boothill who is so fond of cheek kisses and fingers on his jaw and nudging his face against yours— it’s the only way he’s able to feel how warm or cold you are, a thumb smoothing over your cheek is useless when he can’t feel your skin. he’d much rather press his to yours like a cat and leave a quick smooch or a playful bite to the soft skin there.
boothill who always puts his hands over yours when you cup his cheeks, leaving a kiss or two and a harmless nibble on your palms and holding them there for as long as he can. it reminds him of when his own cheeks were able to warm— but having you around to simulate it and gently squeeze at his face isn’t so bad.
boothill who is the kind of guy to pull your legs up over his lap, idly drum on your legs and give your thigh the occasional squeeze while he listens to you talk.
boothill who most definitely throws you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes to take you places— when you’re up too late and need to get to bed or procrastinating something he knows you have to start on. he gives you the chance to go yourself now and again, but 9/10 times you’re swept up out of your seat and hanging over his shoulders.
boothill who gets too into his own head every here and there and relies on the sound of your voice to pull his focus away from the whirring of his own internals.
boothill who really isn’t as tough and gruff as he’s chalked up to be— not with you, at least. he’s got a special little sweet spot for when it’s just the two of you.
i imagine this to be set when they’re fairly new into the relationship
you try to ignore the disappointment curling in your chest as you see him leave. another long day without his arms suffocating you.
you sigh, arms curling around yourself as your eyes absently trail to the bed. blue flashes in the corner of your peripheral and—
“satoru! you forgot something!”
gojo’s head of white hair peeps back in through the door, a confused look on his face. “what did i forg—oh.” he chuckles, taking long strides over to you.
“naughty wife.” he teases, flicking your forehead lightly. your face heats up as always when he calls you his wife but it’s tenfold now when he cups your face, pressing gentle kisses all over your face as he exaggerates the mwah sound. he presses one last kiss to your lips, making your insides turn gooey like it’s nothing.
satoru flashes a grin at your frozen state, watching as your lips open and close like a fish. “i’ll be back soon so don’t miss me too much, wifey.”
he hums a cheery nonsensical tune as he leaves, blowing a kiss and winking at you, still dazed, before the door shuts with a thud.