#dabi blurb

JUST ONE PIECE (DABI X READER) (WC: 1350+)

NOTE: this is literally just dabi x reader eating fruit. idk why it’s so long. yuna mentioned the vague concept to me one (1) time and i couldn’t stop myself from running w it ^v^

“i am citrus—

peel back my skin

open me and expose the soft wet inside”

- peel my orange every morning, ezra furman

When you’d returned home from work, you weren’t empty-handed. 

Dabi had noticed your playful smirk and box in hand as you wordlessly beckoned him to join you at the small kitchen table for two. A bit skeptical but intrigued nonetheless, he slowly rises from his place sprawled across your couch and makes his way over to the kitchen stools.  

As you’re humming to yourself and grabbing two plates from the cupboard, he takes the opportunity to peek inside the white box. However, his eyebrows furrow in confusion at what sits inside. 

It’s a fruit platter—one of those fancy ones with expensive varieties where they cut the fruit into little shapes like stars and crescents. They’re stacked in a decorative manner, and Dabi thinks it’s a bit stupidandpretentious to arrange fruit like this when it’s going to end up digesting in someone’s stomach all the same.

You knew Dabi was picky—he’s always been particular about his likes and dislikes, no matter how important the topic. Fruit was no different. 

Truthfully, you picked up the tray on your way home as a nice little treat for the two of you. However, the more you thought about it, the more you realized how little you actually knew of Dabi’s taste preferences. You were determined to learn more about his palate—applied to all things—and if a simple fruit platter helped you get just a bit closer to understanding that, then so be it. You were determined to help him find a fruit he enjoyed. 

After setting some plates down and making yourself comfortable at the table, you dodge Dabi’s suspicious glares as you poke and place a few different pieces of fruit onto your plate with a fork, before doing the same thing to his. You eagerly watch him push colorful berries around with his pointer finger, picking up a slender piece of honeydew and indulging in the world’s tiniest bite, before tossing it back onto the platter. 

“What about some pineapple?” you ask as you take a bite of the sticky piece glistening in your hand. It tastes bright and loud, like a bunch of little flavor soldiers are battling over the territory of your tongue. Dabi grimaces as he watches you take another bite, but his face visibly softens when you lick the juice dripping from your fingers. 

“Fuckin’ stings the roof of my mouth,” he grumbles.

“Aw,” you coo with teasing sympathy, shooting Dabi a pout. “Want me to beat it up for you?”

He lightly snarls, but consciously chooses to remain silent as he continues to play with the colorful food on his plate. 

You try again, holding up a green grape in one hand and a purple in the other, dangling them in front of his face like tempting a dog with a treat—curious to see which one he’ll choose to suit his fancy. Your smile fades when his deadpan expression refuses to change. He scoffs before returning to picking at the half bitten apple slice on his plate.  

“C’mon, what’s wrong with grapes?” you whine like a child. 

“The skin is weird. Don’t like the crunch to it,” he states matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah, but then it’s soft in the middle,” you mumble as you bite the green one in half and rotate it in your hand, almost like you were proving to him that you weren’t lying about the interior of the tiny fruit. 

“Exactly,” his nose scrunches in distaste again, “Weird combination.”

Kinda like us, you want to say, but hold your tongue. If you’ve learned one thing about being with Dabi, it was not to push—even in silly scenarios like this. 

Dabi was like caring for a tedious flower. He needed just enough water to sustain himself, but not enough to drown in. Just enough sunlight to flourish, but too much and he’d overheat. He often shamefully walked the skewed tightrope of too much andnot enough. It was a difficult line to balance, but you always tried.

A bit discouraged at his lack of enthusiasm, you find yourself now shuffling untouched pieces around your own plate, “You keep saying things you don’t like, I wanna hear something you do.”

Dabi sees your slight pout and it stings a little. All he’s ever been taught to do was to pick out the bad. Focus in on it, obsess over it, make it better or destroy it trying. It’s all he’s ever known, so he’s not sure why you’re so surprised when it still applies to his taste in fruit.

There’s a few moments of silence. Dabi continues to pick and prod at a few pieces of melon here and there, while you eventually stop sulking and go back to relishing in the sweetness of the fresh fruit. When he speaks up again, it surprises you.

“I like mango.”

You look up from your plate to find him chewing on a tiny cubed piece of the light orange fruit—and it takes everything in you to not let an accomplished smile spread across your face. You bite your lip to hold it back (which Dabi sees and pretends to ignore) as you encourage him a bit. 

“What do you like about it?” you ask innocently, as if the two of you aren’t both very aware of what it is that you’re trying to do. 

You’re trying to get him to be positive—to indulge in something for the sole purpose of pleasure. To admit that he can like something without disdain or guilt. He knows. He sees right through your antics, yet he still finds himself humoring you. 

He finishes the piece in his hand and immediately picks up another one.

“It’s not like, painfully sour or sickeningly sweet,” he articulates. 

He’s never been good with words or describing things. He’s used to sitting in silence with his passion and pain, he doesn’t know what it means to articulate. He looks up to see if you’re still following his bland yet honest attempt. 

Youare—eyes bright and head nodding along at his incoherent words—so he continues. 

“It’s normal. It tastes-” he pauses, almost as if he’s searching for the right descriptor. 

You let him take a moment. You’d let him take as long as he needed to if it meant him actually likingsomething,communicating his feelings to you, even over something as silly as a piece of mango.

“Smooth,” he finally decides on, “It tastes smooth.” 

You can’t help but laugh a little at the odd yet accurate description of the fruit. You pick up a piece for yourself and plop it into your mouth, letting it’s sweetness dance along your tastebuds. You find yourself laughing again, but this time, it’s because you agree with him. 

“Itdoes taste smooth,” you giggle with affirmation and Dabi struggles to hide his own smirk at your enthusiasm. 

You reach across the table and put a hand on his cheek, beckoning him closer to you. His face remains stoic but he complies without resistance, meeting you halfway as he leans in to kiss you. He can taste the leftover hint of mango nectar on your lips and he fights back a smile (which you feel due to the slight upward quirk of his lips, but you decide to let him have it in peace). You pull away and rub your lips together as if you just applied chapstick, before popping another piece of mango into your mouth. 

“How do I taste? Smooth?” you tease. 

“Yeah,” the sarcasm in his voice isn’t laced with malice in the slightest, but it’s there, “The smoothest.”

The two of you continue to sit and relish in the warmth of the scenario. Dabi eats a few more pieces of mango. You have one as well but eventually move on to pieces of melon and citrus, deciding to let him eat the rest of it, because he likesit. 

It’s a start, you think. A small one, but one nonetheless.

On your way home from work the following day, you physically can’t help yourself from stopping at the fruit vendor and buying a few ripe mangoes. You also can’t help but notice the faint blush creeping across Dabi’s face when he spots them sitting on the counter the next morning.