating across Aemond’s skin, flaunting parts of him while shunning others: I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Comet returns to their floor at the MGM Grand, there are three strangers waiting for them. Strangers to you, rather; not strangers to anybody else. Certainly not to Criston. The middle-aged woman—auburn hair, vast dark eyes, high cheekbones—rushes to throw her arms around him.

“Thank you for taking care of them,” she is saying, as Criston holds her and blushes a dark hectic pink. Then she turns her attention to Daeron and Aemond, touching their faces and their hair, asking if they are sleeping well, what they have been eating, what their favorite parts of the tour have been thus far. Aegon has not moved from your side. He fidgets awkwardly, shuffling in his Crocs, slurping on the Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino he bought from a Starbucks in the Excalibur. One of the strangers—a weathered older man in a grey suit, tall and vigilant like a wolfhound—examines him with a cool pale gaze. Aegon evades it.

The third stranger, oddly, comes directly to you. She is delicate, nimble, light eyes and hair like watercolors, soft and edgeless. She makes you think of birds: sweet songs, hollow bones. She takes your hands in hers and beams like she’s known you for years, like you are old friends. “You must be the one Aemond has told us so much about.”

Aemond? Me? You smile apologetically. “I think you mean Shelby. She’s over there.”

“Here I am!” Shelby waves from where she is parked determinately beside Aemond.

“No, I know who Shelby is,” the stranger says; and her dreamy, girlish voice is perfectly neutral. She might as well be making some throwaway comment about a squirrel in a tree, a fish in a koi pond. “I mean you. The girl made of stars.”

He talks about me? To people back home? Aemond turns away when you glance at him. Shelby is simmering. You tell the stranger: “That is very poetic. And flattering.”

“Stargirl, this is my sister Helaena,” Aegon says. Then he gestures to the others. “And that’s my mother Alicent, and the frightening bloke who looks like a mob boss is my grandfather Otto.”

“What on earth are you drinking?” Otto chides Aegon, wrinkling his dignified nose.

Aegon is stung, although he tries to hide it. “It’s a Double Chocolatey Chip Frappuccino. It’s delicious.”

“It’s a milkshake for adults. It’s diabetes in a cup. Put some effort into taking care of yourself for once, it’ll make you feel better.”

Aegon says flatly: “Yeah, I’m so glad you guys stopped by.”

“Are you here for the concerts?” Daeron asks, buoyant as usual.

Alicent looks to Criston; he smiles bashfully in return. “Well, Criston mentioned that you’d be in town, and your father just so happened to have a convention to attend here over some of the same days, so I figured…why not drop in and surprise my wonderful, accomplished, handsome sons?” Her prominent umber eyes drift to you. Helaena is still clasping your hands. “And their…friends.”

“Dad’s not around?” Aegon says cynically.

Alicent stalls. “Well…honey, you know how he is. He’s very, very busy. But he promised he’d try his best to make it to one of the shows.”

“You know, it’s strange. He never seems to be busy when Rhaenyra has her little art gallery openings.”

“So!” Alicent chirps, deflecting. “Criston said there was a pool. Is there a pool?” She pats the massive beach bag slung over her left shoulder. “We brought our swimsuits!”

The MGM Grand has an extensive pool complex featuring drink bars, multiple whirlpools, a waterfall, and a lazy river. Even in September—those last gasps of summer in the Northern Hemisphere—the temperature in Las Vegas hovers in the 90s. As you slather on sunscreen and nibble sparingly at an order of fries, Alicent and Helaena cannot disguise their interest in you. Alicent asks about your hometown, your family, your education, your time with Comet. She seems puzzled by your unmistakable fondness for Aegon, but otherwise smiles pleasantly and chuckles at your (carefully selected, intentionally tame) stories from the tour. Alicent strikes you as someone who is composed and warm on the surface but a jumble of frayed threads below; if you tugged on the right one, she’d unravel until all her seams split open and secrets poured out like dark water. Helaena doesn’t say much, and what she does say is strange, truthful but disjointed, like a line from a poem or a song; but she keeps touching you, a hand on your wrist or on your ankle or absentmindedly tracing the lines of your palm. From several chairs away, Shelby watches this with a toxic glower, for surely she as Aemond’s aspiring baby mama should be the beneficiary of his family’s attention. From behind his sunglasses, Aemond tries to act like he’s not staring as you spread sunscreen over your collarbones and chest and thighs.

“I’ve got drinks!” Aegon announces, appearing with a loaded tray. He weaves between chairs to deliver the beverages. “A pina colada for me…a strawberry daiquiri for Rhaena…a Twisted Pink for Luke…a margarita for Mom…no!” he barks at Daeron as the youngest Targaryen (for now, for the next approximately seven months) tries to grab a red slushie. “Not that one!”

Daeron is confounded. “But it’s a strawberry daiquiri. Isn’t that what I ordered?”

“Yeah, but that specific daiquiri is Stargirl’s.”

“What makes it different?”

“Extra whipped cream,” Aegon says without missing a beat. He passes it to you. Nonalcoholic is what it actually is: sweet and refreshing and without any bite whatsoever.

“Why are you being helpful?” Criston asks Aegon suspiciously, squinting, full of dread. “You’re never helpful.”

Aegon grins. “I’m just a helpful guy.”

“You’re freaking me out,” Criston says. “Cregan? I’m scared. What’s he up to?”

Placidly, sucking on a frozen hard lemonade through a hot pink straw with multiple loops, Cregan shrugs. Sunning themselves beside him are three Victoria’s Secret models. “Cregan?” Romee Strijd croons, reaching over to comb her fingers through his hair. “Could you rub more sunscreen on my back, please?”

Otto is stretched out on a pool chair and reading the Business section of the New York Times. Jace, Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron are gathering up their inner tubes and heading into the lazy river, a swift crystalline blue current that reminds you of Aemond’s clear right eye. Alicent gets up to go talk to Criston; they speak in low voices, less secretive than sacred, like each believes the other to be a relic necessitating great care. Shelby is now scrolling through her iPhone. Aemond is still watching you. The speakers are playing Somebody’s Heartbreak by Hunter Hayes.

“I was hoping you could fix me,” Helaena says suddenly.

You don’t understand. You think you must have misheard her. “What was that, Helaena?”

“Aemond says you fix people. That you’re a saint.”

“I’m certainly not a saint.” I’m just an unwed mother from Missouri. Who wears Cookie Monster pajama pants. “And even if I was, I don’t think anything about you needs fixing.”

“But I’m not normal.” And her eyes glisten with it: this knowledge that can’t be escaped, a lifetime of whispers and rumors and being hopelessly misunderstood.

“No, you’re not.” You won’t lie to her. What good would that do? What cure can come from dishonestly, even when spun from compassion? “But Freddie Mercury wasn’t normal. Neither was Jane Goodall. Einstein, Montessori, Dali, Tesla, da Vinci, Curie, Shelley, Newton, they were all extremely, undeniably not-normal. And guess what? Aegon’s not normal either. And neither is Aemond. And neither is anyone else in Comet. They might not be the same brand of not-normal as you, but I can guarantee you they are all bona fide freaks of nature. Because that’s what it takes to make something new, to leave a beautiful mark on the world. Being not-normal is painful sometimes. But that’s not a reflection on you. It’s an embodiment of how small-minded and cruel all those normal people can be. You don’t want to be like them. You’re above them, you can see things they can’t. You keep flying. Don’t worry about the dirt down here on Earth.”

And only now do you realize you have an audience, peering over with wide eyes: Alicent, Criston, Shelby, Aemond, Aegon, Cregan and the Victoria’s Secret models, Otto wearing the first smile you’ve ever seen from him. Helaena, calmed and content, goes to sit by him; he begins braiding a green ribbon into a lock of her hair.

“For the record,” Aegon says. “I am definitely dirt.”

You laugh as you gaze up at him, shielding your eyes form the sun. “No you aren’t. Not even close.”

He offers you a hand. “Ready to get in the lazy river?”

“Yeah, I think so…” You finish your daiquiri, climb off your chair, shed your black swimsuit coverup, and walk over to the pile of inner tubes that Criston collected for the band. You can feel Aemond’s eyes on you as your bare feet pad across the cement. He moves a towel over his swim trunks and then stares at the palm trees, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Honeybunch, let’s go in the water too,” Shelby says.

“Um. In a minute.”

The rushing current has brought Jace, Baela, Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron back around again. From his inner tube, Jace splashes you and Aegon as you approach the steps that descend into the lazy river. “Finally daring to enter my watery domain?! I’m the king down here. I’m Poseidon. But if you want to battle me for my throne, you’re welcome to try.”

“Don’t you start bumping people!” Aegon yells, jabbing his index finger at Jace. “You keep your little scrawny chicken limbs to yourself!”

“Aww, someone call Greenpeace, we’ve got a beached whale over here…”

“Careful,” Aegon says, grabbing your arm to stead you on the steps. “They’re slippery.”

And Aemond observes this, lighting one of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes and inhaling a deep breath of smoke, his face lined with scars of the past and furrows of worry for the future.

~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty-four hours later, the band is enjoying dinner down the strip at the Wynn’s buffet: eccentric modern art and elaborate fruit sculptures, prime rib and crepes made to order, gelato and pasta, sushi you can’t eat. Alicent, Helaena, and Otto are here with Comet. So are the Victoria’s Secret models. So is Selena Gomez. She sits next to Aegon, teaching him the Spanish words for various foods and giggling as he butchers them. When Justin Bieber’s Sorry comes on the speakers, she rolls her eyes and stabs aggressively at her shrimp.

You were violently ill until 3 p.m. and then mercifully improved. Upon arriving at the buffet, you caught a whiff of the Alaskan king crab legs and were at once ravenous for them. You demolish plate after plate, sucking hunks of meat out of cracked shells, licking up dribbles of drawn butter from your fingers and wrists. Aemond—relegated mostly to fresh fruit, chunks of bread, and a vegan ratatouille—ogles while trying very hard to act like he’s not. Jace pulls one-dollar bills out of his wallet and throws them at you.

“You could have an OnlyFans,” Baela says. “Forget a real job. Make millions splattering yourself in crabmeat and butter for sad horny men. You could do a whole series…shucking oysters…dismantling lobsters…”

You imagine your child in kindergarten: So where does your mommy work? She stays home and films herself eating seafood in her underwear. “I don’t think I have the disposition for a celebrity lifestyle. You know I’m always hiding from the paparazzi.”

Alicent chuckles as she takes a bite of her roasted quail. “Yes, I remember the photos! Always tucked behind Cregan or Aegon. Except those times when you were walking with Aemond. That was so sweet of you, encouraging him like that. I’m sure it meant the world to him. Ever since…well, you know…it’s a more stressful experience for him now.”

Aemond, self-conscious, busies himself with stirring his ratatouille. “It was really my pleasure,” you tell Alicent.

“Pleasure, huh?” Jace teases, wiggling his eyebrows.

Baela asks you once again if you’ll ride the New York-New York rollercoaster with her tonight. You pretend to be terrified of rollercoasters. She counters that you definitely rode rollercoasters at Grona Lund when the band was in Stockholm. You try to gaslight her into thinking she has misremembered this. Aegon jumps in with (doubtlessly fabricated) statistics about how many people are killed in rollercoaster accidents.

“Really?” Baela says. “Five million people die on rollercoasters every year?”

Aegon knows he’s made a fatal error, but he is committed. “Yup.”

“You’re telling me that more people are killed by rollercoasters than live in the entire state of Oregon? And no one has addressed this problem? This epidemic of amusement park calamities?”

Aegon shakes his head spiritedly. “Nope.”

Now Shelby is saying something to Alicent at the other end of the long table. You don’t listen too closely, because you’re in the habit of mentally muting her. Still, you can’t help but catch snippets. It’s about the importance of public figures being good role models. “…So it’s probably for the best that she’s not interested. Young girls are very impressionable, you know.”

“Oh?” Alicent is replying, polite but noncommittal, perplexed. Criston brings her a miniature creme brulee from the buffet’s sprawling dessert section.

“Don’t you agree?” Shelby asks you, and the table goes quiet. She smiles sweetly, innocently, all beachy waves and highlighter sheen.

You lower your crab leg. “What exactly am I agreeing with?”

“That people who accept the responsibility to be in the spotlight should be the sort of role models that the youth can look up to.”

“Um, not really, no. I think a popstar’s job is to be a popstar, not to impersonate Mother Teresa or stop global warming or anything. They’re not running for president. But I mean, yeah, I guess they shouldn’t be murderers, so I agree like 1%.”

Aemond glances over at where Shelby sits beside him, not knowing what she’s up to, not especially invested. She sniffs, a dismissive, haughty little sound, like can you believe how uncivilized this bitch is? “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter since you aren’t planning to pursue fame anyway.”

“Lovely Shelby,” Jace says, taunting her. “Are you implying that our supernaturally poised and responsible Stargirl would set some sort of nefarious example for the little girls of planet Earth?”

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Now Shelby is staring fixedly at you, cold like deep water.

You glare back defiantly. She couldn’t possibly have found out about the baby. Aegon would never have told her, and no one else knows. “Because…?”

“Because of what happened when you were in high school.”

Nothing changes for almost anyone else at the table, but it does for you: your mind goes blank, your skin goes cold, your stomach lurches, you are fifteen all over again. It’s not the fear that anyone in Comet would think less of you for it; you don’t think they would. Alicent might, Otto almost certainly, Cregan’s flock of models could carry the gossip anywhere—and surely this is Shelby’s design—but Comet would not condemn you. No, what paralyzes and disgusts you, what empties your veins and fills them with ice, is the truth that you are not the one choosing if and how to tell them, you are once again powerless and exposed, you are the curves and hollows of bare flesh they’re reading like a newspaper headline.

How…? Aemond…? But no: he looks just as horrified as you do, this is the last thing he expected, he didn’t think she knew, his eyes fly to yours and stay there, frenetic blue emotions but no words.

The others peer around the table. Aegon is frowning at Shelby, but he doesn’t know what she means, he doesn’t know how to help…because you’ve never told him. “What about high school…?” Luke says uncertainly.

“It’s not difficult to find,” Shelby tells you. “All someone has to do is Google your name and Kansas City, then comb back through a few pages. There are old Tweets and Facebook posts about it. Pictures, even, if you search long enough. Can you imagine how parents would feel about their daughters’ favorite boy band associating with someone like that? Popularizing that sort of behavior? It’s unacceptable. It destroys innocence.”

Your hands are shivering violently. You take one deep, shaky breath. “Actually, what happened was—”

Aemond lunges to his feet. “Don’t,” he commands you, holding up a hand. Then he turns to Shelby. His voice is deeper than you’ve ever heard it, stormy, cutting, wrathful. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Aemond!” Alicent gasps.

Shelby blinks up at him. She is bewildered; she has miscalculated. She had no idea he knew. Her eyes dart from Aemond to you.

“No, don’t you dare look at her,” Aemond seethes. “You don’t look at her. You look at me.”

It takes effort, but Shelby manages to comply. She gawks at him, dismayed, flinching away from his rage, his scar, his sightless left eye like the lethal atmosphere of Neptune. She cannot hide how she truly sees him, how she will always see him. As something broken, pitiful, less.

“What the hell does she have to be ashamed of?” Aemond asks Shelby. “She doesn’t use people. She doesn’t sell false versions of herself. She is kind, and wise, and forgiving, and beloved. And what are you? A professional liar. A manipulator, a snake. Someone who knows how to pity but not how to cure.”

“Aemond—”

“Stand up.”

Shelby is petrified, shellshocked. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to put you in an Uber, and it will take you to the airport, and I honestly don’t care where you go from there. But you can’t stay in Vegas. And I never want to see you again.”

“Aemond, please!” Shelby cries. She still hasn’t moved from her chair. There are tears flooding down her cheeks: despair, defeat. You could almost feel sorry for her. Almost.

“And if you fight me,” Aemond says. “Or if I hear a whisper of you trying to disparage anybody at this table, I will end you, Shelby. Every app you use to edit your photos, every so-called friend you’ve worked to sabotage, every sponsorship you haven’t disclosed, I’ll expose all of it. I’d call up the fucking Rolling Stone if they cared enough about you to publish it. I will end you. Now stand up.”

Trembling, sobbing, this time Shelby obeys. Aemond and a flock of security guards—two of Shelby’s, two of Comet’s—escort her out of the buffet. He is only gone for a minute or two; the table is silent except for slurps of drinks and the occasional squealing of silverware against plates. When Aemond returns, he immediately goes to you. He rests a hand on your shoulder—gently, protectively, the same way Criston does—and murmurs so no one else can hear. He is so close the air you breathe is filled with him: smoke, cologne, dissipating fury.

“I am so sorry. I had no idea she would do that. I don’t think she’ll speak of it again. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” you reply in a stunned little squeak.

“Good.” Then he looks fiercely around the table, pausing to lock eyes with every single person. His meaning is clear. You will not ask questions. You will forget this happened. He sits back down beside Shelby’s vacated seat and pops a red grape into his mouth.

“Damn, Stargirl,” Jace says after a moment. “So you’re a serial killer.”

Everyone laughs, and the nightmare is over. It breaks open like dropped glass. “Don’t worry. I only murder obnoxious, curly-haired brunettes.”

He winks as he licks chocolate mousse from his spoon. “I wouldn’t mind being added to your body count.”

“Shut up,” Baela groans. “Shut up, shut up…!”

You excuse yourself. You walk out of the buffet. The Wynn has a gorgeous hallway that passes through a garden of whimsical ornaments, flowers, trees, and string lights. Too suddenly for you to change course, you realize what’s going to happen; you stumble into the greenery and vomit five plates’ worth of Alaskan king crab onto a Ficus tree.

“Need a napkin?” Aegon asks; he has followed you. “I don’t actually have one. But I could take my shirt off and give you that.”

Still hunched over and spitting, you shake your head. “No, I’m okay. I’ll use a leaf.” You don’t make eye contact with him. You don’t want to invite unwelcome questions.

“Relax,” Aegon says, rubbing your back. “I’m not going to ask.”

You are relived but skeptical. “You’re not curious?”

“I figure if it was something you wanted me to know about, you would have already told me.” He smirks. “I do think it’s interesting that Aemond knows something about you I don’t.”

“He gets one secret, you get another. You’re even.” You thought you were done. False alarm. You resume vomiting on the Ficus tree.

“Goddamn, that is disgusting. You want a Percocet or something?”

“I think that would be less than ideal for the baby.”

“Oh. Right.” He considers you with great sympathy. “A lot of discomfort over something that’s the size of what, a chicken nugget?”

“Yeah, probably.” You rip a leaf off the tree, wipe your lips, trudge back to the buffet bathroom to sanitize yourself as best you can.

When Comet’s fleet of Escalades arrives back at the MGM Grand, you loiter in the lobby hoping for Criston to appear. You shoo away the band when they try to wait for you, and once Aegon catches on he ensures that they file into the elevators and zoom up to their floor. You need a minute alone with Criston. You need to arrange your imminent departure from the tour. Criston, oddly, does not come inside. You give him five minutes and then head back out into the arid Vegas heat, dry, ancient, barren. One of the Escalades is still idling in front of the hotel. You open the door. Criston and Alicent are in the back seat: he’s on top of her, her legs and arms curled around him like ivy, the hem of her chic mom-appropriate sundress pulled up to her waist, her lips famished and moaning against his.

You scream, they scream, you slam the Escalade door shut. Seconds later, Criston bursts out of it. He is wearing only his hastily pulled on boxers and a half-unbuttoned white shirt.

“I’m sorry!” you blubber. “I, uh, I didn’t see anything! Um, I mean, I didn’t see that much—”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Criston pleads.

“I definitely will not.”

“Her husband…he’s…he’s not a great guy, you know? And Alicent, she’s…she’s so…she’s so incredible but so sad, she’s been through hell this past year, and after Aemond was hurt we…uh…well we spent a lot of time in hospital rooms together…and I just love her hair and her eyes, and her devotion to her family, and the way she smells…”

“I really, really, really do not feel entitled to nor desire the details that you’re sharing with me right now.”

“Okay.” Criston tugs at the collar of his shirt, catching his breath. “What were you doing out here anyway?”

“I have to talk to you about something, but it can wait.”

“You’ve already interrupted us at this point. Just go ahead.”

“Alright. Well. I’m leaving Comet.”

“No!” he cries, distressed. “Really? Why?! Is it something Jace did? What did Jace do? Because I can let Cregan know and he’ll—”

“No no no, nothing like that. It’s just time for me to go figure out my own life now.” Time for me to find a permanent job, have my baby, re-traumatize my parents, the whole American Dream thing.

Criston sighs. “I was hoping you’d stay on through the South America dates.”

“I can’t, Criston. I appreciate all that you’ve done for me and how welcoming everyone has been, this has been a fantastic experience…um, overall…but I really do have to go home now. Can we fill out the paperwork and make the Kansas City shows my last stop with Comet?”

He nods reluctantly. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get it taken care of. We can do signatures in a few days.”

“Aegon is the only other person who knows I’m leaving. I don’t want anyone else told yet.”

“Got it. You keep my secret, I’ll keep yours.”

These secrets are multiplying, you think as you enter the MGM Grand and Criston climbs back into the Escalade. Like cells, like storm clouds. Upstairs in Comet’s hallway, Selena Gomez is in a war with the vending machine; it has snagged her Starbursts and refuses to release them. You don’t offer to help her shake the machine—heavy lifting, not good for the littlest Targaryen—but you do use your flip flop to reach up inside the machine and knock the Starbursts loose.

“You’re the best!” Selena high-fives you. “Aegon tells me you’re a really talented therapist.”

“Oh no, no way, not yet. I mean I’m really new at it and I don’t have a lot of confidence in my abilities but I am learning a lot and maybe one day—”

“The work you do is very important,” Selena says; and she seems to mean it. She is so beautiful in a vulnerable, benign way. It is difficult to not be starstruck.

“Thank you,” you manage.

“Watch out for him,” she says quietly, discretely. “Anytime his parents visit, he’s a little extra fucked up for a while.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She smiles, lays a palm briefly against your cheek, floats down the hallway and is gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

On their last night in Las Vegas, Comet adds a cover to their usual lineup of songs: Animal by Neon Trees. It was Luke’s idea, which means it was probably Aemond’s. Aemond wanders the lofty catwalks and shadowy hallways making his notes, his comments, his white amendments on night-black paper, stars freckled across the void. Alicent, Helaena, and Otto join you, Selena, Baela, Rhaena, and the Victoria’s Secret models in the front row. Otto dances with Helaena, spinning and laughing; Alicent cheers for Daeron and watches for glimpses of Criston as he studies the performance from just off-stage. Aegon fumbles no less than five lyrics. Cregan has come up with this new trick where he can remove his boxers on-stage while keeping his pants on. He gifts the aforementioned boxers to a group of soccer moms who in the commotion rip them to tiny, sweaty, treasured shreds.

After the show, Alicent, Helaena, and Otto catch a flight back to London; Selena takes a limo to Los Angeles. Jace’s suite at the MGM Grand, per tradition, is soon engulfed in voices and music and smoke and amply flowing alcohol. Criston is chatting with Aemond, who has a Bramble in one hand and a smoldering cigarette in the other. Cregan and the Victoria’s Secret models are playing Jenga with Luke and Rhaena. In Baela’s absence—she’s working out in the hotel gym—Jace is consoling himself with plentiful Vespers and some barely-legal fangirls; he is introducing his tattoos to them one by one. Daeron is toasting Yuenglings with friends at the bar. And Aegon is like he always is: here, then gone, then here again, and finally gone, like a comet, like a tornado that touches down without warning and vanishes just as quickly. You lose track of him. It’s not your fault. He comes and goes like an act of God.

In the hallway, several suite doors are open, including Aemond’s. You slip inside; no need to watch out for Shelby anymore. You find his notebook on his nightstand—the same place you keep your souvenirs in your own bedroom—and you engage in your least-honorable hobby. You’ve been sneaking looks at his lyrics since Paris. You open the notebook and rifle through onyx pages to the most recent, starlight-hued entry:

I was closest to the sun, like Icarus, swimming in your light

You are the only person I’d let melt my wings

Worry a line into your face, I think about it for days

Don’t talk to me about what the end of summer brings

“He’d kill you if he saw that,” Luke says from the doorway, grinning. “Well, he probably wouldn’t kill you. But he would not be thrilled.”

You snap the notebook shut and place it back on the nightstand. “Please don’t tell him. I am but a humble fangirl.”

“I won’t tell him. But you should ask permission.”

“I don’t think he would give it to me anymore.”

Luke is gazing at the notebook now, his face distant. “It’s screwed up, right? I only got into Comet because of Aemond. He fought for me and he won. But when he was the one who needed help, I couldn’t do the same.”

“Luke…” You open your hands: sorrow, futility. “You must be the least blameworthy person in this whole goddamn mess. You tried to fight for Aemond when no one else would. You make him feel valued. Every single day I watch you remind him of his place here in Comet. You’re the only person who does that.”

“I can’t do this without him,” Luke says softly, fearfully. “I don’t know how to write a song without his advice. I don’t know how to end a show without being able to ask him what I did right or wrong.”

“I think you’re more capable than you believe you are.”

Luke is troubled. “Am I hurting him by wanting him to stay?”

You contemplate this for a while before you choose your words. “In my opinion, Aemond needs to know that his contributions to Comet were real and they he will always be welcome here. But he also needs to find a new purpose. He’s a guest in the band. He’s not a part of it anymore. He can’t go back to who he was before the accident, he’s learned too much about how people treated him when he was hurt. Even if he got up on stage again for a farewell performance—which I think would be beneficial for him—he’s never going to be a full-time popstar again. He needs something else. I don’t know what that thing is, but he needs to be free to find it.”

“I understand,” Luke says. He’s quiet, mulling it over. And then, brightly: “Want to play Jenga with us? Cregan is so bad at it. Or he’s letting us win, I’m not sure which.”

“That’s super sweet, but I think I’m going to go lay down. Maybe take a half-hour nap and then see who’s still conscious for me to hang out with.”

“Are you okay?” Luke asks abruptly.

“What? Yeah, of course, I’m just exhausted. I think the tour is wearing on me.”

“You haven’t looked good for a few weeks now,” Luke says. “I don’t mean that in a rude way. You just seem sad or sick or something. Or both.”

You give him your best reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Luke. I promise.”

He smiles back. “Good. Enjoy your nap!”

“Enjoy your Jenga!”

You drag yourself back to your suite, a human-shaped pile of concrete and lead. What had Aegon said? A lot of discomfort over something that’s the size of what, a chicken nugget?

“We’ll be back in Kansas City in a few weeks,” you whisper as you collapse onto the bed, one hand resting on your not-showing-but-soon belly. And as your eyes drift shut, you realize how good home sounds, better than it ever has before. Is that nesting? Is that just getting older? You don’t want to leave Comet. But you do want your real life to begin.

You are nearly asleep when you hear him come in: the swipe of a keycard, the clopping of Crocs, a clumsy dive onto the bed that rocks the whole mattress.

“Hey,” you say, eyes still closed.

Aegon doesn’t answer. You sit up and look at him: sprawled face-down, hair in disarray, sunshine yellow Crocs still on his feet.

“Aegon?”

He doesn’t reply, doesn’t move. You reach out to shove him. His eyes are closed; he is limp. He’s not breathing.

“Aegon?!” you shriek, shaking him, hitting him. There’s no part of him that is glowing now. The sun has set, but the moon is full: his skin is silvery-white and bloodless. You’re screaming for anyone who will hear you.

Cregan is the first to arrive; he was out in the hallway leading all three of the Victoria’s Secret models back to his suite. And then it all happens very quickly. Cregan is dialing 911, Aemond is dragging Aegon off the bed and onto the floor, Criston sprints to get something from his room and returns with two small white devices that he’s ripping out of their packaging. Aegon’s skin is turning blue. Criston feels for a pulse, doesn’t find it. He’s telling Cregan what to relay to the 911 dispatcher: no breathing, no heartbeat, Narcan being administered. Criston cradles Aegon’s head and tilts it backwards so he can dose him with the nasal spray. Then Criston looks at his wristwatch and begins chest compressions. You are pinned by shock and horror to the wall. You can hear people out in the hallway, voices and footsteps, clamoring and rumors.

There is Jace’s frantic voice: “Is he okay?!” Cregan pushes him back outside.

“Come on, Aegon,” Aemond is saying, patiently but firmly, slapping at his brother’s face, pinching his cheeks. No blood rushes in to darken the battered flesh. “We’re all here. We’re all waiting for you. Come on back.”

“One minute,” Criston notes as he glances at his watch. Forever, it feels like.

“I’d give him another,” Aemond says.

“Second dose of Narcan,” Criston tells Cregan as he stops compressions and administers another round. And that does it: Aegon gasps, jolts, comes alive again. His skin transforms from blue to white to pink. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Criston hisses, and buries his face in his hands, trembling with relief and adrenalin. Cregan is informing the 911 dispatcher that the patient is back from the dead.

Aemond lifts his brother so he’s sitting upright and holds him, smoothing back his hair, murmuring to him words too hushed to understand. Aegon says, dazed: “Did I do it again?”

“Yeah. Yeah you did. But you’re back now.”

“I’m sorry, Aemond.”

“Stop—”

“I’m so sorry. I should have been at soundcheck.”

“Stop, Aegon. It’s over, it’s done. None of us knew what would happen.”

There are glittering, glass-like tears on Aegon’s face. His voice is choked and heavy, so heavy. “I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now.”

“One of these times you should just let me die.”

“But then who would torment Father? I don’t have nearly as much talent for it.”

Now they are both laughing, and you see that Aemond has a few tears of his own: only from his right eye, only from the one that fate spared.

Criston says, almost apologetically: “Aegon, we have to take you to the hospital to get checked out.”

Aegon sighs. “Yeah, I know. I remember how it goes.” Aemond and Criston help him to his feet. He can’t walk on his own; they half-carry him out into the hallway where EMS is just arriving. And once Aegon is on the stretcher and being ferried away—with great fanfare, everyone gathered in the corridor to wave him off—Aemond comes back for you.

Together you ride in one of the Escalades to the hospital and stand outside the transparent windows of the room while a lethargic, irritable Aegon is hooked up to machines and Criston talks to the doctors and nurses, vigorously reprimands him, makes a phone call to Alicent so she hears it before TMZ can report the story.

“I haven’t helped him at all,” you say to Aemond. “Not last June. Not now. Never.”

“That’s not true. You don’t know where he started.” He watches you, this man who sees so much and yet so little, who maybe loves you but sometimes hates you and is the father of a soon-to-be child that you already feel you know. “Do you love him?”

“Yes. But not in the way you mean. I would kill for Aegon, but I’d never marry him.”

Aemond chuckles, like this is a ludicrous combination of words. “Has he asked?” And then when he sees your face, too exhausted and woeful to censor itself, his jaw drops open.

“He wasn’t serious.”

“A strange thing to joke about.”

“Not for us.” It would be strange if Aemond joked about it. Because I could actually see myself marrying him. Not in another world, in this one, if only the stars aligned just right.

“Look, I think I have to apologize,” Aemond says. “Because I might have…misinterpreted things. The way you make me feel is…I can’t describe it, you know? It’s like, light, and warmth, and music, and I made the mistake of thinking that was only for me. But you do that for everyone, right? It’s not just for me. It’s never been just for me. And you’ve been so goddamn gracious. You’ve never asked me for anything. You’ve never put yourself in a position to use or take from me. You knew what I needed and you tried to give it to me. So thank you. I know I said that I understood you better in Reykjavik, and I was wrong then. But I understand you now. You help people. You heal people.”

You turn to him, startled. “You aren’t like everyone else. That’s not how I think of you.”

He is intrigued, perhaps hopeful, perhaps too afraid to hope. Pity is familiar. Love would be something else. “No?”

“No.” Truths, like birds with clipped wings, struggle in vain to take flight. “I have to confess something.”

“Go on then.”

I want you. I love you. I want to have this child with you. But I’m so fucking scared that you won’t be able to handle it. And at last, cowardice: “I’ve been reading your lyrics.”

He smiles. “That’s fair, I guess. Everything I’ve written since June has been about you anyway.”

Criston emerges from Aegon’s room. His dark hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead; his eyes are damn near vacant. He looks like he’s aged ten years in the past hour. “He wants to talk to you,” Criston tells you. “I don’t think he’ll be awake in five more minutes, and he might not remember any of it anyway. But he is insistent.”

“He usually is,” you say, and go in.

Aegon is dressed in a pale blue hospital gown, no neon. His feet are bare; you can tell because one of them is sticking out from under the blankets. His hair is slicked back from his face. He is afflicted with a slew of twisted wires and beeping monitors. But he is still Aegon: beautiful, bright, generally harmless to anyone except himself. He blinks blearily up at you. “No one has ever loved me, and it’s because I don’t deserve it.”

“Millions of people love you, Aegon. I love you.”

“For more than a day?”

“For all of them.”

He grins, then presses his right palm to his chest. “Starboy,” he says. Then he points at you. “Stargirl.” His gaze drops to your belly. “Starbaby,” he declares at last. “Not my Starbaby. But a Starbaby nonetheless.”

“You can’t leave me,” you say softly, tears falling down onto his blankets. “I can’t do this without you. Not just the tour. Everything. I can’t live in a world without you in it. You can’t leave Comet. You can’t leave me.”

And Aegon murmurs, petulant like a child as he drowns in sleep: “You’re leaving me first.”

[mychlapci]

Home birth obsessed Drift but Ratchet's the one carrying.

Drift tries so hard to sell Ratchet on having their sparkling in their habsuite. Explaining to him the greater spiritual connection they would have to their little gift from Primus would be like talking to a wall, but if Drift could spin it that not only is home birth a very well documented practice, it would give Ratchet far more control of any possible complications, it could turn his hard no into a solid maybe. Drift is very eager to talk his conjunx into having their baby in bed, not as much for any spiritual reasons, but because he wants to enjoy watching Ratchet's valve stretch open uninterrupted and unjudged by anyone else.

When Ratchet seems mostly on board, Drift starts to make moves. He didn't imagine he could talk Ratchet into another home delivery, so he'd have to get everything he wanted out of this one. It would be so easy for Drift to pull rank as third in command and get Ratchet on carrier leave earlier than he needs to be. If he looks at Rodimus all sad and tells his amica he's worried about Ratchet, telling Rodimus how Ratchet is so exhausted and in pain so early in his carrying cycle, he knew the captain would buy it. Ratchet wouldn't even be able to fight it, if he did Rodimus would only think the medic is being defensive so he can keep overworking himself. It was the perfect little white lie from Drift to keep his conjunx inside and cozy, all for him.

Keeping Ratchet cooped up in their habsuite off duty and bored out of his helm, Drift would make sure to leave entertainment behind for his sweet conjunx. Plenty of snacks for their growing sparkling and data pads full of information about home delivery. Drift never intended to fully hypnotize his husband, but if the data pads made Ratchet a little more open to suggestion, maybe it wasn't the worst thing in the world. Ratchet's snacks were a courtesy of his fellow medics. Drift had given them his sob story about Ratchet having a hard time carrying, and just happened to mention Ratchet "telling him" how he was worried about producing enough energon for their sparkling. Ratchet's snacks that he had grown very fond of had all the supplements a carrier needed to have a healthy and safe carriage, something only Drift and Ratchet's well meaning coworkers knew.

By the time Ratchet was slightly over halfway through carrying, he looked ready to pop. His windshield had been entirely removed by that point, after an incident where the glass cracked overnight from his growing breasts, leaving him exposed at all times in the hab. He couldn't see his pedes anymore over his belly, he really couldn't remember the last time he could. His head felt so fuzzy nowadays, and the only thing that would clear his mind was his data pads and when his loving conjunx would spike him into their berth. It was an unexpected side effect Drift was happy to take advantage of, his prenatal supplements he had been feeding Ratchet had increased the medic's libido tenfold. His party ambulance was desperate for transfluid every waking minute, and the speedster was happy to offer it.

Emergence had finally come, and Ratchet was shockingly calm and collected. His data pads had made him very relaxed about his oncoming birth, and while he still felt a little fuzzy, he could rely on not just his own medical skills, but his conjunx who was incredibly excited to help. Ratchet whined and squirmed when he felt Drift licking his leaking valve open, feeling his calipers cycling and expanding in preparation for what was to come. Drift was less in control of himself than Ratchet was, if the medic could see him past his pregnant belly he would say he looked restrained. While Drift was dripping in his panels watching his conjunx's valve open wide, it was important to him that his lover was safe and well cared for too. Ratchet would gasp and cry, but not scream as their chunky sparkling moved down his valve. Drift sat between Ratchet's legs, leaning into the puddle of fluids gathered in their berth to get a good look at that twitching wet valve. Once the sparkling was crowing, Ratchet would finally let out a loud pained noise. The sparkling had taken after Drift in the way of having pointy finials. Drift would squeeze his fingers into Ratchet's valve besides their little one's helm, pushing it back up Ratchet's valve to be readjusted. If Drift was reaching deeper than he needed to in his partner's wrecked valve, he didn't need to know about it, besides who could blame Drift when it made Ratchet let out such sweet noises.

Their sparkling was finally delivered after Drift had had enough lightly tormenting his partner. Ratchet held his dear little sparkling to his leaking nozzles and pet their sharp helm while the big chubby bitlet drank away. It was all Drift had wanted in every way, a perfect little family and a warm, intimate moment. Maybe it was because he was half awake after all the strain, or thinking about his data pads, but Ratchet really liked the idea of making another sparkling right there and then. Drift was so caught up in the moment, who was he to deny his perfect carrier?

oughh.. it's always fun when Drift is a little obsessive. He just wants to watch Ratchet give birth so badly, he can't stand the thought of a doctor obscuring his view. He needs to be there, between Ratchet's thighs, massaging his valve as Ratchet pushes with each contraction.

It's a very big bitlet. All those supplements, consistent transfluid donations and frequent fueling have led to the baby getting chucky and fat inside of Ratchet, swelling out his belly so far out that he couldn't sit without reclining back to make room for it. Ratchet was happy, though, pumped so full of hormones he was constantly fuzzy and horny, and Drift is more than happy to fuck his pregnant valve into labour when the time came for it <3

I can definitely imagine Drift savouring the sight of their baby crowning. Ratchet's valve opens so wide, it almost looks like he'll break, and then the head finally slips out... Drift's spike almost pops out. He tugs the sparkling out of Ratchet gently, handing him their chunky little miracle so it can feed on its mommy's milk.

Ratchet is so lost in it that he starts to grind back against Drift telling him to put another baby in him now. He wants it so badly, how can Drift deny him? mhmm Ratchet spends a long time pregnant... he has a full belly while his first sparkling is still nursing, ready to birth a second one right into Drift's waiting hands <33

[mamaestapa]

That’s Our Baby

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•series summary: Y/n Hubbard, the younger sister of Cincinnati Bengals Defensive End Sam Hubbard, finds herself in a difficult situation after a steamy hookup with her brothers best friend, who just so happens to be the quarterback for the Bengals. In just nine months their lives will be changed forever. How will Y/n and Joe manage to to go through parenthood together? more so, how will Sam take the news he is going to be the uncle of his best friends baby?

•chapter summary: You have your first ultrasound and you share some sweet moments with Joe. As the day ends you make plans to tell your friends (and brother) about the baby

•word count: 3.3k

•warnings: Pregnancy, mentions of morning sickness, crying, LOTS of fluff

series masterlist

————————————————

February 15, 2023

3 months pregnant

About a little less than a month has passed since the AFC championship game. Since then, the off-season has started, meaning you were currently "unemployed". Of course, you still had your job, you just didn't have to go into the stadium or practice fields to work—until OTA’s begin, but you still have a couple months before those.

Since the championship game, you’ve been spending most of your time at home. Your morning sickness has been pretty rough the last couple of weeks, leaving you feeling exhausted. Pair that with the mood swings you were experiencing lately, this first trimester of your pregnancy was tough. It doesn’t help that none of your family members know about it either. You’re trying to hide it from them as long as you can because you know how they’re going to react to the fact that you’re not with the baby daddy. And, you knew your pregnancy was only going to get harder to hide from everyone because what you could shrug off as bloat, has now turned into an obvious baby bump.

You loved that your bump was growing, but you didn't love that you wouldn't be able to hide your pregnancy much longer. You and Joe just weren't ready to share the news with anyone quite yet...

You let out a long sigh as you got out of bed, yawning as you stretched your stiff limbs. You don't like to get up this early during the off-season, you enjoy sleeping in a little too much. However, today was a big day. You have your first OB appointment. You'll get to hear the baby's heartbeat for the first time, and if you're lucky, you'll get to see the little guy or girl on an ultrasound. You were feeling a mix of emotions as you thought about your upcoming appointment. Thankfully, you won't be there by yourself though because Joe is coming with you.

He initially told you that he was unsure if he could make it, but last night you received a text from him, asking if you'd be up for "plus one" at your appointment. It warmed your heart knowing that Joe wanted to be there to support you, and see his baby for the first time. Although he was hesitant at the thought of becoming a father at this point in his life, he was starting to come around to the idea of being a father. Joe would never abandon you or his baby. Especially with the history the two of you have, he could never imagine leaving you to go through this by yourself.

You had about an hour and a half before you had to leave for your appointment. You gave yourself plenty of time to shower, get ready, and even enjoy a quick breakfast. Well, at least try to enjoy a quick breakfast.

After your shower, you dried your hair and did some simple make-up. Nothing too extreme, but enough to hide the dark circles and illuminate your best features. You decided on a casual but cute outfit for your appointment. Since it was the middle of winter in Cincinnati, you opted for a pair of leggings and a cream colored sweater that hugged your belly just a little bit.

Once you were satisfied with your appearance, you made your way into the kitchen to make some eggs, a fruit smoothie, and a side of prenatal vitamins. You ate your breakfast in silence, deciding to scroll through Instagram and see what your friends and other NFL WAGS were up to lately. Upon opening the app, you saw that Joe posted on his story You clicked on his profile, and on his story was a picture of him, Sam, Tee, Ja'Marr, and Logan. It was a photo of them from last years training camp, captioned "Throwback Thursday". You couldn't help but chuckle at the caption. You couldn't think of a single person that still uses that phrase.

You looked at the picture, eyes only drawn to Joe. Blame the hormones, but you were feeling a little bold, so you slid up and clicked the '😍' react emoji.

After you finished up your breakfast, you cleaned off your plate, placing it in the dishwasher. You had about ten minutes to kill before you had to leave for your appointment. You decided to go to the living room and relax for a few minutes. You pulled your phone out and sent a text to Joe:

You: Hey. Just wanted to remind you that my appointment is at 11:30 if you're still able to make it. If you need the address again let me know :)

As soon as you set your phone down on the couch beside you, you immediately got a response from Joe. It was almost as if he was waiting for you to text him, that's how quick it was.

Joe: I was actually just about to call you. How about we go together? I'll drive.

Your heart dropped. He wanted to take you? He wanted to go together, not separate? A small smile started to pull at your lips as you typed your response.

You: That would be great. You need my address?

Joe: Nope, I think I remember from a couple months ago ;)

You completely forgot that Joe has been to your apartment before. Plus, one of his closest friends lives in the same complex just a couple doors down from you, so of course he knows where you live.

You: Okay, well if you need me to send it to you just let me know.

Joe: Should be there in about 5. See you soon!

You liked his message as you stood from the couch. You went into your bedroom and grabbed your pair of black boots, along with your North face coat before you went outside to wait for Joe. The weather was actually decent today. There was little snow on the ground and the temperature wasn't the typical bitter cold. You locked the door to your apartment and headed outside. As you left the complex, Joe's car pulled up to the front of the building. You smiled and waved at him as you began to walk up to his car. He returned the wave and smile.

You opened the passenger side door, greeting Joe and thanking him as you sat down and buckled your seatbelt.

"You ready to go?" Joe asked, glancing over at you once he heard the click of your seatbelt. You nodded as you rubbed your clammy hands on your leggings. You were starting to feel a little nervous about your appointment. Every single possible outcome of how this appointment could go was running through your head. "Yeah," you said, your voice wavering slightly, "I'm just a little nervous."

Joe gazed at you with a slight frown, "I am too." However, his frown turned into a soft smile as he finished his thought, "but everything will be fine, I promise." You smiled at his reassurance. Sometimes all you needed to ease your worries was just a little reassurance.

Joe pulled out of your apartment complex and began driving to your OBGYN's office. As he was driving, he kept one hand on the steering wheel, while the other was resting on the glove box. You noticed his eyes drift away from the road multiple times, instead looking at the small bump your abdomen. You caught him looking at you for a third time, a pink hue on Joe's cheeks as he realized he had been caught. You smiled slightly as you spoke softly, "You can touch it, you know." He glanced at you, a small smile on his pink lips. "It's your baby too," you said. Joe hesitantly lifted his hand off of the glove box, letting it hover over your middle for a few moments before he slowly lowered his hand onto your belly. He rubbed the fabric of your sweater with his thumb, feeling the swollen skin of your baby bump beneath his fingertips. "Wow." he couldn't help but breathe out. Joe was amazed at the sight of your small bump.

Joe kept his hand placed on your belly the rest of the short drive to your OB office. Content smiles were on both of your faces as you sat in silence. The action felt foreign to both of you, but as foreign as it was, it felt good--it felt right.

~time skip~

After signing some paperwork at the front desk, you sat back down next to Joe in the chairs in the waiting room. His left leg was nervously bouncing up and down as he looked at the other expecting couples waiting in the office. You rested your hand on his thigh, stopping his movements, "Are you okay?" you asked lowly. Joe just nodded, "I don't ever get nervous..." he glanced over at you as he said, "but I am right now."

You smiled softly at him as you leaned back in your seat, taking a deep breath, "Yeah, me too." As you let out the breath, a nurse walked out into the waiting room wearing a bright smile and holding a chart in her hands.

"Y/n Hubbard?" she called, making yours and Joe's head snap up. You looked up at her and smiled softly, "That's me."

"Great!" she exclaimed, smiling warmly, "you can follow me this way."

You and Joe stood up from your seats and followed the nurse down the hall, and into an examination room.

"If you want to sit up here for me, I'll take your vitals." she said, gesturing the examination bed. You sat down on the bed as Joe sat down on the chair right next to it, nervously rubbing his palms over his shorts. As the nurse was taking your vitals and marking them down on your chart, she looked at you with narrowed eyes. "Okay, I just have to know," she stated as she set the blood pressure cuff down on the counter, "are you married to Sam Hubbard?"

Your eyes widened and Joe choked on his breath.

"I'm sorry, what?" you laughed in shock

"Oh are you not? Or.." Her dark eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "No! God no," your laughter continued. "He's uh, he's my brother."

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" She exclaimed, growing flustered at her mistake. You smiled at the poor girl, "It's alright, don't worry."

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking at you with concern. You nodded, making her sigh, "God I feel like an idiot."

"You're fine, I promise." you smiled kindly at the dark haired nurse, "I get that a lot, honestly." you said, reassuring her and letting her know you didn't take her mistake personally. She just blushed and awkwardly finished up with your vitals and basic patient information.

"Doctor Montgomery will be here shortly." She said, a blush still on her cheeks.

Joe smiled, "Thank you..." he looked at her ID tag on her scrub top, "Amanda." He said with a wink. The nurse, Amanda blushed crimson once again, "Of course. Congratulations."

As Amanda shut the door and left the exam room. Joe scoffed in disbelief, "She thought Sam was your husband when I'm sitting right here?" You chuckled softly, "I guess so. Maybe she didn't recognize you."

Okay but in all seriousness, who wouldn't recognize the Joe Burrow.

Joe was about to respond when there was a knock at the door before your OB-GYN, Addison Montgomery walked in.

"Hello Y/n," she greeted, smiling warmly, "good to see you again."

You smiled, "Hey, Doctor Montgomery, it's good to see you too." She sat down on the swivel chair net to the examination bed. "So, you're here today for an ultrasound?

"Yes. I meant to come in earlier, but i've been busy with work."

She nodded, "Totally understandable. We've been super backed up here. Seems like everyone has baby fever right now." she turned to Joe, chuckling as she spoke. He just smiled at her, nervously. She held her finger out, pointing at Joe, "Wait, you're Joe Burrow!"

Joe chuckled, slightly cocking his to the side as he replied, "Yup, the one and only."

Your doctor turned to you, winking, "Oh Y/n, you have got yourself one fine baby daddy." You smiled, blushing as you made eye contact with Joe, "Yeah, I do don't I?"

Joe rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush making its way onto his cheeks as he looked at you sheepishly.

"So," Doctor Montgomery clapped, "you ready to see your baby you two?"

You grinned happily, looking up at your doctor as you laid back against the bed. Joe stood up and walked over to the side of the bed, pulling the chair he sat in with him. He placed the chair down and sat down next to you.

"Okay Y/n, if you want to pull up your shirt for me, that would be great."

You nodded, pulling up the cream material of your sweater. Doctor Montgomery put the cool gel all across your lower belly, the cool gel making you shiver as soon as it touched your bare skin.

"Sorry," she chuckled, "I forgot to warn you, but the gel is very cold."

"Yes, it is." you nodded, your eyes glued to the screen of the ultrasound machine. you were anxiously waiting to see the baby pop up on the screen.

"Alright here we go." she said, grabbing the probe and moving it around your slightly protruding abdomen. You and Joe watched the green intently, holding your breaths as you watched. Her eyes lit up as she moved the screen around you and Joe could see better.

"That right there," she pointed to a spot on the screen with her bright red manicured finger, "is your baby."

She pressed a button, and a loud, fast whooshing sound broke out in the room. It was your baby's heartbeat. You smiled brightly, looking at the picture in awe. Tears welled up in your eyes. You couldn't believe this was all happening. You looked over at Joe, his expression the same as yours, with his beautiful blues full of unshed tears as he looked at his baby on the ultrasound monitor. Hey glanced at you, grabbing your hand and kissed it before his eyes went back to the screen. Both of you were so overwhelmed with love and all sorts of emotion as you looked at the black and white picture, and heard the loud whooshing of your baby's strong, healthy heartbeat.

"That's our baby..." he said softly in disbelief.

"Yeah, that's our baby." you smiled as a tear rolled down your cheek. Joe gripped your hand tighter, as you did to his.

Doctor Montgomery smiled, "Congratulations you two! You're about nine, almost ten weeks along Y/n. You'll be in your second trimester soon, so hopefully your morning sickness eases up for you."

"Whew," you breathed out, "I sure hope so."

She smiled softly, "It will eventually. Before I go, do you want me to print some pictures?"

You and Joe both nodded, "Yes please, we'd love that." Joe said, eagerly.

The OB chuckled, "Okay." With a click of a button, your ultrasound pictures were printed. She wiped the gel off of your belly, and you sat up, pulling your sweater down.

She handed the pictures to Joe. "Oh! Before I forget, I was actually able to see what the gender of your baby is. Do the two of you want to know that right now?"

You looked at Joe, wanting his answer. He just shook his head.

"No thank you," you smiled, "could you maybe write it down on an envelope though? My friends were talking about throwing us a gender reveal party."

She smiled sweetly, "Yes ma'am! How sweet of them."

You hummed, "I know right? I have the sweetest friends." It's very true, you do have the sweetest friends. Your OB turned around and quickly wrote something down on paper before putting it into an envelope and sealing it. She handed it to you, "There you are. And you, are good to go. Everything looks great. You and the baby are both healthy and looking wonderful."

Joe smiled, "Thank you doc."

Doctor Montgomery nodded, "It's no problem at all. I'll see you in a few weeks. Congratulations again you two!" she walked out of the room, leaving you and Joe alone. You stood up from the table and adjusted your shirt. You turned around and smiled softly as you saw Joe looking down at the ultrasound photo in his hand, his thumb running over the image of his baby.

"It's so tiny," he said softly, his voice in awe, "I can't believe this is growing inside of you right now." You chuckled softly, walking closer to him and looking at the picture with him, "Crazy isn't it?" he just nodded and continued to look at the photo in awe.

The two of you walked out of the doctors office with wide grins on both of your faces. As you made your way into his car, Joe placed one of the ultrasound pictures on his dashboard. It's safe to say the ultrasound today has made Joe 100% on board with the baby now...

"There." he smiled, "perfect."

"Isn't it cute?" you asked, reaching out your hand to trace over the baby's silhouette on the ultrasound.

"It looks just like you already, Y/n." Joe joked as he pulled out of the parking lot. You looked up at him, and shook your head. A teasing smile on your face, "Sure. I think it'll be carbon copy of you, Joseph."

"i'll hold you to it." he smirked, eyes flickering back and forth between your eyes and lips.

As Joe was driving back to your home, your phone rang. You pulled it out and looked to see who it was.

Incoming call: Sam

Your eyes widened as you answered the call. He could not find out you were in the car with Joe...

(Sam)

(You)

"Sam, hey!"

"Hey Y/n, how's it going?"

"Good, how about you?"

"Can't complain. Hey I just wanted to call and ask if you were free next Saturday. A couple of the guys and I are going out for drinks, and I figured I'd invite you."

"Yeah, I'm free. Who's all coming?"

"Me, Tee, Ja'Marr, Joe, Morgan and Logan maybe, and now you."

"Oooh, sounds fun! Where are we meeting?"

"Not sure yet, i'll call and let you know though."

"Okay! Thanks Sam."

"Yep! I'll talk to you later, bye."

"Bye, love you Sammy."

"love you too, Y/n/n. Bye."

You hung up the phone and Joe glanced over at you. "What'd Sam want?" he asked, averting his gaze back to the road.

"We have plans next Saturday with Sam and some of the other guys."

Joe nodded, "Oh, right. I came up with the idea today while we were working out this morning."

"Really?" Your furrowed your brows. Joe usually wasn't one to initiate making plans.

"Yeah, I uh, I thought that would be a good way for us to tell them about the baby." he smiled, putting his hand on your tummy again. You smiled in return, "Thanks for setting that up, Joe"

He looked at you and just nodded as a small smile tugged at his lips. You leaned back in your seat, placing your hand over Joe's. Part of you was worried about telling the guys about your accidental pregnancy, especially Sam. You didn't know how he was going to react to being told he's going to be an uncle...to his best friends baby.

But hey, he has to find out sooner or later right?

hey loves!!

how sweet was this?🥹 dad joe has me feeling all of the feels.

this was all fluff, but the next chapter is a crazy one, so be prepared! not only will sam and the other guys find out about baby burrow…but we’re going to take a look back at yours and joe’s past from OSU👀

thank you so much for your continued love and support with this series and all of my other work! it means so much to me. you’re all so kind and i love each and every one of you!🤍🤍

hope you enjoyed this chapter ;)

tags: @dandelionwrites8 @joeburreauxsworld @theflawedwriter @mrsshiesty @ann288 @ijustcrypretty @theoneandonlyfanz @wickedfun9 @venus-b @hummusxx @stainednailpolishremover @a-moment-captured @alternativemadchen @erinmartin1987 @sirlewisworld @kkrenae @unhingedfangirl @sublimemusic-rebel @meameagirl @ilovejoeburroww @hallecarey1 @j-worlds-blog @blinkloverx3 @jordyn14 @kristencochefski1125 @emherb10

[tacroyy]

hey if you are reading this can you please either 1) consider donating blood if you can and/or 2) reblogging this so that someone else will be encouraged to donate blood, because my wife gave birth five days ago and her life was saved by multiple blood transfusions. i cannot donate blood myself bc of Iron Problems. if you have ever donated blood, i love you. if you have never donated blood, i love you. if you cannot donate blood, i love you. if you are afraid of donating blood, i love you. if you do not ever donate blood although you can, i love you. you do you. also did you know that the gay thing got repealed or smth. idk how to describe it. im a Bit sleep deprived.

HERES HOW YOU CAN FIND WHERE TO DONATE BLOOD IN THE USA VIA THE RED CROSS

if people want to add international orgs in reblogs that would be very cool.

ps. heres me and my offspring.

i usually have so many words. they have been replaced with an almost hilariously infinite number of feelings.

my wife is doing amazing for someone who lost significantly over two liters of blood. did you know that humans have between four and six liters of blood. in their whole bodies. also if you dont support reproductive rights and access like abortion and birth control prenatal care and anti-racist reproductive practices and stuff for everyone i will hunt you down myself and should stop talking before this post gets taken down for being too threatening.

the baby is also doing so great. her hobbies include: stretching.

okay. im going to go lay down now. also free palestine

[row-of-ribbons]

DREAM GIRL INTRO 2/5 How To Get Started: high maintenance routine (PT 1.)

high maintenance/ADJ/definition: needing a lot of work to keep in good condition

Ladies, one of the best ways to become your dream girl is by establishing and maintaining a high-maintenance routine. When you have a routine and stick to it, you begin to understand your habits and won't settle for less than what you deserve. If you start and end your day with a routine, you build confidence knowing that you are put together mentally and physically.

I have my own routine at the bottom(with details + apps I use) that helps me feel like my best you can take, leave, or add advice to your routine.

******************************daily********************************

stretch for 5 minutes: as soon as you wake up get the body moving

vitamins: D3, fish oil, fenugreek, pre & probiotics with cranberry, biotin, and prenatal vitamins. (You don't have to be pregnant to take them; they are good for women with many beneficial nutrients.)

Devotional meditation/bible study: Every morning, I pray to connect with Jesus and share my daily concerns with Him. I also read the Bible to deepen my connection with Christ and grow my faith. (I use the Glorify app)

chores: tidy the room, wash dishes, etc. (They change from day to day so you can adjust them to your needs)

Workout: I do a 30 to 55 min workout, I like to go to Chloe Tings workout app because I really feel the burn

quick shower: have a more detailed shower at night

basic skin care: cleanser, moisturizer, and SPF (Again more details later)

oral care: brush teeth, tongue scraping, mouthwash

*******************************NIGHTLY*******************************

pilates: Relaxing before bedtime is essential, and using any app, including YouTube, is a great way to unwind at night.

Detailed shower: dry brush, anti-bacterial soap, shave if needed sugar scrub, then body wash of choice

moisturize: body serum (I use glycolic acid, salicylic acid, and vitamin C, followed up by a thick moisturizer)

skincare: oil cleanser, cleanser, sheet mask, lash & brow serum, eyemask.lip mask

oral care: oil pull brush, tongue scrape, mouthwash, whiting strips

diary& prayer: it's important to write down what is on my mind before I sleep as well as talk to God about it.

✨sleep before 11pm✨

Remember to embrace the beauty of sleep before midnight as it will revitalize you, granting you the gift of radiant, dreamy skin. Approach this as a joyful journey rather than a mere checklist. Let this be your guide to feeling your best and embracing what makes you feel good. Don't forget to hydrate and take a moment to breathe deeply.

part 2 of my routine will be up soon thanks lovelies

-xoxoxo

[love-toxin]

So is bully!eddie in love now that he’s expecting??? Would he ever be sweet? in his own way…

one could say he's always been in love but has the absolute worst way of dealing with it, but since you've given me the chance to elaborate >:)

(cws: bully!eddie, pregnancy, babytrapping, eddie struggles with being nice, name-calling, insecurities, mood swings, a hint at a humiliation kink, mostly fluff and comfort + some angst, f!angelface.)

"I'm home,"

Eddie calls out to the empty trailer, wiping his fingers on his overalls one more time, and tapping his boots free of dirt and any oil on the doorway before he takes a full step inside, and lets the screen door close behind him with a kerchunk. Keys are thrown up on the peg by the front, and he pulls off his jacket and hangs it up right next to them before toeing off his shoes and padding across the carpet.

It's not home home, not Wayne's home, but it looks almost identical--and it's close enough for him to see his uncle's trailer from the window, only a few lots down so he can still spend time with his family when he wants.

This home is yours, his and yours, now--but you're nowhere to be seen when he casts a glance around, can't spot a flick of your hair or the roundness of your pregnant self waddling around. For just a fraction of a second, the panic hits him and he ducks to look out the window for any sight of you heading off the property....but then he hears the muted noises coming from the tv, the one in the bedroom, and he thumps down the hall to swing inside and see what's waiting for him.

You're stretched out on the sofa in there, an old one that his uncle picked up and pawned off to him when he moved out, the worn pattern of the busy fabric much resembling the floor of an arcade--including that it looks like it's been walked all over by a thousand pairs of sneakers. But it's fine for you, obviously, because you're laid down and leaning on the arm as you watch one of his old movies, your belly only about a third covered by the huge, baggy t-shirt he got for you out of a thrift store bin. Scrounging for discount maternity clothes, as it turns out, is one of his few specialties.

"You hungry?" He queries, once his eyes have flicked towards the screen and back to you. You've only got on a pair of panties, rather than pants, and your legs are almost completely tucked up under your seven-nearly-eight-months-swollen belly.

"Shut up." You reply, without even sparing him a glance, and he hovers over the space beside you that he was just about to plop down into.

"Something I said, or something I did? Or are you reading my thoughts now?" He's used to that shitty attitude, that bratty streak he always knew you had in you. Usually you wait to pull it out when he's spoken more than two words in his direction. And usually, you answer him right away. Not this time.

Standing right back up, he wanders a few steps away, towards his dresser--and that's when his eyes laser-focus on what's sitting there, a stale glass of water and a few small things that have been laying there since he left for work hours ago. Eddie sweeps up the pills and rolls them around in his palm, checking with his thumb and counting them out to see if they're really all there before he turns back to you.

"You didn't take your prenatals? What the fu-uuuh, why? Why didn't you?" He quickly shakes off the curse that just barely stayed in his mouth, the "fuck is wrong with you" settling back in his throat before he clears it and waits. Those stupid fucking breathing exercises he learned from that dumbass anger management book are pretty much the only things he can cling to at this moment.

"Fuck you, that's why."

Oh, he's boiling. Eddie clenches his fist, nails digging into his own palm in hopes that the sting will cleanse his anger, and just repeats those words in his head. She's pregnant. She's just moody. She's a bitch. No, she's not--only sometimes--just don't yell at a pregnant woman. Wayne will disown you. Deep breath.

"Please," He grunts through gritted teeth, stepping around the couch and holding his fist out to you. "Take them. The baby needs them."

Your eyes flit towards him for a moment, and the glimpse he gets of how stormy yet glimmery they look....it sobers him in the span of a single breath, and when you turn your gaze back to the tv, he can hear the palpable wobble of your voice.

"The baby hates me."

Almost immediately after, the tears start flooding in, and he drops down to his knees on instinct to touch your face and put the pills aside on the end table, fingers ten times as gentle now as they were before. It would be the perfect reaction, the one he's been practicing, if he didn't feel that unmistakable rush of blood and twitch of his cock stirring in his pants when you hiccup and look all pathetic--not now.

"I'm a bad mom," You whimper, fists bunching up in your shirt, and barely even grazing your own stomach like you're afraid to touch it. "I hate what she's doing to me--I hate how I look now, I hate being pregnant!" You sob out, snotting and crying all over his shirt as he pushes his arms around you and tucks your head under his chin. There's no shushing, no "It's okay, baby", nothing like that, he just stops and listens and tries to process it all so he doesn't say something stupid out of habit.

"I'm just...just a stupid fucking whore of a mom..." You tremble in his embrace, clinging to him like you don't want to let him go but hovering as if you're expecting him to pull away. And he does, but only so he can look you in the eyes with that furrowed brow and huff out an answer.

"No, you're not."

"You said it, Eddie!" You wail, and push him off you, that sudden surge of pregnancy strength nearly toppling him over on his ass. "And you were right! I'm...I'm just some dumb bitch who trapped you," Sniffling, you paw at your own eyes again, breathing so laboured that your stomach is heaving and a twinge of worry shoots through him, remedied only when you have a moment to settle and manage to put your words back together. "I thought I had nothing to lose....and I just wanted to be cruel."

You say it so definitively, so defeatedly, that he can't help but scoff and roll his eyes. He thought you'd figured it out by his initial reaction, or at least by now, but obviously you're thicker in the head than--o-obviously you're just a little oblivious.

"You think I don't know that?"

"...What?" You stare back at him like a fish, questioning and unsure and almost scared-looking, fingers fiddling together as you look him up and down and wait for his answer.

"You're not fucking slick--you think I wouldn't notice a buncha goddamn holes in my condoms? I wasn't about to knock up some random bitch and get stuck with a brat." He slides in closer, back to where he was, and smoothes a strand of hair back to keep it from your face--an unexpectedly tender gesture not just for you, but for him, too, cause he didn't really think about it before he did it. While his words remain harsh and brutal, there's some semblance of gentleness he just can't shake around you and he doesn't really want to try to. "I fucked you anyway, cause I wanted you. I wanted this-" He reaches over and rubs at your belly, the skin taut but soft from the lotion he's bought for you and helped you rub in most mornings. "-Fucking belly all swelled up with my kids. And you're so goddamn sexy like this, all big and sweet and whiny. Yeah, I didn't want kids with some stuffy, stuck-up bitch, but you're....you're not that."

You shake your head, but you don't smack his hand away from touching your stomach. While your sobs have subsided, he can still spot a few tears spilling over your waterline that his words have coaxed out. "You're a liar."

"Sure I am, but not about this." He grins down at you like a fool. Yeah, he may be foolish, but he's not completely stupid--he's seen your reaction to your body as you've gotten bigger, watched you run your fingers over the stretchmarks and turn to look at yourself in the mirror, lips turning down into a scowl as your favourite clothes become more and more ill-fitting. It doesn't really make sense to him why you're so upset, he figured you'd realize what the changes would be and you'd be prepared for them. It hadn't occurred to him that maybe he's been part of that, his words ringing out in your voice still echoing in his head. "Stupid fucking whore."

Is that what my daughter will think? Is the thought that hits him hardest from nowhere. Will she throw something like that back at me one day? Will she look at me with those same eyes as yours, and tell me she hates me? Just like I did to my old man?

"You're....you're gonna be the best mom, okay? You're not gonna be fucking perfect, but you're gonna be the best you can." Eddie's hand that isn't currently sticking to your belly raises to your cheek, his thumb swiping away the tears that have been left behind. If someone asked him a year ago if he could ever imagine he'd be the one comforting you, he'd probably laugh in their face. "Cause you don't give up, and you're clever. You just suck at sneaking around."

The tease takes a moment to dawn on you, his sarcasm gentle enough for a smile to work its way across your face. Your fingers crawl for his, warming his knuckles as you lay them over the one he's got over your daughter, and he can safely say he's glad to see you breathe a soft sigh of relief when the two of you feel a distinct kick. "She's gonna be gorgeous, just like you. Pretty eyes and cute smile and all."

Somehow that's even more shocking for you to hear, you don't even know how to receive it, you just look down and chew on your lip--and Eddie tucks away a mental note to do some work on that. Maybe complimenting you a little more would do you some good, something nice for you to hear aside from all the prep he's doing for the baby. You certainly seem to like it, with the kiss you press to his lips somewhat of a treat for just saying what he thinks in his head out loud.

"Besides, if this kid's gonna hate anyone, it's gonna be me. She's gonna be a momma and grandpa's girl for sure--I'm gonna make her eat her vegetables." For once, maybe for the first time, he watches as your eyes crinkle and your lips split open, and you laugh. Genuinely, there's no faking a laugh like that, and Eddie almost feels a spike of anger twitch because his immediate reaction is that you're mocking him--but that fades in an instant, and the seemingly constant ache of his heart soothes, and he finds himself at a loss for what to say. He just watches, and admires you.

Maybe one day he'll realize that this is the moment he knew for certain you were the one, the moment in which whatever's been hanging over his shoulder just disappears as he cracks a smile back at you. But he shoves it all aside for now, stands so you hopefully won't catch that dumb grin on his face, and grabs the handful of pills off the table next to you to press them into your palms, and hurries off to get you a fresh glass of water that hasn't been sitting around all day.

"Speaking of which, it's time to take your damn pills. I promise you don't want me to make you swallow them, you little crybaby."