#so touch starved and loving

[throwmethroughawindow]

this is so Ace coded PLEASE‼️‼️ I just know he would love a strong s/o who could hold their own and take no shit, please please please!!!!

[wispscribbles]

I love your ghost design. I wanna squeeze him :⁠^⁠)

If no hug then why hug-shaped???

[ruporas]

captain's warm hugs! (id in alt)

[ffsg0jo]

yeah manwhore gojo is great but what about touch starved gojo who fantasises holding your hand. spends his nights dreaming about the way you would feel cuddled in his arms. his entire face red and blushing at the mere thought of your lips chastely pressing against his. he can't stay thinking about that too long though because it'll result in him giggling and kicking his feet all night and getting no sleep.

gojo who sits downs next to you and almost combusts feeling your soft thigh lightly pressing against his. he just yearns to be close to you in any way possible. his leg wrapped around yours whilst you're sitting opposite each other, his pinkie always reaching for you. he's always blushy and giggly around you and it's the most adorable thing ever. this man loves you so much and he's not afraid to show it at all. he wears the simp title like a badge of honour.

it's not just physically either. he no longer thinks in his own voice. his entire brain has literally been rewired ever since meeting you. your voice is always replaying in his head, the way you say his name is on repeat 24/7. the sweet little nicknames you give him too.

like yes, he is your sweet little cuddlebug and he is your cutie patootie blue eyes white dragon. and he's so proud of it. yk those titles people have after their names like DClinPsy and MBBS, he has that in his bio too, but it's just silly little nicknames you've given him.

this man is a true loverboy through and through.

[crabsnpersimmons]

a little wip for a little thing i'm working on!

[hajihiko]

a long time ago I was like "I bet there are a lot of characters that are both touch-starved and touch-averse" so. Thinks

Impostor explanation: has been around the whole scale as various identities, has a hard time understanding themselves and their own true preference. Tends to just adjust to whoever they're around.

[smash-chu]

Long distance loneliness

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i’ll relearn love at our kitchen table ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru doesn’t quite know what love is supposed to feel like. but if it means coming home to you, it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

word count; 4.9k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, satoru gojo vs. the mortifying ordeal of being loved, fluff fluff fluff!!, a hint of angst if you reeeaallyyy squint, gojo’s pov, the babygirlification of satoru gojo, i just think being babied would fix him <33

a/n; i wanted to write something for suguru or shoko but this man is genuinely holding my brain hostage atp so more satoru fluff it is!! physically i could write gojo angst yes but emotionally? imagine the toll…

when satoru steps over the threshold to your apartment, he’s downright exhausted.

it’s a heavy kind of fatigue, a little sickening. the kind that seems to sneak its way into his bones, crawl its way under his skin. dragging him down, down, down.

a yawn slips from his lips.

the mission itself wasn’t too tough — anything is a breeze for satoru gojo, that fact needs no elaboration. this one was just a little more taxing than usual, slightly more important, which meant he had to deal with the technicalities of it all. had to listen to the elders go on and on about the importance of discretion, about finishing things swiftly and efficiently, and something else he didn’t stick around long enough to hear.

and the curse? a small fry, really. nothing worth fussing over. but it was annoying, with that irritatingly effective barrier technique. how long did he have to stay inside that goddamn veil before it let him get close enough to land a hit? 

satoru doesn’t want to think about it, can’t be bothered to figure it out when all he wants is to collapse into the warm comfort of a soft mattress. all he knows is that when it finally lifted, the night sky was the only thing he could see. a vacuum of stars — taunting in its perpetuity.

so, with all that being said; to say satoru feels a little worn out might be a bit of an understatement. 

hair slightly tousled, eyelids heavy with sleep-deprivation, he slumps against the wall and allows himself to simply breathe. a soft groan flows from his parted lips as he stretches idly, a small respite for his stiff and achy joints, his tired muscles. 

it’s been a long day. but satoru still finds it in him to exhale a relieved breath, to drag his blindfold down to his neck and kick off his shoes.

because it’s been a long, long day — but now he’s finally home.

(not just a house, not just an apartment, but a home. a place of comfort and belonging. satoru didn’t think that was a luxury he would ever be able to afford.)

the moment he lets the door close behind him, a particular scent greets him. soothing in its familiarity, the only thing in his life that never seems to change; a blend between fresh laundry, and watered houseplants, and something that smells a bit like honey. maybe even sweeter than usual, though satoru chalks that up to his mind playing tricks on him. 

it’s nice. so nice. coming back to something warm and real, a respite from his hectic work. a safe haven, of sorts, one that hasn’t been taken from him just yet.

satoru likes to think of your front door as a threshold between realms, a gap between within and without. one is dark in its saturation, plagued by that never-fading smell of iron, while the other is simply warm. sacred in its normalcy. 

everything looks just as it should, the same as when he rushed out this morning; a fluffy blanket draped over the couch haphazardly, that soft golden light streaming out from the kitchen, your shoes by the front door.

satoru blinks, drowsily.

wait.

why is the kitchen light still on?

as if his eyes could ever deceive him, satoru rubs the skin under them groggily — blinking once, then twice. 

yep, it’s still there — that soft fluorescent glow. a sight he’s come to associate with breakfast and dinner and a mellow kind of love, laughter shared over warm meals made by human hands. food tastes better, satoru has come to realize, when you have someone to eat it with. 

ah, but it’s odd. did you forget to turn the lights off? that’s not very like you. 

as if possessed by a strange, irresistible longing, his feet carry him to the kitchen in question. undeniably groggy, his uncoordinated steps are riddled with fatigue, but the yearning in his chest compels him to move forward anyway — a kind of yearning he only fully understands when he enters the space, and sees you slumped over the table, a familiar flicker of cursed energy capturing his attention.

you’re asleep.

satoru stills, where he stands by the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

everything looks the same as always — cookie jars placed on the highest shelf to give him an excuse to help you reach them, origami made from newspapers he never bothers to read anyway, a vase standing proudly on the kitchen counter, stuffed with fresh flowers he bought for you two days ago. 

the red roses still haven’t wilted, shining in the blue of the moonlight flickering in. good. they’re pretty, but maybe next time he should get you something more original. maybe some sunflowers, something that could rival the brightness of your smile. do they even sell sunflowers this time of year? if you were awake, satoru would ask you, even though you always tell him to just google it —

but you're not awake. you’re fast asleep, cheek squished against the kitchen table, snoring softly.

satoru feels his mood lift at the sight alone, and suddenly he doesn’t feel as tired anymore. something soft and almost otherworldly sprouts in his chest, as he takes you in, stepping closer. almost giddy, just to see you up close.

you look so peaceful and relaxed, so content. elbows resting on the table as soft little breaths fall from your parted lips; he spots a bit of drool on the corner of your bottom lip, gaze fond as he wipes it away with his thumb. he can’t resist the urge to poke your cheek, and it makes you stir ever so slightly — lips curling up into something akin to a sleepy smile.

satoru grins.

(you’re so cute.)

despite his fatigue, he hears himself chuckle, all soft and amused and a little bit lovesick. it comes to him so easily, when he’s with you; that upturn of his lips, the butterflies in his stomach.

satoru is still getting used to it. this cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love. the kind that always feels like spring. but with every day that passes, the life he has with you becomes a little easier to digest. his future with you becomes a little easier to visualize.

yeah, he thinks. he could get used to this. coming home to you.

a soft smile, as he exhales a somewhat exasperated breath. you really shouldn’t be sleeping out here, though. silly.

satoru leans forward, inching closer to your pretty, sleeping face — he almost feels bad, waking you up like this. but he wants to hear your voice so badly.

so he cups your cheek, cold skin meeting warm, his hands still lingering with the bite of the midnight air. his fingertips tingle, buzzing with the body heat that trickles from your veins to his — one single touch is all it takes for him to soften.

the word that falls from his lips breaks the peaceful silence of the kitchen, breathing life into the moment. whispered into your ear, causing your brows to furrow as you gently slip from sleep’s embrace.

“baby…” 

satoru is smiling, when your eyelids flutter open. a sincere smile, reserved for you and his students. bathed in the mellow hue of the kitchen lamp’s illumination, a soft glow curls around the strands of his white hair, creating a halo of artificial light.

blinking sleepily, you gaze at him in silence. something shines in your eyes, something satoru tentatively recognizes as adoration. and he gazes right back at you, with heavy-lidded eyes and a lopsided smile. teasing, lighthearted. thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheek.

then he grins, hopelessly endeared. ”hey there, sleeping beauty.”

a yawn tumbles from your lips, and you lift yourself up. leaning into his touch. “toru…” you mumble, voice a little raspy but still oh so sweet.

satoru doesn’t say anything. he simply takes you into his arms, gently, touch so very delicate — as if you’re made of porcelain. and you just let yourself fall into his embrace, while he tucks you under his chin, safe and secure. 

it’s warm, he thinks. it feels right. complete, somehow.

and satoru thinks to himself that this must be what love feels like. what it’s supposed to feel like, anyhow, all sweet and light. all good and normal, something you never have to question. a cornerstone.

“you’re back…” you drawl, muffled into his uniform as your arms sneak around his thin waist. bringing him closer.

stroking the back of your head softly, satoru’s chest rumbles as he speaks, voice deep and a little raspy. soothing, a lullaby just for you. “yeah,” he hums. ”were you waiting?”

all you do is nuzzle further into his chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart; breathing out a sleepy little mhm that has him going weak at the knees, lips curling up helplessly.

“i wanted to…” you continue, stretching your arms a little to shrug away the remnants of sleep still clinging to your joints. “but i fell asleep.” 

satoru feels you move in his arms, until your jaw settles on top of his shoulder and you press a chaste kiss to his neck. an exhale leaves his lips, something tender in the way his breath wavers.

“welcome home,” is whispered, muffled against his skin. a sentence he never wants to go a single day without hearing. “did the mission go okay?”

he plants a kiss on top of your head, speaking in a low tilt, reassuring. “it did. just took a little longer than i thought.” a soft inhale, as he basks in the scent of your shampoo. “i wanted to text you, but the veil blocked my signal. sorry, sweetie.”

another soft yawn, and a shake of your head. “s’ fine, don’t worry,” you murmur. ”i’m just glad you’re okay.”

satoru chuckles. there’s a fondness to it, light. and then something else, something more heavy — it rumbles through his chest, almost like a purr, or a soothing thunderstorm. he can only hope it’s enough to comfort you.

“of course.” he says the words like they’re indisputable, like they’re written down in scriptures old and worn. cradling you in his strong arms, he pulls you closer to his chest. hoping you’ll feel his heartbeat against you, feel that he’s there. “i always am, aren’t i?”

no answer. only a tiny hum, absentminded.

and satoru knows, deep down, that his words don’t mean much. that a part of you is always going to worry over him, no matter how many times he tells you that there’s no need. that he’ll be fine.

the thought makes him feel a bit guilty. a little sick to his stomach, at the thought of being a source of your anxiety, the reason you can’t fall asleep at night — but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t also make him feel somewhat giddy. the thought tastes sweet, on his tongue, even though it probably shouldn’t.

having someone who worries for you is a luxury, satoru has come to realize. a luxury he has, now, one he hasn’t had since —

well. that’s neither here nor there.

(“be careful, satoru,” he recalls a kind boy saying.

but that was many, many springs ago.)

“oh, right.”

at the sound of your voice, satoru pulls away ever so slightly, gazing down at you. “hm?”

with a single step back, you look up at him. tilting your head. hands still resting securely on his waist, fingertips squeezing at his hips. lightly, affectionately. barely restrained fondness. ”have you had anything to eat yet?”

“yeah. got some takeout on my way back.”

satoru expects you to sigh in relief, at his instantaneous answer. you don’t like it when he skips meals, so these days he’s been trying not to do it as much. even though he doesn’t always have the time to eat properly, and even though the sweets he chews on between missions make him lose his appetite. but he makes an honest attempt, for you.

someone worries for him. someone wants him to eat well. that’s more than enough motivation for satoru gojo.

but you don’t exhale, and you don’t look very relieved, either. you look… disappointed. eyes suddenly glancing down at the floor, lips curled down into a barely noticeable frown. 

“oh,” you breathe. “okay. good.”

one second. then two. satoru tilts his head.

“why?” he stops to think. maybe… “did you make something?”

a certain recognition flickers in the depths of your eyes, and satoru thinks he must be right on the money. chewing at your bottom lip a little, you wait a moment before curling your fingers around his wrist — tugging him away from the kitchen table.

satoru follows, pliantly, until you’re standing in front of the fridge.

“well, um… here,” you mumble, somewhat sheepishly. fingers tapping at the handle before pulling it open. “take a look.”

satoru watches as the fridge door opens, slowly.

he blinks.

the first thing he sees is a single slice of strawberry shortcake. the strawberry looks fresh, glittering like a ruby on top of the softly whisked cream — and layers of sponge cake, that look like they’d melt in his mouth.

and that’s not all. there are a wide array of baked treats stuffed into the cramped space, protected by plastic wrapping and containers. everything from cupcakes with too much frosting — just the way he likes them — to chocolate chip cookies that crumble at the corners, satoru never seems to run out of things to look at. colourful treats, lovingly made and sitting right in front of him. it’s like he’s standing in a patisserie. they almost seem to sparkle, in the peripheral of his vision; glimmering softly, tantalizingly, like something out of a dream.

childish. that’s what nanami and shoko always call him, and he always protests, but —

maybe they have a point, after all. satoru certainly feels a little childish, when he realizes his eyes must be wide and bursting with child-like giddiness. a simple kind of joy, at seeing the ample selection in front of him. especially after that tedious mission prevented him from getting any sugar into his system.

”i did my best,” you mutter, sharing the sight with him as your eyes trail over a pretty bag of pink and green macarons. ”dunno if they turned out any good, but… i hope you’ll like them.”

satoru’s gaze flits over to you. 

he opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

”did you… make these?” a beat. ”for me?”

a blink. ”.. yeah?” who else would they be for?, your eyes seem to say. a little confused.

for a second, satoru can only stare at you. in complete silence, the tired cogs inside his head turning sluggishly as he thinks about the implications of that answer. and with a soft flutter, he feels his heartbeat pick up, warming him up from the inside out. 

you made them. with your own hands. you made all of these and you did it for him.

for some reason, satoru finds it oddly hard to speak, like someone stuffed a bunch of cupcakes down his throat. it’s weird — usually he can’t seem to stop talking, especially not when he’s with you, but… 

(something about this is just too tender.)

you must have been baking all day. no wonder the apartment smelled sweeter than usual, when he walked in.

as if itching to curl around one of the macarons, his fingers twitch, but satoru gulps and keeps them still. he wants to say something, anything, wants to thank you or ask why you’d spend so much of yourself on him, but satoru only stays silent.

and maybe it’s because he’s tired. maybe he’s just a little caught off guard. usually this wouldn’t be that hard to handle — he could just throw himself on you and shower you in kisses, show his appreciation with a flurry of dramatics and declarations of love. 

but right now there seems to be a disconnect, between satoru’s mind and body. maybe the mission drained him more than he realized. or maybe it’s more than that, maybe there’s nothing he can say or do; what words could he even begin to use to properly verbalize the emotions he’s feeling right now? how could his touch ever begin to measure up to the sweet sensation unfurling in his chest?

the silence doesn’t last long. as satoru stands there and spirals, you speak up, most likely chalking it up to him being too sleepy to react. 

”this mission was especially rough, right?” you begin, with a soft tilt of your head. a smile curls its way onto your lips, proud and sweet. sweeter than everything in the fridge combined.

one step, then two. you inch closer to him, until there’s almost no space between you — standing on your tiptoes, one hand on his shoulder and the other reaching for his head. smoothing down his tousled hair, fingers tangling themselves between the soft white strands and getting lost in them. and it’s gentle, the way you begin to pat his head, doting. 

then you speak. ”you did well.”

and it’s such a simple thing to say. three words, three syllables, but the words just tumble out from your mouth so earnestly that satoru can’t help but still. his breath hitches in his throat, softly, barely noticeable, but it’s there. that surprise.

he never knows how to act, when you get like this. patting his head and ruffling his hair like he’s something warm and sweet and worthy of love. something delicate, and not the strongest man on the planet. 

it’s so weird. you’re so weird.

(satoru leans into your touch without thinking, allowing his eyes to flutter shut.)

it’s perplexing, this feeling, and the fact that he can’t pinpoint why frustrates him to no end. isn’t this wrong? shouldn’t he be the one ruffling your hair, coddling you?

what formula is he supposed to follow here, exactly? should he tease you? pull away from your touch?

satoru wishes his six eyes could tell him the answer, but they don’t. they’ve never been very good with emotions, with things that aren’t directly tied to his suffering or imminent death.

(so ironic. all these eyes and nothing to see. they failed to see suguru’s silence, back then, and now they fail to see what reaction would please you the most. 

really, such a worthless ability to love people with.)

no answer comes to him. so satoru doesn’t tease you, and he doesn’t pull away.

it does feel slightly wrong, though. like this feeling isn’t something he’s supposed to have, there must be some mistake, he can’t possibly be allowed to feel so loved — can he? having you bake him all his favorite treats, run your fingers through his hair. praise him for working hard.

really. isn’t he being too coddled?

(… but it feels so nice.)

satoru suspects that there’s a lot to love he might not fully understand, just yet.

maybe tomorrow, when he’s a little less tired, he can try once again to give you the impression that he’s perfect. that he doesn’t need affection, that he doesn’t crave your support or your touch. that he’s above all that, the strongest, someone for you to depend on.

depend on him, while he depends on no one. that’s the kind of existence satoru gojo is. that’s how it should be, that’s all he knows, but…

— ah. it feels really nice when your nails scratch his scalp like that.

and suddenly, that’s all satoru can think. no more pesky what-ifs, or second guessing every good thing he gets. right now, it’s just you and him. your fingers in his hair, his footprints in your life.

satoru allows himself to melt under your touch, almost meekly. leaning down just a little further, to make it easier for you to smooth your hand over his head. he nuzzles into your palm with a happy little exhale, and for some reason he feels sort of bashful.

try as he might, he doesn’t manage to successfully shoo the emotion away, so all he can do is hope you don’t take note of it.

and you just continue your onslaught of affection, now ruffling his hair with both your hands, like he’s a big puppy getting cooed over. satoru has a nagging suspicion that you might be getting a little carried away, but he doesn’t stop you. greedy, in the way he wishes your hands would never leave his hair. the way he hopes you’ll never be too far away from him to reach.

”such a hard worker,” you coo, and he feels himself grow flustered. ”my baby deserves so much love.”

”woah there,” satoru chokes out, grinning, desperately hoping you won’t notice the red tint to his ears. ”are you flirting with me? i have a partner, you know.”

a giggle slips from your lips, sleepy and amused. ”oh, do you?” one of your hands goes to cup his cheek,  thumb caressing the edge of his jaw as you gaze at him fondly. ”lucky them.”

the grin you’re wearing is awfully bright. soft around the edges in a way that has him speechless, brain malfunctioning ever so slightly. satoru makes a mental note to scrap the sunflower idea — there has to be some brighter flower out there, one that can actually compete with your smile. sunflowers just won’t cut it.

but then you let go, and satoru gets broken out of his lovesick stupor.

when your hands leave his skin, his lips curl down into a soft pout. one he rushes to smooth away, before you can notice it.

you step back, failing to stifle a soft bout of laughter, but satoru knows it’s not because you saw it — he knows because your gaze is glued to his hair, and he internally winces when he thinks about how messy it must look, after your little bout of cuteness aggression. 

(you really are weird, finding him cute of all things.)

he expects you to tease him a little more, but you don’t, turning away and tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. ”if i’d known you’d be home this late,” you speak, stealing one last glance at the pastries before closing the fridge. ”then i would’ve waited until tomorrow. so you could eat them fresh.”

an apology rests on satoru’s tongue, but as if sensing it, you rush to reassure him.

”ah, but this is fine too! they should still taste good!” you turn away, muttering. ”… hopefully.”

then you nod to yourself, crossing your arms absentmindedly. 

satoru looks at you for a second. 

then he steps forward, unable to resist the temptation — tapping at your wrist with the pads of his fingers, before gently curling them around it, coaxing you into turning your head towards him.

the kiss he presses to your lips is soft, delicate. his fingers trace along your jaw, cupping your cheek and tilting your face up slightly, just letting his warm lips rest against yours. sweet and chaste. he sighs into the kiss, content, and feels your pulse pick up.

then he moves down to your jaw, slow and methodical — lazy kisses, sleepy but so full of affection. and little pecks, scattered all over your lips, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

you seem to melt a little, against him, and satoru relishes in it; his ability to make you relax. far more valuable than the six eyes, he would argue.

when he pulls away from you, with what takes tremendous self-restraint, he’s smiling. his gaze meets yours, layered over with pure adoration, blue eyes crinkling as he looks at you. as if you’re his entire world. the kitchen light embraces him, cascading down the contours of his face; the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his barely noticeable dimples.

and there it is, again — that flicker of love in your eyes, that adoration. as if you’re looking at a painting, something too beautiful for words.

(satoru hopes you can see that very same adoration, reflected in his eyes as he looks at you.)

after a moment, he leans forward, to rest his jaw on the curve of your shoulder. you stumble a little under the weight, caged in as his arms hug your midriff.

”god,” he sighs, breathless, heavy with giddy disbelief. almost whining when he continues, nuzzling into your neck as if to hide. ”why are you so perfect, huh? i don’t get it.”

at that, you huff out a laugh, an amused little breath. wrapping your arms around his neck and scratching softly at his nape. satoru shudders just a little, arms tightening around you.

”stealing my line…” you mutter, accusatory, smile laced over with a honeyed affection. 

another amused breath, this time from him. this is one battle he won’t let you win. ”nah,” he grins, tugging you closer. ”’s mine.”

this is warm, he thinks. this feels right. complete, in a way that satoru never understood before you.

he could probably stand there forever, just basking in it. soaking up your body heat and the smell of your shampoo. until your warmth is all he knows, until he can never get your scent off his skin.

and satoru thinks that he could get used to this. a cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love, one that smells like spring and tastes like strawberry shortcakes and feels like tight hugs shared in kitchens.

your love makes him feel so human. and it’s scary, terrifying even, but it's also too good to pass up. it’s worth the risk. so worth everything.

a yawn leaves your lips, suddenly. satoru feels you soften in his embrace, nuzzling closer to him, stumbling just a tad; he doesn’t think it’s fair, for such a simple gesture to make him as happy as it does.

”sleepy?” he coos, smile giddy and fond. ”let’s go to bed, okay? no more sleeping on the kitchen table, silly.”

a disgruntled little huff resounds throughout the air, as you let your arms fall to your sides. ”that’s on you,” you declare, poking the plush of his chest with your finger. ”i only fell asleep because you took so long.”

a teasing glint flickers in satoru’s eyes.

”wanted to see me that badly, huh?” he coos. you roll your eyes, and he pulls your cheek. ”that’s cute.”

”so what if i did?”

satoru stills. you’re smiling, a little mischievous, but mostly sincere. and it really is very unfair of you, he thinks — to do this to him while his guard is down. 

but he manages to pull himself together, raising an amused eyebrow and booping your nose in a way that catches you off guard. blinking up at him, eyelashes fluttering. 

satoru clears his throat. ”well, that’s sweet.”

then he turns on his heel, suddenly, and strolls over to the fridge. ”but you know what’s even sweeter?” he chirps, fingers curling around the handle as he swiftly pulls it open. 

licking his lips, absentmindedly, his eyes trail over all the different pastries. so close yet so far, just out of reach; his fingers move forward, towards that mesmerizing slice of strawberry shortcake —

”— no.”

a hand settles on satoru’s waist, and tugs him away from his well-deserved prize. taking advantage of his momentary surprise, you close the fridge decisively, and give him an unimpressed raise of your eyebrow.

satoru whines, loud and grating. pouting sweetly, trying to make you feel bad. ”c’mon, just one bite —”

”no.”

”but they’re for me!”

”they’re for you to eat tomorrow. i was only gonna let you eat them tonight if you were on the brink of starvation, or something.”

”i am!”

”so the takeout was a lie?” you narrow your eyes at him, suddenly suspicious. ”have you been skipping meals, again?”

satoru pauses. weighing his options. ”well, no, but…”

”— then no.”

another soft whine. you turn away from him, when he tilts his head and gives you his best set of puppy dog eyes. in fear of giving in to them, satoru knows, as you have so many times before. ”please?” he tries, to no avail.

”you’re not eating sweets before bed, satoru,” you deadpan, and his smile falls further, exaggerated. ”and no, we are not having that conversation again.”

he can tell you’re trying to sound stern, but a giggle tumbles from your lips nonetheless, at the ridiculousness of the situation. keeping a grown man away from your fridge, knowing that he’ll wolf down every pastry he sees and get himself sick if you don’t. all while the man in question whines at you in protest, frowing so deeply, disappointment evident on his features.

(except satoru really isn’t very disappointed at all. like this, he gets to stare at your smile all he wants, after all; knowing you won’t notice it, too busy trying to keep yourself from giving in to his pleas.)

he tries again, one last time. just because he knows it’ll make you laugh. you do, a little exasperated, and satoru couldn’t be happier. 

and he thinks to himself that if this is what love is, if this is what it’s supposed to feel like, then it can’t possibly be that much of a curse. 

maybe he should revise the hypothesis, get a second opinion. he’ll have to ask you tomorrow, over pastries and coffee, and hear what you have to say.

as you both stumble to the bedroom, sleepy and a little delirious, satoru thinks that maybe this is enough; the lighthearted banter, the fond laughter. everything good and real and normal, within the space of your apartment, a home he never thought he’d have.

(and maybe, a second opinion isn’t necessary, after all. maybe it doesn’t really matter if love is a curse or not, as long as he gets to share it with you, like this.)

that night, satoru dreams. curled up with you beneath the blankets, limbs tangled together, as if he could never be close enough.

he dreams of kitchen lights, of sweet treats and warm hands. of spring breezes, and a love he’s finally beginning to accept for what it is:

good. wholly and thoroughly.

[stevebabey]

part one, part two, part three. this a part four. this is so accidentally long but hickies as promised, w a brief return out touch starved steve <3 mwah!

Eddie is sure his kiss tastes of uncertainty.

He can’t help the way his lips betray his nervousness in their obvious restraint. He knows he had been far more enthusiastic last night, eagerness behind every kiss. This kiss is… softer. Shyer.

He can’t help it. Because even though Steve said yes, had maybe flattened Eddie’s heart by adding a please, Eddie’s still… unsure. Still worried. Still waiting for a punch to come because that’s what happens to boys who kiss boys.

But… Steve’s hands are still holding onto Eddie’s wrists, keeping them in their place where they cup Steve’s face so gently. When Eddie had leaned in, lips grazing Steve’s, he had felt the other’s tightening grip like a silent prayer, saying come close, stay close. Even now, the grip around Eddie’s wrists holds firm.

Though it’s the last thing he wants, Eddie breaks the kiss. He draws back, savouring the moment — the sweetness of Steve’s lips for what might be the final time — with his eyes shut tight. Did I do it right this time? He thinks, he hopes. Can I kiss you and keep you?

“I’m…” Steve starts, his voice a whisper. Eddie’s eyes open. His fingers flex along Steve’s jaw instinctively. “Really confused.” Steve admits quietly.

His face is reserved. Only slight ripples of anxiety peek through. The crinkle between his brows speaks of his abundance of confusion. Eddie’s eyes drink in every expression and he can’t stop help how his eyes catch back on Steve’s lips. He stares when Steve speaks.

“I thought you— I thought you didn’t want…”

“Didn’t want this?” Eddie echoes, with a tone of incredulity, eyes darting back up to look Steve in the eye. He punctuates the last word with another touch, the pad of his thumb touching Steve’s bottom lip bravely.

Steve shivers. His eyes flutter for a moment, in a way Eddie has come to know means his strange aversion to touch is flaring up but — but Steve’s hands keep Eddie from moving away when he tries. Steve nods slowly.

Eddie swallows — tries to push down the ache to kiss him again. They’re still twisted; Steve still doesn’t get it.

Neither does Eddie though. He can’t even imagine what Steve came over to apologise for. What mental gymnastics he had put himself through to somehow be the one who needs to apologise in this situation.

“Where the fuck,” Eddie breathes softly, with an appalled chuckle, letting Steve know he wasn’t mad. Wasn’t in the slightest bit annoyed, only confused. “Did you get that idea?”

Beneath his hands, Eddie can feel Steve’s cheeks grow hotter. The colour soon follows, a glorious crimson that fills the apples of his cheeks. And sure, fine, okay, sue Eddie if he enjoys the sight a little too much. Steve all flushed in the face, ears definitely warmer than they were a second ago.

Steve starts to stammer. “You— You sounded annoyed when I was leaving.” His brows are nearly touching in the middle, drawn together in concern. “I thought you were regretting—“

Eddie interrupts to clarify, suddenly aware of where they’d gotten so muddled. “I sounded annoyed because you were leaving, Steve. Not…”

Not because you asked for a kiss. Eddie’s throat dries up. He can’t say it aloud, not just yet. The words dance on the tip of his tongue. Eddie doesn’t trust himself not to fumble them.

Even though, Steve’s sudden departure had been due to a genuine misunderstanding, Eddie can’t— he’s not… He’s got to be realistic with himself, just in case. Not say too much too soon.

Steve reads into the silent lull in Eddie’s words and in an instant, his eyes are widening in understanding. Somehow, his cheeks glow even warmer.

“Oh,” Steve says, the word doused in relief, in understanding. “Oh my god—“

The rest of his sentence is lost as a car drives by, tires groaning loudly along the tar road. It serves as a quick reminder of where they are. In public, in such close proximity. Eddie steps back instantly, hands ripping away from Steve as a lick of panic runs up his spine. His eyes track the pale blue car down the road.

They were covered by the van but, still.

“C’mon,” Steve says softly, calling to catch his attention.

The panic wavers wildly for a moment before eventually relenting, Eddie dropping his shoulders as he turns back to Steve. He’s delighted to find Steve is no less red in the face.

Steve clears his throat, “We can call a tow back at yours.”

He gestures to his car, an invitation, with a smile. Eddie’s not even sure he’s meant to say something so reassuring; a mixture of the use of we and the implication Steve would come back home with him. Would come inside.

Eddie can’t help how he ogles at Steve. He’s doing another once-over to make sure Steve isn’t a mirage about to fade. Maybe Eddie had actually crashed his van when the engine spluttered on him and all this was a weird and extremely vivid coma dream.

Except, Steve doesn’t look perfect — not like a dream would.

Eddie can tell from the flatness of his hair, he likely didn’t sleep well. He’s got a tired but kind smile on. It’s shyer than Eddie’s ever seen before.

He’s still wearing that bright green Family Video vest for Christ’s sake — if Eddie was in a coma, he had some serious self-reflection to do if his brain picked this as his dream-Steve fit.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, with a nod and a smile of his own. “Lemme, uh, lemme just grab my stuff.”

Eddie turns to hide his face before Steve can see it grow into a wild frenzied smile, too gleeful to contain. He pops the driver’s side door and scurries around, grabbing all the essentials; cigarettes, lighters, and tapes with actual good music on them.

Steve’s waiting for him, still in the same spot when he slides the door shut. Eddie works the rusted lock to lock it up. No, Eddie thinks gleefully, this is not a dream.

-

Steve is surprised it’s not more awkward.

Not that he wants that— honestly, this sweet in-between phase where Eddie keeps glancing over at him, brown eyes longing and like he was checking if Steve was still there, as he talked on the phone, suited Steve just fine. More than fine.

And yeah, okay, maybe Steve swooned a bit when Eddie started twirling the cord of the phone, so much like a lovey-dovey teenage girl that Steve nearly laughed aloud. He wasn’t sure if Eddie even realised he was doing it. Just leant up against the wall, stealing glances at Steve — his fingers fiddling with the cord til they began looping it over and over.

Steve wouldn’t though— laugh at Eddie, that is. It feels pretty much impossible to do anything except sit with all his giddiness, just knowing that… his feelings for Eddie are mutual.

That Eddie hadn’t regretted the kisses in the slightest. That Eddie had wanted Steve for just as long.

It’s achingly sweet to look back on that first hug Steve had asked for — knowing they had both been toeing the line, trying desperately to keep their pining to themselves. Idiots, Steve scoffs to himself affectionately, they were both idiots.

Rerunning the memory of his hasty exit last night is less of a breezy memory. Steve doesn’t want to think too hard about what malicious ideas Eddie’s brain might have spun up to taunt himself.

He must’ve thought that Steve had left for entirely worse reasons. That the reason Steve hadn’t been able to look at him because he thought Eddie was… that he regretted… Steve shakes his head. None of those thoughts are pretty.

And, more importantly, they were untrue. Steve very much liked those kisses. His only regret that night was leaving the way he did. Honest, Steve would have more kisses if he could.

Something scorches across his heart delightfully because he can have more kisses — he just has to ask.

“Okay, thank you so much,” Eddie says appreciatively into the receiver. He dashes another look over at Steve, an apology in the form of his sorry grimace. He focuses back on the phone. “Yeah, I’ll be in tomorrow to see the damage. Thanks, again.”

He sets the phone back in the cradle and for a moment, Steve can’t see his face. Can’t see any of the nervous contemplation. Eddie finally seems to grasp his courage and spins, fixing Steve with a smile.

“Um,” He says, a nervous chuckle leaking through. Eddie moves closer but he moves all skittish, one of his sneakers catching on nothing. He stumbles just a bit, taking a quick seat on the couch arm beside Steve.

“Wh—“ Eddie starts to say. He huffs another nervous chuckle, one hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “This might be a stupid question but what… now?”

Steve thinks for a moment. He’s considering how to go about this when Eddie blurts out in a hopeful tone— “More kissing?”

There’s an unspoken please. Steve revels in the blush that follows the words.

He smirks up at Eddie, eyes tracing the bloom of pink on his cheeks. “What? On the couch, like I’m some common whore?”

“You seemed to have no problem with it last time, my liege.” Eddie points out dramatically, all with a grin.

“And I have no intention of repeating last time.” Steve counters. Then frowns.

“Well, except for the good part.” He corrects himself. “The first part! Just- Christ, can we go to your room instead, please?”

Eddie’s on his feet in an instant. He brings his hand up to his forehead and gives a salute with enough force to rip his arm off. Then marches down the hall and disappears into his room without waiting for Steve.

Steve thinks the nerves might be getting to him.

He walks the steps he’s walked a hundred times before, crossing into Eddie’s room and pressing the door shut behind him.

Eddie’s sat on the bed, criss-cross apple sauce style. He’s kicked his sneakers off — one’s by Steve’s foot, the other on the other side of the room.

Steve swallows and toes off his own shoes. He approaches the bed, climbing on gingerly and folding his limbs to match Eddie. That familiar swoop of nerves sits oh-so present in the pit of his stomach. Steve tries to think of it as a good thing — it’s good to have something so good that he’s nervous in his excitement.

For a moment, they just sit. Staring at one another. One of Eddie’s fingers is digging into the rips of his jeans, toying with the loose strands. It gives away his restless energy.

Steve waits. He asked last time and he knows — he knows Eddie wants to kiss him. But a small part of him…

“Why is this so hard?” Eddie blurts out all of a sudden. Like before, the words seem like they’ve come out without Eddie realising, but he barrels on. “Shit, I’m so fucking nervous. You make me so nervous, Steve.”

Eddie’s eyes won’t settle. They dart around. Move from Steve’s eyes to his lips, down, to the bed sheet beneath them. Like he still isn’t sure if he’s truly allowed to look. His admission makes Steve sorta wanna roll over and scream into the pillow. In a good way.

“I’m— Me too," Steve admits, a smile curling at his lips. “The- fuck, the way I feel about you honestly scares me shitless.”

Eddie seems to be both chuffed and relieved at his words.

“But I… want to kiss you,” Steve says assuredly. The next sentence he poses as a question, words a little more hesitant. More nervous. “And… and you want to kiss me?”

Across the bed, Eddie grabs a piece of his hair, twisting it nervously as he pulls it to cover his face. His usual nervous tell. Steve can’t help how he breaks into a grin when Eddie nods fervently.

“Cool.” Steve breathes. Then mentally smacks himself for saying cool. He tries to recover but Eddie beats him to it, with a question of his own. “Can I kiss you now?”

Steve answers by shuffling closer, til their knees are touching and then — like beside the road earlier — mimics the touch Eddie had given him.

Hands on either side of Eddie’s face, gentle as they curl under his jaw. Steve can feel the curls of his hair tickling at his fingertips. Another inch forward and he’d be burying his hands in Eddie’s hair. Steve bookmarks that urge for later.

Eddie looks nervous. Steve is undoubtedly making it worse, taking his time like this. But he can’t help it.

He wants to look — wants to stare, wants to devour every detail of Eddie’s face. Commit it to memory so he can picture it with his eyelids closed. What Eddie Munson looks like while waiting for a kiss.

The amount of affection that swells in Steve’s chest hits like a sucker-punch, enough he sucks in a tiny breath. He can see the smallest quiver in Eddie’s lip.

“You gonna stare all day, Harrington?” Eddie teases, but it lacks conviction when the words wobble a bit.

“Just enjoying the view,” Steve remarks, and then, finally, he kisses Eddie.

It’s the floodgate. It’s a frenzy, kiss after kiss after kiss, the softness of them slipping away in lieu of making up for missed time. Steve kisses every apology onto Eddie’s lips and he receives forgiveness a dozen times back. It’s bliss.

Eddie’s a very enthusiastic partner, to say the least. He’s a little messier with his kisses, hands gripping the front of Steve’s shirt tightly, pressing forward in a way that pushes Steve back— but Steve certainly doesn’t mind. He removes his hands from Eddie’s face to lower himself back, elbows against the comforter as Eddie follows eagerly.

For a moment, a sprout of doubt pulls them apart. Eddie hovers, not getting too close. “This is… this is okay?”

Steve grabs him by the collar and tugs him down, meeting him in the middle for another kiss. It’s a fat unanimous yes. Something glows hot in his chest when Eddie smiles into the kiss. Grins even. In fact, he has to take a moment to cheese it out, his face tucked into hiding against the crook of Steve’s neck.

Steve doesn’t mind. His hand strokes idly over Eddie’s hair, twisting in with the curls. He lets him take his time, lets Eddie work back up the nerve to kiss him again, except— with a gasp, Steve squirms at the sudden kiss on his neck, hot and soft.

“I think you were the one overdue for a hickie,” Steve breathes, hands threading through Eddie’s hair gently. He doesn’t pull him away though; lets Eddie figure out the best way to scrape his teeth against Steve’s skin as best he likes.

“Uh huh,” Eddie murmurs, barely heard. He’s too distracted.

“Eddie,” Steve tries, but it comes out far too close to a sigh. He tries again, this time with a proper tug to pull Eddie back from him.

It’s a bit of leftover King Steve the way he manoeuvres the both of them, rolling deftly so it’s Eddie upon his back and Steve hovering above him. Eddie manages to look both impressed and disgruntled at once.

Steve doesn’t let him get a word out. The pale stretch of skin down Eddie’s neck has been calling his name for too long and Steve is hungry for it. He grants Eddie one, two, three more kisses on his lips before he’s moving down.

He’s just getting started, lips pressed to hot skin when it happens. Eddie’s hands move up, skirting barely up and under Steve’s shirt, fingers searching. The unpleasant aversion prickles under Steve’s skin.

He locks up. He’s unable to do anything but; it feels helpless even as he tries to shake it off but he knows, he knows Eddie can feel it as he grows rigid under the touch.

It’s worse when Eddie tries to reel his touch back in. Steve wants to cry with frustration because it’s not Eddie— it’s fucking him.

“Don’t,” Steve pleads, his hand diving down to catch Eddie’s wrist and holding it there. He knows Eddie’s watching him closely, even as Steve’s eyes scrunch shut and he fights to fend off the uncomfortable feeling attempting to make home under his skin.

“It’s…” Steve wills himself to look Eddie in the eye, hoping the sincerity bleeds through his words. “It’s not you, Eds. Just— fuck, just… give me a second, okay?”

He releases Eddie’s wrist. Eddie nods, a minuscule motion. His brown eyes are watching Steve closely, darting all over his face wildly and after a moment, they still on his lips. Eddie makes a decision and pushes forward, planting a tender kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“S’okay,” He assures. Then gives Steve another kiss, this time on the lips, slow and sweet. Steve drinks it in, tries to savour the feeling of being kissed by someone who wants him. Wants him in every way they can have him. It's maddening.

Eddie’s hand moves an inch cautiously, testing the waters as his fingertips trace the skin of Steve’s tummy. He doesn’t flinch when Steve stiffens up again.

Like he can sense the frustration building up in the other boy, he captures Steve’s lips with his gently. Whispers against them again as soothingly as he can. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

It’s like the words run across the raised hackles of Steve’s soul, soothing and seeping out the tension from every muscle. Steve can feel himself relax under the words. Feels something inside him wobble and then tip over, finally soothed, finally settled.

This time when Eddie’s hand grazes along his waist, Steve shivers in a good way— and leans in closer, kissing back. His hands clutch back at Eddie’s hair, raking through to grip it sweetly. He tugs, jerking Eddie’s chin up and exposing his throat.

“Can I…” Steve begins. It’s a tease.

“Shut up,” Eddie grinds out, hands fixed on Steve’s waist. Now he knows he can touch, that Steve isn’t tensing up or flinching away, his hands are rabid. Hungry. They crawl across the skin, leaving hot scorch marks behind that tingle delightfully. “This hickie is so overdue.”

Steve grins wolfishly.

Eddie’s neck is a thorough shade of violet by the time he’s done, chest heaving. He looks devilishly handsome when Steve pulls back to admire his work and he barely gets a moment before Eddie’s back on him, lips hot against Steve’s own.

“My go.”

This time when Steve’s getting ready to leave, he half-heartedly pulls on his shoes. It’s a pitiful attempt to slow down the inevitable. He can’t believe leaving is harder this time; maybe it’s more to do with the hickies adoring his own neck and collarbones.

“Hey, I-“ Steve starts, already feeling flush in the face. Eddie’s watching him pack his stuff up, still pink in the face, but so evidently content with himself. He’s laid back on the bed, arms crossed behind his head. He’s showing off the dark lovebites on his skin, neck craned proudly.

“Mm?” Eddie hums, a cheeky smile on his face.

“When I— Robin.” Steve says, flashing a hand to his neck. “She’s- she’s probably gonna ask.”

Steve swallows. He somehow gets the feeling Eddie already knows what he’s going to ask — that he’s waiting for him to say it. Eddie’s grin says as much.

“And when she does, I—“ Steve continues, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. The kisses on it tingle beneath his own touch. “Can I… call you my boyfriend?”

Eddie glows. It’s the only word for the excited laugh that punches out of him, like a gleeful goblin.

Steve thinks he might just be falling all over again when Eddie rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. He pretends for Eddie’s sake not to hear his muffled shout that’s almost a squeal. His cheeks are ruby red by the time he sticks his face back out, his grin so wide it makes his eyes crinkle in the corner.

“Yes,” Eddie says, voice giddy. “Yes, please.”

And Steve’s so fucking glad he asked for that stupid hug way back when, because got a gremlin-level of affectionate boyfriend now to show for it.

-

and that's likely a wrap on the can i series for now ! i had an inkling of an idea for future but tbh i wasn't supposed to write this i like have 7 other fics callin my name. but alas! thank u so very much for the love on this, whether sending kisses to my touch starved self or talking bout needing a hug too in the tags <3 hopefully this heals all the right places <3 mwah my loves

tags below:

@original-cypher @maya-custodios-dionach @uwujinniee @attic-cat-blog @immortal-iratze @anaibis @orangeandthefairroadkill @etaka @silversnaffles @invisibleflame812 @eddie-hero-munson @jesskier @princess-eddie @impeachy @estrellami-1 @bloomingconflagration @newtstabber @iwouldsail @sundead @darksmistress @sydstroons @leethegay @superchellerific @eddielives1986 @jinxjinn @breealtair @steddieassheg0es @loopholesinmydreams @savory-babby @alittlegreyfish @izzy2210 @em9515 @killjoy-patrixtump @mrspasser @spectrum-spectre

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

main love language is touch x touch-starved is the ultimate character dynamic btw

[izel-scribbles]

john in a dress, as promised to @lighthouseshepard

30s music goes so hard not even gonna lie

save me human john

malevlent happy ending au skwmsmmsskkwleofkvjc

thinking about what john being able to project outside arthur could mean,,,,, i need to be sedated

[ruporas]

endless love!

[ID Two drawing collage pages of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. In the first collage, top corner, Wolfwood looks upwards disgruntled with a flushed expression, lying against a pillow, as his hair is being pet by Vash's hand. Next shows Vash and Wolfwood from behind, Wolfwood with his top bare and hickies covers around his nape area. Vash lifts hair away from his nape and asks, "More?" Wolfwood nervously says, "No." Next is a side profile of Vash, his arms around Wolfwood from behind while Wolfwood rests his hands against Vash's arms. Next to this are two smaller drawings; Vash turns to Wolfwood and says repetitively, "Wolfwood, Wolfwood..." Wolfwood, not looking at him, says "What?" He finally turns his head and looks shocked as he exclaims, "So close!" Vash says plainly, "You just noticed?" Below these is a drawing of Vash and Wolfwood sitting together as Vash kisses and hugs him from behind with his right arm around Wolfwood's neck and his left hand around his side. He also has his right leg propped against Wolfwood's knee. Bottom of the page has a comic. Wolfwood looks annoyed, speaking to himself, "Where is that idiot?! Need to get out of town before--" A chat bubble exclaims, "Wolfwood!" The next panel shows Vash running from the townspeople, small text saying "Get him! Vash the stampede!". Wolfwood, mad and about to pull the Punisher off his shoulder, says, "Argh, you fucking dumbass!" Vash exclaims, "Ah, don't!" before pulling Wolfwood into a quick kiss. He then tugs on Wolfwood's collar and says, "There's no need to shoot, just run!" Wolfwood stammers, "R-right..." with a flushed, dumbstruck expression.

Second collage; Top left, Wolfwood spoons Vash in bed, his arms around his chest and the other beneath Vash's head. Vash has his hand on top of Wolfwood's as he sleeps while Wolfwood lies awake. Behind this drawing is faint sketches of Vash's face. In a small panel, Wolfwood hides in Vash's neck as he mumbles to himself "Stop. Stop thinking embarrassing things, Wolfwood..." Beneath this drawing is another of them in bed, Vash now turned to Wolfwood and a hand on his cheek as he kisses him good morning. In a simpler style, Vash wraps an arm tightly around wolfwood with the text "snork mimimi" next to him while Wolfwood says, "We need to get up. Spikey! HEY!" In this corner, there are faint sketches of Vash and Wolfwood; one of them looking at each other; Vash kissing Wolfwood's forehead; Wolfwood saying, "Hand" with an outstretch hand and Vash says "ok" behind a drawing of them holding hands, both turned away from each other shyly. Next is a 4 panel comic. First shows Wolfwood's face getting squished by Vash's hands with the text "squish" around his face. Next, his cheeks are stretched with the text "Chee--" Wolfwood then hits Vash's face with his palm, exclaimining "That hurts!" The last shows Vash on Wolfwood's lap, smiling to himself as he continues to have Wolfwood's face in his hands. Next to this is another comic; A close up of their hands, Vash holding Wolfwood's with both of his. He then kisses the palm of Wolfwood's palm and says, "They're soft!" Wolfwood looks at him with flushed cheeks, "There's no way that's true..." END ID]

[cherry-pop-elf]

Snuggle Company

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Can be read as platonic ((because platonic love is valid!))

Summary: Umbridge has been giving everyone nightmares. You especially, given she is well aware how close you are to the twins. Has you paranoid she will hurt you in your sleep. So, who better to keep you safe than the twins themselves?

Warnings: Anxiety, Umbridge, stress, sleepy snuggles, and it’s very short 😣 Going through ALOT right now. Pls forgive me

Here you were again. Standing just outside the dorm doors that belonged to the seventh year boys. A pair of boys would be in there that you needed. Needed badly, because you had yet another nightmare. A nightmare about her.

You worried they would be getting annoyed by this. By you waking them up again, just to climb into bed with them. Would it be better that you just straight up moved in there with them? Would the other students in their dorm be annoyed by your presence? This wasn’t your assigned bedroom after all.

You tried to power through those worrying thoughts, as you pushed the door open. You were too scared of Umbridge to give a care about what others thought. She hated you. Hated you because those twins liked you. You were the enemy by association.

You would tip toe across the room, and would hug yourself tighter. Just worried about being a burden, and a bother. Something she would often say you were. Just attacking your insecurities. She was good at that. She was good at making people hurt. Oh she was damn good at hurting people, and getting away with it.

Finally, you reached the familiar bed. Fred’s bed. Well, Fred and George’s bed. They never really out grew sharing a bed. George’s ended up being a make shift work shop table for their inventions. You found it utterly adorable how they would hold each other. They had a special bond. Magic tended to play a heavy role in that, but you still found it sweet. How that no matter how old they get they would still make sure to be there for each other. No matter what. Was comforting to see that guys don’t always worry about masculinity.

“Psst….Guys-“ You gently shook George’s shoulder, as you tried to wake them up. Didn’t want to wake the other students up, but you also didn’t want to just climb into bed either. Could startle them. Or worse. They didn’t want you to, and you invaded their personal bubble. Consent is important after all.

“Hm-?” George would rub at his eyes, while Fred yawned. They were annoyed as hell, until they saw it was you who bothered them. George gave a comforting smile, before scooting away from his twin. Fred, in turn, lifted the blanket up. You gave a sigh in relief, before climbing between them. Snuggled safely between them both.

“Thanks.” You whispered, as they would wrap their arms around you. A tangled of limbs, just like that. Was so warm. So warm, and safe. No one could get to you now. Safe between a pair of tricksters. Just like that. The smell of fire crackers, and cinnamon. That was such a comforting scent to you. Baked goods, and fire.

“No pink toads will get you-“ “Not on our watch.” The twins would tease you, as they gave you a tight squeeze. A reminder that they weren’t going anywhere. Not without you, at the very least. That had you smile, and feel a weight lift off your body. Safe. Safe again.

“We’ve got plans for her. Don’t worry.” George would reassure you, as he would nuzzle into the back of your neck. Enjoying the warmth you gave him, as his arm reached over to keep physical touch with Fred. The two most important people he has, right in his arms.

“And it’s going to be utterly spectacular. Just you wait and see.” Fred would echo, as he rested his head on yours. Forcing your nose into his neck, as his arm did the same thing. Keeping George close, as you were all safely hidden under the blanket.

“Promise.” They would share, as you were already drifting to sleep. Safe in their strong arms, and knowing you’ll be safe by morning all the same. No scary toads to haunt your dreams. Just a pair of pranksters to defend you. No matter what.

Safe snuggles. What a dream come true.

[theminecraftbee]

Joel sort of gets dogs.

Not just in the he-has-sharp-teeth-and-wants-to-tear-people-up way, though he has that, and sometimes he wonders if he always had that, always had the pounding red mist in his head or if it had wormed its way in somewhere inside a wizard’s mountain and never gotten out until he couldn’t remember what it felt like not to have it chewing away at him and. He thinks he borrowed the sharp teeth from dogs, and sometimes he looks in the mirror and thinks, huh, he hadn’t always been like this, but frankly it’s sick as hell to be so visibly a monster so like, who cares, he’s badass—

Anyway.

The point is. He doesn’t have to be some kind of animal to get dogs, or like, that’s not the angle he gets dogs from. Or, he gets them like that? He doesn’t know, he’s bad at metaphors, god, why does he do this to himself? The point. The point is that he could get wolves but not really get dogs, if he wanted to, but he gets dogs too.

He didn’t always, really. Like, all he really needed was blood beneath his nails and between his teeth. Not really doggish, that. A wild animal. Dogs are all domestic. But…

So. Never tell Jimmy this. Joel will never hear the end of it. But he patted Joel on the head and Joel—maybe it’s silly. It’s a little bit silly. Jimmy is all… weak and floppy or whatever. Except he’d patted Joel on the head and really kept sticking around and Joel went:

Ah. Yes. I’ll die for you now.

And so like—he gets dogs, is the thing, because he’s a wild animal and he wants to kill and bite and he’s a monster and he’s proud of it and he’s not not a monster anymore it’s just… Jimmy put his arm around Joel last night and Joel almost cried, is the thing. Not sure how to explain that other than…

There are benefits to being a domestic monster?

No, that sounds weird. He’ll workshop it. He’ll workshop it.

[kendallroygf]

no bc all previous intimate kenstewy moments have been stewy being the one to reach out to ken both physically and figuratively (there’s a friend card here if you want to play it etc) but you’re telling me…that kendall roy who generally has an aversion to touch. rests his head on stewy’s shoulder!!! with a smile on his face…so basically you’re telling me he creates further intimacy on his own volition. with stewy. with his best friend called stewy. insane

[so-very-small]

when im feeling Bad it always comes with an overwhelming urge to find a giant hand and press myself into their palm until their fingers loosely surround me and i’m just fully embraced while they gently pet my head with a fingertip w their other hand. is that too much to ask