So I would love something with #8 from your fluff prompts with Kirby Dach.
kirby texts you at almost midnight.
can i come over?
you stare at your phone, heart kicking up a little because—yeah, you’ve been talking, and yeah, it’s been going really well, but this is the first time he’s asked to come over. and after a long-ass game, too. the kind of game that should’ve knocked him out the second he got home, not had him texting you like he couldn’t sleep without seeing you first.
you type back, yeah, of course.
he doesn’t send anything else, and your brain starts whirring. he wants to hook up. that’s gotta be what this is. and it’s not like you’re opposed—kirby’s hot, obviously, and you’ve spent too many late nights on facetime with him, watching him grin sleepily into the camera, hearing his voice all raspy and tired, thinking about what it’d be like to actually be close to him—but still, your stomach flutters.
when he knocks, you open the door, expecting something different than what you get. kirby’s standing there in sweats and a hoodie, hair damp from a shower, looking so warm and good and big in the kind of way that makes you want to tuck yourself right into him.
“hi,” he says, voice soft, and then, “can i hug you?”
your chest pulls, something warm and unexpected blooming inside you. “yeah,” you murmur, and before you can even finish, he’s stepping forward, wrapping his arms around you, folding you up like he’s been waiting for this forever.
it’s—god. it’s good. he’s solid and strong, but he’s holding you so gently, pressing his face into your neck, letting out this deep, tired sigh like he just dropped something he’d been carrying all day.
“missed you,” he mumbles, and your stomach flips because, jesus, you’ve never even touched before tonight.
you pull back a little to look at him. his blue eyes are sleepy, his cheeks flushed like he just got out of the cold. “missed me?” you tease, and his mouth curves into a slow, sheepish smile.
“yeah,” he says simply, like it’s just the truth.
you’re still trying to wrap your head around it when he tugs you gently back toward the couch, plopping down and pulling you with him. you think, oh, this is it, but instead of kissing you or pushing things further, he just—lays back, tucks you into his chest like you belong there, and exhales deeply, like this is exactly what he needed.
“you okay?” you ask, because it’s so sweet it almost makes you nervous, makes your heart do these weird little stutters.
he nods, already half asleep, fingers tracing absentminded shapes into your back. “yeah,” he murmurs, “just really wanted to hold you.”
your chest feels like it might actually cave in. you wrap your arms around him, nuzzling closer, and he makes this low, content sound, pressing his face into your hair.
“you’re warm,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud.
you smile into his hoodie. he is, too.