Netflix and chill (Y/n x Dabi)

Netflix and chill

If you want you can run this video in the background for the right music

**7:00 p.m.**

*Knock knock.*

"The door's open," Dabi calls from somewhere inside, his voice echoing through the apartment.

I step in, kick off my shoes, and smirk. "Hey there," I call out with mock sweetness, the sarcasm thick in my tone.

I find him in the kitchen, standing at the counter, knife in hand as he slices fruit like he's auditioning for a Michelin-star cooking show. I sneak up and wrap my arms around him from behind, my cheek resting briefly against his back.

"Fruit bowl?" I ask, eyeing the colorful mix with a raised brow. "Looks dangerously healthy."

He glances down at his hands, then at me. "Yeah... just good food for good girls."

A giggle escapes before I can stop it.

God, I live for these jokes.

We're just friends. Always have been. So technically, they're harmless... right?

I pull away, moving to the fridge and grabbing two Cokes. "You know what?"

"Hm?" Dabi tilts his head slightly, still focused on slicing fruit with alarming precision.

And there it is.

That stupidly attractive concentration. The flex of his forearms. The swift, clean motions of the blade. His grip, steady and sure. He looks so damn good it should be criminal.

*Imagine being that fruit,* my brain supplies helpfully. *Cradled in those fingers, sharp edge against your skin, blood—*

NO. Nope. Absolutely not. I've read way too many Wattpad fanfics. Cut it out.

"Actually..." I turn, flashing a grin, "I'm a bad girl."

He doesn't miss a beat. "Aha. Okay then." His voice drops just a little. "Very bad girl—go get us some bowls." He points the knife toward the shelf above me with a teasing glint in his eyes.

The sass in my soul deflates a little.

I tried. Really, I did.

With a sigh, I stretch up on my tiptoes, reaching for the bowls. It's harder than I thought balancing like this, especially with the shelf being ridiculously high.

Apparently, Dabi notices.

Without warning, he steps in behind me, wraps one strong arm around my waist, and effortlessly lifts me up.

"Dabi! What are you doing?" I squeak, my heart skipping several beats.

"Helping a bad girl reach my shelf," he murmurs near my ear, "since she's too short."

A smirk plays on his lips as he holds me up. Close. Too close.

I fumble the bowls into my hands. "I could've managed..."

He lowers me slowly, still grinning. "Sure you could have."

We make the fruit bowls in silence after that—well, except for the rapid thudding of my heart and the constant replay of *I could feel his abs* circling my brain like a broken record.

What the actual hell just happened?

I swear, I felt every ridge of muscle through that damn t-shirt. So close. So tight. Too much. But also... not enough?

No. No. No. I can't go there. This isn't some forbidden fantasy. He's my best friend. For seven years. I can't just—

Actually, yes. Yes, I can.