“I can fix him” I couldn’t fix him and I don’t want to. I think he grew prone to biting and scratching in order to get by in a harsh world, and to me his resilience is part of what makes him so beautifully himself. I could be kind to him, though. I could show him gentleness. I could, slowly but surely, in the same way one earns the trust of a skittish stray cat, convince him that my touch will never come accompanied by pain. That, around me, he can allow himself to be soft. To relax. I could be the one he associates with warmth and safety, the one he longs to be held by after a hard day. I could be his home.

imagine your f/o rubbing tight circles on your hips with their thumbs, massaging your scalp and toying with your hair, brushing their thumb over your lips, tilting your chin to face them, lightly kissing your knuckles in reverie.. oohohoh

when he takes his gloves off to touch you for the first time and the weight of his bare hands pressed to your skin is so