#tiny!warm!reader

He sprawled around you like a dragon with its hoarded treasure, your warmth radiating into his chest as he draped a fur-lined coat over both of you. One leg tangled with yours, arm slung protectively across your torso, chin resting on your crown. He inhaled your scent like a drug, eyes fluttering shut as the heat melted away every sharp edge of his calculated mind.

“You’re absolutely swindling me,” he murmured with a sly smile, breath hot against your ear. “No one told me cuddling you would feel like winning the universe’s best space-heater in a poker game.”

You squirmed slightly beneath the weight of his limbs. “You’re hogging all the blankets.”

He chuckled, voice like velvet. “Darling, you are the blanket.”

Anaxa didn’t do well with comfort. Or softness. Or letting anyone close.

But you were different.

Now, under threadbare celestial sheets in a cold, crumbling observatory tucked into the edge of forgotten lore, Anaxa curled around your tiny frame with terrifying tenderness. His long coat draped over you like an eclipse. His eye narrowed slightly as he pressed his forehead to your back, savoring your warmth like it was truth itself.

“Didn’t think flesh could outmatch fire,” he whispered. “Yet here you are. A furnace in human form. What alchemy are you hiding?”

You mumbled sleepily, “It’s not magic. Just me.”

He hummed, arms tightening. “Then I will guard this ‘just you’ like scripture… and maybe steal your heat while I’m at it.”

He always spoke of you like a philosopher holding a miracle too fragile to name—but his grasp was firm. Never letting go.

Snow blanketed the hills outside, turning the world into a hush of white. But inside the knight’s quarters, it was all gold and crimson, warmth and breath—and you, nestled against Argenti’s chest, small as a songbird.

He had shed his breastplate to hold you better, his body curled almost reverently around yours, strong arms draped protectively. His crimson drape fell like a banner around your form, cocooning you in silk and devotion.

“Your warmth is divine,” he whispered into your hair, voice full of awe. “Like a star… no, like beauty itself made flesh.”

You giggled into his chest. “You’re being dramatic.”

Argenti smiled, eyes soft. “Beauty is always dramatic, my dear.”

He tilted your chin to kiss your forehead, fingers gloved and gentle. He’d fought beasts and tyrants without flinching—but when it came to you, his tiny sun, he crumbled like frost under fire.

Ratio prided himself on logic. He calculated odds, dismissed irrationality, and rarely indulged in romantic trivialities.

But today, huddled in bed with you—his fiery little heater—he allowed himself a rare luxury: softness.

His longer frame curved tightly around yours, legs looping around your smaller ones, arms forming a cage that was more sanctuary than trap. Your heat sank into him like a welcomed virus—warm, inevitable, and entirely beyond hypothesis.

“I’ve concluded,” he said into your shoulder, eyes half-lidded, “that you defy thermodynamics. You're simply… too warm for your size.”

You yawned, sleepy and cozy. “Maybe I just love you that much.”

He paused, then murmured: “...Noted. Reproducible results suggest I require daily exposure to test this further.”

He pulled you closer, hiding the rare flush in his cheeks against your back.