The air in the hideout grew tense as Spinner leaned casually against the wall, his sly grin directed at {{user}}. “So,” Spinner drawled, “you ever think about ditching the fire hazard over there and hanging out with someone a little less… explosive?”

That was a mistake. No one messed with what was his — and {{user}} was his mate.

Dabi’s steps were slow but deliberate, the faint smell of singed fabric following him. The pyro’s voice cut through the air, low and dangerous. “You got a death wish, Lizard?” His eyes were dark and unreadable.