#miemcramft

“You’re so fuckin’ stiff, man.”

Wilbur shrugs. “I guess. Maybe a little.”

“That doesn’t seem very comfortable,” Tommy says. 

The older man makes an amused sound. “What’re you gonna do, give me a massage?”

“Actually, yeah. Lie down.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes, planning on going back to what he was doing, before he notices Tommy’s expression and realises he’s being serious.

Wilbur knows by now not to argue with Tommy. So, sighing, he lays face-down on the couch.

He feels the blond perch himself on his lower back, beginning to massage his back and shoulders. Tommy’s movements are hesitant, like he’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, but it’s nice nonetheless. Wilbur doesn’t expect it to be nice. He feels himself relaxing, practically melting into the couch cushions. Tommy huffs out a laugh when he notices, and Wilbur grumbles at him to shut up.

Maybe he really does need this. He doesn’t have the worst posture, exactly, but it’s not quite the best either. He’s always tense, as well. He’s gotten used to it, though, however uncomfortable it may be. But now, no matter how uncertain Tommy is being, it feels great. If he wasn’t so bad at asking for things he needs, he’d probably ask for this more often.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Tommy’s hands trailing a bit too close to his sides, until he accidentally presses his fingertips into them and Wilbur jolts.

There’s a pause.

“Will?”

“Don’t—”

“Are you ticklish?”

“I swear—”

“You are!” Tommy exclaims, digging into his sides in a much more purposeful manner. Wilbur gasps and bites his lip to try and stop the giggles from escaping, but it doesn’t work for very long.

“F- fuhuck! Tohohommy!”

“Yes?” the boy asks innocently, fingers crawling up to his ribs and making him arch his back in a desperate, but useless, attempt to escape.

“Ihi’m gohohonna k- kihill you fohor thihihis!” Wilbur squeals.

Tommy laughs. “Sure you will,” he says, poking around the curly-haired man’s ribs to find the best reactions. Wilbur squeaks at every poke, wiggling back and forth as best as he can under Tommy’s weight.

Suddenly, Tommy’s hands are under Wilbur’s shirt, tracing along his back in a way that’s gentle but still absolutely unbearable. Wilbur’s frantic giggles die down a bit, though they rise in pitch. 

“This is great!” the boy says, in a tone far too mischievous for Wilbur’s liking. “I can finally get you back for the times you’ve tortured me!”

“Give me my hoodie back.”

“But why?” Tubbo whines. “It’s comfortable!”

“Yeah, and it’s mine!”

“You have other clothes!”

“So do you!” Tommy says, a bit exasperated. “Now give it back!”

Normally, Tommy wouldn’t really mind his best friend stealing his clothes. Honestly, he finds it rather cute to see Tubbo completely drowning in one of his or Ranboo’s shirts. But he’s cold, and that’s the only hoodie he has.

Tubbo wraps his arms around himself. “Make me!”

Tommy sighs and steps forward. He reaches for the bottom of the hoodie, planning on just taking it off himself, but Tubbo giggles and flinches away before he can even touch it.

Interesting.

Well, he has a new plan now.

He takes a step forward, and Tubbo steps back. And again, and again, until Tubbo’s back is pressed against the wall with nowhere to go.

“Give it back, or else,” Tommy threatens.

Tubbo smiles up at him. “Or else what?”

“Or else this.”

He pushes Tubbo’s— his— hoodie up, wasting no time in squeezing at his stomach and hips.

Tubbo’s reaction is immediate. He opens his mouth, likely about to protest, but instead he bursts into bubbly laughter, reaching for Tommy’s wrists.

“Nononono— wahait!”

Tommy grins. “Just give it to me and I’ll stop!”

“Nohoho!” Tubbo doubles over in an attempt to protect himself, hiccups occasionally interrupting his sweet giggles.

“Guess I’ll just tickle you forever, then,” Tommy teases, and he watches Tubbo’s ears flush bright red.

“Shuhuhut uhuhup!”

Tommy lets out a mock-offended gasp. “That’s mean! You’re just making this worse for yourself, y’know,” he says, focusing both hands on scribbling at the brunet’s stomach.

Tubbo’s knees buckle and he slides down to the ground. Tommy quickly takes the opportunity to sit on his legs, trapping him.

“W- wahahait, Ihi’m sohohohorry! TohOHOHOMMY!”

Tubbo squeals as Tommy leans forward to place a raspberry on his neck, squirming and twisting around to try and evade his best friend’s tickling fingers, batting weakly at them.

“Give me back my hoodie!” Tommy demands once more, avoiding all of Tubbo’s half-hearted attempts to make him stop.

“F- fihIHINE, juhust sTOHOhop!” Tubbo pleads.

Tommy backs off, letting him catch his breath. Tubbo curls his knees up to his chest, still giggling helplessly.

“Yohou’re so mehean,” he complains, tugging the hoodie over his head. Tommy can’t resist the urge to poke his stomach, exposed for a few seconds as his shirt rides up, which makes Tubbo squeak and curl up again.

“Steal it again, and it’s gonna be worse,” Tommy threatens, causing Tubbo’s fading blush to grow again, and he nods frantically.

It’s snowing.

Normally this wouldn’t be an issue. Normally they’d go outside and play in it, starting snowball fights and building sculptures from it. But it’s nighttime, and no one wants to play in the snow at night.

It’s also cold. Which is why the four of them are huddled up together near the fireplace.

Wilbur’s leaning against the couch, with Tommy next to him and resting his head on his shoulder. On his other side is Techno, and he’s got Phil next to him, who’s turned to the side and facing the three boys.

“I’m cold,” Tommy complains, for what feels like the hundredth time that night.

Wilbur groans. “I’m gonna throw you into the fire if you keep saying that.”

“But I am!”

“You won’t be if you’re being burned alive—”

The two of them start with their bickering again. Techno rolls his eyes and tries (and fails) to hide a fond smile, while Phil watches the two of them in amusement.

“Are you two done?” he asks when there’s silence again.

“... yeah.”

“I’m still cold, though.”

“Wilbur’s always warm,” Techno says with a grin. “Put your hands on him.”

“No, don’t you dare!” He jumps when he feels Tommy’s hands slip underneath his shirt and rest on his stomach. He tries to squirm away. “Get off, you fucking gremlin.”

“Something wrong?” Tommy asks, moving his hands to adjust them.

He doesn’t expect Wilbur to squeak.

Tommy hums. “Right. Forgot that you're ticklish.”

“Wha— I’m not ticklish, your hands are just cold!” Wilbur protests.

“Why are you laughing, then?”

“I’m not lahahaughihing!” The tallest boy suddenly bursts into giggles as soon as Tommy begins scribbling over his stomach. “Nohot fahahahair!” he wiggles around, squirming into Techno.

Big mistake.

Techno wraps an arm around him, trapping him against the pinkette’s chest. He begins pinching at Wilbur’s sides and stomach as Tommy moves down to squeeze his thighs and knees.

Wilbur snorts before his giggles turn into proper laughter. “Wahahait, guhuhuys!” he whines. “Ihit tihihihickles!”

“Well, yeah, that’s kinda the point,” Techno says.

“Yohohou’re bohoth ahahasshoholes!”

“Hey,” Phil warns, stretching out one of his wings to flutter the feathers at Wilbur’s neck and ears, making Wilbur squeal and start to frantically shake his head.

“Wahahait, nohoho! I’m sohohorry!” he pleads. Techno and Tommy share a look and begin to slow down the tickling, leaving Wilbur just barely above the state of uncontrollable giggles.

Wilbur melts into their touch, not caring about how this position would be uncomfortable and awkward for everyone if he fell asleep. He tilts his head back and giggles freely.

“Whyhy’d you stohop?” he asks before he can help himself.

Tommy and Technos’ eyes both widen, giving each other a surprised look that quickly gets replaced with fondness.

Wilbur seems to realise what he’s just said, because his face flushes red. “I mean—”

The brunet ignores him. “You know what that means, right?” he continues instead.

Phil whines. “Just get it over with!”

“That eager, huh?” Wilbur grins. Before Phil can say anything more, he bends his head down and blows a few raspberries on his stomach.

Phil shrieks, arching his back for a second before crashing back down again. “Will!” He cackles, twisting his body away.

Wilbur glances up at him. “Yes?” he asks innocently. 

Phil opens his mouth to speak again, but all that comes out is a new bout of laughter as Wilbur places more raspberries. He brings his hands to lightly shove at the musician’s head, his wings flapping the best they can from his position on the floor.

Through his loud laughter, he hears Wilbur begin to count in between the raspberries.

“Six.” Another. “Seven.”

“Stohohop cohohohounting!” Phil complains, his face flushing an even brighter red.

“Why?” Wilbur says with a grin. “Do you just want me to keep going?”

“Thahat’s nohohot whahat I sahahaid!”

Wilbur stops at fourteen. He stands up and leaves, though not without a smug “happy birthday” and a poke to the stomach, leaving Phil breathless and giggly on the ground.

-

When Tommy comes to sit down next to him, Phil flinches. Tommy laughs and raises his hands in a show of innocence. Phil hesitates, but scoots closer to him anyway. 

He’s watching a movie, though he’s not sure which one; just whatever came on. Tommy curls up, burying his face into Phil’s side. The eldest stiffens, then relaxes after a moment of nothing happening.

The peace doesn’t last long.

Tommy hasn’t said anything for a while, looking oddly calm. Maybe that should have made Phil suspicious.

Phil isn’t paying attention to the younger, eyes fixed on the movie. It’s getting a little interesting, honestly, although he has no clue what’s happening. He doesn’t notice Tommy’s small smile, or his sudden deep inhale. He does notice, though, the raspberry on his side.

Phil squeals, bursting into laughter almost immediately. “Tohohommy!”

Tommy giggles along with him, placing a few more raspberries on his side and a couple on his lower ribs, causing the older man to snort.

Phil pushes him off after a bit, wrapping his arms around his torso as he glares light-heartedly. Tommy just grins.

-

Phil is reaching up into the cabinets to grab something when he feels arms around his waist. He squeaks in surprise, causing the person behind him to exhale in amusement. Techno.

“Happy birthday,” Techno mumbles, nuzzling into Phil’s neck.

Phil chuckles. “Thank you, son.” He reaches up again before he feels a poke on his stomach, making his arms shoot back down.

He sighs. “Are you just here to hug me, are you going to—” he pauses, cheeks tinting pink. “Y’know.”

He feels Techno grin. “Too embarrassed to say it?” he teases. “Of course that’s why I’m here. It’s a tradition.” With that, he starts with the raspberries, a feeling that Phil thinks he should be used to by now but that still makes him try to scrunch up his shoulders. 

“Cuhut it ohout!” he squawks, giggling even harder when Techno begins scratching at his stomach as well. “Thahat’s nohot fahahair!”

“Don’t see you trying to get away,” Techno hums, which makes Phil’s blush spread to his ears.

It’s after a few minutes of seemingly endless raspberries when Phil comes to a realisation. “Are yohou eheven countihing?”

“Am I supposed to be?”

Phil lets out a soft whine through his laughter. “Thihis ihis wahahay mohore than thihihirty threhee!” he protests.

Techno shrugs. “You’re an old man, Phil. How should I know how old you are?”