#MY BLADDER IS SORE

[lemmylemons]

Losing my shit I wish my parents would give a fuck about my health

[hummerbythesmashingpumpkins]

Woke up at 5am cause my tummy hurt sooooooo so so so bad and I couldn't find a comfortable position to lay in. Heating pad and water put me back to sleep but now it's time for work and I am Simply Not Feeling It!

[shewritesinthethirdperson]

>>me: annoyed that I'm tired, in pain/achey more, and am experiencing stabbing pain when I move certain ways and dont feel like I can keep up with the housework+exercising like I want to while also popping NSAIDs at least once a day instead of a few times a month

>>Also me: had a LITERAL ORGAN removed laparoscopically from my body 3 weeks ago.

🙄 could the traumatized eldest daughter energy please give it a rest? Literally?

[joyfulcollectordreamland]

She's having an after snack nap while making sure I can't escape or sneak away. At least this time she isn't on my bladder.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 2 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: After he spontaneously abducted you, you try to figure out what his plans are for you. Is it to break your will? Your body? Or something else entirely?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, violence, abuse, something I'd call mild torture, hinting at traumatic experiences, claustrophobic spaces, chains, degradation

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

The hunger wasn't the worst part.

No, you had learned to live with the hunger. You were your mother's daughter after all. You had a certain tolerance when it came to unpleasant living conditions.

No, what was far worse than the hunger was the darkness. You had no idea what time it was. Was it still night or had the sun risen already? Were the birds still asleep or were they happily chirping and announcing a new, beautiful day?

Surely it was beautiful to someone. It was someone's birthday. Someone's wedding day. Someone simply got to have a lazy morning and have brunch and coffee at noon.

Not you, though. You were still chained up, still hidden away in a dark closet. And you couldn't even tell if it was night or day.

Yesterday had been far worse though. The memory of it still made you flinch.

Instead of a dark closet, you had spent your day chained to the bed. So far, so good. Up until the point when he made you drink a whole water bottle, right before he chained you up. And then he left. Then he fucking left. You had heard the door shut behind him.

You really weren't a proud person and you had quickly come to realize that your situation required a certain...delicacy. So, you didn't mind when you had to beg. You didn't mind crying or yelling at all. That you just did, it came as naturally as the sun rises early and sets late. You had even agreed to say those damned, magical words.

"I'm your girl, please, I'm your girl!"

But no, silly. It was too late.

"I don't want that fucking, pitiful bullshit." He had spat out as he had tightened the chains around your wrists. "You will say it and you will mean it. Until then, we'll make do with what we have."

Which was exactly what had happened. He had forced the water down your throat and eventually you found yourself in, what he called, your bed. It hadn't been all too bad at first. Except for the obvious discomfort and the constant fear that nagged at you. But it got worse, the moment you felt the pressure in your bladder.

You normally had to use the bathroom about every two hours at the latest. Your urethra was quite tight - You knew that, because your mother had dragged you to a gynecologist as a teen. She had been furious, because you had to use the bathroom so often as a child. She had often snapped at you. Sometimes she even made you wait and told you, you had to wait a certain amount of time, before you could use it. It always ended the same way. You on your knees, begging and pleading with her to let you pee. You could have just let go and peed yourself. As already mentioned, you weren't too proud. But that was a sore spot. More than twenty-three years later and it still was a sore spot.

Your mother sat beside you in the doctor's office, affectionately stroking your hair.

After the doctor finished his speech about the tight urethra, he began a new speech about the way one of your kidneys seemed to be a little slow. It worked, yes. But you had to spend your life going careful around salt and peeing.

My poor darling, she had murmured. I knew there was a reason you had to go so often. My poor, darling girl.

It wasn't normally a problem. Until yesterday, when the sadistic bastard had tied you up and left you like that for nine...fucking...hours.

Your body still hurt terribly, just thinking about it.

You had been tempted to let go and make a mess of yourself. Who cared after all? It was his fucking bed, his fucking clothes, his-

But you couldn't. You just couldn't.

So you had laid on that bed, cried and writhed for hours on end. By the time he came back, he wore the most surprised expression, because he had obviously expected you to let go and pee yourself.

He found you with your eyes swollen and your face puffy, but the bed was dry.

"Such a good girl." He had murmured and tenderly caressed your cheek. "My good girl."

By the time he uncuffed you, you nearly broke both legs jumping up and rushing towards the door. But his low voice brought you back to reality.

"Stop."

You stood frozen, facing away from him.

And then the softest "Please" passed past your lips.

He had been tempted to refuse you, you could tell. He was cruel, sadistic and simply fucking crazy. But for some reason, he had sighed, the sound almost making you sob.

"Go."

And that you did. It had been so painful and so terribly degrading, but you had managed. You had truly managed.

By the time you came back to your bedroom, he still sat on the edge of the bed. Just like the night before - you had expected him to get physical. But instead he simply beckoned you to come closer and instructed you to sit down on the floor before him.

So far he hadn't gotten physical. At least one good thing, you thought. He hadn't ravished you. Yet. Hadn't even tried to kiss you. Nothing.

Hesitantly, you had approached him and sat down on the floor, your arms wrapped tightly around your legs. God, you finally felt like a human again.

"Who are you?" He had asked in that gentle, silken voice.

"Your girl." The words were an obvious mantra, easily repeated all day if so he demanded. But to your horror, he tsked again and shook his head.

He had leaned closer until your faces almost touched and whispered: "You still don't mean it."

Your heart clenched tightly and you whispered: "Please, I-"

But he interrupted you by simply holding up his hand. His fingertips ran down your cheek in a gentle manner and you almost found yourself leaning closer.

Almost.

What two days of hunger and one day of bladder pain could do to you.

"Get in the closet." He instructed firmly.

You swallowed thickly.

"Please." You whispered again. Your desperate tone wasn't for show, the crack in your voice wasn't to manipulate him. You were truly exhausted. But he simply shook his head.

"Don't make me say it again."

You closed your eyes in defeat and buried your face in your hands for a moment. Then you nodded and carefully got up. Everything was a little giddy and dizzy, since the pancakes had been the last thing you ate. But you didn't complain. You weren't that stupid.

You had just been stupid enough to take his hand.

And get in his car.

And his fucking apartment.

If you had struggled, sure, he might have gone crazy and shot you. But was that really that much worse than the prospect of spending the rest of your life like this?

You moved into the closet, a tiny room with hardly enough space for you to stretch out your legs. He made you sit down and then he cuffed you up again. Sitting down, not laying down.

All the while he was in there with you, making sure the cuffs stayed in place, you had stared up at his face with the most desperate expression in your eyes.

Once he finished with the cuffs, all he did was glance down at you, almost gently and smile.

"Be a good girl and let me sleep tonight. Don't scream and shout like you did all morning."

You swallowed again and you couldn't hide the soft tremble of your lips.

"I'm afraid of the dark." You whispered.

He tilted his head to the side, almost thoughtfully. Then he hummed. You had grown to hate that sound.

"I wasn't going to turn off the lights, but well. You may thank yourself. Good night, sweet girl."

"No! Please!"

And with that the lights went out and the door closed.

Click.

You couldn't tell if he slept in your room, to make sure you stayed where you were or if he went to the other side of the hallway and slept in his own room. Whatever it was, you couldn't tell because you didn't hear a thing. All you heard was the sound of your own heavy breathing and the way it got interrupted by a sob every now and then.

It had been a few hours. You really couldn't tell how many. And every time you were about to fall asleep, you flinched and your head shot back up, suddenly all too aware of where you were and what was going on.

Until eventually your exhaustion got the better of you and you fell asleep, your face buried against your knees.

It was a restless sleep, haunted by the memory of the man on the train lines.

But at least you hadn't dreamt of your mother ever since.

Some time later, you were woken up when you felt his hand press down on your shoulder. You flinched so hard, you immediately got a headache. He chuckled at the sight.

"Good morning, sweet girl. Did you sleep well?" He purred.

You were so exhausted and straight-up annoyed that you were tempted to ignore him or give a snarky remark. But you decided against it. Also, you felt lightheaded by how hungry you were, so you simply looked up at him with a soft, timid look.

"Awww." He smirked as he slowly uncuffed you. "I slept just wonderful. You did a good job, keeping your pretty little mouth shut."

He yanked you to your feet, causing you to stumble against him. He instantly wrapped his arms around you and ran his hands over your back. It would have come off as soothing and affectionate, if he wasn't such a twisted bastard. But again, you endured the touch.

It wasn't like you were touch-starved. Not at all. You had never been with a man before, not in that way. But you missed kindness. You missed someone smiling at you in the morning. And if it was only your boss, wishing you a productive day. You missed people.

"Are you ready for your water bottle?"

When he saw the horrified look on your face, he laughed heartily.

"I'm just playing, sweet girl. It's not funny twice."

He carefully led you out of the closet and through the apartment.

"Are you hungry?" He murmured as he gently pressed a hand against the small of your back.

You felt yourself nod. It was obviously some kind of trick, because you were certain by now that you would soon die of starvation and that that had been his plan all along. But you still nodded.

Eventually you reached the kitchen, where the smell of food immediately filled your nostrils. The table was filled with food - rice, vegetables, some meat and fruit. You nearly blacked out at the sight.

"Come. Sit."

He sat you down a few feet away from the table. Of course. A trick. He'd probably make you watch while he ate or something like that.

He sat down opposite you and looked at you for a long moment.

"I'll ask you a question. And you'll answer. Truthfully. No second chances. If you answer to my liking, you get to eat. If you mess it up, you get punished."

You simply stared at him. It wasn't a question, so you didn't answer. Also, after three days of not eating anything - were it truly three days? How long had you been in that godforsaken closet? - you didn't really care about anything else.

"Good." He said calmly. "Are you a virgin?"

That seemed to pique his interest the most, because he stared at you intently, not even smirking for once.

Immediately you felt your face flush in embarassment, but you felt yourself nod.

"Yes." You whispered.

He leaned back in his chair and hummed softly. "You're not lying to me, are you?"

You quickly shook your head.

"How old are you again?"

"Twenty-four." You whispered in the same, weak voice.

"Delicious." He purred. Then he reached over and grabbed a spoonful of rice. When he held it out to you, you choked it down like a rabid animal.

"Careful. You'll get sick." He said in a tone that resembled gentleness. By now you knew there was nothing gentle about him. Nothing good.

But you pushed the thought back, when he fed you another spoon of rice. Two questions, two bites.

"What is the reason you live and work in a country where you don't even speak the language or know the way back to your apartment?"

You swallowed. "I got a good job offer."

"Bullshit." He narrowed his eyes. "The real reason."

You considered lying. But you were sure, for some reason, he would find out.

"To get away from my family." You then whispered.

He sighed in an exaggerated manner and set the spoon aside.

"Too bad, sweet girl. You deceived me the first time. You know the rules. I need to punish you."

You closed your eyes, albeit briefly. It was like they had a mind of their own and you were so exhausted that you could hardly take any more of this.

"You're lucky though. You get to pick your punishment."

Your brows furrowed suspiciously and he smiled.

"No deceit, sweet girl. You get to pick between two options. I'll give you ten seconds each time. If you don't choose on time, I choose for you."

You buried your face in your hands, but eventually you nodded.

His words felt like a gunshot.

"I slap your face or I cut off your hair. Choose."

You froze.

Fuck.

Of course you knew which one you'd pick. You couldn't cut off your hair. For various reasons. First off, it was deeply rooted into your mind that you needed to keep your hair long and lush.

Or else who would ever marry you, honey? No, no. You don't get to cut it off. Not ever. You wouldn't want to disappoint mama, hm?

And then again...Your hair was one of the few things you truly liked about your appearance. You liked the color, the texture...You just enjoyed looking at it whenever you felt bad about yourself. You played with it whenever you were nervous. It was your hair.

When he shot you an impatient look, you suddenly remembered the rules.

Three...two...

"Slap." You gasped out.

He leaned back and his smile widened.

"Are you sure?"

You nodded quickly.

"Smart girl." He purred, almost seductively. "Brave girl."

He didn't give you any time or sign to brace yourself. Instead he simply reached out and slapped your face, with an intensity that made your breath hitch. Your head snapped to the side and you let out a pained moan.

The pain of the slap stung. But not half as much as it would have if you had to cut off your hair.

He hummed. Bastard.

"Very well. Next question."

He sized you up calmly.

"Why did you want to get away from your family?"

You closed your eyes. "Well, they...Well, they..."

"That doesn't count. Disqualified."

Uh-oh.

"You never explicitly specified I had to answer straight-up." You said quietly.

Very slowly he inched forward until his forehead nearly touched yours.

"Are you talking back to me?"

"No." You breathed out.

"Good." He smirked. "I punch your gut or I cut off your hair. Choose."

You had a very bad feeling, like you knew what this game was leading to. The nausea that took hold of you felt suffocating.

"Punch." You croaked out.

No one had ever punched you before. And you had a feeling today would bring many more firsts.

"Hold up your hands."

Reluctantly you obeyed. He looked into your eyes, looking for any sign of disobedience. But all he found was fear.

He tsked disapprovingly.

"Anyone with brains would have chosen the hair." He said lowly. "But you're a pretty girl. I like your long hair." He slowly treaded his fingertips through the length of your hair. "So, you better do us both a favor and answer in time from now on."

With that you felt a sharp blow of pain when his fist shot forward and punched you right in the stomach. He wasn't gentle about it.

You doubled over and nearly fell off the chair. At the same time you let out a desperate sob and gasped for air.

The only thing you could suddenly think about was your slow kidney. Oh God, what if he damaged the good one?

You tried to push these thoughts away as good as you could. It wasn't easy.

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. And he stared right back with something that looked almost like...pride.

"Why did you want to get away from your family?"

"Because my mother abused me." You gritted out.

Surprise flashed over his features. "How?"

"She starved me, didn't let me pee, hit me everywhere no one could see the scars, locked me in my room for days, yelled at me and many more things, many many more. Dark and twisted things, things you're never supposed to do to someone you supposedly care about. I bet you and her would have gotten along splendid." You couldn't tell who was more surprised about your sudden, angry outburst - you or him. He just stared at you and you half expected him to knock your teeth out.

Instead he slowly reached for the spoon and fed you two spoons rice with vegetables.

"Good girl." He said with no hint of teasing.

You savored the food in your mouth and swallowed slowly, ignoring his words. Mostly. But a part of you was almost relieved that he took so well to your anger.

"Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because I'm scared of intimacy."

"Do you regret it?"

"Yes."

"Good girl."

Three spoonfuls, as promised.

"When was the last time you touched yourself?"

Your face flushed instantly, but you forced yourself to answer.

"The day before we met."

One spoon.

"What were you thinking about?"

You felt yourself go pale.

"What?"

He sighed disapprovingly.

"When you touched yourself. What did you think about?" He asked impatiently.

And you were silent. For three seconds. Five. And finally ten.

He stared at you with an intensity that was terrifying.

"Play the rest of the game on your knees or I cut off your hair."

Your cheeks grew warm in shame. But immediately, you slid down to your knees infront of him. The floor was cold, but that was the smallest one of your concerns. You couldn't meet his gaze as you knelt there.

Slowly and almost tenderly he reached down and tilted your chin up. The intensity in his eyes was overwhelming. You couldn't quite detect or name the look in his eyes. All you knew was that it was intense and that it made your cheeks grow even warmer.

"Good girl." He whispered. "I'll ask you again."

At least he warned you.

"What were you thinking about while you touched yourself?"

"I fantasized."

"Specify."

You tried to avert your gaze but his grip on your chin was too tight. The expression in your eyes was pleading. But he didn't care. He didn't care one bit.

Suddenly you realized something. He didn't seem to care about the rules or the game any longer. He just wanted to know.

"I had..." Your eyes fluttered shut and your voice slipped into a barely audible whisper. "I had rough fantasies."

"Specify."

"Of being used." You finally choked out. The words felt like acid in your mouth. Never before had you told anyone about this, except for the one time when you spoke to your psychiatrist.

You had sobbed and nearly choked on your tears, claiming that you were twisted, odd, fucked in the head.

But all he had said in response was; many women have those fantasies. You're not twisted. You simply have desires which go ahead of the ordinary.

By the time you blinked your eyes open, you realized that he wasn't recoiling in disgust. He wasn't laughing at you. He didn't even flinch. He simply seemed curious.

"What else?"

"What...what else?"

"What else do you fantasize about that you consider shameful? Are your fantasies rough? Are they painful? Are they degrading? Are they-" He cut himself off and finally leaned back.

"You did good. Really good." He reached out and played with a strand of your hair. "You got lucky." He murmured. After a long sigh, he got up and said: "Eat up. But slowly. I can't have you puking all over yourself. I have plans for you."

You didn't need to be told twice. In a ridiculous speed you were back at the table and savored the food in your mouth, appreciating every bite.

He turned to leave the room, but stopped in the doorway and looked at you with a small frown.

"You got really lucky." He murmured to himself as he glanced at your form again.

"As did I."

[evesbookshop]

𝐀𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬

𝐀𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ⇩⇩⇩

“𝐇𝐞𝐲! 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞? :)”

✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

𝐅𝐭: 𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐕, 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤

✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

You Loved Shouta, you loved him a lot. You loved him enough to let him marry you, you loved him enough to let him get you pregnant. You loved him.

You hated being pregnant. At first it was fun, a cute bump, buying baby clothes, decorating a room for your son. Then your feet started to swell, your bump was no longer cutely small, and you couldn’t go more than an hour or two without having to piss. No you hated being pregnant. And this was his fault, so you'd be damned if he didnt help get it out.

First it was curb walking, did it for a week. You didn't get anything but a sore back out of that. Then was the spicy food, Shouta was forced to do that with you too, he gave birth in the toilet that day and you had found that your spice tolerance had grown to be impenetrable during pregnancy. Ball yoga, fun but unhelpful. Pineapple, tasty but also unhelpful, acupuncture, that could’ve worked if you hadn’t chickened out before they stuck the first needle. 

That left the big one, sex.

“Shittt-” Shouta was under you, hand on your hips as he helped you bounce up and down on his length, “Just like that, pretty girl.’

“Shut-t up.” your eyes were screwed shut and face scrunched in pleasure but also in focus, trying to take him as deep as you could and this position did that the best. Hands planted on his firm and hairy chest as you split yourself open on his cock. It was safe to say he enjoyed this method more than the others. 

Knees pressed into the parts of the mattress closest to his hips as you ground down into his pelvis. The deeper he got the better chance of this working, plus god did he feel great from this angle. 

“Taking me so good though, now I can’t give you compliments.” The rasp in his voice shot straight to your core and you fluttered softly around his member. Letting out a pitchy whine, “See you like it. Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying this.”

“Hngh, fuckin shit- wish you weren’t enjoying this so much” You grit out as you continued to take him as deep as possible. “You did this.”

“I know, baby. And i'm so sorry” No he wasn’t, when you guys had decided you were ready for kids he'd spend every hour he wasn’t dead tired fucking load after load into you. The last thing he was was sorry.

“Liar.”

“Heh, yeah but you liked it.” A lazy smirk made it way onto his face, hands coming up to knead your sore and already lactating breasts. Massaging the tender skin softly and reveling in the way you shuddered against the feel of his calloused hands. Tweaking your nipples between his thumb and index marveling at the small drops of milk leaked from them. “Practically begged for me, remember, Sweetheart?.” Condescending bastard.

“Hate you,” you grit out before letting out a pitchy whine as the tip of his cock smacks against the most sensitive spot inside your walls.

“Love my cock though.” Shouta has the nerve to smile cockily as he helps you rock against him. Not that he's wrong, but he could at least pretend to be sorry.

“Didn’t I say shut up.” You groan, leaning back to place a hand on his thigh to revelave some of the pressure on your bladder, the last thing you needed to do was to stop piss. The new angle allowing him to watch the way your cunt swallowed his length with every drop of your hips.

“Shitt, you look so fucking good like this, Mama”He said lowly, eyes taking in every inch of you pregnant body and how you looked taking what you needed from him. “Gorgeous” 

That had you blushing softly, sheepish grin spreading across your already flushed face. Maybe you didn’t totally hate him, but you did need his help.

“Shou, hmph, shou.” you try to get his attention focused and it works. His eyes fluttering open and focusing on your face rather than where you're sucking him in.

“W-what? What happened?” His voice deeper than ever as he tried to work through grunts that begged to be let loose.

“Help me damnit- fuckk- my hips hurt, just do something-” You groaned partly in discomfort but mostly pleasure. Shouta understanding what you need, hands coming to grab your his firmly. Lifting you up and holding you still a few inches in the air as he began to plant his feet into the mattress.

Making sure he has a steady grip and footing before taking over completely. Thrusting up into you with a force you were unprepared for. Drawing a gasp turned moan from your lips as he rammed into you with speed and strength, aiming for your g-spot with a perfected precision. Shouta had you memorized like the back of his hands.

“Oh fuck oh fuck o fuck- just like that Shou!” Your moans came faster and breatheir as he pushed you closer and closer to coming.

“Gonna come for me, Sweetheart? Shit, you gonna gush all over this dick.” He was met with raid nods and high pitched moans you muffled through clenched teeth. “Nuh uh, gotta say it, use your words for me, Mama.”

“Yes, yes, I’m gonna come. Gonna come all over your cock- oh god!” With that the dam blew, legs shaking as your walls clenched and spasmed around him. And Shouta like the good husband he was fucked you through it. Helping you ride out your high as he chased is own, thrusts growing sloppy as he neared his peak.

“Pull out!” you warned suddenly, he thought he heard wrong but soon you were repeating yourself, “not inside , not inside!”  You told him through moans and though confused he obeyed, fucking into you until he couldn’t hold it anymore and pulling out . Your hands coming to pump his length until he was coming all over his stomach and your hands. Both of you panting hard, him on his back and you sat on his thighs.

“Why’d I have to pull out?” He asked, his chest still rising and falling hard.

“If it works I don't want the baby to come out covered in your load.”

✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿❀✿

𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝!! 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 , 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ❤︎︎

𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐰 ❣︎

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐨𝐞𝐧 ❤︎︎

[the-black-manor]

I like the idea of doing art, writing, or gaming streams and the chat reminding me to take a drink every now and then. I sit there, slowly filling up and not really realizing it, until it hits me all at once when I move just right. I say we'll take a break, five minutes so I can go to the bathroom, but chat tells me "No, no! We want to keep watching. You can hold it. Don't go." And I listen, staying in my chair, but beginning to cramp and squirm, and they can tell I'm struggling, but they're loving it. Finally, I tell them that I really need to go, it was fun, but I have to piss, and again they convince me to stay for just a few more minutes, just to finish this part of the drawing, this chapter, this level. I agree, okay, two minutes, and I put on a timer. But I'm so damn full, and my bladder is burning. I'm bouncing in my chair, squeezing my legs together, my brows are knit together in concentration, there's a thin sheen of sweat on my face. I watch as the clock ticks down. One minute left, surely I can last one minute. And then I feel it. The first spurt of piss as my sore bladder muscles begin to give out.

"No, no, no, no, no!" I cry, my hand shooting down between my legs to hold as another spurt wets my underwear. "Fuck, no, I'm leaking! I need to go!" Twenty seconds left. Another spurt of hot piss. Ten seconds and the dam breaks. I squeeze my legs together hard, still trying to hold with my hand, and as the clock strikes zero, I'm pissing myself fully. It's loud, and I'm mortified, but so damn turned on at the same time. And the chat goes wild, some teasing me, some degrading me, some praising me, but all loving that I'm having an accident on stream.

[peachyhalstead]

married man | j. halstead

request:Can you do a Jay Halstead x Reader. They are both married and have a child together. The child just started pre-k or kindergarten and since the reader is heavily pregnant Jay has been dropping off and picking up their kid. And maybe like the single moms are flirting with Jay since they think he might be a single dad but they get surprised when the reader picks the kid one day after giving birth.

pairing: established (married) fem!reader x jay halstead

word count: 1.75k

warnings: none??

a/n: dad!jay dad!jay dad!jay !!!!! they have a little boy (his name is dylan) and a newborn girlie (what should her name be)

------

Grumbling as the alarm went off, you blindly reached over and whacked Jay on the chest. “Why’s it have to be so loud?”

Jay chuckled, silencing his phone’s alarm. “It’s not even that loud, babe.”

You glared at him through narrow eyes. “If I wasn’t about to pop right now I’d give you a piece of my mind.”

Letting out a hearty laugh, Jay got out of bed and folded his portion of the comforter back up, trapping the heat for you. “Only a few more weeks, babe. Then you’ll be able to move without having to pee every two seconds.”

You slowly followed Jay, yawning and rubbing the nine-month bump as you headed into the kitchen to package your son’s lunch.

He had recently started kindergarten, and loved telling you and Jay about all his escapades with his classmates as he learned different things.

“I could’ve done that, you didn’t have to get up.” Jay said, popping a capsule into the coffee machine and starting it.

Shrugging, you zipped the lunchbox closed and set it next to the matching blue backpack, one hand going to rub at the sore spot on your back. “I knew I wasn’t going to be able to fall back to sleep.”

Jay noticed, and his hands slowly made their way to the exact spot that bothered you in your first pregnancy. “Who do you thinks going to ask me out today, hm?”

Laughing softly, you clicked your tongue at Jay. “You really enjoy that, don’t you? Miss getting hit on?”

Jay shook his head. “Don’t miss it one bit. Just enjoy seeing those soccer moms think their whispers are quiet.”

A few weeks ago Jay had mentioned that some of the moms at drop-off had been talking about Jay, commenting on his lack of wedding band and no significant other ever at drop off or pick up.

“Momma, when will you go to school with me?” Dylan asked, your son finally making his appearance in his pajamas.

“Soon, little bug. Once Little Sister is here, I’ll drop you off with Daddy some days.”

Dylan frowned. “Can Sissy come now?”

You huffed, wanting nothing more than to deliver the weight that seemed to be constantly on your bladder. “I wish, but I think she needs a few more weeks.”

Jay smiled into his coffee cup, phone chiming with a text from Hailey. “Come on, Dyl. Let’s get dressed so you can show your friends your new shoes.”

Dylan beamed at the thought, and followed Jay back to his room, leaving you alone in the warm kitchen. The aroma of coffee lingered as you found a chair to rest in, hand absently tracing circles over your distended belly.

A sigh of contentment escaped you; this was your world, and despite the groggy mornings and occasional aggravations - like trying to convince Dylan to brush his teeth properly - you wouldn’t change it for anything else. That was the beauty of family - it wasn’t always perfect, but it was yours. And that made all the imperfections precious in their own odd way.

The sound of Jay's voice pulled you from your thoughts as he asked Dylan to choose between two shirts. You smiled, knowing how seriously your little boy took these morning decisions. Sipping on some water and slowly standing up, you decided to start breakfast.

The scent of eggs and bacon soon filled the room, joining the still lingering coffee aroma. Dylan would be excited; he loved his simple morning breakfasts. As you were flipping an egg, Jay returned with Dylan in tow. Their matching grins caught your eye.

“What are you two up to?” You questioned playfully, adjusting your hold on your bump.

“Nothing,” they both chimed in unison, their grins growing even wider.

“Okay,” you drew out the first syllable, grabbing a plate and moving the eggs for Dylan to eat, blowing on them as you cut them into pieces.

“Eat, then Daddy will bring you to school.” You smiled, cracking a few more eggs and grabbing a tortilla and the toppings you knew Jay liked, quickly making a breakfast wrap for him.

Wrapping it in foil, you smiled to yourself as you heard Jay helping Dylan put on his sneakers.

“Ok, we gotta go, Little Man! Go give Momma a kiss.”

Dylan skipped over to you, wrapping his little arms around your legs, promising you he’d come home with a drawing to put in the nursery.

Thanking him, you smiled at Jay as he grabbed the wrap and his badge, stopping to press a kiss to your forehead. “Take it easy today, babe.”

“I will. Go break hearts and catch perps, Jay.”

——

Jay hid his eye roll as he followed Dylan to the drop off location, ignoring the looks from the few single mothers nearby.

“I mean, who in their right mind wouldn’t grab that ass? He’s such a good dad, too.”

Jay overheard one of the mothers and shook his head, stifling a laugh. He still found it amusing and somewhat flattering to know that he was the topic of their little gossip circle. But he also knew firmly where his heart lay - at home with you and Dylan, and soon, your new little girl.

As Dylan scampered off towards his classroom, he turned to Jay with a big grin. "Daddy, do you think I can tell Mrs. Johnson about Sissy coming soon?"

Jay bent down to his level, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Of course, buddy. I'm sure she will be thrilled to hear it."

At that moment, a pair of giggling women walked by, shooting him suggestive glances over their shoulders. He merely smiled politely before turning away.

Arriving back at the car, Jay pulled out his phone and saw a text from you: Feeling better now that the house is empty. How did drop off go?

He quickly typed back: Smooth as always. He's telling all his teachers about his soon-to-be little sister.

Satisfied, he started the vehicle and headed towards the precinct. His phone chimed again with your response: That's my boy! Take care at work, Jay.

He chuckled as he imagined you grinning at your phone, feet kicked up on the coffee table even though you often chided him for doing the same thing.

——

The routine didn’t shift for the next few weeks, but the gossiping mothers were surprised when Dylan was dropped off by Will one day, Jay at the hospital where you were currently resting with the newest addition to the family.

“Uncle Will, can we see Momma and Sissy after school?” Dylan asked, tugging on his uncle’s hand.

"Of course, buddy," Will replied with a soft smile, watching as Dylan's face lit up with joy. "I bet they can't wait to see you."

Once Dylan scampered off towards his classroom, Will indulged in a moment of silence. He was used to the emergency room's relentless noise and bustle, so the unfamiliar hush of the school yard in the early morning was a welcome respite. A group of mothers were huddled together, shooting glances his way. Perhaps he was becoming part of their gossip routine now too - he silently hoped otherwise.

Meanwhile, at the hospital, Jay could barely tear his gaze away from you sleeping peacefully, the tiny bundle in his arms a testament to your strength and love. His heart swelled in his chest at the sight; you looked more beautiful than ever, your face radiating an exhausted but blissful glow as your daughter, their daughter, clung onto his finger with her small hand.

Just then, she stirred awake and let out a soft whimper which turned into a loud wail. He quickly got up and started to gently rock her, not wanting her cries to disturb your much-needed rest.

“Hey there, little princess,” he cooed softly as he bounced her gently in his arms. “Let’s not wake Mommy up now.”

After a few minutes of gentle rocking and hushed lullabies - Jay trying his best to remember the ones you sung to Dylan when he was an infant, the baby quieted down, blue eyes peering up at her father.

“Hi, munchkin. You already have half of Chicago’s first responders wrapped around your finger.” He whispered, soft smile at his lips as he thought back to the replies from his team when he sent the photo of the baby in the group chat.

"The other half is itching to meet you. Just wait until Uncle Will gets a hold of you. You're going to be spoiled rotten." He laughed softly, mindlessly tracing a finger over his daughter's tiny forehead.

His phone buzzed where he had left it on the bedside table. It was a message from Will letting him know that Dylan had been dropped off at school and asking if they could come by after school to see the baby.

Jay's heart swelled, even more, knowing his son was equally excited about his little sister's arrival. Jay quickly typed a response, assuring Will they would be more than happy to have visitors later in the day.

——

The day passed in a flurry of nurses checking vitals and bringing meals, phone calls from family and friends, and quiet moments spent marveling over their newest addition. Dylan was bursting with energy when Will brought him by after school, his wide eyes taking in everything with an infectious excitement that had everyone in the room smiling.

"Momma, Sissy is really small!" Dylan whispered in awe as he approached the bed, carefully peering over the edge of the bassinet.

You chuckled at his innocent observation as Jay helped him climb up onto the bed to get a better look. "Yes, she is," you agreed with a fond smile. "You were that small, too, Little Man!”

Dylan looked at you with wide eyes, shaking his head. “Nuh-uh!”

“Mhmm!” You replied, fixing his shirt as he squirmed to get another look at his sister.

“When can you and Sissy come to school?” He asked, looking at you.

Jay laughed quietly, and you looked at your husband. “Soon, Dyl.”

��—

Two weeks later, you consoled the crying baby as Jay helped Dylan put his backpack on. “Can Sissy come meet Mrs. Johnson?”

Shaking your head, you carefully strapped the little girl into her carrier, softly rubbing her cheek. “Not yet. Maybe during the spring concert, but she’s still too little.”

Jay stood up and grabbed his keys. “She can help Momma and Daddy drop you off, though. That sound good?”

Dylan’s face lit up at the thought. “Yeah! Everyone will get to see her!” He jumped excitedly before Jay guided him out the door.

Satisfied with your successful early morning, you carried the baby carrier to the car and buckled it in securely at the back seat. Moving around was still a little tough for you but you were slowly getting the hang of things. You climbed into the passenger side, glancing back at Dylan who was squirming in his seat with anticipation.

The drive to the school was filled with Dylan's non-stop chatter about what he was going to show his little sister. Jay had a soft smile on his face as he listened to his son, occasionally glancing at you in admiration and shared joy.

Once they arrived in front of the school, Dylan unbuckled himself and carefully opened your car door for you. “Be careful, Momma!” He cautioned, making Jay chuckle as he followed behind with his son’s backpack.

You smiled, letting Jay go ahead with Dylan so he wasn’t late, working to unstrap your daughter’s carrier so Dylan could see her one last time before he was in school.

“Jay, haven’t seen you the last few days. Is everything okay?” One of the mothers who had tried to hit on Jay asked, faux worry on her face.

Jay wore a smile as he turned to the woman, Dylan's hand tucked safely in his own as they made their way toward the school entrance. "Yeah, everything’s great, actually. My wife just gave birth to our second child," he responded casually, nodding his head towards the car where you were carefully lifting the baby carrier.

The woman blinked in surprise before offering a tight-lipped smile, "Oh, I didn’t know... congratulations."

"Thanks," Jay replied with a nod before turning his attention back to Dylan whose bundle of excitement was barely contained. As Jay opened the door for him to enter he looked into the bright eyes of his son and smiled reassuringly, "You ready?"

Dylan nodded eagerly, already tugging on his father's hand to drag him inside. Jay followed docilely, striding up the hallway towards Dylan's classroom.

Meanwhile, you were still out by the car, struggling slightly with the baby carrier that seemed to weigh even more than your now two-week-old daughter. A few mothers noticed and stepped forward to help you, their faces lighting up at the sight of the infant bundled up against the cold.

"Oh she's absolutely adorable!" One woman cooed, and you recognized her from when Jay was telling you how one of them started to wear low-cut tops after he started doing drop off duty.

You walked with them to the doors, smile brightening when you saw Jay and Dylan at the door, the young boy wanting to say goodbye to his sister.

“Bye, Sissy! Bye, Momma!” Dylan smiled, giving his sister a kiss and hugging your legs, unaware that his farewells caused the mothers who had walked with you to gasp lightly.

Jay’s smile widened at Dylan's display of affection, ruffling his son's hair gently, "Alright, champ. We’ll pick you up later. Have a great day at school."

Dylan nodded eagerly before disappearing into the bustling school building with his teacher. The remaining mothers turned to you, their surprised expressions replaced by warm, slender smiles as they admired your little girl.

Back in the car, you laughed as Jay started the ignition. “Think I felt the daggers from some of the moms when they found out you’re married.”

Jay snorted, turning back to the road to your house. “Well, that or when they found out we have great sex. Either way, watch your back, babe.”

You gawked at Jay’s remark, hitting him in the chest. “Jay! Your daughter is listening!”

“Oh, she’ll hear worse when Ruz babysits her." ------ a/n: send requests if you wanna!!

[omopuppy]

I wanna have to ask permission from someone to use the restroom. To make me drink more water after I ask to go, but not give me permission until I'm begging and desperate not to lose control. To remind me that I need their permission, and to tease me about how full my sore little bladder must feel.

[moremaybank]

JJ's the type of partner to lift your stomach when you're pregnant so you can relax. He'd even praise you and leave kisses on your cheek, neck, and shoulders

this isn't even a smutty request but i got butterflies in my coochie rn

you're stood in front of the floor length mirror in your bedroom, brows pulled together in a frown as you peer at your pregnant belly in the reflection. your hands migrate from the protrusion of your fetus to your back, fingers pressing at the base of your spine as you try to ease the pain there.

jj walks in then, eyes immediately finding your face in the mirror. his smile transforms into a scowl, one to match yours.

"what's goin' on, pretty mama? you good?"

his arms wrap around your waist, forearms resting at the top of the hill that is your belly. and he drops his chin onto your shoulder.

"'m so sore. your baby is trying to kill me."

"whaaat? the audacity," he exasperates. he turns you around to face him, and he drops to his knees. his hands smooth over your stomach, and he gets nice and close. "hey, you. take it easy on your mama, alright? 'n let her pee when she wants. she's always tellin' me that you're sittin' on her bladder."

you smile, reaching downward to let your hand run through his messy locks. "thanks, handsome."

jj smiles up at you, kissing your belly before standing back up. he then drops a kiss to your lips, and asks you to turn around again. when you do so, his hands glide down your plump stomach, and seek refuge underneath it.

"lemme try somethin', baby?"

you nod, "okay."

he carefully takes the weight of your growing fetus into your hands, and the instant relief you feel is glorious. your head falls back to rest on his shoulder, and your eyes close as you melt into him.

"thaaat's it. jus' relax, mama. i gotchu. i got both of you." his lips trail kisses up from the edge of your shoulder to the crook of your neck, in between whispers of how strong and amazing you are, and how much he loves you for giving him his dream.

your hands cover jj's, thumbs stroking over his knuckles. "god, i love you."

you're in heaven, you think.

until he lets go, and you're back to stage one.

"j!"

he offers you a nervous smile, "'m sorry, baby."

concepts ; concepts (ii)

[space-cowgirllll]

boy mom abby save me. save me boy mom abby.

Lemme yearn for a sec. I went apple picking and to the pumpkin patch this weekend and it inspired this.

"Abby, hold him still!"

Your wife braces herself against the wall as the two year old in her arms starts failing around even harder, almost slipping out of her grasp. "What do you think I'm doing?"

The two of you giggle as you try to get the tiny jeans up his legs with little success. The toddler using his feet to kick them off as soon as you get his leg in. One particularly hard kick has you moving out of the way just a second before his foot can connect with your stomach. The quick movement making you wince when you feel a sharp pain in your lower back. Abby quickly sets him down, crouching down rub at the sore spot. The sound of his footprints loud as he wobbles away barefoot and pantsless. 

"I'm fine." You grab at the blonde's hands on your bump. "Just moved too fast is all."

She nods, giving the top of your head a quick peck before following the sound of a toy blaring from the other room. With newfound determination, she quietly sneaks up on the toddler, scooping him up and gently dropping him on the couch. His dinosaur like screech pierces your ears. You watch her struggle for a second as she maneuvers him into the pair of overalls while explaining why kicking at mama was bad. 

"Ha!" 

She holds out your son, now fully dressed in a long sleeve and jean overalls. His blonde hair is disheveled and the little knit cardigan you'd tossed at her last minute was unbuttoned, but he was making no move to pull it off so you'd take it. The smug grin is wiped off her face when she sees you sheepishly holding up the little boots and olive green jacket that he'd finally grown into. He breaks loose again, clearly not a fan of the added layer. She rolls her eyes, playfully snatching them out of your hands as she takes off after him down the hall.

"Leave it to you to pick out an outfit with nothing but buttons." 

"What are all those muscles for if not to wrangle toddlers?" You quip.

---

"Oh my god, no! Don't put that in your mouth!"

Warm pastry in hand, you watch Abby chase your son around from where you rest on one of the benches outside the small shop on the farm. Whoever decided a corn pit was good entertainment had clearly never dealt with small children. You smile into your cup as your wife grabs the toddler's small fist away from his mouth and prying it open, letting the small pile of corn fall to the ground, only for him to take two steps away from her and pick more up.  

Your pumpkins had already been picked and loaded in your trunk. Abby took her sweet time of course, wanting to choose the perfect ones for your front porch. You recall the conversation you'd had as she carried a medium sized pumpkin to the nearby wheelbarrow.

"This is kinda heavy." 

You hum unimpressed, gesturing with your free hand to the large swell of your seven month pregnant belly. "Try having that strapped to your stomach and pushing on your bladder twenty-four seven."

The blonde winces. "You're absolutely amazing." 

She acted like she didn't hear your mostly empty threats of saran wrapping one to her as she picked up the pace, pretending to have found 'the one' just a few rows down.

You rub at your lower back, too pregnant to be doing this much. Your eyes flutter shut at the temporary relief. After a full day filled with apple picking, a petting zoo, and trying to keep up with an energetic toddler and dog during various activities, you were wiped. 

"You okay?"

Abby stands in front of you, holding a sleepy toddler in her arms. Your family dog, Alice, following closely at her side. His head is tucked in her neck, fist rubbing at his eyes that are struggling to stay open. The sight of their matching flushed cheeks and pouty lips makes you smile. She can't help but feel guilty for dragging you out here. You look exhausted.

"Yeah. Just resting my feet." 

"The last tractor ride of the day is about to start, but I think we've all had enough for the day." She helps you up, grabbing the basket of apples you'd picked and holding it out of reach when you try to grab it.  "I got it baby. Just grab on to my arm, and focus on not slipping."

Stubborn as ever, you pull the leash from her hand. Grabbing her by the collar of her jacket, you reach up to press your cold lips to hers. "Love you."

Sometime later as she slowly drives down the windy mountain roads, Abby looks over at you. Your head is resting on the window, one hand in hers and the other resting atop your bump. The even up and down of your chest lets her know you're asleep. In the rearview mirror she's met with the sweet sight of her son's hand resting on Alice's head. He'd most likely fallen asleep whilst petting her. The dog content enough with the contact to not move when Abby looks at her.

To think this time next year, there'll be another car seat back there. Another little boy to love. She looks back your sleeping face, bringing your joined hands up, pressing kisses to the back of your hand as she continues down the road home. The diamond of your ring rough against her lips. 

You'd given her everything she's ever dreamed of. As she pulls into the driveway she can't help but think life truly couldn't get better than this.

[heartavenue]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThings To Script: Pregnancy Edition 🍼

A long overdue addition to the ongoing "things to script" saga. This is for all of my lovely shifters who want kids in their realities, whether you are your partner carry your child; this is something that everyone can benefit from. Yes I could have just said neither you/partner/people in general suffer any complications from pregnancy, but I think it's important to let people know what they are in the first place. This is the first part of this particular things to script, yes the first part. There are so many things that can happen with pregnancy that I was not aware of, so I'm doing my part to make sure that everyone can be educated!

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤDuring Pregnancy

It’s not painful, but quick and easy. 

No gestational diabetes, or a higher risk for type 2.

Epidural needles are NOT that long and preferably doesn’t have to go into your spine. 

No morning sickness.

No preeclampsia or eclampsia. 

Your legs, ankles, feet can’t swell.

No constant back pain.

No constant fever. 

No bleeding gums. 

No constipation/diarrhea.

No gas/bloating. 

You don’t have to pee so frequently.

No acne breakouts. 

No hemorrhoids. 

No varicose veins.

No pressure on the pelvic area.

The baby can’t kick your intestines. 

You can’t lose your teeth/hair. 

Your brain can’t swell.

You can’t have a molar pregnancy. 

The baby can’t break your ribs…

No acid reflux.

No insomnia. 

No muscle cramps. 

No sharp coochie pains?

No brain fog. 

You can’t grow extra organs. 

The baby can’t accidentally paralyze you… 

The uterus can't calcify inside of you. 

You don’t start to lactate before the baby is born. 

You don’t have a sensitive nose. 

You can't get pregnant while already pregnant

You can't go blind

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤDuring Childbirth

The placenta doesn’t get stuck and you pass it easily. 

The baby can never be breeched. 

You can’t…die…

Your eyeballs can’t pop out while pushing…

You don’t shit yourself while pooping. 

Your blood vessels can’t burst. 

You can’t go into labor in public. 

Your vagina can’t tear...especially to your asshole. 

The epidural can never go wrong. 

The umbilical cord can’t get stuck around the baby’s neck.

You nor your child can get an infection.

You can’t go into cardiac arrest. 

Your uterus can’t prolapse. 

Your PELVIS CAN’T BREAK!

You can’t break your tailbone.

You can’t develop bell’s palsy. 

Your coochie can’t…change color?

You can hemorrhage.

YOU CAN’T BE ALLERGIC TO EPIDURAL?

Husband stitch….man that whole concept pisses me off. 

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤPost Childbirth

You can’t develop granulomatous mastitis.

Your boobs can’t inflate and deflate.

Your milk ducts can’t get clogged.

You can’t develop hyper lactation syndrome. 

No itchy boob skin?

Your child can latch easily. 

Your child can drink milk easily, without choking on the milk. 

Your nipples aren’t sore, dry, cracked, etc. 

SIDS doesn’t exist. 

There can’t be a baby formula shortage. 

No shaken baby syndrome. 

No belly button hernia. 

No ovarian cysts. 

No bladder problems.

Your period remains regular. 

You can’t get high blood pressure. 

Your vagina doesn’t burn when you pee, omg and you don’t bleed for six months after.

You don’t develop body dysmorphia. 

You get paid maternity leave up to a YEAR. 

You can’t get a teratoma tumor.

Pee doesn’t come out when you sneeze. 

You can’t lactate from your armpits.

You can’t develop arthritis

You can’t develop random allergies.

Your arches can’t fall?

Okay this is the first installment, the second one coming soon (real soon) I hope you all liked this! I got this information from "the girl with the list" linked here.

[formulaonecrumbs]

junie! osc with pcos reader when she has to get an ultrasound for a cyst (currently happening to me) (also i love you and everything you do)

-🧸

hold it together ✊

Oscar Piastri x PCOS!reader

summary: oscar tags along to a cyst ultrasound, turning a rough day into something soft and slightly ridiculous.

warnings: medical anxiety, pcos talk & cyst mentions, no actual medical advice (cause let’s be honest, what do i know)

A/N: hi!! hope u’re okay, love. need someone to talk to, i’m always here. i hope that the process for this is correct (i looked it up) but anywayysss i feel like i’m straying further from what oscness but still ENJOY!!! i love u, wishing the best for u ❤️

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

you’re sitting in the waiting room of the clinic, nervously tapping your foot while clutching a half-empty bottle of water like it’s a lifeline. your bladder is so full you could cry, but the nurse told you to keep drinking for the ultrasound. which would be fine—if your insides didn’t already feel like a balloon about to explode.

“how are you still alive?” oscar asks from next to you, watching your pained expression like it’s both hilarious and concerning.

“barely,” you whisper, side-eyeing the bathroom door like it’s heaven. “i swear if this ultrasound person doesn’t call my name in the next three minutes i’m peeing on this floor. and then dying.”

oscar grins, too comfortable in this nightmare. “do you think that’d be covered by insurance?”

you slap his arm. “you’re not funny.”

“i am funny. you’re just too full of liquid to appreciate it.”

you groan, leaning your head on his shoulder. he’s warm. and calm. and smells like clean laundry and a little bit of anxiety. comforting, really. “i hate this. i hate my ovaries. i hate this cyst. i want a refund.”

he wraps his pinky around yours. “we’ll send a formal complaint to your uterus later. full legal process.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

“and you love it.”

before you can respond, a nurse finally calls your name, and oscar gives your hand a little squeeze before you stand.

“wish me luck,” you whisper, halfway waddling toward the door.

“you’ve got this. go in there and show that cyst who’s boss.”

you pause. “i don’t think that’s how it works.”

“it’s the energy that counts.”

⚘ ⚘ ⚘ ⚘

twenty minutes later, you come out of the room wrapped in a paper-thin sheet of dignity and a thousand thoughts. it wasn’t scary, not really. it was just weird. seeing your own organs on a screen. the tech clicking away like it’s just another tuesday. which, for her, it is. but for you, it’s your body in full cinematic premiere.

oscar stands up when he sees you. “how’d it go?”

you shrug. “they found the cyst. she said it’s not huge. just… a nuisance.”

“well, same.”

you snort. “you calling yourself a cyst now?”

“if the shoe fits.” he smiles, then gets a little more serious. “you okay?”

you nod, eyes soft. “yeah. i mean, it sucks. but it’s nice not doing it alone.”

he opens his arms. “come here, you hormonal warrior.”

you melt into his hug, even though it squishes your slightly sore belly. he smells like safety. like ‘i’ll wait with you in medical rooms forever if that’s what you need.’ and it makes you want to cry a little, but in a good way.

“you’re gross,” you mumble into his hoodie.

“so are cysts. match made in heaven.”

you laugh. and suddenly, it’s not so bad.

THE END :>

[mellowsadistic]

"Mmmmmm!"

"You hush, little girl!" Veronica's mother snapped, bringing the hairbrush down again on her daughter's rapidly reddening backside. "And don't you glare at me like that! I am your mother, young lady, and you will learn to treat me with respect by the time your regression punishment is over!"

Veronica squealed behind her pacifier again as another stinging blow landed on her rear.

Over on the bed, Kylie mewled in fear around her own soother, knowing she'd be next over her auntie's knee. Why had she agreed to sneak out and go partying with her cousin? Her aunt had made it quite plain there was to be no drinking, smoking, or any other 'inappropriate' activities as long as she was living under her roof, but ever since she'd moved in to attend the nearby college, she'd been desperate for a bit of adult excitement.

"Bad girl, Ronnie!" Veronica's mother scolded, delivering swat after swat with the hairbrush. "Very bad girl! You are not a grown-up. I don't care if you're legally an adult! I decide when you get to grow up, not you!"

Kylie would've felt bad for her poor cousin, twenty-one years old and kicking her legs and crying over her mother's knee, if she wasn't more worried about her own hiney. Veronica had lived with those infantilizing rules, along with many others, her whole life. She wasn't even allowed to dress herself in the mornings! Her mother picked all her clothes for her, and she even had a number of outfits specifically designed for punishments, like the kind the two girls were wearing now...

"Six months under toddler rules, Ronnie! You know what that means!"

"Nnnnnn!"

"Yes, little girl! You will wear pull-ups at all times. No more using the toilet for tinkle! You will wet yourself the moment you feel the urge, and you will ask permission, politely, to be escorted to the potty to do your number twos when you need to go. You will wear childish clothes. You will go to bed at eight o' clock. And the same goes for you, young lady!"

Kylie wet her pants a little in fright as her auntie's head snapped around to look in her direction.

"Some time as a toddler ought to do my naughty little niece some good too!"

Kylie whimpered. She could feel the warm, slightly soggy padding pressing against her crotch. It was awful and disgusting and babyish, and the thought that it would become a familiar feeling, that she would be peeing herself every day for the next six months, not to mention being supervised on the toilet while she pooped, made her almost faint with embarrassment.

Veronica had started to bawl. Whatever dignity or resistance she'd tried to hold onto at the beginning of her spanking had gone, and she was left wailing like a little girl, her dummy dropping from her lips as she pleaded. "P'ease, Mama! I sowwy! P'ease dobbit! I be a goo' giwl! I p'omise!"

"You understand why I'm spanking you?" her mother asked, still raining down smacks with the hairbrush.

"Yes, Mama!" Veronica sobbed. Her pale bottom had turned a bright, sore red. "Ronnie was a bad giwl!"

"You admit you deserve to spend the next six months wetting yourself and being treated like a very little girl?"

"Yes, Mama! P'ease!"

"Alright then. Good girl." Veronica's mother lowered the hairbrush and helped her hiccupping daughter off her lap. "Go stand in the corner with your hands on your head. I have another little girl to deal with before I send you to bed."

Kylie started to suck her soother for comfort. Maybe she could talk her way out of this! Then her auntie turned to face her with a look that made her bladder control fail, and a stream of pee-pee flooded into her training pants.

"Your turn, missy. Over my lap. Now!"

[gleditsia-triacanthos]

paraplegia is not “disability lite”????

this is based on a recent in-person interaction through a support group.

i was paralyzed, in the grand scheme of things, SUPER recently, so i understand how it feels to be disabled in both an apparent way and a non-apparent way. i’ve had the condition that contributed to my paralysis (cEDS) my whole life, and it causes plenty of other complications.

it’s frustrating to have a non-apparent disability. there are unique challenges that come with having a non-apparent disability. it is ALSO frustrating to have an apparent disability. my treatment by other people has 100% changed since my sci, and not necessarily for the better.

a few ambulatory people seem to have this idea that being paralyzed from the waist down means you’re able-bodied sans your legs and you suddenly have endless empathy and help from society. this, i would hope goes without saying, is absolutely not true.

paraplegia is often caused by some underlying condition, meaning plenty of paralyzed people are also independently chronically ill. even in the case of injury or accident-induced paralysis, the paralysis itself causes all kinds of lovely symptoms, including muscle spasms and bladder retention or incontinence. i have to self-catheterize. incomplete SCIs can cause nerve pain. the act of using a manual chair to get around in public at all times can mean damage to the upper body and pressure sores.

i’ve had a few more doors held for me now that i’ve started going out in public alone, but being so apparently disabled also means stares. everywhere. not just from kids. it means people feel like they can push you out of the way to reach something in the grocery store. it means people will speak to you like you’re an elementary schooler. it means that even on your good days, other people will remind you of your disability and ask invasive questions about your “car accident.”

i’m not interested in the apparent-vs.-non-apparently suffering olympics, i’m just hoping to offer what seems like an underexpressed perspective.

peace + love. sorry for the rant.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Kid's Story - 11

Source for pic

Imperfect 11 🔞

Word Count: 6867

Tags and Summary can be found here.

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Notes: This is a longer chapter! I would apologize for it, but I won't, because it was really necessary! Please don't hate me at the end of this chapter... It's futile! It will only get worse from here on out...

Here's a Spotify Playlist I created for this story if you want to check it out!

Masterlist

Divider by @cafekitsune

Kid went back to sleep. Or perhaps he never fully crawled out of the dregs of it when he uttered those words: “I ain't goin’ nowhere.” 

With slow, calculated movements, you crawl out of his embrace and off the bed. The closest clothes you find are your top and panties, so you throw those on before you pitter-patter your way into the bathroom. You only turn on the softest light inside, knowing the brightness will spill into the bedroom. You empty your bladder and splash cold water on your face. Brushing your teeth comes after, and then your hair, except you can't find your hairbrush anywhere. It’s probably still somewhere inside your duffel bag. 

So you run your fingers through the tangled knots of your hair, wincing when they get stuck on a particularly stubborn tangle, and stare at your reflection in the mirror. 

The light in the bathroom may be dim, but it's unforgiving in its harshness. It gives life to the darkened bruises marking your body. Small ones shaped like fingertips around your hips and thighs; larger ones on your breasts and neck from Kid's bites. You're still sore in your core as well, from the harsh thrusts he used as a way to exorcise his demons. 

You'd do it all over again without missing a beat. 

He needed something or someone to bring him back from the dark place he was in, and you’ve proven before that he can't scare you away, that you'll always be there, no matter how hard and how far he pushes you. 

And he said he wasn't going anywhere. 

A brighter light turns on, and you squint before turning towards the door to find a shirtless Kid staring at you. He's frowning. His jaw ticks incessantly as his eyes rake across your body. Not in appraisal, but in deep inspection. He, too, can see what his late-night terror did to you. 

Something akin to guilt or shame darkens his gaze, and you cower behind crossed arms as if they're armor, but he quickly paces forward, shaking his head and grumbling beneath his breath a litany of curses. 

“Let me see,” Kid’s voice scratches like gravel. The only reason you’re reluctant to open your arms and yourself to him is because you know he’ll soak up every blemish, every bruise, every imperfection, and drown in guilt. 

He reaches down and pries your arms open anyway, his frown deepening at the bite marks on your neck. “Kid, this is nothing. I bruise easily. You didn’t hurt me.” It’s true, he didn’t hurt you at all. 

He lowers his hands to the hem of your top and looks into your eyes, waiting for you to nod before lifting it over your head and discarding it to the side. It's the first time he's asked for permission to do that, and that alone confirms what you already know: he's regretting what happened. 

Kid's whole face scrunches up when he takes in the bruises on your breasts, a throaty sound of disbelief leaving his lips, as if he can't believe he did that himself. 

“Fuck. I never meant to mark ye like this. I didn't…” Kid swallows his words and lowers his eyes to hide them from you. 

“Do you regret it?” You fail to hide the hurt in your voice and use your arms as a shield again, covering your breasts, hiding your bleeding heart. 

“Aye!” There it is. He didn't run, he stayed. But maybe this is even worse. 

With gritted teeth, you turn your back on him, hiding your weakness from sight, because at this moment, you're not strong enough to fight back. Not after what happened. 

“Fuck, not like that. I don't regret what happened, I regret how it happened.” Kid brushes the tip of his fingers over your bare back, running them over your spine almost reverently. “I regret takin’ instead of askin’. I regret not takin’ my time with ye. I regret hurtin’ ye like that.”

You look over your shoulder at him, at the hint of vulnerability he's showing you, being as transparent as the walls of this bathroom. Then you smile softly, and he huffs a breath of relief. 

“You didn't take anything I wasn't willing to offer. I wanted to give myself to you, to bring you back. You were far away, Kid. Hurting. I'm glad I helped.”

He slumps his shoulders forward, head bowing down as well, almost as if the shadows of that nightmare still hang on the fringes of his mind. And maybe they do. Maybe he never really manages to completely shake off the terrors.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask, your heart thumping fast. Kid raises one eyebrow at you, and you sigh. “The nightmare?”

He shakes his head, shadows covering his eyes, and for a minute there, he's far away again. 

“Got nothin’ to talk about. I've seen some shit durin’ my army days. War, death, terror… Nothin’ new, Sparkles.” The nonchalant way he's talking about it is a clear sign that what troubled him is far deeper than what he's trying to tell you. But by now, you already know Kid. It's much better to just give him space to process things. He'll surely speak to you whenever he's ready. 

“It looked like you were hurting. But in more ways than just physical pain.” He grunts in agreement, and you show him a soft smile. “I'll drag you out of there anytime, Kid. You have my word.”

His eyes find the marks he left on you again, and he averts his gaze. “I'll make sure to be more careful next time…”

You step closer to him, placing one hand on his chest, over his heart. “It’s fine, Kid. Really.” He’s still avoiding your gaze, and you’re grateful for that when you make the next confession. “I’m just happy you didn’t run off or push me away.”

He hums in agreement, and you feel the rumble in his chest before he covers your hand with his. “I told ye. Ye are special.” Your eyes finally lock, and you can’t hold back a warm smile when he dips his head to kiss you.

He’s being very respectful, keeping the kiss chaste and innocent, but you force your way inside the seam of his lips, entering his mouth and claiming his tongue with yours. You deepen the kiss, aiming to make it as disrespectful as possible. 

Kid’s hands drop to your waist, and he pulls you flush against him, your bodies touching, finding heat and comfort in the contact.

You break the kiss, panting, fingers threading through Kid’s hair. “Wanna shower with me?”

“Woman, why is that even a fuckin’ question?” he answers roughly, voice scratching with heat and desire. You can barely keep your hands off one another as he removes his prosthetic, you take off your underwear, and hop into the shower stall between kisses and fevered touches. 

Warm water is spraying over your bodies when Kid suddenly drops to his knees. You eye him quizzically for a second before he presses you against the glass wall and places one of your legs over his shoulder. 

“Wha—” you start, already breathless from guessing where this is going. 

“I wanna do things right this time,” Kid murmurs, already trailing his lips along the wet skin of your calf. “Treat ye right.” A lick on the inside of your thigh. “Make sure I’m worthy of ye.”

When his mouth hovers over your entrance and he teasingly kisses your throbbing nub, you release a muffled moan and lean your back against the glass. Oh, God! He groans into your heat, inhaling and muttering something about you being ‘freakin’ addictive’ before latching his mouth onto your pussy, kissing you as fervently as he was moments ago on your lips. 

You gasp, fingers slipping on the condensed glass as you try to find purchase. You have nowhere to hold on to, and your legs are about to give out. 

“Oh my God, Kid!” you cry out when his fingers dip inside you, immediately curving against the spongy spot that makes you see stars. 

“Aye, I’m yer fuckin’ god,” he teases, his low chuckle sending a new wave of heat up your spine and pooling low in your belly. “Yer gonna come in my mouth?”

“Hmm, hmm!” You can barely think, let alone utter any words. What he’s doing with his tongue should be illegal. He keeps rolling your clit between his teeth, sending little jolts of pain, and then he sucks hard, twisting pain into pleasure in a heartbeat. All while he pumps his fingers in and out of you relentlessly. 

You grip his shoulders first, and then his hair. You try to hold on to your sanity too, while you're at it, but fail miserably as the first wave of pleasure crashes and washes you away. Moans and gasps of Kid’s name fall helplessly from your parted lips; your back arched so far that only your head is touching the glass wall. You’re thankful for the hand Kid moved to steady your hip, or you would’ve collapsed into a boneless mass as soon as the last wave cooled down. 

Kid gets up, wiping his glistening chin with the back of his hand and pulling you against his body to hold you as you collect yourself.

“Kid… that was… God!”

He grins smugly, and you’re sure he’s been praised on this particular set of skills before. You try not to dwell on it so as not to ruin the moment and, instead, trail your hand down his chest, over his stomach, until you grip his hard cock between your fingers. 

Kid grunts, the smug grin vanishing as you pump and squeeze his length. “I want you inside me,” you whisper sultrily, feeling his cock twitch in your hand. But before he can do or say anything, his watch beeps; an annoying alarm of sorts. 

“Fuck me,” he curses, taking a deep exhale. “We need to be at the exhibit in twenty.” He groans, running a hand over his face. “We gotta hurry.”

“What?” A quick glance at the numbers displayed on his watch confirms his claim, and you both groan at the same time. “We'd better continue this later…” you mumble, reluctantly letting go of him. 

“Ye can bet on that, Sparkles.”

-*-

The shower took longer than it should have because you kept touching each other under the excuse of helping with the routine. Thank heavens you both packed light. It was just a matter of throwing your toothbrushes and used clothes inside the duffel, and you were out the door with five minutes to spare. 

“I’m going to miss that bathroom,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at Kid. “Maybe you should use this idea for the shower stall you have in the garage.”

“Aye! Turn it into a peep show and earn a buck or two?”

“Keen eye for business. I like it.”

The banter carries on the whole way to the show, and you can’t stop smiling. You and Kid are in a very good spot in your relationship right now. Sure, you haven’t made anything official, but you don’t even think labels are important at this point. After all, you were someone’s fiancé once, and look how well that turned out. 

Kid still hasn’t fully opened up to you either, but you’re sure that in time he will. He may be rough around the edges, temperamental, explosive, even angry, like your father claims. But volatile and dangerous? 

You’re dead set on letting Shanks know how wrong he is about Kid. 

Kid doesn’t rest until he does a full sweep of Victoria to check her condition. Yesterday, you almost had to pry him away from the car because he wanted to sleep in it, afraid someone might do something while he was away. But the park closed after midnight, and there were even security guards stationed at the entrance. He had nothing to worry about. 

“She’s good?” you ask with a hint of a smile.

“Aye.”

“See? Told you it was fine.” With a big stretch, you take a look around. The judges will start their rounds again in about an hour and a half, and the show opens to the public in thirty minutes. Like yesterday, most of the crowd will probably gather in the afternoon, but the day promises excitement. 

The judges seemed to dote on Victoria yesterday, so if Kid keeps his cool today, when they question him on all the technical aspects of the restoration, she’s got a good shot at taking home the prize. 

“I’m going to grab us some coffee while you set her up, ‘kay?”

Kid grumbles in agreement, already polishing off an invisible smudge only he seems to notice on the driver’s door. Shaking your head, you turn with a smile. 

There’s a stall selling good coffee just three cars down, and that’s where you’re headed. You fueled up there yesterday, and the roast was pretty tasty. When your stomach rumbles, you glance over the pastries on display as you approach, considering grabbing some to bring back, since the only food you’re carrying is the snacks Kid salvaged from the vending machines last night. 

The croissants look flaky and delicious, but one pastry with oozy cream steals your attention. You’re still deciding when the barista approaches, leaning on the counter until his face is practically next to yours. 

“Morning, sunshine. I was hoping you’d show up today too.”

You look up with an awkward smile. He seems like the same barista from yesterday, but you’re not quite sure.

“Oh, hi. Yeah. Can I get two black coffees to go, please?”

He nods but doesn’t move. “Two? Tell me it’s for a friend and not a boyfriend…”

Christ, he’s flirting. Kid’s not your boyfriend. But he’s definitely more than a friend. 

“I’m kind of in a hurry…” you try, discarding the pastries altogether. You’ll grab some donuts from the next stall or just starve until lunch. No biggie. 

He chuckles dryly and finally moves to prepare your order. After a few minutes, he places one cup on the counter and grabs the other, pen in hand. 

“What name should I write?”

You quirk an eyebrow, taking a look around. There’s no line, you’re the only one here. Why does he need to write your name on the cup?

You let out a frustrated sigh and a strained smile. “Write ‘not interested’.” You slide a bill over the counter, making sure it covers the cost of both coffees, and grab the cup, waiting for him to hand over the other.

“Ouch. I deserved that,” he chuckles. “See you soon.” He finally releases the cup, and you turn on your heel, making a mental note to find a different stall next time you need a caffeine fix. 

Kid’s on his knees with a microfiber cloth in hand, scrubbing away invisible grime from the hubcaps. You bite your lower lip to stifle a snort. He’s adorable when he’s nervous. 

“Gotta say, you on your knees is quickly becoming my favourite position to see you in,” you tease, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. 

Kid grins and rises with a final inspection of the pristine hubcaps. 

“Happy to oblige whenever ye want, sweetheart. Just say the word.”

Now. Now would be the perfect time. 

“Soon,” you say with a wink. “Here, power up for the onslaught of questions coming your way.” 

Kid grabs the coffee cup and rolls his eyes. “Aye, bunch of idiots, thinkin’ they know shit about cars. Gotta let ‘em—” He cuts himself off, eyes locked on the sleeve of the coffee cup. “The fuck?” He arches a brow and turns the cup towards you, pointing his prosthetic finger at the handwriting scrawled on the sleeve. “Who the fuck’s Steve?”

You snort and cough, trying not to choke on the sip of coffee you just took. On Kid’s cup sleeve, the name ‘Steve’ stands out in proud, messy letters, followed by a phone number and a heart. You hadn’t even realised the barista had done that. 

“The barista, apparently,” you say, amused. 

“He flirt with ya?” Kid eyes the scribbled heart like it personally insulted him and his ancestors, then looks back at you. 

“He tried. I told him I wasn’t interested. Are you jealous, Eustass Kid?” you ask, cocking your head to the side as you try to hide your amusement. 

“Didn’t think I’d need to bust some teeth this early in the day, but fuck it. What stall was it?” Kid sets his coffee down and cracks his neck. You’re not entirely sure whether he’s joking. 

“That’s cute,” you say, stepping closer to him and resting a hand against his chest. “But that’s not happening. Just drink your coffee, big man. No need to be jealous.”

Kid’s hand slips onto your waist as he pulls you close, his gaze still sweeping the stalls, trying to locate the offensive ‘Steve’ and weighing if he’s worth the trouble.

“I ain’t jealous,” he lies. “It’s just fucked up, that’s all. Fucker should know better than to flirt with someone who’s clearly taken.” His ears redden, and he glances at you, then the floor, then back again. “I mean… or will be. Soon. Maybe. Possibly?”

Your heart thrums wildly against your ribcage, and you can’t suppress the small laugh that escapes. He is adorable when he’s nervous.

“Certainly,” you say, ending his misery with a kiss. “So… what does that make us, then? What am I?”

Kid grunts, his hand sliding up your nape to curl into your hair. “Mine,” he claims before kissing you deeply.

Later, when you spot the coffee cup sleeve crumpled in the trash can, you let out the most unladylike snort imaginable. Jealous Kid is also adorable. 

And you’re his.

-*-

Some of the judges have already made their rounds. Kid handled all the technical details in perfect Kid fashion: gruff, but effective. One of the judges is only supposed to come by after lunch, as he was delayed by personal affairs in the morning, so you’re both waiting for him to arrive. Some more nervous than others…

“Don’t be touchin’ Victoria with yer grubby potato chip hands, aye?” Kid’s getting grumpier by the minute.

“I’m literally five feet away from the car.” You open your eyes in exasperation, shoving another chip into your mouth. 

“Still too close, woman.”

You shove the bag of chips into his hands with a growl and grab your purse. “I’m going to buy you something with chocolate to see if I can sweeten you up. Or else I may end up punching you in the nose,” you mutter with a menacing stare and try to leave with the last word.

One strong arm wrapped around your waist tells you that leaving is an impossible task. 

“Ye ain’t leavin’ without givin’ me a kiss, are ye?”

You weakly try to protest and get away from him, but even if he let you, you wouldn’t want to. So you kiss him, hard and long, aiming to calm his nerves as well as get your fill of Kid.

When you disentangle from him, you set out to fulfill your original task and score some chocolate-covered donuts. Then you pass by a stall with ‘his and hers’ keychains and buy a set with hands doing the metal symbol, because you think Kid will appreciate it. 

With a quick glance at the time, you curse and hurry back to Kid and Victoria, because the judge should be almost there, and you don’t want to miss what he has to say. 

Just as you’re approaching, you see a tall man with long, straight blond hair dressed in a business suit, in front of a very flustered Kid. You can’t see the man’s face, nor anything that identifies him as a judge, but you do take notice of two bulky men with sunglasses and earpieces standing near him: bodyguards. He’s someone important. 

“Ye fuckin’ deaf? I said no!”

And Kid’s yelling at him. Shit. 

You bypass one of the bodyguards, swallowing hard when you realise he’s coiled tight, ready to spring into action if necessary, while closely watching the interaction between his employer and Kid. Reaching Kid, you set down the bag of donuts and place one hand on his chest, trying to bring him back to you without restraining him.

“Easy, Kid,” you lean closer, eyes piercing his. “He’s got bodyguards. Don’t do anything rash,” you urge. 

Kid grunts and lowers his clenched fist, setting his eyes back on the man. “I said she ain’t for sale!”

You turn, taking the man in. He can’t be a judge, he has no identification on him. His face is stoic, with narrowed eyes and an angular jaw. He was watching Victoria with regard when you arrived, but now his piercing red eyes are pinned on you. 

“Such a shame,” he drawls, and you immediately detect the haughtiness in his tone that can only be associated with wealth. His gaze lands back on Kid. “Money can buy anything. And I’m certain you could use some.”

Kid growls and takes a step forward, dragging you with him, fist clenched again. “Ye can shove yer bills up yer arse. Victoria ain’t for sale, I already told ye!”

“Kid, please,” you urge, pressing closer to him.

“Oh… interesting,” the man says with a tip of his head, eyes back on you. His gaze travels your body from head to toe in appraisal. Then he looks at Kid again, and his stoic features shift into confusion, as if he’s judging what you’re doing with Kid. “How… quaint.”

This only manages to fuel Kid’s fire. He grips your waist possessively and clenches his teeth. The closest bodyguard takes another step towards you. This could escalate quickly, Kid needs to calm down. 

The man bows his head slightly. “Basil Hawkins. Entrepreneur. Investor. Billionaire.” He uses the words as titles, like he’s a king or an emperor. You know his kind all too well. 

He eyes Kid again and sighs in discontent. “It’s hardly fair, you know. Not only do you have the most impressive car in this show, but you also have the most beautiful girl.” Kid huffs through his nose, and Hawkins smirks. “I’m sure that, for the right price, we can come to an arrangement.” He pauses, eyes piercing yours. “For either possession.”

Kid can’t seem to ignore the insult this time. He’s practically fuming at the ears. Nostrils flared, chest puffed, fists clenched, ready to pounce and tear. The bodyguard steps closer, and the one further away watches with interest. 

You need to defuse this situation. Kid is running away with his anger, and men like Hawkins need to be brought down with ice, not fire. 

You press your hand harder into Kid’s chest and straighten your back, your face morphing into the haughty Vinsmoke glare you acquired while you were Ichiji’s partner. You used to think of it as a mask. But right now, it’s armor. 

“Mr. Hawkins, is it?” He nods. “I understand you're accustomed to people bowing and fulfilling your needs when you wave the right amount of bills their way, but not everything can be bought.” Your tone is icy cold, clipped, controlled, and sharp. 

Perfect. 

You close your eyes before you flinch. Somehow, slipping back into this person is easier than you thought. And here you were, thinking you’d left this past behind, that it was no longer necessary to be impeccable at all times. 

“Not everybody places a price tag on things they love,” you continue. “Usually, it’s just the ones who have never had to earn anything in life who think that everything can be bought.” 

You feel Kid coil back under your palm, a huff escaping his lips, but you don’t turn to him, not yet. You’re still poised to strike, like a coiling snake waiting for the prey to come closer.  

Yet Hawkins doesn’t even blink. His interest sharpens, and the corner of his lips twitches upwards.

“So you’re not just looks…” Kid growls by your side, and you realise he’s one word away from throwing a punch. “Here I thought you were arm candy, when in fact, you’re a diamond. You don’t belong here.” His eyes scan Kid with disdain, and this time, it’s you who has to bite back a fit of rage. “You belong wrapped in silks and adorned with jewelry.”

Flashes of another life pass through your eyes, and your perfect poise falters before you compose yourself. 

“Like a perfect little doll, I presume?” Hawkins laughs. Kid snarls. “Not anymore, Mr. Hawkins. I am exactly where I belong, and I don’t intend to move. After all, how dull and drab are gilded ballrooms laced with classical music when compared to the thrill of engine growls and the scent of gasoline?”

This was all Vinsmoke. And shit, you hated every bit of it. 

Hawkins sighs, recognising defeat, and takes a step back. 

“Still a shame.” His eyes land back on Kid. “A woman with such bright polish dimming her light for…” He pauses, assessing. “Brute force and blunt manners.”

You gasp. This will surely set Kid on fire. He was so close to giving in to his anger just now, the only thing holding him back was your hand, your will to keep him from doing something reckless and proving everyone right: that he’s volatile. And now…

Your head turns slightly to gauge his reaction, but there is none. Kid stares at the floor, his fingers still tight against your waist. But he’s lost in thought. 

What?

“If you ever change your mind…” Hawkins leaves the thought unfinished, tips his head, and signals to his bodyguards to follow him. 

Kid lets go of you, avoiding your gaze altogether as he busies himself with another rag and another invisible smudge. You’re sure he’s mulling over the words Hawkins spoke. That you don’t belong with him, that you deserve silk and jewelry. 

“Kid…” you try softly. He doesn’t answer. Instead, he rises, throws the rag inside the car, and turns away.

“I’m goin’ to take a piss.”

And just like that, his walls are back up. 

-*-

Victoria won second place. 

Hawkins turned out to be the investor behind this show, and you’re pretty damn sure he swindled the votes because you’d bet your pinky toe Victoria was the best car there. 

This only worsened Kid’s mood. He hasn’t spoken a word about what happened and keeps flinching at your touch. You refuse to believe you lost him again. Not because of something so trivial.

“Spit it out already,” you mouth, pacing back and forth as Kid looks at the thinning crowd. Just another hour or so, and you can be on the road again. 

“There’s nothin’ to say.”

“Oh, my God, Kid. Enough! Just tell me what you’re thinking. We’ll never get anywhere if we don’t discuss things,” exasperation laces your words. 

His throat works as if he’s trying to say something, but then he just shakes his head and lets out a loud curse. 

“I know you’re upset about Victoria, and I’m sorry if I made things worse,” you sigh heavily, already having considered whether it wouldn’t have been preferable to have kept your mouth shut and simply held Kid back from doing something reckless. 

“It’s not that,” he finally says, rumpling the microfiber cloth and tossing it in the bag with the other cleaning products. “Of course I’m pissed about second fuckin’ place, but that ain’t the whole reason. Fuck, I only entered for fun. It’s…”

“Hawkins?” you finish for him. You know it’s about that interaction. A lot of the strain in your relationship with Kid stems from the fact that he doesn’t find himself worthy and that he doesn’t accept the fact that he can be happy. And Hawkins just pointed it out.

“He met ye for five fuckin’ minutes. And he knew. Fuck. He knew ye didn’t belong by my side.” Kid kicks up dust with his foot and snarls, his eyes never once meeting yours. “Who the fuck am I kiddin’? Even yer dad knows this ain’t gonna work. I should know better. Ye should know better! Fuckin’ hell.”

You swallow a lump down your throat and reach for Kid’s hand, your heart constricting painfully in your chest. 

He doesn’t pull his hand away. 

“We believe in us, Kid. I think that’s reason enough.”

“Didn’t ye hear him? Ye don’t belong in this world! Ye should have silks and pearls and fuckin’ champagne or caviar! Whatever the fuck rich people eat.”

“I don’t want any of that!” You stamp your foot, pulling on his hand so he looks at you. “I’ve had all of that, Kid! The silks, the jewels, everything!” You sigh in exasperation when his gaze lands back on you. He barely knows about Ichiji and your past, perhaps you should be more open, too. “I want you, Kid. I will not grow tired of saying it, but it pains me that I have to constantly repeat it for you to understand.”

He looks down, brows scrunched and jaw ticking, but he squeezes your hand back. 

“But what if I’m not enough?”

You step closer, hands resting against his chest, eyes finding his gaze. 

“You’re everything.”

You see the fight in his eyes. His head is feeding him ways this could all go wrong, his mind viciously telling him he’s not worthy. 

He closes his eyes and his throat works to swallow whatever emotion he doesn’t want to express. Then he cups your nape, fingers entwining with your hair, and lowers his forehead against yours. 

His eyes open first, and his mouth next, but he doesn’t say anything. 

He stares. And then he nods. 

You pull him down for a kiss and pray that his walls are down again. This is just another hurdle. You knew what you’d signed up for when you started falling for Eustass Kid. 

-*-

The drive home is peaceful. Kid doesn’t seem to be in a foul mood, but he’s not very talkative either. 

“Are you upset?” you start, eyes out the window, watching the stars twinkle in the dark sky. The road is empty and eerie, and the landscape will be nothing but barren land for many more miles. 

“About?” Kid grumbles, one hand on the clutch and the other holding the wheel.

“About getting second place.” You turn your head to him to gauge his reaction. 

Kid grins, his eyes flickering to yours for a beat. “Fuck no.” Then he places his hand on your thigh, and you nearly melt at the touch. “That asswipe made a pass at both my girls and came out with jack shit. Obviously he was salty enough to get revenge.” He snorts. “He said so himself, Victoria was the most impressive car in the show.”

You smirk and nod, your chest warm from the way he said you were his girl. 

Kid’s hand squeezes your thigh, and you look at it first before locking eyes with him again. “And ye, the most beautiful girl.”

The warm feeling spreads, and so does your smile. Kid’s hand goes higher, and his pinky comes dangerously close to your center. “Wanna spend the night at mine?”

The warmth turns to fire and goes lower, settling into your belly and spreading tendrils of heat everywhere. “Yeah, I do.” This time, you’re the one who snorts. “Shanks is going to love that.”

“Maybe ye ain’t gotta tell him? Just say we had to stay an extra night.”

“Making me lie to my dad, Kid? You’re such a bad influence…” You open your legs a bit, allowing space for his hand to roam freely. 

Kid chuckles low, his chest rumbling with the sound. “Sweetheart,” he starts, fingers sliding higher, as smoothly as Victoria glides along the road. “Ye didn’t fall for me ‘cause I play nice.”

His finger grazes your center through your clothes, and you hiss, trapping your lower lip between your teeth. “Fall for you? You’re so cocksure, Kid.” But your words carry little weight as they come out breathless. 

Kid groans and removes his hand from your leg, eliciting a small whine from your lips. “Hate to cut this short,” he huffs. “But Victoria needs a drink, and there’s a gas station up ahead. We ain’t finished, though,” he promises with a wink, and you sigh.

Damn timing. 

Kid gives you a sultry look before he steps outside to pump Victoria. After a while, you hear him grumble something about ‘fuckin’ ancient gas stations’ along a string of colorful words. Then he opens the door and leans down. 

“This shite ain’t workin’. I need to go inside to pay. Want anythin’?”

You shake your head, and he heads inside the dingy building, grumbling all the way. You get out of the car both to stretch your legs and to get some cool air, trying to calm your racing heart and aching core. 

Stretching your arms, you smile, taking another look at the twinkling stars. You think about the endearing things Kid told you: about you being his girl, beautiful, taken… he’s not running away from you this time. And sure, there are some obstacles here and there, but nothing you can’t seem to handle. 

One day at a time, like always. Nothing can ruin this. 

Just as you’re about to return to your seat, you feel a grimy hand covering your mouth while an arm envelops your torso, trapping your arms from any movement. The person pulls you against them, and you’re hit by a foul smell of smoke, urine, and booze. 

“Shh, shh, shh… calm down, pretty thing. I’m not gonna harm you. Shh, shh.” Your heart pounds relentlessly against your chest. You look inside the building but can’t even see Kid. The man keeps dragging you to the shadows, and you can’t even scream. Wiggling your legs, trying to find momentum to push back, doesn’t seem to be working either. 

“I said, calm down. I just want your wallet and your phone. Nothing else, princess.” The man presses his cheek against your hair and then licks your face, leaving a wet, disgusting strip of spit on your skin. You whimper, tears already forming in the corners of your eyes. “Not that I wouldn’t mind a taste… but I’m in a hurry.”

He starts to pat your pockets, trying to find your phone, but it’s back in the car, so all he’s doing is copping a feel. However, he relaxes his grip for a second, and you use that moment to step on his foot with all the strength you possess. He screams and pulls his hand away from your mouth.

“KID!” you screech, scrambling to move forward, but the man grabs your waist and pulls you back, rotating you and slamming your back against the wall. 

“You fucking bitch!”

He doesn’t have time to say or do anything else, because in the next moment, Kid’s grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and punching his nose hard enough to knock him out cold. 

Relief floods your system. Wave upon wave of it, turning your legs to jelly and finally releasing the pesky tears you were holding back. Kid’s here. He heard you. He’s here to save you. 

But then Kid doesn’t stop. 

He’s holding the man up by his shirt, hitting him repeatedly. Punch after punch, blood spurting and painting his knuckles red. His teeth are bared, grunts tearing from his throat like a wild animal. The man crumples in his hands like a ragdoll, unconscious, and yet, Kid keeps going. 

Dangerous. Angry. Volatile. 

“Kid, stop! He’s unconscious!” you shout, your throat constricting as you watch him tear a man into pieces for you. 

But he doesn’t hear you. His eyes are locked on your assailant, tunnel vision activated, and he’s unleashing hell. The sickening crunch of bones mixes with Kid’s grunts, and fear descends upon you. You need to stop him. 

“Please! Kid! You’ll kill him!”

You step closer, grabbing his arm and pulling, trying to stop the onslaught of fists. But Kid doesn’t even acknowledge that it’s you. 

He shoves you. Hard.

You stumble back with a gasp, your feet tripping over one another as your ribs slam against the corner of the metal payphone. A sharp pain jolts through you, travelling from your torso and expanding, stealing the air from your lungs. 

You yelp in pain. And that does it. 

Kid freezes mid-punch and raises his face, his eyes find you doubled over in pain, and he drops the man on the floor, rushing towards you.

“Shit! Fuck!” Your name spills from his lips like a prayer as his hands hover over you, not touching, just trembling. All the color drains from his face as his widened eyes take in your form. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t— fuck! Are ye okay?”

“Yes!” you groan, pushing back the tears so as not to upset him anymore. “Let’s just go, please!” Your voice nearly cracks, and Kid winces. Then he nods, working to swallow the guilt past his throat, and leads you to the car.

You trap another groan against your teeth when he helps you into your seat, but he still hears it. When he sits in the driver’s seat and starts Victoria’s engine, you swallow another bout of tears. Not from pain this time. But from the knowledge that this is yet another obstacle for you to overcome, as if life itself is testing your resolve. 

-*-

Dangerous. Angry. Volatile.

Your father’s words keep resounding in your head, over and over again. You’d never witnessed Kid lose his temper like he did this time. He is dangerous and volatile. But not to you. He didn’t hurt you on purpose. And by the way he refused to speak to you once after the incident, you know you’ll need to remind him of that fact. 

“Kid…” you try for what feels like the hundredth time. You’re almost home, you won’t be getting another chance. “Please, let’s talk. It wasn’t your fault. That man was robbing me, you did what you had to!”

Kid’s grip on the steering wheel is so tight that his knuckles are white. He doesn’t answer. 

Despair claws its way up your throat, and you touch his arm. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. 

“Say something… please!”

He doesn’t. And with one last turn on the road, you realise he’s taking you home and not back to the garage, to his home like he’d promised earlier. 

You’re losing him again. And you’re not sure your heart can take much more. 

Victoria comes to a halt in front of your porch, and you say a silent prayer that the light is off, which means Shanks is probably at Beckman’s or the bar. You don’t want to deal with him now. Kid cuts the engine, and silence surrounds you like a thick fog.

You open your mouth, ready to plead again, but he beats you to it. When he starts talking, his eyes are still fixed forward. 

“It was a mistake to think I could change. I should’ve just stayed the hell away from ye from the start.”

“Kid—” you start again, and this time he looks at you. Your breath hitches, and whatever you were about to say gets trapped in your throat. His eyes are distant and guilt-ridden. Cold, like he’s already given up.

“I shoved ye. I hurt ye.” Kid’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “I didn’t even realise it was ye. I just… reacted.”

“It was an accident! You were protecting me, Kid, and—”

“But that’s the problem, innit? I don’t know how to protect without fuckin’ destroyin’!” Kid hits the wheel with his open palm, a frustrated growl escaping his lips. Then he sighs, running a hand down his face to calm himself. “Ye deserve better.”

A sob claws up your throat, and you fight back the tears. You’re already shaking your head, your trembling lip a testament to how your heart is shattering inside your chest. 

“Kid, don’t… please don’t do this.”

You see his throat bob up and down as he takes in your features, memorizing you. Then he leans forward and places a chaste kiss on your forehead. His lips linger, and you claw at his shirt, pulling him to you. 

“Don’t—” you try.

“I ain’t gonna be the one to snuff out yer light, Sparkles.” 

Then he retreats, opening the door and stepping out. You barely register as he retrieves your duffel bag and opens your door, helping you out. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to say. How can you make him see it was an accident? That you need him? That you can only shine your brightest when he’s around?

“I—”

“Take care, alright?” Kid says, his voice heavy with guilt and regret. You garble some unintelligible words, but he’s already inside Victoria; already turning the car around; already leaving you. 

You lost him.

And this time, the pain may be too great to bear.

Liked this story? Like my writing? Consider buying me a Ko-Fi, please!

Taglist: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil @eustasscapitankid @ren-ni @jqperi @elysian-asphodel @daydreamer-in-training @iloveyoushanks @thegalaxysedge22 @kyllium @keiva1000 @chibinasuu @my-name-is-heartache @laidenbreecatchall @moldychefboyardeecan @dazzlingstarlight23 @bearg-bia @babyboofangirl @praline357 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @traffys-heart @cherileecore @violetmatcha @theloserqueen @mapachito @shamblespirate @ibuch7

|Chapter 12|