#i wrote a bit

[chloesimaginationthings]

Abby fixing her friends in the FNAF 2 movie,,

[deprivedmusicaljunkie]

- andrew hozier byrne, born 17 march 1990

[littlelightfish]

This... this is a whole different kind of psychic damage here. When nightmares got Marcille, we get to knew that her's biggest fear is outliving her friends. This isn't even canon probably, but look at this. This isn't a "I don't want my friends to die" kind of dream. This is a "I'm terrified of loosing my daughters, of something killing them, and being incapable of stopping it" kind of dream. It's so simple yet it explains perfectly the whole of chilchucks character. He loves, he cares, deeply. But he, or doesn't acknowledges, or doesn't know what to do with that knowledge.

Besides that. Someone had to wake him up after this. Imagine the devastation in this man after he wakes up. He just saw his three little babys murdered corpses (or maybe he saw them die, wich isn't better). He would possibly not talk about it, and that would worry the hell out of the party, because we'll, they see him all down and only one of them knows what he saw. Imagine being the one to pull him from that nightmare. Seeing this man, usually so composed, fuking staring with tears and terror in his eyes to the composes of what you can only assume are his daughters. It would be heartwrenching.

Idk, I love this man so much...

[xuroky]

marriage proposals

[robinsgrl]

rafe with a weird and clingy girl pt. 2 y’all i have a lot of these you don’t even know how weird of a gf i can be.

weird girl masterlist

main masterlist

it’s not just cute aggression. although that is a main factor. you need to be touching him at aalllll times. like all the time.

you’re both in bed, the night a cold one for the outer banks. he’s on his side of the bed reading a lame book that you can’t care for. and despite being under the same blanket as him, he feels warmer.

you place your cold hands on his abs and he lets out a tiny yelp and shoves you away. “god, why are you so cold?”

“as my boyfriend it’s your job to warm me up!”

“no way, then i quit”

you put your hands back on him and despite how he tenses from the cold, he doesn’t push you away again. this gives you to the idea to trail your hand down and put them in his shorts.

“what the hell are you doing?”

“that’s the warmest part of you”

“what?”

“it’s like when i put my hands in my bra cause it’s really warm”

“you put your hands in your bra?”

“shut up, you put your hands in my bra all the time”

“to cop a feel not to get warm”

“don’t move my hands!” because he’s trying to get your hands out of his shorts

“baby, you cant grip on me because you want to warm up”

“okay then pretend im coping a feel!”

“get off of me weirdo!” he laughs, attention now on you as you practically wrestle

you like to slap his ass. it’s hard not to. he’s so tantalizing. even when he isn’t trying. you go to the gym with him once and he’s lifting weights as you drool behind him. up and down. up and down. You let out a wolf whistle as you watch him and he tries and hold back his smile.

“just like that” you coo

“you sound like a pervert”

“im a pervert for you”

“that’s not as romantic as you think it is”

“what would you do if i squished a cheek right now?”

this alarms him and he drops the weights, giving you a scolding look. “you can’t squish a guys cheek while he’s lifting”

“im not going to.” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him. you were definitely going to.

he gives you a careful side eye, making sure you’re on your best behavior. a few minutes later and he’s back at his task. you sit, bored, still just watching him. you sigh loudly as you get up off the machine you were sitting on. “you’re boring. im leaving”

“wait for me, angel, im almost—“

you giggle and run away as you send a smack to his ass, “sorry! i had to!”

“jesus, you’re an animal!” he calls out after you.

you don’t even stop at family events. cameron events are usually stuffy. you hate them. but you do what you can for rafe. it’s the end of the awkward dinner and you two are washing dishes. “surprised you didn’t make the help do this”

“we gave him the day off”

“spoiled brat” you tease him as he rinses a dish under the water. you finish drying off the plate and put it in the cabinet, eyes trailing over him. his ass looks good in his dress pants.

with a hop to your step, you stand behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. “what are you up to?”

you scoff, “can’t a girl hug her man?”

“you’re hugging me like a broke boyfriend. you only do that when you’re up to something”

“would it surprise you if i said im trying to cop a feel?”

“nothing about you surprises me anymore”

“so you won’t be mad?”

“i’ll be pissed.”

“too late” you bring your hands behind him and give his ass a squeeze. he tenses at this, pushing himself forward to get away from you.

“you’re perverted!”

“you have cake! i can’t help it!”

“cake? god, you gross me out”

“stop running away!”

he’s threatening you with a wet hand towel but you dodge him as you keep chasing after him. dinners at this house are always the worst but not as the two of you run around the kitchen, laughter filling the air.

“uh, what’s happening?” wheezie’s voice cuts the two of you off.

rafe’s got you draped on his shoulder, your hands on his ass from the upside down angle you’re in. you both pause. “we’re touching butts.”

“jesus, baby, don’t tell my sister that”

[andstuffsketches]

vanity

[inbabylontheywept]

Memories of Grandpa Dale

I was playing in the barn, but I was also hiding from my grandpa. I was aware that this hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know what else to do. Every year I’d ever visited him before, he’d seemed kind of mad at me, but I’d hoped still that year was the year that we’d finally be friends. I even made a list of things to do together. 

Unfortunately, the list did not fix things¹ so I'd been forced to acknowledge that if he couldn't be happy with me there, and he couldn't be happy with me gone, then perhaps he simply could not be happy. At least, not until someone invented The Secret Third Thing.

(But I was only nine. So. That someone would probably not be me.) 

Fortunately, being happy is a task that I've never needed to delegate - I’m actually quite good at it. I’d been sad in the barn for maybe an hour or so, but eventually that got boring, so I invented a new game where I would chase big clouds of shiny blue flies off the sun-warmed horse-poop and try to shoo them towards a corner of the barn that I knew had a large spiderweb in it. 

I was perfectly aware that this is not ideal for the flies, but I had just read Charlotte’s Web, so my empathy function was very biased towards spiders, who I perceived as patient and compassionate and slightly maternal women. Who just happened to have eight legs.  

(I, like most nine year old boys, would have personally been willing to fight a war for every patient, compassionate, slightly maternal woman I had ever met. If you, personally, have ever hugged a little boy who was trying very hard not to cry in front of his friends after skinning his knee, know that there is a child in this world that would kill in your name.)

(Now live with that knowledge.) 

I played my game with the flies for a long time. Long enough to get into a rhythm of running and laughing and then panting outside on my back while wallowing in the long green grass.

It was during one of those walks outside to lay in the grass that I noticed my mom. She was sitting on a hay bale, looking baffled. I don’t know how long she’d been there, but I was too young and confident to even feel odd. She asked me what I was doing, and I just kind of gestured to the ceiling, and said, You know, just. Feeding spiders.²

She nodded. I was feeding spiders. Of course. 

We sat there a few moments. It was an amicable silence, but I was still faintly relieved when she broke it.  

Your grandpa’s been looking for you, she said. He got some grapes earlier. Wanted to take you to feed the ducks.

I've always really liked feeding ducks³. Visiting them had actually been the next thing on my list. 

I was baffled by the effort. 

He’s mad at me, I pointed out. My mom, to her credit, looked genuinely confused. 

He’s not, she said. 

But he was mad when we picked blackberries, I pointed out. And when we went on that walk down to the prairie. And he snapped at me this morning when I asked if I could have some of his dried mangos. 

The mangos had been my last straw. The weirdest part was that he didn’t even say no, he just (angrily) said of course you can, as if it was an insult to his hospitality that I was asking when just the year before he’d yelled at me because I ate a tin of dried apples. Apparently, I was just supposed to know that those apples were exclusively reserved for The Apocalypse. 

(To be fair, my grandpa has always been very worried about the apocalypse, but mostly in the context of not having enough dried apples for it. There was a period of my life where I thought that The Apocalypse referred to some kind of prophesied biblical event where there would be No More Apples. This thought has stuck with me for a very long time⁴.)

Well. Yeah. My mom said. He’s mad. But he’s not mad at you. He’s just… Mad. 

I mulled this over. 

What about the mangos? I asked, and she shrugged at that. 

Alright, so that time he was mad at you, but that’s being mad one time in three days. Cut the man some slack, you’ve been asking him for permission before eating anything. 

I just don’t want to eat the wrong thing, I said. I’ve always been very defensive of my rule-following. Both because rules are important, and also because that #10 can of dried apples ripped through me like a shotgun full of razor blades⁵. That “snack” had 400% the recommended daily fiber for an adult man. And I was very definitely not a grown man when I ate it.  

It was a very painful experience is what I am trying to say. 

I know, my mom said. 

I don’t even like apples, I added. Still defensive. 

I know, my mom said again. She’s very good at saying it. It always feels like she’s agreeing with me, and not just trying to rush me onto The Point. Sometimes, people need to make detours from The Point in order to explain things. Like, hypothetically, why they once ate a very large number of dehydrated apples. My mom is wise, and she has always known this. . 

I just really wanted to eat something sweet, I continued. They don’t keep anything sweet in the whole house. The day before I ate those apples, I licked all the salt off a saltine just so I could eat the cracker plain. And then the cracker tasted just like a cookie. To me. That’s how crazy I was going. 

My mom nodded her head sympathetically. 

My first month of college, she said conspiratorially, I ate about a box of poptarts a day. 

There was another longish pause as both of us considered what led us to this point. 

My parents are crazy, my mom said at long last. It’s a very peaceful statement to her. I'm sure it was stressful when she first realized it, but she's had a long time to make her peace, and she's made it well.  

Will you go with me? I asked. To feed the ducks?  

He’s not mad at you, she said again. Reemphasizing her point. He’s just mad. It’s just how he is. 

But she went with me anyway.

I watched Grandpa Dale closely the whole way to the pond to see if my mom was right. She was. She almost always is.  He was angry while he drove, and he was angry while he parked and he was even angry while he strode purposefully towards the park. When we got there, he took several grapes, and he angrily put them in his hand, and angrily extended the hand towards the ducks, and he looked at me, and for maybe a tenth of a second he looked okay. Not exactly happy, but a little less mad. Then a duck bit the webbing between his pointer finger and his thumb.

He immediately, without hesitation, without even a second thought, hit the duck with a haymaker⁶. For a human, the punch would have been devastating, but the duck had the benefit of having essentially no inertia, so it just kind of moved sideways and looked perplexed. 

You son of a bitch, my grandpa said. This is a funny thing for anyone to say to a duck, but it was especially funny to hear coming from a former Mormon Bishop. 

Quack,⁷ said the duck. 

My mom started laughing. I'd felt a sort of holy terror at the anger my grandpa was exuding in that moment, but the moment she laughed I realized how absurd it was. I was watching a grown man beef with a duck. I was watching a grown man beef with the world. 

I started laughing too. In a better world, maybe my grandpa would've joined. Maybe he would've taken a good hard look in the mirror and questioned why exactly he was so angry. But he didn't. Instead he swore at the duck some more, and he threw his remaining handful of grapes at it overhand, like a baseball, and then the duck ate the grapes out of the water, and my mom actually laughed so hard she started dry heaving a little, and my grandpa had to go sit in the car for a few minutes by himself to regain his composure. 

¹ He managed to pick blackberries angrily

² Unfortunately, I do this kind of response quite a bit.

³ I got my first kiss from my wife because I managed to capture a duck. They're like, a motif for my life. Very lucky to have that.

⁴ I reference it again in this very weird short story.

⁵ I eat a lot of strange things.

⁶ My wife is concerned people will not know what a haymaker is. It is simply the most redneck kind of punch.

⁷ ...What did you expect it to say?

[nibbelraz]

The perks of your younger brother telling you the future is you can try to prevent it!

The downside is he has the weirdest names for the most important parts...

[stealingyourbones]

As Danny gets older, he starts experimenting and eventually becomes a locally known drag performer in Metropolis.

He is called and asked by a reporter by the name of Clark Kent who wants to meet with him. Apparently Clark is trying to bust a covert arms trafficking ring and some of the frequenters at the drag bars Danny preforms at like to talk business there. Clark asks for a favor (partly because Lois called his bluff that he wouldn't full send for the investigation and partly because he wants to have fun and send Bruce a video of the performance); to be put on the roster of Drag Queens preforming in the next few weeks and help on the makeup, outfit, and drag persona.

Danny happily accepts

[orbch]

concept of c!tubbo sort of animorphing into a ram during the schlatt administration and being VIOLENTLY insecure in his appearance after the physical transformation, but it not mattering to tommy. even in the slightest. [manberg/pogtopia era clingyduo]

[caguaydreams]

boops might be gone but the experience will stay with me forever

[mexicanegbert]

some vague early earth c nonsense. i just wanted to write a siblings feeling chat and then i was inspired to draw some visuals for it. thanks for reading :P

[2knightt]

— YOU SHOWED ME LOVE .

—IN WHICH, the greasers realize they’re truly, and honestly, in love.

tags/warnings: gn!reader possible OOC, story-focused rather than comedic headcanons, fluff and nothing else(lie), comforting steve, swearing, soda’s part is rushed cuz i ran out of ideas.

ೃauthor notes⁀➷ wow shocker i leave for awhile and come back with a new theme. anyways, hi angels! i love you all sm and i forgot how much i loved being here🥹..! i missed u guys so much!

—

Johnny Cade

cars zoomed by the lot at concerning speeds, the sound of wind being broken up by the obnoxious cop sirens or a drunkard yelling down the street.

though, to you and johnny, all of that fell to deaf ears. it was like the world didn’t matter to you—as long as johnny sat beside you.

the stars seemed to only shine above you two, twinkling and gleaming in ways that you’d never seen before. the moon was your sunlight, with johnny giving you the warmth.

his head rested on top of yours that was against his shoulder, his arm draped loosely around your waist. your thigh was pressed against his, making him more than a little nervous.

sitting in the lot with you made him nervous, despite you and him dating for a long while now. you made him..giddy. that’s the word.

you made him feel like a child again; the child he never got to be.

johnny had his head tilted upward toward the stars and the sky, matching what you were doing so he didn’t look like a clueless idiot.

your hand left your lap, your eyes flickering downward for just a moment that went unnoticed to johnny. you gently grabbed his scarred hand, holding his hand in yours. you held him like he was glass.

johnny felt his face get hot. like, really hot. you were so gentle with him, the type of gentle that he had never been treated with.

he looked down at you, your head still on his shoulder. your hair was so shiny, you were so beautiful and such a perfect fit for him with the way your body mended with his in a time like this.

perfect.

his lips were quickly pressed against the crown of your head, pulling away before he got too nervous to talk.

“i love you, y’know.”

Dallas Winston

“you’ll be fine.”

“i feel like ‘m bleedin’ out.”

dallas complained as he sat on your couch, his legs spread so that you could properly stand between them. you continued to dab the wet cloth against his cheek to get the dried blood off.

there seemed to be just as much of dried blood as there was fresh, his arms and hands coverer in gauze and bandaids.

you gently held his chin to turn his head every which way you needed, because he allowed you to. he liked you so much, he allowed you to move him around like a doll.

though, he liked slyvia a lot, too and she couldn’t do stuff like that. stuff like this with slyvia was weird, even if he did like her.

so, why was it different with you? what made you, of all people, so special?

his eyes were locked onto yours, taking extra note to how focused you look on cleaning his face up. you were pretty. like, real pretty.

dallas was quick to avert his eyes when he realized just how sappy his internal monologue sounded.

“what?”

you asked, taking note to how hyper-aware dallas suddenly looked. his jaw was clenched slightly as he seemingly refused to look at you.

how you always knew when something was up with him, he may never know.

“nothin’. the cuts jus’ hurt,”

he lied right out of his teeth.

dallas’ eyes met yours once more, trying to act tough once again. he asked himself once more, what made you so different?

“are you sure?”

you dropped the wet cloth slightly, the rag no longer against his cheek. you looked worried, and you sounded just as nervous.

you cared.

you cared for dallas winston. that’s what made you different.

dallas knew you were different from his other flings.

he liked his other flings. he loved you. he loved that you cared for him, genuinely.

he extended his hands out, grabbing your waist to pull you closer with a firm tug, your knee supporting you up as it was pressed against the edge of the couch.

“oh, ‘m real sure, pretty.”

“dally, please.”

“please, what?”

“don’t start with me now, winston.”

Ponyboy Curtis

you were golden.

completely and utterly golden. the sunset reflected off your skin like you were an angel, your eyes shimmering like the stars above, the flush across your face making you look beyond innocent.

ponyboy was the one to drag you out into the cold oklahoma winter in the first place. he just wanted to watch the sunset with you, the person he liked.

he protested against your arguments of, ‘it’s so cold out, though! it’s so warm inside, pony. don’t make me go out there!’ with, ‘it’s just a sunset. it’ll be for a few minutes! i jus’ wanna watch it with you. please, y/n?’

‘watch the sunset,’ his ass. he looked at the setting sun maybe twice in the span of 3 minutes. you were too beautiful to not look at.

of course, and thankfully, you were oblivious to his staring.

“it’s really pretty,”

you muttered. your eyes were locked onto the horizon, and his were locked onto his future.

his future.

the more he thought about it, he really liked you. like, to the point where whenever he envisioned a mile stone in his life, you were always there.

when he imagined graduating, you’d be there. when he imagined going to college, you’d be there. when he imagined getting married, you’d be standing at the alter with him.

he loved his future.

he loved you.

“real pretty.”

ponyboy agreed, but for a different reason.

Sodapop Curtis

the moonlight seeped through the curtains of his room, illuminating the lines that it managed to sneak it’s way through. the midnight sky was bright, yet the moon seemed to be the only focus for the stars.

soda held you in his arms loosely, your head resting gently on his chest. he traced imaginary shapes on the lower part of your back.

the sound of his fan whirling rang out through his room, your breathing falling into a rhythm as you drifted off to sleep.

soda always seemed to notice when you were about to fall asleep, and you didn’t know how he did. you were starting to suspect he might be a wizard.

he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, letting his lips linger there for a moment.

his life was hectic. it really was. he was a dropout who works a full time job to help his older brother keep a roof over their head, and he worked as a middle man in arguments.

but you, you were a breath of fresh air.

he needed you like he needed water.

he needs you.

he loves needing something, and he loves needing you.

he loves you. soda loves you so, so, so much.

“good night, baby. i love you.”

Darry Curtis

“oh, y/n,”

darry sighed as he entered the kitchen. the smell of freshly cooked dinner wafted through the air, leaving a comforting taste in everyone’s mouth.

he walked up behind you, your back turned to him as your focus was on scrubbing the last bit of dishes. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling himself closer to you as if he needed to be as close as possible.

he rested his chin on your shoulder, his eyes looking down at your hands in the sink. you turned your head to look back at him, your faces a mere centimetres away.

you couldn’t necessarily help the smile that tugged on the corners of your lips at seeing darry look so grateful.

darry was a busy, hardworking man. that's who he was, and who he will always be as long as he lives. he provides with no one to provide for him.

until you came into the photo.

darry was cooking dinner out of fear that soda'd burn the roasted potatoes he said he'd make, and ponyboy was just..not that good with anything other than eggs.

he was cooking, cleaning, and working. he had no time to himself, it seemed. but you, the angel you are, takes it off his hands. maybe it was to just have him all to yourself after work, he didn’t care.

you were the angel that he prayed for day and night.

and god knows how darry loves angels.

you ruffed his hair, not bothering to dry off the water that stuck to your skin. darry chuckled, lightly shaking his head in a poor attempt to dry his loose curls.

in his own retaliation, he pulls you impossibly close, attacking your face with as many kisses he could. giggles filled the room as you attempted to push yourself away from him, only for his grip to tighten.

he pulled away at his expense, pressing one last kiss on the crown of your head.

“love you, doll. i really do,”

Steve Randle

“you’re always welcomed here, steve. you know that,”

you lightly scolded him as he sat on the edge of your bed. he’d been couch hopping before he came to you, a broken and embarrassed man.

you were rummaging around in your closest for another old blanket he could use, since from prior experience, you learned that steve has a tendency to hog the blanket you two shared.

“i know, i know.”

he begrudgingly grumbled, hurriedly avoiding eye contact with you with his head down, looking at his hands on his lap.

you looked over your shoulder, seeing just how embarrassed he looked asking for help tugged on your heart strings a little.

steve was never one to ask for help, no. he thought he was too prideful, too good, for help. he thought that he was superman with the way he thought he could help himself 24/7.

you sighed, taking a few steps toward him. you squatted down in front of him, lightly grabbing his hand and holding in it yours. he finally looked back at you with lowered brows, his eyes making him look way more innocent than he actually is.

“i hope you aren’t lying to me.”

“what?”

“do you actually know that i’m always here for you, or are you sayin’ that to shut me up?”

you questioned, allowing yourself to be straightforward since it seemed like that was the only language he knew.

steve shifted his eyes away from yours for a moment, a small huff leaving his lips.

“maybe.”

“steve,”

you started, the disappointment emanate in your tone. you stood up, letting go of his rough hand to cup his face. you forced him to look back at you.

“you know you aren’t ever a burden. i love having you around. i love you, okay? i wouldn’t ever push you away.”

you stated in the most soothing voice you could muster, looking him right in the eyes to really drive your point forward.

steve took awhile to react. he just looked back at you, letting your words process in his head. after a moment, he wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you close.

he buried his face in the nape of your neck, his breaths coming out shaky as he tried to calm himself.

he loved home, he really did.

and, look, steve isn’t stupid. he’s heard and understood the saying that, ‘home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling.’ but he always thought it was stupid.

how do you feel at home?

well, now he gets it.

with you in his arms, you comforting him and talking to him like he was a human, and he’s never felt more at home.

and holy shit, he loves this feeling.

“love you. love you so, so, so much.”

Two-Bit Mathews

laughter rang out through your empty living room, the television being completely drowned out.

you gasped for more air as you and two-bit laughed at an inside joke that seemed to only make sense to you two. you hand your hand on his shoulder, the other on your stomach. two-bit was leaning toward you unconsciously.

“holy hell, two-bit! that’s so messed up!”

you feigned innocence, pretending like you didn’t play into the jokes that slipped off his tongue.

“well, shit! then i guess we’re both messed up since you were jus’ talkin’ about-“

“hey, wait!”

you were quick to cut him off, leaning toward him to cover his mouth with your hand.

“don’t go snitchin’ on me!”

two-bit snickered to the best of his ability, grabbing your wrist lightly to pull you toward him closer. you stumbled toward him, two-bit catching you by putting his hands firmly on your hips.

looking back at you with a sloppy smile across your face, your eyes having a certain mischievous shine to them made it hard for two-bit to look away.

you were so beautiful when you were happy. you were always beautiful.

how someone like you was able to understand his type of humour is beyond him. he just knows that he’s lucky, and that he’d be a fool to let you slip through his fingers.

he didn’t want to lose this moment, ever.

he loved moments like this.

though, he only ever experienced these moments with you. so, is it weird to say that he only loves moments that involve you? does that mean something?

does he love you?

yes, yes he does.

he’d let the whole world know that, too.

“god, i love you, pretty.”

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The most Nefarious of Overtures.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[goldenflowers]

isabeau's confession at the end of ISAT is constantly living rent-free in my head it's so fucking good. right now i'm obsessed with the way he responds to siffrin saying "i love you too" because just. imagine you're siffrin and for so long now you've believed that you were horrible disgusting manipulative unloved and unworthy of love and yet. your best friend is telling you he loves you. and you feel that you love him too (in what way? the same way that he loves you? you're not quite sure yet, but stars, you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest, he means so much to you) so you tell him so.

and he responds by telling you he already knew that because he has eyes.

you're siffrin and you are kind passionate protective and so loved and full of love for your friends, your family, and yet you hate yourself so, so deeply that you don't see any of that but isabeau does. according to him it's written all over your face, apparently--the face you're always trying so hard to hide with your hat, which as the universe would have it, you don't have anymore!! and he sees you and he loves you and he knows you love him back, even after you said and did such horrible, cruel things to him and the rest of your family that you know they didn't deserve, after you almost broke the world trying to keep them by your side, somehow isa understands you and still loves every single part of you. and you love him, you love him, you love him because how could you not?

especially since he also got so excited when you told him you loved him that he shouted "CRAB YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" in your face.

[sylusgworl]

just some random thoughts — 9:49 pm

sylus is the kind of person to hold you close until you feel better, whenever you're feeling down or just under the weather.

he doesn't speak too much, simply wraps you in his arms, blanketing your tired body in his warmth while rubbing your back, gently, muttering “it's all right, sweetie,” that lifts back your spirits.

it pains him so much to see you suffering, but he also feels kind of at a loss because sometimes he genuinely thinks he can't give you much, even though you're truly grateful for him just being by your side.

sylus tries his best to comfort you in his own way.

kissing your boo away, pinching your cheeks lightly so that you'd give him a little smile, and just resting his forehead on yours, his gaze softening as it meets your eyes. he wants you to know, to feel, that he's there for you. even if he is not able to speak comforting words.

on the days you're sad, tired and what not, sylus doesn't want you to worry about anything else. food? he'd take care of it. too tired for a shower, or you can't brush your teeth? he will do it for you, gently and with all the love he has for you.

he doesn't make fun of your pain, doesn't belittle it or tell you “it's nothing,”. he hates seeing you suffering, so anything that makes you pained gets taken care of.

“how are you feeling today, sweetie?” his voice sounds gentle. oh, nobody could imagine the boss of the N109 zone being this loving towards someone.

“are you up for some dinner?” he's genuinely caring and attentive, doesn't want you to miss out on anything at all.

and seeing him trying, and doing his best, you can't help but chuckle a little, his softened gaze fixated on the boiling water on the stove, while his hands skilfully dice some onions and carrots.

“why don't you let the chef take care of that?” you ask him, wrapping your arms around his torso, feeling the toned muscles on his back.

you hear a soft laugh, and it calms you even more, feeling safety and tranquility.

“i can't have the chef do the work i'm supposed to. let me take care of you and treat you the way you deserve,” he says. he then grabs your hand, fingers entertwined to yours before proceding to kiss the back of it, gently.

and that's when you are reminded of the reason you fell in love with sylus in the first place.

you tighten the hold on him, resting your cheek against his back.

“is something wrong?” he asks you, and you hear a tone of worry in his voice. you chuckle.

“nope, just feeling happy and lucky.”

“may i ask why?” he turns around and looks at you, amusement in his crimson eyes.

you stand on your toes and steal a kiss, “no, you can't,” and off you go, running off with an idiotic smile plastered on your face.

© sylusgworl - 2025, all rights reserved / i don't allow anyone to copy, repost on other platforms or sell my works.