Breathing Styles Novels & Stories

Bare footed and lacking a top, Heather laid on the bed to the left of the room, eyes closed, taking calming breaths, her chest rising and falling as she took deeper breaths than the last whenever she released the first. She says it's a stress relief technique and I won't argue with her but I know that method just never clicked with me for cl some reason. Every time I try taking calming breaths, things I would rather be doing than sitting and breathing comes to mind and I just stop trying and go dp that instead. My legs and arms spread in eagle pose, facing heavenwards, the intricate designs of the ceiling is the only thing that looks interesting. My shoulder bag, placed messily beside m

I relaxed my shoulders and let my breaths in and out slower than I was before. "Now become aware of your senses, what can you hear around you? What do you smell? Take notice of the small strokes of air brushing against your cheeks. Describe it for me," I inhaled expanding my diaphragm and lungs. I let the breath out and focused on the small morning breeze that softly brushed against my cheeks and ears.

I could feel my heat starting to boil out from my abdomen. “Calming breaths, Mia cara. Close your lips and inhale through your nose for a count of four. Hold your breath for a count of seven. Then exhale completely through your mouth, making a whoosh sound for a count of eight.” Alec’s calming and patient voice whispered against my ear. My eyes closed as I tried to maintain control. This would be so much easier if he wasn’t right there. If his scent wasn’t engulfing my senses, making me lightheaded. Everything about him makes concentrating on anything else impossible

My body listened like it had been waiting for someone to talk to it gently. “Where do you feel the breath now?” he asked. “In my hands,” I whispered. “Lower… in my belly.” “Good.” His tone warmed by a degree. “Keep going.” I inhaled. I exhaled. My fingers spread wider over my ribs, noticing the lift, the fall, the rise. A quiet warmth unfurled where panic usually lived. I didn’t know breathing could feel like this - slow, heavy, almost sinful. “Shoulders away from your ears,” he said. “Drop them.”

The posture felt obscene—offered, displayed—but I held it rigidly, muscles trembling. His heat pressed against my back, inches away. “Breathe.” I hadn’t realized I’d stopped. Air rushed in, shaky. “Slower. Deeper. Count it—four in, hold four, four out.” I forced the rhythm, chest expanding until fabric pulled taut, nipples aching. He completed the circle, stopping so close the toes of his boots nearly touched my bare feet. His scent drowned me.

Katherine nodded back, then focused her gaze ahead, determined to stay in her own space. The instructor stood at the front, a lithe woman with a peaceful voice that carried across the field like a lullaby. “Welcome,” she said gently. “This morning, we begin with the breath. Inhale… through the nose. Hold. And exhale… let go.” Katherine closed her eyes. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. The tension in her shoulders started to ease. They moved through stretches slowly. The world was still quiet enough to hear birdsong and the wind threading through the trees. Katherine fell into the rhythm—cat-cow, warrior, tree pose—letting her thoughts drift.

“Habit is our worst enemy. With wrong habits, we magnify our weaknesses and destroy our strengths. Take breathing for instance. Some Slayers breathe through their mouths when sparring, and I’m not talking about the kiai cry which accompanies a strike or a throw and serves the purpose of intimidating the enemy or psyching up the Slayer. If you observe babies and animals, you’ll find they always breathe from their stomachs and through their noses. “Getting back to the fight, I kept swiveling my head frantically to try and keep track of the Ayakashi. Because I wanted to ‘see’. I soon realized that the only thing I’d be able to perceive if I kept that up was my hammering heart and the noise of m

Those contractions transmitted to his ears like a low-frequency vibration. Her breathing became increasingly rapid, with shorter intervals between each breath. Air flowed in and out of her nostrils and lips simultaneously, creating a rhythmic “ha—ha—ha—” sound. With each “ha,” a stream of hot air was expelled onto her chest, causing a strand of hair at the edge of her silk shirt collar to flutter.

Close enough that every shift of his muscles remained in my peripheral vision, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. He dragged the towel down the length of his throat, wiping away the last trail of sweat before letting the fabric hang loosely in his hand. Then he leaned forward, bracing one arm against the cubbies, resting his forehead lightly against it. For a moment, he looked almost still. His chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths, but the rhythm didn’t seem relaxed. It was deliberate, forced, the kind of breathing people used when they were trying to settle something inside themselves. It was the kind of breathing someone learned to quiet themselves, not recover. A self-soothin

My fingers hook into her waistband, and I yank her jeans and underwear down in one desperate motion, tossing them somewhere behind me without ceremony. I look. Nothing. No baby. But … something definitely looks different down there. “Is he there?” Mel pants anxiously. “No!” I say quickly. “Breathe … just breathe … like in the classes.” I take a dramatic inhale. “IN … two … three … four …” Then exhale. “OUT … two … three … four …” I try again. “In … two … three … four …” My head starts spinning. Okay. This breathing crap is NOT working. Maybe I’m doing it wrong. I try again. Still dizzy.