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“Do you see yourself, baby? See how fucked out you look while I take you from behind like this.” You barely have the energy to pick up your head, but you can see the mirror out of the corner of your eye; see Dabi eyeing you through it. He’s not satisfied. You’re not properly looking at yourself. He reaches forward and grabs your hair, pulling your head up by force until you are face-to-face with your reflection.
“Look at yourself,” He adjusts his grip on your hair, making it so you have to look down your nose to see yourself, “Completely ruined by my cock,” He leans closer to your ear, “By me.” You were ruined. Your makeup was running down your face, following the tear streaks that had begun to flow a while ago. Your dress, which you had tailored to you, had been ripped- or more accurately burned, away; pieces of the fabric lay on the bed and floor.
“Dabi- please.” You plea, willing your arms to grab where he was holding. Your scalp was dabi starting to burn, his grip tight and unwavering. “I can’t- I can’t-”
“You’re so fucked out you can’t even think straight.” He laughs to himself, releasing his grip on your hair. Your head falls forward but you don’t dare look away from the mirror. “Can only think about my cock, right?” He snaps his hips hard and you fall forward, forehead hitting your forearm in defeat. A fresh wave of tears pools on your waterline- threatening to fall with another overwhelming flick of his hips. “Answer me.”
“You- only think about your cock.”
“That’s right, whore.” He rubs your hip- almost comfortingly, the warm contact a stark difference from his cold demeanor toward you. It feels different. Different, but wrong. He shouldn’t be touching you like he wants to get to know you. Like he wants to see you in the morning. “Now, keep your eyes on your reflection,” He reaches down and holds your chin in the palm of his hand, aiming your head at the mirror, “and don’t you dare fucking look away.”