Warmth
Dabi x Reader
Fluff, Have some cold weather and gentle intimacy
Words: 678
Warnings: None
You’re buried in a mountain of blankets, yet you’re still freezing. The December chill is a thief, stealing into your bones, sapping whatever heat your body sees fit to produce. Desperate to escape its icy hold, you pull your arms into your chest. Your legs seek refuge elsewhere, toes peeking out from beneath the covers to bury themselves in the back of your lover’s knee.
“Really?” Dabi groans, twitching, but not even bothering to peer back at you.
He hurls an arm backward, presumably to shove you away. The gesture backfires; You grab his elbow and pull him in closer, burying your face into his back and sighing when the heat of his skin wards off your shivers. How this man could sleep with no covers, no shirt, and still act the part of a space heater, you’d never understand.
“…isss coooold.”
He grunts, rubbing his eyes with his forearm. “Fine. Back up and I’ll warm you up.”
You don’t hesitate to obey. You shimmy back on the bed, giving him just enough room to twist around and face you. Not even a second after he turns, you press your palms to his chest, impatient. He rolls his eyes and grabs your wrists, dragging them up to his face with very little resistance.
You sigh when he cups your hands in his own and breathes hot air against your fingers. His thumbs trace up your knuckles, leaving a tingly trail in their wake. He’s only actually working on your hands, but his warmth travels–it seeps through your legs and chest and ears, leaving a cozy sort of contentment bubbling where the cold had once been.
Dabi stops too soon, glancing up at you with that mischievous glint in his eyes. You smile and edge in closer.
“Want me to return the favor?”
He doesn’t say anything, his arms stretching out towards you. One hand fiddles with a stray piece of your hair while the other ghosts up the line of your jaw, his nails eliciting a whole different kind of shiver when they drag along the skin just behind your ear. Still, he doesn’t do anything more–just stares at you expectantly. Waiting.
So you move in, pressing your lips to his. The act is gentle and much, much shorter-lived than you’d hoped it would be, but there’s an infinity of memories in that one, fleeting kiss.
In the brush of his fingers, there are all the sleepless nights you’d spent waiting for him to creep back into bed. But then, there’s the memory of waking up beside him, watching his nose twitch as sleep finally released its hold.
In his breath on your cheeks, all the times you’d whispered “Goodbye” and actually meant “Don’t go.” Also the reunions–the bruising embraces and the kisses that never felt numerous or eager enough for you, even as they siphoned every ounce of strength from your body.
Then there’s the shape of his lips on yours, and you relive the arguments–those fiery screaming matches and glacial silences. And the make-ups. God, those beautiful, wonderful, fantastic moments where all the fire died down and the ice melted away. What was left was something that was in between–not hot and not cold. Amidst the skin sticking to skin, the hands locked together in a vice-like grip, there was nothing but warmth–pure energy that enlivened, but left no scar.
You lean back, eyes still shut, savoring the sensations–the memories–for as long as you can. Dabi sees this and smirks, coming in close again. He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and lingers there.
“Love you, babe.” He whispers, low and breathy–so soft, that it would’ve been easy to write it off as the rustling of the covers or the gentle whoosh of the wind outside.
You don’t say it back, too distracted curling your arms up underneath his shoulders. But as you bury your nose into his neck, humming into the spot where his pulse thrums just beneath the skin, it’s obvious you’re thinking it too.
