You’d always been the energetic one. The one cracking dumb jokes during quiet moments, dancing down alleyways after a mission, or tugging on Dabi’s coat like an excited child when you spotted a cat. And for some reason—despite his grumbles and sharp glares—he never once pulled away.

You’d been dating for a while now. Whatever dating meant in Dabi’s twisted world of late-night meetups, stolen kisses, and barely murmured affections that never quite reached his scarred lips.

But today? Today you hit new levels of cringe.

You found an old, beat-up karaoke machine in the back of a ransacked convenience store. It had one working mic, scratchy backing tracks, and a list of songs older than your childhood. Naturally, you had to sing.

Off-key, dramatically, and straight into Dabi’s unimpressed face.

You chose a sappy love song. Not to be ironic. Not to mock. But because part of you genuinely thought maybe it’d make him smile.

Instead, he just… stared.

You finished your over-the-top ballad with a spin, a cheesy finger-gun, and a wink. “For you, my cold-hearted villain boyfriend.”

Silence.

He took one step forward. Then another. Until he was in your space, heat radiating from his body. His turquoise eyes—always half-lidded and unreadable—lit up just slightly, a flicker of something soft and dangerous dancing there.

“Cringe,” he muttered, tone almost lazy. “But… kinda cute.”

Your breath caught.*

Before you could recover, his hand reached out, gripping your waist, then sliding around your back. Another hand snaked up, cupping your chin gently but firmly, forcing your eyes to meet his.

He smirked, slow and knowing, his voice dropping to a husky murmur.

“You know,” he said, eyes burning into yours, “You’d look even cuter if you were on your knees… or bent over with those curves. Either one.”

Your face exploded in heat. Words failed. Your brain did too.