Work Text:
The alarm clock blares, and your eyes shoot open. Already you can feel your head pounding.
Damnit, should probably set it to a different sound. I hate that beeping.
You fight your blankets for dominance until you are free of them and can turn the cursed alarm off. The sound is gone, but your head still throbs. Every single muscle in your body wants you to stay in bed. It takes you a few minutes to summon the energy needed to sit up, which only makes the pain in your head worse.
“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself. As slowly as you can, you get up and stumble out of your bedroom. Normally you’d stop by the bathroom first, but right now you head to the kitchen. Rummaging through the cupboards, you finally find what you need. Your mom had given you some pills that help with migraines when you moved out. While you didn’t get migraines yourself, she said these pills help with severe headaches as well so you figure you might as well try them. You swallow the recommended dosage with a glass of water. The pills need some time to kick in, so you’re better off taking them sooner rather than later so that your head feels better by the time you have to head out to work.
The pressure in your bladder is getting uncomfortable now, so it’s time to head to the bathroom and relieve yourself. The bright lights hurt your eyes, and add to the pain in your head. You really should have sprung for a dimmer switch. All throughout your morning routine, the pain doesn’t subside. If anything, it gets worse. You drag yourself back to the kitchen to get some breakfast, but you’re feeling slightly nauseous, so you only drink some water. You meander back to your bedroom and start getting dressed for work. You never considered it a difficult task before, but every movement is hard to concentrate on with your stupid headache. You manage to put on your bra, nylons, and blouse before the pain overwhelms you. A shiver runs through your body as you lie face down on your bed.
Ow ow ow ow…
Your mind chants. A quick glance at the clock informs you that you have twenty minutes before you have to head down to the subway. You were usually done getting dressed with some time to spare, allowing you to watch the morning news and relax a bit before heading out for the day. Were you really moving that slowly this morning? The nausea is getting worse. You make the trip to the kitchen to grab some Emytrol. It really feels like a journey, each step taking more energy than you feel you have. You sip down the sickly sweet, cherry flavored liquid. It itches your throat, but you can’t drink any water to wash it down. Says on the bottle not to dilute it or it won’t work as well, so you’re left swallowing your spit in an effort to get rid of the stupid scratchy feeling it leaves behind.
According to the kitchen clock, you have less than ten minutes before you have to head out. You don’t feel any better than when you first woke up. If anything, you feel worse. Just staring at your phone screen as you check your emails exasperates the pounding in your head. There’s no way you can go to work today and stare at your computer screen all day. You have to take a break from looking at the screen every few seconds as you dial up your workplace.
You lean against the counter and hold your head in one hand while the other holds the phone to your ear. Guilt settles in your stomach as you sheepishly explain to the receptionist that you can’t make it to work today. You don’t even know if you have the flu or the cold, but you can’t move without exasperating your pain and you’re worried about throwing up. The receptionist, bless her heart, is more than understanding. She can probably hear the agony in your voice. You feel super guilty about always forgetting her name. The least you can do is offer to come in on Saturday to make up for lost time, but she tells you not to worry about it. You’ll still mention it to your boss next time you see him. She wishes you a speedy recovery and you can only grunt in response. By the time you mumble out a delirious “thank you, you too,” she hung up. Saves you a little bit of embarrassment, at least.
Even though it’s summer, you’re fucking freezing. You turn the air conditioning to a warmer temperature and head for your bedroom.
Ugh, it feels so far away…
You just want to lie down as soon as possible. The couch is closer, and you have some pillows and a throw blanket. So, you cocoon yourself in it and settle down on the couch. Every bit of light hurts so you face towards the back of the couch and hide your head under some pillows. The blinds in the living room are still closed, and there’s no way you’re opening them up now. You close your eyes and wait for the pain to go away.
You don’t know how long you lie there, but it doesn’t get much better. Lying down definitely helps, but your head is still killing you and the nausea has gotten mildly worse. It takes every ounce of will power you have to get up and grab some more medicine from the kitchen. You drink a glass of water, but almost drop it when you go to set it down. You shouldn’t have closed your eyes while you were trying to set it on the counter, even though your head feels slightly better that way. You’re still holding onto it when you realize you’re just bumping it against the countertop instead of putting it on the counter. You open your eyes and carefully set it down before retreating to the couch and hiding under your blanket and pillows again.
* * *
The sound of your front door opening and closing draws you from your stupor. You don’t know how long you slept, or if you even really slept for that matter. You were drifting in and out of consciousness for a bit. You hear what sounds like someone taking off their shoes and setting them on your shoe rack. Did your mom come to check on you? Maybe one of your coworkers stopped by. Wait, your coworkers don’t have a key to your place. Neither does your mom, for that matter. Is someone breaking in? Fear rushes through you at the prospect.
The unknown intruder walks into your living room and flicks on the lights. Only a small amount reaches you through your improvised pillow night mask, but your head still screams in protest. The intruder sighs.
“What a fuckin’ day,” he grumbles.
That’s definitely a man’s voice. His foot steps lead to the kitchen and you hear fabric rustling. Is he leaving his coat on the counter? Rude. He rummages through your fridge at a leisurely pace. If he’s here to steal, he isn’t in a hurry about it.
“Fuckin’ hand man thinks he can tell me what to do.” Hand man? What is he talking about? “Can’t believe they let that crazy knife chick in.” He finally finds something in your fridge and closes it. “At least I get to see my Princess today.” He sounds so wistful when he says that. “Oh, shit. Almost forgot.” He grabs what you think is his coat and searches through the pockets. Then you hear what sounds like heavy paper dropping onto the counter. “Hope that’s enough,” he mutters. It kinda sounds like an envelope. A thick one. Reminds you of the envelopes of money Dabi’s been leaving you as of late. Your eyes shoot open.
Wait, no way. Is that…
He sighs again, but it sounds more relaxed this time. He walks into the living room.
Shit shit shit. Don’t move. He won’t see you if you don’t move.
He heads right for the couch, likely to watch some TV. There’s no way he can ignore the human sized lump under the blanket. You’re not fast enough to get away from him, especially while you’re sick and drowsy. Chances are you’ll trip over the blanket as you try to disentangle yourself from it in a hurry. You’re fucked. If his past behavior is anything to go by, likely in more ways than one.
“Oh?” He noticed you.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck—
“Y/N, you’re still home?”
Maybe if you pretend to be asleep—
“Don’t you have work today?” He asks as he begins to pull the blanket off you. You grumble when he removes the pillow shielding your eyes from the light.
“Ow…” You complain as the light hits your eyes. Even while they’re closed it feels awful.
He stops his movements. “Did I hurt you, Princess?” He and his stupid nicknames.
“No,” you cover your eyes with your hands. “My head hurts.”
“Are you sick?” He actually sounds concerned. You hate it.
“Yeah,” you feel defeated admitting it.
“You should be in bed. Why do you have your work clothes on?”
You really don’t need his shit right now. You try to pull the blanket back over yourself, but he won’t let go of it. “I took a pill this morning thinking it would go away. But it didn’t, so I called in sick.”
“And you didn’t go back to bed?”
“My head hurts when I move.”
“Damn,” he whispers.
“Can I have my blankie back now?” You meant to say ‘blanket’ but you’re pretty out of it.
“Does my little Princess want her blankie?”
You forgot how weird he gets with the baby talk. “Sh- shut up,” you mumble. He wraps his arms under you and picks you up. “Hey! Dad—Dabi!”
“Shh, no need to be so cranky. Daddy will take care of you.”
“No, I’m fine,” you say but you’re already clinging to him as he carries you into the bedroom.
“Don’t worry, baby girl. I gotcha.” He sets you down on the bed and chuckles when you don’t let go of him. “Sorry, baby, but you gotta let go real quick.”
You’re embarrassed that you were holding onto him like that. You quickly pull your hands to your chest. He turns on the lamp on your nightstand and you wince, covering your eyes with your arm.
“Sorry, Princess. I’ll be quick.” He starts pulling down your nylons. It’s already awkward enough that you didn’t get around to putting your skirt on, but it’s worse when he removes what little clothing is protecting you from his prying gaze.
“H-hey! Stop!” You shoot up to swat his hands away, but your traitorous head forces you back down. “Ow~” you whine.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’m just changing you into something more comfortable.”
You decide the cost of fighting him isn’t worth the pain, so you let him pull down your nylons and unbutton your blouse. You have to move your arm from your face when he slips it off, followed quickly by your under shirt. You feel a chill when he reaches under your back to unclasp your bra. You were cold before, but you’re freezing now. You want to cover your chest and hold onto your bra when he pulls it off, but you feel too weak. So you settle for covering your breasts from his sight. He lingers over your nearly naked body. To your relief, he doesn’t try anything. He just grabs something from your drawers. He pulls some pajama shorts up your legs. How did he know which drawer you keep those in? Maybe you’re better off not knowing.
“What shirt do you wanna wear?” He asks while looking through your closet. “How about this one? It’s nice and soft and has some kitties on it. You like kitties, right?”
“Mmhm,” you mumble.
“All right, baby girl. I’m gonna help you sit up real quick.” He gently helps you into a sitting position. “Arms up,” he instructs. You really don’t want to reveal your body to him, even though he’s already seen and violated every inch of it. But you’re too tired to argue. It’ll be over quickly if you just obey. He maneuvers your arms through the sleeves and pulls the shirt down over your head, adjusting it to sit straight on your body and gently sliding your hair out form under the neckline to rest on your shoulders. “There we go.” He pecks you on the cheek, then carefully lays you back down and tucks you in. “Do you need anything? How are you feeling?”
“Lights off.” Just saying those two little words takes more effort than you care to admit.
“Of course, Princess.” He turns the light off and sits on your bed, petting your hair. There’s still some light coming in through the open door, but you already feel much better. “Do you need any medicine?”
“Um, I took some pain killers earlier. And stuff for nausea, but I think I need some more. I still feel like throwing up.”
“Gotcha. I’ll be right back.” He returns quickly with the bottle of medicine and the little cup that came with it. Your head feels like hell while he situates you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard of your bed and measures out the medicine. “Do you want to take it all at once or a bit at a time?”
“Just a bit.”
He holds the cup to your lips, and you take a sip. Even though the taste isn’t as bad as some other medicine you’ve taken, it still irritates your throat. The artificial sweetness of the grape flavor does nothing to mask the bitter undertone of the medicine, if anything the strange combination of flavors makes it worse. You must have been making a face about it.
“Doesn’t taste too good, huh?” He chuckles.
“It’s okay, just feels weird going down.”
“Mmm, I could make a joke about that, but I won’t. Here, drink up the rest.”
You swallow the rest of the medicine. “Thank you.” Why are you thanking him? You really are delirious. He kisses your head. “Anything for you, Princess,” he whispers into your hair. Ah… why do those words make your heart feel so strange? You don’t want to think about it. You lean into his warmth while he strokes your hair. “Wanna lie back down?”
“Mm.” You can’t get your voice to cooperate.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He settles down onto the bed and wraps the blanket around both of you.
You’re not proud to admit it, but his warmth helps keep the chills at bay, so you press your head against his chest and don’t fight him when he holds you tightly in his arms. You feel his rhythmic breathing on your hair. It’s a small distraction from the pain ravaging your head. You shiver every once in a while, and he squeezes you a bit tighter and rubs your back when you do. You hide your face against his chest to ward off the few rays of light that make it through the curtains covering your window. He must like it, because you can feel his heartbeat quicken.
This whole situation is so strange. He’s a villain, a killer. You should be fighting him off or calling the police. But you can barely bring yourself to move. You don’t feel good when you’re lying down, but you feel better. The threshold of energy for every action you take feels like it’s been raised impossibly high. You should push him away. But you’re cold, and he’s warm. You shouldn’t be cold. It’s summer! But you want to feel his warmth. His staples don’t even bother you anymore. You’ll probably wake up with an imprint of them against your cheek from how you’re snuggling up to his collar bone. But it doesn’t matter. It’s cold. You’re so cold. He’s so warm.
* * *
The nausea finally subsides, thank god. Your head still hurts, but just barely. You probably did sleep a bit, but you don’t know how long. You try to get up, but Dabi has you firmly in his grasp. Squirming around in his arms causes him to sluggishly open his eyes.
“Sleep well, Princess?” He says quietly, as if not to startle you.
You’re grateful though, because you still feel sensitive to sounds. “Yeah.”
He cranes his neck back to look at your alarm clock. He could have just let go of you to turn around. “Almost two o’clock. Did you eat breakfast?”
You shake your head and he frowns. “I felt nauseous.”
“How do you feel now?” He asks.
“Still not that great. I don’t think it’s a good idea to eat too much.”
“How about some plain toast?” He throws off the blanket and you squeak at the cold air. Well, it feels cold to you at least.
“Sorry, baby. I’ll keep you warm,” he states way too smugly as he scoops you up into his arms. You don’t want to hold onto him, but he’s too freaking tall and it feels scary being up this high, having to rely on someone else to support you. Literally. He carries you like it’s nothing, gently setting you down on the couch and covering your legs with a blanket. “Daddy’s gonna grab you something to eat. Can you wait here for me?”
Where else would I go?
You just nod your head.
“Good girl,” he praises and ruffles your hair.
At least you don’t feel cold anymore. Your head feels heavy, so you lean back on the couch and close your eyes. You can hear him grabbing a plate and putting the toast in the toaster. It might be bland, but you really don’t want to eat too much right now. When he comes back, he sets the plate on the coffee table along with a bottle of water and pulls you into his lap. You want to complain, but you still don’t have a lot of energy. You muster as much of it as you can when he puts the plate on your lap and hold the toast to your lips.
“I can eat on my own, you kno—”
Your words are interrupted by the bread.
“I know, I know. But I want to take care of you.”
His body must be producing more heat than before, because your face is suddenly very warm. You’re sitting sideways in his lap with your head leaning on his chest, complaining under your breath between bites of toast and sips of water.
“Let me at least hold the water bottle.” Your words come out whinier than you intend.
“Nope.” The arm he isn’t using to feed you is wrapped around your shoulders and pulls you towards him, as if you could get any closer than you already are. “Just relax, Princess. Let Daddy take care of you.”
He really takes that title to heart. God, it’s embarrassing. He’s so nonchalant about it too! You instinctively hide your face in your hands. “Aw, is my baby girl feeling shy today?” He coos.
“S-stop!” You protest.
But he doesn’t let up. “Hey, it’s okay! Nothing wrong with being shy.” He puts down the water bottle and holds you close. “In fact, I think it’s kinda cute,” he whispers into your ear.
Now he’s done it. You squeak and hide your face against his chest. He only chuckles and rubs your back. Damn this bastard and his smooth voice! You can hear it reverberate in his chest as he laughs at you. It’s not meant in a mocking way, but it still makes you pout. You want him to leave, but you don’t want to him to go. You don’t even know what to feel anymore. He only sighs contentedly and pets your hair.
“Tell me if you need anything else, okay?” He says softly.
You nod against his chest. You hate to admit it, but you really do feel shy for some reason.
The rest of the day is spent rather quietly. He coaxes you into eating another piece of toast and makes sure you finish the water bottle. To your horror, he insists on carrying you to the bathroom when you mention that you have to pee. He at least has the decency not set you down right on the toilet. Unbeknownst to you, he actually considered it. He brings you medicine whenever your headache gets worse, insisting on placing the pill in your mouth himself and holding the water bottle to your lips. He dotes on you all day, refusing to let you check your work emails or get up to grab anything. He brings you whatever you ask for. Need more nausea medicine? He gets it for you. Oh, you want to lie down in the bed again? He’s carrying you to the bedroom before you can finish your sentence about wanting to do it yourself.
Around five or six in the evening, you start to feel much better. Your head still hurts, but it isn’t unbearable. The nausea is very mild now. You’re in bed, lying on top of his chest. His arms hold you a bit less tightly than he usually does. Your head is tucked under his chin. It’s quiet. Nothing but the sound of his breathing and yours mingling with the air conditioning flowing through the vents. The curtains covering your window rustle as the A.C. swishes them to and fro, allowing small specks of light into the room.
His breathing is deep and even, skin hot even through the admittedly thin layers of clothes separating your bodies. In moments like this, you can almost forget how it all started. Let yourself pretend the two of you are a normal couple. He’s just your boyfriend who stopped by to check up on you and take care of you while you’re sick. Isn’t that sweet? It’s such a pleasant delusion. Sometimes you feel like that right when you wake up after he stayed the night. If only your mind could stay in that comfortable fog forever.
The doorbell rings, and that elusive fog is blown away by the cruel winds of reality. Dabi groans and rolls onto his side, taking you with him.
“Um, I’m gonna go get the door,” you speak against his chest.
“No, you’re not.” He adjusts his grip on your body to cradle your head in his hand.
It was worth a shot. The doorbell rings again and you hear knocking. Then your phone vibrates. Dabi grabs it off your nightstand and furrows his brow.
“What? Lemme see,” you say. But he holds it out of your reach. “Hey! It’s my phone.”
“Still. You shouldn’t be worrying about work right now.” He sets it back on the nightstand and nuzzles his face into your hair. You hate how his staples pull at the tangles of your messy bedhead.
“It was about work? What did it say?”
“Kind of. Coworker stopped by to bring you some soup.”
“Oh my gosh, that’s so sweet! I’m going to answer the door.”
He reluctantly loosens his grip but doesn’t let you go completely. You have to wriggle your way out of his grasp.
“Coming!” You call out.
You consider brushing your hair or changing out of your pajamas, but they’ve been standing there long enough. You throw on a hoodie to hide your bird’s nest of hair and rush to open the door.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. It’s just so tough to get out of be—Emi!” You start talking before you’ve even opened the door.
“Hey, Y/N! Sorry, hope I’m not bothering you.” Your coworker, Emi, stands at your door with a sizable container of soup. “I got off work early today, and I thought I’d make my famous hangover soup! I know you don’t have one, but it helps when you’re sick too.” Emi is one of the most thoughtful people you’ve ever met. You’re truly lucky to have such a nice coworker.
“Wow, thank you! That’s so kind of you. Why don’t you come in? I’ll try my best not to get you sick,” you laugh lightly.
Emi enters and looks around. “I’ve never been to your place before. I have to admit, I’m a little curious,” she giggles. “Do you mind holding this for a second? Just so I can take my shoes off.”
“Oh, no problem!” You grab the soup from her and go to set it down in the kitchen. Dabi’s jacket is still sprawled across your counter. Shit. You forgot about that. You set the soup down and quickly scramble for a place to hide it while Emi takes her shoes off. You decide to just toss it in the pantry.
“Do you have a guy over?” Emi asks as she makes her way to the kitchen.
Did she see the jacket? She wasn’t even in the room!
“Oh, uh, what makes you say that?” You say with a nervous lilt to your voice. You’re an awful actress.
“I saw those boots over on your shoe rack. And they’re definitely too big for you.”
“Oh, yeah.” Great. Now you have to come up with an explanation for Dabi. “He’s a friend. He just stopped by ‘cause he heard I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Does he work with us?”
“No! I mean uh, no he just texted me to ask how I was doing and I said I was sick.”
“That’s so nice of him! Where is he? Can I meet him?”
Your headache starts coming back with a vengeance.
“Um, he’s just resting in the bedroom.” You don’t realize how suggestive that sounds until you say it.
Emi lifts her eyebrows and smirks. “Really?”
“No, it’s not like that! We just cuddle.”
Her facial expression doesn’t change. “Oh my god, that is adorable!”
No, it’s not! He fucking broke in!
“Can I meet him? What’s his name? You’re inviting me to the wedding, right?”
You hear a low chuckle from the bedroom. Fuck, Dabi is never going to let you forget this.
“Emi!” You shriek louder than you meant to. “Sorry, look. Things aren’t really official right now and, uh, well he has this… skin condition? So he doesn’t really like meeting new people that much.”
Emi’s lips form a silent ‘O’ She grabs your hands. “Well, I think it’s wonderful that you can look past stuff like that. Looks aren’t everything. Believe me. I know.”
You know, too. But you’ve heard through the grapevine of Emi’s past exploits. Guys that look like angels but act like devils. Not that you didn’t know beforehand that looks aren’t everything.
“I didn’t say he was ugly, just that he has a condition,” you insist.
“Love you too, babe,” Dabi calls from the bedroom.
Shit. You didn’t mean to imply that Dabi is good looking. He is, but that’s beside the point! Emi side eyes you suspiciously.
“Sounds pretty official to me,” she wiggles her eyebrows.
“It’s not like that! It’s… complicated.” You really don’t want to be forced to come up with explanations for the villain who keeps invading your apartment. And body.
“All right, all right. I won’t pry.” Emi lifts her hands in a placating gesture. “I better get going. I know you probably don’t feel like entertaining guests right now. Well, maybe just one guest.” She winks at you.
“Emi!”
“I’m going! Oh, and there’s enough soup for two, so I won’t be mad if you share with your boyfriend— I mean guy friend!” She prances towards the door and slips her shoes on.
“Sorry, Emi. I didn’t mean to get so defensive. Thank you for stopping by. And thanks for the soup. I really appreciate you thinking of me.”
She smiles kindly as she opens the door. “Don’t worry about it. You help me out so much at work that it’s the least I can do. Don’t rush getting better, okay? Take all the time you need.”
“Honestly, I hope I get better quickly. I’d rather be at work than feel like this.”
“Always such a hard worker! Our department is lucky to have you.” She waves goodbye and heads out the door. Just as she’s closing it, she pops her head back in and adds, “Makes it easier to save up for the wedding, too!”
“Emi!” You run to playfully smack her arm, but she’s already closed the door and scampering down the hallway. You smack the door in frustration and groan.
“She gone?” Dabi asks from behind you.
You shriek and whip around. Not the best idea for your headache situation. “When did you get here? How are you so quiet?”
He shrugs. “Gotta be stealthy in my line of work. Plus, it’s fun to sneak up on ya.” He bends forward slightly to get right in your face as he speaks.
“Wha-whatever! Why aren’t you wearing a shirt? Or pants? When did you take them off?”
“A while ago. I don’t have a pair of sweatpants lying around here, and I’m not sleeping in my regular clothes all day. Anyway, that was your coworker? I like her. She’s nice,” he smirks.
“You only like her ‘cause she thinks we’re together!”
“Is that such a bad reason to like someone? Don’t tell me you’re jealous, baby girl.” He purposefully says that last sentence in a much lower voice. You hate how your body automatically responds to it.
“Whatever! I’m getting some soup. I actually have a bit of an appetite right now, so I’m not gonna miss this opportunity.” You push past him and stomp off to the kitchen.
“Good idea. I’m starving,” he says nonchalantly. You stop. “Hm?”
You hadn’t thought about it, but… “Dabi?”
“Yeah?” He looks at you with concern.
“What did you eat today?”
“Some cereal this morning before I stopped by. Why?” He says it like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter that he didn’t eat all damn day.
“Did you… did you not eat anything while you were taking care of me?” You try to keep your voice steady.
He lets out a little laugh. “You worryin’ about me, Princess? I can handle myself. Besides,” he walks up to you and wraps his arms around you, “I’m used to going a few days without food. No big deal.”
Your eyes well up with tears. It’s so stupid. You shouldn’t care. It’s not like he’s going to starve to death after one day. Still, the thought that someone put their own needs on hold to take care of you moves you deeply.
“You must have been so hungry all day. And I didn’t even think to ask!” You’re seconds from breaking down when he pats your head and shushes you.
“Don’t cry, baby girl. I’m fine, really. But I won’t do something like that again if it upsets you.” He rubs soothing circles on your back while you hug him tightly. “My sweet little girl, worrying about me even when she’s sick.”
You don’t want to admit it. You shouldn’t care about him, but you do.
“Let’s go get something to eat, okay?” He says before he picks you up and carries you over to the dining table. You don’t fight him when he sets you down in a chair and kisses your forehead. He grabs some bowls form the kitchen and microwaves two portions of soup. Then he sets one bowl in front of you with a spoon and sets his own next to you. “Say ah.”
“Ah.”
He grabs your spoon and feeds you. It doesn’t fluster you as much now, since he’s been doing it all day.
“Good girl,” he praises and readies another spoonful for you.
This time, you don’t take it. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Aren’t you hungry? You should be eating too.”
“It’s okay I can wait. You come fir—”
“—No! You’ve been waiting all day.” You grab the spoon from his bowl and bring some soup to his lips. “Y-you should eat too.”
He sets your spoon back into your bowl. He looks shocked. Is he angry with you? But then his face melts into a much softer expression.
“My sweet girl,” he smiles. You can’t handle his praise anymore and aggressively shove the spoon in his face. It spills a bit on his chest, but he doesn’t seem to care. “Gonna clean up that mess, baby girl?” He smirks without even trying to wipe it up.
“Okay, I’ll grab some napkins.”
He grabs your wrist when you try to get up. “Why don’t you use that pretty little mouth of yours?”
You can only sputter incoherent syllables in response.
Way to ruin any good will you had going for you, asshole.
“D-Dabi!” You squeak indignantly.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He intertwines his fingers with yours. “I know you’re not in the mood for stuff like that today. And I won’t force you, but,” he looks like he’s looking for the right words that won’t piss you off, “I miss the feeling of your tongue.”
God. Fucking Damnit.
You huff out a “Fine, whatever,” and sit back down. He has been taking care of you all day, so this is the least you can do for him, right? He’s not pressuring you into sex or anything. Just cleaning a little mess in a very suggestive way. You quickly lap up the little bit of liquid, trying to ignore his sensual groans. If you’re being honest, you missed the strange sensation of his purple skin on your tongue.
“There,” you say as if that weren’t incredibly embarrassing and way too intimate for your tastes. “Now, just eat your soup!”
He obediently opens his mouth and the two of you take turns feeding each other. It takes way longer than it should, but it’s actually pretty fun. Sometimes he’ll tease you and pull the spoon back, making you bend forward to try and get it. You almost want to do the same to him, but you can’t bring yourself to do so. He cleans up the dishes afterwards and puts the leftovers in the fridge. He makes sure you have another water bottle, and you tell him to have one too.
The two of you settle on the couch with the intention of watching a movie, but you spend most of your time scrolling through Netflix arguing about what to watch. It isn’t unpleasant, though. You crack jokes about what looks stupid, what sounds pretentious, and just anything you can make fun of. Finally, you settle on some generic romcom with the intention of ripping on it the entire time. You’re laughing, cracking jokes. Everything feels normal. It feels nice.
It’s past ten now, and you’ve taken to resting your head on Dabi’s shoulder and dozing off instead of watching the show. He doesn’t seem to mind, only stroking your hair and face while you relax against him.
“Princess?” He sounds reluctant to disturb your peace.
“Mm?”
“Isn’t it about time you head to bed?”
You sit up and stretch your legs a bit. “What time is it?”
“After ten.”
“Yeah,” you yawn, “probably.”
“You’re so cute when you’re tired.” He musses your hair while you rub your eyes.
“You always think I’m cute,” you point out.
“True,” he agrees. “I’ll carry you to the bathroom. Being sick is no excuse not to wash up.”
“Okay,” you groan.
“I’ll be sure to lock up before I leave,” he says as he slides his arm under your legs.
“Huh?” You look at him with wide eyes. “You’re leaving?” You have no idea why your voice sounds so despondant.
“Yeah, you told me to leave before midnight on work nights, remember?”
“Oh…” you do remember. But… “Um!”
He pauses his movements, just before lifting you off the couch. You can see the hope in his eyes. “Yeah?”
It gets really cold at night, even during the summer. And he did take care of you all day, so it’s not a big deal if he stays. That’s why. There’s no other reasons for the words you speak quickly and sheepishly, “You can stay.” You look at your hands in your lap and fumble with the hem of your night shirt.
“Thank you,” he says as he sets you back down.
“What?” Your eyes snap to his.
“Thank you, for everything.” Those vibrant blues always manage to capture your attention. It takes more mental energy than you’re willing to admit to rip your gaze from his.
“I should be thanking you, for helping me today. I mean, you shouldn’t have broken in! But still…”
He sits back down and pulls you into his lap with a dizzying speed.
“Hey!” Your cries are muffled by his lips on yours.
“Thank you,” he says again.
“You’re welcome,” you mumble against his lips.