#dabi x gender neutral reader

[kuwkedits]

☁️Comfy Cozy Monday☁️

Reader is sad the villains make it worse before they make it better

Tags: c.c.m☁️ / hurt⛈️ & comfort🧸

⚠️CW: v angsty before comfy sorry, lots of swearing, shigaraki is very mean and so is dabi but they both get better, mentions biting into flesh, miscommunication, mentions bleeding out, bad families, murder

📍Authors Note: I apologize for how angsty I made this weeks post but it’s kind of one of my favorite Monday posts since I’ve started this doing it this way to make sure you all got something new at least once a week um how are we liking it? Do we fuck with the good vibes I’m trying to send all of you? Anyways love u all have a good meal stay hydrated get plenty of rest 🖤 xoxo Rinnie

[corpsekiller]

𝙖 𝙠𝙣𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙜𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛 (𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙣𝙨) — 𝙙𝙖𝙗𝙞

PAIRING. dabi x genderneutral!reader

WARNINGS. hurt/comfort, fluff, scars, mentions of violence and blood, mentioned murder if you squint

SYNOPSIS. dabi struggles with a strange longing for softness and peace that feels impossible to reach for someone like him. in a tender moment, you offer him a fragile spark of hope and comfort.

LENGTH. 1.987 words

MASTERLIST

For the longest time, Dabi wanted to be soft.

It's strange, craving to be known, to be seen despite the scars littering his body — the desire for someone to strip away the layers of his unbridled rage and wrap their fingers around his very core, dig their nails into the tender flesh until every gruesome feeling he's ever buried in the darkest corner of his mind oozes out like blood from a fresh wound.

And look—

He tried to lose this longing, really. Dabi doesn't remember how many times he found himself wandering through the depths of the night, how many streets he walked down and how many corners he rounded without looking over his shoulder, hoping it would find someone else to haunt — and yet, it always returns like a lost dog.

On most days, it sits idly behind his eyes and watches through a curtain of cerulean blue. Those days are easy for him. They're quiet, almost placid and he barely takes notice of it, this dog he despises with every inch of his frail body until he sinks into the cold mattress he found in another abandoned building and tries to find some peace where none is left for people like him.

Sometimes though, his want lingers on the tip of his tongue and scratches on the inside of his cheeks, tears at the stitches holding his face together until tender flesh bursts open — barking, growling, begging to be let out.

Dabi only swallows harshly, clenches his jaw and grits his teeth until the endless tension turns into a dull ache climbing through his skull and settling behind his temples. The others notice he's quieter on those days, but none of them care enough to ask. He's glad they don't.

It gets worse in spring.

There's a certain kind of grief that comes with the first days of April, a sadness that mourns what could have been and what will never be as the sun breaks through the clouds and kisses his cheeks with a warmth that doesn't quite reach under his skin. Dabi turns his head, pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of your voice humming a familiar tune, and lets his gaze wander to your hands.

Nimble fingers twist the stems of a few flowers you picked and neatly weave them together before plucking another one and adding it to your collection. A cool breeze blows through his hair, tousling the strands that shadow his face even further as if to caress his head and sweep away the dreading feeling of sorrow that has begun to slip between his ribs and settle behind his sternum ever since the days started to get warmer.

His want unfurls in the cavity of his mouth. It paces behind his teeth, claws scraping the inside of his cheeks, whining for release. Dabi only bites his lip, sinks the edge of his canines into the supple flesh until he draws blood and senses the familiar coppery taste on the tip of his tongue.

Nonetheless, his fingers twitch at his sides. It's an unconscious reaction to his want's growling, its restlessness trembling through his chest in violent rattles. He wants to reach out, to test if his hands could hold something as delicate as the crown you're making without crushing it, but he knows better.

This isn't meant for him — not this kind of peace.

The dog snaps at him from inside his own ribs, furious at the refusal, its longing teeth bared against the bars of his will.

He hates it, truly.

And yet, he still wants to be soft so desperately, wants to break himself apart like the flower you hold between your fingers, gently picking at the rose-tinged petals until they descend to the ground and scatter around your legs. You don't seem to notice the agony glinting behind his gaze, don't see the way his hand trembles when he reaches out to caress yours, grazing his fingers over your knuckles almost as if to trade places with the flowers and receive the feeling of your gentle touch instead.

Oh, but that's the problem, isn't it?

This softness he yearns for was never made for his body — like an ill-fitting shirt two sizes too small, it'll burst open at the seams and leave him exposed — every scar, every fracture, every jagged edge laid bare for the world to see.

Truth is, he has always been too hard, too rough, made of nothing but sharp edges meant to cut and violent anger meant to burn everything he touches.

"What's going on in your head?" It's a simple question, a whisper of care that carries away with the wind rustling the branches of the trees above his head. Undisturbed, your fingers continue their work, weaving the stem of each flower into the other one, twisting them into a circle of petals and leaves.

Instead of replying, Dabi lets the silence stretch between you, taut and fragile like a rubber band about to snap, until you finally decide to break it.

"You don't always have to be the fire, you know?" Your eyes leave the task at hand to meet his. There's a tenderness there, a subtle invitation for him to step outside the walls he's built around himself. "You don't have to hurt to feel alive."

A flicker crosses his face, something uncertain and unguarded at the same time — a crack in the mask he usually wears so well, a glimpse of what lies beneath his hatred that passes as quickly as it came. Instead, his gaze drops to the flower crown resting in your lap as if he's regarding the delicacy of each petal and how easy it would be to crush them — oh, how easy it would be to crush you — and lets out a bitter laugh.

"These hands—," he pulls his own back slightly, his scarred fingers curling in as if they could sear anything that gets too close. "You think they’re meant for holding something as soft as this?" Dabi gestures to the flowers with a rough flick of his wrist, but there’s a hollow resignation in his voice. “My hands are covered in blood, they're not meant to hold something gently."

"And yet, they never hurt me," you reply and lean closer, letting your fingers brush against his. The warmth in your touch is oddly comforting, sweet and caring and so undeniably contradictory to everything he embodies that it causes him to flinch, almost as if expecting you to recoil once you realize what kind of abomination he truly is.

You don't.

Instead, you lace your fingers with his. For a moment, you close your eyes and focus on the tension that runs through his tendons and deems it impossible to steady his hands, how he retreats and seems to brace for something that never comes.

You faintly wonder if it's rejection he fears or perhaps even worse, abandonment.

"You don't understand... this is all I've got." Dabi lets out a hollow chuckle, a bitter sound soaked in resentment, and gestures vaguely to his hands where discolored scar tissue meets ivory skin. The very same ones that have left scorched marks across entire cities, across people and across every attempt at kindness he's ever known. "I was made to burn. It’s all I know."

"No." It's a simple reply, two letters holding so much weight that he can feel his shoulders cave in under it, and yet, he can't bring himself to move, can't rip his gaze away from your face as you speak. "You weren’t made to burn. You were just… left in the flames too long."

The dog quiets to a mere whimper.

His chapped lips part, but no sound dares to escape, the trace of his unspoken words lingering on the tip of his tongue. No one has ever said something like that to him. No one has ever cared to see him as more than just a villain — as a product of his cruel past — and the realization stirs a long-forgotten ache in his chest, one he's spent years burying under layers of rage.

"Do you ever think about it?" you ask softly. "Who you might have been… if things were different?"

The question slices through him, raw and jagged. Defeated, he drops his head and allows his eyes to drift back to the flower crown still resting on your lap, the image of your fingers braiding delicate stems together with so much caution as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Sometimes," he admits quietly and pulls his hand out of your grasp, pressing it to his chest, right above his heart. "But it doesn’t matter, does it? None of that matters anymore. Every choice has been ripped from me and all that's left... all that's left is this hollow shell of who I could have been."

"That's not true," you argue softly, reaching up to cradle his cheek and tilt his head to meet his gaze. "You can't change the past, but you can still choose what you could be."

Abruptly, he goes quiet, eyes tracing over your face like he's trying to search for a lie, like he's afraid he'll find nothing more than betrayal etched into the fine lines of your features. "What would I be, then?" he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, a quiet confession that seems to surprise even himself.

"Someone worth knowing," you reply, reaching up to tuck a stray strand of his white hair behind his pierced ear before placing the flower crown on top of his head. Your fingers trace over the soft curve of his cheekbone, not quite touching him, but hovering over his calloused skin.

For a fleeting second, Dabi tenses under the gentleness, but then he exhales, the tension melting away like frost in the morning sun. His shoulders slump, the weight of years spent bearing his anger and pain easing just a split fraction. As if on instinct, he tilts his head slightly and nuzzles his nose against the open palm of your hand, the flower crown slipping just slightly askew.

Tentatively, eyes flutter shut, and he leans into your touch as though it’s the only anchor in a storm he’s been battling for far too long. His breath hitches, a quiet sound that betrays the fortress of indifference he’s built around himself and despite his movements, the flower crown stays precariously on his head - a stark contrast to the scars and jagged edges that mark his life, and yet, somehow, it feels like it belongs to him.

"Don't," he finally rasps, his voice hoarse but not as sharp as before. "Don’t make me believe there’s anything left worth saving."

You don’t pull away. Instead, your thumb traces the edge of a particularly rough scar on his cheek, your touch soft enough to feel like an unspoken promise.

"I'm not making you believe anything," you reply, steady and unwavering. "I'm just reminding you it’s still your choice. You know, softness isn’t something you take... it's something you learn."

His lips twitch as though he wants to say something more, to argue, to fight, but instead, Dabi stays quiet. His hand, calloused and hesitant, brushes over yours where it rests against his face, holding it there as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

For the first time, there’s no fire in his eyes — no rage, no resentment, no bitterness. Just a flicker of something raw and unsure, a spark of hope too fragile to name.

"It doesn't suit me,” he finally mutters, his tone almost self-conscious as his fingers ghost over the edge of the flower crown. “But… maybe I'll keep it. Just for now."

Maybe he can't be soft anymore, but he can be kind, he decides.

That's more than enough.

Taglist: @justwolosers @jaerang @dabislittlemouse

[shiggybrainr0t]

dabi isn’t good at comforting people. aside from the fact that it was never really something he was given as a child up until now, he doesn’t have anyone he cares about enough to actually try. until you.

you’ve only been “dating” for a few months, and he’d rather die than admit it, but you’ve dug yourself a comfy little spot in his heart already. it’s the way you look at him, with understanding eyes. and the way you touch him with your soft fingertips-whether it be across his scars after you two have fucked or swiping a speck of dust off his coat.

dabi isn’t good at comforting people, so whenever you come home after work one day and your jaw is clenched and your hands are shaking, he’s at a loss. you don’t even look his way at where’s he’s sitting on your couch eating your snacks. you kick your shoes off and they land messily next to his (which he always lines up neatly because he thinks its a cute sight, his boots next to your smaller ones, like you live together or something).

whenever you stalk past him into the kitchen, he gets up for some unknown reason because he definitely wouldn’t have followed anyone else when they were this visibly upset. you’re standing in front of the coffee maker, jabbing at it aggressively whenever it doesn’t turn on. brows furrowed, he slowly comes up behind you and settles a hand on your waist.

“it’s not plugged in doll.”

“well why isn’t it?!”

you spin around at this, and dabi is horrified to see tears slipping down your cheeks. he’s never seen you cry before, and to see you reduced to tears is jarring.

he’s unsure, but he raises his hands to cup your face, using his thumbs to swipe away the tear tracks marring your pretty face. (because, he’s noticing, you’re still pretty even when you’re crying)

“want me to beat up the coffee machine for you?”

he’s relieved to hear you let out a wet chuckle, pushing your face harder against his hand.

“go change doll, and we can cuddle while you tell me about it.”

dabi isn’t good at comforting people, but he thinks it’s not so bad when it’s for you.

[cyberstrm]

metal mouth

dabi x gn!reader drabble

"y/n. cmere." a rough voice caught your attention and you looked up from what you were doing.

"hi." you smiled softly at dabi, who was leant against your bedroom doorframe.

"cmere." he repeated, so you got up from your bed and stood in front of him.

"what's up?" you asked sweetly, reaching a hand up to his face and stroking it softly. he tried not to react, any reaction to your affection was, in his eyes, a weakness. but you could see his eyes soften.

he leant forward and stopped just in front of you, before grabbing your waist and pinning you to the wall in one swift movement. his mouth met yours and he kissed you deeply, and to your slight surprise, the taste of blood and the cold touch of metal met your tongue. he kept kissing you deeper still, hungry for you, his hands roaming your hips. he pulled away, blood trickling from his lips.

"shit." he breathed, wiping it away. "i guess it's still fresh."

"you got a tongue piercing?" you grinned, the metallic tang still in your mouth.

"mmmmhm." he replied. "you like it?"

you kissed him, gliding your tongue over the metal. he moaned into your mouth as more blood seeped from the new wound.

you pulled away, panting slightly, blood now trickling from both of your mouths.

"i love it."

[thatlotuscookie]

could you do for Dabi x villain reader who he has a crush on and one day after a mission he feels like shit so he just goes to his room because he's body's burned and hurting and reader goes to his room and helps him, kisses his scars, treats his injuries, hugs him and stuff. FEEL FREE TO COME UP WITH SOMETHING MORE IF U'LL LIKE

✧･ﾟ: a/n : thank you so much for the request! I absolutely love the idea of Dabi letting his guard down with the reader after a rough mission and getting the comfort he doesn’t usually let himself ask for. enjoy<33

✧ Title: ✧ Hidden Flames ✧ ✧ Characters: Dabi x Reader (Gender Neutral) ✧ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Fluff ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: After a mission leaves Dabi battered and exhausted, he retreats to his room to nurse his wounds alone. When you show up, intent on caring for him, he’s reluctant at first. But as you treat his injuries, kissing his scars and reminding him that he doesn’t have to face everything alone, Dabi realizes just how much he values your presence. ✧ Content/Tags: Injuries, Vulnerability, Comfort, Mutual Pining, Scar Kisses, Established Crush, Soft Dabi, Hurt/Comfort WC: 1365 words // 7.4k

The hideout was cloaked in stillness, a hollow silence hanging over the building like a fog after the chaos of their latest mission. Dabi’s feet dragged as he approached his room, a wave of exhaustion nearly toppling him as he stumbled inside. His vision blurred slightly, and he let out a frustrated breath, every fiber of his being screaming in pain.

He shut the door with his shoulder, leaning on it briefly, letting the cool wood press against his back as he caught his breath. His mind was a mess of aches and exhaustion, a hazy reminder of all he’d taken on tonight. The burns littering his skin throbbed persistently, a reminder that he wasn't as invincible as he liked to think.

Finally, he sank onto his bed, shutting his eyes as he tried to will the pain into silence. He hated this feeling—weak, vulnerable. It wasn’t supposed to be him. He’d built his life on fire and fury, not…this. Not whatever this gnawing, hollow feeling was. He exhaled sharply, mentally daring himself to stay conscious, to fight through it. But just as he was sinking into that fog, he heard a gentle knock.

He bit back a curse, forcing himself up enough to glare at the door. “Go away,” he called out, his voice rough and almost pleading, hoping it’d scare off whoever it was.

But the door creaked open, and there you were, a small first-aid kit in hand and concern written all over your face. Dabi's heart gave an unwelcome thud, a mixture of annoyance and—dammit—relief swirling inside him. Of all people, why did it have to be you? It was too much; the last thing he needed was you seeing him like this, all messed up and hurting.

“Dabi,” you said, your voice soft, cutting through his haze like a breath of fresh air. “You look awful.”

He wanted to snap back, deflect, say something snarky to keep you at a distance. But he couldn’t bring himself to. Instead, he just let out a low huff, rolling his eyes as he mumbled, “Glad you’re as blunt as ever.” He tried to sound annoyed, but the truth was, he was a little relieved to have you here. That was the damn problem—he was starting to like it too much, having you around, and it was messing with his head.

You ignored his attempt to play it off and stepped closer, your eyes searching his face with that worry that he could never quite get used to. His chest tightened as he watched you, that soft look in your eyes making him feel exposed in a way he’d never felt before.

“You’re hurt,” you said quietly, kneeling beside him, so close he could feel your warmth against him. Your voice held a tenderness that made his throat tighten. “Let me take care of you.”

Dabi felt something inside him give way, the part of him that was tired of holding up walls and pretending he didn’t need anyone. He looked at you for a long moment, the vulnerability in his gaze unguarded, and he finally muttered, “Fine.”

You set to work, gently cleaning his burns and cuts, your touch careful and precise. As you dabbed at his wounds, he hissed, the antiseptic stinging like hell. “Shit, that hurts,” he grumbled, half expecting you to laugh or roll your eyes.

“Sorry,” you said, glancing up at him, your expression apologetic but unwavering. “But it’ll help, trust me.”

Dabi tried to look away, to focus on anything else, but his eyes kept drifting back to you. The way you were so damn focused on him, so damn tender… it made him feel something warm and dangerous, something he’d been fighting down for too long. He wasn’t supposed to get attached, wasn’t supposed to let anyone this close. But you were different. You made him feel human in a way he hadn’t felt in years, and it scared him how much he liked it.

Once you finished cleaning his burns, you leaned down, pressing gentle kisses along his scars, your lips soft against his raw skin. Dabi’s heart skipped, a rush of heat flooding his chest that he couldn’t ignore. “You…you don’t have to do that,” he stammered, trying to sound unaffected, but his voice was shaky, a little breathless.

You gave him a small, knowing smile. “I want to,” you whispered, your gaze steady and sincere. “You need to know that you’re not alone, Dabi.”

Those words struck something deep within him, a part of him he’d buried long ago. He looked at you, his walls crumbling with every second, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of hope. It was terrifying and exhilarating, a pull he couldn’t resist. His chest tightened with feelings he wasn’t ready to name, but he knew one thing: he didn’t want you to go.

He let out a shaky breath, meeting your gaze. “Why…why do you even bother with me?” he asked, his voice softer than he intended. “I’m nothing but trouble.”

You paused, looking at him with a tenderness that left him speechless. “Because I care about you,” you said simply, your voice gentle but unwavering. “And no matter how hard you try to push me away, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dabi’s heart raced, a blush creeping up his neck as he took in your words. This wasn’t just some passing crush; it was more than that, something deeper that scared him more than any wound ever could. He reached out, hesitantly wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into an embrace. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the comforting scent of you as he let himself relax, for once, in your warmth.

The hug was clumsy, awkward, but he didn’t care. He wanted this, wanted you, and that realization hit him with a force that left him breathless. He didn’t want to lose you, not now, not when you were the one person who made him feel like he was worth something.

“You know I’m… I’m not good at this,” he whispered, his voice barely audible against your shoulder. “I’m not good at letting people in.”

“I know,” you murmured, your hand running gently over his back, soothing him in a way that felt like home. “But I’m here. And I’m staying.”

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes, the depth of his feelings clear in his gaze. “You’re…too good for me, you know that?” he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was a tremor in it that gave him away.

You chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Maybe,” you teased, your eyes warm with affection. “But you’re stuck with me now.”

Dabi’s heart swelled at your words, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. He didn’t want to admit it out loud, but you were the light in his dark world, the one thing that made him feel like he could be more than just fire and destruction. He reached out, intertwining his fingers with yours, holding on as if letting go meant losing the only good thing in his life.

“Just…don’t leave, okay?” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Not going anywhere,” you promised, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. You stayed there, holding him as the silence settled around you both, a comforting weight that wrapped around them like a warm blanket.

As sleep began to creep in, Dabi felt a strange peace settle over him, a feeling he hadn’t known in years. For the first time, he felt like he could finally let go, to trust that someone cared enough to stay. With you beside him, he could finally breathe, letting himself fall into a sleep that, for once, wasn’t haunted by nightmares.

In that quiet moment, Dabi knew he’d do whatever it took to keep you close, to make sure that, somehow, he’d find a way to deserve you. Because with you, he felt like maybe, just maybe, he could be more than what he’d been before.

[sandiaarts]

Reblogs and comments are appreciated

[the-dawn-star]

Dabi with teen reader who some times will stay up for too long at a time and when they can’t sleep they kinda lay next to dabi, on the floor beside his bed because his presence comforts them so he’ll wake up and roll over and there’s just reader, asleep on the floor :3

A/N: This became more of "Reader is an insomniac but Dabi's presence comforts them" but I hope this is fine. Also, I don't really know how insomnia works, so be aware of nontrue depiction of it. 

-S

+300ish words.

Dabi had always thought that he was the night owl of the two of you, but he soon realized how he was completely wrong in that regard.  

Some mornings when Dabi would wake up, he would see you sitting in the exact same place as before, eyebags formed under your eyes.  

Dabi isn’t going to question you for the first few times but slowly the pattern becomes too noticeable to ignore.  

It was a random evening when both of you were sitting on the couch. You had a few really bad nights behind and you were exhausted. And the sleep came to you when you were sitting with Dabi.  

~~~ 

You thought about it for weeks. You were able to sleep perfectly fine leaning on Dabi’s shoulder.  

It took two more weeks after awful insomnia when you broke.  

You grabbed your pillow, duvet and an extra blanket from your bed before walking to Dabi’s room as quietly as possible.  

You laid the blanket down and dropped yourself on the floor. Sleep took you in minutes.  

~~~ 

Dabi woke up a few hours later. The night was warm, and he generally ran a bit too hot for the weather of Japan.  

Dabi turned to his other side trying to find a new comfortable position to fall asleep once again.  

But there you were on the floor, sleeping peacefully (for once) and covered by a blanket that only the top of your head could be seen.  

Dabi was annoying and a bit of a brat, but he would kill anyone if someone were to wake you up.  

So, instead of waking you up he smiles before falling back to sleep.  

Feel like you want to support me via Kofi? No preasure tho!

[shigaraki-housewife]

Imagine getting fucked by Dabi and he’s fucking you so good that you starting to close your eyes from the pleasure. And suddenly Dabi grabs your face to make you look at him while he fucks you and he leans down while holding your face and says “Keep your eyes on me, doll.”

[mika-writes-fanfics]

As It Was

Dabi x Reader Angst

Warnings/tags: angst, hurt/no comfort, brief mentions of burns, major character death, pre-established relationship, reader cares for flowers

Synopsis: Dabi returns to you after completing his life's mission, his body now badly burned and damaged. He wonders, will you accept him with open arms? Will you take what is left of him?

Author's note: I've been on a Hozier binge. "As It Was" from Wasteland, Baby! was giving me major Dabi vibes. This is kind of different from the content I usually like to write and read, but I felt so inspired I just had to write it. Word count: 1.1K

He’s now thankful your home is on the outer reaches of the city, tucked in a secluded pocket between the border of the forest and the concrete hell of the city. After what he’s done, there’s not a person in Japan that wouldn’t recognize his face. Had you not lived in the middle of nowhere, he’d already be arrested by some weak police officer or jumped by some rookie hero. 

It’s ironic, the thinks, that his opinion has changed. He hated it, at one point. You lived so far away from his shitty apartment at the time, meaning that every time he wanted to see you, he had to take the agonizingly long train rides. It was like you lived in a fucking retirement community since all the elderly would take the same train, giving him judgemental stares all the while. It pissed him off to no end. And if that wasn’t enough, being in the forest always reminded him of Sekoto. 

But still, he bore it all for you, back before he let his rage consume him. 

Before he devoted himself entirely to revenge. 

Before he started burning himself all over again. 

Before he fucked it all up.

Despite the way he left you, he hopes you’ll be kind enough to him to accept his return, to not instantly slam the door in his face.

If he even makes it to your doorstep, that is.

Each step he takes feels like a battle between life and death. These heavy and labored movements exhaust him, made worse by the state your driveway is in. Of all the days for it to rain, it just had to be today. The torrential downpours make the path harder to traverse. Mud clings to his boots with every trudging step he takes, threatening to suck him into the earth, burying him at his final resting place. 

The puddles of water settling in the tire tracks of your car show him grim reminders of his appearance, showing him glimpses of just how ghastly he’s become.

He’s a burnt husk of what he once was.

Nothing is left of him now that he's achieved his life’s purpose. 

The only thing that remains of him is this homing instinct to return to you.

To go back to the start. 

To give you what’s left of him.

To feel his final sensation of comfort.

To feel loved again.

He’s faced with the reality of how long it’s been when he finally catches sight of your home. In the year he was by your side, he never saw those Foxgloves bloom once, as he met you in the late summer. But now, judging by the towering violet, bell-shaped flowers framing the sides of your window, it’s been three years.

It’s in this moment that his mind replays the memory of the following summer, the one in which he noticed you agonizing over the flowerless plant beds. He remembers it, with surprising clarity amongst the mental fog. 

“Why do you bother taking care of those stupid flowers if they never fucking bloom?” He asked you, critically. 

“They’re foxgloves,” you answered. 

“So?”

“So, they do bloom, just biennially, and their flowering season just passed. You’ll see why I keep ‘em around in another year,” you explained.

The fact you even implied he’d still be in your life a year from then filled him with a sense of security. Whether you meant it or not, he took it as a promise, and kept it tucked in the darker reaches of his heart.��

Three long years have passed since he left you, since he abandoned you without a word. But he has known you have a patient side to you, he’s seen it in the way you always gave him space in his darkest days, how you allowed him the time to come back to you when he was ready, how you never took his frustrating habit of pushing you away to heart, weathering his toxicity with love and carefulness. Maybe, since you’re so patient, you have been waiting for him. If you welcomed those flowers despite their long absence, maybe you’d accept him, too. 

Normally, he’d sneer at the thought of you turning him into such a hopeless romantic, a weaker version of himself, but considering how there’s nothing left of him anyways, he’s fine with the idea. Maybe the positivity you give him would turn him into something beautiful again. 

He finally climbs up to your doorstep and stumbles against the door. When his shaky and weak hands turn the knob, expecting to be met with a locked door, it turns easily without resistance. Your door is unlocked, which in his state of hopeful delusion, he interprets as you waiting for him.

Maybe you knew he would come back.

You had made it easy for him to crawl back into your life.

Or maybe you just forgot to lock it. 

He swings open the door as he leans against the door frame. Any other time, the sound of the groaning hinges would grate at his ears, but right now, the sound feels familiar and comforting. It feels like nothing has changed, everything is as it once was.

He trudges deeper into your home, shambling past your living room and tracking mud all over your floors. There’s a pit of anxiety forming in his stomach the longer he walks through your home without seeing a glimpse of you. But it’s when he approaches the kitchen that he hears you humming, the sound calming his mind. 

His boots thud on your tiled floor, loud, and uneven. He sways as he walks, bumping into one of your dining chairs, the movement scraping the chair against the floor. Your humming abruptly cuts off at the sound and you turn to the source, on high alert, only to see him propping himself up against the walls.

A sharp gasp escapes your lungs. 

All he can see is you as the edges of his vision grey out. Against your better judgment, you rush over to him as his legs start buckling underneath him.  

He starts to collapse on the spot. You close the distance and open your arms around him, catching his fall and attempting to bear the brunt of his weight. 

Despite what he’s done, despite how he left you so suddenly, he can still feel your love for him.

It’s in the way you try to make sure he doesn’t fall, despite tripping being the least concern to him given his injuries.

It’s how your voice sounds frantic as you ask him if he’s okay if he can hear you, if he’s still in there.

It’s how you start to sob at seeing the state he’s in. 

You’re so worried about getting him to lie on the ground safely and checking his pulse that you fail to see him softly smiling at how you fuss over him, what’s left of his burnt face forcing out a peaceful expression. 

The last thing he hears, the last thing he feels, the last thing he thinks about, is you.

[mikasa-imadebiscults]

-Dabi SFW & NSFW Headcannons-

(Warning: Contains NSFW content)

(SFW)

- He’s protective of you but he tries to hide it but fails. All the League of Villains knows about his protective side and Twice teases him about it.

- If you had somebody from your past that did some terrible things to you or hurt you in any way he’ll be there to listen to you while you rant or vent. (He might kill them if given the chance)

- He’ll activate his Quirk on his hands and stay close to you whenever it’s cold out.

- Secretly loves it when you take care of his new burn scars he gets because of his Quirk.

(NSFW)

- He’s the dominant one, unless you’re a really dominant person.

- Likes to go rough with you due to all his stress he faces each day. The pace he goes is depending on the day, if he has a tiring day then he goes slow but if he had a really bad day he’ll go fast.

- Loves to put a gag in your mouth and ask you questions he knows you can’t answer at the moment.

- He does care about you so he’ll always ask if you are okay.

Masterlist

[calm-potato]

PDA (LOV edition)

A/n- hi I'm sorry I've been gone for a while,there were alot of things going on so I can't say it will happen again. But I'll still try to update every now and then,also I might be accepting requests soon not now but yeah!!^^ hope you enjoy!!~

Characters:toga,dabi,shigaraki, twice,and hawks Content:fluff,wholesome,a bit suggestive?? Idk,mildly spicy(just kisses and hickeys), just headcannons,and reader has  they/them pronouns! Summary:basically how I think the LOV display they're love towards you,or what I think their love language is!!

Toga:

-she's most definitely a clingy one

-once she finds an interest in you she'll automatically lounge onto you like a kola

-like LITERALLY will become your new kola

-toga seems like a physical touch kind of girl

-she'd also be a quality time kind of girl as well like:

-you go on a mission? She's going! You're gonna take a walk? She wants to go!! You're going to the bathroom? She'd wait and get mad that you took so long

-she just can't have you out if her sight though

-but if you do tell her that you want a little space,she'll be mad but understand and try not to bother you as much

Dabi:

-he's an apparent lone wolf so it took a while for him to come around but he did

-since he doesn't really trust people that easily it took alot of time for him to trust you but eventually it was gained when you showed your loyalty to the league and him

-his childhood was rough so I kinda feel like he'd need words of affirmation but give acts of services

-he wanted his father's approval so he'd probably need to hear words through out the day to know he's enough

-he'd give acts of service by doing you favors and remembering to do stuff for you and just being there whenever you need him,but he hopes the same for you

Shigaraki:

-just like dabi it was hard for him to trust you just like it's hard for him to trust other people

-but luckily you manage to impress him with your skills and joined the lov

-since if he touches people and they could die he'd probably be very worried that might happen to you,so he's always being careful and cautious around you

-despite you telling him to calm down he'd still be very worried,so I'd feel maybe he craves physical touch which you'd tried to give it but slowly

-I also feel he'd enjoy receiving gifts!

-like one day you're walking down the street and you spot a nice gift that you feel he'd enjoy

-would be very touched by your thoughtfulness and maybe a hint of happiness and joy would be placed on his face

-but only you can see it :)

Twice:

-he's a very kind man

-it was sort of easy but not exactly to earn his trust,not only that but it was confusing whether he did or not because he'd go:

-"wanna join the league?! Actually don't join the league!"

-because of the bi Polar personality it was hard to tell but you knew when he took his mask off

-he's most definitely a clingy and giving man!

-like I can see him hugging you everytime you enter the room, or just being by you makes him all happy and excited

-and he'd also try and buy and give you gifts that reminds him of you or just getting you things you said you liked :)

Hawks:

-this man was so hard to figure out! Like one minute he's all happy and chill, the next minute he'd get all serious and real

-it was hard to tell whether or not he even wanted you in the league but you soon found out his secret which you promised to keep,and because of this he trusted you since you really kept your promise

-he'd most definitely be a physical touch guy and maybe quality time too!

-hugging you,cuddling you, and just being able to touch you is enough especially lots of kisses and hickeys to mark over your body

-he's a pro so it's probably hard to find time when to hang out together just you two,so quality time is a must have! But if you can be patient and stay with him despite how many time he's couldn't make it due to his job,he'd then try to find time to give you twice the time he couldn't give you before!!

-but let's also not forget all the smooth talking he'd do :)

Thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed and once again sorry for not posting I'll try to update every now and then but It won't be regularly like that!! Also soon will let requests open if you have any but not now!! Also sorry if it's short^^

[kuwkedits]

☁️Comfy Cozy Monday☁️

Ynie needs help moving LOV edition

Tags: c.c.m☁️ /

⚠️CW: lots of food talk / bad eating habits as in not eating enough or at all, being malnourished, encouraging eating, swearing,

[corpsekiller]

consumption of a heart unloved — dabi

PAIRING. dabi/touya todoroki x genderneutral!reader (sorta healer!reader)

WARNINGS. hurt/comfort, descriptions of scars and burns, slight gore, but i promise it's still sweet at the end

SYNOPSIS. dabi's body deteriorates after another mission, slowly meeting its inevitable end. you're able to offer him a fleeting sense of relief, an escape from the pain, even if it's just for a short while.

AUTHOR'S NOTE. so, this is one of the two fics i wanted to finish before i go on a two weeks break to focus on my upcoming exams! i've never written healer!reader before, but it just seemed to fit the plot of this fic... and with that, i'll officially log off for the next 14 days (besides reblogs and the other fic), so wish me luck on my exams🖤✨️

LENGTH. 2.072 words

MASTERLIST

It's getting worse.

He can feel it beneath his skin, breathing, pulsing, feasting on his churned flesh and brittle bones like a fuckin' parasite, consuming every inch of his sickly being with a lethal appetite.

The burns have started to spread across his torso and the staples at the seams of his discolored scars have burst open, barely able to piece his frail body together any longer as the fresh wounds tear him open from the inside out, crawling over what remains of his untouched skin with blistered heat that pulls a scream out of his throat — raw and utterly broken — like a dying animal writhing in the dirt.

It echoes through the abandoned building and fades into ever-lasting nothingness, a desperate cry that remains unanswered as he sinks further into the cushions of the old couch he found in the new hide-out of the League, hoping the cold leather might soothe the unbearable ache that keeps tormenting him.

It's a futile attempt that reminds him how pathetic he's become — unable to control his quirk and forced to suffer with the shame of it.

Dabi is convinced ripping his failing organs out of his own abdomen would feel more pleasant than this. It would be easier to bear, removing parts of this pathetic body that is causing him so much pain, dismantling himself into small pieces like a puppet — without a heart that feels and a brain that thinks — and putting them back together until everything fuckin' works how it's supposed to do.

Until his body obeys.

He's too delirious to remember when the pain started, doesn't recall what he was doing before it began to unwind in the pit of his stomach earlier that day, but he's still capable of noticing how his skin begins to feel like it has grown too tight for his bones — a prison of flesh he can never escape.

And it's not like he wasn't expecting this day to come. On the contrary, he was always aware of the ticking time bomb buried behind his ribs, the can of gasoline pulsing through his veins, waiting for the light of a burning match to blow everything up and engulf the entire world in a hailstorm of violent destruction.

That's how it was always supposed to end.

Dabi knows his fire will seal his inevitable demise in a blaze of cerulean blue, swallowing him whole and wiping him off the surface of this godforsaken earth. Still, nothing could have prepared him for the torture he has to endure until that day arrives.

His fingers twitch, blackened at the tips and trembling unsteadily, reaching towards the ceiling as if he'll find something to hold on to or perhaps someone who'd reach back and grasp his hand to pull him out of the delirium that fogs his usually so clever wit - he finds nothing but a shattered lightbulb hanging above his head, the lampshade covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs, a single spider dangling from it in the corner.

He faintly wonders, if it feels just as lonely as he does.

The pain caused by his movement twists through him like barbed wire, slicing into every muscle and every nerve until his mind becomes a blur of feverish thoughts, jumbled together until he can barely form a word.

Oh, he's awfully aware he's burning out — a collapsing star on the verge of a supernova. He expected his life to end this way, should have made peace with the fact that he'd never get a happy ending, but—

The sound of footsteps pulls him back from the brink of his madness, light and deliberate, like whoever is approaching is trying not to disturb him as if he's a mere child slumbering innocently in his crib. The door creaks open, rusty hinges protesting as a figure silently slips into the darkened room.

Dabi doesn't have to look up to know it's you — he'd recognize your presence anywhere.

He always does.

"Hey," you whisper softly, your voice cutting through the haze of his pain, soft and steady, like the soothing caress of calm waves washing over his frayed nerves. Carefully stepping into his line of sight, your features deepen with a certain kind of concern — through his blurred vision he can still make out the fine line between your cinched brows, your lips curved into a small frown as you brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Though there's no pity in your eyes.

There's never pity.

It's the only reason he lets you stay.

Immediately, he grits his teeth and tries to sit up straighter, digging his fingers into the cushion for some kind of support, but the effort causes his skin to scream in protest. Before he can even realize what's happening, you're already rushing to his side and crouching beside him on the dirt-stained floor, your hand hovering near his face like you want to touch him but aren't sure if he can take it.

"You look like shit," you mumble as he catches his breath, a weak attempt at humor that coaxes a ragged chuckle from his coarse throat despite the searing heat pulsing through his entire being.

"Feel worse," he rasps, his voice barely above a whisper. The corners of his chapped lips twitch into a half-hearted smirk, a ghost of the maniacal grin he wore earlier when he watched his flames consume another one of the inglorious heroes he always despised so much.

You don't laugh.

Instead, you reach out and tentatively brush the tips of your fingers against his unscarred skin, right above the silver staples that glisten faintly in the dim light creeping through the wooden planks nailed across every window of the room.

It's the barest touch, but it sends a wave of something strangely comforting through him — something that seems to extinguish the fire for a split second and settles deep in his chest, cradling his stuttering heart like a fragile butterfly with broken wings.

You're using your quirk, he notices far too late, the realization crashing down like a sledgehammer to his skull, leaving his thoughts shattered and bleeding. His body stiffens beneath your careful touch, a primal instinct to recoil sparking somewhere deep in his aching limbs, though even as his pain screams for him to move, he stays frozen in place.

He's certain now because he can feel it — the subtle, almost imperceptible shift as your energy flows into him, soothing the jagged edges of his agony. It's not enough to heal him completely - nothing could undo the damage he's done to himself - but it dulls the worst of it, like a cool cloth pressed to his fevered brow.

You’re taking it from him. The pain that is meant for him to feel, the agony that is his to own (or perhaps it owns him).

Then Dabi sees it.

The faint crease of your brow, the way your jaw ticks and clenches to stifle a sharp inhale of breath as your fingers tremble against his mangled skin, ever so slightly, before you finally press the palm of your hand over his sweat-slicked forehead in a motion so gentle that it almost reminds him of a mother tending to her sick child.

"Shit," he croaks, his words nothing but a cracked brittle thing climbing out of his mouth as he tries to jerk back. "Stop, you're–"

"Don't move," you interrupt, quiet but certain. Your voice breaks just enough to betray the strain you're under, though your hand stays firm on his face, even as your breaths start to come out quicker than usual, shallow and uneven like your lungs have unlearned how to function properly.

He supposes that's what his pain does to someone who isn't used to suffering the kind of torment he feels every day.

"You’re feeling it," he growls, though the argument dies somewhere in the back of his throat when his eyes look onto yours and find a glimpse of what is going on in your head — determination, stubborn and unyielding, even as the pain he’s spent years burying himself in bleeds into you.

"I know," you murmur shakily and tight with effort. "Just let me... let me help."

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, all he can do is stare at you. Dabi watches the thin sheen of sweat gather on your temple, the way your muscles twitch and your shoulders cave in like they're trying to hold back a scream, and he hates it.

More than that, he hates the way you’re looking at him. Not with pity, but with something far worse: care.

Fuck, he wants to tell you to stop — he needs to yell at you, push you away, do anything to make you let go, yet he can't, not when your touch feels like the only thing anchoring him to reality, the only thing keeping him from slipping into the abyss that’s been pulling at him for years.

"You can’t fix me," Dabi whispers after a moment, his voice trembling as his hands twitch uselessly at his sides. A certain kind of guilt cuts through his chest, sharper than any flame ever could and it's strange because he can't remember the last time he ever felt remorse for anything he's ever done, for anyone he's ever hurt. "You can’t—"

"I know," you cut him off again, your tone firmer this time. "But I’m not leaving you like this."

Your words slam into him harder than the pain ever could. Reeling for another argument, he swallows thickly around the stone that has settled in his throat, heavy and suffocating, as he feels the edges of something unfamiliar awaken in the depths of his mind- it isn't anger nor is it hatred.

No, it's smaller, softer, fragile like a flickering candle trying to survive amid a raging storm.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he mutters, his voice cracking with defeat and his eyes dropping to where your other hand has moved to rest against his collarbone. "You're gonna kill yourself."

"Not today," you reply, your lips twitching into that faint, stubborn smile he's grown to like so much. "And neither are you."

He hates how much he wants to believe you, how much he wants to let himself lean into you, let you carry some of his burdens even if it burns you, but as he watches you endure it — every stab, every flicker of heat and pain his body throws your way — he realizes something he’s never let himself think before.

He doesn’t want to lose you.

Not now, not ever.

"C'mon, stop trying to fight me," you mutter, tenderly brushing some tousled strands of hair out of his forehead before you lean forward to press a kiss to his temple, letting your lips linger there for just a moment. "I'm not going to leave you, I promise... Touya."

The sound of his name falling from your tongue so sweetly feels like a soft ripple across still waters.

It seeps into the cracks of his fractured soul, cooling the blistering heat beneath his skin and quieting the flames that have consumed him for so long. His shoulders drop, the tightness in his chest easing as he finally exhales a shaky breath. It’s not a miracle, not a cure — but for the first time, it doesn’t hurt quite as much.

He doesn’t have the strength to answer, so instead, he leans ever so slightly into you, letting your presence hold him together where his broken body and soul cannot.

Finally, Dabi allows himself to lose this battle, letting his muscles relax for the first time in what feels like hours, days, maybe even weeks as your energy shifts around the room and the burning pain has simmered down to a dull tenderness. Cautiously, your hand leaves his forehead to find his and he lets it stay there, lets himself savor the warmth of your touch.

For the first time in longer than he can remember, the thought of surviving doesn’t feel like a punishment. It feels like a promise. Something worth fighting for and it terrifies him.

He doesn’t say it out loud — he can’t, not yet — but the thought burns brighter than his flames and he silently wonders if maybe, just maybe, he can hold on just a little longer.

For you.

Taglist: @justwolosers @jaerang @dabislittlemouse

(@redr0sewrites tagging you because you loved my other fic so much, i thought you might like this one too <3)

[star-spirit-mayhem]

Teasing Dabi ~

TW: Smut, Implied Dom/Sub dynamics, Bondage, Gags, Voyeurism, Implied Punishment.

Reblog the post if you like the Fic. Likes on this app do Nothing but bookmark the post for yourself, this doesn't just go for my post, Artists and Writers are entitled to their posts being shared if you enjoy their work.

Taking advantage of Dabi's willingness to go along with anything you plan for him by tying him up and teasing him as you make him watch you make yourself cum infront of him. His mouth is occupied with a pretty little gag and he's on his knees with his arms restrained behind his back, he's quiet and almost glaring at you with how intensely his eyes burn through you, watching your every move, trying to memorize every little sound you freely let out in an attempt to further torture and rile him up ; Its working, The only indicator of his resolve braking is the slight shiver he gives off, body radiating with the desire to touch you, to feel you, to devour you.

As you tip yourself over the edge on full display for him to see you lose your focused for just a moment, basking in the shaky pleasure orgasming in front of your boyfriend while he watched brought you, your eyes roll back for just a second but that was all Dabi needed. The second your attention wavered off of him he was burning his way out of his ropes and pulling the gag out of his mouth as he shoved you back onto the mattress making you fall back and lose balance before gasping loudly, more so at the surprise than the impact. "Think you can fucking tease me like that and get off without me? Fucking brat, that's what you are. You wanna cum so badly fine, you're not stopping until you're begging to, teach you some damn manners" Jokes on him though, that was the plan the entire time, shame it took him this long to start the night.

[daisydaphne]

𝓗𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴 𝓪 𝓯𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 - 𝓓𝓪𝓫𝓲 𝔁 𝔂𝓸𝓾

Summary: Dabi is sick as fuck and you help him.

Warning: fever, sickness.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Dabi once a month has this fever thing where he can’t even talk. The temperature of his body caused a high fever that paralyzes him for one whole day. Usually, he tries to avoid human contact, but he doesn’t have a place to go.

Now he’s at your front door, feeling down and helpless. And there you are, with your new extravagant pjs that he loves to undress.

“‘M sorry, but I can’t go to my building and this shitty fever is killing me” Dabi knows that he’s more than welcome in your place, but it still feels strange.

You have been dating Dabi for two years, and this is the first time that he actually beg for help.

You knew that it’s a serious shit now.

- - -

You left him in your bed without knowing what to do. I mean, you knew the basic stuff but it wasn’t working very well. It was like he was paralyzed.

You placed a cold washcloth on his forehead, waiting for a miracle but nothing happened. You even tried to touch him but your hand were burned by his skin.

It was the first time that his quirk hurt you. Dabi as a boyfriend was really careful, and knew how to protect you from him.

“Damn quirk you’ve got, honey” you said when you saw your hands and your fingertips burned.

You were getting exhausted, so you started putting dozen of ice on his body. Yeah, he would be mad tomorrow but you didn’t care as long as he get better.

He’d try to disappear from you tomorrow morning. You knew that he didn’t like to be help and how his family affected him. But you didn’t care at all, you’d help Dabi no matter what.

“Common baby, drink some water for me, okay?” You knew that hydration was important in those cases.

Dabi was still in that paralyzed state, but managed to drink some water. Something about your voice calmed him in a surprising way.

He started feeling better at 5:00 am, when you were sleeping next to him, holding the stupid washcloth on his forehead. It was new for him, to be nursed all night, to be loved by someone.

He couldn’t get use to that feeling, maybe he would never get use to.

Dabi couldn’t move at all yet because of the high fever, but he was able to see your sleepy face from his angle.

You had sleepy bags under your eyes and one of your hand was slightly burned. He knew it was because of him.

He knew that everytime you got closer, you got hurt by him. However, the only thing he could do was crying in silence, afraid of losing you one day.

[thatlotuscookie]

hellooo👋👋 could you just write something for dabi and reader, just something that involves him giving reader backhugs. you can add anything you want to it. i just need a hug🤕

✧･ﾟ: a/n : hiii thank you for requesting! sorry for the wait. i have been a bit busy the past few days but im hoping that ill be able to get yalls requests done faster since its the weekend! enjoy<3 and i hope you feel better after reading this, anon. hang in there, you're doing great! you can always vent in my askbox if needed<3

✧ Title: ✧ Silent Embrace ✧ ✧ Character: Dabi x Reader (Gender Neutral) ✧ Genre: Romance, Fluff, Slight Angst ✧ Rating: T ✧ Summary: Dabi isn’t one for words, but when he finds himself wrapped around you in the quiet, there’s no need for them. He lets his guard down, revealing the warmth he usually hides. ✧ Content/Tags: Fluff, Light Angst, Cuddling, Established Relationship ✧ WC: 1002 words // 5.6k characters

The room is dim and quiet, the sort of silence that feels heavy with unspoken things. You’re lost in your own thoughts, hardly aware of anything around you, when you feel a presence just behind. You don’t hear his footsteps—they’re soft, almost silent—but the door creaks ever so slightly, announcing his arrival.

Dabi’s there, standing close but still holding himself back, like he’s not sure if he should cross that last step. You catch his reflection in the faintly tinted window in front of you, and it makes your heart skip. His expression is unreadable, somewhere between distant and thoughtful, like he’s warring with something inside. Before you can fully turn to him, you feel his hands brush over your shoulders, drifting down with the barest pressure, and then his fingers spread across your waist, pulling you toward him in one smooth, decisive motion.

He’s careful but firm, like he’s finally decided there’s no reason to hesitate. The contact is warm, surprising you with its gentleness, his hands slipping around your waist and linking just above your stomach. His breath brushes against your ear, warm and steady, and he lets out a quiet sigh, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. There’s an ease to it, but you can tell he’s still tense beneath the surface, his fingers curling just a bit, testing his own grip, making sure it’s real.

“Needed a break,” he mutters, a little hoarsely, as if that explains why he’s standing here, arms wrapped around you in an embrace that feels both foreign and oddly natural for him.

His hands shift slightly, thumbs brushing in slow, aimless circles against your waist. You’re not even sure he realizes he’s doing it, but there’s something mesmerizing in the quiet rhythm. The way his fingers occasionally graze your sides, the warmth seeping through your clothes, feels like a secret he’s letting you in on—some part of him he doesn’t show anyone else. It’s like he’s telling you something in silence, his words unspoken, his expression hidden against your shoulder.

You start to lean back into him, letting your head rest against his collarbone, surrendering to the quiet comfort of his hold. Dabi lets out a breath, one that seems to release some of the tension in his body as he relaxes further into the embrace. You feel his chin nudge down a bit as his head drifts, his forehead now resting gently against your shoulder. He’s steady, unhurried, his fingers tracing slow, reassuring patterns that make you feel like he’s grounding himself as much as you.

For a while, it’s just the two of you in this space, his arms wrapped around you in a protective circle. You can feel his heartbeat, a slow and calming pulse against your back, and it’s oddly soothing. He tightens his hold every now and then, almost like he’s afraid to let go, a silent admission that he finds as much comfort in this as you do.

Minutes pass, and the silence deepens. He shifts his head, his forehead brushing your shoulder before nestling his face into the curve of your neck. His hair tickles your skin, and you feel the warmth of his breath, slow and even, ghosting over your collar. His grip loosens just a little, his arms settling into an easier hold as if he’s melting into you, and for a moment, you’re not even sure if he’s awake.

It’s in that quiet moment that you feel his breathing become deeper, each exhale warmer and more languid as he rests against you, his weight leaning just enough to let you know he’s drifting off, surrendering to the softness he doesn’t usually allow himself. His hold tightens one last time, and you hear him mumble something unintelligible, a soft sound against your neck as he nuzzles closer, unwittingly snuggling in.

You’re holding him up, bearing his weight in a way that feels intimate and right, and as he sighs, you can tell he’s truly comfortable, more at ease than you’ve ever seen him. His breaths deepen as he falls into a light sleep, his body heavy but reassuringly close, and you let yourself sink into the comfort of his warmth.

It’s only when he stirs, his eyes fluttering open slightly, that he realizes how close he’s gotten, his head still resting against you, his arms locked around your waist. For a moment, his eyes meet yours in the window’s reflection, and you catch that rare, unguarded look—almost like he’s not fully awake yet. But he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he lets out a soft chuckle, still a little dazed, and buries his face back into your shoulder, clearly unbothered by how vulnerable he looks.

“Guess I got too comfortable,” he murmurs, voice husky and amused, though he makes no move to let go. There’s a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, a look so genuine it catches you off guard.

Then, after a moment, he lifts his head just enough to press a light, almost tentative kiss to your shoulder. It’s soft, a wordless confession that lingers in the air between you, and before you can say anything, he steps back slightly, though his arms stay firmly around you.

“C’mon,” he says quietly, his voice still thick from sleep as he takes your hand in his, leading you with that same soft but steady grip toward his room. You don’t resist, letting him guide you, feeling the warmth of his hand enveloping yours. When you both settle on the bed, he pulls you close once more, his arms wrapping securely around you, tucking you into his chest.

“Stay,” he whispers, his voice barely audible as his hand rests on your back, tracing lazy circles that lull you both into a quiet, peaceful state. His heartbeat, slow and steady, thumps in your ear, and the last thing you hear before drifting off is the soft murmur of his voice, promising to hold you close for as long as you’ll let him.