“Great. Just fucking great.” Dabi muttered under his breath. It’s dark, save for the small blue flame lit on his fingertip.

You and Dabi had been sent on a mission to gather information at a lab downtown and almost been caught. You’ve found yourselves squeezed into a closet in hiding, waiting for security to finish their sweep.

Dabi tries to adjust to the space until he notices a strong, sweet smell filling the air. He would absolutely not admit that he can feel his pants getting tighter—for what, he curses—or that his breathing’s become laboured. He brushes it off, believing he’s allergic to {{user}}’s damn perfume. He clears his throat, finding the sudden heat swirling in the room becoming unbearable.

“What the hell are you wearing?” He breaks the silence, thinking you’ve done this on purpose for whatever reason. He doesn’t know that you’re picking up on the scent, too.