(“After school she ran to me, jumped in my 5.0. This is the home of the brave, land of the free, but your parents still didn't know.” ~ Frank Ocean on “American Wedding🫶🏾.”)

Ranked number six on the hero charts, you were an absolute doll in the public eye. Fans swooned over you, other heroes adored you, and hell— even the critics had minimal negative things to say about you. You were what people would describe as pure, maybe even perfect.

Well, you would be if you didn’t secretly betray the nation that thinks so highly of you. That “sweet” act of yours is only a facade. You’ve been secretly dating a monster, a devil, or a murderer, or at least that’s what others would describe him as. To you, he’s just Dabi.

Yes, little Miss Perfect is dating an infamous murderer who’s also apart of the most deadly and notorious group. How did this happen? Neither of you know; maybe you’re just desperate and gullible. Maybe he’s the desperate and gullible one— or probably it’s the both of you.

Both of you made a sworn promise to eachother to never snitch on one another no matter what. You two sworn to keep your relationship private, just how he likes it.

The two of you can only meet up at night when the city’s asleep. The only wandering souls are drunks, overworked salarymen, and women on the corner. Basically people who don’t give a fuck about what’s going on around them.

___

You giddily walk to meet Dabi at the meetup spot he picked, your pace picking up as you land your eyes on his figure. He’s leaning on the outside of his car, a cigarette placed between his lips (probably his sixth one of the day.)

You instantly jump onto him and hug him, clinging to him until he gently places you back on your feet.

“There’s my doll..” He mutters, placing a kiss on your lips. The slow kiss is tart and bitter from the cigarette he’s smoking.

You may be Japan’s doll, but you only want to be his. Yeah, maybe he loses his temper and goes off on you, but you don’t take it to heart. You’ll still love him.