His trust

There was a point where Dabi’s trust for you became evident because he decided he wanted to bring you along to his meetings, claiming that you were probably lonely without him at home and needed to be around him more often. You eagerly accepted and made sure to put on your shortest skirt and warmest sweater, pulling up a pair of white thigh high socks to which he drove you off to the League of Villains’ hideout.

His co-workers seemed to be perplexed by your demeanor, silent as Dabi sat across from his colleagues and spoke of serious topics regarding work, yourself sitting on the floor with your head on his lap for him to pet and stroke.

All you could do was purr and gaze up at his moving lips, your cheeks heating in reaction to how attractive you thought Dabi was when he was doing serious business.

It nearly lulled you into a sleep, watching his brows scrunch up as he made smart remarks and gave valuable commentary. Though before you had the opportunity to fall into rest, Dabi’s fingers froze in your hair in response to someone’s voice snapping you out of the dreamful state you were in.

The voice belonged to the one you recognized to be the League's leader. His pale blue hair and abnormal sight of hands wrapped around every inch of his body making his identity easy to distinguish

“Does she have to be in here for the meeting?” You heard Shigaraki squeaky--almost unmasculine--voice speak from the couch opposite yours and Dabi’s.

And the response from Dabi made you merely giggle, not resisting the way you were grabbed to look at Shigaraki, Dabi’s rings digging into your face while he squeezed your cheeks to pucker your lips, as if showing you off to his colleagues.

“For fuck’s sake, look at her. She’s damned brainless. Not gonna say a word to anyone.”

Dabi knew for a very fact that you wouldn’t dare tell another soul that you were engaged with villain work—even if you were merely meant as a **** toy rather than an actual member—however his colleagues didn’t trust you that same way.

So Dabi provided more evidence by giving a demonstration, commanding you to stick your tongue out so he could force his fingers down your throat to choke and garble around for the other members to admire.

You sucked on his fingers as best you could, bobbing your head like you would do if it were a cock in your mouth instead of his thin digits, but you didn’t complain.

This was the next best thing, after all.

Some nods and snickers echoed around the room until Dabi withdrew the fingers, your eyes glossy as your vision allowed you to look at some of the men and women in the room before you were allowed to rest your head on his knees once again, wiping the drool from your lips.

Just merely being touched by Dabi had the heat between your legs spreading, squeezing your thighs together while he resumed stroking your hair as you nuzzled his lap.

And it was true.

You never said a word to anyone about your living and serving Dabi.

You took Dabi’s secrets to the grave.

Not once were you tempted to reveal his identity or your associations with him, not even when someone issued a missing persons report for you, managing to get the police to take you into their custody.

You thought it was unfair that you had been interrupted during your usual daily shopping by a policeman in downtown, still irritated when the police informed you that an anonymous giver had been the one to issue the report, suspecting you of being either held captive or having relations with the villain under the alias of Dabi.

You weren't deterred or scared by the two way mirror in that interrogation room, nor were you intimidated by the large policeman questioning you ahead at the table.

“So, to make things clear, you don’t know a man named Dabi?”

You shook your head determinedly and crossed your arms over your chest, “Never heard of him.”

It was a fair show, displaying your confidence with barely any wariness at all. In your head, your sad little pathetic head, you just hoped Dabi would be proud.

Of course, you bit your lip in anxiety when you were requested to strip so they could physically check and do a body analysis to confirm that you were not undergoing any sort of abuse that would indicate otherwise.

Needless to say, the extensive marks Dabi had left on your skin didn’t help your verdict. His name was literally plastered all over your body by now, the relationship with the man practically requiring it to be so.

Your stomach, your back, both thighs, the swells of your chest. It was all covered in Dabi’s name.

However, not his villain name. His real name.

So, as strange as the heroes and police thought it was that you had the famous Number One heroes’ dead child etched into your skin, they had no real evidence to rule you under associations with Dabi.

Because you had a scar that read Touya Todoroki instead of Dabi, public enemy number one.

So you got off scot free, running to a phone booth as soon as you were discharged to call Dabi and let him know what happened.

The words rasped from the speaker of that dingy telephone had you biting your lip, eyes widened as he hummed, “Oh, what a good girl. I'm so proud of you, keeping my name out of that pretty mouth.”

You looked like a damned school girl standing in the glass box, twirling the phone cord with a finger while Dabi spoke filthy things into your ear about how he was going to reward you for being such an obedient pet.

And as promised, when you finally returned to the apartment after careful measures to ensure you weren’t being followed, Dabi rewarded you plenty.

You enjoyed it so much that you let him take a couple rounds because you claimed it would help ease off all the adrenaline you had gone through for him.

He obliged you.

Because after it was all said and done, and after you finished telling him the story of their brutal and mean interrogation, and how they went poking around at your body, Dabi would give you a little something.

Sex was wonderful, there was no denying that, but what was more rewarding to you was the romantic gestures you got to indulge with him after coming around his ****.

Whenever Dabi was particularly pleased with your performance, he’d let you cuddle him while he smoked a cigarette.

You really were just a brainless girl who’s one sole thought and purpose was to please Dabi. You never refused him of anything really, whether it be sex or chores, even lighting his cigarettes for him with your pretty pink lighter instead of his scary blue fire.

Which was yet another thing that clued you in on Dabi’s attraction to you.

The man never used his quirk in your presence. And when you said never, what you really meant was he never used it to harm or injure you in a way that you didn’t beg for.

The first time you asked Dabi to demonstrate his quirk, he barked, “No. Shut up and go sit down before you piss me off.”

You obeyed but pouted, opening your mouth again about to make a cheeky remake only to find a hand wrapped around the nape of your neck and an arm extended past your shoulder. It looked like Dabi caved in because his palm faced upwards while his other hand twisted your neck to watch as fire danced off the pads of his fingers.

Those blue flames made your eyes widen in awe, staring at how vividly the color illuminated the dark room and amazed by how bright and hot he was able to get it.

See, that was the thing. Dabi was a very passionate man, much like you, and his passion manifested whenever he fucked you brain dead or whenever he used his quirk.

So naturally, because you were a lover of all things passion, you begged him to use it on you.

“What the ****, are you crazy? No, I’ll kill you.” Dabi argued and even knocked his knuckles against your skull in a condescending manner.

While you were usually good at following orders and dropping the subject, that night something came over you because you were just so needy and eager to know what his fire would feel like burning your skin.

So, because you were stubborn, and Dabi was too tired to discipline you, the two of you came up with a compromise.

And what a lovely compromise it was.

Direct fire to your skin wasn’t an option according to Dabi, but he came up with a solution to please both parties.

The new idea hurt like how you imagined hell fire to burn, but the residual scar tissue left of his scribbled out name or handprints made you feel as if you were in heaven.

Using metal to conduct the heat and plant any sort of shape, letter or symbol onto your skin was simply the best gift a girl could ask for.

You thanked him for scarring his name on your skin even if your eyes were flooded with tears from the pain, uttering it over and over like a mantra, “Thank you.”

To Be Continued~

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