Midnight Skies - A DabixReader Story

No Turning Back Now

"You don't have to do that." You mumble, his last sentence successfully scaring you.
"Do what?" He scoffs. "I'm warning you."
You know that, the issue is you don't necessarily care about it. He really did mean what he said, you could tell that much.
It really wasn't a threat this time.
But he was such a closed book, he'd shut you out over minuscule things, things that didn't even matter. You could only imagine if there was something he really, really didn't want you to find out, there was no way you would hear anything to do with it.
The relaxing thing you couldn't do much about. You had that effect on people. Your eyes unsettled people, and your Quirk did nothing to settle them once it was out in the open that nothing is ever private while you're around.
Your brain begins to revisit the horrible feeling of frustration, settling in as though it was home for you to feel that way. Your throat forms a lump that won't be swallowed away, and you want to cry. Cry like you used to as a child because no-one wanted to be friends with someone that knew everyone's secrets.
It wasn't like you asked for this Quirk. It had done nothing but alienate you throughout your entire life and it just wasn't fair.

One brief flicker of a glimpse at Dabi, and you immediately feel bad about your internal whining about how unfair your Quirk is. Sure, it was irritating, but you'd learned to live with it and manage it as best you could. Had it mostly affected your life in negative ways so far? Yeah, it had.
But your lover, the guy opposite you, wore the unfairness of his Quirk every day. You knew of the pain he lived with because his body would burn up thanks to his Quirk. You could only imagine the damage that had been done to land him with what you suspected were rejecting skin grafts.
When you glance up at him again, his eyes are fixed on you, and he motions for you to join him on the couch lazily.
If he hadn't had the outburst earlier, and then threatened you mere minutes ago, you probably would have tripped over your own feet to join him, but you were uncertain. Your body had moved instantly to join him, but after your first step, you'd halted, eyeing him uncertainly.

"C'mon." He urges, raising his head so he's sitting up properly. "You're makin' me feel cold."
He was telling the truth. He really didn't like seeing you shivering, half naked in front of him. Of course, there were more perverse thoughts there too, but you didn't mind that.
You approach him slowly, his hungry eyes on your legs the entire time.
You had honestly intended to sit next to him, to curl up into him like some kind of cat, but the second you're within reach, one of his arms reaches out, his other hand patting his lap.
Your eyes flick from his lap to his eyes a couple times before obeying, sitting next to him, but draping your legs over his thighs. One of his arms presses your legs tightly to his chest, the feeling of his rough, gnarled skin against yours warm and familiar.
His other arm wraps around your shoulders, bringing your head forcefully to his chest. It's more comfortable, but it was unlike him to initiate any kind of physical contact that wasn't purely sexual, so you feel a little taken aback.
You both fall silent again, his body heat immediately doing the job of warming you up enough to stop you from shivering.

He's lost in his own head, you can tell. He's hidden behind the fortress he builds inside his mind whenever he doesn't want you to know about something. It's uncomfortable for you, and you don't like having to guess what kind of mood he's in, or what he's thinking about, but you ride off the hope that he showed genuine care about your wellbeing when you were drugged, and when you were stood before him freezing, and that he wasn't planning on catching you off guard.
The problem is with the comfort of his embrace, even with the staples lining his skin pressed into your own, and the heat he exudes consistently from his body, it makes you sleepy.
Your eyes become hard to keep open, your eyelids drooping and shooting up again when you catch yourself slipping.
You don't know if he notices, knows, or cares.
"Come back to bed." You try, breaking the silence sleepily.
There's a short continuation of the silence, his hand moving to pet your hair a couple times before dropping to your waist, squeezing your flesh through the baggy shirt you're wearing.
"You're makin' this real hard, princess." He mumbles in return, his voice holding just a tinge of amusement.

You're confronted with the genuine contrast of wants from within his own mind suddenly, the wall having been dropped either consciously or unwillingly.
On one hand, he desperately wants to stay. He wants to give in to you, your soft body, and the seemingly endless care and patience you have for him. He wants to pick you up, carry you to the bedroom, throw you onto the bed and fuck you into the mattress so hard that you pass out and stop your 'whining' and 'looks'.
But he also genuinely wants to leave. He wants to go, get back to his people, and drop off for a few days again. He doesn't want to risk you finding out something about him that would make him have to harm you, or keep you against your will. He doesn't want to be like-

Just like that, the wall was up again, and you physically see the light drain from his eyes. The usual neon brightness that they gave out dull, his eyes half lidding even more than usual.
You process his inner war yourself for a moment, angling yourself so you can trace your eyes up and down his face and drag your thumb lightly over one of his scarred cheeks. You don't miss the bobbing of his throat at the small touch.

Your decision was already made. It had been made the second you learned of what he did for you while you were drugged, sick and helpless. It was made when you kissed for the first time. It was made when you heard his compliments of you mentally, words he was too cowardly, or too proud to say out loud.
For better or for worse, you were in this now. And there was no way you were going to back down first.
You finally allow yourself to make direct eye contact with him.
"Please." You ask, your voice the softest it's ever been, as though you were trying to tame a stray, rabid dog into coming into safety.
There's a cold, hard silence between you both, before Dabi hisses, diving forward to crash your lips together, his fingers digging into you tightly as he desperately tries to pull you closer.

This will be fine, you convince yourself. It will be fine because you knew the care that Dabi was capable of.