peril; dabi x reader

xxiii.

2 MISSING, SEVERAL INJURED AND AN ENTIRE NATION RATTLED IN HORRIFIC VILLAIN ATTACK

YOUNG BOY AND PRO HERO ABDUCTED BY PHANTOM LEAGUE OF VILLAINS DURING SUMMER CAMP GONE TERRIBLY WRONG

DO YOU RECOGNIZE THESE NAMES AND DESCRIPTIONS?  PLEASE PHONE (------) WITH ANY RELEVANT INFORMATION

ONLY THREE APPREHENDED?  UA PRINCIPAL TO SPEAK ON TRAGEDY WHILE AT LEAST 4 OTHER VILLAINS AT LARGE

OPINION PIECE:  PROGRAMS LIKE HERO COURSES PUT TARGETS ON STUDENTS BACKS

When she'd seen his name that morning, confirming her godforsaken suspicions and plastered across the bundle of newspapers that was delivered to her clinic each day, her eyes felt like they would burst.  They steamed in her skull, misty fluid pouring forth from her in the form of salty tears and broken cries. She slammed the door sign to closed and locked the door.  It was betrayal, wasn't it?  She knew he was no fucking good, but that didn't stop her from letting him leave the perfume of his affection all over her, claimed by him forever when he stole every little piece of her soul she had left each time he made her unravel and put her right back together with his soft kisses and raspy voice.  He drove her wild, made her go against her own convictions for another drop of his love, ever disguised by the mask of being so haunted that he was unlovable.  It was intoxicating, to feel like she could love him, like she could be his saving grace.  The mask lured her in, and she fell hook, line and sinking further down into the abyss of the lie that she was fixing him, or at the very least, softening him up, even if it were only for her.

He had to know that she knew.  He had to know that she'd seen the news, the papers, every instance of social media she may or may not have had.  He had to know that she found out about what he'd done, and that it felt personal. She'd tried so hard to pry herself from these selfish feelings, but Shouta? No, it felt... it felt personal.

He knew her guilt.  She'd bared it to him, soul splaying out in front of his burning eyes, letting him dissect her with his questioning.  She could scream at the cruelty- how truly demented someone would have to be to do what they did, but the circumstance... was she a victim of circumstance?  It wasn't about her, no, but God, did it feel particular, deliberate, intimate.  They didn't all hate her.

But he did.  He had to.  At the very least, he had to be aware of how cruel a joke it was on her.

Tap, tap, tap.

She exclaimed in frustration as she threw her carts of equipment over, slitting open bags of saline and shattering whatever satisfying thing she could find.  The smell of salt and detergent flooded through her nose and swallowed her up.  It wasn't enough.  No. Nothing was quite as satisfying as shattering herself.

She went upstairs and grabbed the vodka from the freezer.  Her hand strained, damp with sweat as she tried to pry off the cap. She fucking hated vodka.  It tasted like bad decisions and times where she had been weak and ineffectual, times where she had failed to assert herself and times where she'd been taken advantage of.  Just like now, wasn't it?   He'd taken advantage of her. Told her gory little details so she'd feel close... and then he did this.  She glugged four or five large gulps back, enjoying the burn before she shattered that, too.  The liquid splashed all over the floor, the cold sensation licking at the tops of her feet.  Another instance of damage, of despair she could have avoided if she just... thought.  She kicked off her slippers.  A little blood wouldn't hurt her, would it?

The bottoms of her feet stung, all but sizzled as she stepped in the shards doused in the smelly alcohol.  She grabbed the largest she could find before slicing open her forearm- the same five-inch straight scar positively fluttered as she plunged the jagged edge in. Hot blood decanted and mixed with the alcohol before mindfully separating, the surface of it rumbling before her sanguineous tendrils began to form.  They wrapped around her, constricting her arms and waist, squeezing and staining her in her own rage.  She sobbed there, body wracking against the semi-solid substance.