cw: smut. literally just filth. mdni. somnophillia
↬pervert dean who likes to jerk off next to you while you sleep. you're used to sharing beds with the brothers when you're on hunts with them. it was bound to happen. you're on your stomach, cute face scrunched up and pressed into the pillow. he'd want to be the one pressing your face into the pillow. the blanket is pulled down revealing the soft curve of your ass. he spent too many nights going to sleep with an uncomfortable boner. so he decided one night he was going to take care of it. pulling his hard cock from his sweatpants, the tip leaking precum. he'd struggle to keep his groans quiet as he kept his lidded gaze on you. your brows furrowing as you shifted in your sleep, an adorable little expression making him throb all the more. he pumped himself in quick movements finally reaching his peak as thick spurts of come landed on his stomach. he had to bite down on his lip with a strained grunt. the next morning you'd innocently ask him why his lip's bleeding. bonus if he stuffs your panties into his mouth while he jerks off to keep himself quiet.
↬ pervert dean who steals your panties when you and Sam pop out to the gas station. he'd make sure the door was locked behind you. as soon as he heard the car drive off, he'd go through your suitcase overlooking the freshly washed ones and going straight for the cute little pair you had on last night. his heart would skip a beat when he finds it, immediately bringing it up to his nose and breath in your scent letting out a loud dirty moan. he'd carefully zip your suitcase and head straight for the bathroom, uncomfortably hard against his jeans. he'd wrap the cotton around his cock and jerk off imagining it was your pretty hands wrapped around him. he'd stuff the cum filled panties in his jeans afterwards.
↬pervert dean who can't help but stare at your ass when you walk by. you'd be questioning someone about a recent folklore sighting only for him to zone out halfway, tilting his head as he stares at your plump figure filling your jeans. he'd imagine what it'd look like fucking you from behind, your ass jiggling with each thrust. how divine the flesh would feel between his fingers leaving angry bruises in it's wake. or how you'd look, reverse cow girl, bouncing on him. the plush of your ass hitting his crotch as your sopping pussy squeezes around him.
↬ pervert dean who'd wrap an arm around you at night and pull you close under the guise of it being cold. you choose to ignore the hard heat pressing against your ass. he begrudgingly has to hold himself back from humping you. the smallest friction drives him crazy. his arm tightens around your waist. he waits until you're asleep before starting to rut against you, breaths coming out in quiet pants. the bulge of his cock slides against your warm thighs as he chases his release. his hand would slide down into your panties and curse against your neck when he felt the wetness gathered there. fingers circling your clit as he bites back a call of your name. your reaction pushed him over the edge. you shift, face scrunching together in pleasure as you moaned softly in your sleep gushing around his fingers. the next morning you're confused as always at the arousal dripping out of you and soaking your panties.
showering with bluecollar!toji after work
bluecollar toji x reader - showering together, domestic fluff, toji washes ur body, hair washing, groping, massaging
word count: 920
i'm not as proud of this one, but i still think it's cute. hope u guys like it :3
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
when toji gets home from work, all he wants is to have you as close as possible. even when he's covered in a layer of sweat and dirt, he'll give you sloppy kisses that leave smudges of mud on your chin and nose. sometimes, you'll push him away with a whine, complaining about how he's getting you smelly or dirty. but truly, you don't care as much as you say.
every night when he gets home, you run to the front door and give him a big hug before he can even kick off his boots. he always smells like soil, pine needles and cypress, with his natural heady musk mixed in.
you're waiting for toji to come home tonight, sitting near the entryway while you scroll on your phone. you dressed up for him today, you're in a pretty little lingerie dress you're sure that he'll love. he had to work later tonight, he texted you about two hours ago that his boss needed him to stay longer.
just as you're getting lost in thought about how much you hate his boss, you hear the keys jingle around in the door. you sit right up, bouncing on your heels to watch toji enter.
he's expecting you, eyes brightening when they make contact with yours. he looks exhausted - hair messy, circles under his eyes, dirt on his clothes and skin.
"hey, baby," he grunts, outstretching his arms for his usual hug. you immediately jump into his arms, and he lifts you off your feet.
"you get all dressed up for me?" he looks up and down your body, admiring the cute little lacy dress you've got on. "my pretty girl."
he twirls you around once, and you giggle in response.
"long day, huh?" you ask as he sets you down, arms still wrapped around each other's bodies. he hums in response, face pressing onto the top of your head, inhaling your perfume.
"can't believe how long i had to stay," he mumbles, hands running up and down your back. "fucking- stupid, company pushed this deadline up couple weeks. couldn't wait to get home."
"m' sorry toji," you murmur, face pressed into his chest.
"not your fault, sweetheart," his hands run over your ass, squeezing the soft fat. "gotta go shower. feel gross."
"mmm, i'll come,"
"yeah, yeah," he kicks off his boots before he guides you from the small of your back, walking you to your shared bathroom. he shrugs off his black t-shirt with a faded design, throwing it onto the floor. next, he steps out of his cargo pants, leaving him in his boxers.
he exhales when he sees you standing in front of him, eyes staring at his body.
"cm'ere," he mumbles, hands reaching for your back to unzip the dress. he gently tugs it over your head, admiring your body with a quiet hum. he sets it gingerly on the counter, being sure not to get it wrinkled or dirty.
"prettiest girl i've ever seen," he says under his breath, more to himself than you.
barely able to take your eyes off of you, he turns on the shower and places his hand under it to check the temperature. you step to his side, hand wrapping around his bicep. he smiles down at you, stepping out of his boxers before getting into the shower. he pulls you in with him, bodies pressed together. his hands rub at your shoulders, watching as the warm water flows over your hair and face.
soon, toji's bangs are slicked from his face from his hands running through them and the water, his overgrown ends stuck to his neck (you should probably cut it for him again).
he gathers soap in his hands, sudsing it up before rubbing it over your skin. his rough hands travel from your shoulders to your stomach, upper thighs and ass. you breathe softly, body leaning into his chest. he loves to wash you - never letting you touch him before he touches you.
"all done, baby," he mutters, hands wrapping around your hips as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.
you turn around, hands wrapping around his neck - his hands traveling down to squeeze at your ass. you kiss him sweetly, reaching for the shampoo while he's preoccupied with your lips. you work the bubbles through his hair, a sharp exhale leaving his mouth and tickling yours.
his eyes flutter shut with a short groan when your nails massage against his scalp, hands tightening on your body. he relaxes in your hands when you wash out his hair of the day's worth of grime.
"good girl," he hums, petting the top of your head.
you give him a soft smile. you grab soap and start to run your hands over his body, starting at his shoulders and biceps. his arms flex, showing off the veins that line his muscles.
"thank you, sweetheart," his voice is starting to seem more and more tired, breathing getting slower. "all done?"
you nod, and he reaches around you, turning off the stream of water. he grabs a towel from the hanger next to the shower and wraps it around you, drying you off. he grabs his own, wrapping it around his waist.
"lets get you in something comfy," he mumbles as he leads you back into the bedroom, searching around for one of his t shirts for you, and a pair of boxers for himself. you both get on the new clothes, and climb into bed.
texts with... platonic!ateez x 9th member!reader (gn) | san spinoff
description: variety of texts between ateez and their 9th member; some fluff, some crack and some comfort!
content warning: likely ooc ateez, reader is written as the maknae (jonghos age/slightly younger), terms of endearment used platonically (honey, lovely), jongho plays with your hair but nothing else is specificied, its unclear which dorm/apartment the reader lives in!
from jelly: haii first post here! my blog is a work in progress so bare with me... i hope these put a smile on your face. have a lovely morning/day/evening n don't forget to stay hydrated and eat well! （。＾▽＾）
anytime you'd almost slip in front of him he'd make this cute suspicious squinty face at you
until one time he literally caught you in the act, snuggling your teddy he'd gifted you with your thumb in your mouth, suckling away without a care in the world
despite the fact that he desperately wants to go “HA I KNEW IT,” he doesn't want to scare the baby 🫳🫳
so he just brings you the softest blanket he can find, tucking you into it with a hush when you make a confused little noise at his unexpected presence :(
once you've slipped out he brings it up again, asking if you're a regressor straight up
his knowledge of it catches you off guard, but he tells you he has an old idol friend who'd regress sometimes during his trainee days
when you say yes he actually asks if you'd like having a caregiver, and if you'd be okay with him taking care of you 🥺
and you say yes OBVIOUSLY
♡
really likes being called jjongie or “mister bear”
mostly cuz you sound so cute and teensy when you call him that :C
and also it's an instant way to get what you want 🙂↕️
“mister bear can we have snack time?” ✅
“mister bear can I have apple juice?” ✅
works every time
every once in a while, if you're extra sleepy or stressed, you'll call him papa :c
and he will literally turn the world upside down for you when you call him that
♡
he really likes watching you sleep???
it's like his favorite hobby乁 ˘ o ˘ ㄏ
rocks you to sleep allll the time
he'll bundle you up in a lil baby burrito and rock you side to side, humming lullabies as he watches your little eyes slip closed :C
and then he'll continue to rock you while he watches over your nap
he calls it being a “naptime guardian” but you just think he's weird :D
you will riot if he leaves you during naptime though, of course
♡
poking the bear is real btw, you poke jongho all the time :D
especially his cheeks I mean they're Right There c'mon
what are baby hands for if not to annoy your caregiver?? 💞
but now he's taken it upon himself to poke and squish your cheeks at every opportunity, bonus points if you're eating
and when you pout at him for interrupting your lunch he'll just smile his gummy smile and do it again
“all is fair in love and war, sugar~” ◜(ω)◝
♡
as jongho’s baby you will eat an unimaginable amount of apples
and other fruits too of course but like, apples are where it's at 🙂↕️
scurvy? jongho's never heard of it
shows off at snack time by breaking your apples in half
and you're just falling over with giggles at his little trick
“wow!! Jjongie do again!”
there's enough apples to feed the whole group by the time he's through 💔
♡
very big fan of terms of endearment
he doesn't go a single sentence without calling you a cute lil nickname fr
his favorites are little one, cub, sugar, jellybean, and bubbas
jellybean is reserved for silly cubs! usually when you have the zoomies and you're sprinting around the kitchen
“ok jellybean, let's go outside and get our sillies out~”
and when you're especially sleepy or teeny he always calls you his honeybear 🥺
“coooome on, honeybear. it's sleepytime, hm?”
♡
he's very soft when talking to his baby, especially if they're upset :<
he understands that feelings can be big and scary, and while all he wants is to take away those icky feelings, he knows that's not always possible :<
so he makes sure you're safe and comfy, always willing to hold you while you fuss and cry
and when you're all tuckered out he'll tuck you in a blanket and let you relax on the couch with your head in his lap, putting something soothing on the tv to help you relax after a hard day 🫂
♡
now we all know how much jjongie loves noraebang
safe to say he will be incorporating that into your baby routine
he'll sing to you, any genre ranging from baby shark to a power ballad that you've never even heard before 💔
and when it's your turn he claps and cheers for you while you sing
he will definitely ask for fanservice and demand hand hearts and hugs
and if you're too shy to sing alone he'll sit you in his lap to sing a duet with you :(
not competitive against you, but you can bet that he's doing his absolute darndest to get that 100 score on every song lollll
♡
all in all jjongie is a teensy bit mischievous as a caregiver, but he’s total marshmallow fluff too 💞
you can trust him with anything, and know that he’ll always be there for you, his little cub :(
ℙ𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕦𝕤 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕖 | AO3 | MasterList | Tip Jar!
Now that Agnes has taken your virginity while you are tied to the bed, what happens next?
Warning: 𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝔻𝕖𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤 - 𝔻𝔼𝕋𝔼ℂ𝕋𝕀𝕍𝔼 𝔸𝔾ℕ𝔼𝕊 ℕ𝕆ℕ ℂ𝕆ℕ ℕ𝕆𝕍𝔼𝕄𝔹𝔼ℝ NON CONSENSUAL / DEAD DOVE / DARKFICS / Forced Orgasm / Forced Touching / Yandere / Daddy Kink / G!P / Cum Kink / Virginity Kink / Reader is 20+ / Violence / Manipulation / Bondage / Humiliation / Stalking / manipulation / Cum Play / 18+
“I’ll do anything… in exchange for…”
“Get away from me, I’m not doing a fucking thing for you.” Your bottom lip quivers, and Agnes sighs, sweat clear across her brow. She’s got a metal camping plate on her lap, she’s dressed now in her boxers and an old white t-shirt with a few holes in the bottom from moths.
The heat of the cabin is sweltering, way past comfortable from the outside snow. Agnes is doing this on purpose, you are sure.
You lay in your t-shirt, cuffed to the detective's metal headboard.
Both wrists red and irritated, the skin raw from your attempts at freedom, much to Agnes' repeated warning.
The older cop's semen still leaking out of you, it sticks to your labia mixed with some blood from your hymen. The mixture keeps your pubes tacky and you swear it is seeping down your thigh.
The evidence.
Agnes' long hair is in desperate need of a brush, the flames from the fire making bits of it appear almost auburn. Agnes is frazzled, and she’s begging you.
“Come on kid, you gotta eat.” Agnes mopes, having made you a sandwich you have no interest in consuming.
This was the ongoing argument, were you supposed to be happy with your kidnapper/guardian/detective/abuser when they make you a sandwich?
You didn’t let your eyes drop to see, but you knew in your heart the crust was cut off. The same way you’d always liked it.
“Kinda like I gotta come home for the holidays?” You snidely add back, not about to let her off the hook for using you and lying.
You remind her, thinking back to the emails you thought you’d been exchanging with your dad, chief of police of this shitty town. This shitty town you were so happy away from.
Those stupid emails, ones you were excited to get from your absent father. It was all a lie - you’d instead been exchanging them with the one soul on earth you had trusted.
Who had just an hour ago taken your virginity like she’d always owned it. Like she’d always owned you, and was just now cashing in.
Oh, right, and this was all somehow supposed to be legal and okay, because she’d ‘bought’ you from your sack of shit birth father.
Agnes rolled her eyes and set the plate down, to rub at her tired face.
“Oh, I’m sorry, is your kidnap victim not behaving like you’d wanted?” You taunt snidely.
“You aren’t my kidnapped victim. God damn it.” Agnes usually only said god damn it when the suspect got away from her. When the scale of balance was on if what she determined was justice.
You would only push her, further annoy her in her time of self-reflection.
“No, no you’re right, I’m as you loved to call me; your kiddo.’ Not sure if you skipped this day of parenting class. This isn’t how Thanksgiving is supposed to go down. It’s supposed to be pass your creepy uncle the potatoes and listen to some politics you don’t agree with. Not get handcuffed to a headboard and railed.” You noticed how Agnes flinched at the word ‘railed’ and wondered what the fuck that was about. She wasn’t exactly a prude.
Agnes groaned in frustration and stood up to pace.
You looked at the sandwich and saw the cut orange slices. Fuck this woman.
She walked the width of the bedroom, your handcuff clanked as you tried to sit up a little more again.
You moved your neck against your armpit and Agnes stopped.
“What is it?” Her voice is concerned.
“My nose itches.” You complain lamely.
“Can I-” She walks forward and you kick her in the hip and she stumbles back. The vein protruding out of her neck like it did when you broke her squad car window one summer.
“Fuck you, no you can’t itch my nose!” You shout back, not believing this shit.
“Kid, I’m sorry okay! I fucked this up! It wasn’t supposed to be this way!”
“Aw I’m sorry, I think there’s a return service on mail-order-brides. It’s under the two weeks so there’s no restocking fee and FUCK YOU AGNES YOU TIED ME TO YOUR BED AND FUCKED ME!”
Agnes runs her fingers through her hair and paces with new anxiety.
You took a deep breath, you had to keep calm, keep you both calm. Because it’s when Agnes lost her cool and snapped you’d gotten hurt.
Okay. If this detective had raised you right, then you’d use all that shitty back woods cop bullshit to get out of this one.
“Agnes-” You say through clenched teeth but she stands up, her body language that of regret.
“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I can’t lose you, this I fuck.”
You were at a loss, but you squinted your eyes and tried to follow this logic.
“What?”
“I’ll do anything… in exchange for-”
“Fucking me?”
“No god, kiddo for you to fogive me.”
“Uh, some dicks can’t be unsucked’ remember that? You fuckin told me freshman year of high school when I asked what to do about the popular kid who asked me out. Your older wisdom told a teenage girl ; ‘some dicks can’t be unsucked,’ and I didn’t get it then. But I sure as shit get it now. You fucked me, you took my virginity, and now you want me to forgive you?”
Agnes's sweat trickled down her temple and she gasped and then nodded fiercely.
Your mind was at war, a silence stretched as you watched this woman.
Past Agnes whispered in your conscience like she always did when you were making decisions. Like every parent prays their child will have. That voice that reminds them what to do in times of need. You wished your kidnapper wasn’t also your voice of reason, but it seemed that's what was happening.
An idea popped into your head.
“Okay, you uncuff me and tell me everything, and then maybe I’ll forgive you.”
Agnes hesitated and you wondered if you’d misread the signal.
“You swear you won’t run?” The detective tries, already knowing the false answer.
“I swear I won’t run.” You agreed, making sure to look into her eyes and keep everything steady.
“You are lying to me kid. You suck at lying.” Agnes rubs the back of her sweaty neck.
“I’m just afraid, you always said that could make people seem like they’re lying but they’re just desperate. Now, are you going to trust me or not?”
Agnes considered this option, this horrible spot she’d put you both in.
Then she thought back to how this whole mess had started.
It was sorta your fault first, you’d gone off to college, and she’d waited by the phone.
Like a mad woman, she’s waited, the first night figuring you’d call when you settled in. Then the first month, you were busy of course you were getting the new living situation. Second month grades were probably hard that first semester….then six months. Yeah, six months went by, and then a year, and then a year and a half.
Agnes O’connor was losing her mind, worried about you. Obsessed with the thoughts of you.
Realistically, she knew she could do a little research and find you. Find where you were staying, what classes you were taking, and pretend it was police work.
But in her stubborn state, Agnes had believed that it was ridiculous.
You were hers. In everything but a name.
She shouldn’t have to track you down like all that time you’d spent together didn’t even mean anything.
No, Agnes wouldn’t stoop to that level.
She may have scared the shit out of every high school boy who wanted to get into your panties. One of them, Agnes, had even impounded his car when he’d ignored her warning. But that was then, and now you were 19 - almost twenty.
You were old enough to pick up the phone and call your Daddy.
But as your twentieth birthday came and went, and Agnes watched the clock turn to midnight a sickness curled under her skin.
Agnes had been in the business of finding killers.
Had caught serial killers, and rapists.
She was a good detective, understood how people did what they did.
She could really put her mind in theirs, and walk backwards in their steps - to understand the how wasn’t enough. To understand a killer, a monster - you had to understand the why.
Agnes found that everyone who snapped - their breaking point was a fracture in their souls. Where a thought became a possibility, then it was simply the means to enact the horrid thing.
Agnes, at midnight, in the station on your birthday, found that she had fractured.
What before seemed like a sick idea was breaking ground, laying root, it was growing since the day you left.
Agnes wasn’t a dumb criminal either. She knew how to catch stalkers, finding evidence for stranglers. Fingerprints for the most frightful characters who just needed a release. Be it sexual or mental - that dominant streak of believeing they were righteous in their acts…Well, Agnes understood that.
You were hers, her kiddo, her little detective, her baby girl.
You must have forgotten, the big city could swallow a twenty-year-old whole like that. You were a good girl, and that was a big city.
The tendons in Agnes's hand flexed, the snap of her sanity. Maybe it was the same bone that she’d broken when she’d shielded you in that car wreck.
You’d only been fifteen, the convict saw it was Detective Agnes. Driving that squad car, the asshole barrelled into the side of it. Agnes' arm shot out to protect you, and it shattered in two. But you’d walked out with only a scratch.
Yeah, it must be like that, how people could feel the weather in their injuries. Like, when people could feel a cold front come in from their knee injury still.
The fracture from Agnes' sanity could first be felt, in the bone she’d used to save her girl's life.
The detective switched off the lamp light, grabbed her old denim bomber jacket, then hesitated. Before opening her bottom drawer and getting out her firearm. Then writing on a sticky note and slapping it on the chiefs desk.
The rat bastard of a man had no idea it was even your birthday.
Agnes took off in the squad car, leaving the truck behind - to go into the city.
Agnes memory got interrupted as you went to grab the plate and throw it at her head. But your cop was quick and moved the blue camper plate away.
“Baby girl, please, you gotta understand - it, it wasn’t supposed to be like this!” Agnes heard how wrong the words seemed.
“Uncuff me and we’ll talk.” You say it seriously, something in your face, believe it. Wants to believes still, somehow, that this is a misunderstanding, that your protector was still in this room.
Agnes gulped then walked to her jeans and pulled out the metal keys. The light played across their shiny surface. As she walked over to you and uncuffed your left wrist. Her calloused thumb rubbed gently at the sore muscle underneath.
You allowed it, fuck it actually comforted you.
Then she did your right wrist.
Once the cuffs were off, Agnes went to cup your cheek and you kneed her in the dick hard and ran off the bed.
Agnes grabbed your sore wrist and you wince in pain but find the plate on the bed still and slap it on top of her head.
The peanut butter and blackberry jelly smearing on top of her dark locks.
“HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” She’s desperate now to stop this.
You jerk out of her grasp and run towards the door. Knowing the front door has liike five padlocks, you are more observant than that. You run over the rug and straight to the back door, which only had one bolt. Throwing it back you heard Agnes two steps behind.
But you had given up donuts long ago - and Agnes was too small town.
Your feet were out on the deck and then in snow before she was able to grab the ends of your hair.
You headed for the tree line fast.
Figuring if you could take the back roads you’d either hit the river or by nightfall it would be hard to track your feet.
You were running and your ears were burning and the snow was hurting your feet already. Your adrenaline was pumping as you pushed your heels harder and harder into the ground.
That’s when you remembered it - your feet.
You stop and it’s only when you stop you hear her shouting far off.
“PLEASE! COME BACK! PLEASEE! I’LL DO ANYTHING! PLEASE!” She yells as it eches against the large snow-covered trees.
You close your eyes, and your feet hurt so bad already from the unforgiving snow.
That stupid memory of her rubbing your almost frost-bitten feet.
You felt the pins and needles now, knew how it had hurt so bad.
The memory of Agnes rubbing your feet, whispering stories to you, distracting you from the pain.
You had been a child afraid of the closet, the underside of the bed, the monster hiding in the shadows.
Agnes had bought you that nightlight, had made a shadow show from the dim light.
That woman was the closest thing you had to family.
She’d hurt you, she’d taken from you….
So why were you stopped, why didn’t you run.
You look up into the sky as Agnes screams your name like she’s gone insane.
You had no pants, the snow up to your calves was downright painful.
You take a shuddering breath and it billows into clouds.
‘My little snow bunny, next time you wear extra socks, okay?’
Agnes told you, and you’d not been so scared.
You can’t believe yourself.
This was the ultimate display of Daddy issues.
But you walked back towards the sound of the detective screaming like she could split the sky open and bring you back.
You walked back to her, shivering now that the adrenaline was leaving you. The second Agnes saw you coming out of the tree line she sprinted towards you.
You opened your mouth to say something but as she got closer you weren’t sure what the fuck you were doing. Running away and then back to her?
Agnes in her boxers, white t-shirt, had the idea to grab the boots by the backdoor while chasing after you.
You wish you’d thought of that too, but Agnes comes within reach and scoops you off your feet again.
You say nothing but shiver against her frame. The snowmelt turning to water from your snow escape, dripping against your hip and soaking the cop's shirt.
Agnes doesn’t say anything as she walks back to the cabin, holding you bridal style, dirty snow sloshes into her boots.
You curl your face into her neck, surprising you both. Your teeth chatter from the cold, though, and Agnes throws open the back door, and her boots stomp with the excess dirty ice on the ground. But she opens the bedroom and heads right to the shower.
Turning it mid-way way you flinch from the lukewarm water.
“Hey, baby girl listen we can’t do too hot. Come on, gotta go slow-” Agnes reminds you, kicking off her own boots. She’s barefoot with you and steps into the tub. Plugging the drain, then turning your torso so the shower faces your back.
You shiver, teeth chattering louder than before.
The bit of steam fills the bathroom, Agnes takes off your t-shirt and unhooks your bra. You don’t know why you don’t mind her seeing you nude now.
It could be it's the fear of frostbite.
But Agnes takes off her own shirt and drops her boxers. Your eyes flicker down to the flaccid member that made you cum for the first time. Even soft she’s larger than you thought possible.
Agnes doesn’t notice, as the tub fills with water she sits on the side of the tub and makes you sit in the water. Her hands work their magic just as before on your poor feet.
Her fingers feel scolding hot in comparison to your freezing toes.
You shiver uncontrollably, and Agnes works like a surgeon trying to make sure you are warmed up.
“S-snow B-b-bunny.” You say, the detective arches an eyebrow, wondering if you’d lost your sense of self.
“What?” She seemed afraid to ask, her hair now drenched from the spray from the shower. Peanut butter sandwich bits falling off of her head.
“T-thats w-ww-wwhat you called m-m-m-me when m-m-my fe-eet, b-b-before.” You try to explain - Agnes' face softens just enough that you know she remembers.
“I got you wool socks after that, made sure you wore ‘em to school every winter. You gave a whole new meaning to this piggie song on your toes. Fuck kiddo, you scared me.” Agnes reasons, staring at your slightly blue ankles as she works her hands up and down to get the blood flow back.
Your eyes drop to her cock again, and you feel a little bad you had kneed her in the dick so hard.
It looks okay, I mean, flaccid it was really, realy thick and large as it hung limply. But it was red, could be from the cold, her balls didn’t look swollen too bad either. Your kneeing her in the groin seemed like a good idea at the time, yet now you thought about how to apologize to her member.
You were so fucked up.
You closed your eyes, stop looking at Agnes' dick. You sicko - you daddy issue sicko - you should have run for the road.
Agnes waited until the water reached up to your chest and shut the water off.
You opened your eyes at the sight of her bent over in front of you, her bare breast mere inches from your face.
You lick your lips and it would touch her nipple.
Agnes doesn’t see this, simply turns the knob, and then settles on the edge of the tub above you once more.
You gulp and wiggle your toes, not sure if the pins and needles feeling mixed with the painful burning is gonna go away anytime soon.
“Anything?” You ask, your shivering still violent, but your teeth no longer as loud as a cartoon character.
Agnes was confused before she picked up the thread of the conversation.
“Anything, but please don’t run barefoot in the woods again. But yeah baby girl, I’ll do anything, I just need you to understand I-”
“I want you to tell me all of it - even the bits you don’t want me to know. I’ll know if you lie. I will, you taught me poker. I need you to tell me the bits you don’t want to tell me too. If you do that - if you do that then -maybe-” You say it all in one breath, not pausing. Not letting your detective ask again. You knew what this would take.
Agnes looks down at where her thumbs are pushing against your calf, she’s debating.
“It isn’t good, it isn’t…I” Clear internal struggle mixed with all the skeletons the detective can’t bring out is overwhelming.
“Tell me anyway. You always said the truth would set you free to suspects.”
Agnes's wet hair falls against her chest as she turns her head to look at you.
“What if you don’t like what I have to tell you?”
“I came back. You came inside of me, and I came back…What does that tell you?” You say not sure why you are wording it this way.
“You need therapy, and I fucked you up as a kid.”
“Yeah let’s not start there okay, I know I have Daddy issues. Let’s back it up. I left for college, whatt happened while I was away?”
Agnes sniffles and rubs her nose on the back of her arm before sliding into the bath. The water sloshing over the edge, but she needed to be closer to you.
“The first time I crossed the line - it was the day after your birthday. I’d driven into the city…”
Memories were thicker then sap from the trees around the cabin.
Agnes had driven into the city, finding you at college had been too easy. You walked from your campus to student housing. Agnes figured that out quick.
She’d bought a coffee and did a little stakeout in front of the main hall.
The cop reasoned that if she watched you for a day, it would be fine. Then Agnes would break the silence, bump into you at the coffee shop or - call you for a a payphone or something.
Something not so freakish like this, something a normal relationship would entail.
Not this, not waiting and watching like this.
But one day of watching you turned to two, turned to three, turned to four.
Agnes got a sick greasy idea, one that she tried so hard to fight.
But you were making it hard, wearing what you were-, not calling home…It wasn’t Agnes' fault, she just needed to make sure you were eating.
You’d lost some baby fat, that was sure….and the weight that had left you…Well now you had a curve, a curve of a woman.
Agnes couldn’t think like that, though, even though as she watched you - it was so hard not to see the adult breaking through.
Agnes reasoned with herself, a tug of war or sanity. But she took her tools under the seat. Shedding her cop jacket, sticking to the bomber jacket, she saw a old ski mask from a few winters ago.
When the blizzard levels were so high, you could get frostbite on your face in a few minutes of being in a parking lot.
Agnes hated how quickly her hand took the ski mask, to run up the stairs of your off-campus housing, how her fingers worked without her consent.
Twisting the lock and letting herself in, Agnes knew your roommate was studying to become a lawyer and had a boyfriend. She’d done her homework while waiting for you to come out of class.
Agnes pulled the skimask on, not sure who she was hiding from.
Maybe it helped her separate who she was to you, from the horrible act of breaking into your place.
But either way, as the skimask fell over her face, a new sense of purpose filled her veins.
Like a ridiculous Halloween mask does, it separated Agnes from this act.
This wasn’t her; this was a masked man.
Agnes didn’t go to the fridge, not like she promised herself she would to simply; check if you were eating.
Agnes walked to the first bedroom, smelling the shampoo you used to use in the air.
Opening the door and slipping inside Agnes was practically high on this shit.
She stood in your room for a moment.
Her heavy detective boots clashing against the cheap drown shag carpet. The beads separating your tiny closet are so hippy college girl.
Your single bed had the bed made, you could flip a coin off of it, just like Daddy taught you.
Agnes had never felt more alive.
Smelling your perfumes, seeing your room, your desk had stacks on stacks of books. The cop didn’t read the papers or textbooks; she headed towards the bed, hating herself, loving this moment. Unable to put the freak back on the leash.
Agnes' hand reached out and caressed the pillow, it’s soft, a stay hair ontop of the cotton. Agnes inhaled sharply, she had to stop this.
But her eyes slid to the sidetable, a few books stacked there as well, cassettes that have sharpie on them. Next to a boring lamp. Your alarm clock was five minutes fast, the cop inhaled sharply, and opened the half-broken drawer that needed to be pushed up to come out.
Finding a long vibrator, Agnes stopped in her tracks.
The clock ticked.
The light streamed in through her plastic blinds.
Agnes didn’t move.
Thoughts came and went at speeds that the cop couldn’t control. Horror, at you at herself. Upset that this is what was in your drawer. Your nightstand, the detective could see it was worn, see it was loved and used.
Agnes hand shot out and she lifted in up, unable to stop the animal inside.
She lifts it to her lips, yanks back the ski mask, and sniffs it.
The cops cock hardens impossible fast, enough to be painful.
Popping a boner with no chance of it softening in your bedroom, with your sex toy.
Agnes opened her mouth and licked the head of the hitachi vibrator, it’s long power cord hitting the inside of the drawer.
Agnes licked, she sucked, she shivered with the taste of your cunt now in her mouth.
Agnes dick strained in her denim.
This was no longer watching, now she was in your painting.
Agnes jerks and plugs the toy in, shifting her belt buckle and setting the toy under her cock, she turns it up.
Setting two knees down on your bed, Agnes lays on her stomach.
An adult too big for such a small college students bed, still her face goes into your pillow and she moans.
The smell of you, mixed with the vibrations against her cock.
Oh it was too good, Agnes hips start to grind up and down.
Humping the idea of you, the room you lived in, the bed you touched yourself in.
It was too good, inhaling that scent, Agnes balls twitched and clug up and down. Ready to empty, her tip leaking and smearing - making a mess outside of her pants.
Agnes moans your name, driving her hips into the mattress with the idea of your thighs wide open, your waiting soft untouched pussy underneath. Not simply this duvet and pillows.
Agnes says your name over and over in the home like it’s a satanic prayer.
Her body shakes and convulses as spirts of hot semen soak her pants, a bit of it coming to stay on your blanket.
“Shit.” the cop curses standing and wiping at it with her palm. Turning off the toy now soaked in sticky jizz and a few pube hairs.
Agnes takes off the ski mask from the back of her head and dabs at the mess. It comes out, just a bit. But you won’t be home for another four hours, plenty of time for it to dry.
Agnes gulps and shifts her arm out of her pants with the toy. Going to wipe it with the ski mask as well, before Agnes gets an idea.
Your pillow has the indent of her face, a bit of drool on the corner from where she’d orgasmed, opening her mouth and saying your name.
Agnes licks her lips.
The angel was long gone from her shoulder.
Her angel wasn’t in this room, O’Connor’s angel hadn’t called her in. Instead, you were in class.
The devil on Agnes shoulder was her only company in your bedroom now.
The cop swiped at the semen and opened your pillow to spread it between her fingers onto your bare pillow.
Somewhere you wouldn’t notice the stain, you’d do laundry, and you wouldn’t even notice it.
But every night you’d lay your head down, and your mouth would be right over your Daddy’s cum.
Your mouth would open as you breathed in, snored lightly, and the whole time you’d taste Agnes.
The detective liked that, wiping as much of it off the vibrator and her fingers as possible onto your pillow.
Then she let the pillowcase rest back on the gobs.
Agnes smirked somewhere between pride and sexual dominance.
Her eyes fell to the clock to check, and only then did she look up to see it…How had she missed this?
A cluster of photos of Agnes and you over the last fifteen years.
The cops gut flipped, spinning around as though the side of her brain that understood the weight of what she’d just done caught up.
Pictures of Agnes everywhere. At the lake fishing, gunrange, fixing a tire, carnivals, first day of high school, all of em.
O’connors heart raced - she was worse than every person she’d ever arrested.
She’d defiled you….Agnes hands shook and the detective part of her brain kick started.
Your laundry basket was half-folded, your books were - fuck legal and rules and oh no. You were trying to be a cop - you were studying -
The memories of the guys at the station came in like bullets now.
‘Agnes she’s a mini you!’
‘Agnes look she’s a tiny detective!’
‘Agnes kids a better shot then half the guys here!’
“No, no, no, no.” Agnes said into the empty room, you couldn’t grow up and be like her. You were supposed to be better! To be safe.
Agnes spun to look behind her, your calendar pinned to the wall.
Gym schedule, study schedule - no. You had no ‘out with friends’, you had no night plans.
You were secluding, you were - fuck you were just like your Daddy.
Agnes pulled at her hair - this wasn’t okay. No you were too smart to be like- fuck.
The door jiggled and Agnes panicked further, dropping to the floor and shimmying under the bed, her boots getting stuck by the bedpost. She kicked it until she was as far to the back as possible.
The creaking of the door opening, Agnes didn’t relock it behind her - she wasn’t supposed to be interrupted.
Agnes knew it was you, something about your footfall that she’d memorized.
You dropped your book back by your bed and Agnes put a hand over her mouth. Trying hard not to breathe heavy, to slow her heart rate down.
Stupidity got stupid caught - thats what Agnes told you.
Agnes watched terrified as you kicked off your tennis shoes, then your socks, the ones Agnes bought you, no less.
Then your jeans fell to the ground and your Daddy’s cock pulsed once more, it hurt so soon after she’d ejaculated too.
But you sigh and walked out of the room, to the left, the floorboards creaked.
The sound could be heard of the shower turning on.
Agnes waited and listened, the plastic curtain was drawn back, the sound of water hitting and bouncing off of muscle made her finally move out from the bed.
Agnes walked as carefully as possible out of the room, but stopped just before heading back into the living room.
The sound was muffled at first, but then louder - unmistakable. You were singing in the shower; it wasn’t a new song on the radio either.
It was Agnes favorite Jonny Cash song - ‘Folsom State Prison’ she had the cassette in the cruiser right now.
You sang it loud and proud, voice cracking as you hit the chorus.
Agnes grinned proudly once more, then tiptoed towards you, away from the exit.
Just to listen, she’d told herself.
You washed your face and the song stopped until you wiped at your eyes, Agnes boot slid against the white door. It moved just enough, Agnes could see you, the mirror already fogged, but the plastic was see-through. You closed your eyes, tilting your head back as you scrubbed your hair.
Agnes watched the rise and fall of your breasts.
How they flushed in the heat, your nipples darkening.
Agnes wished with everything in her soul that she could walk into the bathroom.
Bring you home, not the town, but in Agnes.
She sighed, seeing the scar on your hip still, the tiny one on your cheek; you were so close.
Agnes' eyes traced your naked form, the pubic hair that was thick sitting on top of the goldmine of the detective's dreams.
All of the muscles strained in the older woman watching you.
But this was not how it was supposed to happen.
So Agnes stepped away from all she’d ever wanted, softly walking out the door and into the squad car.
She drove in the direction of that shitty town that no longer held you.
Drove away from her heart.
You blinked real time up at Agnes as she stopped the story.
“That wasn’t it though, was it?” You push, your tone even and calculated.
Agnes stares at the tiles ahead of her, not able to see your face now.
“No.”
“You came back didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“At first, I lied to myself. Like I lied about my intentions to simply see if you had a stocked fridge. I knew I left the ski mask on purpose. Not sure if it was to be caught by you. Or to have a reason to return.” The detective gives it all to you.
“You broke in again.”
Agnes's intake of breath was shaky. You couldn’t tell if it was from the freedom of the truth. Or the weight of all she’d done.
She was supposed to be a woman of the law. Or justice and all things right.
But she’d bent every rule.
Broken everything is considered a boundary to masturbate in your room. Without you knowing, breaking in over and over.
You could tell it wasn’t once; now you needed to know if Agnes was going to tell the whole truth.
She blinks slow and then the words drop wet and hot in this shared bathtub.
“Many times.”
You try not to make a face when you notice her cock semi hard from the story.
Even in her self-hate and guilt….Agnes was aroused.
The cold bathwater was not even slightly on your mind now. Your naked body in this small space, you should have been scared.
You should be terrified.
The person who raised you, who wore the badge, had taken your virginity by force. Hancuffed you, lied to you, and broken into your room to masturbate.
You should scream and run now.
But something about Agnes telling you the truth. Not shying away from the ugliest decisions she’d made.
It made you feel safer than when she’d uncuffed you.
Your own Dad had ignored your very existence, refused to speak about your mother. Not come to one parent-teacher night, not a single sports event. He drank and slept and ran the police - sorta.
Where as Agnes had broken all of the rules, and should be put in jail for them.
But she was telling you the truth.
In school, you’d worked so hard to understand what made a criminal and how to catch them.
Here she was, and something was for sure wrong with Agnes O’Connor.
But whatever made her - made you too, and something about that was hard to ignore.
Still, you’d been raised by a detective, and were training to be one - one day at least. So you needed the whole story, no red yarn left on the board.
You reached across the tub to her, Agnes' jaw muscle moved but she stayed perfectly still. You let your fingers pull a bit of blackberry jam out of her wet hair. Flicking it into the porcelain tub water.
“Explain the money - the buying thing, you gave my dad money?” You had to hear this the whole way through.
Agnes sniffed and rubbed her face with her wet hands rolling her injursed shoulder twice and then faced you once more, like she’d amped herself up to do so.
“They were drunk. Chief and a few cops, we were all down at the bar. You know Harkness’s Hell Hole?”
Of course, you knew it, that woman had made you a burger almost twice a week for most of your life. She didn’t even have a kitchen originally, it was a cop bar, with beer, whiskey, and failed men.
No kids allowed, until you’d shown up with a loose tooth and a rumbling belly. Agatha really quickly started serving food to you, and making shirley temples.
Agnes continued her story, breaking you from the memory of your light-up shoes being sticky from the gross floor.
“Well, FBI agent Vidal was there - I knew they were drunk. But Agent Vidal, fuck Rio, she - she made a joke about how the only way anyone would sleep with Rodgers is if he bought them. It was crude and gross, but it was the bar - that shit just happened. Chief laughed, fuck, we all laughed. Then, while we were playing pool the talk of buying brides came up. Who would buy who - how much. Vidal wasn’t joking anymore, she turned to Chief and said she’d pay her whole pension for you.” Agnes' rage was no longer small, her face turning red.
Fists clenched, and she rubbed at her jaw, fingers digging into her chin too hard.
“Agnes, you had a bidding war for my hand in marriage over pool? What kind of weird sex slavery were you guys talking about?” Your anger is only now was visible and she double-takes you. She wants to reach out to touch you, but stops herself.
“God, baby girl, no-no! Well, not exactly, well Rio bid and I - yeah I couldn’t let that shit stand. A few of the guys joked about how I’d always owned you. If anything Rio should be offering me the money. That pissed me off, I said I’d re-erange their faces. Then Chief cut us all off. He gave a number….and before Rio could say anything. I upped it, reached into my jacket and cut the check. I couldn’t sit there in that bar listening to that shit about you - I.” Agnes groans trying to figure out how to say it.
“That was shitty, all of that was shitty. I also don’t know if arguing for my hand like that is romantic or stupid. But, it sucks that my dad just…gave in.” You say and the feeling of being unwanted by the man who was supposed to love you rings out just as loud as before.
You reach behind you, and Agnes fear is evident that you are getting out, but you turn the hot water back on.
Both of you are quiet as the tub fills with warmer water now.
Heating your bones, not able to wash the sin Agnes committed completely down the drain, though.
“Was it all just a game? The chase of stalking me, of missing me?”
“Did it feel like it was just the game when I was inside of you?” Agnes answers too fast and you actually gawlk at her before she puts her hand up. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t hav-”
“No, it’s okay, it’s the truth.” You interrupt, shrugging.
When the water hit your tits once more, you shut it off, and Agnes fidgeted in the tub, putting her legs under her bare ass now.
The secrets all laid open, you figured you might as well be honest too.
“I was jealous of Rio….” You admit and hate yourself for it, Agnes quizicly watches you, unsure of what you could mean. “I told my Dad I wanted to grow up and marry you.”
Agnes almost chokes on her own spit, but she regains use of her tongue long enough to figure it out.
“What - when?”
“I think everyone was too busy calling me ‘little detective’ and joking about how I followed you everywhere. No one noticed.” You answer honestly, thinking of the line of work you’d entered, too.
The silence stretched for five minutes, neither of you saying a damn thing. You wondered if maybe that was the straw - maybe you’d been too honest.
Agnes's fists clench and unclench before she scoffs - almost finding it comical.
“I am a detective, and I don’t think I ever noticed.” The cop's answer is slightly funny, and you both chuckle at the absurdity of it.
“Yeah, talk about Daddy issues.” You scoff.
Now the older woman seems to need to explain more;
“I had pure intentions, I swear, kiddo. It was just - seeing you all grown up. Your cotton panties clinging to your ass cheeks. The bit of pubic hair peaking outside of your underwear. You're singing in the shower, walking to class, sleeping in bed. You’d grown up, and something so primal in me - I didn’t know I could sink this far. I mean fuck, breaking into your home to masturbate. Fuck, I can’t explain to you how - how much I needed you. How I still do - It’s my fault. I know I never should have - fuck you shouldn’t forgive me I-” Agnes babbles and covers her eyes with her hands.
You look down at her cock in the water.
The water in the tub was warm again, and it was making your arosual stick again.
The plug wasn’t great, and it had drained to your hips once more.
You’d been sitting there during her storytime, ready to tell her she was horrible, to go to hell.
Now here you were - staring at the curve of her thick cock was out of the water, her balls still submerged.
Your mind got foggy, and you don’t know why but you moved.
Agnes' eyes were closed, her hands shielding the view, you could look as much as you wanted.
But you didn’t do that.
You bent down, water moving against the tub walls, alerting Agnes, but she didn’t move, busy beating herself up.
You opened your mouth and let your tongue lick the length of her, making the cop jump and water splash your face. You jerk backwards as if nothing happened.
“What the?” Agnes asks, and the flushing of your cheeks doesn’t help her draw the conclusion needed. The tub wasn’t big enough for these many freaks.
“Y-you took my virginity. I’d never been with anyone. I’ve never seen…” You trail off and your eyes fall back to Agnes cock then to her face.
Maybe you two belonged to each other like this?
You’d never been wanted, not really, and now she’d defiled you…you figured she had to keep you…Damn, you were fucked up.
“I never should have done it that way - Your first time should have been special and I-” Agnes' regret is overwhelming, but your hand reaches out to her shaft again and the older woman's thigh twitches.
But she doesn’t have the strength to stop you, to move her cock away from your soft palm.
“Will you show me?” You beg, the humidity in the room enough to shed whatever skin of what you two were before this away.
“Show you?” Agnes leans forward, not aware she’s doing it.
“You took it, and I - I just wanna know how it-it works.” You reason, yet your leaning in too, only your arching into her. Nipples hard and too close to the cop to considered friendly anymore.
“Kiddo, what we did-” She tries, but doesn’t believe it.
“It's done, and you didn’t have my consent before. But I wanna know what it feels like. I mean - I wanna know.” You insist, scooting closer, water sloshing as your hand curls around her cock. The wet flesh soft, but not for long, as the weight of it in your palm was becoming apparent to you both.
“You should do this with someone your own age - someone kind and nice-” Agnes had worked hard on these lies she’d repeated to herself every morning and every night like the lord's prayer.
“So you don’t wanna be my Daddy anymore?” You said the dirty words and Agnes snapped again. Her body tense in every inch. The gentleness leaving her body in one flick.
“Don’t- don’t bait me- Don’t. I can’t - I don’t have the self-restraint I should-”
“Daddy?” Your bottom lip puffed out and Agnes snapped, grabbing your hair and yanking you in the tub. You fell off balance, and your mouth collided with her cock. Your nose awkwardly finding her dark pubes. Your virgin lips rubbing against the base of her cock.
“You call me that, and you’re gonna get a lesson. You hear my little girl?” She threatens, the woman before leaving so quick.
You moaned and poked your tongue out just to test it. Letting it drag on the underside of Agnes cock once more, this time getting to taste her. Salty and musky, you lick her over and over again. As though you were cleaning her shaft.
In return you see it harden, lengthen, throb under your soft muscle.
“Good girl, I thought about taking you in your sleep. In the shower, in an alley way. You are mine. You are to blame - laying there so sweet, so pure. Daddy missed you, missed this. ” Agnes husks out, water leaving the tub entirely. You shiver but not from the wet or cold anymore.
You let your tongue travel down her balls, the hair scratching your top lip. But you are curious, wondering if she tastes different here.
Agnes sighs, liking the attention moving down.
A loud earth earth-shattering knock hits against the door of the cabin.
Crisis Status: Survived! (Story is complete)
Total Word Count: 67.3k
Inspired by: @dashielldeveron's Soulmate Trope
Incident Overview (Premise): When your quirk backfires on you during the Sports Festival one-on-one matches, leaving you in a compromising situation, your opponent/crush Shouto Todoroki swoops in to help you, impressing fans everywhere.
In the days that follow, he receives a large amount of unwanted attention from girls around UA (and Musutafu as a whole), so he turns to you for a simple favor: Pretend to be his girlfriend until this blows over. Chaos ensues.
Warning: Eventually becomes NSFW
Author's Note: This is the first story from the My Soulmate Academia AU and can be read as a standalone!
(link to a03)
First Disaster aka Chapter 1: You Embarrass Yourself In Front of Your Crush (& Millions of Other People)
Chapter Word Count: 5.2k
Chapter Summary: Blessed/cursed with a highly volatile quirk, you’ve always had a knack for stumbling into trouble.
You just didn’t expect it to happen live on television.
The echo of your footsteps bounced off of the concrete walls as you made your way through the dimly lit passage, hands balled into shaky fists. The ruckus of the crowd grew louder with each step, just like the jittery thrumming in your chest.
As you approached the end of the tunnel, you let out a slow breath and braced yourself for the overwhelming odds stacked against you. After all, you had the great misfortune of being matched against one of the strongest competitors in your class (who, worst of all, also happened to be the subject of your every daydream and late night fantasy).
You wiped your palms against your pants one last time and curled them back into tight fists. Pushing away at the jittery nervousness in your chest, you settled into a mask of faux confidence.
Let’s get this thing over with.
Keeping your stride even and smooth, you took that final step out of the tunnel and into the sudden, blinding brilliance of the arena. You squinted but resisted the urge to shield your eyes with your hand—you knew your quirk would adjust your vision in a couple of seconds anyway.
Despite trying to block out the audience in your periphery, it was impossible to ignore how massive and imposing the stadium now seemed. The attention of its thousands of scrutinizing spectators was no longer split amongst dozens of competitors like it had been in the previous two events. Instead, the eyes of the world were concentrated on this singular stage, salivating at the mouth for the fight that was about to take place. Yet another perk to your opponent being a minor celebrity.
Present Mic’s voice boomed throughout the arena, vaguely distorted as it echoed over the crowd. “Welcome to the ring, our first one-on-one match of the day!”
Right on cue, the audience erupted into cheers, the messy roar of their thousands of voices blurred together, threatening to knock you over like a tidal wave. Another spike of adrenaline coursed its way through your body. Thousands of eyes watching you here. Millions more watching at home.
“He’s the son of the #2 hero and way too strong for his own good. Equipped with flames and ice, from the hero course, it’s Shouto Todoroki!”
Across the way, Todoroki strode toward the center stage with his signature icy glare.
“Versus the girl built to adapt to anything you throw at her!”
I don’t know about that.
You steadied yourself anyway, head held high and mimicking your opponent’s confidence.
“The rules to win are simple: Immobilize your opponent, force them outta the ring, or get them to yield,” Present Mind explained.
“I’m not going to hold back,” Todoroki warned.
“I’d be offended if you did.”
Present Mic’s enthusiastic voice cut through your exchange. “Ready? Begin!”
Before you could move to attack, the temperature plummeted. You were shoved back, realizing half a second too late what was happening. All at once, you were covered in ice, limbs frozen into place, with only your head peeking above the surface of the glacier.
Teeth chattering so hard you felt you might break them, your exhale unfurled like smoke.
Too cold. Make it stop.
Unable to focus on anything other than Todoroki’s brutal frozen hold, there was nothing you wanted more than to break free. Luckily, he had unleashed a similar move when he’d tried to freeze everyone at the beginning of the obstacle course. You’d broken free then which meant your body knew how to do it again now.
Roughly two seconds later, your cheeks grew warmer as a mild fever started to take hold of your body.
“Can you move at all?” Midnight asked from the judging platform.
“Yes,” you said, as the ice closest to you started to melt, allowing you some wiggle room. You broke one of your hands free to prove your point.
But unlike last time, Todoroki was here, watching your every move, intercepting any attempts at progress. So, in response to your freed hand, Todoroki sent another wave of ice in your direction, refreezing the ice block you were stuck in. Steam began to rise from your extremities, as your temperature continued to climb, allowing you to free both of your arms faster this time, only for Todoroki refreeze you again in an instant. And so your temperature kept climbing as your body adapted to his persistence, to the never-ending cold he had to offer.
But the heat was becoming far hotter than you’d ever dealt with before.
Stuck in an impossible loop, you knew your body wouldn’t stop trying to break free which meant Todoroki wouldn’t stop freezing and refreezing you. The dual pain of the fire and frostbite made it impossible to concentrate, panic beginning to take hold of you. You thrashed against your restraints as the rising heat in your chest started to suffocate you. Pushing back against your panic, you fought for control of your own body. But the heat intensified further, battling against your insides, desperate for an escape.
Forced into a coughing fit, some deep-rooted instinct took over, and you threw your head back just in time for the heat to rise through your throat, escape your lips, and singe the air, manifesting as a massive burst of steam. Heat collided with ice, and the glacier burst apart, sending debris and shattered ice all around you.
The thick, swirling clouds of dust and smoke obscured your vision, covering the arena like a dense early nightfall. Even though he had been just across from you moments ago, Todoroki was now lost amidst the shifting wall of gray. You could still hear the shuffle and murmurs of the crowd—bits and pieces of sentences, some theorizing what happened, some wishing you well, and some complaining about the obstructed view—but even as the smoke started to clear, their figures were far too distant to resemble anything more than muted, formless shadows.
You continued to cough, your breaths rasped and wheezed, as your body tried to rid itself of the lingering itch in your throat. Trying to regain your composure, you vaguely noted the sound of a pair of hurried footsteps pounding against the cement, each step growing closer, the blur of a silhouette cutting through the stillness.
Then a breeze sent a chill up your spine, and you stiffened, suddenly very aware of one terrifying new problem.
You glanced down, and your stomach plummeted.
This can’t be happening.
Your clothes, or rather, what was left of them, were barely clinging to your body. Some parts were more exposed than others, but all in all, there was very little left to the imagination. (And yes, that included the top part of your workout uniform, which was pretty much gone.)
Todoroki’s running figure grew clearer as more smoke faded and the dust continued to settle. Through the gaps in the gray haze, he caught a glimpse of your tattered clothing and came to an abrupt halt just a few feet short of you, his gaze lowering to your chest without thinking.
Eyes wide in horror at his actions, he whipped his head away in one sharp motion, blush dusting his cheeks, and a small flame suddenly alit in his hair. With one swift movement, he surrounded you with a tall, crescent-shaped ice wall.
The voices from the crowd grew louder.
“What’s going on?” someone called out from the audience.
“Is she okay?” someone else asked.
Next thing you knew, Todoroki was tugging off his shirt, revealing taut muscles that tensed with each footfall as he closed the distance between you. Your breath hitched at the sight: He was just so unfairly, so ridiculously beautiful. You gawked at him, your brain short-circuiting, as frozen in place and time as the day you first set your eyes on him.
“Ooh, she’s having a wardrobe malfunction,” someone in the crowd realized aloud, shaking you from your lust-induced trance.
“Here,” Todoroki said, finally reaching you. He kept his focus just off-center to avoid looking at you directly and turned away completely to give you privacy the moment you accepted his shirt.
You tried to thank him as you got dressed, but erupted into another coughing fit instead.
“Are you okay?” Todoroki asked over his shoulder, concern evident in his tone.
You tapped his arm to indicate he could look again, and shook your head when his eyes met yours. Pressing your other hand to your throat, you mouthed “Hurts.”
He furrowed his brow. “The match is over. Let’s get you to Recovery Girl.”
You nodded, following him beyond the ice wall. With a wave of his hand, he formed a frozen tunnel that extended to the exit.
Your gaze darted up to the photographers stationed at the entrance to the arena, their cameras pointed at you two, and Todoroki followed your line of sight. You tugged down at his shirt, since it just barely covered your ass, and Todoroki stepped out in front of you, arms extended as he tried to take up as much space as possible with his body. “Stay close to me.”
“So did he win?” a loud voice called from the crowd as the two of you ran past the cameras and slipped out of view.
Present Mic’s voice pierced through the noise in the stadium. “Ladies and gentlemen, we will review the footage while the robots clean up the arena for the next match. Stay tuned!”
When the two of you turned the corner to the infirmary, Recovery Girl was waiting in the hall, a folded gym uniform in her arms.
“I saw the whole thing. You poor dear,” she said, sympathy clear in her gaze as she handed you the uniform. “Here, put this on. You can change in there.”
You stepped into the bathroom, the light turning on automatically, and clicked the door shut behind you. Catching a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror— shit, jumpscare —you grimaced at how disheveled you looked. It was no wonder Recovery Girl had looked at you with such pity in her eyes. Since extreme adaptations like this one tended to drain your energy, you were visibly tired with sunken eyebags, a slouched posture, and a dull overall complexion, paired with remnants of charred residue on your face and hands. You washed up as best you could in the cramped bathroom, scrubbing away at the memory of your embarrassing display with equal amounts of force and soap.
Finally clean, you were just about to tug off Todoroki’s shirt when the serendipitous flipside to this entire situation dawned on you: Your crush stripped off his shirt on live television just to shield you from prying eyes!
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.
What were the odds he had an extra shirt lying around, readily available, and you could keep this one forever? Alternatively, you could also just pretend his shirt vanished somewhere between here and where he seated himself ten feet beyond the door (“Your shirt? It’s gone, poof, vanished. I don’t know what to tell you.”)
Momentarily resisting the urge to be a total creeper (you lost near-instantly, by the way), you held up his shirt to your nose, testing to see if it smelled like him. The smell of ash from your own incinerated clothing lingered thanks to that stupid quirk of yours, but it didn’t overpower his scent entirely—some sort of rich boy cologne with top notes of dreamy pretty boy and base notes of way out of your league.
Eventually, you reluctantly took off his shirt and put on the new one Recovery Girl had given you. While you finished getting changed, you recognized the sound of Present Mic’s voice on the TV through the door.
”Ladies and gentlemen, we reviewed the footage and verified with the eyewitnesses stationed at ground level. It was a close one! Despite the ice tunnel blocking our film cameras, the photographers stationed next to the arena captured the moment both contestants stepped out of bounds. If you see here, Todoroki crossed the threshold right before she did, and since our girl broke free of his ice prison and didn’t officially yield, the match wasn’t over! Todoroki loses on a technicality!”
Your heart sank. You never thought being declared the winner would feel this gutting.
Fully clothed again, you burst open the door with enough force for it to bang against the wall, causing the only other patient there—a sleeping General Studies student who had been injured during the obstacle race—to stir a few beds over. Recovery Girl arched an eyebrow at you in silent warning not to do that again, but you were too preoccupied with the current injustice to feel bad over almost waking someone up.
Todoroki’s usual stoic mask had slipped, the turmoil in his eyes revealing his surprise and devastation at the judges’ decision, and telling you all you needed to know: You had to do something to fix this.
Panicked, you gestured to Recovery Girl that you needed something to write with. She handed you a notepad and a pen, and you quickly scribbled out a note to show her: “The ice blocked the cameras. I did yield. I lost the match.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Dearie, if you can’t speak right now, how did you yield?”
Brows furrowed, Todoroki tilted his head upwards, scanning his memory for the moment you were referencing and not quite remembering it because it didn’t happen.
Another note: “I mouthed it.”
She read over your note, clearly not fully convinced, so you doubled down, scribbling yet another message: “Please. He won. They made a mistake. Can you let them know?”
That statement definitely wasn’t a lie. You knew he was the true winner.
She searched your eyes for a hint of deception. Finding none, she sighed, “Okay, dearie. I’ll tell them. Be right back. I need to make a call.”
After she stepped out, Todoroki looked up at you from where he was seated, a serious look on his face. “I don’t remember you yielding.”
You penned your response: “I didn’t. Not officially. But we both agreed the match was over.”
He glanced at the sleeping student and lowered his voice. “The judges decided you could’ve kept fighting.”
You suspected that having Midnight as one of the judges was a major contributor to this verdict. You remembered reading once that in the early days of her career, the R-rated hero’s original costume consisted of boots, a trench coat, a strategically placed utility belt and well, that was pretty much it. So if there was anyone who could fight in next to nothing, it was her. But, unfortunately, you did not share her unwavering confidence.
Pushing the thought out of your mind, you held up another note for Todoroki: “Naked on live television? No, thank you. I’d like to leave some things to the imagination.”
When he finished reading, his eyes flicked up to you, where he kept his gaze fixed while he mulled something over in his mind. “This isn’t just because we’re—” He paused when the Gen Ed student shifted in his sleep. “—friends, right?”
Picking the pen back up, you added: “Todoroki, we both know you won. I’m just righting a wrong.”
“Okay then.” His eyes met yours. “Thank you.”
You held up your reply: “No, thank you for your quick thinking and your ice walls and your shirt and everything. I owe you one.”
He shook his head, pushing on his knees to stand. “No, you don’t. Get some rest so Recovery Girl can heal you.” He took back his shirt. (Devastating.) “I need to prepare for my next match.”
That’s when the door swung open behind him. Without a second's hesitation, your closest friends crossed the room, filling it with chatter and concern. They gathered around, immediately fussing over you.
“What happened out there?” Tooru asked, the fabric of her uniform shifting as she examined the extent of your injuries.
Since the alternative would be to talk directly to her shirt, your gaze shifted to where Tooru’s face would be. Unfortunately, her invisibility made the match happening on the TV behind her difficult to ignore, especially since Sero had just barely dodged one of Iida’s quirk-fueled kicks.
Mina spoke before you had a chance to answer Tooru, pulling your attention back to the conversation. “That burst of steam was insane! For, like, half a second, we thought Todoroki actually used his fire and lost control." She glanced back at him. “No offense.”
“None taken,” he responded in that usual serious, quiet voice of his.
“We’d never seen your quirk react like that. Ribbit,” Tsu added.
Ochako gently squeezed your hand, offering you a warm, reassuring smile. “That looked intense. How are you feeling?”
While you worked on penning a response in the midst of the frenzy, Todoroki quietly made his way to the exit. But right when he was about to leave, he stopped at the threshold of the door and turned back to call your last name.
Your name sounded so pretty coming from his lips.
“I’ll come back and check on you later,” Todoroki informed you, and then he was gone before you could reply.
“Oh, so he’s gonna check up on you, huh?” Mina’s eyebrows shot up with a knowing smirk. “How…interesting.”
You shook your head, quietly willing her to drop whatever crazed theory she was starting to form in her mind.
“So, what was it like to wear his shirt fresh off his back?” Tooru whisper-squealed now that Todoroki was hopefully out of earshot.
You combed your memory for the answer, squinting at the hazy replay of the events in your head. You held up your response: “Not sure. I think I blacked out a little.”
“You’re stronger than I am. I would have fainted if it had been me,” Tooru said, fanning herself.
That’s when Recovery Girl walked back into the room, cutting the conversation short. “Now girls, she’s tired. We should let her rest.”
“Okay,” Mina pouted.
“Let us know if you need anything,” Tsu said.
“We’ll see you soon, okay?” Ochako added and the others waved goodbye.
You mouthed “Thank you” to Recovery Girl and she responded with a smile and a knowing nod.
You laid down on one of the infirmary beds, determined to stay awake long enough to hear UA announce the official change for your match results.
Luckily for you, a minute or so later, Present Mic’s voice was on the TV again. “Ladies and gentlemen, there’s been a mistake. We were just informed that Todoroki stepped out of bounds because his opponent had already yielded. Goes to show you folks, you can have some of the best cameras in the world and they still won’t catch everything. Anyway, for our next match-up, we’ve got a guy who hasn’t really done anything impressive yet. From General Studies, it’s Hitoshi Shinsou! Versus the dynamic inventor bursting with ingenuity! From the support course, it’s Mei Hatsume! Third match, go ahead and—”
You clicked off the TV.
Fighting for Your Lives at the USJ: An Unexpected Meet-Cute feat. Todoroki’s Perspective
One Month Prior
USJ: The Landslide Zone
“Divide and conquer, huh?” Shouto asked.
The dark tendrils of the warp portal dissipated from view, leaving Shouto and you standing side by side, bodies tense as you faced down a cluster of villains standing just a few feet away. Their hands held a deadly assortment of weapons—sharpened blades and pitchforks, electric shock batons, thick ropes, and heavy chains—and a shiver of cold realization crept into Shouto’s mind: Not only did they have no intention of letting the two of you out of here alive, their weapons expressed a clear, brutal intent to make the journey there extraordinarily painful.
"Looks like we've got ourselves some fresh meat," sneered one of the villains brandishing an oversized knife, his voice dripping with malice. “Slicing you up will be fun.”
Another villain holding a set of chains looked past Shouto and directly at you with a sadistic grin, the metal links clinking as he repeatedly pulled the chains taut. “Leave the girl to me.”
Shouto stepped in front of you with a protective look in his heterochromatic eyes and put one arm out, wordlessly warning you to stand back.
Then, before any of the villains could make their move and make good on their threats, Shouto froze them all in an instant, quickly changing their malicious smiles to faces of utter horror.
“He’s not a hero!” a spikey-haired one said from his ice prison, lips shivering. “He’s a monster!”
“Funny,” you said, moving up to stand beside Shouto, your arms crossed in front of your chest. “Considering you're the ones who came here to hurt us.”
“You should be embarrassed that it took one student to defeat you all,” Shouto said, a sharp, angry edge to his voice.
Yet, off to the side, one of the villains started to break free, steam rising from him as the amber substance covering his body ate away at Shouto’s ice. The villain freed one of his arms and sprayed the liquid directly at the two of you. Shouto, quick to react, summoned an ice barrier to shield you both, but it was clear this defense wouldn't hold for long against the villain's quirk. As the ice wall started to succumb to the heat from the ongoing attack, some of the amber substance splattered nearby and Shouto immediately recognized the smell in the air.
Gasoline.
Shouto summoned another ice barrier to buy precious seconds while he grappled with how to handle the situation. Clearly, the villain was capable of heating the gasoline to a boiling point, which meant he could keep disintegrating Shouto’s ice. The gasoline itself was vaporizing rapidly as it came into contact with the ice, but that meant the vapors lingering in the air were creating a highly flammable environment. So, even if Shouto wanted to break his self-imposed rule and use his fire quirk in combat, it could result in a massive, potentially fatal explosion.
During Shouto’s moment of hesitation, you darted over to the small pool of gasoline that had landed nearby. You kneeled down and lightly pressed two fingers into the steaming substance, gritting your teeth against the searing pain as you counted, "One . . . two . . .”
Shouto watched with a mixture of stunned awe and concern. “What are you doing?”
“Three. . . four." You pulled your injured hand away, clutching it to your chest with a shaky breath, eyes closed, and then a barely perceptible ripple cascaded along your body, signaling the completion of your quirk's adaptation to the heat, the tension in your shoulders dissipating with an exhale of relief once it did. Turning back to Shouto, you clenched your uninjured hand into a tight fist and said, “I’ve got this one.”
You charged headfirst at the villain, unflinching when he tried coating you with a layer of the boiling liquid. Taking advantage of his stunned reaction, you executed a perfect leg sweep, sending the villain crashing to the ground. Before he could even think to retaliate, you followed up with a devastating axe kick to his head, the impact reverberating through the air. The villain's eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the ground, threat neutralized.
As the adrenaline of the moment faded, Shouto's attention fell to the red and blistered skin of your injured hand, recognizing the tell-tale signs of a second-degree burn, something he was, unfortunately, intimately familiar with.
“You’re hurt,” Shouto said, his usual composed expression softening into something laced with concern, maybe even regret. Wishing he had something to tend to your wound and ease your pain, he made a quiet mental note to add first aid supplies to his hero costume. He wouldn’t be caught under-prepared again. Equal parts frustrated and disappointed, he added, “I should’ve been able to handle them all by myself.”
Surprise flickered across your face. “Hey, I’ll be okay, so don’t worry about me.” A beat passed while you processed the rest of what he’d said. “You know you don’t have to fight alone, right? We’re in this together.”
For a moment, Shouto hesitated, as if weighing your words. Then, with a small, determined nod, he replied, “Okay.”
“Good. Now let’s figure out what they want with All Might.”
For a fraction of a second, the chaos of the ongoing USJ attack seemed to fade, becoming a distant, muffled afterthought as Shouto’s attention fixated on you. His eyes narrowed slightly, a tiny crease forming between his brows as he watched you, something shifting within him.
Given Shouto’s reserved nature, the two of you hadn’t exchanged more than a passing glance since the start of the semester, making this your first real interaction. But now, you were no longer just another classmate at the edge of his periphery. You were someone fighting alongside him, someone, he was now realizing, he felt inexplicably drawn toward. It wasn’t the fact that you were very pretty, nor a fascination with your quirk, though both had certainly caught his attention. No, there was something else. Something unspoken, difficult to articulate yet impossible to ignore, that tugged at the edges of his thoughts, sparking a quiet curiosity within him.
What surprised him most was how, despite having barely moved past being strangers, he felt a strange familiarity with you like a distant, hazy memory he couldn’t fully recall, or a song he somehow knew without ever hearing. There was a murmur of recognition deep in his chest, whispering that he knew you from somewhere, or, perhaps even more bizarre, had been waiting to meet you all along.
Whatever it was, it didn’t make sense, but this clearly wasn’t the time for any more distractions. He shook his head, snapping himself out of his daze, and refocused his attention on the immediate priority: Defeat the rest of the villains and make it out alive.
Deciphering the mystery of what these budding feelings were would have to wait, for now.
Present Day
You woke up a little later, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. Across from you, the TV on the wall was back on, still tuned in to the Sports Festival, but muted with the subtitles on. From the look of it, they were on the last match of the second round: Midoriya vs. Mina.
The purple-haired boy you’d teamed up with earlier for the cavalry battles (Shinsou, was it?) was laying on another bed in the infirmary, his tired eyes locked on the screen. You shifted your weight to sit up, and his eyes drifted over to you.
“Oh, you’re awake. The guy you fought dropped something off for you.” He gestured beyond you to a little to-go cup sitting at your bedside.
You reached for it, surprised to find it was still hot to the touch. Did that mean Todoroki had just been here? Rotating it, you found two little sticky notes pressed delicately to its sides—your name followed by “Drink after healing” on one side and “Get well soon. - Shouto” on the other—both written in handwriting so perfect it looked typed.
When you picked it up to smell the contents (some sort of tea, unclear which), Shinsou said, “You know, I can’t believe you broke free from the ice. It’s a bummer you still lost though.”
You started to open your mouth to respond, but remembered your injury. Shaking your head, you held up your hand to gesture for him to give you a minute. Glancing around, you looked for the pencil and writing pad you’d been using. Recovery Girl must’ve moved them when you’d fallen asleep.
“I’m not using my quirk right now. I promise if you talk, you won’t get brainwashed,” he said, and something in his tone sounded defensive? Hurt? You weren’t quite sure.
Truth be told, your quirk worked well for defense when it came to protecting you and only you, but lacked attack applications. So, you’d understood why in the spirit of competition, your friends had prioritized teaming up with the strongest allies possible during the cavalry battles (Ochako had joined Midoriya, Tsu went with Shouji, Mina teamed up with Bakugou, Todoroki handpicked Iida, Kaminari, and, of course, Yaoyorozu, etc.)
So you’d joined Shinsou’s team willingly during the frenzied free-for-all, your tone almost apologetic when you’d explained the limited contribution your quirk could offer in that context. It wasn’t until Shouda publicly withdrew from the tournament that you realized he and Aoyama had been brainwashed. However, since Shinsou hadn’t used his quirk on you, you felt no reason to be wary of him now.
You scribbled quickly in your notebook and raised it for him to see. “Quirk fried my vocal cords. Physically can’t talk.”
“Oh man, and I thought I was having a rough day. What kind of quirk backfires on their user like that?”
You scribbled your response, fully aware it was a rhetorical question, and showed him the notepad again. “A stupid one.”
He laughed, not expecting that answer from you. “Maybe all of you heroics kids aren’t quite so lucky,” he said like it was some surprising revelation.
“Me? Lucky? Never.” You shook your head, shuddering at the replay of your match in your head, before writing another note for him to read. “But why are you in the infirmary?”
“The guy I beat set off an explosion in my face after our match. He didn’t handle the loss well. I’m just resting now until it’s time for my next fight.”
You lifted your notepad: “Bakugou?”
“Bakugou.”
Did you hear him right? Bakugou lost?
Another note: “How’d you beat him?”
At that, Shinsou smirked. “He’s really easy to piss off.” Then he pushed himself off of the bed right as Midoriya defeated Mina on the TV, sending her flying out of bounds with a flick of his fingers. “That’s my cue. I’ve gotta go.”
You quickly wrote out the kanji for “Good luck” on your notepad and held it up for him to see.
“Thanks. Feel better,” he called over his shoulder as he crossed the threshold to leave.
The door clicked shut and you were alone again with nothing more than the background flicker of the TV and your own thoughts to keep you company.
You reached for the tea Todoroki had brought you, reexamining it all over again.
It was strange to think about the dizzying contradiction he could be. The day had started with him practically declaring war on Midoriya, his cold attitude making it clear he wasn’t there to make friends.
And yet, a few hours later, Todoroki was leaving you handwritten notes, wishing you well, and bringing you tea to soothe your throat. His actions didn’t quite match up with the stoic exterior he usually displayed with most of the class, and somehow, despite all the time you'd spent together, there were still parts of him you hadn’t quite been able to piece together.
The reality was you'd been trying to figure him out since the moment you met him, and even now, there was still so much unexplored territory, so much mystery left to uncover behind the enigma that was Shouto Todoroki.
(The links below reroute to A03)
Chapter 2: Help, Your Crush Is Drowning in Admirers
Chapter 3: You Get A Fake Boyfriend (& He Deserves an Oscar)
Chapter 4: You Become a Reluctant Minor Celebrity
Chapter 5: Following Your Heart Gets You Stabbed
Chapter 6: Turns Out Actions Have Consequences (Time to Meet the Family)
Chapter 7: Your Hot (Fake) Boyfriend Tests Your Restraint
Chapter 8: Summer Camp Fun (Your Instructor’s Trying To Kill You)
Chapter 9: Surviving The World’s Worst Game of Hide-and-Seek
Chapter 10: A Villain Gives You Bad Dating Advice
Chapter 11: Another Villain Ruins Your Life
Chapter 12: You Discover What The Hell Has Been Going On (Mostly)
Chapter 13: You Fuck Around And Find Out (Literally)
Chapter 14: Epilogue — Did Someone Say Something About Soulmates?
I depend on a Medicaid transportation service to get to my medical appointments. I have no car, no public transit, no one to call. So when that service doesn't show up — like it didn't this morning, for an appointment that's part of figuring out whether I have a fucking brain tumor — there's no backup plan. There's just: sorry, we'll have to reschedule.
I did everything right. I confirmed the ride. I texted the driver over the weekend. I had an actual conversation about pickup time. And still — Sunday night, no confirmation. Monday morning, no car. This is the second major appointment I've missed this way. In a row. I am devastated to the point of near catatonia. I can't pay $75 for a Lyft. I'm recovering from a heart attack. I want to give up.
To understand why this moment knocked me to my knees, you have to know where I was four short years ago. Because the distance between that life and this one is staggering.
Against the odds, I rose to the C-Suite at a multi-billion dollar healthcare company. It was a hard road. I didn’t have the ivy league credentials of my peers—I actually dropped out of college—but I had a mentor who gave me a chance and I worked my ass off. I was lucky. For decades I helped build that company. I led a staff of 40 hard-working, wildly creative people. The walls of our office were lined with trophies and industry accolades. I lived in gratitude. I was careful, humble. I was finally able to travel. I owned a home. I had savings. I had a fridge full of healthy food. I had a car and the freedom that comes with it and all the other things that are so ordinary when you have them that you forget they're not guaranteed.
Then the company was acquired by…wait for it…UnitedHealthcare. I was laid off along with my entire staff and hundreds of others. Two months later, on my 50th birthday, I was diagnosed with cancer.
What followed was the kind of unraveling that happens so fast you can't track it in real time. You only understand it looking back. Cancer. Then atrial fibrillation. Then gallbladder disease. Constant hospitalizations. No job meant my savings evaporated. I lost everything. And that was just the beginning.
This is when I learned something about family. I had been, for a long time, the successful one. The high-achieving eldest daughter. The one who flew everyone to Vail at Christmas. The one who drove a nice car, had nice clothes, a nice house, lavished everyone with gifts. The one people were proud of. I was the one who held the world together, the one who wasn’t allowed to fail. A workaholic - and that was seen as a virtue.
Turns out that version of family love has conditions attached that nobody mentions while things are going well. A daughter who's a relatively high-paid executive is easy to love. A daughter who's broke and sick and needs things? That's a different ask. They weren't interested in that ask.
So I added that loss to the list. The family who was supposed to rally around me was a mirage. It always had been. I am no-contact with my entire bloodline now, with a C-PTSD diagnosis to boot. That diagnosis was a true moment of clarity—the realization that my health issues weren't just bad luck, but likely a direct correlation to the emotional abuse and neglect I received growing up. Now I understand that all abuse is physical. You don't have to be hit to suffer.
A friend of 25 years took me in. I moved across the country into her home and tried to stabilize. And then I had an aneurysm. Emergency surgery. I nearly died. And then a heart attack. And then a cervical disc extrusion that compressed nerves and left me in the kind of pain that doesn't go away—it just becomes the new baseline you try to function on top of. And now my eye has started drooping, and I'm in the middle of an extensive workup to determine the cause of something called Horner's syndrome. One of the things they're ruling out is a brain tumor. And given my cancer history, time is of the essence.
That's the workup I've been trying to get to. That's the appointment the car didn't show up for this morning.
I know this system. I spent two decades inside it. I know how these companies are run, how they talk about patients in boardrooms, how the language of care gets deployed to cover decisions that are purely financial. I wrote some of that language. I believed in the mission of the company I worked for—genuinely, for a long time. And then I became a Medicaid patient in a rural community, entirely dependent on a sketchy transportation service to get to appointments that are keeping me alive. The gap between the mission statement and the reality is so vast it's almost funny. Almost.
The transportation service that stood me up this morning isn't an anomaly. It's a symptom. I'm not falling through a crack. I'm falling through a design feature.
When I called this morning and told them this appointment was to rule out a brain tumor—I said those exact words—it didn't spur them to action. There was a slight tonal adjustment meant to register sympathy, and then: we can't find another ride. I used to be on the other side of moments like this. I know how those conversations get handled internally. I'm not naive about any of it. And I am still sitting here genuinely shaken by how it feels to be the patient in that equation.
The cuts coming to Medicaid and Medicare aren't going to show up as a single dramatic event. They're going to show up as a ride that doesn't come. As an appointment that gets pushed back six weeks. As a diagnosis that arrives three months later than it should have. The healthcare system in this country is already operating well past its stress tolerance for the most vulnerable people in it. What's coming isn't a reform. It's an accelerant.
So, the boulder rolls back to the bottom. I walk down the hill, find my place behind it, and start pushing again. Because the car didn't show, I now have to wait two more months for a new appointment because of a specialist shortage in the region—sixty more days of praying that whatever is in my head isn't growing while my heart tries to heal. I will confirm the next ride. I will explain the urgency, one more time, to one more person who is paid not to hear it.
And I already know, before I even pick up the phone, exactly how it’s going to go.
---------------------------------
Postscript:
As I navigate this hellscape, the support from our community of freaky little sweethearts has been a literal lifeline. If you’re able and would like to help, you can find my Ko-fi here:
