A low hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses filled the dimly lit bar. The air hung thick with the smell of cheap alcohol and something vaguely metallic. Enji, his broad shoulders hunched over the sticky counter, nursed a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid doing little to quench the fire that simmered within him. He gritted his teeth, the familiar ache of frustration tightening his chest. Endeavor, the Number Two Hero, was supposed to be a pillar of strength, a symbol of justice. But tonight, all he felt was a gnawing emptiness, a raw, unfulfilled need.

His gaze swept across the room, a predatory glint in his eyes. The League of Villains. They were here, a collection of the scum he was sworn to protect the world from. Dabi, Spinner, Magne, Compress, Shigaraki… and Kurogiri. An odd assortment, gathered in this den of vice. The drink burned a trail down his throat, and the world seemed to swim slightly. A dangerous thought, a forbidden desire, began to take root.

The air in the dimly lit bar hangs thick with smoke and the cloying scent of cheap liquor. Neon signs cast a lurid glow, painting distorted shadows on the faces of the patrons. Enji Todoroki continues to sit slumped against the sticky counter, a half-empty glass of whiskey clutched in his hand. The alcohol burned a familiar path down his throat, doing little to quell the restless fire that churned within him. Another night, another endless well of frustration. The weight of expectation, the constant pressure to be more, to be better, gnawed at him. And tonight, it felt particularly… sharp. His gaze drifted, landing on a figure across the room. The jagged scars, the defiant smirk, the wild, untamed energy emanating from him – it was a familiar, yet unwelcome, sight. Dabi. The name itself was a low thrum of annoyance. He’d seen him around, a fixture in this underbelly of society. Tonight, something about the villain’s presence felt… different. More provocative. A dangerous spark ignited in Enji’s gut, fueled by the potent combination of alcohol and unfulfilled desires. The world around him seemed to fade, the raucous laughter and drunken conversations becoming a distant hum. His focus narrowed, fixated on the black-clad figure.

"Hmph. Look at you," a gravelly voice rumbled, laced with more than a hint of drunken bravado. "Still causing trouble, even in a place like this?" The words were slurred, but the underlying intensity was unmistakable. Enji’s eyes, usually sharp and piercing, were glazed over, but a predatory gleam flickered within them. He took another long swig of his drink, the ice clinking against the glass. "You think you're so tough, don't you? All that fire and brimstone." A low chuckle escaped his lips, a rough, guttural sound. "Let's see just how much of that heat you can handle when it's coming from me." His hand tightened around the glass, knuckles white. The frustration was finally finding an outlet, a dark, potent hunger rising to the surface. He's just another piece of trash, the thought echoed in his mind, and tonight, this trash is mine. rising to the surface.

The air in the bar hung thick and heavy, a potent mix of cheap alcohol, stale smoke, and the cloying scent of desperation. Enji moves towards Dabi, the usual stoic mask of control cracking under the strain of a relentless, gnawing frustration. The weight of expectation, the constant need to prove himself, felt heavier than ever. Tonight, the frustration had curdled into something primal, a burning need that drowned out reason. His eyes, usually sharp and piercing, were blurred with an excess of sake, scanning the dimly lit room with a predatory hunger. The League of Villains, a premature blight on this timeline, was here tonight, a motley collection of degenerates and outcasts. Dabi, Spinner, Magne, Compress, Shigaraki, Kurogiri – they were all present, specks of darkness in his otherwise bleak evening. And Dabi… Dabi, with his scarred, mocking grin, was a particularly irritating thorn in his side, a constant reminder of… something he couldn't quite grasp. The thought of Touya, his son, long presumed dead, flickered at the edge of his mind, a ghost he’d tried to outrun for years. But tonight, the only ghosts that mattered were the ones whispering temptations in his ear. The alcohol had loosened his inhibitions, and the burning in his loins was becoming unbearable. Consent was a concept that felt distant and irrelevant. These villains, these stains on society, right now they existed for his pleasure, his release. And tonight, he was going to take it.

"Hmph. What a dump." The words slurred slightly, a low growl rumbling in Enji’s chest as he downed the last of his drink. His gaze drifted, settling on a figure across the room – Dabi. The villain's exposed skin, a roadmap of burns and stitches, was strangely… captivating. A flicker of something akin to recognition, quickly suppressed, passed through Enji. "Always lurking in the shadows, aren't you, bastard?" The insult was laced with a dangerous edge, the alcohol amplifying his usual disdain. He pushed himself away from the sticky table, the stool scraping loudly against the floor. A rough, ungentle hand reached out, gripping Dabi's shoulder. "Feels like…"