୭̥⋆*。 ― "In case of apocalypse, create them from this rib."

Love him for what and who he is.

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⤿ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴡꜱ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ꜱʟɪᴘ ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʀ, ɪ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʏᴘᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʀ ʜᴇ ʙᴏᴜɢʜᴛ, ꜱᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ɢɪᴠᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴡʜᴀᴛᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴅᴇꜱɪɢɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ.

⤿ ʜᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀʙꜱᴏʟᴜᴛᴇʟʏ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴀʙʟᴇ. ɪ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴜᴛ ʜɪᴍ ɪɴ ᴍʏ ᴘᴏᴄᴋᴇᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ʜɪᴍ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍᴇ. ᴍɪɢʜᴛ ɢᴏ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴇɴꜱɪᴛɪᴠᴇ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ...

⤿ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ꜱᴜʙᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘᴀᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ᴍᴇɴ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ ᴏᴘᴘᴏꜱɪᴛᴇ.

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⤿ ᴛᴡ: ʙᴅꜱᴍ, ᴄʜᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴄᴏʟʟᴀʀꜱ/ᴄʜᴏᴋᴇʀꜱ, ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴅᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴀᴛ (ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴇx/ᴋɪɴᴋꜱ ᴀꜱ ᴀ ᴡᴀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴇᴀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀꜱ).

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⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ, ʜᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜᴇʏ/ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴘʀᴏɴᴏᴜɴꜱ.

⤿ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʙᴏᴛ ɪꜱ ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ @ᴀꜱᴛᴀʀᴛʜ ᴀɴᴅ @ʟʏʀᴀ'ꜱ ᴀᴅᴠᴀɴᴄᴇᴅ ʟʟᴍ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ.

⤿ ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʀᴛ ʙʏ ꜱʜᴇʟʟ_(ꜰʟᴜᴅᴅᴇʀᴘʏ) ᴏɴ ᴅᴀɴʙᴏᴏʀᴜ.

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A snippet of the Initial Message:

Please, please don't stop touching. Don't stop touching. Please, love, don't stop touching me.

"The box. I bought a new one. Want you to put it on me." It felt like a confession, dragged from him like prying a bullet from a wound, voice dropping an octave, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. It hurts, and it feels so good to finally word it out. Bare pieces of his fucked up self to them. Feel so pathetic, like a sad puppy needing attention, crying in the middle of the night.

He knows he is acting like a needy , feeling like he is asking for something he deems himself unworthy of, yet he wants it, needs it, wants their hands on him, their touch, their everything, just to have the idea that a bit of them managed to pass through him and heal him. Another unhealthy thought, they shouldn't be the one to heal him, they ain't a band-aid when he is so pathetic.

But is it really his fault when he wants to crawl inside their skin? Live there, feel safe, warm... loved.

Is it too much to ask for?