#ask loathsome-aesthete

[preydreams]

𝐈 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄.

OC ASKBLOG RUN BY @v4nnyzzz for her character, Syn (she/they/he/it) and its different iterations. There will be reblogs of things that remind me of Syn.

Syn is the leader ("Dragon Head") of Justivity Isolan triad, KILLBEROS. Takes on many duties as leader, many involving violence and assassination. Her legal occupation is a lion dancer, and she's also skilled in martial arts.

Please refer to Syn's toyhouse (and her Slenderverse version) for a deeper understanding of them if you don't already. Asks and interactions are always loved!

✷ Syn: #MAD DOG ✷ EMH/Slenderverse Syn: #THE MUTT (other Syns may be added down the road) ✷ Syn's aesthetics and etc.: #syncore ✷ HABIT: #THE LOATHSOME ✷ Evan: #THE HANGED MAN ✷ OOC: #OOC ✷ My art: #own art ✷ Answered asks: #answered (#anon if anon)

My Worldbuilding | My OCs | Syn's Playlist

16+ for suggestive content and lewd jokes, but no outright NSFT. C/Ws for mentions and possible visual depictions of violence, abuse, death, unreality/liminal spaces/visually unsettling and creepy art, body horror, drugs and alcohol, general horror, etc. Non-exhaustive list.

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

Refer to the blog-runner as "Mun", if you'd like.

Basic DNI. No terfs, lgbtphobia, transphobia, racists, nazis, "MAPs"/Pedos and other aligned labels, and proshippers. (non-exhaustive)

Ask pretty much anything you want within reason, serious or memey, have fun!

Suggestive ok, NSFT not. No real explicit images (gore, nsft, etc.)

This is a side-project meant for fun, since I've loved my OC for this long and don't really care to make askblogs for canon charas.

I draw responses as much as I can, but some will have text replies. All depends.

I do this in my free time and when I'm motivated. Don't rush me or feel entitled to art or replies, you'll be replied to when you are.

Respect begets respect. Work to respect me and I'll respect you in return.

// ASK? (inbox OPEN, anon welcome)

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[izzyspussy]

actually you know what. literally YES we are supposed to be ""handwaving"" away where the real stede bonnet's wealth came from. in the exact same way we're supposed to be ""handwaving"" the fact that the real blackbeard was white and a rapist, and that bonnet, blackbeard, and hands were all under 30 at the time our story is taking place.

when engaging with fiction the conventions of the genre are important and should directly inform your interpretation.

historical fiction is fictional. the conventions of the genre are that creators cherry pick aspects of their chosen time setting to create an environment and and aesthetic to be the delivery method of something else.

when you start reading or watching or listening to a piece of historical fiction, the set up and exposition will tell you where to expect inaccuracies. it is your job as an audience to either accept them or if they're unacceptable to you to find something else to enjoy. write a scathing review if you must, tell your friends you don't recommend it, make something yourself set in the same time period that has different inaccuracies instead (because it won't have none), etc. but pointing at an inaccuracy in a piece of historical fiction that formally introduced itself in the beginning and asking what it's doing there is quite silly.

of course stede bonnet, fictional character, doesn't have slaves - or at the very least it would be tonally jarring and narratively ineffective to show him doing so in this particular work. he is here to be an insufferable silly little guy who is coming of age at 46 and romancing a pirate on the jaunty high seas with benny hill music metaphorically playing in the background. it would have to be a completely different story, and he a completely different character, to put that particular historical accuracy in.

romance is also fictional. the conventions of the genre are that conflicts and/or the relevant consequences thereof are primarily interpersonal, that it is fun and/or sentimental, and that there will be a relatively clear cut happy ending. there's almost certainly some aspect of wish fulfillment fantasy.

romance is one of the genres that is most adherent to its conventions. all romance is the same at its most basic level, and that is a feature of the genre for its fans not a bug. the leads are attractive and lovable. characteristics that in real life might be unattractive and loathsome - like, for example, extreme wealth - but that would be attractive if only they could magically exist without any of the real world things that make them suck... will be present as things that are attractive by necessarily removing the real world things that make them suck, because it's fiction and you can do magic there. the characters are created to be endgame love interests from inception. they simply won't have qualities that make them impossible for the other one to love. they are not real people who have to meet by chance and make a relationship work with effort, they were formulated in a lab to be in this relationship with this person forever. yes, even when the characters are based on people who were real. in some cases (like this one), especially then.

stede bonnet, fictional character, would not fall in love with a rapist. therefore blackbeard, fictional character made to be a love interest to him, cannot be a rapist. blackbeard, fictional character, would not fall in love with a slave owner. therefore stede bonnet, fictional character made to be a love interest to him, cannot own slaves. this has to be true for the story to remain a romance.

(or i suppose you could write a romance romantic narrative between bonnet, slaver, and blackbeard, rapist, if you really wanted to. it wouldn't qualify for the specific genre of RomanceTM though, and it would be niche as hell if it had any audience at all, and there certainly would be no benny hill music metaphorical or otherwise. see? this is something else now, practically unrecognizable from what we started with despite having the same historical setting and characters.)

comedy, unlike romance, is one of the genres most versatile and least beholden to convention. however, it still has to be funny. of course, dramatic relief in comedy is just as important as comedic relief in drama, but the primary goal of comedy is to make the audience laugh. and while there are not many conventions other than that, and a skillful enough comedian really can find a way to explore any topic in a way that's funny, a romantic comedy must necessarily also follow the rules of romance - or else it is not a romantic comedy. it can't have jokes in it that ruin the romance.

and tbf, recognizing as an audience that a detail or topic that would be true and relevant if this were all really happening isn't necessarily true or relevant or is just never going to come up in a work of fiction for reasons inherent to that particular work is not ""handwaving"" those things away. those things are not there, in this thing. and if you want to think about those things in the context of this one specific thing that doesn't have them, that's what fanfiction is for. but it's an added thing, not something that is missing from the source or that is being ignored by the creators or other audience members.

[reloha]

Gabrielle shares her vision of what vampires can do to the world. Lestat reacts.

One night in our little house in the Via Ghibellina in Florence, she appeared after a month’s absence and started to expound at once.

“You know the creatures of the night are ripe for a great leader,” she said. “Not some superstitious mumbler of old rites, but a great dark monarch who will galvanize us according to new principles.”

“What principles?” I asked. Ignoring the question, she went on.

“Imagine,” she said, “not merely this stealthy and loathsome feeding on mortals, but something grand as the Tower of Babel was grand before it was brought down by the wrath of God. I mean a leader set up in a Satanic palace who sends out his followers to turn brother against brother, to cause mothers to kill their children, to put all the fine accomplishments of mankind to the torch, to scorch the land itself so that all would die of hunger, innocent and guilty! Make suffering and chaos wherever you turn, and strike down the forces of good so that men despair. Now that is something worthy of being called evil. That is what the work of a devil really is. We are nothing, you and I, except exotica in the Savage Garden, as you told me. And the world of men is no more or less now than what I saw in my books in the Auvergne years ago.”

I hated this conversation. And yet I was glad she was in the room with me, that I was speaking to somebody other than a poor deceived mortal. That I wasn’t alone with my letters from home.

“But what about your aesthetic questions?” I asked. “What you explained to Armand before, that you wanted to know why beauty existed and why it continues to affect us?”

She shrugged.

“When the world of man collapses in ruin, beauty will take over. The trees shall grow again where there were streets; the flowers will again cover the meadow that is now a dank field of hovels. That shall be the purpose of the Satanic master, to see the wild grass and the dense forest cover up all trace of the once great cities until nothing remains.”

“And why call all this Satanic?” I asked. “Why not call it chaos? That is all it would be.”

“Because,” she said, “that is what men would call it. They invented Satan, didn’t they? Satanic is merely the name they give to the behavior of those who would disrupt the orderly way in which men want to live.”

“I don’t see it.”

“Well, use your preternatural brain, my blue-eyed one,” she answered, “my golden-haired son, my handsome wolfkiller. It is very possible that God made the world as Armand said.”

“This is what you discovered in the forest? You were told this by the leaves?”

She laughed at me.

“Of course, God is not necessarily anthropomorphic,” she said. “Or what we would call, in our colossal egotism and sentimentality, ‘a decent person.’ But there is probably God. Satan, however, was man’s invention, a name for the force that seeks to overthrow the civilized order of things. The first man who made laws—be he Moses or some ancient Egyptian king Osiris—that lawmaker created the devil. The devil meant the one who tempts you to break the laws. And we are truly Satanic in that we follow no law for man’s protection. So why not truly disrupt? Why not make a blaze of evil to consume all the civilizations of the earth?”

I was too appalled to answer.

“Don’t worry.” She laughed. “I won’t do it. But I wonder what will happen in the decades to come. Will not somebody do it?”

“I hope not!” I said. “Or let me put it this way. If one of us tries, then there shall be war.”

“Why? Everyone will follow him.”

“I will not. I will make the war.”

The Vampire Lestat, Anne Rice

[the-letter-horror-lover]

Notes:

Happy holidays, guys. Cheers to the new years!

Chapter 19: Christmas Feast

Chapter Text

{Cielle's POV}

"Young mistress, it is time to wake up."

I didn't come out of my warm covers. It felt safe here, still. Like the quiet after a storm.

"Your tea," said Sebastian, his voice polite and curt.

"Why are you here?" I slunk deeper into the soft, eider-down quilt. "You're not supposed to be serving me as butler here. Don't you have a class or something?"

"Not on a weekend. Patience, and I will take my leave." A clink of china on the night stand. "If you prefer the dining hall's preparations, do help yourself, mistress. I shan't complain if there is one less task on my plate."

I sat upright, forcing myself to meet those inscrutable eyes. I didn't understand it. How effortlessly he could pretend that, that, never happened? Two could play at that.

"Draw me a bath."

"Certainly."

I narrowed my eyes as he strode to the armoire and selected my attire in seconds. Then he prepared the hip bath, scented the water with drops of lavender, and laid the clothing and towel on a stool. His movements were brisk. More precise than ever. After placing the tall oriental screen in the bathing nook, he gestured to the private corner. Oh, back to being the proper butler now, are we?

"Will that be all?" he inquired as I undressed behind the screen.

"No. Stay there."

Under the screen, the black toed heels didn't move, only stood by silently. Waiting.

I sunk into the water, unable to formulate a proper response. I couldn't let him just leave after what had occurred. Not without a punishment or reprimand.

Settling on my revenge, I rose from the bath and wrapped a towel around me. Inflicting pain or corporeal retribution would not work on the beast. No, the worst punishment was making his so called aesthetics crumble before his own eyes.

"Sebastian, come here."

"Young mistress, while it has been customary for Mey-Rin to assist during bathing, I should think it is entirely inappropriate for a lady's butler to resume those responsibilities."

Is that how you're going to play it? Through the dressing screen, I narrowed my eyes at the loathsome creature. "You need not keep up pretences, Sebastian. Especially with me. Come here already."

He did as told, long-lashed eyes not leaving my face.

"Hand me my shift."

The butler reached for the undergarment, gaze on the floor. He couldn't keep his eyes averted forever. The towel dropped where he had been staring. His mouth tightened. I slipped into the shift, making sure my bare ankles remained in his view.

"Stockings, Sebastian." He handed me the pair, but I didn't take them. "They won't put themselves on."

Carnelian eyes sharpened. With professional indifference, he cupped my calf as I rested my leg on his kneeling thigh. His warm fingers slid upwards, inch by inch. My leg tingled, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine and lower. His hands paused.

"What?" I asked.

"You are still menstruating."

My cheeks warmed as a pink drop rolled down my thigh. "I... thought it was over. Must be the damn stress."

"Allow me." His tone was light, but his eyes were dark, flickering. He made a motion to reach for a towel and stopped. Instead, came a gloved finger. Pressed against my trembling thighs. Heat rose to my face. "Don't—"

He traced a finger along my inner thigh, the drop staining the gloved tip pink. "There is another here." His hand wandered upward, under my shift.

"What the hell are you—"

"You know perfectly well, don't you?" His grip on my thigh tightened; sharp talon-like nails pressed against my damp skin.

"Young mistress," he rasped, "you cannot bait me with these games and expect me to not bite." The sinful mouth came between my legs. Stirring, searing. No, not that. He wouldn't dare.

He licked a droplet of blood, and a hungry shudder escaped him. His serpentine tongue lapped at my skin. A sinister sound reverberated from his throat. Primal, raw, obscene. The once prim butler was unraveling before me. Like Jekyll into Hyde. Day into night. Quickly transforming into someone—something else entirely. Fear flared in me along a stirring far from decent. That I could shake his composure... to affect him at his core, I shivered.

"Mm." Sebastian sucked a patch of skin, then harder. "To come for more, fully knowing the consequences... how I could break you like a china doll." The room quaked with the beast's voice. "You are far more twisted than I thought, mistress."

"I... didn't ask for, I didn't want—"

"I'm certain," came the mocking voice.

Fangs broke the skin, singeing every thought to oblivion. I drew in a gasp of pain. He ran his tongue along my inner thigh, licking the wound. Pushing up my shift. Travelling upwards.

"Sebas...ung—" I fisted his hair with both hands. If he did anything now, I wouldn't deny him. If he were to keep going, if he were to pin me underneath him, bare and spread wide—

"No." His voice rumbled like thunder. "This, this, cannot continue." Sebastian released me roughly, eyes burning liquid crimson. His mouth parted to reveal sharp, elongated canines. "To play with hell-fire is a dangerous game. A game you do not wish to be playing. For your own well-being."

I licked my lips, waiting in silence. For what, I didn't know. The air between us crackled with tension.

Sebastian dropped his hands to his sides, making an effort to slow his breathing. "I propose we keep a distance until this anomaly subsides," he said at last. "Any services relating to the carnal variety must cease temporarily." His voice dipped an octave. "Regrettably, until then you must take matters into your hand."

My cheeks burned at his insinuation. "Watch your insolence. Do whatever it takes to regain your control—that's an order."

"An order won't be necessary," the butler replied tersely as he shut the door behind him without my dismissal.

Once the footsteps had faded, I wrapped my arms around myself and shuddered out a breath. My eyes stung, betraying me, and I tasted hot, salty drops on my mouth. This wouldn't do.

I wiped my face, straightened my shoulders, and headed to Jane's.

A warm breath stirred the nape of my neck, lingering.

“Kindly refrain from moving around, Miss Phantomhive. Things will go much smoother that way.”

"I-It's tight," I said breathily.

"Well, what would you expect?" Jane Greyling's voice danced with mischief.

"You're too slow." My muscles clenched under Jane's ministrations. "Why do I feel as though, ah... you're thoroughly enjoying this?"

"It looks like I've been caught," she whispered as her hands moved at an unbearable pace.

"Could you... go faster? Please."

"How polite of you, Cielle." A soft grunt slipped her. "If you would stop squirming, I may entertain your request."

"Fine, but hurry up—" I gasped when a sharp tug came around my waist. Trying my hardest not to flinch, I gripped the four poster's frame with both hands.

"Almost there," Jane murmured behind my shoulder, and a shiver crawled over me. "A bit more, and I'll finish soon."

I squeezed my eyes as her fingers, firm and warm, continued to work over me. My back arched, becoming more rigid by the second.

"There," Jane said at last, with one more forceful tug of the corset. "All done."

“I suppose this is what they mean when they say beauty is pain,” I mumbled as I gazed down at the tight fitting shape-wear over my petticoat.

"Do you need help with your gown or the rest of your toilette?"

"I think I can manage from here." I regarded Jane's ensemble. Her gown was fashioned of satin. A high-waisted chemise in a sea-green watered silk that matched her eyes; a beautiful amethyst necklace resembling Nyx's jewels graced her neck. Soft full lips reddened with—

"And the face?"

I cleared my throat. "Pardon?"

Jane pointed to her face, which as usual, contained an assortment of cosmetics. "You aren't going bare-faced, are you? Not that you need enhancers of course, but... I'd love to bring out the colour of your eyes even more." Her gaze lingered on them.

"Please feel free to add whatever finishing touches you see fit."

"Oh, lovely. Come here, won't you?" I seated myself at the dressing table. Jane reached for a silver brush and combed my tresses. I had to admit she played lady's maid well, artfully arranging locks of hair and pinning a glittering blue crystal into the side of my coiffure. Then she rummaged through a considerably sized bag of cosmetics and retrieved various glass jars. "Lavender lotion first. Then a light dusting of face powder and castor oil to darken the lashes."

"You seem rather versed in this, Jane...though I don't see why you ought to be."

Her lips twitched. "I appreciate the compliment, but the reason you think so is because I use such products daily."

"Agree to disagree." It was true, I had never seen Jane bare-faced, but I had little doubt she looked handsome with or without enhancers.

Jane laughed lightly, a tinkering cadence, and reached for the lotion. I closed my eyes, feeling her gentle, lingering touches on my skin. How long had it been since someone had touched me in that manner? Certainly, not like that beast of a butler. Not with hunger. Not with unbridled intensity. Not like how I wanted.

Or perhaps I spoke too soon. Jane reached for a golden tin with pink rosettes.

"For the lips." She dipped her finger into the rich colour until the tip looked covered in crushed berries. As she rubbed the pigment over my lips, I stared at Jane's own ruby stained ones. I wondered if they felt as soft as they looked. Like rose petals.

Her eyes, now dark and languid pools, latched on my mouth. Slowly, she trailed her finger along my lips. I parted them. An unsteady breath escaped me. Her gaze drifted up, locking with mine, a question burning in them. Perhaps my eyes conveyed the answer she needed because the girl leaned in. Heat simmered inside me. The girl kissed me with her eyes first; our noses touched. Her hot breath met my cupid's bow.

As I closed my eyes, glowing carnelian ones pierced my mind. I jerked, my eyes snapping open. Jane stilled. She regarded me with fervid expression, searching my face. Perhaps she sensed what I could not put into words for she withdrew, quiet.

Hooded eyes still locked on me, she placed her finger on her lips and stroked them with the remaining carmine stain. "Well, the night is still young," she murmured.

Her meaning, so unmistakeable, made my cheeks warm. "Indeed..." was all I could manage.

The corner's of her eyes crinkled. "Once you are changed, come to my quarters. It shall be my utmost pleasure to accompany such a pretty girl to the ball." She bowed exaggeratedly like a gentleman and though the gesture was meant to be playful, it hardly felt like a jest.

"There is no one else I'd rather be escorted by," I said through a tight smile. Those infuriating eyes flickered again. "However, I'm supposed to meet the headmaster briefly before. I am helping sign in names in the guestbook."

Her lips twitched with intrigue. "Are you now? How altruistic of you."

"Shall I meet you inside later, Jane?"

"I should like that very much, Cielle." A slow-blooming smile spread across her lips as she rose from her seat. "I can't wait to see you in your gown. I am sure all the dandies will wish to dance with a pretty thing like you."

"How lucky I must be."

Jane tittered. "Do not worry, I shall make sure they do not bother you. I'll write down my name on all the dance cards if I have to."

I smiled feebly as Jane closed the door behind her. Better a dance with her than—I clenched my fist. The mere thought of him made my stomach roil, yet I couldn't stop replaying the scene. I changed into the gown for the soiree. Scrambled against the headboard; tendrils slithering under my nightgown. I snatched the blue ring from under the rug. The beast licking its lips, eager to devour its prey.

My gaze fixated on the mirror, the same mirror which I had bared myself to him. Bared my inners demons. Bordel de merde, the irony.

I tried to wash the obscene image away. My legs splayed wide under the beast's terrible gaze, those sinful fingers inside—

I concentrated on my reflection instead. A silk gown the colour of peonies with gold embroidery, gossamer ribbons under a small bust, Japanese sea pearls at my neck, jewels pinned into my soft curls. I added the finishing touches. Delicate elbow length champagne gloves and then the star of the show—the Stone of Lethe. Only a few seconds of staring at it, and the familiar dizziness crept upon me. I shook myself.

Glancing at my image, I looked perfectly prim and proper. No one would suspect that the Lady Phantomhive had gasped like a fuckstress, pleasured by her servant. I tore my gaze from the mirror.

I was nearly about to leave my quarters when I stilled. A nagging feeling crept through me as though I had forgotten something important. My gaze swept over my room—ah, there. Kicking the empty bottle of pepper powder on the floor, I reached for the pink parasol under my desk. Now I was ready.

"There you are," said the headmaster.

"Delightful to see you as always, Commissioner."

Delacourt scowled. "The masks are inside, and only the faculty chaperones arrived so far."

"Excellent."

"I presume you'll take over the guest list from here," he said, handing me the guestbook. I glanced at the page, and my nerves caught. Professor Sinclair.

"You're certain the cad who abducted my daughter will show up?" said Delacourt.

"The demand for certainty is an intellectual vice. However," I replied quietly, "I have more evidence that he will make an appearance tonight, than not."

"And then what will you do?" Behind his glasses, his sapphire eyes glinted like flickering embers.

"I will handle it."

"Ah, Lord Randall Delacourt, what a charming masquerade," a nauseatingly familiar voice trilled behind us.

I blanched. No, no, no.

Viscount Druitt's gaze fell on me and he beamed. "And Lady Phantomhive, a delight to see you again! Why, I haven't seen you in ages."

Delacourt cleared his throat. "Well, I shall let you two get reacquainted. Don't want to be a bother. If you'll excuse me..."

The man managed his escape well from the viscount. I wished I could say the same.

Eyes heavy-lidded, a hand to his head, Viscount Druitt struck a ridiculous pose. "My little seraphim, how resplendent you look in that gown. A lovely creature without a hint of artifice—an angel fallen from the heavens."

I gave him my most charming smile and curtsied. "Let us not forget Satan fell from heaven."

Druitt blinked, then barked with laughter. "None of the young ladies I dance with tonight shall have an ounce of humour as you. I take it you'll save me a dance?" He looked at me in expectation.

"If I am not already claimed by the dance cards." Not a chance in hell.

"Even if you are," he said, suddenly leaning close, "I don't see why you can't break decorum and have a go with me. As we are both members of the peerage, I think you’ll find me an exceptional asset.” His fingers skittered down my waist.

“Off by two letters,” I said under my breath.

“Pardon?”

“It’s nothing.” Subtly, I freed myself from his grubby fingers.

The rake tried again. He pointed at the mistletoe above us.

I sweetly smiled and inwardly shuddered. “I'm afraid my kisses are not compelled by parasitic plants, my lord. Most mistletoe is spread through bird fecal matter. Hardly romantic I'm sure you will agree. If you’ll excuse me.” This time, the insufferable fool did not prevent me from leaving.

I sighed and positioned myself in front of the entrance to the ball. A small line started to form. It was still early. One by one, I forced a smile at the guests and wrote their names into the guestbook. Under the guise of demure smiles, cordial pleasantries, and small talk, I scrutinized each guest in line. Half an hour lapsed, and I had scribbled down thirty names. No sign of the cipherist. What if the message I'd decoded was all just a ruse?

"Cielle?"

I glanced up from the guestbook. "Edward."

The young man removed his top hat to reveal half-combed hair. Dark circles framed his eyes. It looked like he hadn't slept in ages, but sleep-deprived as he looked, he wore an expression of determination.

"Got your letter." His fingers dug into the top hat. "Wish I was meeting you under different circumstances."

"Likewise."

"She'll turn up, won't she?" Edward's voice cracked.

"I'll find Lizzie. I'll bring her back, I swear it."

Edward inhaled a deep breath. "I believe you... I have to, don't I?" A hollow laugh, and he turned away from me. "Better start patrolling the grounds outside."

"You recall the culprit's appearance from my letter?"

"Tall, green-eyed fellow with flaxen hair." He grimaced. "For a moment, I thought you might be insinuating I had kidnapped my own sister."

"You're not that tall."

Edward looked affronted. "I'll keep my eyes out. Tell me if you see anything." He threw me a resigned smile over his shoulder. "I regret I won't be able to escort my fiancée to the ball. You look lovely tonight, Cielle."

"Edward, perhaps later we can—"

"Doesn't she?" came a voice.

Jane Greyling made her way towards us. The girl looked like an iris in full bloom, her pearlescent skin glowing under the lights.

"Fashionably late, I know." Jane turned from me to Edward. "And you are?"

"This is my, er, fiancé. Lord Edward Midford. Edward, this is Miss Jane Greyling. She's helping with the case."

"A pleasure," Jane said after a moment. "I was not aware you were engaged, Cielle." The corners of her lips crinkled though the shadow of smile did not reach her eyes. "I assure you, your fiancée is in good company. Well, then, shall we go in together, Cielle?"

Side by side, we walked through the entrance of the music hall, and I found myself stepping into another world altogether. My eyes flooded with beauty. The interior was swathed in darkness. Floors and walls draped like the night sky, and lush midnight blue everywhere. Masks of all shapes and ethnic formal wear surrounded me. Intricately embroidered saris, kimonos the colors of koi fish, silken hajibs, and gowns of satin, velvet, moire, poplin and lace rustled all around. Sparkling lights glittered everywhere: on dusky canopies, lush drapes, tapestries.

"It's all rather beautiful," I said.

"Indeed." Jane's gaze settled on me. "It is the perfect setting for you."

"Your praise is too much." Suddenly self-conscious, I gestured to a table with the masks. "I hope the good ones aren't taken."

We joined a small gathering trying on and choosing their masks for the night. Angelica, a nightmare dressed in pretty bows and ribbons, gestured to a small mask with gray feathers. "It's a shame that she's not in attendance. The ugly duckling mask could not find a better wearer."

I sidled up beside her and picked a mask with dark lace, the edges like the wings of a midnight swan. "If Sullivan is the duckling-turned-swan, what storybook character are you? The evil hag from snow white or a hideous stepsister?"

Angelica glared. "Takes one to know one."

I lifted my chin. “You have the maturity of a fourteen-year-old boy.”

“And you have the chest of one.”

This time, I flinched. “At least I am considerate enough that no one has to witness a gelatinous buttocks sway when I dance."

"Why you—"

Joanna, dressed like a moon-like princess, ignored our sparring match. Absent-mindedly, she walked between us and reached for a dainty mask with white gauze matching her gown. Even the mask couldn't conceal her glossy, pink rimmed eyes.

"Please you two." Jane returned, wearing an exotic peacock mask. "I know you could care a fig for what I have to say, Angelica, but the less time you spend arguing, the more time you could spend catching the eye of an Eton chap—or better. Professor Sinclair."

A tinge of pink stained Angelica's cheeks, and she stormed past me. To where Sebastian was chaperoning.

The severe black and white suit stood out starkly against the colors of the ballroom, highlighting his dark hair and eyes. Even without his icy silver mask, I'd know those eyes anywhere.

Sebastian caught my gaze. His long-lashed eyes briefly traveled down the length of my gown before returning to my face.

Jane blocked my view and pointed to the refreshment table behind us. "Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous."

The girl took me by the hand, and I snuck her a side-long glance. "Did you just bribe me with sweets and Angelica with men?"

"It worked, didn't it?" Jane scooped a pastry onto a tiny plate and her eyes rolled into her head. "Petit four, my favorite."

I kept my eyes opened for any sign of the cipherist while making conversation with Jane. A choir of girls sang christmas carols in the background. Their voices, pretty and angelic, lifted high, then dipped low, sending notes flowing about the hall. Ave Maria, Carol of the Bells, and then, ironically, The Twelve Days of Christmas.

We sampled jellies, and Jane pointed out chaps who snuck peeks through young ladies' bodices, and bustles that emphasized certain derrieres in the most awful way. Midway of a laugh, Jane clutched her stomach. "Oh dear, I hope it wasn't the pastry." She forced a smile. "Will you excuse me?"

I nodded, and the girl made a beeline for the powder room. When the door behind her closed, I sighed. Well, that was opportune. At least now I could investigate more freely.

"If I may have everyone's attention," said Delacourt. "It is my great pleasure to host Imperial Academy's first ever Christmas ball. Once you are all watered and fed at our most exquisite banquet, we shall proceed to the masquerade ball. On behalf of the academy, I hope this shall be an unforgettable night."

A round of claps erupted. If only the man knew how unforgettable it might be...

I followed the crowd to the banquet table. It had an assortment of decadent entrees with cards next to them that listed the name of the dish along with the country of origin. The elaborate buffet looked vaguely familiar. White peaches soaked in rose-water syrup, stuffed mushrooms, a nice large Christmas turkey, mushroom wellington, chocolate yule log soaked in rum, Yorkshire pudding, milk punch. And more ethnic dishes I had never heard of before. I read the tags. Colombian natilla, Swedish lussekatter, St. Lucia Buns with saffron, pasteles de hojas, Finnish karelian pasty, German Christstollen, Allahabadi cake, kheer, ratatouille, Christmas pavlova with Chantilly cream... My hunger stirred.

"Well, well," said a woman that looked uncannily to Delacourt. She must've been the sister then—the headmistress of Eton. "I'm surprised you managed all this, Randall."

The headmaster cleared his throat. "I did have a little help from one of our new faculty members." He gestured to Sebastian who looked positively smug. The demon's ego was something else. I gazed at the line of food, and something inside me shrank. Suddenly, the exquisite dishes he prepared on my birthday no longer seemed special.

"Perhaps we can fashion the students into a line." Without waiting for Delacourt's affirmation, the headmistress clapped her hands. "Single file, everyone. Please take your meal and be seated at the dining tables. If you hold up the line, you shall be out of the line."

We did as told. Upon returning, I spied small cards on the table, neatly placed near the cutlery, along with milk punch at each seat. Alice bumped into the table, knocking the name cards. She quickly arranged them back and stole a glance to see if anyone had witnessed her ungainliness. She seemed to think not and took her seat. Sipping her milk punch with her pinky extended.

Rolling my eyes, I looked for my name. And froze. Oh, no.

As though universe had conspired against me, I found my name tag wedged between Alice and Sebastian's. My mood soured.

I caught Sebastian's gaze. He wrinkled his nose, one brow furrowed. I clenched my hand. Did the odious thing have to make a face about it?

"A hundred seats, and I'm seated beside you. This must be a joke." I took my seat and sipped the punch. The subordinate drink was not enough to dull my senses.

"My sentiments as well. Truthfully, this seating arrangement leaves much to be desired. If I didn't have to play by the rules of etiquette, I would likely request another seat."

I flinched at his words. The truth. He could not lie after all. The demon's bluntness sobered and enraged me all at once.

"I hate you," I said, with feeling. "I hate you so much, you thing."

"Oh?" he whispered back. "That wasn't your tune last night, young mistress."

My ears felt hot. I hissed through a smile, "Shut up, shut up, shut up—" A sharp force on my foot.

Sebastian smiled cheerfully. "My apologies. I was trying to reach the milk punch."

Without thinking, I reached for him under the table. A hard grip on his thigh.

His eyes flared at me. Dangerous, glinting.

I couldn't believe I was doing this, here. My fingers pressed harder. Travelling upwards. Finding the soft warmth tucked against his thigh. I cupped it.

Sharply, the demon raised a wine glass to his lips and took a deep sip. Was the gesture meant to conceal a steadying breath? The thought satisfied me.

When Sebastian lowered the glass, his elegant face looked unperturbed. An impressive feat—and absolutely infuriating.

My fingers kneaded the swell. Softly, roughly, alternating pressure. Beneath the woolen trousers, his sleepy protuberance came to life. It pressed against my palm, warm and stiff. I curled my fingernails around it.

"Mistress." One hand grasped my wrist under the table. I drew in a sharp breath. Sebastian's hold on me was strong, angry. He turned to me, and his demonic slitted pupils smoldered. "I would advise you cease these foolish games if you know what is best for you." Drawing in a slow breath, he closed his eyes and opened them. They were back to their warm muted colour again. Seemingly normal, politely indifferent. But his clutch on my wrist was anything but.

"Let go off me, " I hissed.

"Certainly." His hold around my wrist disappeared. And reappeared somewhere else.

"You-you..."

His fingers squeezed between my legs. I stifled a gasp. Layers of fabric did not hinder that wicked hand. He massaged my aching flesh, two fingers sliding to and fro. My breath grew uneven. Someone might notice—yet, that added to the thrill.

"Surely, you must be willing to take what you dish out." Sebastian crooked his fingers up through the fabric and I was practically riding them now. The utter mortification.

Involuntarily, my hips rotated, ever so subtly, and my insides twitched deliciously. I clutched the table, stifling a moan. I was getting close. But I couldn't... not here. Under those malevolent eyes, tormenting fingers, I implored him. The beast did not relent. My fingernails dug into my palms. I squeezed my thighs together, his hand in tow, and pushed into him. Thought failed me.

"S-Sebastian."

"Now, are you quite finished with this production?" Sebastian whispered in my ear. "Perhaps we might encounter the cipherist then—"

"Oh my word!"

Sebastian and I jerked around. His hand retreated. Crimeny, had someone seen us—?

Joanna had slumped face first into her pea soup. The guests around her stood, trying to wake her with camphor.

"There it is again." Sebastian's voice, a bare whisper. "I thought I had smelled something unusual earlier."

"What is it?"

"Laudanum, I believe." He crinkled his nose. "In her milk punch."

"Milk punch," I repeated and frowned. Milk—I froze. Realization snaked itself through me. "Maids-a-milking. The Twelve Days of Christmas song. Sebastian, it was the milk punch—"

"I know." His eyes swept over the hall. "The cipherist is likely here, young mistress."

"Impossible. I signed in every guest who entered, and all the exits are being watched. They couldn't have gotten in without encountering me."

"You may be right." A pensive look settled upon Sebastian's face. "Things have gotten rather interesting..."

"I don't understand why someone would tamper with Joanna's punch. It's not like they could abduct her in front of everyone."

"No. Perhaps they wanted the recipient out of their way." His voice dropped low and he looked at me with a strange expression. "That was not Miss Harcourt's punch, mistress.

"Of course, it was," I said. "I saw it beside her plate."

"What you assumed was her plate."

"What are you talking about?"

"Miss Brighton knocked over the name tags before taking her seat. The milk punch was for someone else."

"Then...who...?"

Sebastian's eyes flashed alarmingly bright, and a shiver crawled over me.

"Young mistress" he whispered, "the drink was meant for you."

Chapter 20: Masquerade Ball

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

I drew in an unsteady breath. "The laudanum was for me?"

Indeed," said Sebastian. "Of course, I would have intercepted if not for Miss Brighton's opportune clumsiness."

"But why target me? To prevent me from investigating further?"

"Perhaps that...or something else." Sebastian paused, a quiet glitter in his eyes.

One of the guests waved camphor aggressively under Joanna's nose. The girl's lashes fluttered. She gripped the sleeve of the nearby girl, trembling.

Delacourt breathed a sigh. "Looks like she's finally coming to. You girls, escort her to her quarters. She's in no state to partake in tonight's festivities."

Hesitantly, two girls flanked Joanna. One wearing a kimono the color of koi fish and the other a red and green sari embroidered with gold thread. The vibrant hues contrasted sharply against Joanna's colorless dress. Pale-faced, the girl put her arms around their shoulders and her jelly legs were practically dragged by the duo.

"With Violet's absence, it's probably best for her," Angelica whispered conspiratorially to Alice. "I wager the girl's prince charming is a princess."

While Angelica was quite stupid about many things, her observation wasn't off the mark. One might consider her almost... keen.

I turned away from her, disgusted.

The headmaster gestured everyone to be seated. "Let us not let one tightly laced corset deter a night of pleasantries."

Beside him, his sister scoffed into her wine glass.

Delacourt pretended not to notice. "Perhaps you'd like to host the next ball at Eton. Valentine’s day or so."

"You know I loathe that frivolous holiday and the days that surround it, Randall."

The man sighed. "You realize my birthday falls two days before Valentine’s day."

"I'm aware."

The headmaster glared through his spectacles.

From the sister's prickly demeanor, it was clear she still harbored a grudge against Delacourt for affecting her school’s enrollments. I fiddled with the ring on my gloved finger. How far would she go to restore that?

Hulda glanced at the siblings and as if to diffuse the tension between them, she rose from her seat. "Shall I make the announcement?" she asked the headmaster. He nodded.

The woman tapped her wine glass with a spoon, the loud clink drawing stares. "If you will all return to the music hall, we shall proceed with our masquerade ball."

The guests began to disperse, and I gestured to Sebastian.

He bent down, and I whispered into his ear, "If the maids-a-milking gag was to simply get me out of the picture, that only confirms the cipherist is planning something tonight."

"Agreed," replied Sebastian. "And I take it you will watch the guests on through a dance? It seems like the most discrete way to do so."

The demon's eyes positively glowed with humour.

"Tch. It's not like there's a better choice."

"Finally, all those dancing lessons with Madame Rodkins put to use."

I sniffed and reached for my parasol leaning against the table. An elegant ivory silk covered with black lace. I played with it, swinging it, then twirled it.

"Pray tell, mistress, are you part of the evening's entertainment?"

"No. I'm merely trying to stand out in this sea of masks. If I'm acting peculiar, the cipherist will locate me easier."

"I hardly see the need to act to have the desired effect."

I glared at him and raised the parasol. "The parasol's purpose is three-fold."

A young lady's deportment in social gatherings was expected to be gracious and respectable. Vocally rejecting a suitor violated etiquette while flirting with one was equally deplorable. Thank whoever devised such a discrete way of communication using gloves, handkerchiefs, fans—and parasols.

I raised the parasol in my right hand. "I desire your acquaintance." Struck it against my hand. "I am very much displeased." Folded up the parasol and caught his stare. "I wish to rid myself of your presence."

It was satisfying to watch the butler's fine mouth twitch.

Smiling, I rested the handle against my parted lips. Kiss me.

The demon's gaze sharpened. Dark as ink, fathomless.

"Three-fold." Sebastian cleared his throat. "May I inquire the parasol's other purpose?"

"That shall be a secret between the cipherist and I."

"Is that so." His eyes travelled across my gown, then settled on my face. "Well, I suppose if standing out is your main concern, I doubt you need to worry. You already do."

My nerves caught, I bite the parasol's handle.

"Have you not just suppered?" Sebastian tsked. "Sucking the head of your parasol. How unbecoming. That pretty mouth can be put to far better use."

Heat swiped my face. Just when I thought I had forgotten about it.

The memory of those digits in my warm mouth. Those feral eyes above me. The engorged head between my wet lips. Slipping in as far as I could take. Bitter salt.

"You utter dog—"

"Pray, do compose yourself," he said and took the parasol from me. He placed it back on the table. "I meant sweet-talking your partners for information, of course."

Of course.

The dull buzzing of the crowd faded, now replaced by a lively melody drifting from the orchestra.

"Well, then." Sebastian bowed and raised my knuckles to his lips. He kissed my hand lightly, like silk to skin. A contrast to his searing breath on my ring finger. "May I claim you for a dance?"

His eyes flicked up, and the intensity of his gaze made me tense.

"If you must." My hand rested on his shoulder, easily, as though it belonged there.

Sebastian placed one hand on my waist and threaded my hand with long, elegant fingers. Beneath the soft bristle of wool, I felt the movement of hard muscle.

His gaze swept over the masked faces. "It seems like Halloween, does it not, young mistress?"

"Everyday feels like Halloween with you."

Sebastian took a sudden step back, and I tripped over the hem of my dress. A flash of ankle, and I caught myself on his sturdy shoulder.

"How tragic, young mistress. Your waltzing skills aren't so much lacking as they are nonexistent."

"Be quiet, you. I cannot help that my feet refuse to cooperate because my dancing partner is being a gnawer.”

His hand around my waist tightened though he danced with fluid grace.

Streams of Black Swan Pas de Deux wrapped around us, and we fell into a steady waltz. I tried to concentrate on my feet, but the task grew increasingly difficult the longer we danced. Heat penetrated through his gloved fingers to my bare ones. Pleasant, stirring.

"You're wearing gloves," I said.

"Astute observation, young mistress." He spun me below his arm, then his hand return to my waist.

"I mean you don't need to be. Not here."

"It is improper for a butler to handle their mistress or master without them."

Back to propriety, is it?

I stared at the dancing guests, the glitter of masks, the marbled floor. Anywhere but his face.

"Only three days until the full moon," I said quietly. Our legs brushed against each other.

"I'm aware, young mistress."

"But... what happens after that?"

"After that? I'm afraid I do not follow—"

"If—when we find Lizzie, and thereby the cult's leader."

"Then we shall eliminate them swiftly, of course."

I dared to glance up. "And then...?"

"I trust you haven't forgotten our contract terms."

A soft, bitter laugh escaped me. "So it all ends? You'll take my soul then."

Sebastian's dancing feet stilled for a moment. "Yes, young mistress."

His words stung like a lash. "How will you take it? Does it hurt?"

"Goodness, aren't you full of questions." His thigh grazed mine. "A demon can extract a soul in numerous ways. Some methods are excruciating while others... are the complete opposite." The creature's mouth quirked for a second. As though he was privy to his own private joke.

"And which way do you consume souls, Sebastian?"

"I do not have one specific method. Each method depends on the contractor."

"How do you plan to take my soul?"

"Is my lady familiar with Hieros Gamos?"

I slowly nodded. "Doesn't it mean 'sacred marriage' in Greek?"

"Indeed," said the butler. "A play between a god and a goddess. Of course, it hardly means marriage in the conventional sense of the word, but rather a sacred sexual ritual between human beings and something divine. How the soul becomes whole through another."

"I would hardly think a demon would care for the sanctity of anything, especially that."

"You are quite right, young mistress." A poisonous smile touched the beast's eyes. "One method of soul extraction is the reversal of this. While Hieros Gamos unites two souls to become whole, in the unholy union of between a demon and prey, the demon consumes the soul."

An unholy union. My face burned at the implication. Of course, the creature would have perverse ideas.

I tried to speak evenly. "I presume you've collected many souls with this method before."

"No," he said and then paused, as though judging if he should say more. He didn't.

"How many, Sebastian?"

His lips pinched and eyes dimmed. "You shall be the first, mistress."

And there it was. The naked truth snatched out of the beast.

"Out of the different methods of soul collection...this is your preferred method for mine?"

"Well," said Sebastian, "if you prefer something less pleasant."

"Oh, forget it."

"Do you have any reservations?" he asked.

"Do you?" I countered.

"What a question to ask, young mistress." His tone stirred.

He dipped me suddenly, and I squeaked. My fingers grasped his lapels, clinging them for a few moments. I drew in his scent, the scent that plagued my dreams and lingered throughout the day. I quickly released the fabric.

His lips stretched into an amused smile. "Can you not handle this proximity?"

"Nothing of the sort."

But can you, demon?

Tchaikovsky's soft, tremulous Winter Dreams faded into Vivaldi's breathless Winter. Glissandos filled the air. The enticing sounds seduced my mind, and a strange intoxication crept into my veins. Maybe it was the biting, heady strings. Maybe it was the way the butler's smoldering eyes bore into mine. No longer did I control my restraint.

Like a dam unbarred, my unseemly thoughts flowed with vengeance, a trembling flood, and I purposely channeled them to him.

The beast's eyes sharpened. He held me as far apart as our arms would permit.

"What do you think you're doing?" he whispered dangerously.

"It's like you always say," I said. "The game becomes boring if it lacks thrill."

Sebastian's eyes glinted, a flicker of hell-fire. He promenaded in a circle and held my waist more firmly each time. His hand inched further and further behind my back until it rested on my tailbone. Slowly, he rubbed the erogenous spot. I could feel his sharp nails clawing through his glove. Digging into me.

Everything around us blurred into oblivion. A couple in pretty dresses stealing a kiss behind a statue. The masked faces, the dancing feet, the rustle of silk. The world around us fell apart, save for the music and him. The notes came faster, and we drifted further and further away from the crowd. My feet mirrored his or perhaps it was the other way around. They moved in a strange agitation, matching the whirlwind of notes, heady and turbulent. Despite the layers of crinolines between us, we danced together infused like two halves of a whole.

A swirl of a drape, and we found ourselves on the balcony. Swaying, shoulder to shoulder. Under the moonlight, our frenzied movements were lit by a backdrop of flickering stars. Despite the cold, Sebastian's breath curled around my neck like a summer zephyr. Our fingers entwined convulsively. Our breaths danced together. He held me so closely that we were practically one person. No longer did this feel like a waltz. It had become twisting and twining, a gyration orchestrated by Mephistopheles himself.

The overpowering music muted my shaky breaths and thundered to a crescendo, the notes conveying a desire too obscene to utter. The piece struck its climax, and Sebastian lifted me by the waist, spinning me into the air. A winter draft struck my face and undid my coiffure. I inhaled unevenly. Messy dark strands spilled upon his face, his eyes, his lips. They wrapped around us, flowing like a snare, curtaining us from the world for a fleeting moment. From the contract.

Slowly, Sebastian lowered me, and our lips almost touched.

"Sebastian," I breathed. I knew what I must've looked like. Cheeks flushed, boudoir hair, eyes pleading.

A soft hiss against my mouth. Like a serpent's kiss. "How human."

His hands, still on my waist, crooked and clawed into my sides. "Cease this foolishness and remember why you are here. Why I am here." He dipped me sharply.

Claps applauded inside the ballroom, and the music shifted to a slower tune. The claw-like hands left my sides.

"Mistress." Sebastian bowed slightly and excused himself only to return a minute later. He reappeared with the parasol and tilted my chin with its tip, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Do not forget the game is still in play."

"I-I know that."

"Good." He handed me the parasol and disappeared behind the curtain with a flourish.

Alone now, I gripped the balustrade and pressed my legs together as if that would alleviate the ache between them. The cold air chilled my stinging eyes. I turned around. Beside the curtain stood a Grecian bust. Penetrating eyes, angular nose, a shadow of smile along those sculptured lips. As if the thing had ensnared me in a spell, I trailed a finger along its jawline. Stone-cold, smooth, and sharp. I held its face with both hands and leaned in.

I kissed its lips. Imagining the mocking smile would move against mine. This must've been what the sculptor Pygmalion felt when he pressed his lips against his sculpture for the first time.

Mad. Hungry. Obsessive. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

A drop trailed along the cold ivory face. I wiped my eyes and slapped my cheeks with my fingertips.

When I rejoined the guests in the ballroom, a new song commenced. Dance partners lined up while Sebastian stood at the end of the music hall, far from me.

Ignoring him, I made my way to the refreshments and held a flute of wine by its stem. I swigged it down. A languid warmth filled my chest and teased my muscles to relax. I imagined the beast's eyes gleaming in disapproval. You are suppose to be investigating, not drowning your woes in brandy. I reached for another glass. Emptied it. And joined a circle of Eton bucks.

A demure nod, a soft touch on their arm, subtly pushing out my bustle, and they fawned over me like stupid neglected lap-dogs. I waltzed with them under Sebastian's quiet gaze. Promenading with them, tittering with them, smiling sweetly behind my parasol like a damask-rose. Switching partners every few minutes, I danced in a sea of golden and silver faces. A tigress, a crescent moon, swallowtail butterflies with black tracery. A harlequin one with dancing sea-green eyes—

I froze. The cipherist.

I grasped the parasol and waved it briefly in the boy's direction over my right shoulder. You can speak with me.

His eyes flicked to it. Then me. His lips quirked.

The boy peeled off his glove and smoothed it out gently. I wish I were with you.

I raised the parasol higher in my right hand. You are too willing.

His mouth settled in a crooked smile, and he twirled a glove. Be careful, we are being watched. Then he flicked the glove over his shoulder. Follow me.

He skirted around the dancing guests, blending in like a chameleon, until he stood in front of me. I set the parasol on a nearby table. The boy offered his hand, and I took it.

"If you would allow me to lead," he whispered, warm breath against my temple.

I shivered. My skirts swayed, rustling between us as we stepped into the rhythm of the waltz.

The boy smelled pleasant. Like spiced cedar, winter air, and a hint of sweet. Something floral. A familiar perfume.

From a distance, I caught Sebastian's gaze. His eyes followed my every step, burning behind me. I smiled at the boy and pressed closer, his solid form brushing against my bodice. The warmth of his body provided me a pleasant heat.

"It appears you are being watched too," said the boy.

"And who exactly is watching you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, Miss Detective?"

Of course, he wouldn't say. "I suppose you won't disclose how you snuck into the ball without being checked either."

"Who said I didn't sign in like everyone else?" His grin widened. "I entered precisely the same way you did."

"But how—"

He pressed a finger to my lip. "Let us not bother over trivial details. I came tonight to dance only with you."

"Where's Lizzie?" I demanded. "You said she'd be here."

"She will soon enough." A rakish gleam tinged his eyes. "And I see you have my ring?"

"The Stone of Lethe," I said, staring at my gloved hand. "Isn't it? I read about it in the alchemical book in the library. The book you wanted me to find."

"Indeed."

"But why leave these crumbs?"

"Is it not more fun that way? Well, at least it is for me." He dipped me suddenly. "It's a shame. If we weren't in public, I might indulge you more tonight." Discretely, he fondled with my gloved hand, rubbing the tender space between two fingers. Another sensitive area stirred.

"May I fetch you a drink, Miss Phantomhive?"

"Depends," I said, snatching my hand away. "If it's another milk punch laced with laudanum, I'd rather not."

The boy sighed as he tugged my wrist to the refreshment table. "I had only hoped to spare you from a tiring night, but of course, sometimes even the best of plans get bungled. No matter, I suppose it is better this way. Dancing with you more than makes up for that."

I narrowed my eyes. "Maid's a milking. Lords a leaping—"

"Ladies dancing," he said, humming the tune. "Such a classic christmas song, no?"

"You only chose that song because it revolves around the number twelve. Like all of these other clues."

The boy's eyes glowed through his mask. "Well done."

"Why?"

"As I told you before." He picked up a flute with champagne and swirled it. "It is the key to solving this case."

"That's not what I mean. Why would you want me to solve the case?"

He sipped. "Because perhaps I am not the true villain here."

"And I'm the queen of England. Aren't you the one abducting these girls?"

He paused drinking. "Well, yes, but people are so very rarely black and white. Out of anyone, you would know."

His smile must have balanced out my scowl. "When are you planning your next abduction? I already know you intend to tonight. And where the hell is Lizzie?"

"So many questions." The boy raised the champagne glass above his head, and his eyes signaled to no one in particular. "To answer the first...now."

"What are you—"

The glass slipped from his hand. The shatter pierced the air, and darkness swept over the ballroom. Shouts and gasps sounded in every direction. A girl cried out—Angelica. And then another. Alice. A stampede of footsteps and pandemonium erupted. Someone collided into me, and I found myself sprawled on the cold floor.

"Bloody hell," I whispered.

I managed to pull myself to my feet and withdrew from the chaos. The liquor's effect made it easier. My mind drifted somewhere quiet. Somewhere still. An empty ballroom. Connected to a balcony and powder room. Then tables populated the empty space. Then guests. A concept in mathematics, spatial reasoning could manipulate spatial images in one's mind to create a map. Bit by bit, the layout of the ballroom formed in my head, and suddenly I knew exactly where I was in the darkness. And where I needed to go.

Carefully, I maneuvered through the trample, skirting around the table with the leftover masks. I felt around blindly until my fingers touched delicate lace. Parasol in hand, I felt the wall and edged toward the balcony until the I caught a sliver of moonlight. I pulled aside the drape and snuck a glance outside. My muscles tensed.

The cipherist held Angelica by the small of her back. His breath clouded her face, like vaporous aquamarine in the moonlight. His raised his other hand in front of her. In it, a glimmer of ocean blue.

"Blast," I hissed. The ring on my hand. It was gone. The cad must've swindled it during our waltz.

Like a mesmerist, the boy dangled the ring in front of Angelica. She stared blankly at the Stone of Lethe, face glazed with stupor. Bewitched by an enchanter's strange spell.

"That's it," the boy whispered, inches from her red lips. "Look how beautiful it gleams, just like your eyes."

"My eyes..." said Angelica, mirroring the faces from the alchemical book.

When she fell silent, the boy turned to his side. "Have you got the other one?"

He wasn't alone...?

I raised the drape further and peered at the corner of the balcony. Moonlight illuminated the silhouette of two other girls. Her back facing me, the boy's accomplice held Alice's wrists and nodded. Her twin tails bobbed, the golden tresses dulled in the night's darkling shine. I drew in a sharp breath. I'd recognize that profile anywhere.

Lizzie.

Notes:

Next up, tentacle smut. Yeah I know.

Phantom Night

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

I tensed like a drawn bow, eager to spring. No, I needed to wait. Observe.

Lizzie murmured an affirmative, clutching Alice's wrists. Her expression mirrored Angelica and Alice's. Quiet, unblinking. As if she had drunk from the river of Lethe, the Greek spirit of oblivion. But there was no magic drink here. Only a dubious ring.

"Don't let go," the boy ordered and he lowered the blue stone. "Follow behind me."

He waited for them to line up. Him, Angelica, Lizzie, and Alice, their hands linked together like paperclips. The boy advanced toward the dark ballroom and led the girls like the Pied Piper of Hamelin.

I squeezed the drape. He'd have to pass my hiding spot to gain entry into the hall. Carefully, I timed it and resorted to something clichédly simple. I stuck out my foot.

[wat-the-cur]

The weird hc thing for the frog brothers please

What do they smell like?: Dried sweat, scalp grease and dust. Edgar and Alan take baths once a week, though sometimes this will stretch to a fortnight. This is not really something you can get away with as a teenager, but they either forget, or do not feel comfortable enough to bathe more regularly. Usually, Edgar forgets and Alan does not want to. The smell of their clothes actually overpowers their own smell. They use a scented spray to cover the stink of marijuana and avoid any interference from their teachers. The combination of smoke and spray smells rather musty. Alan’s breath often smells like cherry flavoured gum, as he chews it regularly. 

How do they sleep? (Sleeping positions, schedules, etc): Their schedules differ, in spite of them working the same job and going to the same school. Edgar is very regimented in his sleep patterns. He goes to bed at 9:00pm and wakes at 5:00am, every weekday. He does this to take a couple of hours to prepare for the day ahead, before returning to the bedroom to wake Alan at 7:00am. Edgar has done this since he was eight years old, so he would never have to rush himself in the morning and start the day in his own terms. He used to be quite the night owl, as a tot. Edgar sleeps, almost on his belly, with his knees pressed into the mattress and his face in the pillow. He keeps a hand beneath the pillow, close to a stake and a crucifix. He has to have his body covered by a duvet, even in the Santa Carla summertime.

Alan has great difficulty falling asleep, as he finds it very hard to switch his brain off. He lays awake, while Edgar sleeps, almost afraid to drop off himself and lose his train of thought. Over the years, Edgar has tried different drafts and herbal remedies, to help Alan sleep more easily. Usually, he gives him a hot chocolate, whether he want it, or not. Because Alan usually does not sleep until the early hours, he wakes tired and headachy. He ends up falling asleep involuntarily, during the day. Alan sleeps on his side in a tight foetal position, with a pillow cuddled to his front. He sleeps under a lighter blanket than Edgar and he has a dragon toy under his head, as a second pillow.

They both snore.

What music do they enjoy?: Their tastes are similar, but different. Alan loves psychedelic rock. Some of his favourites include The Doors, Syd Barrett, Pink Floyd, Gong, The 13th Floor Elevators and Captain Beefheart (who’s music is not really psychedelic, so much as avant-garde). It was all the sort of music his parents played in the house when he was little, things he remembers hearing so early and it brings him joy and comfort. Edgar, on the other hand, is more of a metalhead. He likes heavy/progressive rock. Some of his favourites are Rainbow, Dio, Black Sabbath, Rush, Hawkwind, Lynyrd Skynyrd and Deep Purple. His eyes just light up, when he hears Dio’s voice. They both enjoy Cajun music, too, which their mother used to play when they were young. 

How much time do they spend getting ready in the morning?: Barely any, honestly. They might take a few minutes to chose an outfit, but once it’s on it’s just a brush across the teeth, a few scrapes through the hair and done. Edgar sometimes uses a hairbrush. 

Their favourite thing to collect?: I like to think that they collect animal figures. Wood, ceramic, glass, plastic, you name it. They are not just in their room, they are on practically every surface in the house. They are always trying to get band posters cheap and their walls are plastered with old, faded ones with worn edges. They collect crosses and crucifixes for the sake of protection, though for Edgar they are also comfort items. In the corner of their room, they have an ancient bucket of assorted pebbles, shells and shards of glass they collected off the beach as youngsters. They do not want to throw any of it away. 

Left, or right handed?: Alan is right handed, Edgar is left handed.

Religion (if any)?: They are both Christians. It stands to reason, if the crosses and holy water work on the vampires. They both believe in God and Christ and they both pray a good deal. Edgar started digging an end times bunker in the tiny back yard, but ended up hitting a pipe, so now they just have a huge heap of mud, an exposed pipe and a mountain of tinned food under a tarpaulin. 

Favourite sport?: Edgar has always enjoyed running. He used to run laps for stimulation all the time as a little frog and as a teenager, he is a decent distance runner. Alan stacks shelves, sweeps floors and hunts vampires, but apart from that he wants to be left alone. 

Favourite touristy thing to do when traveling? (museums, local food, sightseeing, etc): They love looking at animals. Zoos are great, but they especially like aquariums, they are so peaceful and dark. They have only visited such places on school trips and they were about the only school trips they enjoyed. They just peeled off from the class and ran off to do their own sightseeing. They do sometimes enjoy museums, too, especially natural history and war/military museums. 

Favourite kind of weather?: They prefer cooler weather, because they like to dress in layers. They enjoy listening to thunderstorms, too, though they hate being out in the rain. 

A weird/obscure fear they have?: Edgar is afraid of addiction (I don’t care if he smoked weed in “The Thirst”, when has anyone taken the sequels seriously?), or anything that could affect his consciousness. He is scared of losing control of his body. Alan is afraid of waking up with someone else’s mind and memories. 

The carnival/arcade game they always win without fail?: Neither of them like fairgrounds, or arcades, because of the crowds and the noise. They can barely stand the arcade machines in their own shop. They do have games they are good at, though. They are both very good at chess, they do pretty well in trivia quizzes, depending on the subject and they are both valuable team members for Pictionary. 

[incorrectcats]

Plato for the character asks! :)

Oooooh our lovely pale boy, let’s go!

Plato

Why I like them

His lovely dance skills and his enthusiasm during Tugger’s number really got me to like him. Ginger tol boi.

Why I don’t

Too straight, he’s probably a dudebro ajnkjanf sns

Favorite episode (scene if movie)

The pas de deux, of course! ;;

Favorite line

... Does he have lines?

OTP

Platoria! I know, soooo original lol. Sorry, I love them ;; If it’s about OCs, then with @sugerbunnyart ‘s Azri!

Brotp

With Pouncival even though they are always arguing. Also with some older cats like George.

Head Canon

I think I’m borrowing this from @devizakura but Plato and jenny really look alike, so I’ve been thinking that maybe they could be related? It could be cute ;; Besides that, he appears to be quite serious when in reality he’s just shy af.

Unpopular opinion

Platoria is not a bad ship, fight me. And I don’t like the name Admetus for some reason lol.

A wish

I wish him and Vic would have more interactions before the pas de deux.

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen

*shrug* Honestly, I don’t know, sorry ;;

5 words to best describe them

Quiet, delicate, soft-on-the-inside, tall... Very tall, seriously akjfkajf

[teenagegothintegrity]

For the character songs ask, your favourite character from Gravity Falls? (I’m afraid I don’t know much about the show)

that would be good ol stanley pines.. i could go off about this man for hours (and i have) anyway!!

same damn life- seether (i never thought i could feel so small, but youre the one who cant live without attention. i never thought i would lose it all, but youre the one who needs the fucking intervention)

wrecking ball- mother mother (i made a fist and not a plan, call me a reckless wrecking ball. i throw my plates against the wall, and give it all i got. i aim to break not one but all. im just a big ol wrecking ball.)

fantastic bastards- death spells (i hate everything i do, cuz i learned it from you, im your bastard. but im not anything like you, im fantastic but still not worth your time)

post party depression- days n daze (peel the mask away, drop the masquerade, lose the tough guy facade...... youre the loose cannon who could never be trusted, so youll hide from the cops all alone. when the fire dies down what the fuck will you do? when the man comes around what the fuck will you do? whos gonna be there to catch you when your plans all fall through?)

brother- gerard way (the lights we chase, the nights we steal, the things that we take to make us feel. i cant go back, dont think i will. i wont sleep tonight as long as i still hear the drums of the city rain...... cuz the nights dont last, and we leave alone. will you drive me back? can you take me home?)

.......god these are all so angsty.. probably because when it comes to stan 80% of what i talk about is angst lmao

[butchybats]

💖 🔂 and 💿 for the MCR asks. :)

Thank you for the ask!!! <3

💖: Which song is your favourite?

I have so many so I’m gonna do my top 5 :D

Vampires will never hurt you, you know what they do to guys like us in prison, I never told you what I do for a living, this is how I disappear, and the sharpest lives

🔂: Which song is currently your most repeated?

Vampires will never hurt you

💿: Which album is your favorite?

Three cheers for sweet revenge!!!!

[lesbianwerewolfzoe]

I was just thinking about a Let The Right One In AU with the AMB. Sam is fifteen when Edgar and Alan move in next door. Alan is a vampire who is physically fifteen and Edgar is approaching fifty. They used to be hunters, but after Alan was turned, Edgar started hunting for him to minimise his body count. Edgar is getting older and less efficient, failing to get Alan his blood. Meanwhile, Alan begins to bond with Sam and reclaim his youth. Edgar knows he will eventually be replaced by Sam.

ohhhhh ouch i love itttttt...... i lowkey love the idea of edgar actually reaching out to sam and giving him bizarre cryptic advice that always leaves sam with more questions than answers....

also when alan was turned he absolutely spent so much time trying to convince edgar to let him turn him.. even now he brings it up on occasion. but edgar still cant let go of the little bit of vampire hunter still left in him. he cant even consider leaving his humanity behind, even for alan.

[hadescavedish]

@loathsome-aesthete  sent me B7 ask regarding shipping. Thanks!!! <3 (if anyone couldn’t send me ask, just pm me, I might be shy but to these questions I am not ;D)

OTP: This, to be honest, is a very difficult question, because I don’t have a strict policy regarding shipping (as long as the ship works for me, I don’t oppose) but also I believe friendship exists for other people (regardless of gender, so V or C, whoever I talked about there, could be true friends without the whole concept of shipping) In short, if let me choose, that would be B/A (or B-A, whatever that might mean) because I genuinely believe, at least in my headcanon of their personalities, they would work pretty well if they were born in a different society--- in a totally different scenario. As I pointed out earlier, in their society, trust is an expensive thing. Why they work for me: ok, their fit in my template (dreamer and logician), they shared somewhat similar background (as showed in their way of talking and behaving), and they even had knowledges that are similar fields, their personality difference benefit each other a great deal in some situation. However the tragedy they had is one of things that haunted me, too. 

To me, Avon accidentally grew a bit as he realised there was no Eden in their little universe. Ideally, I imagine there would be a day that they could be themselves (Boucher said, Avon’s dream would be retiring in the sun, I don’t doubt that) 

NOTP: Avon/Dayna, no please, I don’t care what fanfic writers think (Blake/Dayna would be the same case, oh yes there are fanfics about them, I’m afraid) bc in happy AUs I imagine B and A are her stepfathers, so NO. 

OT3: Outside DS9, I don’t really have an OT3, I wouldn’t mind reading B/A/C though. 

A currently canon ship I’m okay with, but don’t prefer: In this universe there are so few of ships that could be canon. And some of haven’t really been confirmed (let’s say, Avon and Servalan) so let me choose that would be Servalan/Tarrant, I think Tarrant could have one off with a villainess, but that doesn’t mean he needs to stay with her, Dayna would work better. Lol.

A ship that would only work in an AU, but would be awesome: jesus this is so hard to answer. Se/Tr, office AU, I love bloody drama as long as blood is not involved. 

A ship I’d like to see explored, but not stick around: B/J, A/Se, A/C (for totally different reasons, B and J have much easier relationship than any ship on this show, and somehow similar to A/C, but I see Jenna as someone once saw through the situatio--- there is no future she would just walk out, she wouldn’t want to change her very nature for that, and she had took care of herself pretty well as she always did, I don’t believe Blake’s words that she is dead. As for Servalan, I would read fics that she and Avon are not endgame, she is the shoulder evil compared to Blake as shoulder angel, and the only way A/Se would be together is to diminish both parties’ character, so uh

A and C are a very hard answer because they worked well together but I just want true friendship between an introvert man and an introvert woman, as I think of John and Teyla, that is the same case)

A ship that may as well be canon: um... J/Se???? (I am half joking, though we need to talk about how Servalan changed her clothing in Pressure Point) 

The ships I’d give my OTP pair, if the other died: For Avon, that would be Vila. But my policy is if currently I read a thing about one ship, let’s just be exclusive to two of them at the moment. 

A crossover ship I’d dig: Vila and Quark. (but I guess this happened only one night and they regretted it, and Odo put both in holding cell and when Avon tried to find Vila later on, he already got out by himself) Also Teyla Emmagan and Cally, they are both ass-kicking and telepathic and serene, why not, it would be my field day. 

A ship that would work great in a Coffee Shop AU: J/C and D/So, why not. (to be fair there are already some coffee shop AU fics out there but features none of those ships I mentioned :( )

A ship that would work great in a Sitcom AU: A/V--- They ARE a sitcom. They would be stars.  

[corpse-of-bandersnatch]

Ship asks for @loathsome-aesthete , who had a lot of fine questions for me <3

I decided to answer them all in separate posts instead of all in one. I feel better, when I post the finished asks immediately, makes me feel like I accomplished something.

So here is ship post Nr. 1/8 for you! <3

Ship that needs more love

Damar x Weyoun

SUCH A MISSED OPPORTUNITY

Their dynamic could've developed in so many different interesting ways, based on their common ground, but it's never used in the show and the ship doesn't appear in fan works often enough. Both is a shame.

Some thoughts:

Damar and Weyoun 5/7 are enemies with benefits. They are on the same side, but they hate each other but they bang each other. Until Damar defects just to meet Weyoun 6 on the other side (and with other side I mean the federation, not afterlife, since none of them died, of course.)

Naturally, they are not fond of each other at the beginning. But they are bonded by the fact, that they both defected. They don't want that bond, but they have it. And it allows them to talk with each other in a way they can't with anybody else. Probably they start from spite, just to end up realizing that they have more in common with 'that awful person' than they want to admit.

Imagine Damar coming dangerously close to relapse into alcoholism, after hundreds of Cardassians die in a battle against the federation, the side he's on now. He goes into a bar (Quark's probably, since everyone's always hanging out on DS9), just to meet Weyoun 6, who has the opposite problem. He's searching for a substance, that eases his feelings of guilt and pain, but nothing has any effect on his body.

They notice each other, start to make fun of the other's problem and kinda slide into a more serious, less spiteful conversation about addiction and reasons for it. They learn things they never wanted to know about someone they despise. But now they do and they can't help but start to feel sympathy.

Also I want Weyoun to ask Bashir for some handy hints on how to please your scaly boyfriend in bed. Before Bashir gets a chance to answer, Garak appears out of nowhere (we all know he has that ability) and suggests, that 'Showing and learning by doing would be way more effective than talk'.

And then they have a foursome. C:

[bensiskos]

1, 5 and 7 for the ask meme? x

1: top 3 favorite female characters? 

Oh definitely Kira nerys because she was the character that kinda got me hooked on Star Trek, Kathryn Janeway because I’m glad she wasn’t written badly, and does the founder count? Because she’s cool too. 

5: episode plot you wished they had handled differently?

 Basically just change all of that episode where quark has to pretend to be female.

7: who would make up your crew dream team? 

Uhh b’elanna for my chief engineer, jadzia as my first officer, Tasha as my chief of security, and data as my science officer! I know I kinda mixed up their jobs a bit. 

Thank you so much!

[moviegroovies]

Hey there! I just wanted to tell you that I really enjoy how you dig into the films that you like, it’s really fun to read. I especially enjoyed your Lost Boys thoughts and headcanons. There are a couple that inspired me to make some meta/headcanon posts of my own, so thank you for that! If I may ask a couple of questions: What are your favourite films? And what sort of films do you like, in case I can make any recommendations?

omg i can’t believe i didn’t see this before (so i don’t know how long it’s been sitting here... sorry!) but wow thank you!!!! personally, my favorite films rn are probably: ghostbusters, the lost boys, heathers, little shop of horrors, re-animator, bill & ted’s excellent adventure, and the rocky horror picture show. definitely leaving some out but those are all at the top of the list lol. as for the kind of movies i like, honestly i’m not very picky and i generally enjoy every movie WHILE i’m watching it. that being said, my very favorite movies are mostly like... tacky horror. maybe that’s not exactly the descriptive term, but i like things with horror elements that don’t take themselves too seriously (other than bill & ted’s i’d say all the movies i just listed are examples of what i mean, with various degrees of “horror”). also, it’s gotta be homoerotic. bonus points for vampires, time travel, or musical elements, lmfao. i would love to hear some recommendations!!!! seriously hmu and i’ll try to watch them asap!

[girderednerve]

it's that time again, the time when i complain about graduate school,

i am taking a class called "information technology and older adults." it is taught by an adjunct professor whose main job is doing some kind of big job in my university's IT department, and it is cross-listed so both library science & IT students take it.

the professor is annoying in various ways—i don't like her jokes, i think it sucks that her introductory lecture included an emphasis on the four agreements, you know, the self-help twaddle, etc etc—but i have more substantive complaints

the main one is that the way we handle disability is mostly that we don't. we just covered accessibility last class, which is the closest we've gotten to acknowledging that most of the challenges that we've listed as 'specific to older adults' are literally just disabilities which can affect people at any age. there actually are some things which are specific to older adults now that we could discuss, like cultural scripts about technology adoption, or how many digital services make large assumptions about their users' basic familiarity with online resources, and so on. but we've only mentioned those in passing. we had two older adults visit my class as guest speakers yesterday and two students asked questions about how they manage "cognitive decline" etc., and this seemed to me just unspeakably rude in addition to being like, a useless question.

we have not talked about ableism or ageism at any point. multiple times, the assigned readings &/or my classmates have brought up instances where older adults are resistant to using assistive devices, and every time the takeaway has been "these items are not designed to be aesthetically pleasing, we need better design so that people will want to use these devices." i remain unconvinced! there is an immense social stigma aimed at people who are visibly disabled, and this ableism is inextricably entangled with bias against older people. my stupid work training about ageism spent several minutes rebutting the 'harmful myth' that all older people are disabled, without ever engaging the idea that being disabled is not a bad thing; this class is taking essentially the same approach. i think it's loathsome and also unproductive.

somewhat along the same vein, we just literally never talk about any social context here. like, okay, fine, many older adults find using websites and stuff harder than it is for many younger people; just going 'well, it's because of bad design' is kind of tautological to me, it doesn't answer the question of why that is, how that happened. and the answer to "how do we do better designs" has, to date, been to include older people in the design process, but there's no discussion of what is being made in the first place, or who's making it, or why, or in whose interests. this idea of 'inclusion' is so transparently weak and it's infuriating.

basically all of our discussions are about how to get older adults to use whatever service or thing, and i hate that too. there are plenty of IT things that make my life better, that make the library better, whatever, but i don't think that human life should be closed off to people who don't want to use these things, not least because the devices we're talking about are often extremely expensive (mentioned but not discussed), or are proprietary products with some, uh, iffy terms of service (never mentioned at all).

at a certain point i'm just like, you know, what the fuck are we here for? what's the fucking point of reading yet another systematic literature review? what's the point if we aren't going to engage ethical questions, or think more broadly about these issues? aren't we in graduate school, the prime time for intellectualizing everything & dealing with the abstract?

i mean for me the point is "this class fit into my schedule and may be useful in the medium run for job interviews." that's probably the point for everyone else. but the whole class veers between feeling pointless & feeling actively cruel, like i'm being encouraged to think about older people as a 'difficult user group' instead of, you know, my colleagues, my friends, members of my community, even as the professor halfheartedly protests otherwise

[azureashes]

Blues, Pinks, and Daddy Kinks

NSFW,  18+ ONLY, Minors DNI You know how to please Shigaraki. It’s something you’re good at, something you’ve set your sights on, but Dabi falls hard for what he sees in the interim. Dabi x F!Reader, Shigaraki x F!Reader Word count: 16K - Contrary to the title, Dabi does NOT have a daddy kink. (Shigaraki does, though.) 

Warnings: Voyeurism, Cockwarming, Cheating, Sex work (?), Cuckolding (?), Oral (giving and receiving), Daddy Kink, Infantilization (?), (mild) Degradation (?), Fluff, Angst, 

It was the contrast.  

He was a sucker for stark contrasts. Black and white. Sweet and spicy. Rough and tender. It was aesthetically pleasing. Yin and yang and all that shit. 

 And then there was you. Weren’t you just a bundle of contradictions all on your own?

 Laying back in his bed, his head leaning against the headboard, one leg outstretched and the other tucked in at the knee, he listened quietly to the sound of your voice. Smoke curled lazily up from the lit cigarette dangling from his lips, the cool night air slipping in from the open window, doing very little to alleviate the warmth of his feverish body. 

 Of course there was the heat of his quirk that seemed to be embedded permanently into his skin, his flesh, and his very bones. But the uncomfortable warmth that plagued him now had less to do with the consequences of his quirk and more to do with the thin, high-pitched voice penetrating the thin walls, ringing in his ears - a cruel mockery. 

 “Ah! Daddy! Pl- please!” Followed by a moan so cute and girlish it was almost criminal. More whimpering cries followed. Begging, pleading for something… Something that you were given shortly because in no time at all you were panting out how good it was, how much you loved it, how perfect Tomura was. 

 Dabi felt his member twitch at the sound. He felt himself go hard at the mere thought of what Shigaraki was doing to you, at the faces you were no doubt making. He scoffed and pulled on his cigarette, exhaling smoke into the air. No way was he going to touch himself. Not to this. 

 As fascinating as it was, the situation was more of a riddle to him. The way you mewled and squealed for Shigaraki, making fuck-me eyes at him from beneath your thick lashes. He could never quite wrap his mind around it. 

 He put out his cigarette as he heard you shriek the boss’s name, followed by a deep grunt from Shigaraki, and hoped the two of you were done for the night. He needed to get some shuteye. It would be another long day of recruitment tomorrow. It didn’t help that most villains around town were useless trash. 

 The two of you seemed to be settling down, and Dabi closed his eyes, resting his head against his pillow. The light breeze blowing in from the window cooling him down ever so slightly. As the minutes crept by, he could feel himself drifting off to sleep when he heard it. Your little gasps and mewls, indicating Shigaraki was up for a second round. Shutting his eyes with a groan, Dabi cursed under his breath. Didn’t the asshole ever sleep? Fucking bastard. 

 -----------------------------------------------------

 The contrast. 

 There you were, shifting from one foot to the other, lifting your faux-innocent eyes to Shigaraki, a pretty pout on your lips. “Do you have to?” you whined, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. 

 “Yes,” Shigaraki stood in the common room, near the hideout’s exit as he shrugged on his jacket. “I do.” Turning to regard you over his shoulder as he adjusted the collar of his black coat, he added. “Stay here and be a good girl for me.” 

 You nodded miserably, your gaze dropping to his feet. “Okay, daddy.” 

 He stepped closer, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger before he lifted your face up towards himself. Tomura caught your lips in his own, pulling you in for a brief, possessive kiss before he pulled away and  brought his chapped lips to your ear, whispering something huskily. Too low for Dabi to hear. Whatever he said caused you to blush prettily and a childish giggle spilled from your lips. 

 “Promise?” 

 When Shigaraki nodded, you stood on tiptoe to press a chaste kiss to his cheek, and whispered something in return.

 It was honestly disgusting.

 And yet, Dabi could not tear his eyes away. Even as Toga made a snide comment to Twice, who rolled his eyes. Even as Mr. Compress turned away to offer the pair some privacy, Dabi remained where he was. His feet propped up on the table, an arm outstretched over the backrest of the sofa, observing you through narrowed, cerulean eyes. 

 Shigaraki turned away from you, passing through the door with Kurogiri in tow, you beaming at his back, poised almost on tiptoe, as if you were already eagerly awaiting his return… all up until the moment the door closed behind him. 

 “Tch.” 

 The smile fell from your face, to be replaced with a characteristic scowl, and your posture relaxed as you wasted not a moment in turning away from the door and stalking towards the group. You tugged the velvet hair tie out of your neat ponytail and shook out your hair as you rummaged through the drawers in the adjacent kitchen, looking for the cigarettes you kept hidden from Shigaraki. 

 The others paid you no mind, as you slammed one drawer after another, all the while shrugging off the pink cardigan you wore as if the thing was acid on your skin. You tossed the loathsome article of clothing in a corner of the kitchen, in no mood to bother with it for now, as you searched for your fix. 

 “Fuck,” you cursed, slamming the last drawer. 

 Hands on your hips, you glared at the room in general, as if expecting your pack of cigarettes to immediately appear from any corner of the area with an apology. 

 Dabi felt the heat pool in his stomach as blood rushed to his cock. That was it. That fucking contrast. He could get himself off just watching you. Your eyes screaming bloody murder as you searched for the pack of Marlboros that were hidden away in his pocket. Damned if he would tell you that, though. He’d rather let you keep looking for them, growing more furious by the second. It was a good look on you. Better than that ridiculous, infantile bimbo Shigaraki kept you as. The bastard had no idea what he was missing out on. 

 “Hey, Matchsticks,” you turned towards him with a frustrated growl. “I can’t find my cigarettes. Loan me one?” 

 He returned your gaze through half-lidded eyes, his face reflecting nothing of the maelstrom you provoked in him. Impassive and bored as ever.

 “Loan? You planning on giving it back?” he drawled.

 “No, of course not. Don’t be an asshole, Dabi. Just give me one.” 

 You were approaching him already, hand outstretched expectantly, and he was sorely tempted to just grab hold of that hand and pull you onto his lap until you were straddling him. He imagined the surprise on your face and the foul language that would spill from those pretty lips. To tease you into a fury and then fuck you until your voice was hoarse. To have you cursing his name and glaring him down as he thrust into you until you melted into a puddle despite yourself, moaning his name in that voice. Your real voice. The voice Shigaraki never got to hear. 

 Digging into his pockets, he pulled out a cigarette from his pack and waved it in front of your face teasingly. “What’s in it for me, princess?”

 The cocky smirk stayed firmly in place as you tried to grab it out of his hands, missing by an inch every time that he pulled it out of your reach, baiting you closer and closer to himself, until you didn’t even realize you were leaning over him, supporting yourself with a hand on his shoulder, your chest inches from his nose. He snorted in amusement. So, even the real you was stupidly innocent.

 “Give me the goddamn cigarette, Dabi,” you snapped suddenly, stepping back and crossing your arms angrily. 

 “Yeah, yeah, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Dabi sneered, pressing the cigarette into the palm of your hand. 

 With a sigh of relief, you pushed the cigarette into your mouth, feeling around in your pockets for a lighter. It had been nearly 24 hours since you had last found a minute without Shigaraki around and the nicotine deprivation wasn’t doing you any favors.

 “Got a light?” you turned hopeful eyes towards him and this time he responded readily, stretching his hand out for you. 

 A glowing, turquoise flame burst to life at the tip of his index finger and you muttered a thanks as you leaned in to light your cigarette. 

 Inhaling deeply, you released a contented sigh as you exhaled, the smoke drifting freely from your lips. You were entirely ignorant of the intent way Dabi watched you, focused completely as you were on the relief of finally satisfying your craving. 

 “What’s the plan?” you asked, settling beside Dabi on the sofa as you pulled the ashtray in towards yourself. 

 Toga tugged on her backpack as she flashed you a grin, revealing sharp canines. “I’m going to see my precious Izuku today, he’s always beaten and bloody like a bag of bones.” A sound between a whine and a moan escaped her lips as she pressed her hands to her flushed face. “I love him so much.”

 You suppressed a wry smirk and nodded in her direction. “Best of luck with that, Toga.” 

 Twice also had somewhere he needed to be, and Mr. Compress had disappeared in the middle of the conversation, leaving you alone with Dabi.

 “Let me guess, you have work, too, huh?” you sigh, leaning into the sofa.

 He did. Was it really anything he couldn’t put off though? It could wait. Seeing you without Shigaraki was a rare pleasure.

 “Unlike the royal pain in the ass here, some of us actually have to work, yeah. Surprise.” He brought his cigarette to his lips, tearing his eyes away from you.

 “What do you even do here, besides fucking the boss, Quirkless?”

 You ignore the insult and stare off into the distance. That had been your plan, wasn’t it? How many years on the streets had it taken before you asked yourself whether all this talk of modesty and chastity wasn’t just intended to keep women away from the power of sex. Because at the end of the day, that’s what it was all about, wasn’t it? Power?

 You couldn’t help but admire the women who managed to sleep their way to the proverbial top. Maximum results for minimum effort. Safety, security, and the big, strong men wrapped around their fingers. How did they do it? That shit couldn’t be easy. 

 Why was it considered more honorable for you to be begging for scraps and wiping the blood off your thighs when men cornered you in alleyways, luring you in with the promise of  a warm meal? Was that the “virtue” society kept hounding about? Fuck that. They just didn’t want women to be empowered by sex. They didn’t want women using it to their advantage the way men did. 

 You were done living according to those rules. You would find the most terrifying, most influential man there was and make him your bitch. Live the easy life. 

 That was when you saw him. Shigaraki Tomura. Saw the terror he instilled in an attack on the heroes, saw the way even his followers were wary of him and you knew - it had to be him. Satisfy that one man, and the world would fall at your feet. You would be set for life. 

 So, you gathered every scrap of information you could find on him. Researched and investigated and tried to get into his head. Manipulated by others and resentful of it. Disdainful of the world around him. Craving power and control. Problems with authority figures. Daddy issues. You built a plan, an identity around the type of woman you assumed he would want in his bed. 

 And you were right. Your innocent act had earned you a more or less permanent place by his side. The way he looked at you whenever you called him daddy. Whenever you submitted to him. Whenever you let him twist your arm and force meaningless confessions from you, you knew. You had him at your whim. 

 But it was more work than you had realized. A constant act, constantly needing to be attuned to his needs, his desires. Affording him pleasant company. You were fairly good at it, but it was tiring nonetheless. Tiring but worth it, you admitted to yourself. Seeing Tomura relax in your arms, watching the agitated skin on his neck heal slowly the more time he spent with you. So at ease in your company, he didn’t even scratch at it. 

 Still, a vacation every now and then would do you good. It was a relief that Tomura would be out of doors today. 

 “You wanna trade?” You cast Dabi a disparaging look, making the most out of the last of your cigarette. You’re too proud to ask him for another. “You fuck the boss. I’ll go find recruits.”

 “Touché, brat. Does your Daddy know the kind of mouth you have on you? Does he know that you smoke?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he questioned you. The chance to be alone with you was rare and although you had been here months already, he still did not know just what went on between you and Shigaraki, apart from the obvious.

 The mocking way he repeated your pet name for Shigaraki rubbed you the wrong way. What did he know? You couldn’t help but glare at him in response. 

 “Don’t fuck with me, Dabi.” You cut him off, already tired of his games. You put out the cigarette and got to your feet, ready to turn in for a nap. Heavens knew you didn’t get enough sleep when Tomura was around. 

 You drew to a sudden stop when you felt warm fingers close around your wrist. His hand was so much larger than you had expected, his grip more firm. He was strong. His tall, lanky build and his casual demeanor could let you forget it but the hand on your wrist could break the bone without much of a thought. 

 You turned back towards him, eyebrow raised in disdain. “You want something, Dabi?” 

 Oh, he wanted something, all right. He’s wanted it ever since he saw you. Wanted it every night he heard you force out those feminine, high-pitched moans, like a fucking actress. He wanted you raw and needy and confused and helpless. Writhing and soaking and a fucking mess around his fingers, around his tongue, around his cock. There were so many things he wanted from you. 

 He tugged on your wrist, making you stumble backwards, landing in his lap. Refusing to let yourself be flustered, you returned his gaze evenly, brow still raised in question. He dragged on his cigarette as his luminous, azure eyes bored into yours. When he pulled the cigarette away from his mouth, he blew the smoke into your face without remorse. It stung your eyes but the pungent smell of tobacco was mixed with another scent, one unique to him, faintly reminiscent of menthol. It was not unpleasant, for some reason. 

 “Keep me company.” He instructed, his tone too decisive for it to have been a request. “I haven’t finished mine.”

 You glanced at his half-finished cigarette and lifted your eyes back up to his. “How is that my problem?” 

 “What?” he questioned, still observing you through half-lidded eyes, trying to decide where you stood. “Worried Shigaraki will come back and see you like this?”

 It was a compromising situation, the way you were sitting on his lap, his hand still clasping your wrist firmly. You couldn’t pretend not to feel the bulge pressing against your thigh. But you held your ground and lifted your head high. 

 “I would be worried... for you.” You angled your head, taking the cigarette out of his hand and bringing it to your lips. “If I gave a shit about you.” 

 Instead of taking the cigarette back from you, he closed his fingers around your hand, bringing it to his mouth. His eyes never left yours as he pulled on it, and the contrast you felt between the injured and uninjured skin, the coolness of the metal holding it together, sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You’ve always noticed Dabi, how could you not? But never like this. And never would you guess he had noticed you in any way at all. 

 “I want to fuck you.” Dabi’s unapologetic announcement, delivered without preamble, stole the breath from your lungs. For once, you had no immediate answer, staring numbly back into those burning teal irises. 

 “I’ve wanted to fuck you for ages.” Unable to reach the ashtray without relinquishing his hold on you, he put the cigarette out on his own arm, where the skin was already burned beyond recognition, and flicked it into a corner of the room. 

 “It’s all I can think about every night I hear you putting on your show for Shigaraki. I think about how much I would like to take you away from him and fuck you raw. Just like this.” His eyes roamed your form, before lifting back up to meet yours. “The way that you are.” His other hand curved around your waist, inching towards the hem of your black t-shirt, his fingers skirting over the skin there, never breaking eye contact all the while.

 You considered it. 

 Tomura was by no means lacking in any way. He was perfect in many respects. He did not smoke, he was considerate, he almost always made sure you got off - when he could be bothered to remember it, at least. But Dabi… for all that you had never even tried to seduce him, he looked at you like you were a tall glass of water and he was dying of thirst. The mere look in his eyes was enough to have you clenching your thighs together. A movement that did not go unnoticed, if his smirk was anything to go by. 

 Did you want him? You weren’t ashamed to admit that you did. Would Tomura hold it against you? Would he turn you out? It wasn’t all that likely. He had grown dependent on you, as you had hoped he would. He would probably kill Dabi, though.

 Did Dabi know that?

 “Would you be prepared to deal with the consequences?” You lean into him, bracing yourself on his shoulders as his hand feathers up your back underneath your shirt. 

 Dabi’s smirk widened. It was as good as a confession in his eyes and you realized that as well, just a moment too late. 

 “He’ll kill you,” you hissed under your breath, not wanting him to overlook the gravity of the situation, but he was long gone, burying his face in the crook of your neck while his other hand snaked underneath your shirt as well.

 “There are worse ways to go,” he scoffed against your neck, and you could not tell if that was sarcasm you heard - or idiotic sincerity. “Let him try.”

 You bit your lip. Were you going to go through with this? The heartbeat pounding in your ears and the heat swirling in your belly had already made up their mind. While the rest of the villains were out there, putting their lives on the line for the League’s goals, you were here. And you were going to fuck Dabi. 

 “Alright,” you announced, resting your hand briefly on his arm as you got to your feet. You ignored the sensation of loss as his hands slipped back out from under your shirt at your movement. “Life’s too short to not sleep with someone you want to sleep with. But if we get caught, it’s on you. Your problem.” 

 You did not so much as look at him as you headed towards the kitchen and retrieved the pink cardigan you had discarded earlier. Tying it around your waist, you heaved a sigh and ran a hand through your hair, pulling the strands away from your face before meeting his gaze with an air of determination. “Let’s get it over with, then.”

 The smirk he rewarded you with spelled trouble. You should have known as much. The man was nothing but trouble. He stalked slowly over to you, towering over you as he brought his hands up to rest against the counter on either side of you. You leaned back, despite yourself, feeling the heat of his body encroach on your personal space. You eyed him warily, unsure just where he was going with this. 

 “Not here,” you announced evenly, averting your eyes. Even he couldn’t be dumb enough to want to do this in a public space. 

 But he wasn’t listening, prying your legs apart with his knee as he pushed in closer to you until you could feel his thigh pressed against your heated, clothed core. 

 “What’s wrong, princess?” He murmured, “I thought you said it was my problem.”

 Trailing his fingers up your arm, a burning sensation lingered in his wake, and you couldn’t be sure if your own body’s reaction was to blame or if that was the heat of his quirk.

 He tilted his head slightly, his gaze tracing the movements of his fingers, burning on you even more surely than his touch, and his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he noticed the mark of a cigarette burn on your arm. When you lifted your eyes to his, he spied the hesitation in them, the uncertainty behind your feigned nonchalance. Weren’t you just a jumble of layers? What would he find if he stripped them all back? Silence lingered between the two of you as he watched you hold his gaze determinedly. Your fingers flew up to his chest, neither pulling him in nor pushing him away, hovering in indecision. What he wouldn’t give to find out.

 “News flash, doll,” he murmured, pressing even more firmly against your core, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. His warm breath fanned over your lips as you searched his luminous, blue eyes. For all appearances, they were bored and unaffected by your proximity. 

 “We’re not playing by your rules.”

 You swallowed thickly. You weren’t about to let yourself be intimidated by him. You grew up on the streets. You’ve seen worse.

 “If we’re not playing by my rules, we’re not playing at all.” You raised an eyebrow at his antics, something he was quickly realizing was a self-defense tactic when you were unnerved. 

 A chuckle escaped him, and the rumble from his chest, his breath on your lips… you were gripped by a desire to dig your fingers into his hair, flip your positions and just get this over with. But he drew back slowly, that shit eating grin still fixed firmly in place. 

 “Unlike you, some of us have actual work to do.” He stepped back, leavíng your core bereft - the absence of his warmth like a physical ache. 

 “What the hell?” You narrowed your eyes at his retreating back, struggling to calm your racing heart. “Were you just fucking around with me?”

 “Of course not,” he turned away from you and reached into his pocket. You could only look on in stunned silence as he tossed your cigarettes onto the counter. “At least… not yet.” The positively predatory grin he gave you, as if you were a meal he was saving for later, coupled with the knowledge that he had known where your cigarettes were all along, that he had, in fact, hidden them from you, set your blood boiling. 

 “For your information, princess, it’s not ‘let’s get this over with,’” Dabi threw over his shoulder, making his way to the exit. “Next time, try ‘Dabi, fuck my brains out, pretty please.’” 

 You couldn’t believe your ears. It was rare for you to be speechless but for once, you were absolutely livid beyond words. In your fury, you spat the only phrase that came to mind at his ridiculous actions.

 “Fuck you.” 

 He didn’t so much as pause, reaching smoothly for the door handle as he spoke, “Maybe later, babe. A little busy right now.”

 And with that, he was gone, leaving you fuming at the door that closed behind him, firmly rejecting the idea that you were at all disappointed. 

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 “Daddy!” 

 The minute the doors opened, you rushed into Shigaraki’s arms, wrapping your arms around him. Nuzzling into his chest, you lifted wide, long-lashed eyes to give him your best puppy dog look. 

 “I missed you,” you murmured, with just enough of a sultry undertone to deliver all the right implications. Were you ashamed of your behavior? Hell, no. This was your nine-to-five.

 “Hey.” Shigaraki’s raspy voice was thick with disapproval as he took hold of your arms - carefully leaving at least one finger of each hand in the air - and pushed you away from himself. “Not right now.” 

 You allowed yourself to be pushed aside, cocking your head to better assess the situation. Whatever he had set out to do, it did not seem to have gone well. You had tied your hair neatly back, a black, velvet ribbon adorning your ponytail, and wore the pastel pink cardigan you despised, coupled with a black, pleated skirt. You were a symbol of the other side - the world that had rejected the lot of you - proof that he deserved that world, and everything in it, as much as anyone else. More so, even. 

 You watched him scratch at his neck as he settled on the sofa with an irritated grumble to himself. Dabi, sitting across from him, met your eye ever so briefly, smirking into his can of beer. You could feel him laughing at your failed efforts and your skin prickled in disdain. No, forget Dabi. Shigaraki was what mattered - and he was scratching at his neck again. 

 You pulled a bottle from the refrigerator - not alcohol, but an energy drink, as Shigaraki preferred, and set it on the table in front of him. You settled on the floor at his feet, kneeling beside him, and rested your hands in your lap, lowering your head miserably. 

 It took him a good couple minutes to even notice you were there. 

 “What’s with you?” he asked at length, your presence finally rousing him from his thoughts. 

 You lifted tearful eyes towards him, placing both your hands on the knee closest to you. You leaned in closer, before addressing him with a trembling lip. “Wasn’t I a good girl, Daddy?”

 You heard Dabi sputter and cough as he choked on his drink. 

 Oh, he hadn’t seen anything yet. 

 Leaning in even closer until you were practically hugging his knee to your breasts, you whined, “I waited just like you said. Promise!” You rested your head on his thigh, nuzzling against him like a kitten. “Wasn’t I good?” 

 You waited a moment that felt like an eternity, feeling dumber by the second until finally, you felt his hand on your head, stroking your hair with four fingers. A smile spread across your features, invisible to him. This was what you were best at, after all. And this was what he wanted from you, to make him forget, however briefly, all the shit that seemed to have it out for him. You were more than happy to oblige. 

 “Were you being good? How would I know? I wasn’t even here.” His raspy voice wasn’t quite as harsh as it might have been and you knew you were getting through. 

 “Come here.” 

 Your head shot up as you beamed up at him. Ivory-blue hair veiling a pale face. Ruby eyes glittered down at you and you wasted no time whatsoever in climbing on to his lap. So what if Dabi was watching? Even better if he was. You wriggled against Shigaraki as you sought to make yourself comfortable and the bulge in his pants hardened against your body in response. Oh, he was ever so easy. A wonder that another woman hadn’t sought him out before you. 

 You turned towards the table, reaching for the energy drink you had placed there and glanced briefly at Dabi. The raven-haired man’s eyes had never left you, watching every one of your actions intently as he emptied his drink. The hunger burning in his eyes was unmistakable. Suited him right for riling you up and leaving you high and dry. What Dabi wanted from you was a mystery, but you did not take kindly to the way he had played you. Oh, you would use this opportunity for all it was worth. 

 Turning back towards Shigaraki, you smiled sweetly up at him as you unscrewed the cap. Lifting the bottle to his lips, you gently tilted his chin upwards with your other hand. “You must be thirsty, Daddy. You need to drink something.”

 Tomura tolerated it and allowed you to spoil him, watching you as you angled the bottle, so that the neon blue fluid flowed to his lips. Before long, you rescrewed the cap and deposited the drink on the table before throwing your arms around his neck and burying your head on his shoulder. 

 “What are you doing?” He rasped, pulling his head away from you. “I told you to come here.”

 You blinked innocently up at him. You were already sitting on his lap, what could he possibly mean? Slowly, understanding dawned and you gaped at him. “But Daddy, how can I get any closer than this? I’m already here.” He couldn’t mean what you thought he meant?

 “Are you being dumb right now?” He snarled into your ear, the pressure against your bottom more intense as you felt his thick length press against you. 

 “Do you want me to sit on your cock, Daddy?” You whispered in surprise, before chancing a glance at Dabi. He didn’t seem to be breathing as his glowing, turquoise eyes all but ate you alive. You leaned in to whisper into Tomura’s ear, “There are people here.” 

 Shigaraki did not even look at Dabi as he growled back, “I don’t fucking care.”

 It was the first time Shigaraki had ever chosen to engage in a sexual act in public. Or did this even count as “public” for him? Was Dabi even a person who registered in Shigaraki’s eyes? You had made up your mind at the start of this journey that when you chose your patron, you would do whatever he required of you. There was no room for hesitation or balking. You had to take this as seriously as anyone else would their profession. 

 With an appeasing smile, you shimmied off his lap. Your dexterous hands unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, freeing his erect member. As luck would have it, Shigaraki had everything you could ever ask for to be sexually satisfied for life. The man had never truly given you cause for complaint.

 You had intentionally foregone underwear, hoping to use that information to seduce and please the pale-haired villain. Although it hadn’t worked out in quite the way you had intended, your omission still worked in your favor, as it spared you the awkwardness of undressing in front of Dabi.

 You climbed back onto his lap, completely ignoring the blue-eyed flame user whose eyes were fixed on you with a sizzling intensity, and sank down onto Shigaraki’s erection, a high-pitched moan escaping you as you relished the feeling of his thick length filling you up. Your black skirt shielded the worst of it from view but the fact remained that you were up to your cervix in Shigaraki and Dabi was just across the table, watching you. A thrill shuddered down your spine at the realization. 

 You tried to move, to gain some of that friction your body so craved, but Shigaraki placed a hand on your shoulder, pulling you in towards himself. You found yourself leaning against his chest, even as your core pulsed with desire, desperate for movement, desperate for release. Shigaraki could not be bothered however, not at all interested in your breathless pants.

 “Don’t move,” he instructed, releasing a long, low exhale as he pressed his eyes shut. “Stay just like that. It helps me think.”

 He couldn’t be serious? But he was. “S- sure, Daddy. Anything for you. Does it - does it feel good?”

 “It would feel better if you could shut that mouth of yours for one minute. Now, be quiet or I’ll have Dabi shut it for you.” He rolled his head back against the backrest, eyes still closed, and that alone was your saving grace. If he had seen your face when he suggested having Dabi shut your mouth - and you harbored no illusions on just how the tall villain would be shutting it - there would likely be serious consequences. His admission begged yet another question however. Was Shigaraki not averse to sharing you? 

 You could all but hear the same question going through Dabi’s mind, but rather than risk Tomura’s anger by voicing your confusion, you rested your head on his shoulder. Enjoying the feeling of fullness and trying not to let your drive to pump the both of you to your respective orgasms cause you too much discomfort.

 You heard a soft grunt and chanced a glance over your own shoulder to see Dabi palming himself through his jeans. The way his eyes burned into yours invitingly, as if to show you what you were missing, had you biting your lip subconsciously. Something was seriously wrong with you. There you were, stuffed full of Tomura’s generous length, and all but salivating over Dabi’s as well. That could not be normal. 

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 “Poor Quirkless didn’t even get to come,” a low voice whispered into your ear as a now somewhat familiar warmth pushed up against your back. 

 “Fuck off, Dabi.” 

 The sensations his mere presence awoke in you were getting increasingly out of control. After he had been forced to witness your little cockwarming session with Shigaraki, he had given you a knowing smirk. One heavy with implications. One that seemed to say “poor you.”

 “I can’t even call you a gold digger, since the League is poor as fuck,” he murmured, bringing his lips to the shell of your ear while his arms closed around your waist. You were standing in the kitchen, and although not many of the League’s members came by here outside of mealtimes, the place was full of them in general and you did not intend to be caught in the midst of this - whatever it was, with Dabi.

 “So, just what the hell are you actually doing here? With him?” His tongue traced the shell of your ear, and the piercing there provided a cool contrast that made you shudder. 

 “Call it an investment,” you forced yourself to answer, your eyes squeezing shut at the intrusion of his touch - not at all unwelcome. 

 His lips traced a path down your ear to your neck where he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin. You angled your head despite yourself, offering the villain better access. 

 “Shigaraki’s going to come out on top in all of this.” You answered breathlessly, feeling his fingers trail down your thigh and then slowly, tantalizingly, skimming upwards, bringing the hem of your skirt with it.

 “It’s what someone always said to me. The greater evil will win against the lesser evil. The corrupt hero society -” You bit your lip as you felt his hands skim across your exposed slit in a feather light touch. 

 “The corrupt hero society?” He prompted. 

 “Can only hope to win if they are truly good. But they aren’t - they’re the lesser evil, so - ah!” You leaned back against him, gasping as his fingers pushed past your folds, brushing ever so slightly against your clit.

 “Hm? So then what?” He hummed, a sly smirk on his lips.

 “So, Shigaraki will -” another whimper escaped your lips as his fingers traced circles around your entrance, just shy of penetrating.

 “He will come out on top. He will change this world. He has what it takes. He - oh!” You had tried to finish your explanation quickly but the words were lost as he finally pushed past the tight ring of muscle, his long, bony fingers pressing deep into you. 

 “And when he rules over the ashes, you will be the one by his side, is it?” He snickered against your neck. 

 “I…” You couldn’t possibly produce a thought, let alone a word, with the way his fingers worked you. It was so entirely different from everything you had with Shigaraki. Every encounter with the pale-haired man was engineered by you to provide him with the most pleasure possible - a pleasure he would grow addicted to, in turn securing your place by his side. It was hot and heavy and rough and wild with him, but Tomura had never touched you like this, as if your pleasure alone provided him with a satisfaction nothing else could. As if watching you come apart was a distinct delight. Slowly, sensually, as if your orgasm was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

 “And then what? I’ll be the one who comes around to fuck you better every time his back is turned?” His fingers withdrew slowly and a low moan of complaint escaped your throat only to be stifled as he trailed your slick upwards to circle your clit. “I never took you for such an idealist.” He murmured as he rubbed over it, gently at first, then with an increasing rhythm and increasing pressure every stroke. Your shallow breaths quickened in response. 

 The coil of heat in your belly tightened and you could feel yourself fast approaching the edge. The contrast between his languid strokes and the now fervent and insistent ones entirely too much to bear, your legs trembled and you threw your head back despite yourself, resting on his shoulder now, as the pleasure exploded within you, setting every one of your nerve endings alight. The arm wrapped around your waist held you upright as your legs gave out on you. Your hands flew up to cover your mouth as a low groan of sheer delight escaped your throat and your inner walls clenched around nothing. 

 When the last of the tingles slowly subsided, your eyes fluttered open as you struggled to breathe normally again. Dabi’s head was angled towards you, his blue eyes met yours, glittering with amusement, and a cocky grin on his lips. He had delivered a mind-numbing orgasm and you suspected it hadn’t even taken him three minutes to do it. The bastard was a genius with his hands. 

 You could only look on in a stunned daze as he lifted his fingers to his mouth, licking your juices off of them leisurely while his eyes never left yours. 

 “Couldn’t leave the League’s princess all hot and bothered, now could I?” He hummed, his tone teasing if not altogether mocking. 

 You closed your eyes with a curse as you pushed away from him. You hadn’t even tried to shove him off. What was wrong with you? Anyone could have walked in at any moment. Had that been part of the thrill? You weren’t sure if you liked it, you wanted to be in control of the situation at all times. With Shigaraki, even in your submissive role, you were always in control. You knew what was required of you and you planned ahead for each encounter, for how you were going to make him fall further and harder for you each and every time. 

 In contrast, Dabi was an enigma. One moment, he confessed he wanted to sleep with you, with an aura as if he would die if you didn’t indulge him immediately, only to walk out shortly after, entirely indifferent. He watched Shigaraki have his way with you as if you were nothing more than a prized commodity, unaffected, if not slightly turned on. But instead of trying to get into your pants, he had only swooped in to satisfy your sexual frustration and was now, by all intents, ready to leave again. 

 What on earth did he want from you? Was he only trying to throw a wrench in all of your plans? 

 “Dabi!” A voice sounded from behind the two of you and Dabi’s smirk faded as he turned to the source of the disturbance, to find Toga approaching to lean over the kitchen counter on the opposite side. 

 “What do you want, Toga?” He turned towards her in his laidback manner, leaning back against the counter as if the two of you had been engaged in nothing more than casual conversation. You turned away from her, afraid that she would find your feelings written all over your face. You moved to the sink to wash the few dishes that were stacked there, hoping to distract yourself. Toga had an uncanny instinct for such things, and the last thing you wanted was for her to assume there was anything at all between you and the flame-user. 

 “Twice is looking for you. Shigaraki’s had an epiphany and we’re planning to infiltrate U.A. Where were you?” She quirked a brow at him as she folded her arms over the counter. 

 Apparently, that little action of yours had helped Shigaraki think. Who would have thought? 

 Calling your name, Toga angled her head towards you, “Shigaraki’s looking for you, by the way. I wouldn’t keep him waiting, if I were you.” The sly grin that spread across her features was indication enough of what he wanted. You nodded in return, feeling oddly tongue-tied. 

 “I’ll be right there, Toga. Thanks for telling me.” You nodded at her as you scrubbed off the last of the dishes. Suddenly, you felt Dabi move in towards you and you felt a sense of blind panic as you feared he would touch you in some inappropriate way that Toga would pick up on, but he only held his hands under the spray of water. The warmth of his body beside you was somehow comforting and familiar. He swiped his hands over yours, collecting the suds that had gathered there to wash his own hands. His actions were hidden from Toga with your backs turned and she appeared to be none the wiser, even as the warmth of his touch lingered on your skin and seemed to be emanating from your face.

 He leaned in infinitesimally to murmur a low warning in your ears, before turning away and following Toga into the meeting room. 

 You didn’t dare to turn around or watch him go, sure that your burning cheeks meant you were blushing to the tips of your ears as you recalled his gentle, teasing words of wisdom.

 “Might wanna get washed up before you go see him.” 

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Shigaraki had every intention of rewarding you after neglecting you on his return. Your thoughtful actions and ready submission had helped clear his head, which paved the way for his next course of action - revenge on the heroes. 

 It felt good to be useful. It felt good to be acknowledged. It felt good to be appreciated. It made you feel like you were more than just his fucktoy, although you knew that was nothing more than your illusion. But that was okay. Nothing wrong with being someone’s fucktoy. Everyone had to make their living somehow, right?

 His hands on you felt good. His raspy voice, uttering reassurances, telling you what a good girl you were. How good he was going to fuck you. What a sweet baby girl he had found. All of it was delicious. Even as he tied your hands to the bedpost and whispered more nothings into your ear about how you were his - you and your body and your heart and your soul and your empty brain and most of all, your tight cunt and your mouth and every inch of you. 

 How he was going to fuck you dumb and dizzy. How you were going to beg him for it, thank him for it, weren’t you?

 The pleas and gratitude he demanded were garbled and jumbled up in a nonsensical mixture of pleasure and pain even as you did your utmost to keep up with his orders. The knowledge that Dabi was possibly only one thin wall away from the two of you, hearing everything, only heightened the thrill of the situation. Shigaraki pounded into you with abandon. His thrusts hitting you deeply, almost painfully, every time. His endurance was insane - he could go on for hours if he wanted, pulling your hair, digging his fingers into your hips, choking you as he thrust into you again and again and again until you couldn’t tell left from right. 

 Penetrative orgasms were apparently his specialty, because you came around him without him so much as brushing your clit. A groan stuttered from his chest as you cried out his name in a high-pitched whine. 

 He collapsed on top of you, murmuring “good girl” and “sweet baby” and “dumb slut” nonsensically into your neck, falling slowly into the realm of sleep. You swallowed thickly, removing his arm from around your waist, terrified he would accidentally touch you in his sleep and wake up to a pile of dust and ashes - how long would it take for him to replace you? - and lifted your eyes to the ceiling, still coming down from your orgasm. You closed your eyes with a sigh. Your entire body was bruised and your core was sore from the pounding you had received. You were entirely spent and yet… your mind lingered back to soft, feather-light touches in the dim light of the rundown kitchen. Blue eyes glowing mirthfully and a smug smirk. Dabi’s three minutes of heaven outweighed Tomura’s three hours of raw and delicious, shameless fucking. You bit your lip as your eyes flew open. 

 You were fucked. And you realized with dismay, that that was precisely what Dabi had wanted. 

 -----------------------------------------------------------------------

 You kneeled at Shigaraki’s feet. You sat on his lap. You sucked him off on demand. You let him stroke your hair and feed you and toy with you as he wished. You were more than eager to please. You expressed your love and devotion to him at every turn. You met his demands almost before he had even voiced them and if the rare smirks he gave you were anything to go by, he was pleased with you. 

 You were overcompensating. 

 Overcompensating for the sensation that rushed through you every time you met Dabi’s eyes. Every time you caught sight of that knowing smirk and your eyes lingered longer than necessary on those mismatched lips, wondering what they would feel like on yours. You were so, so screwed. 

 When Dabi walked past you, or lingered in your vicinity. When he entered a room, or when his eyes swept over you, setting you aflame from head to toe, the very air in the room smothering you with a want so intense you were sure everyone present could feel it, too. You could not so much as look at him without clenching your thighs together. 

 And he knew.

 It was in his eyes, in his smirk, in his laidback manner. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. A whole week passed and he didn’t even so much as touch you by accident. You were going out of your mind and you were going to kill him for it. Even at moments like this, when you were so full of Tomura there was not even room for air in your head… you were thinking of those luminous, azure eyes and what that sinful tongue could do to you. 

 Wanting Dabi was not the problem. You could screw him and get it out of your system. It was wanting him this badly that alarmed you. Wanting him with an intensity as if you would fall apart if you didn’t get him, as if the very absence of his touch could make you cry. It was enough to drive you insane. It wasn’t you at all. You weren’t this way. Sex was your weapon. You’d be damned if you let someone turn it against you. 

 As for Dabi, he seemed to be enjoying your discomfort. Did he even really want you as he had said? How did the man seem to have such endless patience? He didn’t strike you as a particularly patient type. Or was this a game to him? One that he felt he was winning? 

 “Daddy’s calling.” The low, sarcastic voice that spoke up behind you made you jump, despite yourself. 

 You turned from the stovetop, where you were cooking up a custard for Tomura and met Dabi’s eyes.

 “Are we on speaking terms now?” you shot back, your tone scathing. 

 “Weren’t we always?” he grinned. 

 You glanced up at him, concealing your rampant desire behind righteous anger. “You can’t make up your mind, Matchsticks, and it’s pissing me off.” 

 Dabi smirked to himself, his eyes aglow with amusement. There you were, in your frilly pastel green skirt, pale pink apron, and cat-ear hairband, but you had dropped the act for him. Your foul language and obvious scowl breaking character in the way that only he could force you to do. 

 “I don’t know what your favorite color is,” he drawled as you poured the custard into a serving dish. “But I have a rough idea what your least favorite is.” 

 You hesitated, lifting your gaze towards him. What was he on about?

 “If I had to guess, it would be pink, right?” He raised an eyebrow as he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. 

 You paused, and stared down at your apron. “How did you know?” 

 “Bingo.” He smirked, amused by how easy it was to tease authentic responses out of you. 

 “Now, what’s this? A little dessert for daddy dearest?” He was laughing at you. Again. Mocking your efforts.

 “As a matter of fact, it is. You can keep that smug smirk to yourself, because pleasing Tomura is my job. It’s what I do here, remember? And if Tomura’s happy, that’s in all of our favor. Now get out of my way.” You attempted to shove past him, but he blocked your way with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes.

 “Damn. I really am an asshole,” he confessed. You watched in dread as he lifted his right hand, scooping a glob of custard out of the bowl with his index finger before lifting it to his mouth and licking it off. “I really don’t know how to keep my fingers out of other people’s pies.” His voice was heavy with implication.

 That tongue. That piercing. Those fingers. The cerulean eyes regarding you intently down the length of his nose. You felt your insides clench as the memory of your previous encounter in the kitchen came rushing back. If that was what he could do to you in three minutes… What could he do with a little more time?

 You pushed past him, cheeks aflame. There was no undoing what Dabi had done, but Tomura didn’t have to know, did he? You could flatten the surface with a spoon and no one would be the wiser, right? No one but Dabi. And you.

 A large hand caught you by your apron strings, keeping you from dashing madly out of the kitchen. He hovered over you, and your whole body was alight with tension. You wanted to run away from him. You wanted to jump him. 

 “For your information, doll, I made up my mind a long time ago. It’s on you, now.” He tugged you in towards himself by pulling on the bow tied at your back. 

 His words came back to you, what he wanted you to say. They were on the tip of your tongue. Dabi, fuck my brains out, pretty please. They didn’t sound as bad anymore. Not if it meant finally being rid of this maddening craving. But you had your pride, and you were done being toyed with. 

 “What?” You hissed, turning back towards him with a sneer. “You want me to call you ‘Daddy’, too?” 

 His smirk disappeared, to be replaced with an incensed scowl. “Try it,” he rebuked. “I’ll fucking kill you.” 

 This was wrong. Tomura had summoned you. He was waiting. You never kept him waiting. But you had finally found something that ticked Dabi off as badly as he was always ticking you off. It was time for some revenge. 

 You set the pudding on the counter and turned to him, clasping your hands together. “Oh, Daddy, please…” You blinked innocently up at him, turning up the charm. Pouting just so as you stood on tiptoe, leaning into him. 

 “Shut up,” he hissed, but you only smirked in return.

 “Oh, Daddy, won’t you fuck me, pretty please? I’ll be such a good girl for you.” He was practically livid now, although for the life of you, you couldn’t understand why. You pressed a hand to his chest, grinning up at him. “That what you want to hear? Daddy, please teach me a lesson. Split me in two. Daddy, daddy, dad-” 

 Your words were cut off as his lips came crashing down on yours. Heat flooded through you as the smooth and rough texture of his warm lips set your nerve endings alight, his tongue seeking entrance, his teeth punishing you. You clutched at his white shirt, bringing your other hand up as well. You opened your mouth on reflex, meeting his tongue, tasting his piercing, instantly wanting more, wanting everything. You felt his hand splayed on your back and a rush of euphoria swept through you as he kissed you angrily, ravenously, too incensed to tease you, for once. You kissed him back with everything you had, groaning into his mouth in satisfaction. Fucking finally. 

 His fingers gripped the small of your back, his other hand burying itself in your hair, loosening the hair tie, eager for more, eager for something that was just in your reach when you heard a door swing open somewhere in the distance and the two of you sprang apart.

 You caught your breath, stunned and speechless. What had come over you? How could you have been so reckless? This place was full of villains that would do pretty much anything to improve their standing in Shigaraki’s eyes - including sell you out. 

 You pressed a hand to your mouth. You had called him “Daddy”. Repeatedly. Loud enough for anyone to hear. What the fuck was wrong with you?

 Dabi made himself scarce, likely not trusting either of you to maintain a neutral expression. You heard Toga’s footsteps approaching and took a deep breath, schooling your features into neutrality. This was what you were good at. You had a reliable poker face. You were a born actress. You only needed to pull it together. 

 Your eyes fell on the pudding, and the indentation where Dabi’s finger had dipped through it. With a grim frown of determination, you smoothed out the pudding’s surface. No one needed to know. Only Dabi. And you.

 -------------------------------------------------------------------

 Days passed in which Dabi kept away from the hideout and you focused your intentions more determinedly on Shigaraki alone. Attaching yourself to a powerful man was a gamble. Please him and have the world at your feet. Piss him off and you’ll be thrown to the dogs. You had never thought the latter would be a cause for concern. You had never desired anyone or anything, particularly. Never thought anything would cause you to stray.

 Never thought fantasies of slipping through Dabi’s door and into his bed would keep you awake at night. Never thought those fantasies would have your fingers inching between your thighs, while Shigaraki slept soundly behind you. Never thought you would press a hand to your mouth to stifle his name as you teased yourself to an orgasm, falling apart around your own fingers, imagining they were his. Hoping somehow that he could hear you, but Shigaraki wouldn’t. 

 You needed to do something. To get him out of your system. But he was keeping a clear distance from you ever since that mindless kiss in the kitchen, leaving you with nothing but the anguish of your own desires. If Tomura noticed your absentmindedness, he did not comment on it. As long as you remained pliant and willing and pleasant, you doubted he would have cause for complaint. 

 Nearly a month later, Tomura informed you that he would be leaving the hideout for some secretive training. He would take no one but Kurogiri with him and estimated around a week before he returned. You pouted and complained, and cried that you would miss him and pleasured him into mindless satisfaction before you said your goodbyes. You, promising to be a good girl in his absence, and him, promising to reward you appropriately on his return. He gripped you by the nape of your neck, pressed a kiss to your lips, and was gone. 

 It was a very rare vacation. No Shigaraki for a week? What would you even do with all the free time? You hopped into the shower and, digging through your closet, withdrew a black tanktop and navy-blue sweatpants, relishing the opportunity to dress casually in dark colors. You retreated to the common room and collapsed onto the sofa, crossing your legs and resting your feet on the table, a lit cigarette in one hand and a book in the other, while a steaming cup of coffee waited for you on the table. Life was good. 

 So what if Dabi couldn’t be bothered to so much as look at you lately? Maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he had realized you weren’t his type afterall. Maybe he had found someone else. Your stomach turned in revulsion at the very thought. The bastard didn’t get to do this to you and then move on to someone else. 

 With sigh, you shook your head and focused more resolutely on your book. It didn’t matter. You couldn’t let him go on torturing you this way. You needed to push him to the back of your mind - because forgetting him entirely was clearly out of the question - and focus on the things that mattered. 

 When Dabi entered the common room half an hour later, you were so engrossed in your book you didn’t even notice. He, in turn, was so focused on getting himself a cool drink he almost didn’t see you either. But he did. As he turned away from the refrigerator, a chilled bottle of water in his hands, he froze in place seeing you. 

 Stripped of your embellishments, your wet hair hanging freely, no pastel colors, no frills and ribbons. Just you, bare to the basics. The way he liked you, the way he wanted you, fierce and raw and authentic. You’d bite the feeding hand and burn the corpse to ashes. How he loved that about you. How he craved that side of you. How he wished he could just crawl over you and fuck you into the sofa. 

 He didn’t care the first time he had asked. Didn’t care what the consequences would have been for you if Shigaraki caught you being unfaithful, so long as he got what he wanted. The more time passed, however, the more he wondered if he would be okay with it, if Shigaraki closed his hands around your throat and Dabi never saw you again. He wasn’t so sure anymore. 

 He narrowed his eyes as he saw you lift a hand to scratch at your neck, before catching yourself and pulling your hand away again, mid-scratch. What? Was whatever Shigaraki had contagious? He watched you a while longer, unbeknownst to you, opening the water bottle and draining it as he observed you. 

 You lifted your hand to your neck twice, and pulled it away again. Dabi recalled Shigaraki’s recent appearance. His skin had seemed to be healing, but Dabi had always chalked that up to him being more relaxed around you. Was there more to the story? He recalled the cigarette burn he had seen on your forearm the other day. 

 The third time you lifted your hand to your neck, your hand was blocked by a cold water bottle pressed to your skin. Lifting your eyes, you saw Dabi standing behind the sofa, looking down on you through glowing, cobalt eyes. Your mouth went dry. Your thighs clenched. You couldn’t seem to ever look at him without wanting to run your hands over his body. 

 The coolness of the water bottle at your neck eased the irritation there and you reached for it with a thanks. 

 “What brings you here?” you asked, trying not to let your feelings show. Using the water bottle as an excuse to avert your eyes, you unscrewed the cap and sipped at the cool drink. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” 

 “Miss me?” He teased, that familiar smirk on his face. 

 You hesitated, meeting his eyes with a frown. He was always teasing you, always mocking you. You didn’t have a clue anymore as to what he really wanted from you. You had thought he wanted your body. Thought the same desires coursed through him that agonized you every day, but you weren’t so sure anymore. Maybe you were just a form of entertainment for him. Something he amused himself with when he had the time for it. The thought made your heart clench, but you accepted it was likely the truth. How else would you explain the distance he had been keeping from you lately? Maybe he was bored of you. And that without even having slept with you yet. That had to be some kind of new record you were breaking. 

 “Yeah, I did,” you admitted honestly, turning back to your book. It didn’t matter. What was the point of chasing after him? 

 “Aw, isn’t that cute?” Sarcasm dripping from his voice, as if he considered you pathetic, causing a red tinge to sting your cheeks. 

 “Can it, Matchsticks,” you muttered under your breath. 

 “What did you miss, exactly?” He murmured, stepping closer now, hovering over you. His hand crept over your shoulder, slipping down your tanktop, cupping your breasts. The metal holding his skin together brushed against your nipple, prompting a sharp gasp from you. 

 “This?” He pinched your nipple and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. 

 “This is what you wanted, right?” He teased into your ear, his position giving him a perfect view down your top. 

 “Stop it,” you protested weakly. The complaint gave him pause. It was the first time you didn’t seem to be returning his attentions. 

 “Stop?” he breathed into your ear. “But your body is telling me a different story, sweetheart. Think I don’t see you squirming? I can help with that, you know.” 

 “You can,” you admit through gritted teeth, forcing yourself to tilt your head back and meet his eyes, even as the jolts of pleasure zigzagging through you made it hard to think of anything at all. “But you won’t. So, stop teasing me.” 

 “Too much?” he grinned in response. 

 “Yeah, it is.”

 He pulled his hand out of your shirt and patted your shoulder. “Alright, fair enough.” 

 You sucked in a shaky breath, cursing yourself. Was his teasing really worse than his absence? You wanted to grab his hand and pull him back, but you clenched your teeth and stayed silent.

 “Do you even want me?” You muttered quietly, dropping your gaze to your lap. “Or do you just want to drive me out of my mind?” 

 He paused in the doorway, turning back to you with a smirk. “Can’t I have both?” 

 “You’re such an asshole,” you shot back, curling your hands into fists in aggravation. 

 That prompted only a chuckle from him as he turned to leave. “You have no idea.”

 -------------------------------------------------------------------

 Days passed in peaceful silence. You lounged around the hideout in casual wear. You read every book in the building. You touched yourself more times than you would have dared to otherwise, not bothering to keep quiet, hoping he heard you. 

 You cooked when you felt like it and cleaned when you had absolutely nothing else to do. You replayed every single encounter between the two of you endlessly on repeat until you wanted to bang your head against a wall. You briefly entertained a theory that Dabi had a second quirk, consisting of the ability to literally drive someone insane with sexual frustration. Before deciding that, no, you had no one to blame for your shameless desperation but yourself. 

 Two days before Tomura was set to return, on a night where you were burning alive in your bed. Swamped with the heat of desire, yet again, with images of Dabi in your head, with your hand between your legs, with your release perpetually out of reach, you groaned into your pillow, ready to scream in frustration. 

 You pulled your hand away in resignation, accepting that no, you were not enough to chase off this wayward desire. You needed more. You needed him. You were done playing his games. Shame? Virtue? Morals? Ethics? Hadn’t you decided those were all manmade inventions to keep women in a state of perpetual submission? What was really keeping you from taking what you wanted? He was one thin wall away. You glared at the offending wall separating the two bedrooms. That was all that was separating you from the release you had been craving for months. His mouth on you, his hands, his warmth, his voice in your ear, you bit your lip to stifle the whimper ready to escape at the mere thought of it. Why the fuck were you even holding back? Waiting for him to come to you? Waiting to know what he really wanted?

 Fuck that.

 You knew what you wanted. That had to be enough. Who gave a shit about what Dabi wanted?

 You glanced at the clock - two in the morning. Maybe he was sleeping. Well, not for much longer. 

 You wrapped a black, satin robe around you, dressed as you were in a tanktop and barely-there shorts. The irony of covering yourself to meet the man you hoped would undress you was lost on you as you stalked out of your room and down the hall to the adjoining chamber. 

 You pushed the door open, not bothering to knock, and found Dabi leaning against the cushions, a cigarette in his mouth and, surprisingly, a book in his hands. The one you had been reading days earlier. 

 He looked up to see you in the doorway and for once, nothing sarcastic fell from his mouth. He waited patiently for you to reveal the purpose of your visit.

 “Dabi,” you began, your chest heaving with the emotional upheaval and your march down the corridor. “Fuck my brains out.”

 A slow smirk spread on those damnably pretty lips, and he quirked an eyebrow at you, waiting.

 It took you a moment before you remembered, and you averted your gaze, a blush spreading on your defiant face as you added, “Pretty please.” 

 He leaned back into the pillows, beckoning you closer with a crooked finger. “Come here,” he instructed, his voice low and serious for once. “And close the door behind you.”

 You shut the door behind you and turned the lock. The sound of the latch sliding into place made you nervous, despite the fact that you had locked it yourself. You turned back towards him, biting your lip, and watched him put out his cigarette in the ashtray on his night stand. He had folded over a corner of the page he had been reading, and set his book beside it. You watched the curve of his back, his loose, white t-shirt clinging to his form. His spiky black hair and uneven skin tone. You could hear your heartbeat thumping dully against your eardrums and could not account for why you were suddenly so nervous. 

 You were far from a blushing virgin, had more experience to your name than anyone else you knew. And yet, you had never had an encounter like this. One that was by no means a transaction and simply a mutual desire, a mutual release. At least, you hoped it was still mutual. You hadn’t planned for this, you didn’t know what he would want of you or how best to behave to satisfy him. He despised the daddy kink Shigaraki was so fond of - but that was the extent of your knowledge as to his sexual preferences. 

 You felt like you were about to take an exam you hadn’t studied for. For a subject where you hadn’t attended a single class. Most of your interactions had been centered on you, and you had failed to take the opportunity to study him, not thinking it would seriously lead to this. Not realizing you would end up wanting to please him, wanting him to praise you. 

 He stood and moved around the bed, closing the distance between the two of you slowly and confidently. His disarming smirk put you somewhat at ease. There was nothing to be nervous about, was there?

 “Well, well, well…” He began as he approached you, his low voice making your stomach do somersaults. You felt your heart skip a beat as his hands lifted to your abdomen and he leisurely untied the satin sash holding your robe closed. The garment fell open and he brought his hands to your shoulders, before slowly pushing the robe off and down your arms, murmuring, “Let’s have a look at you.”

 The black, satin fabric pooled around your feet and Dabi’s turquoise eyes caressed every swell and dip of your form causing warmth to collect in your face. Why did he have this effect on you? Why couldn’t you keep your cool around him?

 His fingers skirted the hem of your tanktop, before taking hold of it and pulling it up and over your head. A hum of approval vibrated from his chest as his gaze lingered appreciatively on your naked torso. You clenched your hands into fists to keep yourself from crossing your arms reflexively over your chest as you averted your eyes. He was only looking at you and you already felt as if your entire body was aflame, as if you would melt into a puddle. You could only blame that intense gaze, those warm hands, that careless grin.

 He stepped in towards you, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts as he angled his head to catch your eye. “Nervous?” he asked, the ever-present mocking undertone not lost on you. 

 “It’s just… a little… weird,” you admitted, heat blooming on your cheeks. 

 “Bout to get a hell of a lot more weird, sweetheart.” He tugged on your shorts as he spoke and the heat in your face intensified. There was no turning back. 

 Pulling your shorts down to your ankles slowly, leisurely, as if he had every intention of driving you out of your mind with each tantalizing movement, his fingers left a trail of warmth where they brushed down the length of your legs. Dabi lowered himself, bringing the last cumbersome article of clothing down to the floor. 

 Another good-humored hum sounded from his lips as you stepped out of your shorts and he rose back to his full-height, his hands trailing back up your body as he did so, past your calves and thighs, brushing over your hip bones and your navel, palming your breasts before he came to a stop at your shoulders and held you at arm’s length to better appreciate your beauty. 

 When he lifted his eyes to yours and saw you trembling with nerves, your face a mortified scarlet, he couldn’t help but laugh. 

 “Hey, I thought this is what you do for a living, Shouldn’t you be used to this?” He reached out for your chin and tilted your face back towards himself, grinning cheekily in the face of your discomfort. 

 “Not like this,” you confessed. Not as if the very sight of you was a wonder to behold. Not like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. It could turn a girl’s head. 

 “What?” He teased, pulling you in towards himself. “No one ever tell you you’re beautiful?” 

 You lifted your eyes towards him, stunned. He thought you were beautiful? No one had ever said that objectively. You had only ever heard that word as a part of a string of meaningless praise preceding an impending orgasm from your most recent target. You had never heard it growing up, had never heard it from your acquaintances, and had most certainly never heard it from someone who sounded like they meant it. Someone whose eyes trailed over you as if you were a work of art. 

 “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Dabi laughed weakly. “A travesty, doll. Let me show you.” 

 Without further ado, he tucked a hand under your knees and lifted you like a newlywed bride, carrying you to the opposite end of the room, where a floor-length mirror had escaped your notice. 

 “Gorgeous, right?” He smirked, meeting your eye in the mirror. 

 It was the oddest image. Your naked self, curled up against his chest, carried securely in his arms. The combination of his dark hair and scarred skin with your own colorings truly was appealing to the eye. It was somehow beautiful. You looked on in awe, wishing you could somehow engrave the image into your mind’s eye. 

 “Hm? Cat got your tongue?” he teased, and you looked up at him with a nervous laugh. 

 “Yeah, I guess we look kind of good together.”

 “You think?” His confident smirk set butterflies alight in your stomach. Before you could answer he turned back towards the bed, tossing you onto the mattress, causing you to yelp in surprise. With a self-satisfied expression he joined you on the mattress and  crawled over you. 

 You sighed in relief. This part at least, you were good at. Your hands skimmed over his collarbones, over his shoulders, meeting behind his neck. He watched you with curious amusement before you pulled him in towards yourself to press a heated kiss to his lips. Dabi indulged you gladly, deepening the kiss, consuming you whole as his tongue sought entrance - which you granted gladly. You probed his tongue with yours, feeling for his piercing, smirking against his mouth when you tasted steel. 

 You tugged at the hem of his shirt, eager to even the playing field, and he helped you pull the cotton over his head. Glad to finally have him exposed, you broke away from the kiss, your eyes drinking him in. Your fingers traced over his chest, over the lines where injured skin met with smooth skin, your fingertips skimming over the metal holding it together. You swallowed as sadness lodged in your throat. You wished you knew what had hurt him so badly. Was it merely the consequences of his quirk? Or had someone injured him to this extent? 

 “You, too,” you muttered thickly, bringing your hands back up to cup his face, angular and handsome and wonderful. Those eyes that seemed to make you light up and take flight. Your voice was constricted with an emotion you could not explain. “You’re beautiful.”

 A disbelieving laugh sounded, and Dabi lowered his lips back to yours. “Yeah?” he asked, before closing the remaining distance, completely disregarding your statement. You tried to answer with your kiss, with the intensity of your longing, with the way you traced your hands down his back. You tried to show him how much you wanted him, how much you had been thinking of him. How deeply he had wormed his way into your thoughts. 

 But he likely already knew that, didn’t he? This had all been a part of his plan, hadn’t it? He knew you were a lost cause, right? 

 He trailed his lips down the side of your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin there, before trailing his tongue down the length of your neck. The steel ball of his piercing sent a shiver down your spine. His hands skimmed up your sides and trailed over your torso to cup your breasts. The combined sensations were heady and dizzying and you sighed in delight as you arched into his touch. You felt him chuckle against your neck, but you were too far gone to care. You buried your fingers in his hair and tugged as gently as you were able with the heat that was coursing through you. 

 “Tell me,” you murmured breathlessly, not wanting to be selfish. “Tell me what you want me to do. I -” you sucked in a sharp breath as his lips closed around your nipple, teasing the sensitive bud with his teeth. “I didn’t plan for this and I - I didn’t study you, so, - ah!” 

 “Mm?” he questioned, alternating to your other breast to continue his ministrations. “Is that how you normally do this? Study what you think the other person will be into?”

 “It works,” you shot back defensively as your eyes flew open. 

 “Takes all the fun out of it,” he shook his head, his hair brushing over your collarbones. 

 He licked a trail up from the dip of your navel, over your belly button, between your breasts and over your collar bones before drawing to a stop with a nip on your throat. 

 “You know what I think?” he asked, supporting himself with his hands as he hovered over you. “I think…” he lifted a knee to press the rough fabric of his jeans against your exposed slit. “That you’re so focused on what the other person wants from you…” he rubbed his knee against your core, making your breath hitch in your throat. “That you don’t even know what you want anymore.” 

 “That’s …” you struggled to focus on what he was saying, “That’s ridiculous.”

 “Is it?” He smirked, watching the way your eyes were losing focus as he continued pressing up against you. “Then give me your profile. What do you like? What are you into?” He applied more pressure to your core, “What do you want?”

 “I…” you swallowed and tried to focus. “I want…” The sensations were dizzying. His proximity was dizzying. His voice positively hypnotizing. His eyes were going to burn you alive and you would love every second of it. 

 With a fleeting moment of clarity, you answered honestly, “I want you.” 

 Dabi was briefly taken aback, looking down into your eyes, surprised to see the sincerity there. He recovered quickly, however, and reverted to his usual aloof, teasing manner. “Do you now?” the smirk gracing his face was almost a smile. “Well, then. The princess should get what she wants, right?” 

 There was no room for further conversation as Dabi put all of his expertise to use. His finger trailed blazing patterns on your skin and his mouth seemed to set every nerve ending alight, until you melted away into nothingness, weak and boneless in his arms. When he crawled down the length of your body your eyes flew open in surprise. That wasn’t something men generally did of their own volition and you were already plagued by guilt that you had been very much on the receiving end of all of this. 

 But no sooner had your lips parted in protest than you felt that now familiar steel ball parting your folds as he licked up the length of your slit. The coldness of the metal, the wet warmth of his tongue, you could not restrain the helpless moan escaping your throat. He parted your folds with his thumbs and flattened his tongue as he licked up the length of you once again, pausing at your clit to swirl circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You whined in mindless delight as you lifted your hips, eager to feel him more firmly against you. His hands flew up to hold you down, maintaining his control over your pleasure, even as his tongue penetrated your wet and aching cavern. You stifled a helpless cry as you buried your hands in his hair, holding him where you needed him most. 

 You didn’t have it in you to be offended when he smirked against you. At last he released your hips, trailing his fingers down to your aching core. He replaced his tongue with his fingers, lifting his head briefly to smirk at your lewd expression as he pushed two fingers inside of you. Withdrawing them slowly, only to repeat the motion at a torturous pace. The way you bit your lip and whimpered in complaint was all the reward he needed. 

 He dove back in to continue your torment. You deserved it after how you had positively tortured him the past few weeks. Laving his tongue over your sensitive clit, he pressed his piercing against the sensitive bud, repeating the action once, twice, before he closed his mouth on you and sucked harshly on your clit at the same time he picked up the pace of his fingers, adding a third finger now as he thrust them in and out of you with abandon. 

 The effect was immediate, you arched your back and cried out in helpless euphoria. His name, he noted with satisfaction. His name. In your voice. No high-pitched theatrics. Low and husky and vulnerable. Just the way he wanted you. Writhing beneath his tongue and his fingers. He groaned against you in satisfaction at the thought. He finally had you in his bed, living out the fantasies he had entertained every single night he was forced to listen to you pleasuring Shigaraki. 

 The vibrations of his low moan against your clit was the final stimulation needed to cast you over the edge. The tightly coiled heat in your abdomen shattered without warning, leaving you crying out his name. Your inner walls clenched around his fingers as wave after wave of mindless bliss crashed over you. You felt tears pool in your eyes for reasons you simply could not hope to explain. You wiped them away quickly, terrified at what they had to mean. That Dabi not only satisfied you physically, but somehow touched you on a deeper level. A level you had not ever thought possible. You banished those thoughts and decidedly ignored them. There would be time enough for that later, when you were alone. 

 When he crawled back over you, briefly supporting himself on your trembling thighs, that same shit-eating grin on his face, you could not help but smile back as you draped shivering arms around his neck. 

 “You’re shaking,” he remarked with amusement, cocking a brow at you. 

 “Mm,” you confirmed, surprised to discover the same yourself. When had an orgasm ever hit you so hard? Never?

 “You know you’re good,” you scoffed against his mouth. “Are you pretending to be surprised?” 

 Dabi chose to deepen the kiss rather than answer you with another snarky remark and the taste of yourself on his mouth surprised you at the same time that it turned you on. Your nerves felt raw and exposed, as if the slightest breeze would blow you apart. You felt deliciously spent and yet you knew, with a mounting sense of excitement, that there was still more to come. 

 Draping a leg around one of his, you shifted your weight to reverse your positions. “My turn,” you smirked down at him. “You might find I’m not too shabby myself.” 

 “I have my doubts,” he threw back, a challenge in his blue eyes, as he  crossed his arms behind his head. 

 “Insufferable,” you clicked your tongue with a shake of your head. Paying worship to his body with open-mouthed kisses and your exploring hands, you lingered when you noticed him tense and lifted your eyes to his, reading his reactions, quickly finding his weak spots. Undoing the buttons of his jeans - had he never heard of pajamas? - and, pulling open the zipper, you tugged the thick fabric off his hips and down the length of his long legs, letting them fall to the floor. 

 Trailing kisses up the inside of his thighs, you fought back a grin when you felt him shudder. Oh, yes. Two could play this game. 

 Hovering over his erect member, you leaned in close and blew a soft breath over his exposed tip, prompting a slew of curses from him. With a grin of your own, you held him firmly in your hands as you flattened your tongue and licked over the tip slowly, tantalizingly, eliciting a groan from him that filled you with pride. His laidback manner was forgotten as he reached down for your shoulders, meeting your eyes with a burning desire in his flaming, blue irises. You raised a brow at him. If he thought you were going to let him control your pace at all, he had another thing coming. 

 Licking leisurely up the underside of his member, tracing the veins that ran along his length, your ears relished every hitch of his breath that you prompted with your ministrations. You put every trick in the book to work, using all of your experience of the past years to ensure you returned the favor in equal measure. If the insistent way he tightened his grip on your upper arms was any indication, it was working. When you closed your lips around him, taking him as far into your throat as your well-trained gag reflex allowed, nothing could have felt as good to you as the low and furious “Fuck,” that rumbled from his throat. 

 His hands sought your hair, digging into your tresses, guiding you gently - and then not-so-gently as his rampant desire got the better of him and he thrust into your throat with abandon. You blinked back the tears pooling in your eyes and did your best to accommodate him. 

 “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Wait -” he hissed, realizing he was quickly approaching his orgasm. He pressed his hands to your shoulders, trying to push you off as gently as he was able. He called your name when you refused to pull back and with a last, leisurely bob of your head you hollowed your cheeks, flattened your tongue against his length, and pulled off of him with a wet “pop”. 

 The grin you gave him as you pulled back made him want to shake you in frustration at the same time that he wanted to kiss you senseless and pound you into the mattress. “You’re a fucking brat, aren’t you?” But there was affection laced in the insult as he gripped your arms and pulled you back up to kiss you once more, not at all put off by the taste of himself on you. 

 You straddled his hips as his hands splayed and journeyed the length of your back, making you shiver in delight. You were distracted from the intensity of his kiss as you positioned yourself, ready to sink down onto his erection but without warning, his hands dug into your hair and flipped the two of you over until you were beneath him again.

 “Tsk, tsk.” He shook his head, teasing you although he was still breathing heavily. “I told you, didn’t I?” Those impenetrable blue eyes met yours as he leaned in and nipped on your earlobe.

 “We’re not playing by your rules.”

 “What are you afraid of?” You laughed, “I’m good at this, too.” 

 “No,” he held your gaze, his expression unyielding as his hands traced the length of your body, drawing to a stop by your entrance. Guiding himself to your moist cavern, he dragged his wet tip up and down the length of your slit, making you bite your lip at the pleasant sensation. 

 “You don’t know what you want. We’re going to find out today, though, aren’t we?”

 “I told you,” you protested on a whine as he continued lazily dragging up and down, only brushing past your entrance briefly without giving you the satisfaction of penetration. “I want y- oh!” Your confession was cut short as he stopped teasing and pushed inside of you, slipping in easily with how wet you were. 

 You moaned in satisfaction, full to the brim, complete, perfect, whole, and satisfied. There was something entirely different about being with Dabi. Like two puzzle pieces finally being put together so that the entire image was brought into view with perfect clarity. 

 “Dabi, I -” Whatever you wanted to say was lost as he thrust into you again, a few, experimental strokes until he hit the spot within you that made you see stars. 

 “Well, that was quick,” he smirked at your expression and picked up the pace, aiming for that spot every time until you thought you would lose your mind. Never had you lain with someone who so prioritized your pleasure. Who seemed to value your release over his own. Who touched you like it mattered. And although every rational inclination within you insisted you were imagining it, you had never felt so loved. So valued. 

 You abandoned yourself entirely to him scraping your nails up the length of his back, carefully avoiding the metal that you feared would pain him, digging your hands into his hair, touching him wherever you could as if every inch of separation was too much to bear. 

 He in turn, continued thrusting into you with a steady, rhythmic pace that hastened incrementally, maintaining perfect control as that coil within you tightened and burned with every thrust. Your hips rose up to meet his thrust for thrust, chasing your release and he smirked down at you, even as his breath quickened to match your own.

 “Mm, that’s right. No one ever made you feel like this, did they?” 

 The expression of mindless pleasure on your face was answer enough. “Thought you knew everything, didn’t you?” He continued teasing you, every word punctuated by another ruthless thrust.

 “Never too late to learn something new, babe.” 

 “Ugh,” you moaned, fisting your hands into your hair. “Shut up.”

 “Feel good?” He grinned, slowing his pace.

 “So good,” you enthused with a whimper of complaint. “Don’t stop. Don’t slow down. Please.” 

 “Don’t ever settle for less than this, sweetheart.” The emotion behind the words was unclear to your lust-hazy mind. There was a warning there, a longing, a bitterness, but it was too much to try and sort it out and make sense of it. You only nodded numbly, desperate to provide some assurance. “Don’t ever want anyone else, Dabi.” 

 Your eyes flew open to meet his, losing your mind thrust for thrust. “Only you, Dabi.” 

 His lips pressed together in a firm line, surprised and touched. You were clearly out of it. You didn’t know what you were saying. He needed to stop teasing you. “Sure, babe. Sure.” 

 There was no more room for conversation as he picked up the pace, hips pistoning into you ruthlessly, causing your breaths to leave you in stuttering gasps. You reached up for him, feeling yourself be swept away, closer and closer to the quickly approaching edge of oblivion. 

 He grunted out your name in a voice so husky and strained it was honey to your ears. “Come for me. Come all over me.” 

 The suggestion, the vivid idea, and the utterance of your name tipped you over the edge and you clung to him for dear life as your walls convulsed around him. He groaned into your neck as his own release followed closely on yours. A repeated sound echoed in your ears as your insides fluttered in pleasure. The tingles of mind-blowing euphoria made you dizzy and disoriented. Only when you felt yourself coming down, the pleasure easing into something more bearable, did you recognize what that sound was. You were whispering his name like a mantra, like it was keeping you alive. You bit your tongue in shame, stopping yourself from saying it again. The name of the man whose head was nestled in the crook of your neck. 

 You shivered, worn out and utterly spent. It was probably a good way to die, you thought absentmindedly. Feeling loved and full and happy. You blinked up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of him draped over you like he was all that kept you from floating away. 

 Moments passed, and slowly but surely, reality settled back in, uninvited and unfeeling. Shigaraki was coming back the day after tomorrow. This wasn’t your first time with Dabi. It was your last time with him. 

 You shivered. 

 “Cold?” Dabi murmured lazily as he shifted to better cover you with his body. The whole of him was like a hot water bottle, emanating warmth by nature of his quirk and you snuggled into him to keep the shivers at bay. 

 You fell from that high sharply and painfully as one realization after another hit you with dizzying intensity. What you had felt for Dabi wasn’t merely sexual frustration. It wouldn’t disappear when you stepped out of his room. You were starting to worry that it wouldn’t ever fade away. If anything, this sexual encounter had only made things worse. Only intensified feelings you might otherwise have been able to talk yourself out of. 

 Your desire for him was not only physical. And the sheer knowledge of that broke your heart. Because you had chosen to service his boss, and there would never, ever be room for there to be anything at all between you. 

 You buried your face into his shoulder, trying to disappear into that blissful mindless feeling you had been floating on only moments before, but the reality of your situation hovered over you like a dark cloud. 

 At length, Dabi rolled over onto his back and, mercifully, chose not to comment on the confessions you had made in the heat of passion. Pleas along the lines of “only you”. 

 You sat up, ready to take your leave, not wanting to have to be told to do so, but Dabi took hold of your wrist and tugged you back in towards himself. 

 “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

 You hesitated, turning back towards him. “Would that be okay? I don’t want to… uh… force you or anything.” 

 “Well, aren’t you considerate?” The sarcasm, the smirk, the familiar signs that meant everything was unchanged between you sent relief through your heart and you curled back into his side, resting your head on his arm. 

 “Shigaraki won’t be back until the day after tomorrow. At least that’s what Kurogiri says, so you can sleep here if you want,” he offered in uncharacteristic kindness. 

 “Thank you,” you murmured, tracing circles on his chest. 

 “Dabi…” you breathed in surprise, your eyes widening as you saw blood seeping from between the layers of skin held together by the staples. “You’re bleeding.” You lifted concerned eyes to his, but he didn’t so much as open his eyes in return.

 “Happens, sometimes.” His tone of voice was utterly indifferent, as casual as if he had nothing more than a cough. 

 Unable to help yourself, you trailed your fingers over the wound, wincing as it closed up, and the blood stopped flowing. Now, Dabi did open his eyes, blinking at the ceiling as the pain in his chest faded away. 

 He angled his head towards you, seeing you curled up against his side. He took a hold of your shoulder, pushing you onto your back, exposing your chest to him. Sure enough, just above your right breast, a long, thin incision was weeping blood, right around the area where his wound had just closed.

 “You’re not quirkless.” 

 It was a statement, not a question, but you answered anyway. “No, I’m not. Although it might have been better if I was.” 

 Dabi observed the wound with lidded eyes, wrapping his mind around this new information. Shigaraki’s improved skin condition. You scratching at your neck. The cigarette burn on his arm that had not even left a mark. The same day, in the same spot, a similar burn on your arm. 

 “I can… take wounds onto my own body.” You clarified, confirming his suspicions. “It’s not something I like for people to know about, honestly.” 

 “Does Shigaraki know?” Dabi fixed you in place with an uncharacteristically serious expression. 

 “He does.” You nodded, covering the wound with your hand, feeling oddly uncomfortable. 

 “So, he’s keeping you as insurance.” Dabi’s voice was low and disapproving. 

 “I guess you could say that,” you shrugged. 

 “If he ever cuts it too close, he’ll transfer his injuries to you and walk away unscathed.” Dabi tried again, the reproach clear in his voice this time. 

 “Well, probably, yeah. It makes me useful.” You didn’t want him upset, and you didn’t want to talk about Shigaraki, and you didn’t want the pleasant lull you had found yourselves in to disappear at all.

 Dabi only frowned, pulling your hand away from your injury and watching the blood drip down your chest. He pulled a box out of his nightstand, a fact that likely should not have surprised you, given that the villain found himself caught up in fights more often than not, and set about dressing your wound. 

 “Don’t heal me again.” His instruction left no room for argument. “Why the hell would you? You have a thing for pain or something?” He disinfected the cut, ignoring the way you winced as he did so. 

 He thought back to your first real interaction, where he had tugged you onto his lap. You had even healed him back then? Why? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Had you noticed him, like he had noticed you? That spelled nothing good for either of you. What feelings of fondness had made you take that meaningless injury onto yourself? Risking even, that he might find out about your quirk, which could only result in vulnerability for you.

 He frowned as he pressed a bandaid to the injury, concerned about the nature of your quirk. He knew what it meant to have a quirk that injured its user. To suffer because someone else wanted to use one’s quirk to their own advantage, regardless of the harm that came to the individual in question. He still wanted vengeance for those injustices and to think, here, in the league, the very same policies were in place. It pissed him off. It wasn’t right. 

 “In the League of Villains, everyone does what they want,” he began. “That’s what we’re all about.” He returned the disinfectant and his tools to the box, snapping it shut before he replaced it in his nightstand. 

 “So, don’t let me see you trying to save anyone or sacrifice yourself like a goddamn hero.” He lifted his azure eyes to yours, compelling you to agree. 

 “I won’t. Damn, who do you think I am? If I wanted to help anyone, I wouldn’t have kept this a secret for so long. I only had to use it to get into Shigaraki’s good graces.” You reassured him with your characteristic devil-may-care attitude and he let it go, even if he didn’t entirely believe you. 

 Hesitantly, you glanced in the direction of the bed, before meeting his eyes again. “So… can I still sleep here?” 

 “Yeah, as long as you don’t try to pull any more stupid heroics.” He settled back onto the cushions and you nuzzled into his side, covering the both of you with his navy-blue blanket as you draped your arm over his chest. 

 “It’s blue, by the way,” you murmured.

 “Huh?” he cracked open an eye, looking down at you.

 “My favorite color. It’s blue,” you supplied, sidling in closer to him.

 “That so?” He closed his eyes again, stowing that information away.

 You had two days until Shigaraki was set to return. You weren’t going to waste a minute of them, you promised yourself as you angled your head to press a kiss to Dabi’s cheek. Just for these two days, you would allow yourself everything you wanted.

[wat-the-cur]

I saw a fellow trekkie @gayquark doing little character playlists on request and I thought it looked like fun (Go and check out their playlists, if you haven’t already). @gayquark, I hope you don’t mind if I also try my hand at this! 

If you drop a character from Deep Space Nine, Blake’s 7 or The Lost Boys, I’ll see if I can make a short playlist for them. If I take a little while, it means my woefully narrow tastes have come to back to bite me.