Dadmas Day 1: New Baby

Dadmas Day 1: New Baby

pairing: Hawks/Keigo Takami x f!reader

word count: 1.5k

warnings: a little bit of new parent anxiety mentioned, but that's about it. all fluff <3 also your baby has wings.

notes: he would be the best dad and no one can tell me different <3 scared out of his mind, I'm sure, but so, SO good to you and your little baby :(

Being married to the fastest man around certainly comes with it’s fair share of perks, especially when you’re a new parent.

You hear the warbled cry over the video monitor and it wakes you from your much needed slumber. You'd only just gotten back to sleep and you need so much more rest, but you know that you’re not likely to get it. Not with a 10 week old. Not when your husband works the hours that he does.

He didn't want to have to go back to work so soon. He tried and he tried to stay away, so that he could be home with you for the first few months, but the Commission isn't exactly an organization that he can say no to. You were just grateful that you got the couple of months with him that you did have.

The past couple weeks have been an adjustment period for everyone in your precious little family, but you were all managing. You know he worries himself sick about you both when he's on duty and you can only imagine how tired he must be by the time he arrives home, but he always insists on taking over and letting you get some rest.

You rise from the bed, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you shuffle into your slippers to head down the hall, already looking forward to Keigo breezing in through the door to usher you towards the couch for a breather.

You silently hope that maybe, just maybe, your son will fall back to sleep on his own. Maybe you can head back to bed right now and get just a few more minutes of sleep.

To your surprise, the baby does fall quiet. His whine tapers off and you hear him coo oh so quietly. It must be a miracle, you think to yourself.

But then a wave of panic hits you. That nagging thought that always pops up unwelcome in your brain: what if he's quiet, because something happened?

Trying to fight combat the negative thoughts, you tell yourself that he's fine. He must be learning to soothe himself. That's a good thing! There's no need to worry and you certainly don't want to wake him if that's the case.

Still, you scurry back to nab the monitor from your bedroom, turning it on with hopes that you'd be able to see his tiny little chest moving up and down. Maybe catch one of his adorably petite wings twitching in his sleep. Something, anything.

Full blown panic sets in when the monitor powers on and you see nothing. Just an empty crib.

Your heart skips a beat and you almost drop the monitor as you go to take off, but then you hear it.

"Yeah, you're okay, little guy," you hear your husband coo, just barely catching a glimpse of his wing before he strolls back in front of the camera, gently rocking your baby boy back to sleep.

"Mommy needs her sleep, y'know. I think between the two of us, we're gonna end up driving her crazy one day, so let's at least let her get some rest, yeah?" He continues whispering to the child as he paces about the room. "You need sleep too, so you can keep growing, though I can't believe how big you are already."

You clap a hand over your chest, tears welling in your eyes as your heart swells. Maybe the influx of hormones or the delirium of not getting any rest had something to do with the onslaught of tears that begin trickling freely over your cheeks, but it mostly had to do with thr fact that you married such a good man.

He wasn't convinced that he'd be a good dad, despite how badly he wanted kids. He was terrified that maybe he'd end up like one of his parents, despite how you assured him that you knew that would never happen. He was too pure of a soul to let it.

Still, for all your reassurances, he never really believed he'd be great at this, but right now you were seeing the proof. You could only hope that he was able to see it too.

How could he think he was anything less than a great father so far? Even on nights when it seemed like your son would never stop crying, he remained calm enough for the both of you. He was always doing more than his fair share, saying that he had plenty to make up for, since you're the one who had to suffer through labor. Even before the baby was born, he'd surprised you one day by filling the nursery with ay and every little thing you'd mentioned wanting for it. He took the weekend off to make sure that everything was just right for your little one before they even came home.

And here he was, swooping into the nursery—even though he was supposed to be on patrol—to soothe the fussing infant, so that you could get a modicum of more sleep.

You set the monitor back down and travel down the hall to slowly and quietly swing the nursery door open. Keigo freezes in his tracks, though he keeps rocking the baby while he stares at you as if he'd just been caught redhanded.

"I had the monitor app open and I know that you'd only just put him down," he stars explaining, speaking quickly and quietly as he starts shifting his weight from one foot to another. "I was close, so I figured I'd just pop in and take care of it, so you wouldn't have to get up."

"Baby, do you think I'm upset with you or something?" You laugh, though the sound is barely audible.

You're aiming to stay quiet as you approach so that the baby who's nodding off in his arms continues drifting off to sleep. A warm smile tugs at your lips as you look down at the cherubic figure all bundled up in his strong arms. The little wings definitely help him look even more like an angel. Getting a baby swaddled while having to mind said wings is a bit of a chore, but it's worth it to see them the plush crimson feathers ruffling as his eyes close and he lets out the tiniest, cutest yawn you've ever heard.

Keigo's also briefly distracted by the noise and you catch the look on his face when he glances down at your little bundle of joy. You've seen the way he smiles at you. How soft and warm and full of radiance that smile is, but still, that's nothing compared to how he looks at the little miracle that you'd made together. It makes your heart swell with pride all over again.

"No. I mean—," he shrugs, looking a little helpess in a very cute and adorably sincere way as he peeks over at you before carefully laying your son back down in his crib. "I don't want you to think that I don't think you can handle this or something like that."

"Baby, it's okay," you say softly, taking another step closer to wrap your arms around him from behind and gently nuzzle your face between his wings. "I know that you don't think that. I know that you're just doing everything you can for us and I can't even begin to tell you how much I appreciate it."

He smiles to himself, looking down at his slumbering son as he folds his arms over yours, just enjoying your embrace for a moment.

"You both deserve nothing but the best. I really don't mind rushing back home for a few if it means you get another hour or sleep. You deserve it," he whispers, giving your arm a squeeze before he steps away to turn and pull you into his arms.

"And that's exactly why I will never stop telling you what a great dad you are," you reply, smiling softly as you drape your arms around his neck to pull him into a kiss. "Pretty good husband too."

It's dark in the room, but you can feel the heat rising in his neck to flood his face as you start walking backwards to guide him out of the nursery.

"Just doin' my best," he murmurs, mirror your smile as he sends a feather off to close the door behind you once you step out into the hall.

"Well," you say as you begin to walk your fingers along his pecs. "Since I am already awake and you're here..do you have some time?"

His eyebrows raise, hands slipping to your hips as he brings them flush against his own. "I think I can make some time. If you're sure you don't wanna just head back to bed," he adds sincerely, checking your expression to make sure.

"You two are worth losin' sleep for," you whisper, smiling as you lean in to press your lips to his again as you tug him into the bedroom.

thinking about watching tomura sleep.

maybe lying on the bed, rolling onto your side, thinking to yourself this is one of these times you want to last forever. few are the times in which he looks so peaceful — you can see it in the way his eyelids are shut, his expression completely relaxed. there's no stress, anger or nothing that can possibly perturb his peace, and it's written all over his slightly parted lips, soft snores and occasional spasms of his limbs. he's so unaware of how beautiful he looks, how much you admire that peace. all of that is a motive for a smile to sneak into plain view — it's a moment to treasure.

but just when a finger reaches for the strand of his hair curtaining his face in order to brush it away, you realize that, in fact, he's aware that you're there. a surprised squeak leaves you when your wrist is tugged at, so that now you're pulled into him.

"quit watchin' and sleep instead." he sighs, a trail of his hoarse voice, product of his sleeping, coating his words.

now that he's wrapped his arms around you, buried his nose into your hair, and he inhales the scent of your shampoo, easily dozing back off, now it's safe to say that he's truly at ease.

love's no problem in my hands

includes: barbatos x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

wc: 1.5k | rated g | m.list | cross-posted on ao3

a/n: just had to get this out quick i swear im on hiatus lololol. for @messysketchyobeyme as part of the @omsecretsanta2022 event. i hope you enjoy!!

please reblog <33

Now, he keeps his feelings close to his chest, aware that he’s not the only one who holds them for you. That knowledge should be souring, should bring him to his senses, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because of you, because of how you make time for him, make him feel like the only demon in the world when you look at him, make him believe, if only for a second, that impossibilities are possible. Okay, yeah, it’s definitely because of you.

So he holds his feelings, keeps them to himself, and it’s okay. He’s not prone to jealousy, or possessiveness, has learned over the many, many years to be satisfied with what he has, and what he has is more than enough. He has Diavolo and a place in a wonderful community filled with wonderful people, and your friendship, which is more than he could’ve dreamed of.

Barbatos doesn’t know how it started. 

Well, alright, he knows when he first noticed it. But he has a feeling the feelings had been there, building, culminating, for a lot longer than that. 

He first noticed his affection for you on a spring day, one of the warmest the year had seen so far. You’d shed your uniform jacket, rolled up the sleeves, and gone outside during lunch, claiming the quad as your own. Claiming the attention of everyone on the quad. And like moths to a flame, everyone had followed, as they always did. Him included. 

“It feels so nice out,” you’d chirped, face turned up to the non-existent sun, and Barbatos had become aware of a buzz under his skin, a curious warmth that he’d never really felt before. It didn’t take a genius for him to place the feelings, and he accepted them a lot easier than he thought he would, with them clicking into place like the last piece of a previously hidden puzzle. He finally understood what everyone was talking about, finally understood why people were pushed to invent, to create, to conquer in the name of love.

Of course, while he was going through all of these realizations and acceptions, time had moved forward, and you were now surrounded by everyone, with him on the outside, like always, slightly distanced, the few feet like an uncrossable gorge. But you, you with your crooked half-smile and wonderful gleam in your eyes, had looked through, to him, smile somehow widening just for him, and that had made it all okay, made that gorge seem like nothing more than the few feet it actually was.

Now, he keeps his feelings close to his chest, aware that he’s not the only one who holds them for you. That knowledge should be souring, should bring him to his senses, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because of you, because of how you make time for him, make him feel like the only demon in the world when you look at him, make him believe, if only for a second, that impossibilities are possible. Okay, yeah, it’s definitely because of you.

So he holds his feelings, keeps them to himself, and it’s okay. He’s not prone to jealousy, or possessiveness, has learned over the many, many years to be satisfied with what he has, and what he has is more than enough. He has Diavolo and a place in a wonderful community filled with wonderful people, and your friendship, which is more than he could’ve dreamed of.

“What are you thinking so hard about?” you tease, poking him lightly with the blunt end of your pencil. He blinks, coming back to himself, coming back to the club meeting, and gives you a half smile. The club was one you both co-ran, some ‘community wellness’ thing that you were a lot more passionate about than he. But he put his everything in it, for you.

“I apologize, I must have been distracted. Remind me of our discussion,” 

“Barbatos? Distracted?” Your face is bright, cheerful. “Who are you and what have you done with the real Barbatos?” 

“Funny, really,” he returns, and the laugh he is gifted with is quickly saved, pressed into the scrapbook of his memories, to be taken out and admired every now and again, treasured close to his chest. 

“Anyway…” you pull him back into the meeting with vigor, with enthusiasm, as with everything you do, and he lets himself be pulled willingly. What a fool he must be, to take the chains from your hand and wrap them around his wrist himself.

Once the meeting is over you check your D.D.D., cursing. He directs an inquisitive look at you, and you grin guiltily. The school is dark, and mostly empty, and it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the world.

“It’s a lot later than I thought it was,” you explain. “Is there any way I can beg a ride off of you? I’d be really thankful.” 

“I suppose,” Barbatos replies, making a show of being long-suffering. You draw out his humor in a way no one else does, and he’s grateful, so immensely grateful, that you see his dry, deadpan remarks for what they are and don’t just think he’s dreadfully boring. 

“Thank you so much!” You squeeze his side in a hug, apparently not feeling the staggering static that emanates from where the two of you touch, that sends shivers of electricity up and down his entire frame. “I owe you one.” 

“You always say that,” he accuses lightly. “At this point, I believe you owe me a lot more than that.” 

“Probably.” You shrug, unrepentant. He really shouldn’t find that shamelessness so charming. 

Being in a car with you is like torture. Torture he can stand, revels in, delights in. 

You’re close, within touching range. Not that he’d ever put his hands on you without your express and explicit permission, but the forced intimacy gets to him. You’re so comfortable in his car, shown by the way you commandeer the radio, the way you dig through his glovebox like it was yours for the taking. 

(Everything of his is yours for the taking, for the having, for the keeping.) 

“What’s this?” you ask, more to yourself than anything, but he looks over anyway. You’ve got a CD in your grip, reading the back. 

“That,” he says, “is my favorite CD. So be careful with it, please.”

“It’s your favorite?” 

He nods, and you give him that crooked smile, ejecting the CD that was in the player, exchanging it out. 

“We don’t have to listen to it,” he tries, and you wave him off. 

“Of course we do! It’s your favorite, and I want to hear it too!” 

 You pull pieces of him to the surface, almost by accident, and he stands there in front of you, exposed. But you’re always careful with the new parts of him that are revealed, treating them as preciously and as kindly as you’d treat an invaluable glass sculpture.

The first track starts and he keeps his gaze on the road, humming along. He can feel your eyes on him, and eventually, eventually gives into the urge to look over, meeting your eyes. 

“I can see why you like it,” you murmur, quiet for once. “It’s very…” you hold the words in your mouth, tasting them, savoring them. “It’s very you.” 

“Thanks, I think.”

“You’re quite welcome.” 

It’s quiet in the car, aside from the CD, of course, but he doesn’t mind the silence. Never has. Others feel it as a pressure, but he doesn’t, and knows, despite your propensity to talk and laugh and be in constant motion, don’t either. It’s a comfort, to be in silence with you. 

The drive to the House of Lamentation takes forever. Isn’t nearly long enough.

When he pulls into the circle drive, past the immaculately pruned bushes and other ostentatious landscaping, he resists the urge to go slower, to coast at a snail’s pace. He’s better than that. Barely. 

“Thanks for the ride,” you say as he pulls to a stop, lowering the volume of the music. “I really appreciate it.” 

“Of course,” he says. “You know me. Barbatos: butler, glorified babysitter, and part-time chauffeur.” 

He’s rewarded again with your laugh, but it fades into something thoughtful, something intimate.

“You’re so much more than that,” you say, and when he looks over at you in muted surprise, you’re not returning his gaze, instead focused somewhere in the far-off distance, maybe in the far-off past. Either way, you blink and come out of it quickly, but don’t take your words back. Instead, you do something, that even with all of his overthinking, his planning, his habit of examining every possibility, he’d never seen coming: 

You lean over and kiss him on the cheek.

Your lips are warm, and dry, and un-lingering. He stares at you in shock as you pull away, heart pounding a mile a minute. 

“Well,” you say with another laugh, much more high-pitched and nervous than the others he’d heard from you, “thanks again. I’ll be going in now.” 

You slide out of his car quickly, crossing the distance between it and the door in seconds. He almost thinks you’re not going to look back, until you do, that damned crooked smile on your lips, fluttering your fingers in a wave, even as embarrassment and joy war in your eyes. 

It takes a long time, too long, for him to pull himself together enough to pull away from the House of Lamentation, and he has to take the most convoluted way home he can think of to fully rid himself of his blush– a herculean task, considering that kiss plays on repeat in his head, the memory of your smile almost tangible. Who would have thought a simple kiss on the cheek would have been enough to bring the always-composed, always-distant Barbatos back down to the realm of unstoppable, human emotion?

Maybe you returning his feelings isn’t as far-fetched a possibility as he’d thought. 

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

in the lane

bakugou x reader wc: 1.7k cw: christmas fluff, regular fluff, implied heavy petting

You lazily tug your boots off and leave them in a heap next to the couch in the foyer of the Dynamight agency. You're the only person here on Christmas Eve, everyone else having gone home to trade in their hero names for names like "Mom" and "Dad" and "Rich Wine Aunt." 

Being alone on Christmas isn't so bad, really. You finally get one quiet night to yourself. Sure, you were on call to respond to any emergencies, but it seemed even villains took a holiday break, as you'd covered the Christmas graveyard shift three years in a row and never had to so much as stop a purse-snatcher or get a cat out of a tree. 

There's a huge Christmas tree set up in the main lobby, at least 15 feet tall with green and orange ornaments hung in alternating patterns. You pass it on your way to the kitchen to grab some snacks and a bottle of sparkling grape juice. You pop the bottle, letting the foam drip into the sink, before pouring yourself a glass and then heading back to the seating area in the foyer. 

The heavier accessories for your hero costume lie on one couch, and a mountain of blankets and your laptop lie on another. You curl up into a nest of blankets, positioning your phone and the police radio close to you so that you'll be quick to receive any notifications - just in case - and then open your laptop and settle in for your annual movie night. 

"Happy holidays, Dave," you say to the security camera positioned in the far corner of the room, raising your glass. The camera slowly tilts up, then down, making a mechanical whirring sound the entire time. Dave, the remote building security guard, is your annual Christmas companion. Last year you'd climbed on top of a chair and held a piece of paper with your phone number on it up to the lens, and now Dave sporadically texts you with office gossip he's privy to thanks to his position overseeing the security cameras from wherever he actually lived. 

Yeah, Dave's cool. 

You sip your non-alcoholic bubbly and start your first movie. The police radio and your phone both stay quiet and you're nearly halfway through the third movie of a high fantasy trilogy when you hear some commotion at the front door. 

The clock on the wall says it's 5am - time for the Christmas morning skeleton crew to take over. And so passes another uneventful Christmas Eve. 

Slowly, you untangle yourself from the mess of blankets and head to the door to help them in. "Dave, can you get the lights?" you call out. As the main overheads of the agency turn on, you see that it's actually only one person at the door, and it's who you'd least expect - the big man himself. Dynamight. 

"Sir?" you say tentatively, cocking your head to the side, as you open the door for your boss. 

"Thanks," he grumbles as he slips past you. 

He's in sweats, a beanie covering the mess of blonde hair on his head. Even then, he's stupidly handsome. And still impossible to figure out. 

"Is... everything okay?" you call after him.

He stops in his tracks. "What?" His voice is gruff. 

"I just--" you look away from him instinctively, even though he has his back turned towards you, "--what are you doing here?" 

"I'm the morning shift. Taking over. You can go home." 

"You're the morning shift?" 

He sighs, heavily. "Yeah, what did you expect?" 

"I don't know," you wave your hand in the air, "someone like me who doesn't have anywhere to be. Don't you have a wife and kids?" 

Now he finally turns to look at you. "No? Who the fuck told you I have a wife and kids?" 

You shrug. "I dunno, everyone in the office thinks you have a secret family." 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Well, I don't. Now, get the hell out of here, it's a holiday" 

You turn your head slowly towards the security camera and raise your eyebrows at Dave, who you're hoping is seeing your expression from his computer screens.

Dynamight disappears into the locker room, duffel bag and gauntlets slung over his shoulder. 

Your phone buzzes against the hardwood of the table where you'd set up shop last night and you check text on your watch. 

Dave: you should make a move 

"Are you insane?" you whip your head up to glare at the lens of the camera. 

A few moments later: i see how you look at him

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "He's my boss. And he's way out of my league." 

i see how he looks at you

Your cheeks get hot. "Whatever, Dave," you mumble as you start to clean up the blankets and put away your laptop. 

"What're you still doing here?" Dynamight calls from the hallway. You open your mouth to answer, but suddenly the overhead lights shut down and the Christmas tree in the lobby lights up, starting from the bottom, until all of the connected strings illuminate the tree and leave you both in a warm yellow glow. 

You want to say something. Really, you do. But he’s walking towards you, eyebrows knitted together in confusion, the sparkling lights of the tree reflected in his irises, and your breath catches in your throat. He’s staring at you and you’re about to drown in his pupils when he breaks the silence. 

“I’ll check the breaker.” 

You nod quickly. “Sounds good.” 

Then he’s gone again. 

Childishly, you stick your tongue out at the Dave-camera before cleaning up the rest of your blanket nest. A few minutes later, the lights are back on and Dynamight returns to the lobby. 

“Go ahead,” he lifts his chin at you, “I’ll lock the door after you.”

“Where’s the rest of the morning crew?” 

He snorts. “I’m the whole crew. I can handle it on my own.” He moves towards the exit. 

“Actually,” you clear your throat, “I was wondering if you’d like some company on your patrol?” 

He quirks a brow at you. “Why?” 

“So we don’t both have to be alone on Christmas,” you answer, biting your lip. A move that, unbeknownst to you, sends Bakugou’s heart in a tailspin. 

He pauses. “Get your gear on,” he finally replies. 

The patrol, like your evening before, is uneventful. And mostly quiet. You don’t usually have this much time alone with your boss. He keeps his eyes in front of him, chin tucked into the collar of his costume, peering out at the sidewalk in front of him. Everything is closed, so there are no people or cars around. The only thing you hear is the quiet crunch of ice and snow under your boots as you walk alongside him. 

“You always take the Christmas Eve shift?” he asks you while you’re walking back towards the agency. 

You nod. “It’s kinda nice. I like being alone.” 

His expression softens, and a half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Me too.”

The sky transforms from a pale blue to a pinkish-orange sunrise as the patrol goes on, making the snow on the ground sparkle. 

“Why’d you take the Christmas day shift?” you ask him, turning around to walk backwards. 

“Beats bein’ home alone. Or with my parents,” he says, “and ‘s quiet. I like the quiet.”

“Me too,” you echo him. 

“You’re quiet,” he muses.

“I guess I am,” you shrug. 

“Then I guess I like you.” 

It takes you by surprise, and you catch yourself mindlessly staring at him just a moment too late; you’re not looking ahead and you slip on a patch of ice, sending you flying downward on what probably would have been a nasty fall if your boss hadn’t caught you. One of his arms is underneath you, the other gripping on to your shoulder to keep you upright. 

“Thank you,” you say breathlessly. 

“Looks like I had to save someone on this shift after all,” he laughs as he helps you to stand on your own feet again.

He spends the rest of the walk back to the agency teasing you about your clumsiness, and you pretend to hate it, although you’re secretly enjoying the attention from Katsuki - a name he said you should call him. And when a sudden wind sends chills through your body, he pulls you into his side, happy to share his warmth with you. 

cute. says another text from Dave, who can see you both walking arm in arm when you finally make it back. 

You enter the agency to Winter Wonderland playing over the P.A. system. The overhead lights have been dimmed to a soft glow. It might even be a few degrees warmer than it was before. You throw a mean glare towards Dave, mouthing a quick what the fuck. 

“What’s happening?” you ask Katsuki, putting on your best act, not willing to tell him that your friend the security guard was trying to play wingman via nostalgic music and romantic lighting. He’s standing near the tree, looking up towards the P.A. speakers, and you shuffle towards him. 

Just as he turns towards you, there’s a red and green blur in front of your eyes. You blink and realize it’s a mistletoe that’s just fallen down from the ceiling, right in between you and Katsuki.

“How the fuck did you pull this one off?” Katsuki says loudly, looking past you. You turn, but there’s no one there. 

Then it dawns on you. 

“Do you know Dave?” you whisper, and Katsuki’s gaze snaps back to your face. His eyes move back and forth from the mistletoe to your lips. He lets out a shaky laugh, then grabs either side of your face and kisses you. 

Your fingers curl around the collar of his costume and pull him close to you, prolonging the kiss for as long as you can. When you pull away, you eye the security camera, your cheeks getting a little warm. 

“Afternoon crew is almost here,” Katsuki says, “and there’s no cameras in my office.” 

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄

in which: you take tomioka ice skating as a way of destressing from the tough mission you were sent on. turns out, the water hashira isn't that good at it.

warnings: 1.5k, fluff, descriptions of trauma from demon slaying, reader is a hashira ! gn!reader, bad characterisation ? idk i've only watched the anime + first kny work :3

˗ˏˋ XMAS MASTERLIST ´ˎ˗

The moon was beautiful tonight. 

You admire the silver light seeping through the leaves in awe, loving them even more so when watching the way they fall on Tomioka’s half-half haori. A beautiful sight to behold; he is, even during the darkest hour and parts of you still feel a little scarred and vulnerable from the mission you were just sent on.

Tomioka, on the other hand, seems as unscathed as ever and you admire him now more than ever. With the blood of demons still lingering on your sword, and the symbol of your growth as a hashira donned on the uniform you wear, there’s still parts of you that have not hardened from the harshness of this job.

To stand on the front lines between life and death won’t ever get easier, but you’ve been saying that to yourself ever since you first wielded your Nichirin sword.

“Aren’t you cold, Tomioka?” You asked whilst rubbing your hands along your biceps, hoping to create some warmth from the friction.

“No,” comes his curt reply, as ever.

You huff, your breathe condensing into a momentary cloud before fading away. 

“Why, are you?” He asks in a uncharacteristically attempt to continue conversation.

“A little, I guess the post-battle adrenaline has washed off.”

The dark-haired remains silent.

“Uh, good job today by the way,” you pipe up again after several beats of silence. “You were amazing, as always.”

Tomioka doesn’t say anything. Even after countless missions together, you still can’t reach him easily. Despite being the hashira that you work with the most, Tomioka is also the one you are still strangers with. The prospect of being sent on a mission with him sometimes makes you more nervous than hearing about where you’re fighting, or who.

As the snow continues to fall, covering up the footsteps you and Tomioka are leaving behind, you think you’re about to leave the forest, and you’re right when you hear a collection of laughter and delighted shrieks. From multiple people- probably a crowd.

Placing a hand on your sword handle just in case, you jump onto a stable tree branch to gain a higher perspective, hoping that it would be tall enough to overlook the hill.

“It’s just an ice skating rink,” you tell the water hashira, relieved and welcoming the sight of many delighted people in one place. 

“Then let’s continue back to headquarters,” he responds dryly as you land on the snow beside him with little sound.

“Wait,” you brush off the snow that managed to get on you. “I’m going to patrol this area, there’s a lot of people and susceptible to demon attacks, especially in the place we were sent to protect.”

He narrows his eyes ever so slightly at you. “You want to ice skate.” 

Poking out your tongue, you shrug in faux innocence. “I’ll still be on guard,” you defend. “You’re welcome to head back to headquarters before me.”

Tomioka’s expression doesn’t change and with a little hesitation, you turn away from him to head towards the ice skating rink, part of you still hoping he’d relent and join you. It was a lot more lit up than you thought, with many candles in lanterns hung around the area to illuminate the dark for skaters.

As you approach a booth that nursed rows upon rows of ice skates, the attendant offers you a smile in greeting. “What’s your shoe size?”

When you tell her, she then looks behind you.

“And how about you, sir?” She questions and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion before turning around, only to be greeted by the same haori you’ve been staring at the entire night. Tomioka doesn’t falter at your surprise, calmly delivering his answer as the store attendant then goes off to find your requests.

You truly did not think Tomioka would accompany you - you didn’t even hear his footsteps! Nor sense his presence! He truly baffled you sometimes.

“I thought you would return to headquarters to Master and deliver the report,” you murmur. He looks at you with those dead eyes.

“His instructions were that we must travel as a pair. In case there are demons, I’m here for backup.” His bluntness brings an affectionate smile to your face unknowingly, and you turn back to the employee when she comes back with your skates.

Sitting down at a nearby bench, you ignore how cold the planks are on the back of your legs and swiftly put the skates on. It’s when you stand up that you realise a certain Water Hashira is having difficulty putting his on. 

“Need some assistance?” You ask. He nods, a little shy in the way he slumps, and part of you melts at the new side of Tomioka.

He’s silent while you do up his shoes, watching the way your hands work nimbly. 

“Have you ever gone ice skating, Tomioka?”

“No.”

“Would you like some help?”

“Yes, please.”

You offer him your hand which he takes promptly, and when he stand up on the skates, he wobbles a little before gaining his balance. “Ice skating is a little weird at first, but eventually it’s just like walking, but a lot faster.”

He nods with pursed lips, his cheeks now beginning to turn red from the frost. You try not to focus too much on how Tomioka’s calloused hands feel around yours, and how close he’s standing to you. 

“Nothing to be scared of though, I’m here.”

Tentatively, you guide him over to the edge of the ice, going on first before he does. At least there wasn’t a lot of people on this frozen over pond, allowing your acquaintance to take his time with adjusting to the ice.

He steps on and immediately loses his balance, holding onto you for dear life as he silently freaks out about the slippery surface below his skates. You have to hold in your amusement as you stabilise yourself to become a good base of support.

Eventually, he stands up, looking at you with wide eyes. 

“Good, good. Now just give yourself a little push from one foot!”

He follows your command, gliding a little too far along the ice that you had to move out of his way so he wouldn’t crash into you. He then looks at you with a little more fear in his eyes.

“You’re doing well! C’mon, just a little more,” you encourage, backing away a little so he has more room to move. “One foot at a time.”

The Water Hashira follows your instructions to a T, and you find yourself talking less and less as his hold on you lessens, eventually you transition to just holding him with one hand, now skating side by side with him.

“You’re a quick learner,” you compliment with a reassuring smile. His shoulders aren’t so stiff anymore, but his hold on you is tight, tight enough that if he’s going down, you’re going down with him too. 

And, funnily enough, you do.

It’s almost comical, how he falls backwards and naturally, pulls you into his space as well. You only have a quick second to react, and no matter how good someone’s reflexes are, on ice, it’s not the same. Placing your hand on one side of his body, perfectly on his haori, as the other goes to the opposite side, you just register the awkward position you’ve landed in.

Whilst he’s on his butt, you’re on all fours, set over his legs as his face is dangerously close to yours.

His warm breath is close enough to graze your face whilst he looks at you with shock.

You laugh it off, shaking the ice on your hand as you retreat to your own space. A beat passes and Tomioka too, to your surprise, begins laughing. His laughter is quiet but so warm, almost ironic for the coldness that coated the two of you like a blanket.

As the ice dampens to seep through your shins and his bottom, it’s hard to find it a bother, not when you’re both laughing at his clumsiness.

Any threat of demons in the area are forgotten and for a moment, everything feels fine. There’s no one to avenge, there aren’t any family members to protect, and you’ve been momentarily transported away from the battlefield to laugh with Tomioka Giyuu, an equally traumatised and guarded man with a golden heart.

“Let’s get back up,” you murmur, offering him your hand once more. Slowly, you stand up.

“Your hands are cold,” he whispers.

“So are yours,” you counter, watching as he rises to stand above you.

The hours keep ticking through the night as you and Tomioka make your way around the rink a couple times. People come and go, he gets a little more confident but despite that, he never seems to let go of your hand and you can’t find it in yourself to complain. Tomioka falls over a couple more times, sometimes you catch yourself before you can go down with him. 

But when you do find yourself on the ice, eye-to-eye with him, you can’t help but laugh again. 

And he can’t help but join. Even though it’s so cold, the Water Hashira warms at how pretty you are when you’re smiling.

daydreaming about husband! dabi, who tries his best to gift you the christmas of your dreams.

gn! reader, husband! dabi, ex-villain! dabi, fluff, romance, christmas, wedding rings, semi-angst (if you squint), dabi is: trying

1.4k (unedited)

a/n ~ it’s midnight in the uk; merry christmas everyone! ♡ wishing you all a v happy holiday ♡

reblogs are appreciated ~

it’s mid-winter, and ever since the celebration of your marriage—just a mere six months ago—this is the first of what you hope to be many christmases together, but when you voice your excitement in the form of a giddy little laugh as you gush something about decorating the christmas tree, dabi doesn’t entirely get it.

it’s no secret that his adolescent years weren’t exactly picture-perfect, but still, he has some memory of the busyness of the kitchen as his mother had stressed over baking dozens upon dozens of mince pies (the traditional kind, as a then-youngster natsuo had gone through a phase of refusing to eat anything that wasn’t meat-based). but, spending majority of his adult life as a villain means that it’s been many years since he’s been privy to the hustle and bustle of preparing for the holidays, along with the mad dash of last minute preparations, because, believe it or not, villains are usually a tad too busy to be thinking about christmas presents. and even though your million-watt smile is enough to brighten the gentle twinkle in his eye when he catches you peeking at him whilst busying yourself baking those very same mince pies that his mother had made all those years ago, he suspects that your enthusiasm is slightly played upon, all for his sake.

but, despite the fact that he’s evidently not as excited as you are—because, really, he doesn’t need the presents that you keep stuffing underneath the abstractedly-decorated tree—he still goes out of his way to buy you a gift of your own.

and it’s carnage.

he hasn’t a clue what he’s looking for, second-guessing each time he spots something that he suspects that you may like, and after a particularly dreadful venture into the local bookstore, he has no choice but to leave when he becomes dangerously close to setting the place on fire. the trials and errors of gift shopping seem to serve only to frustrate him further, because despite the fact that you now bare his surname, he soon realises that, actually, there’s a lot that he doesn’t know about you.

he doesn’t know your favourite foods, mainly because he’s never been a particularly fussy eater himself, so he doesn’t have a favourite of his own. that, and as far as he’s noticed, you don’t harbour any strange eating habits, so he’s never bothered to ask if there’s anything that you don’t enjoy. the same goes with drink; he’s never been a heavy drinker, but when the two you do indulge, you’ve always been more than happy to share whatever liquor he’s chosen for the night. there’s a horrifyingly quiet moment when he dares to ponder if you’d simply done so just to please him, and that leaves a sour taste on his tongue.

clothes are also a no-go. he’s only ever been interested in removing yours, and usually, it is you who is in charge of updating even his own wardrobe whenever the seasons change. he’s also loathe to admit that he doesn’t actually know your dress size, pausing upon the realisation in the middle of a clothing store—that looks far too obnoxious for both your tastes (and his own)—so abruptly that some poor lady almost chins him as she’s force to come to a sudden halt in the middle of the aisle. he pointedly ignores the well aimed glare that is shot toward him, which only intensifies when she appears to recognise just who he is. only, that pretty little glare of hers morphs into an expression of unabashed horror when he sneers down at her with a wicked flash of his teeth, and there’s a pang of triumph that gnaws at his chest when she scurries away as fast as her ridiculously thin heels will allow her. eventually, he makes the mistake of asking toga, and she’s just as useless as he is—some frills or lace should do, no? she’d cackled down the phone, and he’d promptly terminated the call—and all too soon, he’s reached the point of which he’s ready to give up.

only, as he’s making his way home—and most definitely not sulking—from his peripheral vision, he spots just the very place that should’ve been an obvious first choice from the beginning of this disaster of a trip.

a jewellers.

at the time of your marriage, his finances hadn’t exactly been anything to brag about, so the idea of wedding rings had been forfeited in favour of paying for a decent service instead. he may not have been able to afford to put a ring on your finger, but he made damn well sure that you got the wedding of your dreams.

and now, as he ducks into the entranceway, listening to the tittering tinkle of the bell that sings the announcement of his arrival, he decides that he’s going to give you the christmas of your dreams, too.

and, despite the fact that, initially, he didn’t understand the appeal of the joyous holiday, less that twelve hours have passed and he’s smothering the urge to grimace upon the recognisable sensation of his stomach twisting with nerves. you’re already grinning so wide that the apples of your cheeks are rounded with the efforts of your giddiness, and you trace your fingertips over the shoddily wrapped box that he’d almost thrown across the room when he just couldn’t make his gift-wrapping look as pretty as yours. it looks a mess—there’s far too much cello-tape, and the paper has crinkled and faded after being folded and unfolded several times during the ordeal.

still, you’re happy, and dabi is awed, once again, at the sheer loveliness of your smile.

with your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, you tug your way through the unforgiving amount of paper that definitely wasn’t needed, and from where he lazes against his favourite cushion, long legs splayed across the length of the settee, dabi watches, keenly, as you reveal the very gift that he’d chosen all by himself.

there are already tears pooling into the corners of your eyes as you pop open the lid, and he hears the hitch of your breath. ‘y-you—’ you’re swallowing, thickly, unshed tears teetering upon the tips of your lashes, but when you manage to tear your gaze toward him, it is dabi who has to pretend that he doesn’t feel a tad nauseous because of the nerves that are chewing at his insides. ‘dabi,’ you breathe, ‘touya—i—’

‘couldn’t get you one ‘fore,’ he mumbles, the tips of his ears hot. ‘wanted to put a ring on you, make your finger look real pretty.’

and then, whatever he thought he may have said next is punched from straight out of his lungs when you literally launch yourself into his lap, arms curling tight around his waist. it’s instinct; easy now, the way that he returns your embrace, when once, there was a time when the mere thought of touching another would’ve repulsed him. he’s come a long way, he knows this, and in you, he’s found a home of which he belongs. welcoming the scent of you into the expanse of his lungs, he inhales, deeply, nuzzling the tip of his nose into the warmth of the pulse at your throat.

after, with another coy tug of the corner of your mouth, your voice is as sweet as honey when you ask him to place it on you.

your mouth moulds to the shape of his, all sweet tongues and the occasional bump of teeth, and the taste of salt sits on the flat of his tongue as it swipes over your bottom lip, again and again, and again. there’s a coil in his gut that’s building with each press of your lips, and after, with another coy tug of the corner of your mouth, your voice is honeyed when you ask him to place the ring upon your finger.

there’s a pause, a quiet one as the band is gently smoothed over the bump of your left knuckle.

and there, sits the very embodiment of dabi’s adoration for you.

his thumb strokes over the polished stone that aligns with the month of your birth, and though he’s not very good with his words, for what it’s worth, dabi silently sends thanks to whichever entity is responsible for your existence. your smile is large enough to match the glimmer of warmth that softens the corners of his own lips, and the sight of your unabashed joy is well worth every effort it took to buy it in the first place.

he’d once promised you the wedding of your dreams, and he’d also promised to gift you the christmas of your dreams, too.

and though the extent of his past sins may mean that he’s not naive enough to believe that he deserves this, this life, this marriage—because, truly, he knows that he doesn’t deserve you—in each lifetime, he’d do it all over again.

for you.

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