#and it’s awful and everything is awful and I need to cry and sleep

[airandyeah]

Sins (Alpha Geto X Omega Gojo X Omega Reader) Part.14

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, fated mates, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ ANGST!! I kinda started crying tbh

The visit had been going well—better than you expected.

The warmth of your childhood home wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. The scent of fresh soil clung to your hands from helping your father in the garden, and the familiar chatter of your mother filled the air as she sliced fruit for both of you to snack on.

She had gasped when you showed her your mating marks, her hands fluttering over them in awe.

“You found them,” she whispered, eyes misty as she traced the marks with gentle fingers.

You smiled, feeling an odd sense of peace settle in your chest. “Yeah… I did.”

“And they take care of you?” she asked, her voice soft but firm, as if daring you to say otherwise.

You nodded. “They do.”

Your father hummed from his spot by the back door, wiping his hands on a towel. “They’d better.”

Your mother swatted him playfully. “Oh, hush. I’m sure they’re wonderful.”

“They are,” you assured her, your fingers unconsciously ghosting over one of the marks. “They love me.”

Your mother smiled, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Then that’s all I need to know.” ~~~

The third morning of your visit should have been peaceful. The house smelled like coffee and warm bread, and the distant chirping of birds filled the quiet. But what ripped you from sleep wasn’t the scent of breakfast—it was the loud, sharp crack of gunfire.

Your body moved before your mind caught up, heart hammering as you stumbled out of bed and down the hall.

Then you saw it.

Your father lay sprawled on the living room floor, blood pooling beneath him. The crimson spread across the wooden panels, staining everything it touched. Your mother knelt beside him, her breath coming in panicked gasps, but her hands were steady—one pressing down on his wound, the other gripping a handgun aimed straight ahead.

At him.

Toji Fushiguro stood just a few feet away, head tilting slightly as if amused. The dim morning light cut across his face, illuminating the casual smirk on his lips.

“Well, this is a mess,” he drawled, eyes flicking between you, your bleeding father, and your mother’s trembling grip on the gun. “Didn’t plan on a family reunion.”

Your stomach twisted as fear and fury clashed inside you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you demanded, voice sharp despite the way your hands shook.

Toji exhaled, shifting his weight slightly. Unbothered. Relaxed. Like this wasn’t a home invasion. Like your father wasn’t dying on the floor.

“Business, sweetheart,” he answered simply. “Nothing personal.”

Your mother cocked the gun with a click. “Like hell it isn’t.”

Your breath was unsteady as you took a step forward, fists clenched. "Why?" Your voice cracked, but the anger in it was undeniable. "Why the hell did you let me go—only to come here and do this?"

Toji’s gaze flicked to you, his smirk fading into something unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing, just watching you like he was weighing his options. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, only broken by your father’s ragged breathing and your mother’s steady grip on the gun.

Then, with a lazy shrug, he said, "I let you go because it wasn’t your time." His tone was maddeningly casual, like he was discussing the weather instead of your family bleeding out on the floor. His eyes darkened as he tilted his head. "This? This ain’t about you."

Your stomach churned. "Like hell it isn’t," you snapped, voice trembling with fury.

Toji exhaled slowly, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You were never the target." His gaze flicked to your father, then back to you. "But him? Your old man pissed off the wrong people a long time ago. I’m just here to finish the job."

Your mother’s finger twitched over the trigger. “Over my dead body.”

Toji’s smirk returned, colder this time. “Suit yourself.” The world tilted.

Your mother’s body crumpled before you, her gun slipping from her grip as blood splattered across the floor. The deafening ring of the gunshot still echoed in your ears, drowning out everything else.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Your knees felt weak, the weight of the moment pressing down on you like a vice crushing your ribs.

Toji stood there, gun still raised, the barrel smoking. His expression was unreadable, but his stance was relaxed—like this was just another job. Like he hadn’t just ripped your mother away from you in an instant.

Your father gasped from the floor, his hand trembling as he reached out—but he was losing too much blood. His movements were sluggish. Weak.

You dropped to your knees beside her, shaking hands pressing against her shoulder, as if that would wake her up, as if this were just some nightmare you could shake yourself out of.

“Mom?” Your voice was barely a whisper. “Mom, please.”

No response.

Your chest heaved, panic clawing at your throat, but then—then you felt it. A shift. A prickle down your spine.

Satoru. Suguru.

They were coming.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t move.

Your hands trembled as you clutched at your mother’s lifeless body, desperate to feel warmth, to feel something other than the cold, damp sensation of her blood seeping into your skin. Your breath came in sharp, broken gasps between your sobs, the sound raw and guttural, echoing through the room.

You hadn’t even realized Toji was gone.

You hadn’t noticed the distant sounds of tires screeching as he vanished, leaving nothing behind but death and destruction in his wake.

All you could do was cry, your body curling over your mother’s as if you could shield her from the truth of what had already happened.

You barely registered the rushed footsteps—didn’t even flinch when the door burst open.

But then—then you felt it. The overwhelming, suffocating presence of them.

Satoru. Suguru.

Your Alphas.

Your grief-stricken wail tore through the room as they surged toward you.

Satoru was the first to reach you, dropping to his knees and pulling you into his arms without hesitation. His scent washed over you—warm, familiar, safe—but it did nothing to stop the violent sobs wracking your body.

"Shh, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice trembling as he ran his hands over your back, rocking you gently. "I've got you, I've got you."

You clutched at him, burying your face in his chest, your cries muffled against his shirt. He didn't care that you were staining it with tears and blood; he only held you tighter, cooing soft reassurances, his own distress evident in the way his breath hitched.

Suguru, meanwhile, was crouched beside your father, his face set in grim determination as he pressed his hands to the bleeding wound. "Stay with me, old man," he muttered, his voice low and firm. "Ambulance is coming. Just hold on."

Your father let out a weak, ragged cough, his eyelids fluttering. Blood pooled beneath him, but Suguru wasn’t giving up—not yet.

The distant wail of sirens grew closer, but it was drowned out by the way your world had shattered.

Satoru tightened his arms around you, his scent thickening in the air in a desperate attempt to soothe you.

"We're here," he whispered, his voice breaking. "We're here, baby. You're not alone." ~~~ The pen in your hand felt impossibly heavy as you stared at the stark black letters on the paper before you. Your mother’s name. Time of death. Cause. It all blurred together, a meaningless haze of ink and formality that reduced the woman who raised you to a simple document.

Your fingers trembled as you signed, the moment feeling surreal, like a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. The second the pen left the paper, the weight of it all crashed down on you. Your breath hitched—then broke—before a sob tore free from your chest.

Satoru caught you before you collapsed, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. His scent enveloped you, strong and grounding, but it couldn't stop the pain from consuming you whole.

“I got you,” he whispered, pressing his cheek to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I’m right here.”

You clung to him, your fingers twisting into his jacket as you shook against him. He didn't care that your tears soaked through his clothes, that your body trembled violently against his own—he just held you, rubbing slow, soothing circles into your back, murmuring soft reassurances that neither of you truly believed.

He never left your side. Not when you signed the papers. Not when you broke down in the hallway. Not even when Suguru came back with an update on your father.

He was there, keeping you upright when the weight of your grief threatened to crush you entirely. ~~~ Sitting stiffly in the hospital chair, you felt like the air had been sucked from the room. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors did nothing to soften the weight of your father’s words.

“I never wanted this life for you,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from pain and the lingering effects of anesthesia. His fingers twitched against the scratchy hospital blanket, and his gaze—guilt-ridden and tired—met yours.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

“I was involved in things before you were born. Your mother was, too,” he admitted, shifting slightly in the bed. “Our families arranged our marriage to strengthen alliances, to keep the business… stable.” He swallowed hard, looking away. “She never forgave me for it.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sweater, trying to process the weight of his confession.

“She blamed you?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He gave a slow nod. “She thought if I had done things differently—walked away sooner—you wouldn’t have been born into this world. That we could have escaped.” His throat bobbed with a heavy swallow. “But I was already too deep. We both were.”

Your stomach twisted violently. The mother who raised you with such warmth, who always told you to be strong and to choose your own path, had resented the very foundation of your existence?

“She loved you,” your father added quickly, seeing the devastation flicker across your face. “More than anything. But she hated what our past brought into our lives. She hated what it did to you.”

Your chest ached, confusion and grief intertwining into a suffocating knot.

This wasn’t the life she wanted for you.

But it was too late to turn back now.

Your hands trembled as you pushed yourself out of the chair, staring down at the man who had once been your pillar of strength.

“This is your fault.” Your voice was raw, thick with grief and rage, the words burning like acid on your tongue.

Your father’s tired eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t argue. He just stared back at you, accepting your words like he had been expecting them.

“Toji said it himself,” you spat, your breathing uneven. “He was only there for you. Not for me, not for Mom—for you.”

Your father closed his eyes briefly, pain flickering across his face, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“She’s dead because of you,” you choked out, the weight of the words nearly buckling your knees. “If you had never been involved in any of this—if you had never dragged her into your mess—she’d still be here!”

Satoru shifted beside you, his presence grounding even as your world crumbled. But Suguru remained silent, his arms crossed, his jaw tight as he stared at your father with barely concealed disdain.

“I know.” Your father’s voice was barely above a whisper, thick with regret. “I know.”

But that wasn’t enough.

Regret wouldn’t bring your mother back. Regret wouldn’t erase the image of her lifeless body from your mind. Regret wouldn’t heal the gaping hole in your chest.

You turned on your heel and stormed out of the room, unable to look at him any longer.

Satoru followed you like a loyal hound, his steps quick and desperate as you barely made it down the hall before your legs gave out. Your back hit the cold hospital wall, and you slid down, hands clutching at your face as the sobs came hard and fast.

Without hesitation, Satoru was on the ground beside you, arms wrapping around you like a shield, his warmth pressing into you, anchoring you as the grief swallowed you whole.

“I got you,” he murmured, his voice soft, reverent. “I got you, sweetheart.”

Your fingers dug into his shirt, twisting the fabric as if holding onto him was the only thing keeping you from shattering completely. Satoru rocked you gently, his scent wrapping around you, soothing in a way only a mate’s could be.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered against your hair, pressing kisses to the top of your head. “Never alone. We’re here—we’re always here.”

You sobbed harder, burying yourself in his embrace, the pain unbearable, the world so cruel. But Satoru held you like he could take the pain for you, like he would if he could.

And when another set of arms joined—stronger, grounding—you knew Suguru had found you, too. ~~~ In the weeks that followed, you found solace only in the familiar warmth of their shared bed. The world outside felt too cold, too harsh to face, and you couldn't bring yourself to leave the comfort of the blankets that held the scent of your mates. Moose and Hime, your constant companions, seemed to sense your grief, curling up next to you in silent solidarity, offering the kind of quiet support only animals could provide.

Moose, the large, fluffy cat, would rest his head on your lap as if trying to ease the weight in your heart. Hime, the sleek black cat with an attitude, would sit near your head, watching over you with piercing eyes, as though she understood that something deeper than physical pain was causing the heaviness in your chest.

Suguru and Satoru never pressed you to move, to get up, to face the world. They understood your need for space, for time to process. They stayed with you in the bed when you wanted them there, and they gave you quiet moments when you needed them. Their presence was a constant, soft comfort. They never pushed you to talk, never demanded anything from you beyond what you could give.

But still, there were moments when you would feel them staring at you, their gazes heavy with concern. You’d feel their eyes on you from across the room, as they tried to read the depths of your sorrow. Suguru would often try to coax you into eating, bringing you your favorite dishes, but you could barely stomach them. Satoru would sit beside you, not saying much, just quietly offering you his shoulder or a hand to hold when your grief would choke you once again.

The house felt quiet, and yet, their presence—warm, comforting, constant—was the only thing that made the emptiness bearable. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that everything you had lost was too much to bear, that the weight of your grief might crush you before you could even begin to heal.

And still, they waited for you, patient and understanding, letting you take the time you needed, never leaving your side. ~~~ A few days later, as you sat in the quiet of their bedroom, Satoru and Suguru approached you, their faces serious yet soft. They had been careful, giving you the space you needed, but now it was time to tell you something you had a right to know.

Satoru sat beside you on the bed, his usual playful energy subdued, his gaze focused on you with a somber kind of intensity. Suguru leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed but his expression unguarded, a rare vulnerability in his eyes.

"We handled it," Suguru said quietly, breaking the silence that hung heavy in the room. His voice was steady, though there was an undercurrent of something deeper. "The group who was responsible for your father's attack... they've been dealt with."

Satoru's hand reached for yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he spoke next. "We couldn't let it go. Not after what they did to your family... to you." His words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything that had happened in the past weeks—the anger, the need for retribution, the helplessness they had both felt watching you go through such pain.

"Toji was just the beginning," Suguru added, his voice low and calm, but you could hear the steel beneath it. "We made sure they wouldn't hurt anyone else ever again. Everyone who was involved—gone."

You felt a strange mix of emotions flood through you. Relief, yes, but it was bittersweet. Your father's life had been entangled in so many dangerous webs, and you could feel the weight of his past weighing on you still. But they had done what they felt needed to be done. They had taken the steps to eliminate the threat, to give you some measure of peace.

Satoru’s fingers traced the back of your hand as he leaned closer, his face softening. "You don't need to worry about them anymore. They're gone. But we’re not going anywhere, okay?" His voice, usually filled with playful banter, was now low, comforting—an anchor in the storm that still raged inside you. "We'll take care of you. Always."

Suguru walked over slowly, coming to kneel beside you. He reached out, his hand gentle as it cupped your cheek. "You don't have to carry this weight alone. We're here for you, every step of the way."

The sincerity in their words—though simple—struck you deep. You wanted to say something, but all that came was a shaky breath, a flicker of gratitude mixed with the ache in your chest. You weren’t sure if it would ever go away. The pain. The anger. The confusion. But you could feel their promise. They were there. They would stay. And that was enough for now.

"Thank you," you whispered, barely able to get the words out. The weight of the past few days, the horror of what you’d seen, still sat heavily on your shoulders. But their presence, their unwavering support, made the load a little easier to bear. For now, that was all you could ask for.

They both nodded in understanding, their quiet resolve shining through. They didn’t expect you to forgive them for what they had done. They didn’t need you to understand everything about their choices. ~~~ The day of your mother’s funeral felt heavy, oppressive, the air thick with the weight of grief that pressed down on you like a physical force. The service had been somber, the quiet whispers of condolences from friends and family blending with the sounds of the wind rustling through the trees. Yet through it all, you felt disconnected from everything, the world moving in slow motion around you.

Satoru stood beside you, his presence grounding, even though he remained uncharacteristically quiet, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder. Suguru was on the other side, his gaze fixed on the casket as it was slowly lowered into the earth. He, too, said little, but you could feel the quiet strength radiating from both of them, a silent promise that they would be there for you, no matter how hard this moment was.

The small crowd had started to disperse after the service, their murmurs fading into the distance as the final act was about to unfold. You stood there, unable to tear your eyes away from the casket, the weight of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. Your mother, the woman who had once been so full of life, was now gone—her legacy reduced to this moment, to this burial.

As the casket sank deeper into the ground, your throat tightened. You wanted to scream, to shout that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be, that you weren’t ready to let go. But the tears wouldn’t come. Instead, the ache inside you was deep, a quiet sorrow that seemed to stretch endlessly.

Satoru squeezed your shoulder gently, his voice soft as he whispered, "We’re here. Always." His words were simple, but they cut through the haze of pain that surrounded you, reminding you that even in the midst of your grief, you weren’t alone.

Suguru stood silently, his presence unwavering as he watched the casket disappear from view. His eyes were focused, unreadable, but you could feel his hand brushing against yours, offering you a silent touch of comfort.

The grave was filled with dirt, and the moment stretched on, the finality of it settling in the air like a thick fog. You felt as if you were suffocating, but then you felt the warmth of Satoru's arm around your waist, pulling you in gently. Suguru’s hand found your back, his touch steady as he positioned himself closer to you.

"Do you want to stay?" Suguru asked quietly, his voice gentle as he rubbed your back in slow, soothing circles. He had always been the more reserved of the two, but in this moment, he was there for you in the way you needed.

You shook your head, wiping away the tear that had escaped down your cheek. “No,” you whispered. “I don’t think I can. I just… need to go home.”

Satoru gave a soft hum of agreement, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before pulling away slightly. "We’ll go whenever you're ready," he said.

Together, the three of you turned away from the freshly-filled grave, heading back to the car. The weight of your mother’s passing remained with you, but the presence of your mates—Suguru’s calm strength and Satoru’s comforting warmth—provided you with a quiet solace. You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew that, for now, you had them. And that was enough.

Taglist is always open for anyone! Just comment, send an ask, or a DM and I'll add you! Taglist: @purpleicing , mini-kunoichi , @gravity-valley , @jinjen , @c0quin , @makingtimemine , @asweetblueberry2 , @vyxte I think that's everyone who asked to be tagged, I apologize if I missed anyone!!! Perma-tags: @thenightperson

[itspileofgoodthings]

.

[dangaer]

i love female relationships. ran into someone i knew from school and when she confirmed who she was she told me something nice, while my manager was there with me at the time looked back at her and told her she was glad she said that because if not she would have decked her if she was a bully.

[tarmac-rat]

Hey hey I need to uuh hum fight you at the back of a Denny's or something over those tags on my cyberpunk post lile wtf? That's such a good analysis of his character I love your work a lot in general but this is doing me in I'm gonna cry, you're so fucking right about this dumb broken man 🥺😠

I will not fight you I will bake you a cake and give you a kiss because you're very sweet I appreciate your kindness 😘

I really love your perspective on Johnny's disabilities and addictions impacting how he sees and interacts with the world-- as someone who herself isn't disabled I tend to overlook the way people view the world through that lens and as a result have realized that I haven't touched upon it much in my own analysis of Cyberpunk, and your insight really was spot-on and spoke to me in a way I hadn't considered before.

I talk a lot about the themes and meta of the game but Pondsmith himself came out and said, like, before the game came out that Johnny is not the hero of the story. He THINKS he's the hero of the story but the way people and even himself idolize him and his actions are in many ways his biggest shortcoming. Johnny is addicted to the image of himself, much like he's addicted to his vices and addicted to his cause. He needs his anchors no matter how detrimental they are to him, but in many respects those anchors were never his choice. Now he's stuck in his place, dug in and unable to move, and that's the way he dies. Alone, unmoored, and stuck in his ways.

He's a very tragic and even empathetic character-- I do understand why he does the things he does and feel for him when he suffers tragedies-- but treating him as a hero of this story is wrong, in my opinion. He's a disabled, traumatized war veteran who was set up in life to fail at a very early age. His flaws are of his own making. They are not of his own design.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

why the fuck do i miss pigeons

[britneyshakespeare]

i cannot be judged to give an accurate review of wisdom teeth extraction surgery because i was going to be panicked anyway, right? i'm not as sensitive to anesthesia as i wish i were, and oral pain has been some of the most intense pain i've ever experienced in my life (these experiences are common in natural redheads), and i was super anxious and unwilling to do this anyway. but. BUT. one thing i can say about that particular office that did mine this morning is. i have a particular allergy to a specific medication i was prescribed once via intravenous injection when i was 9. it gave me hives. i discontinued usage of it after a couple weeks. whenever i have to fill out any medical paper work since 2008 i have known the name of this medication and been prompt with informing correctly about it. and it is not a painkiller. but. they didn't tell me this after my paperwork, or during my consultation appointment, only AFTER i started crying half-consciously during the surgery when i was aware of my teeth being pulled and instruments being moved around in my mouth. only after the surgery did they tell my mom "yeah we didn't give her the painkiller because of her allergy to (specific medication)" and like. that's not really fun

[mwagneto]

aint got shit to say for the most part..... im genuinely so devastated this show was everything to me and not only is it over the final season wasn't even that good. godddd

[angeltism]

school is pissing me offffff really bad and i am getting overwhelmed reaaaal bad too

[icterid-rubus]

I want this week to be over and it only just started goddamnit.

[imaginedisish]

Lover, You Should've Come Over (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry. This is based on a request I received yesterday where the reader gets jealous of Jean. I tried to take this in a different direction just because I feel like this is a popular trope that has been done by many fantastic writers. It's also inspired by "Lover, You Should've Come Over," by Jeff Buckley. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV (unprotected...pls WRAP IT UP THIS IS FICTION!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, f!reader/afab!reader, telepathic!reader, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan (kinda? yeah.), non-canon compliant (you'll see what I mean...no spoilers), cursing, angst, feelings, implied mutant trauma (kinda a given in X-Men), probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,197 sorry

Wanting someone you can’t have—it’s that crying in the shower, pulling your legs into your chest, screaming into your pillow kind of heartache. You’ve come to know the feeling intimately. It’s an awful, horrid, stomach-churning kind of pain.

But you want him. Despite all the pain, you want him. Logan Howlett. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind. For the few months you’ve been one of the X-Men, Logan has been a constant. He’s always there—whether it’s to train or just to talk. But you know he’ll never want you. You see the way he looks at Jean. You wish you didn’t. You wish you were oblivious to that sort of thing. But you don’t need to use your telepathy to reach inside his mind for proof—you just know. 

You keep holding on, savoring every moment, every interaction you have with Logan. You sit on the lawn of the mansion with him, watching the sunset. You’ll come down to the living room late at night to find him sitting in front of the T.V. and join him. Sometimes he’ll drape an arm around your shoulder. He’ll draw circles into your side as you drift off. You’ll wake up the next morning back in your bed, Logan having carried you there long after you’ve fallen asleep. 

You’ve decided you’ll take all he’ll give you, even if it means nothing to him—even if it's platonic. 

But tonight, you wish something would come up through the floor and swallow you whole. A void, a black hole maybe. That would do the trick. Disappearing would make everything so much easier. The second-best thing to disappearing is sitting in the kitchen of the mansion, alone, with a pint of ice cream. You decide to practice your powers, moving the silver spoon with your mind, concentrating as you dig the spoon into the top of the pint and into your mouth. 

You hear a warm, familiar chuckle from the doorway as the spoon lands on your tongue. You look up, and there’s Logan, arms tucked across his chest. “Wish I could do that.”

You can’t help but smile around the spoon as he strides over to you, taking a seat on the stool next to yours. You slide the spoon out of your mouth and rest it on the napkin next to the ice cream. “Hey,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

His shoulder brushes against yours. He’s so close it hurts. You try to shove the pain down and enjoy the moment. 

“Was hoping I’d run into you down here. Thought maybe you’d be in bed already,” Logan says, his eyes locked on yours. 

You shake your head, doing your best to keep that fake smile plastered on your face. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

You can see the sudden concern appear on his face. “Everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Fuck, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s catching on. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the ice cream. “Just still having a hard time adjusting.” It wasn’t a lie. You had always struggled with your powers, longing to hide, to shove them down. Your whole life, you were either a freak or something to be used—whatever was most convenient in the moment. The struggle between visibility and forcing yourself to be “normal” was an impossible battle. You were no stranger to being taken advantage of or being experimented on.

Logan was the first person who understood that—understood you. He made you feel seen in a way that no one ever had. It’s part of the reason you’ve fallen so hard for him. 

His hand is suddenly on your back, yanking you from your thoughts and back to reality. “I’m here,” he whispers. “Whatever you need, anything.” 

Anything. You wish he really meant it. 

“Thanks, Lo.” You smile up at him, letting your eyes linger on his lips for just a second before looking back down at the ice cream. “Want some?” You ask, nodding at the pint. 

“Only if you feed it to me the way you did when I walked in.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he taps the spoon. You side-eye him incredulously. “I mean it. Wanna see you do it again.” There’s a husk in his voice, a shift in his timber that sends a chill down your spine. You try not to think about it too much as you pick up the spoon with your mind. 

You guide the spoon inside the pint, scraping the top, and lifting it up towards Logan’s mouth. He opens wide as you lead the spoon inside, his tongue hitting the bottom as his lips close around it. The implications of the moment don’t dawn on you until he’s grabbing the spoon with his hands and sucking on the metal. There’s something undeniably suggestive about this. 

Heat rises to your chest as you replay the image of him taking the spoon into his mouth in your mind. It’s so intimate, so domestic. And, certainly, something else—something that makes you tick, that makes that familiar fire grow deep within your belly. 

But—like always—the moment doesn’t last long. You wince, feeling someone itching against your thoughts, prodding at your mental shields, begging to be let in. Suddenly, there’s another voice in your mind. 

I gotta try that myself. You flinch at the sound, taking the spoon from Logan’s hand and shooting it across the room to where you sense the person’s presence. You turn around, and there’s Jean, resisting the spoon’s trajectory with her mind. 

It's almost pressing into her skull, shaking in mid-air, ready to break her skin. You gasp and drop the spoon, embarrassed to have registered her as a threat. “I’m so sorry,” you say, watching as Jean crouches down and picks up the spoon. “I didn’t know that was you in there, I swear.”

You expect Logan to stand from the chair and rush over to Jean, but he stays next to you, glued to your side, the palm of his hand resting gently on your back. “Jean.” His voice is firm, almost cold and harsh. “What was that?” You’re surprised at how curt he’s being with her, surprised he remembered that you’re sensitive to people probing around your mind, even if it’s friendly. 

Jean mutters a curse. “I was just communicating with her. I didn’t think she’d—” 

Logan stands, his hand still steady at your back. “Don’t do that again. Ever.” His voice is louder now, heavier. 

She whispers an apology, setting the spoon on the counter and walking towards the doorway. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “I should’ve remembered given your…” she pauses, searching for the word, “past…that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She takes another tentative step. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, and she slips out. 

Logan settles back into the stool next to you. You’re shocked that he’s still here, that he hasn’t run away yet. You can hear him breathe—in and out—gentle, long breaths. You close your eyes and listen, the sound calming you down. You’re still expecting him to leave, to walk away, but he doesn’t. 

“You okay?” He asks, your eyes fluttering open, his voice hanging in the air. His head is tilted to the side, worry painted across his face. 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you stutter, your voice cracking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go check on her if you want.” You nod towards the doorway—to wherever Jean wandered off to. 

“And why would I do that?” Is all he says in return, furrowing his brows. 

You put on that fake smile again. “I almost jammed a spoon into her forehead because she spoke to me telepathically.” You shake your head. “Don’t really think my reaction was particularly friendly—or something that good people do.” You break eye contact with Logan and look to the other side of the kitchen. “Plus, you two are…close.”

“Hey.” His voice is firm again, but gentle this time, reassuring. His hand slips across your back and rests on your waist. You’re so shocked by the contact that you almost miss what he says. “First of all, she knows better. Charles warned her about what you’ve been through. And second…” He trails off, smirking at you. “I’d rather be with you.”

Oh? Oh. He’d rather be with you. 

“I just thought, you know, you and Jean were…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence and too nervous to hear him say the words you’ve been dreading most. 

He shakes his head, that smirk still spread across his lips. “No, it’s not Jean I want. Never has been.” 

Your breathing becomes shaky—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “If it’s not Jean, then—” 

Logan cuts you off as he suddenly moves. His arm lifts from your waist as he stands, turning your stool around so your back is against the cold countertop. He’s gripping the arms of the stool now, caging you in. Your mind is hazy—you can’t concentrate with him this close. 

“You think I do the shit I do with you with Jean too, hm?” He’s towering over you, his head cocking to the side, his voice self-assured and confident. “Think I’m watching movies and sunsets with her? Carrying her to bed, too?” 

You’re overwhelmed, dizzied by his words, his size, him. “Just thought that—”

“Just thought what?” He cuts you off again. “That I didn’t want you, darlin’?” He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, one hand moving from the counter to your hip. “Wanted you this whole time,” he huffs, goosebumps rising on your arms. “Only you.” He presses a kiss to your ear, and then just underneath your jaw. 

“Logan,” you whisper. “W-want you too,” you choke out, your hands coming up and around his back. “B-but someone’s gonna walk in on us.” 

He’s ignoring you, biting your pulse point lightly and licking the pain away. “Let them,” he husks, refusing to stop. You instinctively bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging in slightly. He groans at the contact, his chest heaving against yours. 

“One of the kids is catch us in here, or somebody else,” you mutter, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. “W-we should—”

“Go to my room.” He finishes your thought. 

“Please.” 

And then he’s picking you up from the chair, his hands under your thighs, grabbing your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist as he prowls out of the kitchen. He looks both ways as he crosses the hallway and makes his way to the stairs. There’s no one in sight. He carries you up the steps and down the hall to his room, practically breaking down the door as he swings it open and slams it shut. 

And then he’s laying you down on his bed, crawling over you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanted you in here sooner,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from yours. “Hoped you’d come over one night. You should’ve.”

His lips crash down onto yours before you can find the words to say. He’s starving for you, swallowing your moans as his hands slip under your shirt, his nails digging lightly into your sides. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps against your lips. Everything is desperate and rushed, hands pawing at bare skin in the dim light of his room. 

Logan tugs on the hem of your shirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the side as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He curses under his breath, looking you up and down. 

“Logan,” you whine, arching your back. You need his hands on you again, his lips. Something. Anything. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, his fingers hooking inside the waistband of your shorts. “Gonna take care of you.” He yanks them down your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties. 

He pulls off his own shirt, tossing it carelessly, letting it get lost on the floor. He settles back down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand finds your waist. He slides up to the bottom of your bra, teasingly pulling on the fabric before slipping his hand behind your back—skillfully unclasping the bra with one easy motion. You arch your back again, the bra straps sliding down your arms as Logan tosses the bra to the floor, too. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his hand tracing the curves of your breasts, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He captures your lips in another kiss as his thumb ghosts over your nipples, just barely giving you the relief you need before pinching softly. The pressure feels so good, so right, but it’s not enough. 

He draws circles around your nipples with his thumb, the sensation feeding the aching fire between your legs. Your hips involuntarily lift off the mattress, meeting his. “Need me that bad, huh?” He is always so incredibly cocky, even now—especially now. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and what to do next. 

Logan grinds his erection into your core. You can feel how big he is, the weight of him heavy against your cunt even in his jeans. You clench around nothing, whining his name as his strained cock teases your panty-clad pussy. “You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, biting your lips as his hand leaves your tits and sweeps down your stomach, stopping just above your clit. He slides his fingers down just a bit more, feeling where your arousal seeps through your panties. 

“Already soaking for me, sweetheart.” The bassy timber of his voice stokes that flame deep within your belly. Without warning, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your legs. “Can’t wait anymore, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Wanna taste this pussy.” He kisses your belly button, leaving a trail down the rest of your stomach as his mouth travels to where you need him most. 

There’s something depraved about the way he’s crawling down your body, taking in every inch of you. He spreads your legs apart with the palms of his hands—his thumbs brushing against your bare skin, licking teasingly at your inner thighs as he settles in between them. 

He pauses, looking at you under hooded eyes. You can see the want—no, the need—in the way his muscles flex and how he works his jaw. But he’s hesitating, his breath hot against your core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your eyes searching his for his next move. 

He finally presses a kiss to your clit. “You don’t understand how you make me feel,” he mumbles against your heat, licking a long stripe through your folds and back to your clit. “No idea how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” You throw your head back, whimpering his name as he laps again and again. He’s starving, and you’re the only thing that can satiate his hunger. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it, taking it in between his lips and sucking hard. 

Your hips lift off the mattress and Logan quickly moves to hold them down. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’,” he grunts against you, the vibration of his voice going straight to your core. 

His free hand slips up the inside of your thighs, teasingly climbing higher and higher, his nails skimming your flesh. He’s toying with you, leading you on, taking his time. His fingers finally ghost over your folds, exploring you, stroking up and down as his tongue laps at your cunt. 

Logan prods your entrance with two fingers, slipping in just a bit, testing the waters. “Please,” you beg, pushing your hips down in an attempt to sink his fingers deeper into you. He stops you, his hand still firmly holding your hips down, refusing to give you the release you’re dying for. 

“So fucking impatient, aren’t you?” He tuts. And then he’s shoving two fingers all the way inside you, down to his knuckles. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“F-fuck!” You cry out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets a relentless pace. He’s drinking you in, sucking roughly, his long fingers pumping in and out with a vengeance. 

“’This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks condescendingly in between laps. You’re too fucked out to form a sentence, your legs trembling underneath him. You know he’s loving this—loving that you’re a wet, needy, whimpering mess. 

Your walls squeeze around his fingers, your swollen clit throbbing as he laps at you. You’re so close already. “Lo,” you call out, fisting the sheets of his bed. Everything in here smells like him: pine and mint and musk and tobacco and that thing that’s uniquely Logan. It’s all so overwhelming and overstimulating. You’re ready to fall apart, to melt into nothingness. “S-so close.”

He squeezes your hip. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, his pace unwavering as his fingers fuck into you, scissoring inside you, drawing you closer to your climax with that come-hither motion he does so well. Your walls flutter again. “That’s it,” he coos. “Wanna feel you come—wanna know what it tastes like.” He licks harder, faster. “Let go for me, darlin’.” 

He pushes you over the edge, pleasure warming your belly as you let go. It washes over you in waves, his fingers still pumping in and out, his tongue still hanging on to the taste of you. You ride it out, his thumb brushing your hip, coaxing you through it. His fingers slip out of your cunt, but his head is still buried between your legs. You shudder as he licks long, slow stripes through your folds. 

“So fucking sweet,” he growls, still starving for more. “Not done with you yet.”

Fuck. 

But you need more—need his cock deep inside you, pounding into you. You need him in front of you, his lips on yours. 

“Logan,” you whine, your voice shaky and trembling just like the rest of your body. He finally lifts his head, his hair a disheveled mess, your juices glistening on his lips and his chin. The sight of him makes your breath hitch in your throat. There’s a feral, needy look in his eyes. He’s starving for more of you, and you’re not quite sure he’ll ever get enough. 

But he can see your chest heaving and the desire in your own eyes. He knows what you need—he always does. He sits up on his knees, staring at you while he slowly unbuckles his belt. The tension is palpable, the clinking of his belt against the hardwood floors cutting through it like a hot knife—the only sounds the melding of your quick breaths and the shuffling of bed sheets as Logan finally comes up to meet you. 

He's balancing on his forearm as he unbuttons his jeans, undoing the zipper and shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs. You swallow at the sight of his cock springing against his stomach. You had felt his erection before, but he is far bigger than you ever anticipated. 

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself in between your thighs. You instinctually spread your legs for him, inviting him in. He nudges against your entrance, taking his time. 

His forehead meets yours, your chests flush against each other’s, panting in sync. You’re both waiting with bated breath, his tip slipping inside, but stopping short before going any farther. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Thought I’d never have you,” he confesses, pushing his tip a bit further in. “Would’ve given up anything for this. Would’ve waited forever.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur.  “I’m right here. I’m yours.” 

“Mine?”

“All yours.”

And then he’s pushing deep inside you, down to the hilt, bottoming out. He swallows your moans with a kiss, biting your lip, drawing blood, and licking it away. “All fucking mine.” He stays buried inside you, unmoving. “Wanna stay inside you forever, sweetheart,” he growls, your heart bursting at the thought.

He pulls himself all the way out and all the way back in, stretching you out, working you open. You look down in between your bodies and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. “Feels s-so fucking good,” you stammer, already drunk off him. 

“Like watching me fuck into you?” Logan husks, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper. His muscles flex as he ruts into you. He takes the hand that was on his cock and brings it in between your bodies, his fingertips quickly finding your clit and giving it a soft pinch. Your back arches off the mattress at the sensation. 

Logan hums at your reaction. “So sensitive,” he groans. “Taking me so good, sweetheart.” You can feel him losing control as he rams into you, his thrusts growing harder with each pump of his cock. He’s drawing firm, fast circles into your core. 

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his fingers. Your skin is on fire, your nipples pushing against his chest—the friction absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall. 

“Know you’re close, darlin’,” Logan moans in between kisses. “Can feel you squeezing me.” 

You hum in response, but Logan refuses to let up. His pace is beyond brutal, pounding into you over and over again, his fingers working your clit in tandem. Your muscles contract around him, gripping tightly. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking warm.” His praises are more than you can handle. “You gonna come on my cock, just like this?” 

“Yes, fuck, Logan!” You’re a babbling mess, his name the only thing on your mind, on your lips, hanging in the air like it’s a sacred prayer. Everything is him, and it always has been. In this moment and in every other, he is your end and your beginning. 

 “Let go for me, sweetheart. Know you can do it for me.” His deep voice is all you need to walk you through it. You’re breaking down, coming on his cock, the pleasure coursing through your veins, spreading like an untamable fire. 

He’s stroking your clit long after you’ve come, still snapping his hips into yours, still working up towards his own orgasm. His pace is getting sloppier, but he shows no signs of stopping. You can feel yourself growing overstimulated, his cock rubbing against your walls, his fingers circling your clit. “S’too much,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Logan presses himself closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart,” he coaxes, not letting up. “Know you can take it.”

You’re breathless, clinging onto him helplessly. You’re clamping down on him again, taking him deeper than you did before. He’s hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. “Lo,” you whimper. “I’m gonna—”

“I know, darlin’,” he grunts. You can feel him throbbing inside you. “Let it happen, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The tension is snapping again, breaking in half as he pulls another orgasm from you. You shudder as you come for a third time, overstimulated and beyond fucked out. You know he’s close behind, his hips slowing down, his forehead pressed against yours. He slips his hand away from your clit and around your back, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s so intimate, so perfect. 

“F-fuck,” he mumbles. “Where do you want me to—”

You hold him closer. “Stay,” you whisper. “Want you inside. Wanna feel you come.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, plunging deep inside you, his muscles tensing as he fills you up, your name on his lips. His thrusts slow, pumping in and out every now and then before finally stopping. 

You stay like this for a few minutes, his arm keeping you tight against his chest, his cock still buried inside you and your foreheads still pressed together. 

He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering open and closed. 

He shakes his head. “I always wanted you,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “The whole time. It was only ever you.” 

His words could make you cry. It’s everything you’ve ever hoped to hear. You smile, his hand finding its way to the crook of your neck, his fingers lightly stroking your sensitive skin. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” you breathe, your voice laden with sleepiness. “I never knew. Thought you’d never want me.”

“I’ll always want you.” His cock finally slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. His legs tangle with yours, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Would’ve waited forever for you, darlin’.”

“Forever?”

“Longer.”

[seamany]

The post that solved it all for me PART 1

NOT MY POST, THIS IS MOBILEBLACKSMITH2535 VIA REDDIT

(It might sound like I'm yelling at you in this paragraph but these are just things I wish someone told me like years ago) Here is where I talk about everything law of assumption that helped me ACTUALLY become a master manifestor. The law of assumption, as I see it, is the law of being. You cannot experience what you are not being. Coming from a person that used to cry myself to sleep every night feeling frustrated, hopeless, and extremely tired of putting all this effort into something and getting absolutely nothing back, this shit is real. Please do not take this post with a grain of salt. Please do not toss my story in with the probably hundreds of other "I have shifted" threads/videos you have witnessed. If you want to shift listen to every word that I say. I can't explain why we have this power I just know that from November of 2020 to July of 2023 I have been working my ass of to get somewhere, anywhere. In between those 3 years I had an on and off behavior towards shifting. I used to force myself to forget about shifting for a few weeks because it hurt too much to think about it. I felt like I won the lottery and I couldn't cash in the money. It was awful and I wouldn't wish that feeling of hopelessness on any other conscious being. Sometimes I would watch shifting tik tok compilation videos on YouTube and get a surge of motivation that would soon die out along with any semblance of dignity and self-esteem I had left. I'm telling you not asking you to see me as a real completely sane person because that is exactly what I am. Even though I'm creative and spiritual (not religious, spiritual), I can't help but see things logically. It's just my nature. I like patterns, formulas, structured systems, explanations, science, etc. I knew the probability of hundreds upon thousands of people describing in detail their experience of shifting couldn't be a phenomenon but a real...thing. I, for some reason, never doubted the possibility of shifting, more my capability to do it. Along my journey I've had my moments of distrust surrounding shifting in itself, and as I rounded onto the 3rd year of attempts I had increasing feelings of dread and anger. I was angry at the world that I live in, feeling dreadful that I couldn't escape it all. Then on one fateful fateful day, specifically July 31rst 2023 at about 8:30 am, I shifted. It was easy and it was effortless. Just as everyone says, but that's not something I'd like to focus on in today's post. I'm not making this post to tell you how simple shifting is or to "let go" (whatever the fuck that means) or to change your mindset. Those things are all useless compared to the thing that just clicked for me on July 31rst 2023 at about 8:30 am. What I am going to tell you is going to be so stupidly straightforward that your mind isn't going to want to believe me at first. You are going to try to make it more complicated than it is, just like you probably did with shifting when you first learned about it. But assure you that you should take what I am about to say at face-value. You don't need to let go, you don't need to change anything about yourself, you don't need to "release blockages", you don't need to reprogram your subconscious mind. You are done. You have your desire already. You are finished and there is nothing left for you to do.

LOOK AT MY PAGE FOR PART TWO

[machveil]

for the domestic whores, I’ve got you. Simon Riley x SingleParent!Reader🎀✨

Simon Riley who comes home from a deployment, headache throbbing behind his eyes as he jams his key into his flat’s doorknob. he’s absolutely exhausted, limbs heavy and chest a little tight with stress. he doesn’t even manage to kick off his boots before he’s falling back onto his couch, running a rough hand down his face as he sighs. everything is fine. a beer or three and some god awful realty show to turn his brain off always manages to make him pass out. yeah, a smoke or two and he can drift off, eyelids already droopy with sleep. then the crying starts

a slow glance to his left, fingers twitching slightly. there wasn’t a neighbor there before he left, and now some infant is screaming it’s bloody head off. it’ll stop soon. it’ll stop and Simon can fall into the pattern he’s set for himself. it’ll stop. it’s just a baby, someone’s got to make it stop. “No, no, no— it’s okay! Ssh, oh, honey—”, a muffled voice crooning through his walls, were the walls to his flat always so thin? a hiccupy wail cries out, sobs shortly following, “Sweetheart, look— it’s teddy! You love teddy.”, louder cries echoing through the air. maybe they don’t love teddy. with a groan, Simon stands up. today’s not the day for this, and he hates being that neighbor, but he needs peace and quiet

not even a minute later and he’s stepping down the hall, three quick knocks ringing out on his neighbors door. a deep breath leaves him as the crying continues, eyebrows raising slightly as the sound gets louder, the soft pad of walking overshadowed. there’s a soft click before the door opens and— Simon’s never seen you before. hair a little messy, faint eyebags, and a chunky little baby wailing on your hip. there’s a pause as you look up at him, and, god, there’s a lot to look at. a disposable medical mask he never took off, dressed nearly all in black, and looming past your doorframe. “Tha’s got to stop.”, short and curt, voice deep and rumbly

it’s only after he speaks does the little menace on your hip pipe down, bleary eyes blinking as they look up at the solider. glancing down at the baby, a soft little gurgle and grabby hands catch his eyes. delighted little noises as they reach their tiny arms out for him, “How’d you do that?”, you ask. your wide eyed expression makes him scoff, “What?”, happy little giggles reach Simon’s ears. “Say something else—”, you plead softly, readjusting your hold to cradle the baby, “They keep crying and I don’t know what to do— I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen them stop like that.”, you sound so tired, drained as you sway back and forth slightly. say something else. “‘M Simon.”

[l-cereta]

Like everything is pissing me off rn

[sugurizz]

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐬, 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐬, 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐬 ✧ Feat. JJK MEN

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ── Jjk Men in their -real- Daddy era. (Am I secretly having a baby fever LMAOO)

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ── fluffy stuff, pure wholesomeness and affectionate dads.

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

It's safe to say that sometimes you're raising two babies - only one of them is a big buff pouty one.

Daddy Toji sneaks to the kitchen in the middle of the night, leaving you both sleeping in your shared bedroom and then slowly closes the door. He promised himself he'd only take one *unnoticeable* spoon of your newborn's baby formula but ends up stuffing his face with the forbidden powder in the heat of the moment. He tries his best to hide his tracks by shoving the tin somewhere far in the cupboard.

He *oddly* always makes sure to be the one preparing his baby's bottle the next day - 'Oh darling, don'tcha move a muscle...I'll be right back with our baby's breakfast!'

You smile and raise a brow, already suspecting something. Daddy Toji is not much of a morning person. much less when it comes to baby chores...

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮

Gojo is always there whenever you change your baby's diaper. He keeps laughing and giggling like a 6 year old, curiously learning from his baby momma how to take care of his little child. His sky blue eyes are staring at your skilled hands, handling your precious little one with infinte care. He keeps smiling in awe, chuckling every time your baby farts and making the funniest faces just to make them giggle.

He takes a million pictures of his baby every day; we're talking his whole camera roll is just his baby's face, cutesy hands, tiny feet, smiling, eating, sleeping on daddy's chest, drooling on his shoulder...the list never ends.

His baby looks so smol when he holds it in his huge hands. He has to bend all the way down just so he could pick them up cause obviously my dude is the tallest man ever.

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐍𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢

He'd take full care of your newborn just to see you rest and relax. He told you to teach him everything he needs to know so that he'd be perfectly fit for his new -and best ever- occupation; your baby father. He's got however only one pet peeve; getting his little one to burp after feeding them.

The reason? He was doing it once, holding the baby while gently patting its back...until he suddenly felt a warm liquid slithering down his shirt - the expensive one you dearly gifted him on your wedding anniversary- and to his surprise it was none other than his little one's vomit dripping down his shoulder...

Now he makes sure you hold a napkin behind him whenever he does it.

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨

He's by far the chillest Daddy EVER. Carries his little one whenever he goes. Gets super jealous when your baby starts calling for you, or wants you to hold them instead of him. He's determined to make them say 'daddy' first, but deep down knows it'd melt his heart when he sees the little version of him utter mommy's name for the first time.

Staying awake at night putting his baby to sleep just so you can get your full nightly rest is something he'd never miss out on. He hates seeing you tired or sleepy and puts both of your needs before anything else.

Daddy Geto is always calm and smiley, no matter how much mess his baby makes or how long it'd take for him to clean it up - sometimes makes you seriously wonder how he manages to be so damn chill all the time.

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚

For a husband twice your size with four arms and eyes he sure should take most care of your little offspring - He does tbf - His baby is always laying somewhere on his body or at least near him; sleeping against his chest, nibbling on his thumb, drooling on the side of his shoulder or sitting on his huge lap.

He's got a 6th sense whenever it comes to his baby being hungry, thirsty, sleepy or needing anything at all. Instantly knows the reason why his little one is crying and most of the time is very quick to make them happy again.

Absolutely hates poopie smell and calls them a brat whenever he senses their diaper getting heavier. 'Aggh you little runt!' You can't help laughing at him getting overwhelmed with such a tiny thing and start teasing him over it.

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐘𝐮𝐮𝐭𝐚

There's nothing that Yuuta loves more than children. He has always wanted to have kids and couldn't wait to create his very first and own one with you. He's in LOVE with seeing you taking care of them; almost admiring every move and every word you say. He smiles like an idiot whenever he sees you holding your baby, breastfeeding them, playing with them or even laying next to them.

His favorite game is to hide somewhere in the house and let his little one look for him. He does it so suddenly and quickly, leaving them puzzled with big round eyes - comes out of his hideaway when they start sobbing and laughs at their little red nose and pouty cheeks.

'Aww why is my little cupcake cryiiing?...Daddy's right here!'

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Sick & Tired

How I imagine the LADS Men take care of you when you're sick [requested by: depressed but well dressed anon]

𝚉𝚊𝚢𝚗𝚎

ready and willing to take care of you, but also is in his ‘I told you so’ era because he knew you’d end up getting sick

will do everything and anything you tell him

would let you lay on his shoulder or in his lap while you nap

even though he’s with you constantly to take care of you he somehow manages to not get sick

brings you medicine and a glass of water

cooks you homemade soup and will feed you if you let him

depending on how sick you are he would take time off from work to look after you

for my girlies who cry a little when they dont feel good he would wipe your tears for you “Don’t cry this sickness is only temporary”

if hes still working he’ll always try to be there until you fall asleep and rushes home to you

leaves soup in the fridge for you when he’s not there

𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚕

teases you for getting sick until he realizes youre sad “Aw cutie are you not feeling well?” “I hate it here” “Tell me what you need”

Doesn’t want to get sick so yes he’d bring you whatever you ask for but he’s wearing a mask and gloves ; avoids kisses “once you’re no longer contagious I'll give you a kiss”

doesn’t mind telling you stories or humming you songs to get you to sleep

would feed you, but be prepared to never hear the end of it “You’re just a sick girl who needs my help in your time of need I know I know my services are impeccable” “Can I have my tea now?”

mocks and teases you when you get fussy about anything “I can’t stand you” “Good thing you’re laying down then huh?”

gets sick anyway because his dumbass would eat off your spoon/fork or drink something of yours

you two end up sick in bed together and he’s even more whiny now

lots of cuddles and kisses now since he got himself sick

doom scrolls with you while laying in your lap

Thomas has to come and take care of the two of you

𝚇𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚛

I wouldn't be me if I didn’t say it ; PAGING NURSE XAVIER

he’s at your side in a split second

so excited to have free reign in your kitchen ; immediately tries to make you soup and burns the pot

blows the kitchen up in your house/apartment ends up having to take care of you at his place

finally orders you soup and medicine after you cried because you didn’t want his cooking

he sleeps when you sleep

constantly checking your temperature

doesn’t mind carrying you around the house he knows you can walk, but he likes having you draped over him

blows your nose for you ; puts the tissue to your nose “Blow.” “Thats what she said” “…..your snot is dripping please blow”

sore throat? he’s right there daily with a spoonful of honey “Here its good for you”

can easily handle you when you get fussy about taking medicine “That was quite the tantrum” as he shoves the medicine in your mouth

𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚞𝚜

already knew you were coming down with something he already has everything ready to go

picks you up and takes you to his place ;has his chef prepare home remedies tailored just for you

brings you everything himself ; you also have the twins at your disposal

sits bedside and encourages you to eat as much as you can “take two more bites and then you can go back to sleep”

still tries to kiss you even though you’re sick because he doesn’t give a damn “Sylus I'll get you sick stop” steals a kiss here and there anyway ; gets sick like two weeks later

wipes and blows your nose for you “You look like a sick kitten” “Shut it”

doesn’t care when you get fussy about taking medicine “Are you done? Good. Here.”

if you want to stay in bed all day thats fine ; if you want to cling to him like a Koala around the house thats fine too he’ll carry you

lets you sleep on him and steal his warmth

checks your breathing when you sleep longer than usual

leaves the twins to keep an eye on you if he needs to step out ; leaves Mephisto to watch you if he needs to take the twins with him

the type to give you a massage even if you’re not having body aches

𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚋

is already at your doorstep with groceries and medicine

keeps you close to him and in sight at all times

your personal chef truly ; he’s wrapping you in a blanket and laying you on the couch while he makes you something to eat

checks your temperature regularly ; gives you medicine like clockwork

spoon feeds you so you don’t have to lift a finger

reminds you that you don’t need to thank him ; he’ll always take care of you no matter what

cuddles you while you sleep after cleaning your place ; puts a humidifier in your room if you’re congested

tries to make you laugh so you’re not sad ; reminds you that he’ll always be there for you so no need to be sad

wipes and blows your nose for you “Your scrunched up face is adorable”

teases you if you ask for a massage if you’re having body aches ; of course he’s overjoyed to do it though “You know I'll give you a massage whenever you want”

says he won’t kiss you while your sick ; ends up kissing you out of habit and gets a little sick “Now it’s your turn to take care of me”

[chaoticshifter18]

My NON shifter friend shifted and she's in shock

I've openly talked to my friends about shifting for the 4 years I've been in the community, and they've always been skeptical but respectful about it, so it shocks me how my friend just told me she shifted the other day.

She says she woke up at 4 a.m and couldn't fall asleep back again, so she just went on tiktok and scrolled for hours, apparently listening to paranormal stories and that kind of stuff that only pops up on your fyp at 4 a.m (nothing about shifting btw). Without realizing it, she fell asleep, and she says she woke up in a place that looked nothing like her place.

She immediately thought "Am I in a sleepover?" "Whose house is this??", but the room she was in didn't look familiar AT ALL.

She says the walls were paper white, and there wasn't much furniture except for the bed she was in, a nightstand next to her, and a closet in front of her. The closet had a mirror, so she saw her reflection and noticed she was wearing her usual pijamas.

In that moment, she proceeded to touch everything and freak out about how unbelievably real everything felt. She touched her hands, her face, got on her feet and stomped on the floor... Every single thing she did just felt WAY. TOO. REAL. Her surroundings, her own body...

Guys she swears with her life it wasn't a dream.

The realization hit her, and she came by with the idea that she might have shifted. Out of her mind, she got out of the room and explored a little bit of the house. She says the house was huge and felt really modern and expensive.

As she was traveling through the corridors and getting down the stairs she couldn't help but freak out again and again. She couldn't believe it. And to make things worse, when she reached the ground floor, a group of people approached her and greeted her as if they knew her.

"Hey, did you sleep well?"

"Look who just woke up!!"

And she was like "Excuse me, who are you?". (She just thought it, she didn't say it)

Suddenly, a guy came by and KISSED HER, a guy she hadn't seen in her entire life, and he said:

"Darling, are you okay? What's wrong?"

That shocked her, but she just told him she was fine and says she got away from there as quick as possible.

In the living room, one of the walls was completely made out of glass, so she could perfectly see that they were in the middle of the forest and it was nighttime.

Since she didn't know where the hell she was and the situation was just TOO MUCH to handle, she proceeded to walk around the house in awe, and she says she did that for about FOUR HOURS.

Four freaking hours just staring at everything in denial and avoiding everyone.

At some point, she could't stand it anymore and layed in a couch with her eyes closed to try and shift back, but no matter how hard she tried to visualize her room and this reality, she kept opening her eyes to that damn house.

About to cry, se got up, went to the kitchen and sat down, she stayed there for a good hour just zoning out, and at some point, she says she heard her alarm (her CR alarm, cause she had to go to uni).

She claims she didn't even realize how or when it happened: in the blink of an eye, she was back at her CR, sitting down in her bed with her eyes WIDE OPEN and her heart racing.

And that's her storytime...

I feel sorry for the stress she went through, but this just proves to me everything that needed to be proved as my friend was the number one person to believe shifting's just lucid dreaming.

Thanks for reading and happy shifting!! <3