#I know so much more than I ever wanted to about this movement now

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 11 (The End)

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

I could write more, but quite frankly, I think I would kinda drag it out and the first major arc is tied up with a neat little bow! There are definitely be threads left dangling for me to pick up whenever I want to write more about Sky and Azriel, but I think around 50k is a good place to stop for now ❤️

Even the Spymaster of the Night Court paid taxes.

That was the only reason why Rhysand even found out��where exactly Azriel‘s home even was.

Azriel’s home was in the outskirts of Velaris, near the mountains. A little lake cabin. Rhys hadn’t even known that Azriel owned it but apparently he did.

Rhys shouldn’t go there. He knew that.

Rhys should be giving his brother space. That was probably the least he owed him. But he couldn't stop himself. He needed to know Azriel was alright. That he was happy.

Rhys needed to apologise. He needed to make amends…

And Azriel was ignoring him. Mental shields as shored up as they ever had been, shoving back at Rhys at every opportunity…

He had never seen Azriel's mental shields like this before, and it concerned him. He knew Azriel was angry at him, had ever right to be angry,  but Rhys hadn't expected his brother to shut him out so completely.

Reports were still arriving on his desk punctually as always. But Azriel seemed utterly uninterested in actually talking to Rhys. 

It was a small comfort, knowing that Azriel was still working, but Rhysand couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt that had settled deep in his gut. He knew that he had hurt Azriel deeply, and he couldn’t blame his brother for shutting him out.

Rhys wished he could turn back time and fix things, but he had messed up terribly. He knew he had to give Azriel space, but the silence between them was deafening . It was a constant reminder of just how much damage he had caused.

As the days went on, Rhysand found himself consumed by thoughts of what he could have done…should have done… He tried reaching out to Azriel mentally, only to be rebuffed each time. 

Cassian showed up alone for debriefings and if Rhys showed up at the House of Wind for Valkyrie Training, Azriel was nowhere to be seen. 

So finally…Rhys had enough. So he showed up at that house. 

It was a nice house too, a secluded cabin at a mountain lake. Rhys knew that he wasn’t welcome, not after everything that had passed between them, but he had to see Azriel. 

Rhys raised a hand, knocking gently on the door. He could hear the faint sound of movement inside. Rhysand sighed. He should leave. He knew he should leave. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

And then suddenly, to his surprise…the door opened. 

“…C…Can I….can I h…help you?“

She was brown haired and short… with deep blue eyes and freckles smattering over her nose.

Rhysand looked at the woman in front of him, taken aback by her appearance. He didn't know what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't a small, curvy, freckled brunette.

"I, uh..." Rhysand stammered, his mind blanking. "I was looking for Azriel." he finally brought out. 

The small female studied him carefully, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Az…Azriel's n…not h…here," she stuttered.

Rhysand's heart sank, but he tried not to let it show. "Do you know where he is?" he asked, desperate for any information.

The female hesitated, biting her lip slightly. She seemed to be contemplating her answer, her brow furrowing in thought. After a moment, she finally looked back up at him, her expression unreadable. "He…He's...o…out f…for t…the d…day," she said finally, not giving him anymore than that.

Rhysand tried to keep the frustration out of his voice, but it was difficult. He was so close to his brother, and yet so far away. "Do you know when he'll be back?" he asked sharply.

She nearly flinched away from him at that tone of voice.

He opened his mouth to apologise, but he didn't even get to that. Because some thing with wickedly sharp claws, launched itself at his head with a hissing sound.

Rhysand yelped as the mysterious creature swiped at his face, growling all the while.

"HECTOR NO!" The female shrieked.

Rhysand stumbled backwards, trying to dodge the sharp claws.

Just at that moment, he felt more than he heard his brother's arrival.

Azriel materialized between them with a loud flapping of wings, his siphons blazing. He stood protectively in front of the small female, his expression murderous.

"Hector to me," he snapped. The thing, a cat ...an incredible ugly , murderous looking cat let off Rhys with another growl and slunk back to Azriel's side, heeling like a dog. The woman quickly scooped him up in her arms.

Cassian's laughter washed over him, at that moment, as Rhys was still laying on the ground, bested by a cat .

"Taking down by a cat now, Rhysie?" Cassian asked him with a snort, offering him his hand to gain his feet.

Rhys already knew that he was never going to live this down.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Azriel hissed, his voice filled with anger. His wings were spread wide, and Rhysand could see the barely contained ferocity beneath his brother's cold facade.

Rhysand winced at Azriel's harsh tone. He knew he had messed up, and he didn't blame his brother for being angry with him. "I just wanted to see you," he said, feeling small under Azriel's penetrating glare.

Azriel's expression didn't soften at his words. "You had no right," he said sharply. "You can't just show up here unannounced, Rhysand. This is my home, and you're not welcome here. You terrified Sky!"

Sky. Sky. That was the name of his brother's mate...of the pretty brunette that was standing behind him, fussing over her murderous cat.

Rhysand glanced over at Sky guiltily. "I...I'm sorry," he said to her. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Sky hesitated, before nodding stiffly. Her face remained guarded, her arms still wrapped protectively around the mangy cat. Rhysand couldn't help but notice how small she looked compared to Azriel's imposing form…and the absolute massive cat. 

"I am sorry," he turned to his brother, swallowing. The apology wasn't enough. he knew that. And it wasn't going to fix the fact that Azriel didn't trust him anymore or... *Az. Please.*

"How did you find this house?" Azriel demanded.

"I checked the tax reports," Rhys admitted with a grimace.

Azriel's expression darkened even further, and Rhys braced himself for a reprimand. Instead, his brother let out a harsh, bitter chuckle. "Of course you did," he said flatly. "Just can't stay out of my business, can you?"

Rhysand felt a pang in his chest at the hostility in Azriel's voice. He knew he deserved every ounce of resentment his brother felt, but it still hurt deep to hear it out loud. "I...I was worried about you," he said lamely.”I just needed to see you." he added. "To apologise."

"You don't even realise the lines you keep crossing, do you?" Cassian asked him flatly. "Ever thought about the fact that maybe you should have waited until Azriel was ready to hear you out?

Rhysand winced. Cassian's words struck a nerve, and he knew his friend was right. He had been rash and insensitive in coming here unannounced. "I...I wasn't thinking," he admitted softly.

Cassian shook his head, his expression still stern. "That's the problem, Rhys," he said bluntly. "You never seem to think these days. It's like you're so caught up in your own head that you don't consider how your actions affect those around you."

Rhysand's gaze dropped, shame washing over him. Cassian's words pierced straight through him, and he struggled to find a response. He knew he had been making mistakes, but hearing them laid out so bluntly still stung.

"What do you want?" Azriel asked him flatly. "Why did you come here?"

"I wanted to apologise," Rhys said weakly. "I...fucked up. I know that. I want to...fix things."

Azriel's face remained impassive, his eyes hard. "You can't just fix things with an apology, Rhys," He said curtly. "You crossed more than one line, and you shattered my trust. Do you really think saying sorry is enough?"

"Az," his mate said softly, her voice quiet. "H..He's blee..bleeding all over our front lawn after my cat at..attacked him. At least let him sit down and give him a healing salve…"

Azriel turned to look at his mate, his anger softening ever so slightly at the concern in her voice. He let out a heavy sigh, before nodding stiffly. "Fine," he said gruffly. "But no more than that."

Rhysand nodded gratefully, relieved that Azriel was willing to let him in, even if only slightly. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I...I really am sorry."

Azriel didn't respond, turning away from him and herded Sky and the murder cat into the house. Rhysand watched him go, feeling a pang of sadness. It was clear that his brother's anger was far from abated, and he knew it would take a lot more than just an apology to mend their fractured relationship.

"Come on," Cassian prodded him up.

The first thing that Rhys realised about the house Azriel shared with his mate was that it was absolutely stuffed full with books. The second was, that Azriel clearly doted on the Murder Cat that got a crystal dish with tuna on it put on the floor before Azriel even went in the direction of the healing salve, which he slapped down on the table in front of Rhysand. .

"I…I am so…sorry," Sky apologised to Rhys, bright blue eyes apologetic. "H…Hector has nev…never done anything like that before, I swear."

Yeah, somehow he doubted that. But he also doubted that it was going to help his relationship with Azriel if he was going to annoy his mate about her beastly cat. The thing had a worse personality than Amren . 

"Don't worry about it," he said, with what he hoped he was a gracious smile. "I think your cat and I just got off on the wrong foot." He looked over at the cat, who was now happily devouring the tuna as if it hadn't just tried to claw his face off.

"Good Boy, Hector," Azriel said warmly.

Rhysand could just stare.

Azriel, the feared Spymaster of the Night Court, was cooing at a mangy cat like a proud parent. He never would have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.

"Who knew the Spymaster had a soft spot for cats," Rhysand remarked with a faint smile. Azriel shot him a warning glare, but the sternness was lost at the tender way he was petting the cat. "I am really sorry," Rhys apologised again.

"You said so. Numerous times," Azriel shot back.

Rhysand sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He knew Azriel was still angry with him, but it was hard not to feel the guilt weighing down on him. "I know," he said softly. "But I want you to know that I mean it. I am sorry, Azriel. For everything."

Azriel's expression remained impassive, but Rhysand could see the flicker of sadness in his eyes. He knew his brother was struggling to forgive him, but he hoped that with time, Azriel would be able to find it in his heart to do so.

"I just want to make things right," Rhysand said earnestly. "I miss you, Az. I miss my brother."

"You'll need to decide one of those days," Azriel said sharply. "Am I your soldier or am I your brother?"

Rhysand flinched at the words, feeling the weight of the accusation hit him hard. 

He had always tried to balance his role as High Lord with his relationship with his brothers, but he knew that…that he hadn’t been fair to Azriel for a long time. "You're right," he conceded quietly. "I have been treating you like my soldier instead of my brother, and that's not fair to you."

"You have been treating him absolutely deplorably," Cassian cut him off.

Rhysand hung his head, feeling the weight of his mistakes settling heavy on his shoulders. "I know," he said quietly. "I've been so caught up in my own problems and responsibilities as High Lord that I lost sight of what really matters. And I've hurt Azriel because of it."

"And you stuck your nose in things that are none of your business," Cassian continued. "I get it that you are tired of fighting, Rhys, we all are, but you can't keep conflict out of our family by ordering Azriel to behave in the way you would like him to."

Rhysand winced, knowing Cassian was right. He had been trying to control things, to make sure everyone was safe and happy, but in the process, he had driven a wedge between himself and his brothers. "I...I know," he admitted reluctantly. "I was…I was stupid. I am tired of war. Of fighting. And I was just trying to protect him, but I went about it all wrong."

" Protect me?" Azriel asked him, his voice dripping with disdain. " Protect me from what ?"

Rhysand looked away, feeling the shame rise within him. He knew he had overstepped, and he knew that Azriel was angry with him. "The consequences that would have arisen," he said delicately. He didn't know what Azriel had told his mate...didn't know how much she knew, but she was watching him with an expression on his face, he couldn't quite place.

"Well, I am an adult, Rhysand," Azriel snapped. "I am perfectly capable of protecting myself."

Rhys knew that. He knew Azriel was more than capable of taking care of himself. But he still felt the need to protect him, to shield him from harm.

"I...I know that," Rhysand said quietly. "I just didn't want to see you get hurt." He glanced over at Azriel's mate, who was still watching him warily. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being evaluated, judged for his mistakes.

Azriel let out a dry chuckle. "Well, it's a little late for that, don't you think?" he said bitterly. "You've seen to that already." Rhysand winced at the accusation, knowing that he deserved every ounce of Azriel's anger.

"I know," he said again, his voice barely above a whisper. "And I am sorry for that. I see now that it was the wrong way to go about it." He looked into his brother's dark eyes, pleading for understanding.

Azriel met his gaze, his expression softening ever so slightly. "Protecting me by making decisions for me is not protecting me, Rhysand," he said quietly. "It's...it's suffocating. It's demeaning."

Rhysand nodded, knowing that Azriel was right. He had been trying to control everything, trying to make sure that nothing went wrong, and he had lost sight of what was truly important. "I understand," he said quietly. "And I am sorry for making you feel that way. It was wrong of me."

Azriel studied him for a moment, before finally sighing. "Just...stop it," he said simply. "No more interfering in my personal life, no more giving me orders like I am one of your soldiers."

Rhysand let out a shaky breath, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. "I promise," he said earnestly. "I won't do it again, Az. I...I'll respect your boundaries, and I'll never overstep again."

Azriel snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” he said gruffly. "And if you do...if you try to control me like that again, I swear Rhysand...it won't end well."

"You'll ha…have He…Hecctor to contend with," Sky said, her voice even.

Rhysand looked over at Hector, who had finished his tuna and was now licking his chops.  Rhys swallowed. "He does seem to be a force to be reckoned with," he said carefully.

Sky gave him a small, tight-lipped smile. "You could say t…that," she said, her tone neutral. Azriel snorted a laugh, shaking his head as he watched his mate. It was the first genuinely carefree sound Rhysand had heard from his brother…in a long time.

Despite the earlier tension, Rhysand found himself smiling too. There was something about the way Azriel looked at his mate, the way he looked...happy, that made Rhysand feel like maybe everything would be alright.

Hector chose that moment to let out a loud meow, his voice sounding like a rusty hinge in the otherwise quiet room. Azriel looked down at the cat, rolling his eyes. "Alright, alright, I'll get you your second helping, spoiled brat," he said, a hint of fondness in his voice.

Rhysand chuckled, feeling the tension that had been weighing him down lift just a little. Things between him and Azriel weren't repaired yet, they had a long way to go, but for the first time in a long while, he felt hopeful.

“They do say the pen is mi…mightier than a sword,” Sky said suddenly. “You treat Azriel like that again and you’ll see just how mighty my pen is.”

Rhysand's eyebrows shot up in surprise at Sky's unexpected threat. It was clear that she wasn't messing around, and Rhys couldn't help but admire her boldness. He glanced over at Azriel, who was trying to suppress a smile.

"I'll keep that in mind," Rhysand said, trying to hide his amusement. "Though I have to say, I can’t imagine a pen being as terrifying as Hector."

Cassian snorted. “Oh you have no idea,” he muttered

Rhysand's eyes widened in curiosity at Cassian's comment. What on earth did that mean? But before he could inquire further, Azriel's voice broke through.

"Don't worry about it," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Let's just say that you don't want to get on Sky's bad side, especially when she has her writing instruments within reach."

"Duly noted," Rhysand said, nodding seriously. He had a feeling that Azriel's mate was not someone to be trifled with, regardless of how harmless she looked, and he had no intention of finding out first-hand just how mighty her pen truly was.

Hector, having finished his second helping of tuna, let out a satisfied meow before padding over to Sky and rubbing against her leg. She reached down and scratched him behind the ears, smiling as he purred contentedly.

Rhysand watched the scene. He had never seen Azriel so relaxed, so happy, and it made him realize just how badly he had missed his brother. It was a reminder that family was more important than anything, and that he needed to cherish the people he cared about.

“Seems like you aren’t Sky’s favourite,” Cassian drawled.

Azriel snorted. “Nah, I come a distant third behind Hector and the shadows.”

Rhys watched with a swallow as these shadows that he had seen torturing people came over to Sky and twined around her hands. Azriel's words were said in jest, but Rhysand could hear the fondness in his voice. It was clear that Azriel adored his mate, and that the shadows had taken a liking to her as well. Rhysand tried not to let the slight sting of jealousy show on his face.

As he watched, the shadows danced around Sky's fingers, like they were alive and had a mind of their own. Rhys had seen the shadows in action, had seen how Azriel used them to fight and spy, but he had never seen them act this way before. There was a tenderness in the way they twined around Sky that was almost...beautiful.

Rhys turned to Azriel, who was watching his mate with a soft expression on his face. "They seem to like her," he commented, keeping his voice neutral.

"That's an understatement," Azriel said drily. "They're obsessed with her. They won't leave her alone."

Rhysand could see that clearly, but what surprised him more was how comfortable Sky seemed with them. She wasn't scared or even bothered by their presence...

It did make sense he supposed. The shadows were Azriel's weapon, his most trusted companions...that they would like his mate.

Rhysand watched as Sky looked up from where the shadows were wrapping around her fingers, a faint smile on her face. She seemed completely at ease with the strange entities, as if they were just another part of Azriel that she had accepted and embraced.

And it was also a sharp reminder of how much trust Rhys had destroyed through his actions. It was very clear who Azriel preferred, who he trusted more. Who he gravitated towards. Who even his shadows doted on, these strange, creatures that Rhys was quite sure would stop at nothing to keep their master safe.

The realization stung, but Rhys knew he had no one to blame but himself. He had caused this rift between them, he had pushed Azriel away, and now he was paying the price for it. But he was determined to make it right, no matter how long it took.

As he watched Azriel gently brush away a stray strand of hair from Sky's face, Rhys made a silent vow. He would do whatever it took to repair their broken bond, to regain Azriel's trust and respect. No matter how hard it was, no matter how long it took, he would make things right.

***

"You want to talk about it?" Sky asked him quietly, after Cassian ad Rhys had gone. 

She was fine now. Content. No more pulling at the mating bond so harshly and pushing all her fear at him. It had shaved at least a century of his life, to feel that from her when Casisan and him had been sparring and he knew that she was supposed to be safe at home.

He had expected near everything…but he hadn’t expected to arrive to the view of Hector scratching Rhys’s face with all his might. 

Azriel took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day's events bearing down on him. He wasn't sure if he was ready to put his tangled emotions into words yet, but he also knew that he couldn't keep it all bottled up inside.

"Rhys gave me some orders that I didn't agree with," he said drily. "Stuck his nose in things that he had no business to interfere with. He treated me...treated me like my feelings didn't matter. That I didn't matter....It took a really bad fight on Solstice for this apology to occur," he said with a grimace.

"You don't think he means it?" Sky asked him curiously, turning to look at him.

"No, he does mean it," Azriel said with a sigh. He did believe that. “He wants to fix things. to rebuild trust...And I do want that too. Regardless of how much of an asshole he can be on occasion he is still my brother ."

Sky was quiet for a long moment, watching him intently. Azriel felt the weight of her gaze, knowing that she was analyzing the situation, trying to understand what he was feeling. Finally, she spoke.

"You're worried that he'll disappoint you again," she said softly. "That he'll make promises that he can't keep. That he'll go back on his word and hurt you worse than before."

Azriel's throat felt tight. The words hit him hard, because Sky had put a voice to his deepest fears. "Yes," he admitted. "That'sexactly what I'm afraid of. I want to believe him, I do."

But it was hard to trust Rhys right ow. Especially with Sky. Trusting Rhys with the most important, the most precious part of his life...

"I can loan you Hector whenever he pisses you off again," Sky offered him seriously, and Azriel couldn't help but laugh.

"Thanks," he said with a small smile. "I might just take you up on that." He pulled her closer, burying his face in her hair. The scent of caramel and hazelnuts enveloped him, calming his racing thoughts and easing the tension in his shoulders.

"I love you, he whispered into her skin and she hummed. "Regardless of what happens, you  have me," Sky promised him. "I'll be behind you, every step of the way. regardless of whatever you decide."

Those words were like a balm to Azriel's soul. The fear and doubt that had been plaguing him since Rhysand's unexpected visit receded, replaced by a sense of safety and certainty. He held onto Sky tightly.

"I love you too," she murmured, the words barely audible even in the still apartment.

They stayed like that for a long moment, simply holding onto each other.

*I don't think I ever thanked you.* he told the shadows softly as he held his mate in his arms.

The shadows fluttered around him, wrapping around his arms and shoulders like a comforting embrace. They didn't say anything, but Azriel could feel their response. They had been with him through thick and thin, protecting him, guiding him, and never once asking for a word of thanks. And yet, he knew that they understood his gratitude, that they could feel it…

*Thank you for finding her.*

[seewetter]

Why try and worsen "the male loneliness epidemic" when it's a current right-wing talking point and the right-wing is using this male loneliness "crisis" to suggest their politics as solutions?

If the right-wingers are combating a real or imagined health issue (e.g. loneliness, a mental health issue), you bragging how you make that health worse in the name of feminism? No help to women. Sorry.

A few Tumblr users like yourself having thoughts like this won't hurt anyone, but if the 4B movement takes off and publicly brags that they hurt other for political reasons, this means the right won't even have to fabricate claims. The public will learn about those intentions straight from you talking about it. No one is distorting your views, those are your views. And that's my problem because the right will make me seem like that movement much more famous than myself.

This is honestly worse than when progressives ignored what happened to thousands of girls in Rotherham and Sheffield, or how Tumblr handled statistics on the opioid crisis. In those cases people were at least ignoring information they were uncomfortable with, but with 4B, people are clearly not just ignoring human suffering, but getting excited about causing it.

I totally agree nobody is entitled to a relationship or children or a marriage or other people's bodies. That doesn't mean that a political ambition of ignoring and sidelining people and making them lonely on purpose is a plan that coherently fits into a wider liberation.

What's the underlying fantasy here?

Either it's the idea that all men deserve it. Or the idea that bad men deserve it and good men (or non-bad men) need to awaken from apathy to help women.

All men deserve it? That contradicts all complaints of the 4B movement. I mean, if all men deserve it, they all deserve it no matter how they behave. If how they behave doesn't matter, why is 4B complaining?

4B advocates might answer: the protest never ends, men are irredeemable, the protest itself is an intimidation tactic that makes men a little less awful, but it never fully succeeds. But here's how that reads to anyone with experience in observing political movements. Not in a cool "we are doomed but fight anyway" kind of way and more in a "we don't know what we are actually fighting against, we haven't tried planning for a successful political future where men behave better. We don't have concrete political goals, we will protest with the vaguest goals of men changing because we pressure them and we will pursue that strategy forever." Which lets be real doesn't sound very invested in having a better life and doesn't sound nearly as cool as fighting a doomed fight because the alternative is worse...because if you fight a doomed fight but can't be bothered with actual movement-building beyond hyping people up to punish others, you're just building the ideal justification for a right-wing administration to crush you and use any threat you pose as a justification to curtail your future rights and freedoms.

But wait! Maybe the 4B hates all men because all men are bad men BUT unlike your South Korean colleagues you want men to become women! YAAAY! Now as a wlw and trans woman myself, I can deeply appreciate women. But that's not what 4B mainly hates about men. A "bad man" is by definition something else than a man as a general category. A bad man is bad for reasons. If you can't trust the idea that men can deserve not being called bad men, if you can't ever trust any man anywhere to be better than that... then those are actually additional political goals your movement needs. Those are goals you have left out of your political pamphlets by accident(?). Goals such as creating the conditions for building trust (exploring how to figure out how to determine what individual men can do to become trustworthy) and goals like how to improve men's behaviour so they aren't bad men. If you don't believe that bad men can ever become good men, please re-read the previous paragraph to make sure your concerns have not actually already been covered.

But wait again! What if 4B's underlying fantasy is to punish all men for the crimes of bad men, so that good men will stand up for what's right, then how will that work if those good men are currently lonely and miserable? Is lonely misery a good starting point for taking positive action? When you are at your low point in life and just wallow in misery lying in bed, is this your most productive moment? And are bad men actually "lonely", do bad men only keep female company? Will the bad men accept your punishment and willingly unfollow Andrew Tate?

Keep these things in mind before you allow the 4B movement to tease the tiger and cause a massive misogynistic backlash against all feminism. You can't hate yourself into a better place and you can't hate others into a better place either.

american women your objective for the next four years is to make men miserable. exacerbate that male lonliness epidemic as much as you possibly can.

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 8)

It's not that you didn't like Johnny. He was just as nice as all the others, more charismatic than Price and Ghost, that's for sure. He was gentle with you, and that's nice, very nice... but goddamnit, was he lively.

You had werewolf classmates before, of course you did, and to be honest? They were all the same. Too much energy, too much movement, just... too much. Your only saving grace was that none of them were friends with you, so you didn't deal with their energy directly most of the time.

But now, one of your foster parents is a werewolf.

And... you are not really too excited about that. You follow along the path with him, watching his wagging bushy tail, sharp smile and light gym clothes like he barely feel the cold weather, and... you try to get used to this.

Used to him.

"Aye, and this is our shed!" Johnny smiles, pointing at the the big shed by the side of the house. The wooden door, differently to the doors inside the house, had a high handle and a big lock, making you look at it a bit questionably as Johnny chuckles a little. "Yeah, lass, ye can't go inside the shed alone. Too many dangerous tools."

You nod slightly, not really interested in the shed in the first place. There were houses you have stayed in that wouldn't let you go inside any room besides your bedroom, the bathroom and the living room. You were used to these kind of rules.

"Ye sure you don't wanna play tag, pup?" Johnny asks as he turns to you, clearly excited as his tail wags hard and ears perk up. "It's healthy to exercise! Ah'm sure ye'll like it, aye??"

You don't really answer verbally, but just your conflited expression was enough to make him sigh a little with a smile still on his face.

"'Kay, 'kay, ah get it." He shakes his head slightly, tail calming down a little on all the wagging. "I'll try to follow Kyle's advice." Then, he cups his mouth lightly with his hand, like he's telling a secret, as he whisper-shouts to you. "Lad's the smartest of the bunch, he knows what he's talkin' about!"

You nod slightly at that, a small smile coming to your face. He has a bit of a funny personality.

Just your small, shy smile was enough for him to bite down on his lower lip as he tried to control the deep croon he wanted to let out. God... he wanted to just pick you up and carry you forever. He really thought he wouldn't have a more delicate baby then when his harpy babies were born, but oh God, was he wrong....

You just look soooooo... damn small, and cute, and fragile. You don't move much, you don't look particularly energetic and you are bundled up cutely with layers of warm clothing as you look up at his face with big eyes.

So defenseless. How did humans defend themselves in this world??

He couldn't let you get hurt, ever. You are his resposibility now. His and his pack's responsibility.

And, oh God, were you shivering? You seemed to have curled up a little, was it too cold despite their efforts??

How easily did a human get sick??

He's warm. He's very warm. He could warm you up right away. You got so warm when he curled up with you on the nest, he could do it again...

"I-is everything okay...?" Your little meek voice snapped him out of his instincts for a second, eyes widening as he clears his throat slightly.

"Aye, aye, perfectly fine, wee lass. Come 'ere."

Even tho he told you to come to him, he was the one to come to you and kneel down in front of your small form, big hands coming to your jacket to gently adjust on your body firmly, a focused expression on his face as he checks all your others piece of clothing.

"Is it too cold out 'ere, lassie?" He coos quietly, a small pout coming to his lips naturally. It looked like he was talking to a toddler, and it made you blush a little in embarrassement.

"I-It's fine..." You mumble back, unsure. Yeah, sure, it was a bit cold, but nothing you couldn't take, especially with your new clothes.

He didn't seem very convencied, and quickly, he picked you up on his arms, easily taking you to his chest. You were not that surprised anymore, even if just a little startled, but at least he felt warm...

"Ye see, wee lass... we live a bit farther than the other houses, aye?" He asks as he turns to look back at the rest of the land, a lot of grass in a big, big plot, surrounded by a forest. There was a street not that far from there taking to the rest of the city. "We like lots of space, so our plot comes from all the way from the back of our house to the street up ahead."

That makes you winden your eyes a little, and now that you were in his warm arms, turning your head on his direction made you almost bump noses with him.

"All the way to the street...?" You mumble, almost incredulous.

"Aye! Big plot, yeah? Pride and joy to raise my pups 'ere! And when ye go back to school, we'll use one of our trucks to take ye." He smiles, tilting his head to the side in the direction of a big construction in the distance, hard to see, but you deduced it was where the automobiles were.

Suddenly, his fluffly ears perked up, turning on the direction of the house without him even turning his face. A smile appeared easily on his face as he looked down at you on his arms.

"Mama is calling us back." He snickers as he jokes, making you tilt your head in confusion a bit. "Simon, aye? Actually, both mamas. Even Kyle is starting to get antsy. Best that way, eh, wee pup? Before ye get a cold."

You turn your head over his shoulder to look back at the house, and sure enough, Simon and Kyle were both waiting by the open door as Johnny started to make his way back with you still on his arms.

"Tsc, are you trying to make her get sick?" Simon snarks as soon as you two get close enough to the door, grabbing you from Johnny's arms as he takes you inside quickly.

"We dinae even spend that much time outside!" Johnny protests even tho he still had a smile on his face.

"No, I agree with Si, even I was getting a bit antsy." Kyle sighs, closing the door behind Johnny, making sure to lock it. "I thought it would be fine, but it's cold out, and... ugh, whatever. It's hard to explain." He grunts, shaking his head.

"Nah, I get it." Johnny laughs slightly, watching Simon taking your jacked and beanie off gently as he leads you to the kitchen to eat dinner. "Was getting deep into my instincts and lassie was just... standing still, looking at me with big ol' eyes."

"Next time, we are all going out together." Kyle nods, going back to the kitchen with Johnny right behind him.

[georgiapeach30513]

Two Good Reasons, Part 9

Summary: the one with Audrey's birthday

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mature and emotional

Warnings:  Scott Huffman, language, depictions of anaphylactic shock, mentions of divorce, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 7.7K

Previous

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“Ugh,” you groan, tossing another pair of pants on the bed before stomping into the closet. Frustratingly roaming through your clothes. You’re pissed off. No, you’re in a very irritable mood because things have already not gone your way.

First thing this morning it was Scott asking for you to pick the kids up an hour earlier. Which is fine, but he could have said something last night. Hell, he could have just brought them by the house and let them stay here, so you could have a lazy day with them. In their home. Comfortable. But no! He wanted to be a difficult little bitch.

And then it was the sudden urge to pee. And pee again, but that time almost not making it. Then you burned the bacon and now your house smells like shit. And then! Then your newly painted fingernails — one broke. You just wanted a lazy good morning. And Now too many pants are not buttoning. And you’re frustrated, irritable, and in a not great mood.

Happiness is making you gain weight, and you really didn’t want to buy more clothes. But you wanted to remain happy. And in love. And, “What are you looking at?” Your words come out a bit harsher than you intended, and you regret the tone immediately, “I’m sorry.”

“Doe, what’s wrong?” You point over towards the bed, and Andy gives it an odd look. “You’re getting rid of some very nice jeans?”

“No,” you frown as you just reach for some fucking leggings. You weren’t going to try on and fail to button another pair. Not in front of Mr. Perfect Body. Good lord, his body is magnificent. Especially when it’s moving inside yours. You hadn’t gained that much weight. You’re probably just bloated. It’s all water weight. “We’re eating out too much.”

“Once a week?”

“We’re — we’re just — ugh! When I’m happy I tend to cook and bake more, and the result is the jeans not being able to button. So starting today, I’m not going to be snacking as much. And no matter what you say, I won’t be getting one more bite of cake,” that is that. Little changes could make the biggest difference.

“I don’t think…”

“Andy Barber, I know I’m getting older, and my metabolism isn't as quick as it used to be, so I don’t need to hear your excuses,” you bend over to roll the leggings up your legs. It’s fine. You feel fine. You didn’t even care because Andy didn’t seem to mind, and you are so very happy. Leggings and an oversized sweatshirt sound like heaven on a day like today.

“That’s not what I was going to say. I just think you should…”

“We’re going to add some more volume foods. I’ve just got to stop with the extra slice of bread,” he shakes his head no as he smiles and walks towards you, “And I’m going to quit napping so much. I want us to go on a walk every day with the kids. We can take the stroller if they get tired. But I need more movement in my life. If you can go swimming every morning, then I can walk every evening, but I don’t want to walk alone.”

“Honey,” Andy holds his hand over your mouth, using his piercing blue eyes to stare at you in the most intense way that it almost makes you uncomfortable. “Can I speak?” you nod your head once, and Andy exhales slowly, “Will you take a pregnancy test for me?”

You shake your head while rolling your eyes, “Why?” His hand drops off your mouth, and you try and find the words to tell him it's just an impossibility, and not what either of you should be thinking about right now. You need a house to make a home. You wanted out of this house, and divorced before ever truly thinking about pregnancy. At least when you’re not in the moment of getting your back blown out. Andy had that ability. He starts fucking into you, and you want him him to fuck a baby in you.

“Because the likelihood of me ever carrying a child naturally is very slim to none and we’re just not ready for that.”

“Why not?” How is he so good? He’s not even arguing. He is having a conversation, and trying to understand.

“Because I’m still legally Mrs. Scott Huffman,” you retch. Why did you ever marry that buffoon? The only good thing he ever did for you was give you the most beautiful children. “And I want our own home.”

“And I have watched my cum leak out of you before I’m fingering back inside of you. It’s not a lack of trying. And look at the pants,” your eyes flare as you stare at him. “I’m just saying, what if you’re pregnant?”

“I’m not. I’ve had two kids already, I would know,” he nods his head, figuring that you are right because you were the expert in this situation. “And I just,” could your mood swings be pregnancy? You haven’t had a proper period since splitting with Scott. Stress always makes your cycle wonky. “No. Okay, I’m just not. It’s fine. I want to drink more water, I want to walk as a family, I want to change my diet, and I’ll be just fine, okay?”

“Honey, you’re right,” you gawk at him. Did he just admit to knowing you’ve gained weight? “I would like to start walking as a family, too. We always talk with the kids when we get home anyways, so why not talk and walk.”

“Good save, Andrew.”

“Wasn’t trying to save anything, Doe. I’m being honest,” you’re sure he was just trying to ease you off a ledge of emotions that you weren’t ready to dive into. You’re trying to keep your head above the water until the divorce. Until the custody hearing, and you know that you get more time with the kids than Scott does. You want them with you. Scott wants them with him as leverage. Sick bastard.

“Mama!” Suede rushes to your arms as you walk into the apartment. The apartment that isn’t baby proof at all since Taylor moved in. Ooh, you wonder how many times she’s had to tell Suede no, or hands off. Aesthetically everything here is very pleasing, and all of her Instagram followers agree. So much white. Perfect color for a toddler around.

Suede clings to your body, burying his face in your chest. He isn't scared, but you know the separation from you just sets him on edge. This divorce is causing so much unnecessary mental trauma for your children. But staying with Scott would have caused more. In order to have happy children, you need to be happy, “Did you guys have fun? Oh.”

Taylor finally makes her way into the living room with a giant box of Christmas decorations. You know because the box is very aptly labeled as such in the most perfect script writing. Ms. Perfect probably did that herself. “Where’s the cat?”

She shoots you an aggravated look as she opens the box. Scott sits on the couch rolling his eyes, but remains glued to whatever game is on television. Audrey’s bathroom break is taking a bit longer than usual. “She is at my mom’s since Suede has a little issue with her,” the stupid bitch rolls her eyes again, and you’re biting your tongue to remain centered and calm. Pickups and drop offs have started to upset your daughter’s stomach, so you remain cordial for her.

“Yeah, it sucks that cat dander just really makes breathing difficult for him,” he looks towards the box, and oohs at the ornaments that Taylor pulls out of there. Little boys always want things they shouldn’t have, and telling them no makes them want it more. She’s a fucking idiot.

“No!” Not only do you take a step back, and hold Suede tighter, but you also make the most annoyed face in the world, Andy steps in front of you. His natural role of protector queuing up, “No, I told you that you don’t touch my things,” you shoot a glance towards Scott, wondering if he really thought that ‘her things’ were appropriate around your kids. Scott can fuck off. They weren’t his kids. They were a product of his sperm.

“I have had to deal with him all weekend. I tried decorating their room, and he just wants to help, and he puts the ornaments in the wrong space. And I went in there, and he messed it up again.”

“Well, he is two,” you shrug. You take back every nice thing you ever said about Taylor, she’s a bitch, and number two on your eat shit list. “The tree in their playroom at home was there for them to mess up, or hide the ornaments as they pleased. They’re kids. Nothing is perfect with them around.”

“Yeah, and it looks like shit,” her voice is clipped, and you wonder if she’s ever used that tone with your sweet boy. Over something stupid, and it wasn’t perfect for her.

“Taylor, enough,” she huffs before spinning on her heels and stomping out of the room. You’ve seen your daughter do that a few times, and she’s almost five. “God, you see what you did. She’s been fighting with Suede all weekend.”

“Fighting with a two year old?” Andy asks before you can even respond. That was a perfect response. He’s just as protective of them as he is of you.

“She’s trying to make things look nice for the holidays. It’s a nice change compared to your need to wait until after Thanksgiving,” deep breath in. Deep breath out. You will kill him one day. “And don’t make a big deal out of this. Suede had a good time, didn’t you, buddy?” Suede shrugs, and keeps his face buried in your chest. But his hand slowly moves up to your cheek where his cute little hand starts to pet you. A slow and painful death will take Scott out of this world.

“I really don’t want a fight. But I do need to tell you that we’re taking the kids to Michigan for Thanksgiving,” that’s one way to tell him.

“Over my dead body. You don’t get to tell me where you’re taking them. I have to approve. Suede can’t handle a flight. How are you going to keep him occupied?” Suede can’t handle a flight. What would he even know what Suede could handle?

“My parents haven’t seen their grandchildren in a year. They miss them, and the kids miss them.”

Scott gives you an eat shit grin. You’re glad that Andy lets you deal with him as much as possible, choosing the best possible time to jump in, “Like he even remembers your parents,” a very slow and painful death.

You laugh, “They FaceTime the kids every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday. Buddy, you want to go get your backpack? Make sure your iPad is in there, okay?”

“Chess,” he walks wide, staying out of his father’s grasp, but of course Scott doesn’t see that. Doesn’t see the odd quirks Suede has in order to avoid him.

“The damn iPads. Why are you spending so much money on them? That’s not what my support is for,” what is the best way to get away with murder?

“It was actually my assistant district attorney that bought those for them. Ransom is quite fond of the kids, and I’m sure it’ll help Audi practice her courtroom homework.”

Scott blinks slowly twice, and you step in front of Andy only for him to cross back in front of you, “Do you have a problem with how I raise my daughter? Mine. I had to fuck her mom for her. That’s right, I fucked your girlfriend. They will never be yours.”

“Mommy?” Everyone turns towards Audrey. Her tears shimmer in the light as she looks only at you. Her lip quivers a moment, and you know you have just a few seconds to get her out of the audience of others before she starts to cry uncontrollably, “Mommy, my belly doesn’t feel good.”

“Come on, baby. Let’s get yours and Suedey’s things and go home,” Scott starts to say something, and you point your finger at him, shaking your head, “That’s enough,” and he doesn’t want to, but he keeps his fucking mouth shut.

“I’m getting a bit tired of you, Barber,” Andy cocks an eyebrow up. He isn’t going to say a word. You asked him not to when you left with Audrey and Suede. “She is a goddamn genius, and she needs to start now! She’s got an interview with the best school in the district, and I need her prepared.”

“They don’t usually test kindergarteners on how many people are in the jury box, Scotty.”

“You really are a prick, you know that?” Andy shrugs, keeping his sight more down the hall where the kids’ room was. If he looks at Scott, the control he’s proud to keep in check will diminish, and he won’t do anything to jeopardize your custody, “Just remember who…”

“I got it, your sperm made the kids. You won’t ever let me live that one down, and I’m man enough to not let it bother me. But can I give you some advice?”

“Parental advice from someone who isn’t a parent. This should be excellent,” Andy wonders what you ever saw in this tiny little man. Surely he wasn’t always this much of an asshole.

Scott leans back, and smiles up at Andy. Andy never turns his attention to Scott. He just wants to see you emerge from the hall with the kids, “I may not be the reason those kids are here, but I pay attention. I know that Audi gets an upset stomach when she knows that you and her mom are going to be around each other. She’s internalizing her anxiety. I know that Suede when he sees his mom he just wants to hold onto her, and he doesn’t even want to look at you. Doesn’t care much to spend any time with me when they reunite, it’s all about his mom. You may not be physically harming your kids, but the mental distraught you’re causing them will have lasting effects. Your soon to be ex-wife is being too kind to you, and only because she thinks that it will make the transition with her kids easier. I think both you and Taylor know that. I think Taylor’s care for those kids is dwindling. She’s becoming what she should be, a kid that is solely focused on herself. She’s using your money to give her some sort of fulfillment. She plays the role of a good step mom only to her instagram followers, and to her parents, but deep down they resent you because you have children, you're legally still married, and you’re so older than her.”

“Get out of my fucking house.”

Andy slowly blinks, and nods, “That’s my goal,” ignoring Scott, he heads down the hallway. He gives Audrey the biggest smile before the little girl rushes into his arms. “You ready to go, mademoiselle?”

“Yes,” looking at her mom, she giggles. “Are you?”

“I am,” picking up Suede, you follow Andy out of the bedroom, and Scott clears his throat. You just want to get back home, so you can cuddle and love on your babies. It looks like they need extra attention.

“I want to speak to her privately,” Andy slightly shakes his head no, but you hand Suede over to him. And wait until the door to the apartment closes before you cross your arms, and jut your hip out, “I don’t want your boyfriend back here.”

“You don’t get to make those calls. Is that all?”

“You’re making a mistake,” of all the stupid nonsensical things he could say. “I am trying to be kind to you.”

“Kind? What about you is trying to be kind? Saying that I won’t lose my baby weight? Saying I’m used up, and old? Maybe it’s the cruelty you show our children? Or maybe it’s because our court hearing is soon, and you’re scared shitless? I bet that’s what it is,” of course it’s what it is. After the hearing he knows that he won’t be able to hold things over your head. In fact, he probably knows how much you have against him, and his precious Taylor.

“You let him raise our children,” you scoff. He really didn’t want to go there with you. Of course Andy is raising the kids, but he’s doing so with you as his partner. Just how it’s intended to be, “I don’t know what it is you want me to do.”

“I don’t know what it is you want me to do. Andy is a good man. Andy is present in my kids’ lives. He comes home to us every night. He helps around the house, he spends time with them, he is a good role model. And he’s a great man. What is your deal with Andy?”

“He’s a cocky asshole,” Scott had no room to talk. Andy was confident. Scott was arrogant.

“I figured the two of you would get along then,” he rolls his eyes, starting to stand up and walk towards the kitchen. “Is the real problem that I moved on?”

“I thought you would always be there for me,” he’s joking. This fool is seriously joking. How does one move on from seeing the babysitter bounce on top of your husband’s cock, and one you didn’t even particularly like? “Did you think I actually wanted to be here in this small apartment away from my family? I made a mistake, and you won’t give me any time to plead for forgiveness. You moved on to the fucking DA. You knew what you were doing, and it was just to piss me off. We were going to — I’m pissed off because I thought we would eventually work things out,” you hear a bedroom door slam shut before Taylor stomps out of the apartment, and slams the front door. “See what you did?”

“This has been an exhilarating conversation, Scott. But you did that. I had no intentions of getting back with you, nor you me. If you could admit that you did what you did because you thought you would get away with it, and you thought we’d get back together, and you could have your perfect family, while fucking the perfect body, we’d be better off. I don’t want you. I think it’s been many years since I have wanted you. And that is the only thing I’ll ever apologize to you for. I hung on for too long for our kids, but the man that I have always wanted, I now have. Send us the details to Audi’s party, and go fix your girlfriend if you want to keep her.”

“Can you stop calling her that?” You furrow your brows, not fully understanding what he was getting at. “Her name is Audrey. Suede’s name is Suede. Not Suedey, not buddy. Quit babying them,” okay. You need to leave before you say something you truly regret. He wasn’t going to tell you what you should or should not call your children. “I don’t want them to be in Michigan for the holiday.”

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” he obviously had something planned with them if he didn’t want you and Andy to take them to see your parents.

Scott looks in the distance, refusing to answer, mumbling something before, “I’m taking Taylor to Cancun,” he’s serious. He wants you to stay here while he takes his trophy girlfriend to Cancun. You hope all the men there can’t stop staring at Taylor who is always seeking validation from other men. You hope Scott feels as little as he makes you feel.

“And we’re going back to my parents’, Scott. Have a good day,” he can groan and complain all he wants to. If he can take his pretty little girlfriend on vacation, you’re going back to Michigan, and spending time with your family. You would almost have reconsidered, if he was going to be here. If he wanted to spend time with the kids, you would have stayed behind. He wasn’t going to bully you. He wasn’t going to tell you what your kids could do, or what Suede was capable of.

You’ll give him a backpack with plenty of snacks and toys, and Scott Huffman could fuck off. You’re not sure what has come over you concerning him, but you’re done. You don’t care about his feelings or Taylor’s. You don’t care to make sure if they’re comfortable. You just didn’t care.

You huff as you get into the car, and bend your hand backwards for Audrey to hold. Andy doesn’t say anything, he just puts the car into drive. You let your mind wander a bit. Not even about Scott, you didn’t care anymore. You wander to a moment when you, Andy, and your kids didn’t have to deal with that anymore. A moment where you will wake up and everyone you love is under the same roof always. It may be a dream in the future, but you have no doubt that eventually Scott will give you full custody. He truly was using your babies as leverage, and that pisses you off more than the fact he thought shoving his cock in some young whore could ever be forgivable.

But with a gentle squeeze from Audrey, you remember that all the pain of seeing him with Taylor was worth it. You don’t care how long he was sleeping with Taylor. You don’t care if he had any feelings for her then or even now. The only thing you remotely cared about is if your children saw them being romantic in any capacity. Scott and Taylor could eat rocks for all you cared. You just hope your children never saw them fucking.

Your mind focuses on the road in front of you, and you look over to Andy confused. “Where are we going? This isn’t the way home,” this is the complete opposite of home, and Andy’s smile guarantees he’s up to something. “Andy!”

Audrey giggles in the background. Her chubby little hand removes from yours, and she covers her mouth, while Suede grabs both his now shoeless feet as he smiles at you, “Ho, NaNa.”

“Did my baby just call you a ho, Andy Barber?”

“No,” the speed of the car gets slower as he turns onto a small road. “He said, home,” your heart beats rapidly as you see a beautiful house come into view, surrounded by so much land. All this space, and you gasp as you look at him. “Well, we all have to agree,” Andy puts the car into park. Holding up his hand, he lets a single key on a key ring dangle from his finger. “Shall we go look at it?”

Your mouth spreads into the widest grin as you nod your head. Jumping out of the car to get Audrey out of her seat, and Andy grabs Suede. Holding onto your shoeless monster, while everyone runs to the front door squealing. “It’s a bit large. But Linda Drysdale found it. It’s not officially been listed, but the asking price is just too good. There is enough for Suede and Audrey to have their own room, and then — some. Full size and finished basement for a play area, and,” opening up the door he sets Suede down, and both kids dart past you screaming as they run through a mostly empty house. “The master bedroom is phenomenal. There’s a great pantry. Garage. We’d be secluded, so the kids can have space to play and have swings.”

He keeps talking, but you’re just taking everything in. It’s perfect. Right down to the color scheme. It’s almost textbook the house that you and Andy talked about getting when you were silly kids in love looking through Pinterest. The space. The way that your kids are just giggling and laughing. The way that this actually feels like home. More of a home than whatever you and Scott attempted to make.

“Doe?” You spin around to face Andy, but he’s lower on the floor. Audrey leans up against him, while Suede is standing in between his arms, and your ring up in Andy’s hand. It wasn’t just a normal ring. It was the ring. The one that you and him jokingly went shopping for when he was eighteen and you were seventeen. A ring you knew he could never afford, but it was fun to pretend. It still was the perfect ring, and even prettier than you remembered.

“Honey, will you marry me?”

“Chess, mama!”

“Mommy, say yes! Andy asked for permission.”

Oh god. He asked your babies for their permission. This ridiculous man remembered everything. All of it. He is too perfect with your babies surrounding him. Letting them be just as much a part of this proposal as him. Because they are always in the equation. He thought of everything. “Mommy!”

“Yes. Yes!” You drop down to your knees with him. Crowding Suede and Audrey as you try to find his lips. Sealing everything with a kiss. “Give me two good reasons.”

“I can start with three,” Andy whispers against your lips. “Audrey, Suede, and you,” he’s too precious for words. Sometimes it isn’t about the time lost that made the difference, it’s the time now. You spent too many years trying to recreate Andy. But in those years away from him you both did some growing up. But the thing that remained was a true undying love for this man, and your family.

“Mama, we ho!”

“Yes, buddy. We’re home,” you can’t even see properly with the tears that cloud your eyes. First a home. A place to set down your roots. Your forever home with Andy. And then what he’s promised since you were seventeen. That he was going to marry you.

“Mommy! I want the bedroom with the princess window.”

“Me, too. Me oom!” Both kids spring towards the stairs again.

“Don’t run, guys,” Andy says calmly, and they immediately walk instead. They listen to him so well, “Shall we check out the rooms they picked out?”

“Andy, this is too much.”

“No, it’s priced to sell. Linda got us a great deal, and your name will be on the deed as well. If you love this house as much as me and the kids, it’s ours. What do you say?”

You look down to your left hand smiling. It was a stupid morning made right with the most perfect thing you could think of. “Let’s check out our new home,” you answer. Pulling at your fiancé’s arm as you walk towards the stairs. “What about the inspection?”

“Everything is perfect. There’s a little bit more that needs to be done in the basement. But other than that, it’s fully functional. Wires, plumbing, electricity, they all are perfect. After you, my love. I think Audrey and Suede have found their rooms. And there’s plenty more to grow,” plenty more to grow. You like the sound of that.

“What is all this shit?” Audrey’s smile fades quickly as she looks at her father, and Taylor drops her hand. “She’s five years old, it isn’t even that big of a deal,” Taylor marches into the kitchen laying another bag onto the counter, “Audrey, go in the bedroom, and take a nap with Suede. It took him forever to go to sleep.”

“I don’t take naps.”

“Audrey!”

Frowning Audrey stomps her food, “I didn’t even want a birthday party anyways!” Before stomping off into her shared bedroom with Suede, and Scott grabs his head growling. Her outbursts need to stop. They are getting out of control because he can’t give her whatever she wants like you and Andy.

”She was excited about today, and you had to open your big mouth! These are the goody bags that you said you liked. So this is what I ordered,” her movements in the kitchen are harsh, and loud, and it grates on Scott’s everlasting nerves. First his daughter’s temper tantrum, and now her.

“You’ve been in such a pissy mood ever since…”

“I heard you tell your wife that you wanted to get back together,” Taylor interrupts. She knows he’s going to have some line that differs from what she knew. What she actually heard him say. It hurt her. Especially since Scott wasn’t even the perfect catch himself. He had baggage for one. But he was amazing in bed. And then the allowance started.

She didn’t want to be a mom. Every other weekend is fine. But he claims to want more time. She knows he doesn’t want more time with his kids. It’s his need for power. A power she sometimes feeds off of. She used to feed off it all the time. His power was addicting. The men her age didn’t have that. They didn’t have the money or smarts either.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” because that makes her feel better. When the kids aren’t here he’s a different man. They stressed him out because they couldn’t be controlled. Especially not Suede. When he’s awake he is nonstop moving and playing. Always asking questions you couldn’t understand, always getting in your face, always needing attention, always needing help to go to the bathroom. Everything that Scott wasn’t willing to give because it wasn’t his job.

It’s not her fucking job either. They’re his kids. And while they’re cute, it’s annoying that he didn’t want to help at all. She didn’t even know if she wanted kids. She had no desire to remove her IUD, or even tell him about it. Making a mistake on something she felt was more temporary isn’t part of her plan. Not that any of this was. He was cute, and he gave her attention, and that’s as far as her vision went.

“That’s not really how I feel,” it is just easier to ignore Scott’s words. He’d always talk himself into a corner anyways. “She just infuriates me so much. You don’t see the way she prances around with her new boy toy.”

“Fiancé,” she tells him, continuing to move about just so she doesn’t have to look at him.

“Excuse me?” The vitriol in his voice pisses her off. He had no right to be pissed off that she was engaged. Taylor would fuck Andy, too, if given the chance.

“Do you ever listen to your kids?” Scott shrugs. Of course he didn't listen to them, why should he? Usually they were someone else’s problem. And as of late they were her problem, and she couldn’t even do the fun things with Audrey because Suede had to be there, and he was limited. Scott didn’t like having Suede alone either. But today. Audrey was going to have the best birthday. She doesn’t know why his mom couldn’t have withheld him from the party for a couple of hours. She would be selfish like that. Audrey deserves to have the best party without the limitations her brother’s allergies set.

It’s the reason why she wanted their mom to be there so hopefully Suede would beg to go home, like he always did. And she could play dress up with Audrey. Maybe get manis and pedis. She likes Audrey. Suede she didn’t connect with, and she’s sure he doesn’t much care for her either. “Suede and Audrey both told you they got engaged. Audrey even said they’re moving into a new house.”

“What?” His jaw unhooks, and she knows that he has been emasculated again by Andy. “What do you mean they got a new house?”

“NaNa mama ho,” Taylor answers, annoyed, and Scott shakes his head confused, “Andy bought his mama a home. And Audrey clarified it by saying she has a room with lots of windows, and it’s her princess room.”

“Audrey doesn’t like princesses. Audrey likes the law. She lives in reality.”

“OH MY GOD!” Taylor screams agitated. “She’s a child. She is just five years old. Audrey’s likes to do what other normal five year olds do, and that includes princesses.”

“Audrey!” Taylor rolls her eyes, and starts to pack up the things from the house. Her and Audrey can go to the event center early to set up, and Scott can bring Suede later. She’s already annoyed at him. “Audrey Elise Huffman, come here right now!”

Pompous asshole. Audrey comes into the room, now wearing her Madeline dress and Mary Janes that her mom bought for her for the party. The hat in her hand, and her right foot fiddles around a bit, while she struggles to not grimace at her father. “You guys moved?”

“No. No, not yet,” Scott doesn’t see, but Suede lingers in the hallway. Probably peeing on himself since he won’t ask to go to the bathroom. “Um, Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy…”

“Breathe, Audi,” Taylor says softly, and the little girl takes a deep breath, but her father asserts his authority by putting his hands on his hips. “Go on.”

“We take some things there everyday. But we still sleep at home. D-Andy had someone paint my pri — my room,” of course she would change what she called her room. She’s in front of her father. But she told Taylor that her bedroom was a soft pink.

“What’s your favorite thing to play?” Scott asks, thinking he’s going to trick her.

“Bocks.”

“Suede, I wasn’t talking to you,” Audrey furrows her brow, and holds out a hand for her brother, but he growls, and turns to go back where he came from. Taylor knows that none of those kids apart from their last name belong to Scott. “Audrey?”

“I like to draw. And do adding,” Taylor wonders if Scott ever took the time to look at Audrey’s sketch books to see in between every drawing of a courtroom was unicorns, or mushrooms with faces. “Are Andy and Mommy coming today?”

“Chess. Andy, mama. Me ho!” He makes a bunch of loud noises in his bedroom, and Taylor bites her tongue because that means she has another mess to clean.

“Ugh,” Scott groans. He needs a nap. “Yeah, Suede get dressed,” a two year old get dressed by himself. Yeah, Taylor already sees where this is going, and walks away from Scott and to the kids room to get Suede dressed. Accessories are all they are to him. If she were to be asked, she’d tell the court that their mom deserved them. One day with the kids was enough for Taylor, but even their father couldn’t stand to truly be around them for more than an hour. It’s why he always left. Or why he made an excuse to be in his office. Why he came home late. She’s biding her time until after she goes on vacation. She never could have afforded it alone.

“They rented this for a five year old?” Ransom asks. It was a bit ostentatious for a child’s birthday party. I’m sure that Taylor’s Instagram will look fabulous today.

“They had to have the space for the bounce houses,” Ransom looks in the backseat at you. Sweet angel child, this is how Scott would have your children grow up, lacking a sense of child wonderment. “They’re these blow up things, and you can bounce and hop on them. Andy, I did get Suede’s inhaler, right?”

“Yep,” he could exert so much energy on those things, you hope that he was breathing okay. Or even that the adults were paying attention to how his lungs are working. “Doe, we’re not that late. You said you didn’t want to intrude on their birthday party.”

Being late didn’t even bother you. The less time you spend around him the better off you are, “I just can’t help but,” you didn’t want to say it, but something felt off. There’s a sinking feeling in your gut, and you’re trying to ignore it. But it is screaming. Blaring inside of your heart. “Andy, something’s wrong.”

He shakes his head no, but the moment the car is in the spot, you jump out of the car. Trying to remain calm, but your skin is crawling. Every hair on your body is prickled up, and all you hear is laughing and music. Your chest heaves as you walk towards the entrance, with Andy and Ransom jogging on your heels.

Going in the building you scan everywhere. Your smiling girl gives you a wave from one of the bounce houses, but no Suede. There is too much noise. Too many people. Too many kids. Too much going on. Scott sits with a group of men, and Taylor’s bouncing around like an idiot on the slide with the group of men watching her. Pigs. Everyone is accounted for. But…

”Andy, where’s Suede?” He goes off one way, while Ransom goes another, and you walk into the belly of the too many people like a wild woman. Your head whips back and forth as the bad feeling festers deeper in your bones. You want to vomit. Where’s your baby?

This isn’t right. There’s something wrong. He stays with Audrey, and none of those kids were him. Who were all these fucking kids? Who were all these men? Your throat is so dry. Fear doesn’t creep up, it swallows you whole. Taking every last bit of breath from your body. You didn’t see him. Couldn’t hear him. He always sees you first.

“Suede!” Nononononononononono. “Suedey! Baby, no!” The roar of the event center changes as you scoop up your baby from the floor. “Fucking macarons. There’s eggs in here. Oh my god. Andy! Oh my god, he’s not breathing!”

You can’t even hold your hand steady as you try to get the EpiPen out of your bag. “He’s not breathing. No no no,” the color of his skin is all wrong, and tinged purple. How long has he been here? My god you hate them. Hate both of them. You asked for one fucking thing.

You jab the pen into his leg, and open up his mouth. Scooping out the bit of cookie he couldn’t swallow. “Suedey, baby, mommy’s here. Come on, baby,” Ransom is already on the phone with 911, and you can’t focus on anything but the blurry baby in your arms. Your tears stain your cheeks, and make it impossible to see properly, “Suede! Suede, mommy needs you to take a breath.”

He’s so cold. He is too small, and doesn’t seem right. This is supposed to be a fun day. It could have been. Keep allergens away from Suede. That’s how you prevent this. “Suede, buddy, breathe for mommy,” holding a hand over his chest, you can’t think, you just do, and lay him on the floor to breathe for him.

“Mommy!” You want to comfort her, but you can’t. Suede needs oxygen. You took his allergies seriously, and learned everything there was to know in case of an emergency. “Mommy, he’s not dying,” Ransom scoops Audrey up in his arms, walking away with her kicking and screaming. He knows you don’t have time to deal with her comfort right now.

There are times you have to pick and choose your children, and right now Suede wasn’t conscious. Beat by beat. Pressure by pressure, you keep filling his lungs with oxygen, while you press onto his chest. Sounds that a mother should never experience inhabit your body as his chest cracks, but you just want air to move into his body.

“Come on, baby. Mommy loves you and she needs you,” come on. Take a breath. You need to see that he is capable. You can’t give up hope. It may be the swelling of his throat constricting his breathing. But the EpiPen will do what it needs to do. You have faith. He is okay.

It isn’t a breath as much as it is a gurgled cry, but it’s enough to see his skin starting to change back. “There you go, baby,” his blood shot eyes open up, and he stares at you so confused, and hurting. “Hey, Suedey. Mommy’s here. I’m right here, baby.”

He moves his mouth with no sound coming out, but you don’t care. He’s alert enough to see you. He looks around at everyone crowding him, but he’s back to you in a second. You pet along his face, crying and smiling, unable to focus or breathe yourself. Exhaustion overcomes you, but your baby is breathing.

“You son of a bitch!” You can’t even process that Andy is screaming, you just see this sweet little boy who is so scared and confused. “One fucking thing! She asked you one goddamn thing and that was that he could have everything here! That was it. You and your child of a girlfriend are deadbeats. You could have killed him!”

“Hey, baby,” you coo at him. Keeping him focused on you and not the fight that’s ensuing behind you.

“Mama,” his voice hurts so much, but it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. “Mama,” he’s okay. He’s not perfectly fine, but he’s okay.

”I know buddy. We have to wait for the ambulance. You and mommy are going on a ride.”

“My daddy,” his eyes circle around, looking for his father.

“He’s,” a piece of shit. He will never have your son with him alone ever again. You didn’t care if he ever saw Suede ever again. He didn’t deserve his son. His son meant nothing to him. He allowed those stupid cookies here, and couldn’t keep an eye on him.

“NaNa my daddy,” you wipe the tears and snot off your face. Andy can be his daddy. Scott didn’t deserve it. “My daddy NaNa.”

“Andy,” your voice is a croak, and he won’t hear it over his berating of Scott, but you didn’t have the energy to even try. “Andy.”

“You’re a sorry piece of shit, Scott, and you’re fucking idiot,” he defeatedly says as he walks over to you. “Suedey, buddy, you scared us,” this took ten years off of your life.

“Daddy. My daddy,” Andy looks over towards you, and you just nod your head. “Tong.”

“Yes, buddy, you’re so strong. Those sirens are for you. I’m going to check on Audi, okay?”

“Otay,” his little hand tries to give him a thumbs up, and Andy kisses your temple. He gives Suede a thumbs up back, as he stands up, ready to get Audrey.

“I’ll — you want me to bring Audi to the hospital?” No. She’s traumatized enough as it is. “Ransom said he can take her to his grandpa’s for a few hours.”

“Okay,” it’s the bad thing about not having friends here. But Ransom is a start. Didn’t hesitate to do what needed to be done. He took care of it all, while a part of you died inside. You have no feelings towards Scott, he’s dead to you. You struggled to ask for sole custody, but you aren’t struggling anymore.

You hear him saying your name, but ignore him. You are numb to him. That man has done the worst things to you, but purposefully being negligent to your child is unforgivable.

“He’s had an EpiPen?” You nod your head to the paramedic, and Suede squeezes your hand a bit tighter. “You ready to go for a ride? We’re going to make sure everything is okay.”

“Me tong,” Suede whispers out, and you finally smile.

“You’re the strongest little buddy I know,” and he is. You’ve never seen a two year old be as resilient as him. The way he is trying to smile despite whatever his little body is screaming. You know he’s in pain. Know that he’s hurting so bad, but he’s okay. Scott says your name again, and you don’t even look.

“Ma’am, is that your husband?”

“No, I’m not married. I’m engaged to…”

“My daddy. Mine,” Suede taps his chest, and you want to hold him and squeeze him. It might be a long way in the distance, but it is something Andy has hinted at. He’d adopt your kids. It’d be a process, but it’d get Scott out of child support. It would take the responsibility off his shoulders, and Andy would take it all. You don’t want a conversation. You want Scott to disappear, and let you and your kids move on with a man that loves and enjoys all of you.

They lift Suede up on the gurney, and he reaches for your hand, looking more scared now than before. “They’re not taking you from me, baby.”

“Doe, I’ll meet you at the hospital, honey,” you collapse in Andy’s embrace. Trying to absorb his strength before you get into the ambulance with Suede.

“My daddy,” you step up into the ambulance with him.

“Yeah, buddy, I’m your daddy,” Suede smiles at Andy before the doors are closed. And Andy walks towards the car.

“Barber!”

“Scott, how long was he out?” Scott shakes his head. The bastard didn’t even know. “I’m going to say this as nice as I know how, but you’re a sorry piece of shit. You didn’t care about Suede, and that proves it! You let that girl bring fucking eggs in the party, and you as the parent didn’t watch to see if he was getting into it. Do you believe he has allergies now? My fiance had to breathe life back into her baby! She saved our son’s life.”

“He’s my son!”

“By blood. That’s all you have. He’s my son by choice. His choice and mine. Suede could have died, and you’re too busy trying to have a pissing contest with me. I’m going to the hospital to comfort my fiance and son, and we’re going to pick up my daughter, and we’re going to go home,” Scott growls, showing more emotion with the mention of Audrey being Andy’s daughter than Suede’s.

“You’re an insufferable asshole that plays favorites. Don’t call. Don’t text. We’ll see you in court,” Andy slings his door open before he gets in. He meant what he said. That was it. Andy would make sure that the law was thrown at Scott. Because of his negligence Suede nearly lost his life. He’s finished playing nice. Fuck Scott Huffman.

Today, Andy Barber is a father.

Next

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[chaoskull]

Briton Rivière - Una and the Lion

Devoided of Words - part 2

Lion El'Johnson x fem!reader

Summary: Lion has now learned about his mistakes, but in a moment of closeness in isolation, was he truly able to keep such a promise of composure?

Thank you so much for the love on Part 1!

Finally finished part 2, I'm not sure what happened, I had a clear vision on the start, but then I just kept going.

Days have passed since she last saw him, from what she has heard, nothing like that has happened ever since, it was most likely he'd been in the castle for a week.

Unexpectedly, as she wanders through the fortress, she hears the voice of Luther.

A window seat outlooks a patio below, if she's lucky enough she may be able to see him, so she sits inclined forward to observe the scene below her. She can't quite make the situation he's being punished for, but through the strings of curses, and the anger of the one reprimanding him, she can recognize that he won't be able to leave his wrath until he deems him conscious of his actions.

Lion stares at the man, Luther scolds him, but all he thinks is how those men dared to take him away from you days ago, their smell must've been all over you, he despises the ideia. He wished nothing more than to hold you again, bathe you in his scent, he must take you away from them, where no one is to find your location, to be the two of you alone in your closeness.

He knows what he's done is wrong, the look Luther gives him says much, but he ignores the motive he was actually here for, he is to find you tomorrow at best, perhaps you may be near the place he once found you.

Something catches his attention, he's being watched, instinctively he looks up only to find her, she quickly tucks her head in to view him more discreetly, blocking his sight of her. The words stop for a moment and she hears the movement of steps of someone in armor.

Luther approaches the boy, he follows the boy's gaze to the window and he questions Lion, firmly pointing up to the window, he looks back at him dismissively, Luther sighs and pats the boy on the shoulder leading him away.

Now she's curious of the boy's behavior, she'll have no other way, she must find him and have her answers. He might've not spoken to her, but his conviction afflicted her, his utmost obstinacy and determination captivated her. ‘Today I must wait, they don’t seem to want to leave him alone yet’ she concludes.

Luther never thought one could improve their knowledge in such short time, and yet the young man, who he discovered, is far more clever than others he'd deem near his age, in addition to that, he knew nothing before he was taken to study.

To learn a language, as late as the boy started, is both complicated and grueling. He heard from a few colleagues that it would be hard to teach the boy, but this case is exceptional.

Values and morals are complex to understand, but Lion seems to absorb them at an incredible rate.

However, the knight can be stressed at times the beastly habits the boy shows appear erratically, it was to be expected. He was to make Lion into an honored person, he decided it'd be best to teach him another lesson on the matter.

He guides Lion to a study, where he can learn and be uninterrupted, as it seems the boy seems not to care for his teaching. The walls of the room seem to be entirely covered in books, he takes a long while finding which to take as he looks back he's met with the bored gaze of the boy, he's in desperate need to find a second tutor to supervise him.

A round wooden table is positioned in the middle of the room, he places a book he deems fit to educate the young man on it and sits, gesturing for Lion to do the same.

He does what the man asked of him and sits, he did not wish to be reprimanded again, specially after being chastised in her presence, it was humiliating to know that she was attentively watching as Luther shouted rules and principals at him, he doesn’t feel anger as much as he’s ashamed, he thinks she know what it meant when he was punished, that he was wrong for his doing, and so if he was to see her again only for her refuse him as she initially did.

The book cracks when opened, Lion awakes from his thoughts, and Luther starts, he speaks with clarity to emphasize every syllable, the boy was sick of this, he takes a look at the book, searching for words, focusing on their meaning, he points to 'need' and 'girl’.

He did not want to be separated from her so quickly, their moment together was far too short, and yet he yearns for her.

"You've known her for minutes! What are you talking about?!" Luther exclaims, perplexed by his proclamation, "No, you do not." He says as clearly as possible for the boy to definitely understand.

The answer is a simple connection for Lion now, the opposite of ‘no’. "Yes." Lion replies, it's been days since he uttered a word from his mouth, his deep voice, without practice, is hoarse as he speaks. “So now you speak, I see” Luther is starting to feel more irritated by the second.

“I will take you to her, you finish this first” He gives in to the boy’s wishes to prevent what could become a far worse scenario.

Lion's eyes are now trained to the book in full concentration, he silently hears the teachings, just as how it was in his initial days, when he was completely foreign to civilization.

As Luther explains to him the subject of human relations yet again, he disciplines the boy about the importance of boundaries to prevent the boy from being part of another disastrous scene. Lion waits for this expendable conversation to end.

Lesson concluded, as promised, Luther took the boy to where she could possibly be, he found her at a secluded watchtower, now abandoned, many artifacts, books, and scrolls could be seen everywhere.

She was sitting on a couch that was pushed in front of a bookshelf but quickly got up to greet them. What he did not expect was to not be acknowledged, she looked at Lion, who stood still as if he was asking for a cue so he could act.

The look they give each other is what one could describe as embarrassment or nervosism. Luther stands in front of the girl, grabbing Lion by the arm as if he'd latch himself at her immediately if he were let go, they were two adolescents, an adult figure interfering their communication, and so they stare at each other not knowing what to do.

Although it's clear something else is present in Lion's mind, he seems tense at the presence of Luther near you, his jaw was clenched, shapely eying the man, he wishes to get rid of him.

“I've come to you as it seems Lion is fond of your company, I am in need to have a reunion with members of the order” Luther speaks breaking the silence, he pats the boy on the shoulder and takes his leave. “I'll leave you two be, Lion” He says in a warning tone.

The moment the knight is out of sight he gets closer, he knows you won't be interrupted a second time if he is to be less abrupt, so he tries to get near her as caustically as possible. That is in his view to walk towards her and embrace her in his arms.

Luckily she expected it to be like this and so she lets him hold her, waiting until his grip on her loosens a little to move back.

“Do you… speak now or…?” She tentatively asks and receives no verbal answer, only another grunt.

He tries again to envelope her in an embrace, but she quickly catches his arms holding in place, he leans forward anyways, in what could be almost considered a careful attempt to pounce on her, only to make her stumble from his weight and fall back to the couch.

She winces, being squashed between him and the furniture. “What a graceful hunter you must've been.” she comments and is met by a displeased gaze from Lion. “...you understand me?” she asks, curious to know if he knew what she said.

He presses her further on the couch only to drop himself entirely on top of her, pulling his arms off her hands. He nods, no matter how much he learns, he's always kept himself silent, although now that could change, there is more that stops him from doing so.

Even in an environment that is foreign to him, Lion had always had himself in control, as a hunter he'd have a plan for all possible scenarios in his head. Now his issue was not one in need of a violent or authoritarian resolve, he was to present himself in a much different way, one he had no idea on how to do so.

Caring gestures were out of his mastery, as of now he's found a solution, closeness. At times, in the forest and castle, he'd been observant of the couples, both beast and human, one common factor had always been fisical affinity.

In truth, the reason for his lack of words was that Lion was not trusting of his speech, he had no knowledge of the habits of humans in such regard, as the subject seems to be closed for those who participate in such costumes and Luther had no interest in teaching him about such things.

The girl was waiting for a response that would not be uttered, even if he did know what she said meant he could not answer her yet. His expression said enough, he thinks, although in her vision he practically didn't move a line on his face. But one thing didn't change, his eyes, once again, almost made her tremble in his hold.

He leans in, his face getting closer to hers for a second - she notices the awful bruise he must've gotten had healed already - only to nuzzle on her hair and shoulder. She will be certainly his, he'll make sure they will all know that.

“What are you doing, Lion?” She says, just to avoid having a long period of stillness.

Placing her hands on his shoulder blades she can feel the rise and fall of his breaths, and when doing so she notes a fairly small hum coming from his throat.

Shifting slightly to properly lay on the couch she accidentally drops a book she was reading before. The action surprised Lion, lifting himself from her to look at the perpetrator only to find another book, how he despises them now.

She reaches out for it but is stopped by Lion who takes it himself and is about to throw it across the room “You want to read it?” He stops to look at her, she seems so interested as she looks at him in fascination, an itch let her read it takes ahold of him, no matter how much he despises when Luther does so.

Shoving the book to her, she takes it, and opens to reveal what appears to be a historical book, she does not truly know what could be understood by him, but regardless she starts to read to him.

Lion didn't care for it, he stopped listening after a while, all he could concentrate on was her voice, her lips, and eyes. He had to sit beside her, inclining into her back. A hunting beast can wait patiently for long before they are certain they'll claim their prey, and now he embraces her, in a blissful moment, as if his life depended on it.

A true successful capture would be if no one was to disturb the two of them, but that will soon happen no matter how much he's against it.

I'm not sure I'll be able to continue writing so I kinda left it on an open ending, hope yall like it!

[daisymbin]

hi! could you do fluff prompt #37 with hoshi but its yn who brings hoshi flowers AAAAAAAAAA maybe because yn knows how hard this cb has been for hoshi so they surprise him with flowers after practice ><

WHY IS THIS CUTE!!!!! thank you for requesting lovely 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist!

fluff prompt #37: "you brought me flowers? just because?"

soonyoung was getting frustrated. he had been trying to nail down the choreography for the last hour, but it wasn’t clicking. his movements were stiff, and the steps felt off. it wasn’t even about the difficulty of the routine—he was just getting too worked up over the smallest things. his temper was hot, his mind too cluttered to focus.

mingyu and seungkwan were there too, leaning against the wall and watching him with amused looks. neither of them said anything, knowing well that interrupting soonyoung when he was in this mood was a terrible idea.

just as soonyoung was about to shout in frustration, the door to the practice room opened. he watches as you stepped in, carrying a small bouquet of bright flowers, and the atmosphere immediately shifted.

soonyoung stopped mid-movement, his eyes snapping to the flowers in your hands. his irritation faded for a split second, replaced by a flash of confusion. who’s giving her flowers? he thought, his chest tightening. is it her crush?

he stared at you for a moment, his gaze slightly narrowing. “who gave those to you?” he asked, his tone a little more annoyed than usual, though he tried to mask it.

you blinked, taken aback by the question. “uh... no one,” you said softly, holding the bouquet out toward him. “i got them for you.”

for a moment, soonyoung didn’t know how to process that. “for me?” his voice was barely above a whisper as he looked at the flowers, then back to you. “why?”

his ears began to burn a little, the tips turning a shade of red that was impossible to hide. he wasn’t used to this, to being the center of your attention like this. he could feel his heart racing slightly as he tried to make sense of it. why would you get me flowers?

“just because,” you replied with a shrug, offering him a soft smile.

soonyoung stared at the flowers again, the blush creeping further across his cheeks. “you... got me flowers? just because?” his voice dropped, quieter now, a little more vulnerable. he could feel his own heart hammering in his chest.

before you could respond, mingyu, ever the troublemaker, jumped in with a grin plastered on his face. “you got soonyoung hyung flowers? what about me? what about us? we want flowers too!"

"they're just flowers, friends can give each other flowers! calm down." you answered, trying to calm your hammering heart.

seungkwan chimed in, barely able to contain his laughter. “just flowers? just because? this is a whole new level of romance,”

soonyoung’s eyes widened, and his ears turned even redder as he shot both of them a glare. “shut up,” he mumbled, his words barely audible. he was trying to keep his composure, but it was hard with mingyu and seungkwan giving him no mercy.

you, on the other hand, felt your stomach twist with nerves. you had no idea what was going on, but it sounded like they were making fun of you. was it that obvious? you thought, trying not to fidget with your hands. maybe bringing him flowers wasn’t such a good idea after all.

soonyoung, still flustered and now very much aware of how loud mingyu and seungkwan were being, took a deep breath and finally looked back at you. “thanks... really. i, uh... i appreciate it.”

you gave him a small smile, but you could feel the tension between you two. “no problem,” you said, shifting awkwardly. “well, i’ve got some errands to run. i should go.”

as you turned to leave, soonyoung’s eyes followed you, his mind racing. what am i doing? he thought. just tell her you like her already, you idiot.

mingyu and seungkwan shared a knowing look, and as soon as the door clicked shut behind you, they wasted no time.

“you’re such an idiot,” mingyu said, his voice dripping with teasing. “how much more obvious can it be? flowers? just because? come on.”

seungkwan snorted. “seriously, how can you not see it? she brought you flowers, you’ve gotta make a move, or she’s gonna think you’re either completely stupid & clueless or you just don't have feelings for her.”

soonyoung’s face was burning now, his fists clenching at his sides. “i know, okay? it’s not that simple.”

mingyu rolled his eyes. “it’s not that complicated, you just need to get your act together. you’re lucky she even likes you.”

soonyoung didn’t say anything more. he was too embarrassed to admit just how nervous he was about the whole thing. he didnt want to admit that something as simple as flowers got to him, but something in him clicked, and without another word, he turned and rushed for the door.

he dashed down the stairs, his mind made up in an instant.

you were just outside the building, walking down the street with your head slightly lowered. soonyoung caught sight of you and nearly tripped in his haste to catch up. “hey!” he called out, his voice breathless. “wait up!”

you stopped and turned to face him, eyes wide. “soonyoung? did i leave something behind?”

he ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. "no, uh," he took a deep breath, then blurted out the question he had been dying to ask. “do you have time tonight? for dinner? and maybe a movie?” his eyes shifted to yours, trying to read your expression.

you blinked, caught off guard by the suddenness of his words. “dinner and movie? like... outside?"

he nodded quickly, his nervousness creeping back in. “yeah, like... outside.”

your eyes flicked between him and the ground, trying to process what was happening. “like... a date?”

soonyoung’s heart skipped a beat, and he nodded again, more confident now as a smile creeps onto his face, “yeah. like, a date.”

[kalmiaphlox]

Damn, this is what it feels like to be you?

AO3 Link / Masterlist

Part 1 / Part 3

Guide Me As You Do

Twisting his head up to rest his chin on her chest, Astarion smiles big and wide. Hircine is immediately suspicious, red eyes narrowed to slits, awaiting whatever he's about to say. “My love, can I play with my—yourself?” “Clarify.”

Pairing: Astarion x Named Female Tav (Hircine)

WC: 6.5k

Main Tags: Body Swap, Humor, Fluff, Smut, Body Worship, Guided Masturbation, Massages, Little Edging, and stretching because its good for the body.

A/N: Don't walk on people's back. it really isn't good for the spine.

A big thank you to @amoremagnificentbastard for your kind words on this chapter 🥰

Tag list: @zozoparsnips

Maybe being alive is the worst thing someone can be. 

If Astarion never uses the toilet again, it will still be too soon. Ugh, he feels so dirty—tainted. 

Still stuck in Hircine’s body, still subject to her body's needs, he laments his state. 

He furiously scrubs his slim body down in the bath, leaving red marks where he might have been a touch too rough and maybe taking too long to thoroughly inspect the wonderful tits now attached to his chest. Any slight movement has them swaying and the way they squeeze and conform around every touch or surface has his core quivering for something. It's so strange, the need to be filled instead of to fill. He wants so badly to slide his fingers into this heat, to know the feeling of being inside himself like that, but Hircine might not like him doing that to her body. 

So, fondling his breasts will have to do for now. It's not easy turning Hircine into a whimpering mess that begs for his cock even on their best, most lustful days when she's so tired, so overworked, and then she said she isn't attracted to her own body which certainly puts a damper on getting hot and heavy. Sex might be off the table, and while it's unfortunate to not experience such a once in a lifetime opportunity, they will be just fine without. 

He'll take this chance instead to learn what feels good in Hircine’s body so he can apply that when—not if—they return back to themselves.

Newly refreshed, Astarion towels off, but a shocking sight catches his eye.

My—no, Hircine’s reflection!

How did he not even think of the opportunity mirrors provide now?!

Trotting up to the mirror, Astarion gapes in awe at having something shown back at him, even if it isn’t exactly what he wants to see. Hircine is so lucky that he loves this beautiful face, so staring at it in adoration for much too long is no skin off his back…

Oh, he can make those jokes.

His pretty drow wife stares back at him now. Her soft, light gray skin with those rosy undertones that makes his mouth water from how inviting it is, is lit wonderfully in the bathroom candlelight, and the shiny slate and silver streaked hair long, silky and… grabbable. He loves the way her head will bend back when he takes a fistful of those locks to plant a kiss upon her lips or to sink his fangs into the sensual curve of her neck. 

Lavender eyes with a gold ring around the pupils reflect back into his gaze, catching the light perfectly. He can’t believe he ever thought them strange, and now the glow that shines so bright in the dark is always something he searches for in their quiet moments of peace in bed or on the den couch. Lavender and gold, a much better combination than the maroon that infests nearly every corner of their lives. 

Her straight, high-born nose, and her lovely plump mouth, unfortunately stained with a plum colored lipstick. He understands why she hides her natural lip color under it, but Astarion wants nothing more than to see her ghostly pale lips at all times. 

Maybe one day.

Thinking of ghostly pale, he draws his fingers down the smooth skin of her neck until he meets the ridiculously plush swell of a breast, watching as it indents with his touch. Beautiful, truly. He cups the left breast, Belbol as he’s named such a gift, and then moves on to the right one, Iiyola, his treasure. The areolas and nipples are the same bone white of her lips, with the slightest flush of pink beneath the surface. Fuck, he loves sucking on these.

Looking down, Astarion considers, could I? Just for a moment, see how it feels for him to taste his own tits… Hircine does it for him when asked, so why can't he?

Good gods, is he horny. He shakes the thought from his mind, freeing himself from the lust that threatens to overtake him.

With a fluffy, cotton robe wrapped around his body, he returns to the bedroom, throwing open Hircine’s closet to dig out a pair of panties from a dresser that he slides on quickly. 

I would much rather be naked, but I'm trying to be respectful.

Hircine stands by the fireplace, running a finger along the marble mantle. She turns, quirking an eyebrow at his appearance. “Did you bathe?”

“Yes,” he says, tightlipped, wrapping his arms around himself for some comfort.

“Wha-What happened? I thought you only needed to pee?”

He claps his hands over his ears. “Don't talk about it! It was awful and everything is ruined!”

The whole ordeal was traumatic. Astarion very badly wants to return to his vampire self. Gods, the grass really isn't greener on the other side. 

Taking pity on him, though he can absolutely see the smile she's smothering, Hircine holds out her arms, beckoning him to her. Rushing to melt into her embrace, he's not surprised to find why she likes to be held by him so much, strong arms supporting his thin frame, easily resting her chin on the top of his head so he's swallowed in solace.

What he does not enjoy is the distinct lack of heartbeat from the chest he's resting his ear against, but Hircine, his perfect girl, she never complains about such things.

Hmm, what else is his perfect girl good at? 

Oh, he knows.

Twisting his head up to rest his chin on her chest, Astarion smiles big and wide. Hircine is immediately suspicious, red eyes narrowed to slits, awaiting whatever he's about to say. “My love, can I play with my—yourself?”

“Clarify.”

“You’re so bendy. I want to try it out, you know, like when you lay on the floor in the splits or touch your toes to your head.”

“Ah, I see. Go wild, Husband.”

He purrs into her chest, “I love when you call me ‘husband’ in my voice.”

“You are so weird, Husband,” she says as a kiss is pressed to his forehead, “Off you go. Be flexible or whatever.”

Letting out a girlish shriek that they are both alarmed by, Astarion slides the lounge chair against the wall to give himself some space before settling down cross legged on the rug. Maybe he’s getting ahead of himself, now at a loss for what to do next. “So, what do I do?”

Hircine chuckles, a nice deep rumble that he likes. “I’d recommend some stretching so you don’t tear a muscle… Eugh, that’s the worst.” She sits down across from him, straightening her now much longer legs along the floor and Astarion copies the movement. “This is a perfect opportunity because I don’t think you stretch this poor body near enough.

“Now, follow my lead, Husband, but even if you feel like you can go further in your stretches, don’t strain yourself.” One leg is kept straight as the other is bent in, placing her foot against the first leg’s inner thigh. “Try not to arch your back, stay straight and lean forward to touch your toes. You should be able to wrap your hands around your foot.”

Following her verbal instructions and visual cues, Astarion stretches as she does, feeling the pull in his hamstrings. His stomach and chest are pressed against his thigh which isn’t so bad, though he’d prefer them pressed against his actual body.

She demonstrates some more stretches that they perform dutifully before Hircine gives him the go ahead to do as he pleases without wrecking her—his body.

The goal is the splits.

Returning to his feet, Astarion moves off the rug, letting his feet slip slowly out from under him sideways on the polished wood floor. He’s seen Hircine do this a thousand times, she’s always slow and steady with it. Eventually his groin meets the floor, having lowered himself all the way down. Gods, what fun! Hircine is still stretching every single muscle in her body, and Astarion clears his throat to get her attention, smiling deviously. “When we switch back, I am begging you to slide down like this onto my lap, preferably naked.”

She rolls those glinting red eyes, turning over on her side away from him to continue what she was doing in peace, the broad slopes of her back now concealing her completely.

Leaning forward so his stomach presses against the ground, he adjusts his legs out behind him, curling them up and arching his back upwards. 

And just like that, his toes are touching the top of his head.

He giggles quietly to himself, giddy at the strangeness of it. “Maybe we should start stretching together. I want to be able to do this.”

“Honestly, I expected you to be in much worse condition. If we stick to a good schedule, I bet you could be bent in half before the year is over.”

“Only if I get to bend you in half afterwards, my love~” He sings in the nice lilting tone of her voice. 

“Hmmm…” Is her only response. 

Playing around a little longer, Astarion twists this way and that, even doing what she calls a back bend with his forearms and elbows laid flat on the ground. The soreness that's plagued his body settles into a dull ache after all these tests of her flexibility.

Hircine is tense all the time. He can easily recall occasions where he’s rubbed a hand along her shoulders and remarked on the tenseness there. The body must feel so sore since Astarion is more loose…

Has he ever given Hircine a massage? Perhaps not, but now is a good opportunity to try so they can learn what the other wants.

“Pet?” He calls.

Hircine stops rolling her head around on her neck to look at him. “Yes?”

“Care for a massage? I do you, you do me?”

“Oh, that sounds nice.” Getting to her feet, Hircine points to their bed. “Does that work?”

“Yes, love. You lay down first.” He waits at the edge of the bed while she climbs up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Actually, uhm—”

“What?” She asks.

He wets his plush lips. “Can you take the clothes off? I need to see myself naked, please!” Voice morphing into a beg, the kind she uses when she wants him to come on her face, the deviant.

Hircine sighs, the sound one he is all too familiar with from himself. 

Gods, this whole experience is strange. 

Always one to give in though, Hircine begins undressing, but that's not what he wants. Rushing forward, Astarion slaps her hands away and starts unfastening each button on his own. 

“You just wanted to feel yourself up, didn't you, Husband?” She says, easily letting him do all the work.

“Guilty as charged, my love~” Ah, the sing-songy tone is very fun. His real voice just doesn't hold those notes as smoothly. 

The shirt is quickly shucked off, baring the smooth planes of his—now Hircine's chest to him. 

Oh, he could just run his tongue over every part of that body. The chiseled pectoral muscles, flat abdominals, those tight pink nipples… He drags the tip of his fingers along every bit, the silky soft feel of his real skin a delight for the senses, making sure to circle the nipples the way Hircine likes and—

Nothing, of course. She stares at him in her usual expectant way. 

Astarion pouts. “Are you not turned on because I'm you or because I'm a woman, now?”

“Both.” Not even a speck of hesitation. 

“Eugh,” How did he end up with a misandrist that is only physically attracted to men? “What if I turned into a man?”

Those glimmering red eyes flick around the room before closing with a groan of disgust. “Then you'd look like my brother and that's even worse.”

Ah, right. 

“Fine.” He sinks into her firm chest, enjoying how it stands strong against his weight. “Hold me tight, please.”

In an instant, Hircine’s arms wrap around him, squeezing Astarion until his breath is forcefully pushed from his lungs in a grunt, and then the pressure is lessened with an “Oops, sorry,” muttered into his hair.

Is he really that strong? 

Alright, that’s enough. Astarion pulls away, holding Hircine at arms length. “Still not naked enough.”

If her pretty claret eyes could roll all the way into the back of her head, they absolutely would. 

He drops to his knees, just the same as Hircine has many nights before this, always ready to please. They can roleplay for a bit, not that it will amount to anything when Hircine won’t get into the mood. More buttons are undone, pants pulled down, and all that’s left is the underwear. Nothing special, of course, because he wasn’t expecting to be eye level with his cock anytime soon—or ever.

A glance up at Hircine, who looks a mix of bored and intrigued, if such a thing is possible. Well, it’s Hircine, so yes, it is. “Are you about to be weird?” She asks.

“Just let me do this, Hircine. Don’t say anything.” It’s a desperate plea.

“Alright. Can I lay down so you can do… whatever it is you’re about to do?”

“Yes.” He springs to his feet, catching her off guard when he shoves against sturdy chest, sending her back onto their cozy bed. The pants are ripped off completely, tossed somewhere far away before Astarion crawls up, hands on her thighs. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about, hmm?” Hircine covers her handsome face with her hands in response. 

Tsk, shy thing. 

Straddling her pale thighs, Astarion bites his lip, taking a deep breath to steady himself as his hummingbird heart hammers away at an alarming pace. The sound has always been so delightful for him, but the feel is something else entirely, not quite painful but also a little unnatural—to him at least, this is normal for his lovely Hircine if all their nights together is anything to go by.

Index fingers feather around the edge of his underwear, teasing, ready to enter at any moment. 

It’s time. He has to see it as it’s meant to be seen.

Both fingers hook under the fabric, tugging each side down to slowly and delicately reveal the hidden treasure underneath. 

For the most part, it’s the same as it's always been, just from a slightly different angle. A cock with testicles. Too bad he can’t get it hard, that’s really what he wants to see. No matter, Astarion can still take a gander. Lifting his flaccid penis, he wraps a hand around it, testing the weight within this body’s smaller grasp. The foreskin is pulled back, exposing the glans. 

Is his mouth watering? 

Astarion ignores that and the heat pooling between his legs currently. It will do him no good to want his body so badly when the one inside it won’t respond well to any advances. 

Gods, they can’t turn back to their bodies soon enough. He needs to be plunging this cock into Hircine's tight cunt now.

He looks up, an arm is thrown over her eyes while he handles his own cock with care. Different bodies be damned, this cock is all his. 

“How does it feel?” He asks in a raspy whisper, his mouth so dry from hanging open as he fights with the urge to do something he probably shouldn’t.

Hircine shrugs, indifferent. He swallows down a sigh. He loves his wife as she is.

Dropping his cock in defeat, Astarion slips the underwear the rest of the way off and—

Maybe just a little smell… He brings them to his face and inhales. The underwear also gets scented with his cologne, not that Hircine cares when she isn't all that turned on by smells the way Astarion is. Rosemary, bergamot, brandy and a touch of undeath. Not surprising.

He sighs again and tosses them into the void with the pants.

Massage time. 

Propping herself up on elbows, Hircine gives him the saddest, wettest eyes he's ever seen. Is that what he looks like when he's pleading? No wonder his poor wife bends over backwards for him—literally.

“I'm sorry, Husband. I am trying, it's just—”

Astarion halts her words with his finger pressed to her lips. “Hush, pet. There is no need to apologize for not liking something. If you aren't into it, then you aren't into it. I would never begrudge you that. Now, roll over so I can sink my hands into those muscles.” 

Always a good listener, Hircine lays face down on the bed with arms crossed under her head for some support. Straddling her hips, which are surprisingly wide comparatively to the body he’s in now—thank the gods Hircine is so flexible—Astarion runs his hands over the rippling muscles in her back. Oh, these are nice. 

The hellish, scar-tissue ‘poem’ etched into his skin is promptly ignored. He's focusing on the good today, not the bad. 

He kneads his small hands into her upper shoulders, trying to press firmly into them until she shows any discomfort, but nothing comes. “How is it?” He asks.

“A little like nothing, honestly… Am I really so weak?”  

Well, that’s disappointing. “I’ve never thought you strong, but I didn’t realize it was this bad. What should I do then? I want you to feel good.”

Lifting her head, Hircine considers what to do. “How about you walk on my back? I bet the weight would feel nice.”

“Gods, my love and her big brain… or is it my brain?” She ‘tuts’ at him as Astarion gets to his feet, balancing carefully atop her back. Even though he’s now used to her more… top-heaviness, what with the mass of hair and her ample bust, balance isn’t something he’s mastered yet, so he steadies himself on a poster of their bed frame. He plants his feet along her shoulder blades. “Is it actually alright to do this to your back?”

“I don’t know—” She groans in his own lustful voice and Astarion’s knees might give out from the sound. Why doesn’t it sound like that to his actual ears? “Ooh, but it feels so good…” If he hadn’t put on panties, slick was going to be dripping from his legs by the end of this. 

He walks up and down Hircine’s broad back, putting attentive focus onto spots that get satisfied moans and groans out of her. The feeling is so strange, just digging his heels and toes into someone’s back instead of using hands as a massage… Maybe they’ll have to do this more often if the noises are anything to go by. 

It’s really hot. This whole thing is so hot. Is he really so attracted to himself or could this possibly be some leftover remains from Hircine’s body? He doesn’t care, Astarion is loving it.

The thighs are a little too slim to fully walk on, so Astarion works a foot and heel into a thigh one at a time, slowly moving up to the real prize.

That beautiful ass. 

It’s perfect. Gods, he hasn’t—Has he even seen it outside of the sides when he twists around best he can? 

Hircine is more into his back from how her hands roam up and down the curves of muscle, trailing along his shoulder blades and spine to the dimples in the small of his back. 

Astarion much prefers the tits and arse, of Hircine and of himself, apparently. 

Settling down to his knees, Astarion roughly pinches one arsecheek and Hircine jolts, peeking over her shoulder with a sharp glare. A wide smile strains his face, probably because Hircine rarely smiles, and he takes handfuls of each of her cheeks, rolling, kneading and squeezing them around. 

He leans down and bites one right in the center—hard enough to leave teeth marks.

Hircine yelps, swatting at Astarion. “Alright, enough, you wild animal.”

“Hircine, my darling love, my sweet pet, my perfect girl,” he begs in her adorable whiney voice, “I completely understand that you aren’t able to… get it up, but can I find some release here? I-I need something, I feel like I’m melting. It’s too much.” Astarion is squeezing his thighs together, anything to help the burning within.

It does not help.

Those deep pools of ruby look over his figure, probably finding it all much too desperate. Hircine chews at a lip, the motion so similar to how she does it in her own body. “I don’t mind, but could we… do it together? I could show you what feels the best to me.”

Astarion dives into her bare chest, wrapping his arms around her neck. “Oh my gods, I love you so much. You're so perfect for me, pet. I can put my fingers in my cunt?”

“Mine or yours?”

“Yes. Both. All of it. Anything, please.”

“You're so hungry, Husband.”

“I always am for you.”

She pulls away, pinching his nose. “And you. Can I put something on, please?”

Daring a peek back down, he sighs at his cock. Wretched thing might not be getting any action tonight. “Yes. Underwear only though. I need that skin-on-skin contact.”

“Yes, my lord.” Hircine mocks in a deep, affected accent as she slides off the bed, searching for wherever he threw the underwear. 

Is that what it sounds like when he’s being a brat? No wonder she finds him so silly all the time. 

“Wait, how should it lay?” Hircine asks. His cockhead sticks straight up out of the underwear, calling to Astarion, pleading to be free once again. 

Ignoring the siren call of his own penis, Astarion laughs, beckoning Hircine over. He sticks his hand into the underwear, holding back the snort of laughter when Hircine jumps while he adjusts his cock until it rests where it should, though it’s weird from this angle. “It should just… feel right? Does it?”

“I think so? I’ll get used to it.” 

“Good. I am very excited, though I’d much rather be back in my body, shoving my fingers and tongue into your cunt instead.”

“And I would much rather have your cock down my throat, but here we are.”

Hircine dirty talking him in his own voice? Could he come from listening to her describe everything in explicit detail?

Oh absolutely, yes. That's undeniable, but he wants something inside of him. So desperately, horrifically much. His cunt is throbbing with need and he knows the panties are soaked through completely. 

“Alright, pet, tell me what to do.” He takes her face in his hands, brushing a thumb across a sharp cheekbone. This is such an amazing experience. Each and every moment will be committed to memory with perfect clarity, if only they had one of those memory shards on hand so they could rewatch this as much as they please.

“I guess it’s time for you to get naked.”

His heart soars, the rhythmic pounding vibrating through his chest. “Will you help me?”

Hircine smiles, soft and sweet and he just adores the way those eyes crinkles around the edges. “Of course, Husband.” She unties the already loosened robe completely, flicking it over and down his shoulder.

With a smug grin, Astarion squeezes his arms around his tits and shakes his shoulders so they jiggle with the movement. He likes it when Hircine does it. 

An unimpressed, raised brow is all he gets for that action. “It's just a mirror.” She mutters.

“A mirror? What do you mean?”

“I'm pretending I'm looking into a mirror. This whole thing,” she waves between the two of them, “is hurting my head. I don't know if it's helping.”

“This hurts your head, but not the—” Astarion winces when, as if summoned, Herma-Mora's discordant chittering pierces a blade through his skull.

A̴̢̭̱̘̖͙̮̭͉̙͓͇̯͙̜͒̆̂͑ǫ̷̼̜͉̦͙̊̎̓͋͗̃͛̕ͅͅb̶̢̭͈̹͖̖͑̈́͂̀͐Ý̵̡͎̪̞͓̭͈́̆̓̏̐̈́̐ͅQ̷̡͉̭̙̪̼̲̪̩̣̣̻͇͕̼͂̍̀

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he groans. “I want it to stop.”

“I rarely ever hear him when I'm… enjoying myself—outside of when I seek him out intentionally. Stop thinking about him.”

“Are you thinking of another man when I'm inside you?!” I'm right here! How could she think of that vile monster when I, a beautiful, gorgeous, heart-breaking piece of man, am by her side?!

“He's not a man, and no, that's not what I meant. Let's move—”

“Hircine, my pet, I'm all for trying out new things, but bringing your mind-invader into the bedroom is not what I—”

Seemingly had enough, Hircine finds his nipples easily and pulls. Not hard, but it's enough for Astarion's brain to pleasantly shatter, the sting of arousal striking white-hot through every fiber of his being. His limbs turn to jelly, his core is screaming for something to fill him. The lewd moan that slips from his mouth couldn't possibly be contained even if he tried when his eyes slam shut, rocking forward in the hopes that Hircine might do more.

Instead, the traitorous (wo)man leans forward with a frown, releasing her tight hold on those peaks of delight much too early. “How about we move on to what's got you so bothered instead? I can smell the change… it's strange…”

“That's how I, uh, always know you're in the mood.” He's panting. His heart’s pounding. This body is absolutely quivering for more. 

How does Hircine keep it together when she responds so wholly with her body?

“Seems like cheating when you can just smell the difference.”

He wipes some drool from the side of his mouth. “That's called a natural advantage, pet. Not my problem that your body just… weeps for me.”

“Do you want to touch yourself or not?” 

He all but launches himself into Hircine’s chest, clutching at the curls that frame her beautifully pointed ears. “Please, I need it!” If he can't have his own cock, then the fingers will have to do. 

“Alright,” she climbs onto the bed, spreading her legs and patting the spot between, “sit here, back to me.” The robe is thrown to the floor, and panties, which are soaked as expected and he beats down the urge to taste them as he always does, are thrown away before Astarion dives in, situating himself right where she asked. Her cool hands immediately slip between his thighs and pry them open with ease, knees raised and feet planted on their soft bedding. The cool air in the room meets the wetness of his cunt for a very refreshing feeling. That’s nice. 

He’s stunned and insanely turned on by the forwardness Hircine is presenting when she is always the one waiting for his command. Being in his body must make her bold. 

“To start, your hands, please, Husband.” Both her hands are held up in waiting, her lips close to his ear, speaking in heady, hushed tones that have him fighting the urge to just shove her fingers into his dripping cunt so he can fuck himself silly on them.

Astarion enthusiastically places his hands in Hircine’s, and she guides them to his heaving chest to cup each breast in a hand. “To get started, sometimes I like to squeeze and roll them around,” and they do just that in tandem, gently squeezing the soft, weighty flesh of his tits, admiring how they spill over in his smaller hands. “Harder,” she whispers, digging their fingers in, right on the cusp of too hard. His head falls back, a breathy moan and wiggling hips, his response to the alluring sensation. 

This is decadent! He can’t believe Hircine is always so quiet in bed when it feels like this. His cunt continues to clench around nothing, and Astarion can barely wait for more.

“And when that isn’t enough anymore,” she says, shifting her grip to lay his fingertips onto his nipples, “then I know this is what I need.” They brush featherlight over the tightened buds, very gently circling around the areolas and good gods, Astarion wishes he could just come from this and literally nothing else. His tits are alight with the most delightful tingle that trails like fire through his stomach and loins, and this is only his touch, not Hircine’s.

“Can you—Can you do it?” He gasps out, arching his back to rest his head on her strong shoulder and jut his chest out. If he doesn’t get some more stimulation, he might explode. 

“Oh, my poor, needy Husband… You want me to touch you?” She coos.

“Fuck—Please, I need it, Hircine!” He demands, rocking back against her, looking down to relish in the way his tits bounce with the action. Finding it within herself to be gracious, Hircine cups his breasts now, thumb and forefingers pinching over his pale nipples to twist them around. His thighs slap together when he moans loud and long and desperate, struggling to comprehend how amazing it feels with her hands on him now. She could probably rip his nipples right off and it would still be one of the best experiences to date. 

She hums, a thoughtful noise that rumbles through her throat, and he can hear the smile in her voice when she speaks next. “I don’t think we play with our ears enough…” A wet tongue snakes along the shell of his ear, shockingly tender and sensitive, and Astarion’s breath hitches. Between the ear licking and the nipple touching, it’s all so much, so perfect, so good. 

And then Hircine pushes his breasts up towards their faces, releasing him so they bounce back into place. “Do it to yourself some more.” She commands, not all that stern in case he were to reject such a thing. As if. Following instructions like the good husband he is, Astarion returns his hands to where they belong, missing Hircine’s touch, but loving his own all the same. 

While he appreciates how much Hircine is getting into this, Astarion is stunned that she is noticeably not hard against his back. How?! 

Oh, well. His pleasure is the most important right now. 

Pinching, pulling, rolling, with this body reacting by clenching, yearning, throbbing… A frantic energy is building up within him, but with his touch on his breasts only, he knows there will be no reaching the brink of satisfaction.

As usual, Hircine’s timing is good, or maybe she knows her body well enough to understand that this kind of play would not be enough. Her fingers tickle down his flat stomach and he watches at it involuntarily clenches at the funny feeling. She then stops right at the apex of his sex, drumming against the pubic bone.

“Hmm, do you want to tease or shall I?” She asks and Astarion’s heart flutters. 

“You.” His desperate response is instantaneous. Why would she ever ask when she knows it’s so much better that she do it?

One hands scoops up a breast, lightly massaging it in a firm grip, but much to his dismay, the nipple is ignored entirely while her other hand pries open his thighs once again, palm and fingers smoothing along the supple flesh of his inner thigh, occasionally circling dangerously close to his lower lips before skirting away to repeat the motion. On his own, he could see how this wouldn’t be all that exciting, but with Hircine’s strong hands initiating, it has him on the verge of begging. 

On another lazy pass by his folds, Hircine leaves her hand to rest there, but finally offers some relief from the toying by brushing the thumb on her other hand over a peaked bud, and Astarion realizes he’s been holding his breath for much, much too long, his chest constricting with need until he sucks one in with a gasp as his hips jerk up, eager for Hircine to continue.

Her quiet voice, insistent and urging, reaches him. “Touch yourself, Husband.”

Biting back a moan, Astarion does as he's told, no hesitation, digits sliding down his stomach just as she did before, aiming for that swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves that he knows gets Hircine off so well. The second his fingers make contact, crackling sparks of pleasure jolt through his body, unleashing a debauched gasp that he didn't even know Hircine’s body was capable of. 

He’ll take more of that. His fingers slip down further, swirling just outside the hungry mouth of his cunt to coat himself in slick, and that movement is carried back up to the clit, gently rubbing around it for the most glorious sensation. Hircine, not one to sit idly by, turns her attention to his tits, kneading them with fervent affection and pulling on the impossibly, hardened peaks. He’s so breathless as his hips buck, searching for some more friction. 

“Oh, fuck, Hircine, it’s so, so good!” He mewls as she tenderly pinches his nipples. “Can-Can I put my fingers inside? Please, I want it so bad!”

He can hear how she licks her lips, letting out a quiet huff of laughter. “Are you going to fuck yourself on your fingers?”

“Yes!”

“Then do it.” She whispers. 

Instantly, he sinks his middle finger inside that glorious wet heat, then another follows immediately after because Astarion is craving it so deeply. His cunt grips his fingers as they slide in and out at a slow, cautious pace, reveling in how slick and warm and hot it is. While Astarion is lost in himself, Hircine flicks her fingers across his clit and roughly twists one of his nipples with the other hand, and he is lost to the shock of overwhelming euphoria that burns its way through his body. Her strokes on his clit continue, gentle and sensuous, urging him down a path to a mind-blowing orgasm, the likes he might not have experienced before. 

A third finger is added, a comfortable stretch inside him as he seeks out that spot Hircine loves so much and gods, does he want it. The coil is tightening within his belly, and Astarion presses back into Hircine, whining and moaning and gasping, and then—

Hircine stops, stilling all her movements completely.

Astarion is a yearning, flustered mess as he removes his fingers, panting hard when no release comes to ease the overwhelming burn. “Wh-Why did you stop?!” 

“It’s not fun if you come so quickly… I like the buildup, personally.” Her cold lips meet his cheek for a loud, smacking kiss that leaves him feeling dissatisfied. 

“Tch, I want to come, not play games.” Guess he’ll have to take his pleasure into his own hands if she’s going to be evil.

Wrapping an arm over his tits and covering his clit with her hand, Hircine smiles deviously against him. “No, we’re going slow.”

He scowls, “Is this because I fingered you under the desk while that gnome was asking for an advance payment last week?”

“Hmm, well now that you remind me… Yes. It is.” Hircine nibbles at his ear, fangs scraping against the sensitive skin there so gooseflesh raises across Astarion’s body, and he shivers. Running her fingers down through his puffy folds, she dips into his cunt once, then twice, before stroking the entrance and back up to his clit, teasing gently. “Also, my dear husband, I think it’s only fair that you know what it's like to be played with.”

It’s outright vengeance. Fine, they can play. He opens his slim legs as wide as he can, offering himself up completely for whatever Hircine has planned. Her fingers have warmed up to his body temperature now as she swirls them around, making a mess of his slick all along his cunt lips and thighs, occasionally giving some much needed attention to Astarion’s clit so he whines and squirms at the pleasure that strikes through his nerves.

Touch like this could feel just as good in his own body, but maybe it's the thrill, the strangeness, of being different that has him singing so much for each stroke, swipe and pinch. Hircine is rarely ever interested in self-pleasure unless he asks for a show, so the fact that she’s able to toy with him so well like this, knowing exactly the buttons to push, is a wonderful surprise. 

If it’s some advanced level of torture she’s learned or the height of absolute delight, Astarion is brought so close to the edge of oblivion, only to be brought back down again and again… and again, while Hircine whispers sweet nothings and taunts into his ears.

Whether her vengeance has been sated or she just knows he’s had enough, Hircine nuzzles her nose into his neck, trailing up until she murmurs in that decadent and deep voice. “Had enough, Husband?”

“Please.” A whispering plea slips past his lips, chest heaving and sweat clinging to his body as she works him over so thoroughly. Slickened fingers are brought to his mouth, and Astarion opens, keen to taste that nectar he so eagerly feasts on any other night. Musky, salty and sweet, not quite the same as it is when he’s tasting with his own tongue, but delicious all the same. Seeking out her lips, they meet in a slow, heated kiss to share his arousal. 

Hircine hums when she breaks away, red eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Different… Interesting. I’ll stop playing with you now.”

He melts into her chest, drawing circles over one of his pale nipples with an index finger, “Oh, thank the gods, I’m rea—Ah!” She buries two fingers inside his cunt before he can finish speaking, curling them up just right to hit that spot inside, while the other hand seeks out the rosy bud at the apex of his sex, rubbing it perfectly between her fingers. Astarion’s been kept mercilessly at the edge of bliss, so these intent ministrations by Hircine shoves him right over. 

His eyes screw shut while a choked cry echoes out into their bedroom as he comes, writhing in her arms when shockwaves of his orgasm overtake this body. Stars are seen, breath is trapped in his chest, and his nails dig into his tits while each rippling wave sends him reeling in euphoria. The two stroking fingers inside of his core are constricted as the walls of his cunt pulse in tune with his fluttering heartbeat, ebbing slowly to an occasional twinge as Hircine helps him ride each crest, before it abates fully, and Astarion is left a trembling and limp pile of limbs.

Eventually enveloped in a tight embrace, Hircine holds him close, placing sweet pecks to his temple. “Was that what you wanted?”

He groans and swallows to wet his dry throat, feeling like dropped jelly. “Does… it always feel like that?”

“Sometimes.”

“Fuck, that’s amazing.” Finally some sense is returned to his loose arms and legs, and Astarion curls up against Hircine, feeling purely satisfied. “Thank you, my love.” His eyes are already growing heavy, all the energy drained from his body after that mind-bending orgasm. 

Maybe after a short nap, everything will return to normal.

[resplendent-ragamuffin]

I have encountered issues with JVP in the past in regards to not accommodating kashrut/shabbat observance (and wheelchairs), but previously hasn’t heard about the Mikvah thing. Do you have any sources I can refer to?

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy. The noise I made when I saw this ask.

You are probably unaware but I have literally been working on a post on this topic since February. Bless you for asking me about it and giving me a reason to share it. Genuinely. I'm delighted.

Without further ado, now that I've finally finished:

On the JVP Mikveh BS

Some of you are no doubt aware of the Jewish Voice for Peace Mikveh Guide (on JVP’s website here, and here on the Wayback Machine in case that link breaks). You may have seen the post I reblogged about it, you may have seen the post about JVP in general on @is-the-thing-actually-Jewish, or you may have heard about it elsewhere. Or maybe you’ve somehow managed to avoid all knowledge of its existence. (God I wish that were me.) Even if you know about it, even if you’ve scanned through it, you probably haven’t taken the time to read it through properly.

I have.

God help me.

I was originally looking through it to help draft the @is-the-thing-actually-Jewish post back in February, but some terrible combination of horror, indignation, and probably masochism compelled me to do a close reading, so that I could write this analysis and share it with you, dear readers. For those of you who’ve never heard of a mikvah, for those of you who’ve immersed in one, for those of you who’ve studied it intensely—I give you this, the fruit of my suffering, so you too can understand why “Mikveh: A Purification Ritual for Personal and Collective Transformation,” written by Zohar Lev Cunningham and Rebekah Erev for Jewish Voice for Peace has got so many people up in arms.

Brace yourselves. It’s going to be a long journey.

First off, a disclaimer: When I say something is “required in Jewish law” or whatnot, I’m talking about in traditional practice / Torah-observant communities; what is often called “Orthodox.” There’s a wide range of Jewish practice, and what is required in frum (observant) Judaism may not be required in Reform Judaism, etc. Don’t at me.

Second note: I myself am Modern Orthodox, and come from that perspective. I’m also very much more on the rationalist side than the mysticism side of things. I did run this past people from other communities. Still, if I’ve missed or misrepresented something, it was my error and was not meant maliciously.

Third: I am not a rabbi. I am a nerd who likes explaining things and doing deep dives. Again, I may have made errors–please let me know if you spot any, and I’d be happy to discuss them.

Now then. Before we get into the text itself, let’s give some background.

WHAT IS THIS MIKVEH THING ANYWAY?

A mikveh (or mikvah, both they and I switch between spellings; plural mikva’ot) is a Jewish ritual bath, sometimes translated as an immersion pool. Some communities or organizations that run mikva’ot will have a single all-purpose all-purpose, some have separate human- and utensil-pools, and some have separate women’s and men’s pools. The majority of the water in a mikvah has to be “living waters,” i.e. naturally collected rather than from a tap or a bucket. Some natural bodies of water can also be used, such as the ocean and some rivers (ask your local rabbi). The construction is complicated and has extremely detailed requirements. Here’s an example of a modern mikvah:

(By Wikimedia Commons (ויקיגמדון) - Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17373540)

Whoever is being dunked (the scientific term) has to be entirely immersed, and the water has to be in direct contact with all of them. That means no clothes, no makeup, no hair floating on the top of the water, no feet touching the floor, no clenched fists. You have to be completely clean as well, so no dirt is obstructing you from the water.

In essence, a person or thing is immersed in a mikvah to change their/its state from tameh (ritually “impure”) to tahor (ritually “pure”). I use quotes because “pure/impure” aren’t really good translations—they have value judgments that tameh/tahor don’t. There’s nothing wrong with being tameh, you aren’t lesser because you are tameh—it’s just a state one enters when one comes into contact with death and related concepts. (There are also different levels of both.) As a matter of fact, technically speaking even after going to a mikvah basically all people are tameh now—the tum’ah (“impurity,” sort of) that comes from contact with dead humans can only be removed by the Red Heifer offering (see Numbers 19), which we can’t do without the Temple. (Why I say “all” even if you’ve never been to a funeral is a much much longer tangent that I’ll spare you for now.) To quote one of my editors on this, mikvah is “about the natural oscillation between states of ritual purity and impurity. Men go to mikveh after having seminal emissions. Menstruating women go to mikveh on a monthly basis (emphasis added).” It’s just states of life.

In the days of the Temple, one had to be tahor to enter it (the Temple). Archaeologists have found a ton of ancient mikva’ot in Jerusalem that were presumably used by people visiting the Temple, which personally I think is extremely cool.

Nowadays, there are three main traditionally required uses for a mikvah. First, and most importantly, observant married women will go about once a month as part of their niddah (menstrual) cycle, part of practice known as Taharat HaMishpacha, or “Family ‘Purity,’” which at its root is a way to sanctify the relationship between spouses. Until she immerses, a wife and husband cannot resume relations. And not just sex—in some communities, they can’t sleep in the same bed or even have any physical contact at all.

The second use is for conversion—immersion is a central part of the conversion ceremony. One enters the water a gentile, and emerges a Jew.

The third usage is a bit different as it’s not for people. Tableware—plates, cups, etc.—made of certain materials have to be immersed before they can be used. This isn’t what the Guide is about, so I’m not going to go into that as much, but felt remiss if I didn’t mention it was a thing. If you want to know more, Chabad has an article on it here.

Aside from uses required by Jewish law, there is a strong tradition in some communities for men to go to the mikveh just before Yom Kippur, or sometimes every week before the Sabbath, to enter the holiday in as “pure” a state as possible these days. (The things they’re “purifying” from still made them tameh, it just matters less without the Temple.) There is also a strong custom to immerse before one’s wedding. Less traditional communities have also started using mikvah for other transitional moments, such as significant birthdays or remission from cancer. There has recently been an “open mikvah” movement, which “is committed to making mikveh accessible to Jews of all denominations, ages, genders, sexual orientations, and abilities (Rising Tide Network old website, “Why Open Mikvah”).”

To quote others:

No other religious establishment, structure or rite can affect the Jew in this way and, indeed, on such an essential level. —Rebbetzen Rivkah Slonim, Total Immersion, as quoted on Chabad.org

The mikveh is one of the most important parts of a Jewish community. —Kylie Ora Lobell, “What Is a Mikveh?” on Aish.com

How important? According to Rav Moshe Feinstein, one of the great American rabbis of the 20th century, one should build a mikveh before building a synagogue in a town that has neither, and even in a town where there is a mikveh but it’s an inconvenient distance away from the community (Igros Moshe: Choshen Mishpat Chelek 1 Siman 42).

A mikveh is more important than a synagogue.

I’d say that’s pretty important.

Tl;dr: A mikveh is the conduit through which a convert becomes a part of the Jewish people. It is traditionally used to sanctify the relationship between spouses. It was required for people to go to the Temple, back when we still had it. It is extremely central to Jewish practice.

So. What does JVP have to say about it?

THE JVP MIKVEH GUIDE

The document in question is titled “Mikveh: A Purification Ritual for Personal and Collective Transformation,” by Zohar Lev Cunningham and Rebekah Erev. I am largely going to quote directly from the text and then analyze and explain it.

Now let me be clear. I’m not trying to say the authors aren’t Jewish. I’m not saying they’re bad people, or that you should attack them. I am not intending any of this as an ad hominem attack. But given the contents of this document, I do think it is fair to call this appropriative, even if it is of their own culture—in the same way someone can have internalized racism, or twist feminism into being a TERF, I would argue that this is twisting Judaism into paganism. In fact, while I use “appropriation” throughout this document, an extremely useful term that’s been coined recently is “cultural expropriation”--essentially, appropriative actions done by rogue members of the community in question. One example of this would be the Kabbalah Centre in Los Angeles, which is the source of a lot of the Madonna-style “pop Kabbalah.” It was founded by an Orthodox Jewish couple, but it and its followers are widely criticized by most Jewish communities. In much the same way, the Guide is expropriation. 

We start off with a note from the authors.

Hello, Welcome to the Simple Mikveh Guide. This work comes out of many years of reclaiming and re-visioning mikveh. The intention of this guide is to acknowledge and give some context to what mikveh is, provide resources related to mainstream understanding of mikveh and also provide alternative mikveh ideas. Blessings for enjoyment of this wonderful, simple Jewish ritual! Zohar Lev Cunningham & Rebekah Erev

This is fairly normal, though “alternative mikveh ideas” is a bit odd to say. I also find “blessings for enjoyment” to be odd phrasing, somewhat reminiscent of the Wiccan “Blessed Be,” but it could be a typo.

The first main section is titled “Intro to Mikveh,” and begins as follows:

Mikveh is an ancient Jewish ritual practice of water immersion, traditionally used for cleansing, purification, and transformation. It's been conventionally used for conversion to Judaism, for brides, and for niddah, the practice of cleansing after menstruation.

This is relatively accurate, and credit where credit is due avoids making niddah out to be patriarchal BS. I do object slightly to “purify” as a translation without further explanation, as I went into above, and “cleansing” for similar reasons—it implies “dirtiness,’ which isn’t really what tum’ah is about. Also, though this is pretty minor, a bride going to the mikveh before her wedding is actually a part of the laws of niddah. I’d also note that they entirely leave out that it was important for going to the Temple in ancient times, though given this is published by JVP I’m not terribly surprised.

For Jews, water signifies the transformative moment from slavery in Egypt, through the parted Red Sea, and into freedom.

On the one hand, I suppose it’s not unreasonable to connect the Red Sea and mikveh, though I think I’d be more likely to hear it the other way around (i.e. “going through the sea was like the people immersing in a mikveh and being ‘cleansed,’ so to speak”). Though they were, rather importantly, not actually immersed in the water. However I don’t think I’d say water as a whole signifies the Splitting of the Sea. In fact, water imagery is more often used to signify the Torah, see for instance Bava Kamma 82a.

There is also a mystical connection to mikveh as a metaphor for the womb of the divine.

A mikveh being like a womb is also not uncommon. It’s found in the Reishis Chochmah (Shia’ar HaAhavah 11,58) and the writing of Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan (The Aryeh Kaplan Anthology, vol 2., p. 382; both as quoted in 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History, by Rabbi Ephraim Meth), see also “The Mikveh’s Significance in Traditional Conversion” by Rabbi Maurice Lamm on myjewishlearning. Filled with water, you float in it, you emerge a new being (at least for conversion); it’s not an absurd comparison to draw. I’m not sure I’ve found anything for the Womb of the Divine specifically, though. (Also, Divine should definitely be capitalized.)

Entering a mikveh is a transformative and healing experience and we have long wondered why it is not available to more people, including the significant trans and queer populations in Jewish communities.

So. I am NOT going to say there’s no problem with homophobia and/or transphobia in Jewish communities. It’s definitely a community issue, and many communities are grappling with it in various ways as we speak. And I’m certainly not going to say the authors didn’t have the experience of not having a mikveh available to them—I don’t know their lives, I’m not going to police their experiences.

However, while Orthodox mikvahs are often still restricted to married women (who by virtue of the community will generally be cis and married to men) and potentially adult men (given the resources and customs, as mentioned above), there are plenty of more liberal mikva’ot these days. Some even explicitly offer rituals for queer events! The list of reasons to go to the mikvah linked up above, for instance, includes:

(Mayyim Hayyim, “Immersion Ceremonies”)

Again, that’s not to say there aren’t issues of queerphobia in the Jewish community, but if you are queer and want to go to the mikvah, there are options out there. If you’re looking, I’ve included some links at the end.

When we make ritual, we are working with the divine forces of presence and intention. The magic of mikveh comes in making contact with water. Contact with water marks a threshold and functions as a portal to bring closer our ritual intention/the world to come.

This is…a weird way to put things. I would say this is the start of the red flags. “When we make ritual,” first of all, is, to quote @the-library-alcove (who helped edit this), “a turn of phrase that is not typically associated with any branch of Jewish practice; we have a lot--a LOT--of rituals, and while it's certainly not completely outside of the realm of Jewish vernacular, the tone here, especially in light of the later sections, starts veering towards the vernacular of neo-paganism.” One might say “make kiddush” (the blessing over wine on Shabbos and holidays) or “make motzi” (the blessing over bread), but not generally “make ritual.”

The next section is titled “Who Gets to Do Mikveh?” Their answer:

Everyone! Mikveh practice is available to all of us as a healing tool at any time.

The healing tool part isn’t the original purpose of mikveh, but there are some who have used it as a part of emotional recovery from something traumatic, by marking a new state of being free from whatever caused it, see for instance Mayyim Hayyim’s list linked above.

The “everyone” bit is a little more complicated. To explain why, we’re going to skip ahead a little. (Some of these quotes will also be analyzed in full later.)

We want to make mikveh practice available as a tool to all Jews and non-Jews who want to heal wounds caused by white supremacy and colonialism. [..] To us, a queer mikveh welcomes anyone, regardless of spiritual background or not. […] Queer mikveh is accessible physically and spiritually to any and all people who are curious about it. You don't have to be a practicing Jew to enter queer mikveh. You don't have to be Jewish. (pg. 2, emphasis added)

Now, I am told there are mikva’ot that allow non-Jews to immerse. I have yet to find them, so I don’t know what rituals they allow non-Jews to do. I also haven’t been able to find any resources on non-Jews being allowed to immerse. I have found quite a few that explicitly prohibit it. If there are any sources you know of, please send them to me! I’d love to see them! But so far everything I have come across has said that mikvah immersion is a closed practice that only Jews can participate in. (Technically, to quote the lovely @etz-ashashiot, any non-Jew can do mikvah…once. And they won’t be non-Jews when they emerge. There is also one very extreme edge-case, which is absolutely not mainstream knowledge or practice, and basically isn’t actually done. You can message me if you’re curious, but it’s really not relevant to this–and even in that case, it is preferable to use a natural mikvah rather than a man-made one.)

If there are any legitimate sources that allow non-Jews to do a mikvah ritual, I would assume said non-Jews would be required to be respectful about it. Unfortunately, this is how the paragraph we began with continues:

Who Gets to Do Mikveh? Everyone! Mikveh practice is available to all of us as a healing tool at any time. You don't need any credentials. Your own wisdom is all the power you need to be a Jewish ritual leader. (emphasis added)

This is where we really go off the rails. First of all, you need more than “wisdom” to lead a Jewish ritual. You need to actually know what you’re doing. You can’t just say “oh you know what I feel like the right thing to do for morning prayers is to pray to the sun, because God created the sun so the sun is worth worshiping, and this is a Jewish ritual I’m doing.” That’s just idolatry. Like straight up I stole that from a midrash (oral tradition) about how humanity went from speaking with God in the Garden of Eden to worshiping idols in the time of Noah (given here by Maimonides; note that it continues for a few paragraphs after the one this link sends you to).

Second of all, this is particularly bad given this guide is explicitly to Jews and non-Jews. As @daughter-of-stories put it when she was going over an earlier draft of this analysis, “they are saying that non-Jews can just declare themselves Jewish ritual leaders based on nothing but their own ‘wisdom.’”

I hope I don’t need to explain why that’s extremely bad and gross?

While we’re on the topic of non-Jews using a mikvah, let’s take a moment to address an accusation commonly mentioned alongside the mikvah guide: that JVP also encourages (or encouraged) self-conversion.

I have been unable to find a separate document where they explicitly said so, or an older version of this document that does. This leads me to believe that either a) the accusation came from a misreading of this document, or b) there was a previous document that contained it which has since been deleted but was not archived in the Wayback Machine. EITHER is possible.

Even in the case that there was no such document, however, I would point out that such a suggestion can be read–intentionally or not–as implicit in this document. This is a guide for mikvah use by both Jews and non-Jews, and includes an idea that non-Jews can perform Jewish rituals on their own without any guidance or even background knowledge, as quoted above. Why would a non-Jew, coming into Jewish practice with very little knowledge, go looking to perform a mikvah ritual?

I would wager that the most well-known purpose of immersing in a mikvah is for the purpose of conversion.

Nowhere in this guide is there any explicit statement that you can do a self-conversion, but it also doesn’t say anywhere that you can’t, or that doing so is an exception to “you don’t need any credentials” or “your own wisdom is all the power you need to be a Jewish ritual leader.” It may not be their intention, but the phrasing clearly leaves it as an option.

Even if this were from a source that one otherwise loved, this would be upsetting and disappointing. The amount of exposure this document is getting may be at least in part because it comes from JVP, but the distress and dismay would be there regardless. If there is further vitriol, it’s only because JVP is often considered a legitimate source by outsiders, if no one else–in other words, by the very people least likely to have the background to know that this document isn’t trustworthy. It’s like the difference between your cousin telling you “the Aztecs were abducted by aliens” versus a mainstream news program like Fox reporting it. Both are frustrating and wrong, but one has significantly more potential harm than the other, and therefore is more likely to get widespread criticism (even if you complain about your cousin online).

On the other hand, as one of my editors pointed out in a moment of dark humor, they do say you don’t have to be Jewish to lead a Jewish ritual, so perhaps that mitigates this issue slightly by taking away a motivation to convert in the first place.

Returning to our document:

We do mikvahs in lakes, rivers, bathtubs, showers, outside in the rain, from teacups, and in our imaginations.

At this point the rails are but a distant memory.

In case you’ve forgotten what I said about this at the beginning of this post (and honestly I wouldn’t blame you, we’re on pg. 9 in my draft of this), there are extremely strict rules about what qualifies as a mikvah. Maimonides’s Mishnah Torah, just about the most comprehensive codex of Jewish law, has eleven chapters on the topic of the mikvah (though that includes immersion in it as well as construction of it). I’m not going to make you read through it, but let’s go through the list in this sentence:

Lakes and rivers: you might be able to use a river or lake as a mikvah, but you need to check with your local rabbinical authority, because not all of them qualify. In general, the waters must gather together naturally, from an underground spring or rainwater. In the latter case, the waters must be stationary rather than flowing. A river that dries up in a drought can’t be used, for instance. (The ocean counts as a spring, for this purpose.)

Bathtubs and showers: No. A man-made mikveh must be built into the ground or as an essential part of a building, unlike most bathtubs, and contain of a minimum of 200 gallons of rainwater, gathered and siphoned in a very particular way so as not to let it legally become “groundwater.” Also, it needs to be something you can immerse in, which a shower is not.

Outside in the rain: No? How would you even do that?? What??

Teacups: Even if you were Thumblina or K’tonton (Jewish Tom Thumb), and could actually immerse your entire body in a teacup, it wouldn’t be a kosher mikvah as a mivkah can’t be portable.

In your imagination: Obviously not, what the heck are you even talking about

We will (unfortunately) be coming back to the teacup thing, but for now suffice it to say most of these are extremely Not A Thing.

Mikveh has been continually practiced since ancient Judaism. It is an offering of unbroken Jewish lineage that we have claimed/reclaimed as our own.

I find the use of “claimed/reclaimed” fascinating here, given this guide is explicitly for non-Jews—who, whether or not they are permitted to use a mikvah, certainly shouldn’t be claiming it as their own—as well as Jews. I find it particularly interesting given the lack of clarity of how much of JVP’s membership is actually Jewish and JVP’s history of encouraging non-Jewish members to post “as Jews.” Kind of telling on yourselves a bit, there.

(Once again, I’m not commenting on the authors themselves, but the organization they represent here and the audience they are speaking to/for.)

We want to make mikveh practice available as a tool to all Jews and non-Jews who want to heal wounds caused by white supremacy and colonialism. We want to make mikveh practice available for healing our bodies, spirits, and the earth.

Setting aside the “Jews and non-Jews” thing, since I talked about that earlier and this is already extremely long, I do want to highlight the end of the paragraph. While there are some modern uses of the mikvah to (sort of) heal the spirit, I haven’t heard of anyone using a mikvah to heal the body—as a general rule Jews don’t tend to do faith healing, though of course some sects are the exception. Healing the earth, however, is absolutely not a use of a mikvah. Mikvah rituals, as we’ve now mentioned several times, are about tahara of a person or an object, and require immersion. You can’t immerse the earth in a mikvah. The earth contains mikva’ot. Healing the earth with a mikvah is a very strange worship (IYKYK).

We acknowledge that not all beings have consistent access to water, including Palestinians.

This is a tragedy, no question. I don't mean to minimize that. However, it is also unrelated to the matter at hand. The Guide also doesn’t give any recommendations on how we can help improve water access, so this lip service is all you get.

A lack of water does not make mikveh practice inaccessible.

Yes, in fact, it does. Without a kosher mikvah of one variety or another one cannot do anything that requires a mikvah. That’s why building a kosher one is so important. I haven’t gone looking for it, but while I’m sure there’s lots (and lots and lots and lots) of Rabbinic responsa out there of what to do in drought situations, you definitely do need water in all but the most extreme cases. If you do not have water, AYLR (Ask Your Local Rabbi)--don’t do whatever this is.

The spirit of water can be present with us if we choose to call for water, so even when water is not physically available to us we can engage in mikveh practice.

This is just straight up avodah zarah (“strange worship,” i.e. idolatry) as far as I can tell. The “spirit of the water”? What? We’re not Babylonians worshiping Tiamat. What source is there for this? Is there a source??

Like all material resources, the ways water is or is not available to us is shaped by our geographic and social locations. The ways we relate to water, what we decide is clean, treyf (dirty), drinkable, bathable, how much we use, how much we save, varies depending on our experiences. We invite you to decide what is clean and holy for your own body and spiritual practice.

This is going to require some breaking down.

To start with, let’s define “treyf.” To quote myjewishlearning, “Treyf (sometimes spelled treif or treyfe) is a Yiddish word used for something that is not kosher [lit. "fit"]. The word treyf is derived from the Hebrew word treifah, which appears several times in the Bible and means 'flesh torn by beasts.' The Torah prohibits eating flesh torn by beasts, and so the word treifah came to stand in for all forbidden foods.”

You may note the lack of the word “dirty” in this definition, or any other value judgments. Myjewishlearning continues, “over time, the words kosher and treyf have been used colloquially beyond the world of food to describe anything that Jews deem fit or unfit.” While this does have something of a value judgment, it’s still not “dirty.” I can’t say why the authors chose to translate the word this way, but…I don’t like it.

Now, when it comes to what is kosher or treyf, food and drink are most certainly not based on “our experiences.” There are entire books on the rules of kashrut; it generally takes years of study to understand all the minutiae. Even as someone who was raised in a kosher household, when I worked as a mashgicha (kosher certification inspector) I needed special training. What is considered kadosh (“sacred” or “holy,”  though again that’s not a perfect translation) or tahor is also determined by very strict rules. We don’t just decide things based on “vibes.” That’s not how anything in Jewish practice works.

Water, in fact, is always kosher to drink unless it has bugs or something else treyf in it. And mikvehs aren’t even always what I’d consider “drinkable;” I always wash utensils I’ve brought to the mikvah before I use them.

We come to our next heading: What is Queer Mikveh?

What is Queer Mikveh? To us, a queer mikveh welcomes anyone, regardless of spiritual background or not.

As I’ve said above, I have yet to find a single source (seriously if you have one please send it to me) that says non-Jews can go to a mikvah. As one of my editors for this put it, “to spin appropriation of Jewish closed practices as ‘queer’ is not only icky but deeply disrespectful to actual queer Jews.”

Also, and this is not remotely the point, but “regardless of spiritual background or not” is almost incoherently poor writing.

As Jews in diaspora we want to share and use our ritual practices for healing the land and waters we are visitors on for the liberation of all beings.

I have tried to be semi-professional about this analysis, but. “Jews in the diaspora,” you say. Tell me, JVP, where are we in the diaspora from? Hm? Where are we in diaspora from? Which land do we come from? Which land are we indigenous to, JVP? Do tell.

Returning to the point, I would repeat that mikvah has nothing to do with “healing the land and waters.” It’s ritual purification of whatever is immersed in it. You want to heal the land and waters? Go to your local environmental group, and/or whoever maintains your local land and waters. Pick up trash. Start recycling. Weed invasive species. Call your government and tell them to support green energy. You want liberation for all beings? Fight bigotry—including antisemitism. Judaism believes in action—go act. Appropriating rituals from a closed religion doesn’t liberate anyone.

We have come up with this working definition and welcome feedback!

Oh good, maybe I won’t be yelled at for posting this (she said dubiously).

Queer mikveh is a ritual of Jews in diaspora. We believe the way we work for freedom for all beings is by using the gifts of our ancestors for the greatest good. We bring our rituals as gifts.

I have nothing in particular new to say about this, except that I find the idea of “bringing our rituals as gifts” for anyone to use deeply uncomfortable, given Judaism is a closed religion that strongly discourages non-Jews from joining us, and that has had literal millennia of people appropriating from us.

It acknowledges that our path is to live on lands that are not historically our peoples [sic] and we honor the Indigenous ancestors of the land we live on, doing mikveh as an anti-colonialist ritual for collective and personal liberation.

Again I would love so much for JVP to tell us which lands would historically be our people’s. What land do Jews come from, JVP? What land is it we do have a historical connection to? What land do our Indigenous ancestors come from??

And why does it have to be our path to live on lands other than that one?

Secondly, to quote the lovely @daughter-of-stories again when she was editing this, “Mikveh as anti-colonialism, aside from not being what Mikveh is, kinda implies that you can cleanse the land of the sins of colonialism. So (a) that’s just a weird bastardization of baptism since, mikveh isn’t about cleansing from sin, and (b) so does that mean the colonialism is erased? Now we don’t have to actually deal with how it affects actual indigenous people?”

I’m sure that (b) isn’t their intent, but I will say that once again they don’t give any material suggestions for how to actually liberate any collectives or persons from colonialism in this document, including any links to other pages on their own website*, which surely would have been easy enough. It comes across as very performative.

*I disagree strongly with most of their methods, but at least they are suggesting something.

Queer mikveh is a physical or spiritual space that uses the technologies of water and the Jewish practice of mikveh to mark transitions. Transition to be interpreted by individuals and individual ritual.

I have no idea what the “technologies of water” are. Also usage of a mikvah to mark transitions beyond ritual states is a fairly new innovation, as mentioned above.

Queer mikveh in it's [sic] essence honors the story of the water. The historical stories of the water we immerse in, the stories of our own bodies as water and the future story we vision [sic].

This just sounds like a pagan spinoff of baptism to me, if I’m being honest. Which would be non-Jewish in several ways.

Queer mikveh is accessible physically and spiritually to any and all people who are curious about it. You don't have to be a practicing Jew to enter queer mikveh. You don't have to be Jewish.

First off, once again whether or not non-Jews can use mikvah seems at best extremely iffy. Secondly, accessibility in mikva’ot is, as one of my editors put it, “a continual discussion.” We have records of discussions regarding access for those with physical disabilities going back at least to the 15th century (Shut Mahari Bruna, 106; as quoted in 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History by Rabbi Ephraim Meth), and in the modern era there are mikva’ot that have lifts or other accessibility aids. That said, many mikva’ot, especially older ones, are still not accessible–and many mikva’ot don’t have the money to retrofit or renovate. Mikvah.org’s directory listings (linked at the end of this) notes whether various mikva’ot are accessible, if you are looking for one in your area.  If you want to help make mikva’ot more accessible to the disabled, consider donating to an existing mikvah to help them pay for renovations or otherwise (respectfully) getting involved in the community. If you want to help make mikva’ot more accessible for non-Orthodox Jews, try donating to an open mikvah (see link to a map of Rising Tide members at the end of this essay) or other non-Orthodox mikvah.

Queer mikveh is an earth and water honoring ritual.

Not even a little. We do have (or had) rituals that honor the earth or water, at least to an extent–the Simchat Beit HaSho’evah (explanations here and here) was a celebration surrounding water; most of our holidays are harvest festivals to some extent or another; there are a large number of agricultural mitzvahs (though most can only be done in Israel, which I suppose wouldn’t work for JVP). (Note: mitzvahs are commandments and/or good deeds.) Even those, though, aren’t about the water or earth on their own, per se, but rather about honoring them as God’s gift to us. This description of mikvah sounds more Pagan or Wiccan–which is fine, but isn’t Jewish.

Queer mikveh exists whenever a queer person or queers gather to do mikveh. Every person is their own spiritual authority and has the power to create their own ritual for individual or collective healing.

Absolutely, anyone can create their own rituals for anything they want. But it probably won’t be a mikvah ritual, and it probably won’t be Jewish.

Do you know what it’s called when you make up your own ritual and claim that it’s actually a completely valid part of an established closed practice of which you aren’t part? (Remember—this document is aimed just as much at non-Jews as at Jews.)

It’s called appropriation.

With the next section, “Some Ideas for Mikveh Preparation,” we begin page three.

(Yes, we’re only on page three of seven. I’m so sorry.)

The most important part of mikveh preparation is setting an intention.

This isn’t entirely wrong, as you do have to have in mind the intention of fulfilling a mitzvah when you perform one.

Because mikveh is a ritual most used to mark transitions, you can frame your intention in that way.

To quote myself above, “usage of a mikvah to mark transitions beyond ritual states is a fairly new innovation.” I’d hardly say it is mostly used for marking transitions.

You can do journaling or talk with friends to connect with the Jewish month, Jewish holiday, Shabbat, the moon phase, and elements of the season that would support your intention.

If this were a guide for only Jews, or there was some sort of note saying this section was only for Jews, I would have less of a problem. But given neither is true, they are encouraging non-Jews to use the Jewish calendar for what is, from the rest of the descriptions in the Guide, a magical earth healing ritual.

This is 100% straight up appropriation.

The Jewish calendar is Jewish. Marking the new moon and creating a calendar was the first commandment given to us as a people, upon the exodus from Egypt. Nearly all our holidays are (aside from the harvest component, which is based on the Israeli agricultural seasons and required harvest offerings) based on specific parts of Jewish history. Passover celebrates the Exodus and our becoming a nation. Sukkot celebrates the Clouds of Glory that protected us in the desert. Shavuot celebrates being given the Torah.

According to some opinions, non-Jews literally aren’t allowed to keep Shabbat.

If you are a non-Jew and you are basing the collective earth healing ritual you have created under your own spiritual authority around Jewish holidays and calling it “mikvah,” you are appropriating Judaism.

Full stop.

This isn’t even taking into account the generally Pagan/witchy feel of the paragraph, with “moon phases” and “elements of the season.” Again, if you want to be a Pagan be a Pagan, but don’t call it Jewish.

Things only go further downhill with their next suggestion for preparation before you go to the mikvah.

Divination: A lot can be said about divination practices and Judaism.

There certainly is a lot to be said. First and foremost, there’s the fact that divination is forbidden in Judaism.

(Screenshot of Leviticus 19:26 from sefaria.org)

One method of divination they suggest is Tarot, which is a European method of cartomancy that seems to have begun somewhere in the 19th century, though the cards start showing up around the 15th. While early occultists tried to tie it to various older forms of mysticism, including Kabbalah, this was, to put it lightly, complete nonsense. (Disclaimer: this information comes from wikipedia; I’ve already spent so much time researching the mikvah stuff that I do not have the energy or interest to do a deep dive into the origin of Tarot. It isn’t Jewish, the rest is honestly just details.)

I have nothing against Tarot. I think it’s neat! The cards are often lovely! I have a couple of decks myself, and I use them for fun and card games. But divination via tarot is not Jewish. If I do any spreads, I make it very clear to anyone I’m doing it with that it is for fun and/or as a self-reflection tool, not as magic. Because that is extremely not allowed in Judaism.

The authors suggest a few decks to use, one of which is by one of the authors themselves. Another is “The Kabbalah Deck,” which—holy appropriation, Batman!

In case anyone is unaware, Kabbalah (Jewish mysticism) is an extremely closed Jewish practice, even within Judaism. Traditionally it shouldn’t be studied by anyone who hasn’t already studied every other Jewish text (of which there are, I remind you, a lot), because it’s so easy to misinterpret. I mentioned this above briefly when explaining cultural expropriation. Pop Kabbalah (what Madonna does, what you see when they talk about “Ancient Kabbalistic Texts” on shows like Supernatural, the nonsense occultists and New-Agers like to say is “ancient Kabbalistic” whatever, it’s a wide span of appropriative BS) is gross, combining Kabbalah with Tarot is extremely gross. I’m not 100% sure, as the link in the pdf doesn’t work, but I believe they are referring to this deck by Edward Hoffman. For those of you who don’t want to click through, the Amazon description includes this:

(Screenshot from Amazon)

Returning to our text:

Another practice that's been used in Judaism for centuries is bibliomancy. You can use a book you find meaningful (or the Torah) and ask a question. Then, close your eyes, open the book to a page and place your finger down. Interpret the word or sentence you pointed at to help guide you to answer your question.

Bibliomancy with a chumash (Pentateuch) or tanach (Bible) in Jewish magic is kind of a thing, but the tradition of Jewish magic as a whole is very complicated and could be its own entirely different post. This one is already long enough. This usage of bibliomancy is clearly just appropriative new-age BS, though, especially given you can use “[any] book you find meaningful.”

Also, if you aren’t Jewish, please don’t use the Torah for ritual purposes unless you are doing it under very specific circumstances under the laws for B’nei Noach (“Children of Noah,” also called Righteous Gentiles; non-Jews who follow the 7 Noachide Laws).

Sit with your general intention or if you aren't sure, pose a question to the divination tool you are using. "What should be my intention for this mikveh?" "What needs transforming in my life?" "How can I transform my relationship with my body?"

As I hope I’ve made clear, there are very specific times when one uses a mikvah, even with more modern Open Mikvah rituals. You always know what your intention is well before going—to make yourself tahor, or mark a specific event. I’m not here to police how someone prepares mentally before they immerse—meditation is fine, even encouraged. But magic? Like this? That’s not a thing. And given the fact that divination specifically is not only discouraged but forbidden, this section in particular upset a lot of Jews who read it.

Those of us already upset by everything we’ve already covered were not comforted by how the Guide continues.

How to Prepare Physically For Mikveh: Some people like to think about entering the mikveh in the way their body was when they were born. By this we mean naked, without jewelry, with clean fingernails and brushed hair. This framing can be meaningful for many people.

We went into this at the beginning of this essay (about 6500 words ago), but this is in fact how Jewish law mandates one is required to immerse. This is certainly the case in most communities, whether you are immersing due to an obligation (as a married woman or a bride about to be married) or due to custom (as men in post-Temple practice) or due to non-traditional immersion (as someone coming out); wherever on the spectrum of observance one falls (as far as I could find). A mikvah isn’t a bath, it’s not about physical cleanliness—you must first thoroughly clean yourself, clip your nails, and brush your teeth. Nail polish and makeup are removed. There can’t be any barriers between you and the water. Most mikva’ot these days, particularly women’s mikva’ot, have preparation rooms so you can prep on site. When you immerse, you have to submerge completely—your hair can’t be floating above the water, your mouth can’t be pursed tightly, your hands can’t be clenched so the water can’t get to your palms. If you do it wrong, it doesn’t count and you have to do it again. It’s not a “framing,” it’s a ritual practice governed by ritual law.

We suggest you do mikveh in the way you feel comfortable for you and your experience.

This isn’t how this works. If you have a particularly extreme case, you can talk to a rabbi to see if there are any workarounds—for example, if excessive embarrassment would distract you from the ritual, you may be able to wear clothes that are loose enough that the water still makes contact with every millimeter of skin. But you need to consult with someone who knows the minutiae of the laws and requirements so you know if any exceptions or workarounds apply to you. That’s what a rabbi is for. That’s why they need to go to rabbinical school and get ordination. They have to study. That’s why you need to find a rabbi whose knowledge and personality you trust. For someone calling themselves a religious authority in Judaism to say “you can do whatever, no biggie” with such a critical ritual is…I’m not sure what the word I want is.

The idea is to feel vulnerable but also to claim your body as a powerful site of change that has the power to move us close to our now unrecognizable futures.

The idea is to bathe in the living waters and enter a state of taharah. Though that could be an idea you have in mind while you are doing it, I suppose. I could see at least one writer I know of saying something like this to specifically menstrual married (presumably cis) women performing Taharat HaMishpacha (family taharah, see above).

For some people, doing mikveh in drag will feel most vulnerable, with all your make-up and best attire.

Absolutely not a thing. As I said last paragraph, the goal isn’t to feel vulnerable or powerful or anything. It may feel vulnerable or powerful, but that is entirely besides the actual purpose of the ritual. What you get out of it on a personal emotional level has nothing to do with the religious goal of the religious practice.

And if you are wondering how one would submerge oneself in water in full drag, don’t worry, we’ll get there soon.

For some, wearing a cloth around your body until just before you dip is meaningful.

This is just how it’s usually done. Generally one is provided with a bathrobe, and one removes it before entering. You don’t just wander around the building naked. Or the beach, if you’re using the ocean.

If you were born intersex and your genitalia was changed without your consent, thinking about your body as perfect, however you were born, can be loving.

I’m not intersex, so I’m not going to comment on the specifics here. If you are and that’s meaningful to you, more power to you.

We enter a new section, at the top of page 4.

Where To Do Mikveh: There is much midrash around what constitutes a mikveh.

“Midrash” is not the word they want here. The midrash is the non-legal side of the oral tradition, often taking the form of allegory or parable. This is as opposed to the mishna, which is the halachic (legal) side of the oral tradition. They were both written down around the same time, but most midrashim (plural) are in their own books, rather than incorporated in the mishna.

There is, however, a great deal of rabbinic discussion, in the form of mishna, gemara, teshuvot (responsa), legal codices, and various other genres of Jewish writing. More properly this could have just said “there is much discussion around what constitutes a mikveh.”

Most mikvot currently exist in Orthodox synagogues[—]

This is perhaps a minor quibble, but I don’t know that I’d say they’re generally in synagogues. They are frequently associated with a local congregation, but are often in a separate building.

[—]but there is a growing movement to create more diverse and inclusive spaces for mikveh. Mayyim Hayyim is a wonderful resource with a physical body of water mikveh space. Immerse NYC is a newer organization training people of all genders to be mikveh guides. They also work to find gender inclusive spaces for people to do mikveh in NYC.

This is true! Mayyim Hayyim is a wonderful organization I’ve never heard anything bad about, and ImmerseNYC also seems like an excellent organization. Both also only allow Jews (in which group I am including in-process converts) to immerse.

The mikveh guides thing I didn’t explain above, so I’ll take a moment to do so here. Because the rules of immersion are so strict, and because it’s hard to tell if you are completely immersed when you are underwater, most mikva’ot have a guide helping you. Depending on the circumstance and the mikvah, and depending on the patron’s comfort, who and how they do their jobs can differ somewhat. For a woman immersing after niddah, it will usually be another woman who will hold up the towel or bathrobe for you while you get in the water, and will only look from behind it once you are immersed to make sure you are completely submerged. If you are converting, customs vary. Some communities require men to witness the immersion regardless of the convert’s gender, which is very much an ongoing discussion in those communities. Even in those cases, to my knowledge they will only look once the convert is in the water, and there will likely still be a female attendant if the convert is a woman. While there are negative experiences people have had, it is very much an intra-community issue. We’re working on it.

Mikveh can be done in a natural body of water.

Again, this is true, though not all bodies of water work, so AYLR (Ask Your Local Rabbi).

Some people are also making swimming pools holy places of mikveh.

We’ve already explained above why this is nonsense.

In the Mishneh (the book that makes commentary on the torah [sic]) there are arguments as to what constitutes a mikveh and how much water from a spring or well or rainwater must be present.

The main issue in this section is their definition of the Mishneh. As I explained above, the Mishna (same thing, transliteration is not an exact science) is the major compilation of the Oral Torah, the oral tradition that was written down by Rabbi Judah Ha-Nasi so it wouldn’t be lost in the face of exile and assimilation. It’s not so much a commentary on the (Written) Torah as an expansion of it to extrapolate the religious laws we follow. It’s certainly not “the book that makes commentary on the Torah.” We have literally hundreds of books of commentary. That’s probably underestimating. Jews have been around for a long time, and we have been analyzing and discussing the Torah for nearly as long. There are so many commentaries on the Torah.

The second issue is that while there are arguments in the Mishna and Gemara (the oral discussion on the Mishna that was written down even later), they do generally result in a final decision of some sort. Usually whichever side has the majority wins. Variations between communities are still very much a thing, and I can explain why in another post if people are interested, but there usually is a base agreement.

We are of the school that says you decide for yourself what works.

The phrasing they use here makes it sound as though that’s a legitimate opinion in the Mishnah. I cannot emphasize how much that is not the case. While I myself have not finished learning the entire Mishnah, I would be willing to wager a great deal that “whatever works for you” isn’t a stance on any legal matter there. That’s just not how it works. While some modern branches of Judaism may have that as a position, it is definitely not Mishnaic.

If you are concerned about Jewish law, the ocean is always a good choice. There are no conflicting arguments about the ocean as a mikveh. As the wise maggid Jhos Singer says in reference to the ocean, "It's [sic] becomes a mikveh when we call it a mikveh." Done.

(To clarify, I don’t know if that typo was carried over from the source of the original quote or not.)

This is true. However if you are concerned about Jewish law I would very much urge you to look to other sources than this one—be that your local rabbi or rebbetzen, the staff at your local mikvah, or a reliable website that actually goes into the proper requirements. If you want to use a mikveh according to Jewish law, please do not use this document as your guide.

We recognize immersion in water does not work for every body. Therefore, a guiding principle for where to do a mikveh is: do a mikveh in a place that is sacred to you. Your body is always holy and your body is made of mostly water. Later in this guide there is more information on mikveh with no immersion required.

I cannot emphasize how much I have never once heard this before. This, to me, reads like New Age nonsense. If you are unable to immerse in a mikvah, talk to your rabbi. Don’t do…whatever this is.

Our next section is a short one.

Who To Do it With: Do mikveh with people you feel comfortable with and supported by.

This is fine, though many mikva’ot (perhaps even most) will only allow one person to immerse at a time.

Do a solo mikveh and ask the earth body to be your witness.

With this, we return to the strange smattering of neo-Paganism. The “earth body” is not a thing. Yes, the Earth is called as a witness in the Bible at least once. It’s poetic. You also, unless you are converting, don’t actually need a witness anyway. A mikvah attendant or guide is there to help you—if you were somewhere without one, you could still immerse for niddah or various customary purposes.

Do mikveh with people who share some of your vision for collective healing.

As I’ve said before in this essay, collective healing is not the point of a mikvah. If you are Jewish and want to pray for healing, there are plenty of legitimate places for this–the Shemonah Esrei has a prayer for healing and a prayer where you can insert any personal prayers you want; there’s a communal prayer for healing after the Torah reading. You can give charity or recite a psalm or do a mitzvah with the person in mind. You can also just do a personal private prayer with any words you like, a la Hannah, or if you want pre-written words find an appropriate techinah (not the sesame stuff). If you want to work towards collective liberation, volunteer. Learn the laws of interpersonal mitzvot, like lashon hara (literally “evil speech,” mostly gossip or libel). Connect fighting oppression to loving your neighbor or the Passover seder. We have tons of places for this–mikvah isn’t one of them.

Next segment.

What To Bring to A Mikveh: 1. Intentions for the ritual for yourself and/or the collective.

See previous points on intention.

2. Items for the altar from your cultural background[…] (emphasis mine)

If I wasn’t appalled by the “immersing in makeup” or the “do divination first,” this would be the place that got me. This is wrong on so many levels.

One is not allowed to have an altar outside of The Temple in Jerusalem, the one we currently do not have. It’s an extremely big deal. One is not allowed to make sacrifices outside of the Temple. Period. This is emphasized again and again in the Torah and other texts. Even when we had a Temple, there were no altars in a mikvah.

And you certainly couldn’t offer anything in the Temple while naked, as one is required to be when immersing in the mikvah.

Even when we did bring offerings to altars (the Bronze Altar or the Gold Altar, both of which were in the Temple and which only qualified priests in a state of tahara could perform offerings on), the offerings were very specifically mandated, as per the Torah and those other texts. Even when non-Jews gave offerings (as did happen) they were required to comply. You couldn’t just bring any item from your cultural background. This is paganism, plain and simple.

Now, again, let me be clear: if you’re pagan, I have no problem with you. My problem is when one tries to take a sacred practice from a closed religion and try to co-opt it as one’s own. It’s a problem when someone who isn’t Native American decides to smudge their room with white sage, and it’s a problem when someone who isn’t Jewish tries to turn a mikvah into a pagan cleansing rite. And even if the person doing it is Jewish--I have an issue when it’s Messianics who were born Jewish, and I have an issue when it’s pagans who were born the same. Either way, whether you intend to or not, you are participating in appropriation or expropriation.

Which makes the line that follows this point so deeply ironic I can’t decide if I’m furious or heartbroken.

After suggesting that the reader (who may or may not be Jewish) bring items for an altar to a mikvah, the Guide asks:

[…] (please do not bring appropriated items from cultures that are not yours).

Which is simply just... beyond parody. To quote one of my editors, “This is quickly approaching the level of being a new definition for the Yiddish word 'Chutzpah,' which is traditionally defined as 'absurdist audacity' in line with 'Chutzpah is a man who brutally murders both of his parents and then pleads with the judge for leniency because he is now an orphan bereft of parental guidance.' If not for the involved nature of explaining the full context, I would submit this as a potential new illustrative example.”

The next suggestion of what to bring is

3. Warm clothes, towels, warm drinks

All these are reasonable enough, though most mikva’ot provide towels. Some also provide snacks, for while you are preparing. They may also not allow you to bring in outside food.

4. Your spirit of love, healing, and resistance

This, again, has nothing to do with mikvah. The only spirit of resistance in a mikvah is the fact that we continue to do it despite millennia of attempts to stop us. Additionally, to me at least “a spirit of love” feels very culturally-Christian.

Our next section is titled “How to Make Mikveh a Non-Zionist Ritual.”

Right off the bat, I have an issue with this concept. Putting aside for a moment whatever one may think of Zionism as a philosophy, my main problem here is that mikvah has nothing at all to do with Zionism. In Orthodoxy, at least, Jews who are against Zionism on religious grounds perform the mitzvah the same way passionately Zionist Jews do, with the same meanings and intentions behind it. It is performed the same way in Israel and out, and has been more or less the same for the last several thousand years. It is about ritual purification and sanctification of the mundane, no more and no less.

There is a word for saying anything and everything Jewish is actually about the modern Israel/Palestine conflict, simply because it’s Jewish.

That word is antisemitism.

How to Make Mikveh a Non-Zionist Ritual: Reject all colonial projects by learning about, naming & honoring, and materially supporting the communities indigenous to the land where you hold your mikveh. Name and thank the Indigenous people of the land you are going to do your mikveh on.

If you removed the “non-Zionist” description, this would be mostly unobjectionable. We should absolutely help indigenous communities. The framing of “reject all colonial projects” does seem to suggest that there is something colonial about the usual practice of going to the mikvah, though. I would argue that the mikvah is, in fact, anti-colonial if anything—it is the practice of a consistently oppressed minority ethno-religion which has kept it in practice despite the best efforts of multiple empires. Additionally, while Zionism means many different things to those who believe in it, at its root most Zionists (myself included) define it as “the belief that Jews have a right to self-determination in our indigenous homeland.” Our indigenous homeland being, of course, the land of Israel. (This is different from the State of Israel, which is the modern country on that land.) If you are a Jew in Israel, one of the indigenous peoples of the land your mikvah is on is your own. That’s not to say there aren’t others—but to claim Jews aren’t indigenous to the region is to be either misinformed or disingenuous.

Take the time to vision [sic] our world to come in which Palestine and all people are free.

I really, really dislike how they use the concept of The World To Come here. The Jewish idea of The World To Come (AKA the Messianic Age) is one where the Messiah has come, the Temple has been rebuilt, and the Davidic dynastic monarchy has been re-established in the land of Israel. Arguably that’s the most Zionist vision imaginable. This isn’t to say that all people, Palestinians included, won’t be free—true peace and harmony are also generally accepted features of the Messianic Age. But using the phrase in making something “non-Zionist” is, at the very least, in extremely poor taste. (As a side note, even religious non-Zionists believe in this–that’s actually why most of them are against the State of Israel, as they believe we can’t have sovereignty until the Messiah comes. They do generally believe we will eventually have sovereignty, just that now isn’t the time for it.)

Hold and explore this vision intimately as you prepare to immerse. What is one action you can take to bring this future world closer? Trust that your vision is collaborating with countless others doing this work.

Having a “vision” of a world where all are free isn’t doing any of the work to accomplish it. A “vision” can’t collaborate. At least not in Judaism. This sounds like one is trying to manifest the change through force of will, which is something directly out of the New Age faith movement, where it is known as “Creative Visualization.” Even when we do have a concept of bringing about something positive through an unrelated action–like saying psalms for someone who is sick–the idea is that you are doing a mitzvah on their behalf, to add to their merits counted in their favor. It’s not a form of magic or invocation of some mystical energy.

(Once again: I have nothing against pagans. But paganism is incompatible with Judaism. You can’t be both, any more than you can be Jewish and Christian.)

Use mikveh practice to ground into your contribution to the abundant work for liberation being done. We are many.

If you will once more pardon a brief switch to a casual tone:

Nothing says liberation like *checks notes* appropriating a minority cultural practice.

The next section of their document is titled “Ideas for Mikveh Ritual,” and this is where the Neo-Pagan and New Age influences of the authors truly shift from the background to the foreground.  

We start off deceptively reasonably.

Mikveh ritual is potentially very simple. Generally people consider a mikveh to be a full immersion in water, where you are floating in the water, not touching the bottom, with no part of the body above the surface (including the hair).

Technically, most people consider a mikveh to be a ritual bath (noun) in which one performs various Jewish ritual immersions. But if we set this aside as a typo, this is…fairly true. What they are describing is how one is supposed to perform the mitzvah of mikveh immersion. However, in much the same way I wouldn’t say “generally people consider baseball to be a game where you hit a ball with a bat and run around a diamond,” I wouldn’t say it’s a case of “generally people consider” so much as “this is what it is.”

This works for some people. It doesn't work for everyone and it doesn't work for all bodies. Because of this, mikveh ritual can be expanded outside of these traditional confines in exciting, creative ways.

Once again, if you are incapable of performing mikvah immersion in the proper manner, please go speak with a rabbi. Please do not follow this guide.

Before we continue, I would just like to assure you that. whatever “exciting, creative ways” you might be imagining the authors have come up with, this is so much worse.

Method One:

Sound Mikveh: One way that's felt very meaningful for many is a "sound mikveh." This can be a group of people toning, harmonizing, or chanting in a circle. One person at a time can be in the center of the circle and feel the vibrations of healing sound wash over their body. Another method of sound mikveh is to use a shofar or other instrument of your lineage to made [sic] sounds that reach a body of water and also wash over you.

This makes me so uncomfortable I barely have the words to describe it, and I know that I am not alone in this. This is not a mikvah. If someone wants to do some sort of sound-based healing ritual, by all means go ahead, but do not call it a mikvah. This is not Jewish. I don’t know what this is, aside from deeply offensive.

And leave that poor shofar out of this. That ram did not give his horn for this nonsense.

(I could go on about the actual sacred purpose of a shofar and all the rules and reasons behind it that expand upon this, but this is already over 9000 words.)

Method Two is, if anything, worse. This is the one, if you’ve seen social media posts about this topic, you have most likely seen people going nuts about.

Tea Cup Mikveh: Fill a special teacup. If you want, add flower essence, a small stone, or other special elements. Sing the teacup a sweet song, dance around it, cry in some tears, tell the cup a tender and hopeful story, hold the teacup above the body of your animal friend for extra blessing, balance it on your head to call in your highest self. Use the holy contents of this teacup to make contact with water.

This is absolutely 100% straight-up neo-pagan/New Age mysticism. Nothing about this is based on Jewish practice of any kind. Again, I’m at a loss for words of how to explain just how antithetical this is. If you want to be a witch, go ahead and be a witch. But do not call it Jewish. Leave Judaism out of this.

They end this suggestion with the cute comment,

Mikveh to go. We’ve always been people on the move.

Let me explain why this “fun” little comment fills me with rage. 

As you may recall, this document was published by Jewish Voice for Peace. Among their various other acts of promoting and justifying antisemitism, JVP has repeatedly engaged in historical revisionism regarding Jews and Jewish history. In this context, they have repeatedly ignored the numerous expulsions of Jews from various countries, and blaming sinister Zionist plots to explain any movement of expelled Jews to Israel (“In the early 1950s, starting two years after the Nakba, the Israeli government facilitated a mass immigration of Mizrahim,” from “Our Approach to Zionism” on the JVP website; see @is-the-thing-actually-jewish’s post on JVP and the posts linked from there).

So a document published by JVP framing Jewish movement as some form of free spirited 1970s-esque Bohemian lifestyle or the result of us being busy movers-and-shakers is a direct slap in the face to the persecution we’ve faced as a people and society.  No, we aren’t “on the move” because we’re hippies wandering where the wind takes us . We’re always on the move because we keep getting kicked out and/or hate-crimed until we leave.

But there is no Jew-hatred in Ba Sing Se.

Method three:

Fermentation Mikveh: Some food goes through natural changes by being immersed in water. If we eat that food, we can symbolically go through a change similar to the one the food went through.

Again, this has no basis anywhere in halacha. We do have concepts of “you are what you eat,” specifically with reference to what animals and birds are kosher, but there isn’t any food that makes you tahor if you eat it. In the Temple days there were, in fact, foods you couldn’t eat unless you were tahor.

Jews may like pickles, but that doesn’t mean we think they purify you.

Also, the change from fermentation is, if anything, the opposite of the change we would want. Leavening (rising in dough or batter, due to the fermentation of yeast) is compared in rabbinic writings to arrogance and ego, as opposed to the humility of matza, the “poor man’s bread” (see here, for example). Is the suggestion here to become more egotistical?

As we wrap up this section, I’d like to go back to their stated reason for using these “alternative” methods (“It doesn't work for everyone and it doesn't work for all bodies”), and ask: if these really were the only options for immersion, would these really fill that same spiritual need/niche? These obviously aren’t aimed at me, but from my perspective it seems almost condescending, almost worse. “You can’t do the real thing, so we’ll make up something to make you feel better.” If any of them had an actual basis in Jewish practice, that would be one thing, but this just feels…fake, to me. Even within more liberal / less traditional streams of Judaism, there is a connection to halacha: 

“We each (if we are knowledgeable about the tradition, if we confront it seriously and take its claims and its wisdom seriously) have the ability, the freedom, indeed the responsibility to come to a [potentially differing] personal understanding of what God wants us to do… [Halacha] is a record of how our people, in widely differing times, places and societal circumstances, experienced God's presence in their lives, and responded. Each aspect of halacha is a possible gateway to experience of the holy, the spiritual. Each aspect worked for some Jews, once upon a time, somewhere in our history. Each, therefore, has the potential to open up holiness for people in our time as well, and for me personally. However, each does not have equal claim on us, on me…Portions of the halacha whose main purpose seems to be to distance us from our surroundings no longer seem functional. Yet some parts of the halachic tradition seem perfect correctives to the imbalances of life in modernity…In those parts of tradition, we are sometimes blessed to experience a sense of God's closeness. In my personal life, I emphasize those areas. And other areas of halacha, I de-emphasize, or sometimes abandon. Reform Judaism affirms my right, our right, to make those kinds of choices.” – Rabbi Ramie Arian

“[Traditional Reconstructionist Jews] believe that moral and spiritual faculties are actualized best when the individual makes conscious choices…The individual’s choices, however, can and should not be made alone. Our ethical values and ritual propensities are shaped by the culture and community in which we live. Living a Jewish life, according to the Reconstructionist understanding, means belonging to the Jewish people as a whole and to a particular community of Jews, through which our views of life are shaped. Thus, while Reconstructionist communities are neither authoritarian nor coercive, they aspire to influence the individual’s ethical and ritual choices–through study of Jewish sources, through the sharing of values and experiences, and through the impact of the climate of communal opinion on the individual. …While we may share certain values and life situations, no two sets of circumstances are identical. We hope that the Reconstructionist process works to help people find the right answers for themselves, but we can only assist in helping individuals to ask the right questions so that their choices are made in an informed way within a Jewish context. To be true to ourselves we must understand the differences in perception between us and those who have gone before, while retaining a reverence for the traditions they fashioned. If we can juxtapose those things, we ensure that the past will have [in the phrase of Reconstructionism’s founder, Mordecai Kaplan,] a vote, but not a veto.” – Rabbi Jacob J. Straub (Note: the Reconstructionist movement was founded in the late 1920s, and has gone through a very large shift in the past decade or so. I use “Traditional” here to refer to the original version of the movement as opposed to those who have shifted. Both are still called Reconstructionist, so it’s a bit confusing. This is on the advice of one of my editors, who is themself Traditional Reconstructionist.)

You may note, neither of these talk about inventing things from whole cloth. To paraphrase one of my editors, “You don’t completely abandon [halacha], because if you did how would you have a cohesive community? Even in a ‘do what’s meaningful’ framework, you’re taking from the buffet, not bringing something to a potluck. Even if you don’t see halacha as binding, there are limits.”

(Again, disclaimer that the above knowledge of non-Orthodox movements comes from my editors, and any errors are mine.)

The next section is “Prayers for Mikveh.”

As a note, I’m going to censor the names of God when I quote actual blessings, as per traditional/Halachic practice. I’ll be putting brackets to indicate my alterations.

I’m not going to go much into detail here, because frankly my Hebrew isn’t good enough, and the six different people I asked for help gave me at least six different answers, but I will touch on it a bit.

First, the Guide gives a link to an article on Traditional Mikveh Blessings from Ritualwell (here is a link on the Wayback Machine, since the original requires you to make an account). Ritualwell is a Reconstructionist Jewish website, and accepts reviewed submissions. Here is their about page. The blessings on this page, as far as I know, are in fact exactly what it says on the tin. I’m not sure the first one, asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al ha-t’vilah, is said for non-obligatory immersions (i.e. not for niddah or conversion), as it is literally a blessing on the commandment. The second blessing at that link is Shehecheyanu, which the Guide also suggests as a good prayer. This is the traditional form of the blessing, given at Ritualwell:

Baruch Atah Ado[-]nai Elo[k]eynu Melech Ha-Olam shehekheyanu v’kiyimanu v’higiyanu lazman hazeh.

Blessed are You, [LORD] our God, Monarch of the universe, Who has kept us alive and sustained us, and brought us to this season.

(As a quick note, you may notice this is not quite how they translate it on Ritualwell–I have no idea why they say “kept me alive,” as it’s definitely “us” in the Hebrew. There’s a long tradition, in fact, of praying for the community rather than ourselves as an individual, but that’s not the point of this post.)

The Guide, however, gives an alternate form:

B’rucha At y[-]a Elo[k]eynu Ruakh haolam shehekheyatnu v’kiyimatnu v’higiyatnu lazman hazeh. You are Blessed, Our God, Spirit of the World, who has kept us in life and sustained us, enabling us to reach this season.

Under the assumption that most of you don’t know Hebrew, I’m going to break this down further. The main difference between these two is grammatical gender–the traditional blessing uses masculine forms, which is common when referring to God. However, while there are often masculine descriptions of God, it is worth noting that Hashem is very specifically not a “man”--God is genderless and beyond our comprehension, and masculine is also used in Hebrew for neutral or unspecified gender. A whole discussion of gender and language is also beyond the scope of this post, but for now let’s leave it at: changing the gender for God in prayer is pretty common among less traditional Jews, and that’s fine. Some of the changes they make (or don’t make) here are interesting, though. The two letter name of God they switch to is–despite ending in a hey (the “h” letter)–not feminine grammatically feminine. I’m told, however, that some progressive circles consider it neutral because it “sounds feminine.” “Elo-keynu” is also grammatically masculine, but a) that’s used for neuter in Hebrew and b) it’s also technically plural, so maybe they didn’t feel the need to change it. Though if that’s the case I would also have thought that Ado-nai (the tetragrammaton) would be fine, as it’s also technically male in the same way. I’m also not sure why they didn’t just change ”Melech HaOlam” to “Malkah HaOlam,” which would be the feminine form of the original words, but perhaps they were avoiding language of monarchy. It’s apparently a not uncommon thing to change.

One of the responses I got said the vowels in the verbs were slightly off, but I can’t say much above that, for the reasons given at the beginning of this section.

Also, and this is comparatively minor, the capitalization in the transliteration is bizarre. They capitalize “At” (you) and “Elo[k]eynu” (our God), but not “y[-]a…” which is the actual name of God in the blessing and should definitely be capitalized if you are capitalizing.

The Guide next gives a second blessing that can be used:

B’rucha at shekhinah eloteinu ruach ha-olam asher kid-shanu bi-tevilah b’mayyim hayyim. Blessed are You, Shekhinah, Source of Life, Who blesses us by embracing us in living waters. -Adapted by Dori Midnight 

The main thing I want to note about this is that…that’s not an accurate translation. It completely skips the word “eloteinu.” “Ruach ha-olam” means “spirit/breath of the universe/world,” not “Source of Life,” which would be “M’kor Ha-Olam,” as mentioned above. “Kid-shanu,” as she transliterates it, means “has sanctified us,” or “has made us holy,” not “blesses us”--both the tense and the word are wrong. “Bi-tevilah” doesn’t mean “embracing us,” either, it means “with immersing.” In full, the translation should be:

“Blessed are You, Shekhinah, our God, Spirit of the World, Who has sanctified us with immersion in living waters.”

The Shekhinah is an aspect/name of God(dess), though not a Name to the same level as the ones that can’t be taken in vain. It refers to the hidden Presence of God(dess) in our world, and is the feminine aspect of God(dess), inasmuch as God(dess) has gendered aspects–remember, our God(dess) is One. It’s not an unreasonable Name to use if you are trying to make a prayer specifically feminine.

(Though do be careful if you see it used in a blessing in the wild, because Messianics use it to mean the holy ghost.)

“Eloteinu” is, grammatically, the feminine form of Elokeinu (according to the fluent speakers I asked, though again I got several responses).

It is, again, odd that they don’t capitalize transliterated names of God, though here there is more of an argument that it’s a stylistic choice, Hebrew not having capital letters.

The Guide then repeats the link for Ritualwell.

Finally, we come to the last section, “Resources and Our Sources:”

First, they credit the Kohenet Institute and two of its founders. I do not want to go on a deepdive into the Kohenet Institute also, as this is already long enough, but I suppose I should say a bit.

The Kohenet Institute was a “clergy ordination program, a sisterhood / siblinghood, and an organization working to change the face of Judaism. For 18 years, Kohenet Hebrew Priestess Institutes founders, graduates and students reclaimed and innovated embodied, earth-based feminist Judaism, drawing from ways that women and other marginalized people led Jewish ritual across time and space” (Kohenet Hebrew Priestess Institute Homepage). It closed in 2023.

I have difficulty explaining my feelings about the Kohenet Institute. On the one hand, the people who founded it and were involved in it, I’m sure, were very invested in Judaism and very passionate in their belief. As with the authors of the Guide, I do not mean to attack them–I’m sure they’re lovely people.

On the other, I have trouble finding a basis for any of their practices, and most of what practices I do find trouble me–again, with the caveat that I am very much not into mysticism, so take my opinion with a grain of salt.

Of the three founders, only one (Rabbi Jill Hammer) seems to have much in the way of scholarly background. Rabbi Hammer, who was ordained at the Jewish Theological Seminary (a perfectly respectable school), has at least one article where she quotes the New Testament and a Roman satirist making fun of a Jewish begger who interpret dreams for money as proof “that Jewish prophetesses existed in Roman times,” which to me at least seems like saying that the Roma have a tradition of seeresses based on racist caricatures of what they had to do to survive, if you’ll pardon the comparison. In the same article, she says that Sarah and Abigail, who are listed in the Talmud as prophetesses “are not actually prophetesses as I conceptualize them here,” (pg 106) but that “abolitionist Ernestine Rose, anarchist Emma Goldman, and feminist Betty Friedan stand in the prophetic tradition.” Given God says explicitly in the text, “Regarding all that Sarah tells you, listen to her voice” (Genesis 21:12), I have no idea where she gets this.

The second founder, Taya Mâ Shere, describes the Institute on her website as “spiritual leadership training for women & genderqueer folk embracing the Goddess in a Jewish context,” which to me is blatantly what I and some of my editors have taken to calling Jews For Lilith. Now, it is possible this is a typo. However assuming it is not, and it would be a weird typo to have, this rather clearly reads as “the Goddess” being something one is adding a Jewish context to–which is exactly what I mean when I say this guide is taking Paganism and sprinkling a little Judaism on it. If it had said “embracing Goddess in a Jewish context,” I’d have no problem (aside from weird phrasing)--but “the Goddess” is very much a “divine feminine neo-pagan” kind of thing. We don’t say “the God” in Judaism, or at least I’ve never heard anyone do so. We just say God (or Goddess), because there’s only the one. In fact, according to this article, she returned to Judaism from neo-Paganism, and “began to combine the Goddess-centered practices she had co-created in Philadelphia with what she was learning from teachers in the Jewish Renewal movement, applying her use of the term Goddess to Judaism’s deity.” The “Goddess-centered practices” and commune in Philadelphia are described earlier in the article as “influenced by Wiccan and Native American traditions, in ways that Shere now considers appropriative (“After Kohenet, Who Will Lead the Priestesses?” by Noah Phillips).” I’m not sure how it suddenly isn’t appropriative now, but taking the Pagan practices you were doing and now doing those exact same rituals “but Jewish” is, in fact, still Pagan.

Shere also sells “Divining Pleasure: An Oracle for SephErotic Liberation,” created by her and Bekah Starr, which is a “divination card deck and an Omer counter inviting you more deeply into your body, your pleasure and your devotion to collective liberation.”

I hate this.

I hate this so much.

For those who don’t know, the Omer is the period between the second day of Passover and the holiday of Shavuot, 50 days later. It’s named for the Omer offering that was given on Passover, and which started the count of seven weeks (and a day, the day being Shavuot). The Omer, or at least part of it, is also traditionally a period of mourning, much like the Three Weeks between the fasts of the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av–we don’t have weddings, we don’t listen to live music, we don’t cut our hair. It commemorates (primarily) the deaths of 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva in a plague (possibly a metaphor for persecution or the defeat of the Bar Kochba revolt). It is often used as a time for introspection and self-improvement, using seven of the Kabbalistic Sephirot as guides (each day of the week is given a Sephira, as is each week, so each day of the 49 is x of y, see here). It’s not, as Shere’s class “Sex and the Sephirot: A Pleasure Journey Through the Omer” puts it, a time to “engage…toward experiencing greater erotic presence, deepening our commitment to nourishing eros, and embracing ritual practices of…pleasure.”

The final of the founders, Shoshana Jedwab, seems to be primarily a musician. In her bio on her website, scholarship and teaching are almost afterthoughts. I can find nothing about her background or classes. She’s also, from what I’ve found, the creator of the “sound mikvah.”

So all in all, while I’m sure they’re lovely people, I find it difficult to believe that they are basing their Institute on actual practices, particularly given they apparently include worship of Ashera as an “authentic” Jewish practice, see the above Phillips article and this tumblr post.

The institute also lists classes they offered, which “were open to those across faith practices - no background in Judaism necessary.” If you scroll down the page, you will see one of these courses was titled “Sefer Yetzirah: Meditation, Magic, & the Cosmic Architecture.” Sefer Yetzirah, for those of you unaware, “is an ancient and foundational work of Jewish mysticism.”

You may recall my saying something some 5700 (yikes) words ago about Jewish mysticism (i.e. Kabbalah) being a closed practice.

You may see why I find the Kohenet Institute problematic.

I will grant, however, that I have not listened to their podcasts nor read their books, so it is possible they do have a basis for what they teach. From articles I’ve read, and what I’ve found on their websites, I am unconvinced.

Returning to our original document, the Guide next gives several links from Ritualwell, which I’ve already discussed above. After those, they give links to two actual mikvah organizations: Mayyim Hayyim and Immerse NYC. Both are reputable organizations, and are Open Mikvahs. Neither (at least based on their websites) seem to recommend any of the nonsense in this Guide. In fact, Mayyim Hayyim explicitly does not allow non-Jews to immerse (unless it’s to convert). ImmerseNYC has advice to create a ritual in an actually Jewish way. I would say the link to these two groups are, perhaps, the only worthwhile information in this Guide.

They then list a few “mikveh related projects,” two of which are by the writers. The first, Queer Mikveh Project, is by one of the authors, Rebekah Erev. The link they give is old and no longer works, but on Erev’s website there is information about the project. Much of the language is similar to that in this guide. The page also mentions a “mikvah” ritual done to protest the Dakota Access Pipeline, in which “the mikveh…[was] completely optional.” And, of course, there was an altar. The second project, the “Gay Bathhouse” by (I believe) the other author and Shelby Handler, is explicitly an art installation.

The final link is to this website (thanks to the tumblr anon who found it), which is the only source we’ve been able to find on Shekinah Ministries (aside from a LOT of Messianic BS from unrelated organizations of the same name). So good news–this isn’t a Messianic. Bad news, it also seems to have a shaky basis in actual Jewish practice at best. It is run by artist Reena Katz, aka Radiodress, whose MKV ritual is, like “Gay Bathhouse,” a performance project. As you can see from the pictures on Radiodress’s website (cw for non-sexual nudity and mention of bodily fluids), it is done in a clearly portable tub in a gallery. As part of the process, participants are invited to “add any material from their body,” including “spit, urine, ejaculate, menstrual blood,” “any medication, any hormones they might be taking,” and supplies Radiodress offers including something called “Malakh Shmundie,” “a healing tincture that translates to “angel pussy” made by performance artist Nomy Lamm” (quotes from “An Artist’s Ritual Bath for Trans and Queer Communities” by Caoimhe Morgan-Feir). The bath is also filled by hand, which is very much not in line with halacha. Which, if you’re doing performance art, is fine.

But this Guide is ostensibly for authentic Jewish religious practice.

And with that (aside from the acknowledgements, which I don’t feel the need to analyze), we are done. At last.

Thank you for reading this monster of a post. If you have made it this far, you and I are now Family. Grab a snack on your way out, you deserve it.

Further Reading and Resources:

https://www.mayyimhayyim.org/risingtide/members/

https://www.mikvah.org/directory

https://www.mayyimhayyim.org/

http://www.immersenyc.org/

https://aish.com/what-is-a-mikveh/

https://www.chabad.org/theJewishWoman/article_cdo/aid/1541/jewish/The-Mikvah.htm

https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/1230791/jewish/Immersion-of-Vessels-Tevilat-Keilim.htm

https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/why-immerse-in-the-mikveh/

Meth, Rabbi Ephraim. 50 Mikvahs That Shaped History. Feldheim Publishers, 2023.

[choslut]

˖ ࣪ ، ◞ せ⌇ BABY MOMMA. featuring k. nanami.

↻ there’s nothing nanami wants more in the world than to make you a mommy, and give you his beautiful kids.

tags : breeding kink, creampie, mommy kink (if you squint), messy sex, pet names, feral nanami, marathon sex, lactation + pregnancy (fantasized), ovulation cycle // wc. 0.9k

author’s note : sorry this one’s a lil late, i’ve been busy with theme changes and real life is throwing a million and one hurdles at me and i just can’t keep up 😞 you can't tell me that nanami wouldn't be a massive family man, so here i have him completely desperate to start a family with you and give you his babies. notes and reblogs are always appreciated, and check out my masterlist for non-event based works <3 !!

this work is NSFW. minors and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT.

it’s been hours. hours since nanami even proposed the idea of trying for kids, and now, it’s all he can fucking think about. 

it’s all you can think about too, given the fact that he’s fucked you out of your mind, legs numb from being in missionary for as long as you remember with nanami plunging in and out of you, the tip of his cock nudging your cervix with every single thrust. 

it’s repetitive. it’s addicting. 

“hah- kento, can’t take no more…” your voice is a sheepish babble, nails digging into his back as tears stream down your face. “ ‘s too much, ken, please–“

nanami grunts in your ear, hips never ceasing movement as he ruts into you. “g’na have to, sweetheart. this one’s gotta take.”

he said that about the last one, and the one before that, and the one before that… and fuck, you can’t keep up with how many times he’s said it because he’s been going at it for so long with only one goal in mind. 

he’s gonna give you kids. he’s gonna make you a mommy, and you’re gonna raise his kids with him as his wife. 

it’s all he’s ever wanted. it’s all he’s ever dreamed of, and when he watches you lounge around the house wearing nothing but a bra and his oversized dress shirt and a wedding ring fit snugly on your finger, he really can’t stop himself from imagining what you would look like with a swollen tummy, breasts spilling out of that same bra. 

“g’na give you my kids baby…” he’s rambling half out of his ass, his brain scrambled by pure need. “gonna make my girl a mommy. you’re gonna be a great mommy, aren't you?”

he’s brought up the topic before. it was never anything serious, just asking you what you would prefer and never really thinking of his own volition. you had always agreed with him wholeheartedly, and it would somehow lead to the two of you cooing over baby clothes and strollers but never anything more. 

nanami is fucking sick of it. he’s sick of fawning over the idea and not doing anything about it. sure, you’ve made love a couple of times, but it never held any true intent, focusing on the pure need to give each other pleasure. 

well, now, nanami needs more than pleasure. he needs to see you with that swollen tummy and those massive leaky tits, and there’s only one way to do that; fucking you within an inch of your life and cumming in your cunt until it finally takes. 

“kento–“ you seemingly haven’t gotten bored of it yet, despite having been at it for over two hours. your back still arches with every bump to your cervix, nails still raking down his back as his sweaty chest squashes your own. “this one’s gonna take, promise.”

“i can’t be sure of that,” he states matter-of-factly. “although your tracker says you’re ovulating, we can’t just trust that once or twice will be enough.” is he sure of this fact? no, but he is sure that you feel too damn good to stop, even though he’s already finished inside of you enough times to guarantee your pregnancy ten times over. 

you just look so beautiful beneath him. you wear the radiance of sex extremely well, eyes fogged over and mouth hanging open as your steamy pants echo in his ear. you’re borderline intoxicating, and that’s why nanami can’t stop, even though he knows you need him to before you pass out. 

“look at me, angel. i wanna see you.” you weakly turn your cheek away from the pillow and look up at him, lips stained a gorgeous red and swollen from his kisses. “you’re gonna be such a pretty momma.”

your eyelids flutter and your back arches weakly as you cum again for the final time, garbled moans of nanami’s name flooding from your throat. despite the longevity of your session, your cunt still manages to squeeze around him impossibly, and nanami groans deeply, arms sliding around your hips as you pulls you forward to meet his thrusts. 

“kentooo…”

“i know, baby, i know.” the sheets are soiled with your sweat and his, and the tight clampdown of your walls propels him to cum one final time, hips flush against your twitching clit as he pumps you full. 

you both stay like that for a beat, nanami folded over your twitching body before he finally pulls out slowly, and when he does, the sight he’s met with is so incredibly dirty that he can barely believe he was the one to reduce you to such a mess. “oh, angel…”

copious amounts of his release flood from your cunt, leaving a translucent pool on your sheets. whilst he absolutely loves the sight and wishes to brand it on the forefront of his brain, nanami’s goal is still clear as day. 

he leans down and kisses your overstimulated clit, fingers dancing around your twitchy hole and gathering up his release before pushing it back inside with a curl of his fingers that makes you want to scream. 

“can’t waste any, my dear, or it might not take, remember?” when he looks up at you from in between your trembling thighs, the look on his face is nothing short of depraved, blonde strands of hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks stained red with excitement. 

“can’t wait to see my girl become a mommy.”

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[rinasauruss]

closer than quiet

summary: Rafe is so tall he has to lean down to hear you better. that's it.

warnings: none, me thinks. just a suggestive line at the end ;P

word count: 590

A/N: I couldn't help myself, so I wrote this blurb! this is my first time writing Rafe, let me know what you think! English is not my first language, so I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors. feedback is appreciated!

The soft hum of the waves was a steady background to the crackling of the bonfire, the flames dancing as the heat mixed with the cool bite of the night breeze. You stood near the fire, feeling the warmth spread through you, but the presence behind you was what made your skin tingle the most.

Rafe was close, an arm wrapped around your waist with a casual ease that made you feel both safe and exposed at the same time. His thumb traced slow, absent circles over your stomach, his other hand holding a beer with the same relaxed grip he used when he wasn’t thinking about much at all. Topper and Kelce were deep in conversation, their voices more distant than usual, as if the world around you had faded into something quieter. Rafe barely added to the chatter, content to stay in his own head—or maybe it was you who had his full attention. You weren’t sure, but it felt like you did.

You turned your head, looking up at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. "You good?" You asked it quietly, as though you already knew the answer, but you wanted to hear him say it anyway.

Rafe didn’t immediately respond, the sound of the ocean filling the silence. Instead, he leaned down, tilting his head as if to catch the softest whisper, even though you’d only spoken in your normal tone. His presence grew even more intense with the movement, his height hovering over you, his face drawing closer in that effortless, unspoken way that made you feel smaller and more drawn in with each inch.

"Hm?" His voice was low, just above a murmur, the sound of it vibrating through your chest.

You flushed at the gesture, a subtle warmth rising in your cheeks. His closeness, his height, the way he made the space around you feel like it shrank to just the two of you—it was disarming in the best way. His breath fanned over your skin, the warmth of it sending a shiver down your spine, and you could almost feel the heartbeat beneath his chest as he leaned in further.

You swallowed, your voice a little shakier this time. "You doing good?" You repeated, hoping your tone sounded steady, but there was no hiding the way he affected you.

Rafe’s grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he felt the slight hitch in your breath, his arm tightening around your waist, pulling you even closer. It was as though he knew exactly how much he was making you feel.

"Yeah, m'good, baby," he hummed, his voice deepening in that way it did when he was in his element. "Just thinking."

"About?" you asked, a whisper now, almost afraid to ask but too curious to hold back.

He tilted his head again, moving in just a little further, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. The closeness, the heat of his breath, was enough to send a shiver all the way down your spine, leaving you breathless.

The moment stretched between you, charged with unspoken words and everything that lay beneath the surface. The bonfire crackled, the night air was cool, but Rafe’s presence was all you could feel now, the pull of him drawing you in further than you’d ever planned to go.

His voice was soft, smooth, laced with that teasing edge that always made your heart skip a beat. "Just thinking about how much fun I’m gonna have taking this little dress off you later."

(support banner by @cafekitsune )

[kenananamin]

Tie my tie, marry me

Summary: The moment Nanami knew he never wanted to tie his tie by himself ever again and wanted to spend the rest of his life by your side. fluffy, nanami x fem!reader, nanami already loves everything you do but something about tying his tie was so intimate and special to him

It had been a year since Nanami officially asked you to be his girlfriend, but you had just started staying over during the weekdays. If either of you would stay at each other's houses, it would only be during the weekends when you both knew the next day could be dedicated to each other. Only recently had that unspoken rule changed.

You had both gone to the mall to shop for your new professional wardrobe and Nanami asked if he could buy a few extra things for you to keep at his house. You both knew what that implied and told him he could buy it, only if you could buy some stuff for him to keep at your house. You had both never been happier to spend more time and money at a crowded mall.

Nanami woke up a bit later for work than usual because of a power outage that turned off his alarm clock and did not charge his phone. You went into work after he did so you make his coffee and pack his lunch while he took a quick shower. You run into the bathroom to let him know he had less than 15 more minutes.

He steps out of the shower and grabs his razor to shave. You reach for the hairdryer he bought for you to keep at his house and start to dry his hair as he quickly shaves. You run out and start to rummage through his closet to set his clothes on the bed. Nanami finishes shaving and follows you out to get dressed.

"Shirt first, hurry," you take the shirt off the hanger and throw it to him.

Nanami begins to button the shirt when you get in front of him and start pulling his collar up and putting his tie around his neck. He looks at you with a questioning look and you quickly explain, "My dad taught me how to tie a tie. Never thought it'd come in handy since I never knew anyone who regularly wore a tie before you." You laugh at the memory but continue what you were doing to avoid making your boyfriend late.

Nanami however... his fingers stop buttoning his shirt. He looks at you, concentration and rush covering your features, but your fingers gently grazed his skin as you looped his tie. She's the first person to ever tie it for me, Nanami thinks. He had to learn how to do it from a video and was later corrected by some older male coworkers who showed him with their own ties.

The events of that morning finally dawn on him. You jumped out of bed right after you felt him jump out and started rushing around the apartment with him. He hadn't even mentioned that he was late, but you opened your eyes and knew what to do. He could smell the coffee from the room and heard the clanking of the leftover containers being opened and slid across counters from the shower. You dried his hair knowing that his route to work was not long enough to let it dry itself, and you took out exactly what he would have worn that day while he shaved. And now... there you stood before him, helping him tie his tie so his hands could do other things.

It seemed so... small. It was so small, so truly insignificant in the scale of life, something that could not hold weight in the world or change anything in the universe. But it changed his life, it was his favorite view in the world, and it would become his universe.

You look up at him and see him staring... and his hands not moving?! You move his hands away from the buttons and rush to finish buttoning it down. He takes your face in his hands and leans down to kiss you slowly. So very slow and soft. It stops you completely and you wrap your arms around his waist, relishing in the smell of his aftershave and body wash. Nanami deepens the kiss and moves an arm around your waist to pull you in closer. As much as you love when he pulls you in, the movement pulls you out of the kiss trance.

"Oh my god, Kento, hurry!! You're late, you're late!"

You step back and shove his pants into his arms. You tell him to hurry and that you'd grab his shoes to put by the door. You start yelling across the apartment that it would rain the entire afternoon and he needed to take the umbrella.

Nanami listens as you rustle through the closet looking for the umbrella and the light thud of what might have been his lunch bag and coffee thermal on the entryway table. He walks out the room putting on his suit jacket and sees you lightly jumping while telling him to hurry with his shoes.

Nanami leans down to tie his shoes but pauses after he's done. He goes to touch your bare leg since you hadn't even gotten dressed after waking up. You only wore his large shirt and underwear. He kneels and carefully lifts one leg to kiss your knee. He looks up from his kneeling position and says, "Thank you for helping. You really didn't have to."

His loving eyes close slightly while you lean down to give him one kiss as your response. "You're late," you whisper against his lips.

Nanami stands and takes his things while waving bye to you and your bed head. He heads out the door and begins a light jog to catch his regular train.

Yeap, she's the one, Nanami thinks.

Nanami spent his lunch break at the jewelry shop looking at rings that would look beautiful on your finger. There were so many engagement rings that would look gorgeous on you, but one caught his eye as he imagined that ring slightly moving on your finger as you tied his tie.

"I like that one. Do you have a size (your ring size) in stock?"

Nanami buys the ring at that moment and texts you to ask if he could come over to your house after work. He does not plan to propose on a regular Tuesday evening with no special plans, but he wants to hug you, smell your lovely perfume, take you some flowers, and give you a special thanks for helping him. And maybe, maaaayybe (most likely), stay over at your house to help him with his tie again the next morning.

[sinofwriting]

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.” Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.” He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.” “Not gonna tell me it gets easier?” He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know. “I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs. She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.” He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back. “You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head. “Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go. She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.” He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his  wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t now. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C’mon Logan, time for bed.” He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly. “You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.” He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.” “Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.” His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.” Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.” He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock. “He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.” “Madelyn and Daniel?” She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.” One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.” Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.” “Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.” “Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table. “Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.” She makes a humming noise. “C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.” Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle. He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.” “Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.” He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?” Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?” She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.” Logan both blushes and preens at the same time. Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?” She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.” He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.” She laughs, “good gin and tonic?” He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.” She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,” “Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.” Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.” “We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts. “Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused. “Ah.” “Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.” She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases. The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.” “Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?” She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.” Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.” “Your work allows you to do that?” Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.” “You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.” “I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious. “No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.” “Manager?” “God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.” “Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.” “Of course.” “Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.” “Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?” “Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him. He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?” “It’s nice.” She smiles. Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.” Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him. “You seemed a bit more relaxed.” “No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.” Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.” Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?” He shrugs as best as he can. “I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.” “You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs. Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.” “What happened?” “She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.” Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.” The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies. “What?” “I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.” “Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar. “I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.” Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?” Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?” “The one that gave Fred shit.” “I thought she died?” The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?” “Mate, you didn’t hear about that?” “No!” “She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.” “How do I not remember this?” Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,” “No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.” “Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.” Logan groans, “Os, no.” “Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.” “Oscar, please, it’s my mom.” “She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush. He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.” “Lando was looking.” Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.” He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.” “He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns. “I saw that too.” “But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?” Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.” “Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?” “I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.” Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.” “We all want to age like her.” George agrees. “What are you saying?” Fernando frowns. A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.” Fernando frowns, “Lines?” Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank. Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.” The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.” “Fuck.” “Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,” “He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her. “He did it! He did it!” She cheers. The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.” “Got it. Where’s Alex?” She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.” It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.” Both of her hands fly up to her mouth. “Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.” She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control. “What? What do you mean?” “You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.” “Holy fuck.” The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes. “You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.” She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.” “Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.” “I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried. “You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.” She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?” He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.” “He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her. His smile widens as he takes the seat. “I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear. “I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?” She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.” “Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.” She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?” “You did.” “Sweet.” “Very. How’s the head?” Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.” She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.” “Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it. She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.” “True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.” “I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.” “Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.” “I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.” “Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?” “It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.” His brows press together. “Max?” “Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?” Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.” “You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.” “I go on dates.” “Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.” She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists. “Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?” “Yes.” “Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?” Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,” Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?” “Oh.” Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.” “I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!” He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces. “Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?” He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press. “But how are you feeling about it?” Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.” He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.” Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.” “P10 and P9.” He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.” Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.” “Not yours?” He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.” Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?” Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.” “Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.” “And if I go into the wall?” Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?” Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.” “Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.” Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.” He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him. “And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his. “So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say. “I’m a mom.” He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.” “Logan is important to me.” Oh, god, did Logan not like him? “The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.” “Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?” She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.” “I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?” Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.” He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.” “His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right. “His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?” “No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.” She stares at him, lips pressed together. He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.” She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?” “The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears. “I am his mother, just adopted.” “Not that either of you see it that way.” “No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.” “Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?” She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.” “How old are you?” “I’m twenty-nine.” He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.” “Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.” “How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch. “Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun. Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach. “What?” “How was your date last night?” Her smile widens. “It was good.” “Yeah?” She nods. “Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?” “No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.” “About what?” “Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well. She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.” “What about Max?” She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.” “You know, I’m okay with it.” “I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.” Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.” Logan flushes at the words. “He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age. He flushes even more. “Really?” “Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.” “I am an adult.” “You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.” He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.” “Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?” She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?” “Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?” “First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder. “Am I late?” “Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen. “Can I,” She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.” “Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.” “Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her. “Logan and you are both going to get on too well.” “Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye. “You both don’t like when I lift anything.” “What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back. Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.” She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.” “One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.” “See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head. “I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.” Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.” He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.” “Are you sure?” Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage. The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at. “Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.” “Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely. “Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?” The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.” “Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member. “Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?” He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.” “And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases. “No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.” “I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.” “Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.” “Oh?” Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room. “Hi, schat.” “Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats. His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.” “Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask. “He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.” Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?” She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.” “Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?” “Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.” “Anything I can help with?” She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops. “Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.” “Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?” His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.” “The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.” “They have to be not performing well.” “They’re a rookie in a back marker team.” “They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about. “They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.” His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?” “Nine.” “I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.” She shakes her head. “Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?” She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.” “I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.” She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his. “The driver’s Logan.” “What?” “Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.” Max stares at her. “How?” “I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.” “He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.” “I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.” “It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it. “Why’s that, honey?” He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team. “I guess you are a bit spoiled.” He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle. “That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.” He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more. “I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.” She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.” “It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends. “Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder. “How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner. She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.” He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?” “I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.” “I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside. “I know.” “Logan still wanting to do his new routine.” She nods, lips pursed. He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?” She throws him a look. “Us?” “You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that. “Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.” “Will Logan be joining us for Florida?” “Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.” Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,” “You go to Milton for a day after.” He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.” “Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.” “Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.” “Yes?” “Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend. He freezes. “Max.” “I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

[bucksfucks]

going through some more drafts and i need to word vomit about beefy!bucky because i’ve rediscovered him and good god im a whore

anyways, this man is huge. like huge. in my mind beefy!bucky is like 6’5 and 280 pounds of pure muscle and he knows exactly what he does to you and that man is nothing but a tease.

especially if he’s your roommate and you’ve only ever crossed that bridge when you’re drunk and a little too giggly and you end up in his bed where his hips meet yours over and over again. whispering “taking me like such a good girl.” and “that’s it sweetheart, you look so pretty under me little one.” or “shh, you can take me. i know you can sweetheart.” and his movements are a little sloppy because he’s drunk and maybe he’s slurring his words just a little bit and his eyelids are heavier than normal as he watches himself slide in and out of you with blown pupils.

which means he always knows how to rile you up and he does so without fail. maybe this is when he presses you up against the counter and he is so much bigger than you it makes you shiver when he whispers “i could bend you over this counter right now and i bet you wouldn’t even try to stop me, little girl.”

or when you’re not getting your way, especially in the bedroom, and he just sits back relaxed and looks at you “if you want it so bad then come and get it, sweetheart. it’s all yours after all.” and his favourite way to tease you is to watch himself slide in and out, admiring the way your tummy bulges with him inside muttering “gonna fuck a baby into this belly. fill you up so you’re mine forever.”

[deliceta]

— lust after 𝒽ours.

warnings!( prof×student, degradation, squirting, knotting, pussy slapping hehe (ᵕ—ᴗ—), pure filth. )

grinding your plump ass down on your professor's clothed cock, little whines jumping out of your throat. sunghoon’s chest to your back, sunghoon moans in your ear, snaking a hand underneath your shirt as the other slips up your skirt.

"no panties hm?"

you bit your lip, leaning back into sunghoon as your hips don't stop, spilling sweet slick onto your professor’s pants.

"you're such a slut, walking about with no panties. you want to let everyone see your little pussy and clit, don't you?"

your thighs shift together at the sweet degradation, nipples now poking out of your shirt from arousal.

"now you're pathetically grinding on your professor... anyone could walk in, you know? but you would like that, whore."

sunghoon fondles your little clit, making it practically disappear in his huge hands. you choked on a moan, squirming in lap.

"i love it, i love being a slut for you professor - hnng!" you moan, as your clit gets fondled so roughly.

sunghoon bites your ear as he grabs a handful of one of your big tits, rolling it in his hand. you let out a loud moan, gasping in pleasure. your tits are extra sensitive.

"of course you do, you would just bend over for any man, wouldn't you? you don't even care if it's your professor," sunghoon’s deep voice whispers in your ear, making you shiver.

"n-no, i only wanted you, professor ," you reply softly.

sunghoon stops all movement, leaving you in his lap.

suddenly you’re spun around in your professor's lap.

you stare up at your professor, pussy still throbbing in arousal. the professor’s face is unreadable but serious, making you tremble in his lap.

you let out a surprised moan once a finger is shoved into your needy pussy, gripping onto sunghoon’s dress shirt.

"do you even know what you're saying, y/!?" sunghoon growls, thrusting his finger into your slick filled cunt. he barely gives you time to adjust, shoving in another thick finger.

"a-ah- w-wait-!" you helplessly moan, your professor shaking up your pretty cunt. sunghoon yanks your shirt up and your plump tits bounce out, making you blush.

"p-professor," you moan as sunghoon takes a nipple into his hot mouth, licking up the sweet bud. sunghoon fingers don't stop, curling them up.

"a-ah!" you yelp as your body jolts up, sunghoon’s thick fingers grinding against your walls. "i-it's too much hnng!"

sunghoon was all talkative before, now he's focused on ruining the sweet little girl on his lap. he fondles another tit with his free hand, roughly pinching your nipple.

"p-professor, s-stop i'm gonna cum!"

sunghoon doesn't pay much heed to your warning, instead latching his mouth on your other nipple, sucking and rolling it in his mouth.

sunghoon slips in a third finger, thrusting his fingers up and down to shake up your pussy. you scream, he’s hitting your spot at such a fast pace.

"s-stop, professor , s-stop! i can't-!" you desperately moan but you don’t make your professor halt. sunghoon only goes harder, thick fingers working magic in your cunt.

a few more rough shakes and teeth grazing your nipple is all it takes for you to lose it.

you moan, cumming all over your pretty skirt, arching your body in pleasure, almost falling over if it weren't for the professor’s free arm supporting your back. you cry out, tears spilling onto your cheeks, cumming harder than you ever had by yourself.

but what shocks the both of you is the rush of thin slick all over the professor’s hand.

you squirt, screaming through the pleasure, even dirtying the sunghoon’s pants beneath you. you can't stop, moaning and sobbing through it. sunghoon pulls away from your chest in amazement. you’re trembling in your professor's grip and sunghoon can clearly feel your thighs shaking.

you finally manage to stop squirting, going boneless and limp in the professor’s arms.

sunghoon groans at the sight, slipping his fingers out with a wet /squelch/ that you didn’t have the mind to be embarrassed about.

you’re panting hard, chest rapidly rising and falling. you’re drooling, eyes glazed over; so fucked out.

"you are so fucking hot, y/n." sunghoon said while kissing you, leaving you all breathless, barely able to kiss back.

"hnng," is all you can manage, trying to kiss back, weakly gripping onto your professor's shirt.

sunghoon rolls his hips forward and the you moan wantonly, feeling the hard clothed bulge rub against your exposed pussy. your wet pussy twitches, spilling slick all over the bulge.

you grind down on your professor's cock again, making the both of you moan into each other's mouths. you pull away, resting your forehead against your professor’s as you try to catch your breath.

"p-professor," you softly call out and the proffered hums. "p-please… fuck me."

the older curses under his breath in arousal and you clearly feel his cock twitch underneath you. you giggle before grinding down on it once more.

"make me squirt again, professor."

you gasp as the professor suddenly picks you up and pushes you onto the desk. the professor presses your thighs against your chest, causing your skirt to flip and expose your wet, ruined pussy. you blush at the cool air on your pussy as well as your professor staring at your stretched pussy so closely.

"you want my cock so bad huh?" sunghoon questions as he slaps your swollen pussy. you gasp in surprise, jolting with the harsh slap.

"oh? you like this, don't you?" he lifts his hand to show you the slick all over it. "one slap and you're leaking all over my hand."

sunghoon rains another slap, and you cry out, pussy pulsating at the sweet pain. you whine and wiggle your ass.

"please your cock hng ah!" another slap onto your pussy sends you arching and squirming.

“patience,slut”

you whimper, taking slap after slap on your pussy, soon leaking all over your professor's hand and drooling at the numb pleasure.

sunghoon unexpectedly slaps your little clit and you scream before squirting all over the table.

you cry, tears running down your cheeks as you’re squirting uncontrollably from your gaping pussy, thighs trembling through it. you’re arching on the table, toes curling at the intense pleasure as the professor strokes your thigh through it.

you soon come down, panting heavily as you tremble underneath your professor's grip.

"hnng," you whine, completely blissed out and unfocused. you reach out blindly, whimpering, "p-professor."

the older man is instantly holding your hand, using his other hand to brush your hair out of your face.

"you did so well, baby," sunghoon praises, giving you a quick kiss. "here's your reward."

you hear the professor taking off his belt before you feel him raw, hard cock grinding against your slick pussy. one grind and his cock is practically coated with slick. you whine, wanting the cock you’ve been yearning for so long.

your jaw goes slack with a debauched moan as he finally slides in.

inch after inch disappearing into your swollen rim, making the both of you groan heavily.

you swear you’ve never been more stuffed full in your life, the professor’s cock is so fat, so long.

despite you being fingered and worked open, your slick pussy still clamps down hard onto sunghoon’s cock. you curse loudly as he pushes to the hilt, until his balls hit your cheeks. you feel the zipper of the professor’s pants run against your skin, blushing as you realize you’re all exposed as your professor is all clothed and professional.

sunghoon sits balls deep as he tries to learn how to breathe again with how tight and wet the girl in front of him is. and you can't wrap your head around how fucking /huge/ your professor is, panting hard and feeling so full.

“y-you’re so big, professor hng stretches out my pussy so wide,” you say, feeling the fat cock twitch in your pussy and you’re half delirious already.

after a minute, the professor does a small grind into your pussy and that alone sends you arching up, pussy twitching around the thick cock.

"hng wait i'm still- ah, sensitive," you beg, trembling already. the professor bites back a groan, the sweet pussy so snug around his cock.

sunghoon cannot hold back anymore, drawing his hips back before slamming it in balls deep once again. you choke on a moan, spent pussy spurting cum all over your inner thighs.

"p-professor w-wait…!" you desperately moan, unable to stop sunghoon’s hips from using your pussy.

"what? thought you wanted my cock," sunghoon teases, angling his hips to try to find the your sweet spot. you jolt, jaw dropping in an intense silent scream as a feeling of euphoria washes over you and the professor smirks, knowing he hit the spot dead on.

your pussy is all red and swollen, oozing with loads of cum even after cumming twice already. it cutely bobs with each thrust of sunghoon’s monster cock, making the older chuckle.

"it's so cute.." sunghoon comments, flicking your small clit, making you gasp and sob. "so useless… you're just a little slut that is made to be fucked anyways, it's no wonder."

"o-only want- hng! professor's cock," you manage to get out through your tears and moans, delicate hand shooting out to place it on top of the alpha's big one holding your thigh.

the professor goes silent.

before he pulls out all the way and /slams/ back in.

you immediately cry out, head thrown back as the entrance of your womb is hit by the tip of the professor’s cock.

"I hope you know-" sunghoon pulls back slowly and then harshly slams back in, causing you to brokenly cry out, thighs trembling. "what this means," he finishes.

you moan, feeling the beginning of the professor’s growing knot against your swollen rim, wiggling your hips down to try and get it deeper. you clench down hard, as if you were trying to suck in the professor’s cock and knot. sunghoon throws his head back at the incredibly tight pussy wrapped around his cock, staining it all over with sticky precum.

"p-please… knot me professor."

and that's all it takes for him to grunt and shove his half knot into your pussy.

you scream, cumming all over yourself as you feel him entering your fertile womb. he moans at you clenching down with his orgasm, knot inflating to the max, plugging up your sweet pussy.

you cry at the stretch, trembling violently as you squirts all over the cock. however, it's all plugged up by the professor's cock, making you feel so full.

sunghoon’s face scrunches up in pleasure, and spurts loads of thick semen straight into the your womb, unable to hold back any longer.

he curses and throws his head back, hips grinding to ride out his release. you squeal, own little spent pussy squirting a bit more cum at the fat knot rubbing /right/ against your sweet spot.

the tight womb pulsates around sunghoon’s cock, causing you to moan once again, milking out a few more spurts of potent professor’s semen.

the two of you are soon able to finally stop cumming, and the professor drops down, resting his forehead onto yours. you both take a moment to catch your breaths, panting heavily and all sweaty.

you’re the first one to move, arm coming up to the back of sunghoon’s neck to pull him down for a light kiss. sunghoon kisses you back before pulling away to plant kisses on your nose, cheeks, and forehead.

you softly giggle, so happy to be in the arms of your professor.

"let's get you into a more comfortable position, hm?" he says and you nod before wrapping your arms around sunghoon’s broad shoulders.

he lifts you up and sits back into the chair so you’re sitting in his lap, still stuck on his knot.

you pull cuddles into sunghoon’s neck, sniffing his manly scent, making the older man smile softly, holding you close.

"y/n," he calls and the you hum in acknowledgement. "I don't know what this all means."

you pull back to face the taller man as you feel a pair of hands circle your waist, eyebrows furrowing in worry.

"but it doesn't mean I don't want to try, that's not what I meant ." he is quick to chastise, making you visibly relax in his arms. "I meant let's take this slow and not rush into things hm?"

"okay, let's do that," you smile, leaning forward to give sunghoon a quick kiss before snuggling back into his shoulder.

you both relax and chat lightly, cuddling with each other as the professor’s knot slowly goes down. once it deflates enough, you stutters, face flushing red.

"is something wrong?" sunghoon worriedly cups your red cheeks.

"it's just- uhm your cum…"

"my what?"

"your cum is leaking out professor…"

"oh…"

"hng how do I get up then?"

sunghoon suddenly gets an idea, smirking and you tilt your head in confusion.

"what?"

he doesn’t answer, carefully laying you onto the desk again before pulling out. you blush at the dirty squelch your pussy made, so fucked out with cum and slick.

he squats down and licks up all the cum from your ruined cunt and you immediately close your legs around the professor's head, whimpering. you weakly moans as the professor cleans up your leaking pussy.

the professor stands up, tipping your chin slightly up.

"open."

you obey and the professor opens your mouth and sticks his tongue, letting his own semen drip into your mouth.

you moan, collecting all the semen into your mouth eagerly, as if you were grateful for the gift. sunghoon finishes, holding your rosy cheeks with one hand to look at your mouth all full with his semen. he proudly smirks at the sight.

"swallow."

you obey again, gulping down all the cum in mouth. you open your mouth and stick your tongue out to show you drank it all down.

"good girl," he praises, petting your hair.

he grabs some tissues and wet wipes to clean the both of you as best as he can, as well the desk.

"ah this should do for now," he says as throws away the wipes and you shyly nods, feeling so vulnerable but safe.

sunghoon then pulls down your shirt to dress you before he reaches over to get an extra long sleeved shirt he keeps near his desk. sunghoon dresses you in it to make sure you’re warm and covered. he quickly tucks himself back into his pants and zips it up.

"cmon, i'll take you to my place." he reaches out to take your delicate hand. "don't worry, we'll just shower and sleep okay? I don't want to leave you alone..."

you nod with a smile before hopping off the desk, your skirt flowing down at the same time. you wobble, latching onto your professor for support.

you both laugh and the professor soon ends up carrying you on his back to the car. you’re lucky this is a time where not many staff or students are around.

he gently places you into the passenger seat before getting into the other side. the professor smiles, noticing how small you look in your seat.

the professor starts driving with some soft music on the late night radio as you’re staring out the window aimlessly. you suddenly feels a big hand on your bare thigh, making you turn your head.

sunghoon is focusing on driving but there's a smile clear on his face, making you smile too, warmth spreading through your chest.

[eternityofend]

Another type of milk.

PAIRING: Francis Mosses x Female!Reader ( Slight Doppelganger!Francis Mosses x Reader. )

Requested: Can I request something for Francis, the Milkman? Like the scenario is: Y'all be talking then, they do it under the desk while the reader is working?

MDNI +18, NSFW.

You scroll through your phone, time ticking with each passing second as you get even more bored. Your job as a doorman was nice however the hours needed to work were plenty enough of time for you to wish you had never taken up such a job in the first place.

You hear a tap on the window as you see Francis in front of you, holding a carton of milk in his hands, his movements were sluggish and his eye bags were darker than when you last saw him.

You ignored the concern building in you and tried to find your wallet to pay for the milk you ordered from Francis, keyword: tried. You frantically searched your pockets and the drawers but there was no sign of a leather wallet in all of the places you searched.

Francis stares at you with a blank expression, completely minding his own business as he didn't question the amount of time it took for you to find your wallet.

"Hey.. can I pay you up in a different way?"

Francis raises his eyebrows, skeptical about your request but nods his head; far too kept up with how much time this delivery was taking. He wasn't used to social interaction anyway, he just wanted to get out.

You motion for him to come into your office, opening the gate for him and closing it once he went through.

A few minutes later, Francis knocks on your door and you let him in, he's still holding onto the carton of milk which you help him put on your desk.

"Mmmm.. so what's this different method of payment are you talking about?.." Francis mutters, his voice husky with the tiredness he felt from his job, tone as curious as ever.

You walk up to him, putting your hand on his chest while smiling innocently.

Francis looked at you with a curious expression, gulping as he was nervous about what you were going to do with him.

Francis looked at your eyelashes, and your pretty eyes, trying to distract himself from the weird thoughts he was thinking; perhaps he was watching too much inappropriate stuff, he should limit himself on that.

"Do you live alone?" You asked, knowing well what his answer would be.

Francis tore his gaze away from you, now staring at your wall. "Yes.."

He hears a small laugh come from you, and his body feels tingly with extreme nervousness. Why were you laughing? Did you expect him to have a roommate or something?

"So you have no one to milk you at home then?" You whisper in Francis's ears, watching him tense up as he caved in to your voice and touch.

You saw the way his knees trembled to hold onto his body, cheeks turning redder than the scarlet milk he frequently delivers.

You put a hand on his cheek, making him look at you with a smile on your face. "Let me help you, that's my payment." You utter, watching his eyes widen as he came across a conflicted statement-- not knowing what to choose.

You really didn't have to wait long.

Francis stares up at you, hand on his mouth as he leans against the wall, ears flushing with blush as he attempted to conceal his noises from you, afraid of someone hearing.

You rubbed your shoe against his bulge, looking at him with a mischievous look on your face, wanting to make him cum from a dry orgasm before you fully fuck him.

"Ah~ Hnn~ Ngn~" Francis moans out, his sounds muffled by how hard he was biting on his hand, throwing his head back at how lewd your method to pleasure him was.

His eyes were teary and his cheeks were flushed, he looked as if he already got fucked by you even if you hadn't advanced that fast yet.

You grin, pressing on his erection with the heel of your shoe-- enjoying the way he stuttered, gripping onto your leg with his free hand.

A tap on the window stops you from admiring him longer, and Francis panics. He couldn't run out because it would be suspicious if the visitor were to see someone come from below your desk, he didn't want to spread rumours as well if someone recognized him.

So he just sat there, both hands covering his mouth.

Wait.. what were you doing?

Francis bites onto his hand, heart pulsing as he felt your shoe rub more against his dick, you were crazy! Why were you still continuing?!

You grinned, twirling your hair as you faced a doppelganger of one of the visitors, not even having to check the ID to know it was a doppelganger.

You had to admit, it sure mimicked the resident properly, but if it weren't for the real Francis already being below your desk, you would've let the doppelganger of Francis in, there were barely any differences as well.

"Oh? My appearance..? I don't quite follow.." The doppelganger muttered, trying to keep calm as he felt rage from how fast you figured out he was a doppelganger.

You were not only a pretty doorman but a smart one too, the doppelganger held back on transforming, wanting to see if he could still convince you that he was the real one.

You chuckle at the doppelganger's confused expression, adding a bit more pressure to your shoe as you pressed on Francis's erection, hearing a small moan come out of him.

The doppelganger's eyes widened, looking around as he was confused at where the noise came from.

What a shame, you'd so tease the real Francis using the doppelganger if only you weren't allowed to spread the fact that Doppelgangers existed.

"I'm sorry, but I don't quite think I can let you in."

You rang the DDD and let them handle the situation, completely forgetting about Francis beneath you, trembling at how much pressure he was receiving.

By the time you remembered about him, you were already finished with the doppelganger situation, seeing him all teary and red just from your shoe.

You laugh, lifting his face up as you stop rubbing your shoe against his dick, grinning at him with a new idea in mind.

"Let's start with the milking process now, shall we, Milkman? But first, why don't you eat me out first?"

You catch his flustered expression as he nodded, moving his hands all the way to your thighs as he got rid of your panties.

Francis moves closer to your pussy, licking on it as his eyes widened from the taste, it was much different than the milk he was used to.

You let out a breathy moan, spreading your legs wider as you felt Francis shove his tongue straight into you, eating you out as if he was a man that was starved for years.

His tongue flicks against your clit, and you let out a full moan, suddenly closing your thighs around Francis's head, he didn't seem to mind however.

"Shit... you sure know how to eat pussy.." You mumble, biting on your lip as you run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the sensation of his cold wet tongue.

Francis's hooked nose makes you moan as it pressed against your pussy because of how close he was.

You moan, throwing your head back when you feel Francis's tongue licking on your clit, lapping it up as if it was water.

Your grip on his hair tightens, clenching down on his tongue as you orgasmed.

Francis moans beneath you, the vibration running across your entire body making you shake and tremble.

You breathe out, your pussy pulsing while Francis explored your insides, eager to drink up all of your cum, not letting a single drop go to waste.

You pull Francis's head away to face towards you. And the moment you see the expression on his face, your pussy twitches at the sight. His eyes are half-lidded, staring at you while his tongue and mouth were filled with your cum.

Francis smiles, and swallows your cum right in front of you, making you bite your lip from how aroused you were.

"We aren't done yet, Milkman." You grin.

But apparently the story is done! I hope you enjoyed the story, this is my second time writing smut :)

[oreoluvskento]

gojo being dangerously loud

a/n: i know this is supposed to be a nanami focused account but hear me out... whiny gojo. that's it.

cw: cunnilingus, riding, ummm gojo being drunk and loud and his baby girl moans, semi-public sex (they're in a bathroom), i am so horny and i just need him so bad

you love the sounds your boyfriend makes during sex. he's never been shameful about it either, always loud and proud about the way your pussy makes him feel. this time, however, you wish he'd shut up.

you two are currently in your friends bathroom during a drunk movie night. you were both pretty tipsy, gojo more drunk than you and you were having a great time. all of a sudden, he doubled over, making it obvious to everyone that there was something wrong and he needed a bathroom fast.

except, when you follow him in and he locks the door behind you, there is nothing wrong with him at all, besides the raging boner he was currently sporting. your eyes widened when you saw it, but the casamigos in your bloodstream was stopping you from thinking clearly and the next thing you knew, you were getting eaten out on your friends bathroom floor.

"'toru, fuck, i'm close!" you whisper, holding his head harder and he speeds up, his tongue flicking your clit constantly as his two middle fingers are going to work. when you cum, you cover your mouth with your hand as your back arches off the floor and gojo doesn't pull away. you have to manually drag him away from you and he immediately goes for your lips, making your mouth just as messy as his own.

as the two of you kiss, he sits up and pulls you against his body sitting against the bathtub. you make quick work of his pants and without wasting any time you lower yourself on him. the last thing you expected was for him to throw his head back and let out one of the sluttiest moans you had ever heard. "ahhh fuckkk!"

you quickly slap your hand against his mouth and pray to god that no one heard that. he lifts his head and looks at you with furrowed eyebrows and low eyes, whimpering quietly against your hand at your pussy pulsing around him. "satoru, you've got to be quiet, baby, okay?" you ask and he nods, his cheeks red.

you finally lift your hips and before you could even go back down, a deep groan comes from his throat and you stop again. he gets impatient and pulls you down himself, dropping his forehead against yours as he moves you faster.

"mmph feels too good, can't stop," he says breathlessly against your palm, and you have to drop your head on his shoulder at the speed he was going. he truly was trying his best, but as the two of you went on, his whines got louder and louder until they were hoarse moans.

"im close, im close, please, please, please!" he cries against your skin and you take over, pressing your lips against his in the process. he moans into the kiss, his body going weak when you trade the fast movement for slow, deeper movements.

"you like it, 'toru?" you ask, your lips moving against his. he nods quickly, tears beginning to form in his eyes at the sensitivity of his dick but you don't stop.

"baby please- haaa fuckkk!" he begs squeezing your hips and you shake your head.

"promise me you'll be quiet when you cum," you instruct and he nods furiously, just wanting to feel his orgasm. you take his word for it, partly because you were ready to cum too, but you cover his mouth for safe measures.

you go faster now, grinding your hips down on his, and almost as soon as you start, you feel him start to shake and thrust into you himself. "ah, ah ahhhh fuck, fuck, fuck, cummingggg!"

before you could say anything, he holds you down, his head buried in your neck as he moans in your ear and your orgasm hits as well, spurring him on. "ohh shitshitshit too much too much fuuuck!" he cries, holding your body against his as you ride your orgasm out. right when you finish, you hear a knock on the door and your friend's concerned voice.

"hey, is he okay in there, do you guys need help?" her voice rings out and your eyes widen.

"yeah, he's okay, just drank a bit too much!" you shout back and turn back to look at your boyfriend. "cough," you instruct and he does just that. you reach to the side and flush the toilet and pretend to pat his back. "that's okay, get it all out."

"okay, there's some water in the kitchen for him when he's done," she says and leaves. you let out a sigh of relief and drop your head on a slightly sobered up gojo's chest.

"my bad," he whispers and you roll your eyes as you stand up.

"shut up."