༄ ‧₊˚ ON THE THIRD DAY OF CHRISTMAS . . . “BY THE FIRE with DENJI"
࿓ ‧₊˚ ୨ slightly suggestive/fluff. | he never really believed he was truly deserving of love, but maybe he’ll finally be able to accept yours, at least as long as he’s here with you by the fire. reader is gender neutral, not angst I swear, not much dialogue, slightly suggestive for like 3 seconds, mainly fluffy though
༄ ‧₊˚ word count. 1k
༄ ‧₊˚ tagging. @simpfully-heartbroken
"That should do it!"
DENJI wipes his hands together, bits of dust and soot falling from his digits in small flakes. A proud grin reveals the sharp teeth Denji usually hides behind dirty words and snarky sarcastic comments, and you smile back at him.
"Thanks Denji, babe," you coo, bringing your fingers to your lips to warm them with a lengthy breath before tucking one of the many blankets around you under your chin.
This time of year is always so beautiful. Everything looks so peaceful, so free when it’s covered in powdery white. Your gaze shifts to the window across from you, just behind where Denji insisted you put the tree, and comes to land on the settling snow, still unmarked by prints of an animal or the tiny, clumsy footsteps on a child’s chunky snow boots.
It was late, the sun already long gone over the jagged horizon of the cityscape, leaving behind nothing but sparkling pinpricks of white in the sky that for once stood out against the twinkling of the city. The snow glimmered brighter because of the no longer shy stars, and a gentle warmth crept into your chest, warming your hands and cheeks faster than the newborn fire before you.
Denji sits, the weight of his presence next to you sinking into the cushions before his head flops onto your lap, still covered by generous layers of blankets.
“Cold,” Denji mutters after a moment of silence, and you shift enough to raise the edge of the blankets, letting him slip underneath to enjoy the welcoming intimacy of your warmth, the very warmth you save just for him.
His hands rest on your lap, the cool tips of his fingers squeezing the plush of your thighs as his head nestles atop them.
It was almost hard to believe that this, your warmth and the crackling of the fireplace that defended you from the bitter harshness of the winter wonderland outside, was all entirely new to Denji. Before you, he had nothing to keep him warm during the late, snow-covered nights he spent along. Nothing to fill his stomach and help lull him to sleep when the silence outside became too much to bear.
Now he was lucky. Now, the only thing giving Denji goosebumps was the gentle, feather soft touch of your fingernails along the inside of his forearms.
“You’re gonna suffocate if you stay down there like that, ‘Ji,” you chuckle, feeling his hair brush against your skin as the lump of his head under the blankets shift.
He only responds with a small content hum before he squeezes your thighs once again.
“Wouldn’t mind dyin’ if it happens right here.”
You scoff, a playful snort sending a gentle puff of air to ruffle the wild ends of Denji’s hair, and he moves to leave a tender bite on your thigh. You don’t scold him for the now all too common action, instead letting your hand card through his messy blond locks and he can’t help but think this is how he’s meant to live. Even if he doesn’t deserve it, even if he thinks he’s done absolutely nothing to earn the feeling of your body on his, he can’t help but feel like you’re his home.
His cheek smooshes into your thigh as he rolls onto his back, getting a better view of your face, and his eyes widen at the amount of pure love he finds in the soft little smile you’re giving him. Now he knows he doesn't deserve this. Nothing about this feels right to him. Not the fire he started himself that dances in the fire place before you, warming your feet. Not the presents you wrapped for him, neat and enticing, sitting under the modest but still beautiful tree that you let him help decorate (even if he was quite... unique in his design). Not with the platter of gingerbread and chocolate chip cookies you placed on the coffee table just a few inches away. Not the cozy scent of the hot chocolate you had made just for him to try for the very first time, despite it already being well past midnight. Not the way your arms wrap around his waist to greet him whenever he comes home, and certainly not the way your legs do the same each time you lead him to your now shared bedroom to remind him just how much you love him. Not the way your fingertips absentmindedly dance across any bit of exposed skin he bears whenever you’re alone together. Not even the way you look at him as if he were the only person left on earth, so much love and intimacy and tranquility flooding your sweet gaze each and every time you look at him.
Denji never thought he’d share Christmas with someone special. Hell, he never expected he’d live long enough to share Christmas with anyone at all. He had gotten so used to watching the twinkle of holiday lights from afar, and enduring the harsh bitterness that was snow by himself that he never even considered that his nights with an imaginary lover would one day come true.
A sigh leaves Denji’s lips as your thumb runs along his bottom lashes, coaxing them shut before dipping your head enough for your lips to meet with his.
“I love you,” you whisper, cupping Denji’s cheek as salty droplets begin to trickle from his eyes, wetting your thumb as you wipe each one away.
“And I always will, ya know.”
Denji misses the soft upturn of your pretty lips as he buries his face into your shirt, one hand gripping at your hip as the other balls up the fabric of the blanket you pull over him.
He knows he doesn’t deserve this and he knows that perhaps he never will. But maybe, just maybe while he sits with you, basking in your warmth by the fire, he can learn to accept that this is all his for now. That he can in fact be loved unconditionally with no strings attached, and that being with you by the fire just like this very well could be the only thing he’ll ever need for Christmas.
