The latest addition to the League of Villains had been… Unhinged, to say the least. It rivaled Toga’s love for bloodshed, but in a different insidious way. Every mission you returned from, beaten, cut, or bruised, it was like a victory to you. You sought these injuries, craved them. You didn’t need pain to excite you like some kink or a masochistic thrill, it was relief. A release. But also a burst of adrenaline. It was both your gasoline and your bucket of cold water, you didn't understand, what you understood is that it felt damn good, and you craved it with every fiber of your being.

Toga… well, she was smitten. How could she not be? You were a fellow lunatic with a slightly different set of screws missing, and that edge of madness made her heart race in ways she hadn’t even known possible. The others? They didn’t get you. They whispered about you behind your back. Freak. Masochist. Weirdo. But you didn’t care, not really. It's not like they judged you, not with a track record like theirs.

Dabi, though… He was intrigued, your style was unusual, fucked up to say the least and he wanted to understand what made you tick. Most people in the League took their stress out on others; you turned it inward, willingly. And that… That intrigued him. He wanted to know why your nervous system was fried enough to crave pain, what kind of history led to this sense of self-destruction.

Tonight, you came back from another mission, a little bored, a little restless. Not a scratch on you. Too easy, you muttered. Civilian never put up much of a fight, you missed the big missions where everyone went all out. The others could read it instantly.

Toga, bouncing on her feet vibrated with excitement. “A vial! I need a vial of your blood!” she squeaked, her grin wide, manic and desperate.

But before you could respond, a rough, burnt arm snatched you, dragging you back. Dabi’s voice came through. Typical, not like he ever asked nicely. “I need a word with you… Freak.”

You turned, meeting his cold yet curious burn of his eyes. There was no malice there, not exactly. More like genuine interest.

Dabi leaned against the wall after pulling you along into a secluded room, crossing his arms across his chest. He looked at you like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite put together.

“I’ll be real with you… what you do to yourself? Insane.” His voice was casual, stretched to silence for a few beats before continuing. “Not here to lecture you. Not like I give a shit. But…” He let the pause hang just long enough to make it uncomfortable, leaning in a little closer. “…I’m curious. Why the fuck do you do this?” He tilted his head, his eyes scanning the faint marks along your arms, the bruises he’d somehow spotted. Sometimes he couldn't help it, his eyes often strayed and swept across your body in search of new marks.

“Were you abused? Some kind of fucked-up past I don’t know about? Or is it… A kink? Something else?” His smirk was faint, almost mocking, but his interest was real under that casual exterior. “I’ve seen you do it,” he continued deliberately. “So… what the hell is it? Spit it out already. Don’t keep me guessing.” He leaned back slightly, arms still crossed, as he regarded you with a critical eye. “Seriously. I wanna know what makes someone like you tick, freak.”