#molar pregnancy

[randomwikiarticles]

A molar pregnancy, also known as a hydatidiform mole, is an abnormal form of pregnancy in which a non-viable fertilized egg implants in the uterus. It falls under the category of gestational trophoblastic diseases.[1] During a molar pregnancy, the uterus contains a growing mass characterized by swollen chorionic villi, resembling clusters of grapes.[2] The occurrence of a molar pregnancy can be attributed to the fertilized egg lacking an original maternal nucleus. As a result, the products of conception may or may not contain fetal tissue. These molar pregnancies are categorized into two types: partial moles and complete moles, where the term 'mole' simply denotes a clump of growing tissue or a ‘growth'.

A complete mole is caused by either a single sperm (90% of the time) or two sperm (10% of the time) combining with an egg that has lost its DNA. In the former case, the sperm reduplicates, leading to the formation of a "complete" 46-chromosome set.[3] Typically, the genotype is 46,XX (diploid) due to subsequent mitosis of the fertilizing sperm, but it can also be 46,XY (diploid).[3] However, 46,YY (diploid) is not observed. On the other hand, a partial mole occurs when a normal egg is fertilized by one or two sperm, which then reduplicates itself, resulting in genotypes of 69,XXY (triploid) or 92,XXXY (tetraploid).[3]

Complete moles carry a 2–4% risk, in Western countries, of developing into choriocarcinoma and a higher risk of 10–15% in Eastern countries, with an additional 15% risk of becoming an invasive mole. In contrast, incomplete moles can become invasive as well but are not associated with choriocarcinoma.[3] Notably, complete hydatidiform moles account for 50% of all cases of choriocarcinoma.

[thepro-lifemovement]

Guess what? Abortion is not the treatment for ectopic pregnancy. Ectopic pregnancy is usually treated with keyhole surgery (laparoscopy). The methods used for abortion are different since the baby is in the womb and not in the fallopian tube. You wouldn’t go to an abortion clinic for treatment for an ectopic pregnancy.

Molar pregnancy is a tumor or unviable, unformed human being. “A molar pregnancy occurs when the fertilisation of the egg by the sperm goes wrong. This leads to the growth of abnormal cells or clusters of water filled sacs inside the womb. Molar pregnancies are caused by an imbalance in genetic material (chromosomes) in the pregnancy.” Just because they use a method that abortionists use, doesn’t mean it’s an abortion here. They’re just removing the tissue here. There is never a possibility of having a baby in this case. “No embryo forms. Even those molar pregnancies in which an embryo forms for a time will have a genetic abnormality incompatible with life—usually triploidy with three full sets of chromosomes. What is removed from the uterus in the case of a molar pregnancy is an accumulation of abnormal placental tissue and the remains of any embryo that may have formed.”

The treatment for medical emergencies is usually early delivery. Intentionally, directly killing an unborn child is never necessary. Doctors should always try to save both mom and baby, and should not be focused on killing the unborn child in order to save her life. Save both: if you can’t, save the mother.

Be careful quoting the ACOG. They’re pro-abortion and have an entire section on their website for “Abortion Advocacy.”

[mauvesockss]

hear me out: avery has a molar pregnancy... who's the father? it's both of them 🫶 congratulations on your maybe cancer 🙏

[partialbirthabortion]

This is hands down the best description of molar pregnancy that I have ever seen, by miles. THIS kind of clarity is why I just submitted a concentration application for public communication in science.

[jksprincess10]

Some updates

There is so little information on molar pregnancies. I'm honestly scared of my pregnancy hormones levels never going down. I'm scared of not getting updates after the multiple tests I have to pass in the next weeks. I'm scared of it developping into cancer.

I feel betrayed by my body.

Despite not having a baby inside my body, my breastmilk started coming in this week-end. While I try to laugh and make light of the situation, it's fucking traumatic and it hurts like a bitch. I just want my body to be back to normal and start over.

I'm seeing my doctor tomorrow but I doubt he will be of use.

[cammie]

who remembers my skinned knee. anyway i am so much of a hypochondriac that i’ve convinced myself it is necrotic and infected and i’m going to die of a blood infection. i know i’m probably being dramatic but also i want to go to urgent care just to see because what if i’m right. gawd help me

[collecting--stardust]

Apparently all my assignments need to be submitted on the second week of November 💀

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

Are you pro-life or pro-choice?

I fear my answer might piss off both sides here but: I’m neither. 

The whole “pro life” vs. “pro choice” framing suggests that abortion is a topic to form an opinion based on personal feelings on. But I refuse to have an opinion on a healthcare procedure. That decision is between the person affected and their doctor. I do not get to have an opinion on it.

I can say I am against a complete ban on abortion - because it is a healthcare procedure. Criminalizing it could kill a person who needs a lifesaving medical intervention. Criminalizing it could also mean that a person who is going through a heartbreaking, even traumatic experience is now treated as a criminal offender on top of that (and that experience wouldn’t even have to be an abortion, it could even be someone going through a miscarriage, an ectopic pregnancy or a molar pregnancy).  

Arguments against abortion too often read as „We should ban breast cancer treatment because breast cancer is bad“. That’s just not how the world works. That would kill people. Breast cancer will not stop existing if we stop treating it. Situations where it’s best to end a pregnancy will not stop existing if we ban abortion.

I can also say I am for reducing the need for abortion - not by banning or criminalizing it, but by providing comprehensive sexual education from an early age, by providing easy access to all contraception options, by making sure everyone can financially afford the contraception option that fits them best, by providing more financial assistance to pregnant people, by supporting single parents, and so on. 

I’m not a big fan of being told to bend over backwards to avoid calling an unborn baby a baby. Using medical terminology (like embryo) is one thing, but calling it a “clump of cells” or a “tumor” is incredibly disrespectful to people grieving a pregnancy loss. It also sends the wrong message. We shouldn’t have to act like abortion is a happy choice, just to convince people that people with a uterus may also need healthcare. Abortion is a hard decision. Unfortunately, healthcare includes making hard decisions. 

Most breast cancers need to be treated and some pregnancies need to be terminated, and neither of that should be based on my feelings. I’m not the center of the universe. I don’t get to give any input there or say in which cases it’s necessary or not - unless I was the person affected or the doctor advising them. 

[lizzaneia-elizalde]

Request: Knoxx Wyatt (cowboy yandere) reacting to us (his darling) deciding to go back to the city (cause we got better job prospects or something, I don’t know). What would this man do to keep us from leaving? (And I guess this would still technically be early into the “relationship” where we aren’t long term commitment or haven’t truly “defined” the relationship yet). I just wanna see this man become unhinged. See his “yan” side 😉

P.S. Don’t ever feel guilty about your pregnancy/baby stories. I love them (and probably a lot of your fans since we all most likely got breeding/pregnancy kinks…cause this is Tumblr after all…😘)

Yandere! Cowboy x New in town! Teacher! gn! Reader

WHAT IF: Darling goes back to the city?

Thanks for the reassurance anon! I was seriously getting worried LMAO. Now, I think you know where this is going with what would Knoxx do...

TW: Tampered contraceptives, forced breeding.

"Darlin... What do you mean by that?"

Knoxx gripped the saddle in his hands, his eyes wide as saucers.

You shrugged and gave him your phone which he snatched up immediately.

It was an email in which you're assigned to be a teacher in a prestigious University.

Knoxx felt cold in the stomach. The veins on his arm starting to bulge, blood pumping hastily to his heart as his mind went haywire with the prospect of you--

No, he can't even imagine it.

"But Darlin, yer only been 'ere for months. Not even a year." Knoxx whispered, trying to grit back the wallowing despair in his chest.

"That's what I said! But it's such a good opportunity. With a salary that's definitely much better. No offense."

"N-none taken."

"Besides, I still got two months here!"

Knoxx bit the inside of his cheeks, feeling his molars squish down the flesh, piercing it and letting the blood flow down to his tongue, tasting the metallic flavor before it trickled down to his throat.

Yet, no matter how much he hurts himself, he's not waking from his nightmare.

He wanted to let out a bitter cry but all he could do is laugh deeply. His eyes shaking from the raging emotions that threatened to bubble out.

His mind, heart, and body screamed to hold you down and break your legs, locking you up.

But he didn't.

He let out a trembling sigh and gave a wry smirk.

"Is that so, darlin? Congratulations." He mustered up his best acting skills and bowed with his cowboy hat on his chest.

His smirk widened when he gazed at your body, eyes hungrily drinking in your form.

"How about this, darlin? Let's make the most of those two months. You and me, fucking like animals. Just like you wanted." Knoxx grinned, gulping the blood and giving you such predatory eyes that he knows you love.

You shivered, heat pooling your stomach and lighting up arousal in your body.

"okay. Later night?"

"Oh sure, darlin."

Knoxx pocketed his fist on his jeans, fidgeting with the condoms he had in tow, while his eyes bore into the pin you have on your chest. Specifically, the pointy end.

"See you later."

~~~Two months later~~~

By the time you were supposed to leave the town, you threw up in the toilet bowl, emptying the hearty meal you prepared yourself. The smell of the paprika and pepper singing your sinuses and making you nauseous once more.

Your heart raced.

You loved pepper and paprika chicken.

You loved spicy foods.

Why would it make you sick?

Food poisoning? No. Impossible.

Your legs shook as you stood up, looking at the bedroom and seeing Knoxx's naked back hugging your pillow.

With a frantic search in the bedroom, you spot the used condoms on the floor beside your bed, and your breath hitched, seeing it leak on the tip. It's tampered with. Every. Single. Condom.

Did he also poked holes on the other condoms he used with your previous encounters?

You felt nauseous once more, but this time, due to your disgust and betrayal, mixed with fear.

You wanted to cry, to scream.

But you don't want to risk waking him up.

You need to get out of there.

With a hasty yet careful movement, you dressed up and ran outside, but stopped when you heard growls. Dog growls.

Knoxx herding dogs were circling you, backing you up back to the porch of your house. Eyes hostile yet calm, they herded you back to the frame of the door until you bumped into a hard surface.

You tensed, feeling two strong arms circle around your waist and felt the hands palm your stomach.

"Hmm... Bun in the oven. How delightful."

Knoxx's husky and deep voice sent shivers down your spine as he kissed your neck and slowly swayed you left to right.

"darlin, let's go back to bed. Pregnancy this early is especially dangerous for you."

You wanted to scream and shout, yet Knoxx's ranch was too big for other people to hear.

Was Knoxx's house this far from the town?

Was Knoxx's ranch always this deserted?

You felt something cover your head, making you flinch.

It's his cowboy hat.

Remember, he already staked his claim on you.

You're his.

[babubunny]

South Park/Kyle fans!!! I come bearing some headcanons I would like to present to the council.

What if Kyle was a rainbow baby.

Here’s the definition of a rainbow baby for those that don’t know: ‘A rainbow baby is a baby born after miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, molar pregnancy, termination for medical reasons, stillbirth or neonatal death.’

I’ve always wondered why Sheila and Gerald decided to adopt Ike after having Kyle, especially adopting a kid that would be clear that they adopted them. They clearly just got Ike from an adoption agency or something and just adopted him when he was still a young baby.

But then I thought, what if Kyle was a Rainbow Baby. If it was a miracle that Kyle was able to be carried to full term and be born then that could explain why Sheila and Gerald decided to just adopt after Kyle instead of possibly having to go through heartbreak of losing another baby especially when they actually have a kid to look out for now. This could also be another reason why they were so adamant about moving away from Jersey, there was just too much heartbreak there and they wanted to start fresh.

I’ve also just wondered why Sheila seems to be just that much more protective over her kids (especially Kyle) and again, Kyle being a rainbow baby would help explain why.

Anyways that’s just my silly little headcanon and I thought it was honestly quite cute and thought I’d share.

[nethhiri]

Marooned: Chapter 50

Kid x FemReader x Killer

Warnings: Rape, torture, body horror, loss of body part, violence, forced pregnancy, infertility (Seriously heed the warnings. This one is dark.)

Worse

Warthin had fallen asleep next to you. If you weren’t chained, you could have bashed his head in with the weight if the seastone. The first hit would disfigure his face, lacerate his skin. The second hit would cave all his facial bones inward, maybe exposing the tan, jagged edges of bone, and the indent would fill with blood and viscera, appearing like a bowl of soup. The third hit would splash this soup everywhere and crunch the rest of his skull. Gray-pink, gelatinous brain would squeeze out of the cracks from the force of impact. This is what you replayed in your head when he woke up and raped you again. 

He left and came back some minutes later with some “good” news and breakfast, which you refused. The “good” news was that you weren’t pregnant with a Kid Pirate baby and your womb was open for business for his own. He tried to feed you and you moved your head away or knocked it from the fork. He didn’t like that. He forced your mouth open by squeezing your jaw and shoved food in your mouth before covering it with his hand so you couldn’t spit it out. He wasn’t very gentle and you gagged a few times, but eventually he had force-fed you the entire plate and then some vitamins, “nourishment for his child”.  

He visited you a lot throughout the day, alternating between raping you again and force-feeding you. He got quite frustrated with you by the time dinner came around. This time when you refused to eat, he had a pair of pliers handy. If you didn’t want to eat then you didn’t need teeth. He loosened some up by punching you square in the jaw, then he took the pliers to one of your molars and pulled. It hurt. It felt like he was yanking your whole jaw out. You screamed and pulled against your shackles. You could feel blood run down your arms from the metal digging in to your skin. When your tooth finally came loose, your mouth was filled with blood. At that point all your screaming and struggling had made him hard, so he fucked you again, a little rougher than he had been. You knew it would only be a matter of time before his rapist instincts overtook the procreative ones. Afterwards, he fed you cold dinner, which you had to choke down because chewing hurt too badly.

Later, you vomited from all the blood you had swallowed. You didn’t have enough chain to lean over the edge of the bed so you were forced to vomit next to you. You couldn’t even wipe your mouth. Warthin accused you of doing it on purpose to starve his future child and proceeded to beat you for the transgression. He didn’t even let you clean up or change the sheets. You felt like an animal. You felt dirty. 

This cycle repeated. Every time was a little bit rougher, until you were covered in bruises. Every part of you was sore. There was dried blood in many different places and dried semen all over your thighs and between your legs. It wasn’t that bad. You could take it. You could survive this. Only a few more days you before they would come for you. You could last a few more days. I hope.

“Look at me.” Warthin demanded as he fucked you. “You never look at me, my darling.”

You ignored him. 

He grabbed your head by the hair and slammed it into the headboard behind you. “Fucking look at me, you pirate fucking whore.” He slammed you into the headboard again. “I bet you looked into their eyes when they fucked you. Didn’t you? You liked being violated by their diseased, dirty cocks.”

Tears spilled over your cheeks. Your head still hurt from him ripping out your tooth and all the times he had hit you already. 

“LOOK AT ME, CUNT!” Warthin choked you out until your consciousness faded. 

You blacked out and woke up to him still on top of you, not sure how much time had passed or if this was even the same rape.

”There you are.” He was holding a small, sharp blade. “I’ve thought of something that’s fair for both of us. You don’t have to look at me, but you’ll never get to see anything ever again either, especially not those pirates you give yourself away to.” He pressed the blade below your eye.

”Please don’t.” You rasped, throat raw from screaming. You felt the point of his blade cutting into you. Losing one eye was bad enough. Losing both would be your end. You had no observation haki. You would never be able to sense your surroundings. You would be rendered useless. If he removed it completely, you wouldn’t be able to use your power to bring it back. And then what worth would you have to Kid? What worth would you have to yourself? 

He withdrew the blade. “You’re right. I have to take the other first so you can see me crush it.” Warthin roughly stuck his fingers into your right eye socket, taking out your log pose and inspecting it. “So this is what you used to track us. You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” He held it up for you both to see before crushing it in front of you. “All gone.” He took the small blade back out.

”No. Please. What do you want? I’ll look at you. Please don’t do this.” It was rare for you to beg, but you would have no pride left if he took your eye anyway. You would have nothing left. You would be nothing. The Kid Pirates wouldn’t take you back. What use would you be? You would be an extra mouth to feed with no benefit to the crew. Even your devil fruit power would be dubious since you needed to visualize things to make it work.

“It’s too late. You had your chance, darling. And as much as I love seeing the hate in your eyes, I want to be the last person you ever see, so that I’m burned into your mind.” He slowly pushed the knife under your eye.

”NO! NO!” Your pleas devolved into screams as you felt the worst pain of your life. You could barely struggle under his weight pinning you to the mattress. The restraints were pulled taught until your hips and shoulders ached constantly; you couldn't move even if his weight was absent. Hot, semi-vicious liquid dripped down your cheek and onto your chest. The sickening sound of wet, tearing flesh reached your ears. 

“Oh fuck yes keep screaming. Just like that.” Warthin didn’t want to rush this but it was difficult to resist finishing. “Fuck!” He came inside you again but didn’t stop. He was enjoying this too much. He grabbed the collar that was still around your neck and ripped it off, noticing for the first time the writing on the back of the tag. “If found, return to Kid Pirates.” He had a tone to his voice that you didn’t like. “They won’t want you back when they see how much you’re enjoying yourself here.”

You didn’t know what he was doing. The pain was so intense that it was all you could feel. You were pretty sure your eyes were open, but you couldn’t see anything. You couldn’t hear anything either over your own screaming. You blacked out from the pain soon after that. Welcomed into a dream state by familiar faces, you were happy to see them, and that you could see. Their faces weren’t welcoming. They were frowning. Kid was there telling you how useless you were to him, nothing better than a set of holes now. Killer wouldn’t even look at you, your face too grotesque. Your hope was faltering.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kid and Killer were reunited with the Victoria the day following the incident. Everyone immediately knew that things were dire when they returned with Mini, and you weren’t accompanying them. They expected Kid’s rage, not Killer’s. It was rare that the first mate got angry, but when he did it was scary. Kid was very outward with expressing his. Killer held it all in. He answered in clipped tones and few words. They could tell he was boiling inside and no one could tell when it was going to erupt. 

They met with Heat and Wire to explain their plan and afterwards, made themselves scarce. Kid was in his workshop, facing away from the door that led to the infirmary. It made him too upset when he looked at it and expected you to be there. Killer was in his room, unable to come out again until Kid came to check on him. When he did, he saw a crumpled metal ball. A blue and white metal ball. Killer had crushed his own helmet in his rage. He kept thinking about his regret that he hadn’t told you more about how he felt, and he may never get the chance now. They were both emotionally triggered by the event, reminded so much of Victoria. 

Kid returned Killer’s helmet to its original state. “Are ya ok, Kil?” 

“I’m fine,” he lied. Killer was far from fine. He was pissed at himself for not being there for you or for Kid. If they had taken Kid too, he didn’t know if he could come back from that. “Wish I had told her that I cared about her. Wish I could have done more for both of you.”

”Ya can tell her when we get her back. And I’m here, aren’t I? Ya still saved me from being taken prisoner.”

A few days passed. They used your clothes and the blood of Warthin to track in the right direction. Mini would sniff the items and then point in a direction that they would follow. Sometimes the trail dropped off when the wind changed and it delayed them greatly. It frustrated Kid to no end. He was thinking too much. Left alone with his thoughts, he was ashamed that his mind kept creeping in the direction of questioning your loyalty. The doubts crept in the more he was left alone. Maybe this was all a setup. Maybe you planned it all from the beginning, stealing his heart just to lure him to his capture. 

Killer joined him for dinner, bringing it to the workshop, where Kid had been holed up. “What’s wrong?” Kid had skipped lunch earlier.

"Maybe we shouldn't be trying this hard."

"What?"

"M'sayin that I have doubts."

Killer narrowed his eyes, feeling his blood starting to boil. "What do you mean 'doubts'?" His skin got hot at the mere thought of Kid turning his back on you. His temper was getting the better of him, yet he was torn between his loyalty to his captain and his protective instinct when it came to you.

”Don't ya think this could be a setup?” He stared down at the plate of food. “Maybe she wants us to follow her so the marines can capture us. Don’t ya think it’s weird that they didn’t kill her right there, but they tried to shoot me in the head?” He felt guilty for asking it, but he had to know if he was being rational or irrational at this point. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping his anxiety about the situation.

Killer slapped him across the face, not hard, but not gentle either. “KID! She tried so hard to earn your trust, don’t you dare question it when she needs us the most!” Killer’s voice cracked. His index finger dug into Kid’s chest. “You saw how scared she was, Kid! You think that was fake?” Killer put his fist down on Kid’s workbench. “YOU WANT TO QUIT ON HER BECAUSE OF A SCENARIO YOU CREATED IN YOUR HEAD? WHEN SHE’S SUFFERING AND PROBABLY BEING-“ Killer didn’t finish, putting his head in his hands and letting out an anguished growl. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to explode at you. I just-“ He didn’t know if he did it because of fear or anger, or some combination of both.

”I know, Kil. Yer right. Sorry.” Kid shook his head and rubbed his cheek. “I needed that.” Kid felt bad about piling so much of his own feelings on Killer when Killer was dealing with the same anguish. And he felt worse that he questioned your loyalty.

They ate in silence. Neither of them could truly comfort the other. They were both hurting. Killer tried his best to stay strong for Kid, as he had in the past, but he was in pain, too. He didn’t have the capacity to carry the pain of two people. He struggled with his own, ready to lash out again at any moment. They spent the night curled together in Kid’s cabin, before sleep vowing not to let the same thing that happened to Victoria happen to you.

In the following days, tensions rose significantly on the Victoria Punk. They were stalled. The scent stopped coming back to Mini and she was unable to track you further. She paced back and forth across the deck with just as much anxiety as anyone else. Kid and Killer poured over maps with Wire, trying to figure out where they may have gone, where they may have taken you. They argued about what the best course of action was. Kid's intrusive thoughts only became more intense. Killer was snapping at everyone who got in his path. It was looking bleak. Then in the afternoon, about five days after you had been stolen, the Kid Pirates received a package.

There was a scream that rattled the windows on board the ship. Quincy was the one who grabbed it, thinking maybe it was something she had ordered on the last island, or maybe new wanted posters. Heat rushed to her, being that he was the closest, eyes drifting over the package on deck. He froze. Staring back at him were three eyes: 2 belonged to a video transponder snail and the other was irrevocably yours.

Heat hurriedly grabbed the box, suppressing the urge to vomit or cry or both. He didn’t want the rest of the crew to see it. Quincy followed closely behind him, worried about her friend. The four commanders and Quincy stood around the package. Killer pushed Quincy and Heat aside, zeroing in on the jar. He knew what it was when he saw it, and still brought it closer to make sure, to ensure his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. There was a Y/E/C iris staring back at him, complete with the trailing optic nerve and attached muscles. Kid, on the other hand, assumed it was a gag, a fake, some kind of taunt. Everyone was waiting for the other foot to drop, for Kid to explode. When he didn’t, and instead went off about cheap tricks, Killer delicately explained that it wasn’t a trick. Then, Kid went ballistic.

“THEY TOOK HER FUCKING EYE?! THEY TOOK HER EYE!” All Kid could think was how devastated he would be if his remaining arm was taken from him, and applying that same feeling to you. 

Heat quickly grabbed the jar containing your eye before Kid could smash it in his rage. 

Killer attempted to quell Kid’s anger. “Kid, if they’re sending us this, it’s likely she’s still alive.” Albeit, alive purely for the purpose of torturing. 

”AND SHE PROBABLY DOESN’T WANT TO BE ANYMORE! WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT TO HER, KILLER? WHY?” Kid let himself be enveloped by Killer, burying his head into Killer’s shoulder. Kid felt hot, angry tears roll from his eyes. He was pissed on your behalf, upset that someone would maim you in this way, more upset even, by thinking of the pain you must be feeling. It brought him back to when he woke up after losing his arm. He had been livid, scared, and he did question his ability to be a pirate captain. But he had another arm. And he could make a prosthetic. You had neither equivalent. 

”That may be so, but that’s all the more reason we have to get her back.” Killer embraced his captain. “We have to change her mind.” He held onto Kid until the broader man pulled away.  Kid scowled, but said nothing. Who was he to try and change your mind? Keeping you in a state of misery just so he wouldn’t lose you would be selfish. He pushed that line of thought from his mind. He didn't want to explore that possibility until it was a reality, if it became one at all. 

As soon as Wire saw the transponder snail, he told Quincy to leave, even with her protests. He knew nothing good would come from it. She didn’t need to witness whatever happened next. He didn’t want to entertain whatever taunts would surely come from the other side, but he wasn’t sure what would happen if they ignored it either. Before they did anything though, he was going to figure out how to use it to pinpoint your location. It was a feat to keep Kid from calling on it right away. Wire convinced him to hold off until they could create a device to track the signal. 

A bad feeling settled in the pit of Killer's stomach. He could only imagine what they would see on the other side of the transmission. It was already difficult to keep himself from replaying the terrified look on your face when you tried to warn them about Warthin. What if he saw something worse? And what if that was the last thing he saw of you? Bile burned the back of Killer's throat. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Time was a continuous stream. There was no start or stop, no beginning or end. You couldn't say how long you had been here or even when the start of a new day was. At first, you could, but lately Warthin had been depriving you of sleep. He almost never left, constantly feeding you either his twisted perception of reality and how you were going to be the perfect wife and mother or cruel depictions of how worthless you were now. He went on and on. You were starting to believe him. Maybe you would be better off pretending to go along with his sick fantasy. At least he would want you. 

Tears pricked the corners of your empty eye sockets. Falling between the skin of your eyelids into nothing instead of rolling down your cheeks. Even if they found you, the Kid Pirates would leave you there once they saw your sorry state. You were weak from being chained in bed. Your face was swollen, probably beyond recognition. They would see how you've been used and how could they ever look at you the same again? You wouldn't blame them. You were disgusted by yourself, allowing yourself to be caught and abused, becoming the very thing you had been trying to protect. You were too pathetic to be a Kid Pirate. Maybe they would be so kind as to put you out of your misery before they left, if they were even looking. 

All fighting it did was exhaust you and excite your captor, so you had given up. You stared at the ceiling, well, that's what you imagined you were doing. You did your best to ignore the soreness between your legs, the movement of the bed, the horrid breath against your neck. In a way, you were glad you couldn't see. You didn't want to see the satisfied look in his eyes when he was done defiling you, or any part of him at all. Instead, you tried to remember the molten iron orange of Kid's eyes and how they burned with anticipation when he looked at you; you tried to remember the crystalline, icy blue eyes that you could tell were looking at you with amusement and patience from behind Killer's mask when you tried to do anything in the kitchen. Every night, or what you thought could be another night, you went through the faces of the crew in your head. That stubborn part of you refused to let Warthin's face be the last thing you saw and you were afraid if you stopped, their faces would fade from your memory altogether. 

The lines of your sanity were beginning to blur as you went from wanting to die to desperately wanting Kid or Killer to break through the walls and scoop you up to safety. As much as you told yourself you weren't worthy of them anymore, a small part of you hoped they could look past this and they could still care for you. You had finally gotten a taste of what it felt like to be loved, not just romantically, platonically as well. Hanging out in silence with Wire, joking around with Heat, gossiping with Quincy, listening to Dive's wild stories, all of it was precious to you. The shame of what was happening to you was what held you back from embracing the desire to return. They knew you as a strong, ruthless, independent pirate. You didn't want them to know you as a victim, not strong enough to help yourself.

There was an intense pressure around your neck and you struggled to get a breath, coughing and sputtering. For a minute, you thought maybe you would be granted the release of death. There was no way to know since you could no longer tell if your vision was going black. You experienced flashes of color as your brain was deprived of oxygen and fired neurons at random. Then your throat was released and your lungs greedily expanded with air. 

"Angel, you're not paying attention again." Warthin grabbed your face, licking his lips as he took in the dark maroon blood around where your last remaining eye used to be. It pooled under the skin and went nearly all the way down your cheek.

You spit at him. "Fuck you." If he really pestered you to react, you tried your best to make him snap. You knew he had it in him to kill you. You wished he would. 

"Come now. Don't be like that." The back of his hand trailed down your cheek. "Don't you think a child should be made with love?" 

Every word made your throat ache. "I fucking despise you."

"But I love fucking you." He laughed and grabbed your breast roughly. "I wish we didn't have to chain those long legs down. I want to see your ankles next to your ears. Maybe I'll chain them up by your arms instead. That way your pretty little pussy would always be wide open and welcoming for me." 

You had to fight the urge to dry heave at the feelings of his fingers playing with your cunt. Sometimes you wished you weren't so revolted by him so you could get wet. The dryness made every time he entered you painful. If you were lucky, he would spit first. You winced as he pressed his cock against your entrance.

"You know this hurts me, too." Warthin removed the pressure against you and brought his fingers back instead. "Why don't you imagine what those pirates did to you? Make it easier for both of us. Let me guess. Obviously, you fucked the captain and he's a large guy. Did he split you open on his fat cock?" He moved his fingers inside you, testing to see if anything he said made you react. "I bet you liked feeling him fill you up. I bet you liked when he chained you up. How is this any different?" 

Was there a difference? Kid was mean to you. He had fucked you under dubious circumstances. You did like being chained up. Had you just been manipulated to believe that there was a difference? You had an emotional connection with Kid didn't you? What if that was just a tactic to keep you around longer? 

Warthin leaned down to whisper in your ear. "You stupid girl. We're the same. You just like being used. So let me use you." He pumped his fingers. "What else did they do? Did Eustass share you with his pals?" His fingers felt the beginnings of wetness. "You were passed around to Killer, hmm? Heat? You open your legs for any freak, you filthy whore." He could feel your pussy twitch. "And what... they weren't enough to be stuffed by so you let Wire fuck you, too. I bet his cock is huge. Just look at the guy." He chuckled as he felt his fingers become more slick. "That's it." 

"S-stop." Your lip trembled. You hated that the memories you held close were being used against you. You hated that you could feel yourself become wetter. It was an involuntary response. "Please." You would be forced to forget even those treasured moments just so he couldn't use the images in such a sick way. He was taking everything from you.

"Good girl. Cry some more for me." He removed his fingers and was about to rut into you, when he heard the transponder snail ring. "This is perfect timing." He got off you to answer it.

That was out of the ordinary. He usually ignored everything when he was with you. 

"Hello, Captain Kid. I've been expecting your call."

Your heart froze in your chest, cold tendrils of fear snaked through your veins. 

"WHERE IS Y/N?! WHAT HAVE YA DONE TO HER?" The sound of Kid's voice made your heartbeat quicken.

"Oh what haven't I done?" Warthin sneered. "Would you like to see her? We were just in the middle of enjoying ourselves." 

See her? It dawned on you that he might have a specialized transponder snail. You heard him get closer. "No. Please don't." Your voice shook. 

"What's wrong, my love? You don't want him to see how much fun we've been having together?" 

You thought you could hear a sharp inhale on the other end of the line. "Don't look. Please don't look." Tears spilled down the sides of your eyes as you turned your face away. 

"Uh uh." Warthin tutted. "You look at them." He roughly grabbed your face and turned it back.

"DON'T YA DARE TOUCH HER LIKE THAT!" 

"What do you want?" Killer's voice was calm, but cold.

Warthin laughed. "I'm not sure I understand. I have what I want right here."

You yelped as he pinched your nipple through the silk of your nightdress. Although you wanted nothing more than to see their faces, you were simultaneously glad that you couldn't. The immense shame you were feeling couldn't be hidden except to your own eyes.

"What do you want in exchange for her?" Killer questioned.

You could hear Kid in the background screaming unintelligibly as someone tried to calm him down. 

"Nothing. I think you've misunderstood the situation." Warthin pulled the fabric of the dress until it ripped from your form. "She isn't my hostage. She's my prize, and I'm gloating." 

You felt the mattress shift under his weight and you understood what was about to happen. "L-leave them out of this. I'm- I'm begging you." 

"Sweet Y/N. They called me. They put themselves in it." Warthin snickered. "And now they're gonna watch while I put a baby in you." 

"YA STUPID SICK FUCK, SHE CAN'T EVEN HAVE KIDS. LEAVE HER THE FUCK ALONE." 

Your stomach dropped at Kid's words. That was the only layer of protection between you and the true cruelty of Warthin. 

"What does he mean by that?" Warthin picked your head up by the hair and slammed it back down when you didn't answer. "I SAID WHAT DOES HE MEAN BY THAT?!" 

Kid and Killer were hurling threats through the transponder snail. You could tell by the tone of their voice. You couldn't make out any of the words through the ringing in your ears. The chains rattled and were pulled taught as you instinctively tried to cover your face with your arms. Hearing Kid and Killer's voices again, how they wanted you back, washed away all the feelings of despair that had brainwashed you. Desperately, you wanted to be back with them and everyone else. You wanted to survive in the hope that this could be your future. But even that small flame of hope would be snuffed out.

"YOU LYING FUCKING SLUT." Warthin punched you in the gut. "You let me believe all this time, that you could give me a child?! There are consequences for lying." He leaned down over you and spat in your ear, "Your wretched crew are going to watch me rape you." His voice was slightly quieter, like he was addressing someone else. "And if any of you look away, I'm killing her right here." 

"BASTARD! PRAY THAT I DON'T GET MY HANDS ON YA BECAUSE WHEN I DO, I'LL BE TAKIN MY TIME KILLIN YA! AND I'LL KILL EVERY LAST FUCKER IN MY WAY." You could picture how viciously Kid's golden-orange eyes flashed as he said it. 

The dread that closed in around you was suffocating. You turned in the direction of Kid's voice. "You can look away. It's- It's okay." He was going to kill you anyway now that he knew the truth. The least you could do was spare them from seeing you be violated in your last hours. You tried to smile, but the tears that had been flowing turned to sobs, enough for salty streaks to finally coat your cheeks. "I- I- love you." It pained you to choke the words out in this setting. "Please don't remember me like this." You gagged when you felt your mouth forced open and fabric be shoved inside. 

"That's ENOUGH. You were supposed to love ME!" Warthin grabbed you by the throat. 

"We're coming for you, Y/N. Please don't give up," you heard the sad, sweet voice of Heat.

You could hear the low growl of Killer's voice, "You have no idea what's coming for you, you bastard." 

Their promises were like a shell coating what little was left of your resolve. They did want you and they were coming for you, but that also meant they weren't going to let Warthin make good on his threat, and they were about to see what brutality he was capable of. 

NEXT

Tag list: @bbnbhm @nocturnalrorobin

[afreakingdork]

Soft Spot - Chapter 11

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Donnie is quite spent in this week's amazing chapter art by @grumpytheunicorn

Rated: Explicit

Warnings/Tags: Romance, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, Villain Donatello (TMNT), Love, POV Second Person, Babies, Pregnancy, AFAB reader, Vaginal Sex, Rough Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Fertility Issues, Pregnant Sex, Pregnancy Kink, Reader-Insert, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Cum Eating, Turtle Noises (TMNT), I have a Biology Degree and I’m Using it, Menstruation, There WILL NOT be any Miscarriages

Synopsis: First comes love. Then comes marriage. Then comes the next step about as smooth as the others arrived. The baby-oriented sequel to Weak Spot.

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

LAST WARNING FOR THE 🍋 UNDER THE CUT. MINORS DNI!

“Ready?” Donnie’s fat cock lay heavy against your mons.

“No.” You responded immediately though a covert swipe of your tongue was all that kept you from drooling.

Your husband smirked and rocked his length against you.

The glans tilted upward toward your belly button and beyond.

You loved him.

You loved his dick.

They were mutually exclusive loves, but similar enough.

You were currently enamored with his prick because you’d been denied it in a way. There was a very literal date stamp on the last time he had inserted his dick into you. The day before Valentine’s day was over two months ago. He’d given over to approximation play, but he hadn’t been ready for proper coitus.

Until now.

Until your punishment.

You weren’t sure what it was beyond edging, but you’d take that, all things considered. While you abhorred the concept, you would accept delay if it meant a guarantee on you getting dicked down. Nothing quite compared to the feel of your husband’s member excavating your insides and it was obvious why. Not just for his length, but his peculiar shape was unabashedly him. From the way his glans spread to the thick of his knot, nothing could capture his mechanisms. Even his thick fingers were poor facsimiles.

You wanted his schlong.

You wanted it inside and to feel it beneath your belly button in a similar way to now.

You wanted him.

He wasn’t going to let you cum for as long as he could.

You hated it.

You hated it so much you could feel it in your molars.

You would let him prolong foreplay just to feel his cock again. For him, you knew he thought it was drumming up anticipation. The more you writhed, the harder your supposed punishment was going to be. Only you thought yourself a step ahead of your mate for once. While you explored each other’s bodies and he caressed your erogenous zones like check marks off a to-do list, you were clenching.

It was something you’d mistakenly stumbled upon with the greater awareness of your body. With your womb on your mind, you often found yourself seeking out that part of your body. Both to have and to hold in times of hardship, you had embarrassingly stood in front of a mirror just like in the movies. You pressed a hand to your lower belly and bloated the body part out to mimic pregnancy and what it’d look like. It all felt terribly silly after the fact, but in doing so you’d become acutely aware of your abdominal muscles.

You inadvertently learned how to do a kegel without so much of a twitch to your torso.

Donnie was none the wiser as you rhythmically clenched on nothing. He coasted over your body stimulating you and you drummed up the usual soak to his eye. In reality, you were winding your own coil and had come close twice now to sending yourself over. A feat brought on by a phallus induced mania, you decided you were going to cum on insertion and ruin all his plans.

You just had to play the part.

You had to say no.

You had to make him tease you more.

You had to.

Your brain ground to a halt as he adjusted his angle so his cock parted your pussy lips. It was a tip and turn for him to then slide his shaft along your clit. The bundle of nerves was stiffened and ready and you had to fist the sheets to keep from what you estimated was a few measly pumps before you came.

Donnie tutted teasingly.

You looked up at him from where he had you laid out on the bed.

From where he had your legs on either side of his hips.

From where he was poised to stick his cock in your cunt.

“What?” You seethed on what sounded like anger, but it was instead withholding.

“You agreed, my love.”

“Yeah… Don’t have to like it.” If he moved a little lower you weren’t sure you were going to make it.

He settled only for a non-distinct drag of his length. “You can’t interfere or I’ll restrain you.”

“I know!” You tossed your head back to hide the pinch of your brow.

You were lethally tight.

He was barely going to be able to squeeze his cockhead in.

You were going to fucking cum.

“I won’t! I’m fine!” You barely kept from screaming and tilted your hips. “Ready. I’m ready.”

“Are you sure?” He kept his gaze steady and paused to rock his hips.

“Yes!” A pulse built up and you fought it off with all of your mental energy.

If he felt it he might know something was off.

“Need you.” You settled for a leak of the pressure on your brain in a whiney voice.

The desire to fill the void for you washed over him.

He gave a single nod and his gaze plummeted between your legs.

There’d be an explanation next.

He would tell you all about his ill-fated idea.

All his plans for not and your abdomen ached.

You were right at that precipice.

You needed barely a nudge to fall.

A tap.

A poke.

A light breeze.

His cock slid through your soak and aligned at your entrance.

You were so wound up you could barely feel it.

“A simple exercise.” Donnie was still looking down.

On repeat, your brain screamed for him not to find out.

Outwardly, you didn’t believe you reacted.

You only stared dully at his speech.

“Average intravaginal thrusts before ejaculation ranges between 100-500 for humans.”

Sounded measly.

You needed one.

Just one.

“I’m ashamed to say I have no comparable data. I’ve quantified fornication in time.”

You didn’t care.

You lost a clench.

It slipped away from you with an ache of your watering cunt in a lip-licking twitch of desire. 

Donnie churred ever so slightly at the feeling of you trying to coax him. “Neither expresses partner’s pleasure rendering the information null, however…”

His cock twitched ready and you bit your lip to keep from screaming.

“My curiosity exceeds me. Today we will find my upper limit.”

“Y-yours?” You hated how your voice shook.

It dripped.

Slovenly across the bed.

“Mine. Your punishment today will be as a vessel. All parameters have been fixed. Even you.”

You had a haughty retort, but his glans adjusted between your labia so he was almost pressing in.

Stars didn’t explode in your vision as much as they twinkled around the edges like flash bangs.

Your toes flinched at the ready.

“Slick. Tightness. Temperature. All kept steady.”

He was way off base on his second listing.

Bitter and backed up voices taunted him in your mind.

All that brain and for what?

Wasted thinking of nonsensical variables.

“Good luck.” You meant for it to be teasing, but it sounded with caustic sarcasm.

Donnie flashed you a plastic sheet grin that was ready to be stamped out in landfill waste. “Quite.”

His hands slid along the backs of your thighs until he had a neutral grip.

He adjusted his length by his hips alone and you felt the tip of his head press your entrance.

Your muscles flexed on repeat as if to grab and stuff him inside.

You didn’t need to watch.

You felt.

There was a bend of him pressing.

He tested.

A bounce and flick to catch you right.

You pushed outward to welcome him.

His glans hooked and he paused at the ready.

Slam in, you thought.

That’s all it would take.

One swift thrust and his count would be fucked.

You’d milk him straight to cumming right there.

100?

What a joke.

About an inch of him had fed into your body and you could have weeped.

It felt like ages since you’d last had him.

You wanted to rejoice.

You wanted to celebrate by squirting.

The spray would be like champagne.

More of him filed in.

With the steadiness of a queue each shuffling step was toward monotony.

Bland suits.

Bored faces.

Not your mate.

You hadn’t cum yet.

You felt inattentive.

To yourself of whom you had been inspiring.

You felt dizzy.

A symptom of missing yet another orgasm too close together.

You felt angry.

There was no way Donnie knew.

You’d been so careful.

You hadn’t even planned this, but you’d executed as if you had.

Everything had gone right.

What happened?

The midpoint of Donnie’s cock passed into you and a bubbling thought wondered why he was taking so long.

He really was going slow.

You might have looked, but one of your early instructions had been not to move.

You guessed that had been foreshadowing for your vessel status or whatever.

The speed couldn’t have been what offset you.

It didn’t matter in your mind as long as you got that stimulation.

You had it now, but it felt dull in comparison.

You sighed a little, resigning yourself to having missed your window. Orgasms were tricky in that way. One moment you were borderline feral and another waived second meant you cooled. You might wind up again. Despite what he said, Donnie disliked you not reaching your pleasure. In all the time you’d known him, he had reached climax before you only a handful of times. That was even when you counted his excited spurts from when you had just begun trying for a kid.

That felt like ages ago.

In reality it had been about 5 months.

Donnie bottomed out and you had to blink to attention.

That couldn’t have been his first stroke.

You’d lost track of him.

You needed to get out of your own head.

Blue balls were messing with your mind.

Your mate also hadn’t moved.

You stared at him.

A studying flick of your eye went up and down his body.

He was concentrating.

So hard, in fact, that his head was bobbing ever so slightly.

You watched and caught a glimpse of the exact moment his lids twitched.

It was a signal and he began to withdraw.

At the same agonizingly slow pace.

He was counting, you realized then.

He was exactly timing entry, rest, and exit.

You tried not to squirm.

His backswing had the same numbed quality.

Instead of a tantalizing pull to your inside, it was like he had instead found a way to circumvent friction.

That was it, your toes flexed unconsciously.

His entry hadn’t stirred you because he had negated any pressure.

Donnie caught your micromovements and felt confident enough in his counting to speak. “Do you know the mechanics of a deep thrust?”

“It’s deep.” The response was dumb, but you tried to levy any bitterness in it.

Donnie chuffed. “It evacuates air creating suction which is pleasurable to both parties.”

“Unless it’s like the first version of your strap.” You tried to bump him with your knee, but he held your leg tight.

His brow ridge cocked and he flexed his fingers.

He was honing his focus.

He was keeping time.

He still wasn’t halfway out yet.

“I’m not feeling much.” You admitted, already exhausted with the pace. 

“A majority of your nerve endings are around your first couple inches.”

“You’ve got that part covered.” You pursed your lips.

His eyes read affection. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” You tipped your chin to your chest as that was the most movement you bet you could afford.

“Your thoughts. Your day. Months. Years. Old stories. New. I care little which.”

“This is going to take that long, hm?”

“Yes.” As if to punctuate his point, he had finally withdrawn to his glans at your entrance.

He held there.

His brow pinched.

He was counting again.

Then in what felt like exact rhythm, he entered again for that dulled spreading.

“What’s the interval?”

“15-7-15-7.”

“What the fuck….!?” You strung out the curse with him feeding it in. “Why?”

“Taking all previous data…” He didn’t seem able to info dump as usual and cut himself off for the last few inches.

He had asked you to talk.

Not ask questions.

You were still circumnavigating him to a point, you guessed. 

He hit his rest and his head did the similar bounce in time for seven seconds until he withdrew. “Yours. Mine. Meant for best consistency.”

“How long-?”

“Not length.”

“Amount of thrusts! Whatever, but you put it in time! Even-What did you say? 100-500 thrusts? With 44 seconds a cycle, that’s like 75ish minutes to just hit 100!”

Donnie nodded in rhythm.

“We’re really gonna be here… for hours, huh?”

He sent you a bare smile.

“There’s no way.”

“Your status?”

“Annoyed.”

“Physical?”

“Fine.”

“Optimal tightness. Current lubrication adequate.”

“I was close.” You humphed.

“You’ll stay.”

“With just this? Doubt it.”

“Stimulation.”

“What about it?” You settled your shoulders for a better long haul.

“Minimum amount-” He stalled for a closed eye count then continued. “The angle. I’ll keep you charting.”

“You’re using science terms, but this isn’t scientific at all is it?”

He churred loud and nearly lost his pace.

You watched on, surprised that he’d gotten thrown off by something so small.

He shook his head out of it and was silent for several long seconds as his timing continued. “Not in the slightest.”

You watched him with growing affection as he went through a few more strokes and rests.

He was a sucker for the repetitive motion and you could tell he would very easily lose himself to this.

In that way, no matter how ridiculous the parameters, it made this his safest foray back into sex. He took his self soothing and molded it to a sexual act. The counting was a metronome that would tick in his mind to remove his anxieties. Since his goal was not completion, he didn’t have to worry about the end product. He was, in fact, trying to evade the ending for as long as possible and had layered his count by marking each thrust as well.

It all seemed obvious, but that’s not what Donnie had told you this was. He called this a punishment as a joke at first and it had since warped into something serious only because he made it so. He took your teasing as inspiration and pretense to concoct this act. It made you wonder if he was aware that he had done so. You had a feeling he would have told you if so, but you also didn’t want to burst his bubble if not.

You didn’t want anything to disrupt no matter how strange the slow act was. From your positioning, the usual intimacy from paced sex was removed. With you laying on your back and Donnie settled, standing, between your legs, there was little room for affections. The only real holds you had was the mingling of your sexes and where your husband had your legs. That was more to steady you then anything else which made the deed just that much more clinical.

You sent your gaze upward instead and focused on insertion. You knew if you chanced flexing your pelvic floor now that Donnie would scold you. It was upsetting the careful balance of supposed variables of your vessel. You were a thing to enter and with that came the absence of the usual drag. You recalled his comment about deep thrust and wondered if he was offsetting suction. That seemed accurate as when he withdrew there wasn’t the usual cling of your sex. That must have also tied into your arousal, but didn’t explain his comment on keeping you charting.

That had to mean a certain amount of interest and therein lie stimulation. You could feel your partner and in that way you guessed you were provoked. His strokes were mechanically separated, however, which elevated any delicious pressure. What it left you with was an even keel in which you were entered and exited. The flood from earlier aided the uniform glide and the only thing you wondered about was when the wet tapered off.

You certainly weren’t stimulated enough to keep it up. You guessed you’d be able to tell then when it was tapering off because there would start to be a drag. It wouldn’t be the good kind though and instead would be a chafe. Any sex this prolonged was bound for some sort of rash and with that thought came a sort of dull and growing horror.

Both of you were going to ache.

The repetitive nature of endless insertion was bound to irritate the delicate skin of your sexes. While both of yours were technically internal, the way Donnie’s had to drop and be used, made his seem like the more sensitive of the pair. That and you recalled how he couldn’t walk after his first heat. The constant drop had made him susceptible to the apparent elements. It had taken several days before the rash had eased up enough that he could walk without the support of his staff as a crutch and even longer before his usual gait returned.

You didn’t want to repeat that and looked down to where your partner was very much gone.

His eyes were unfocused and he only knew the comfort of ticking time.

You didn’t want to interrupt, but also the first vestiges of dryness seemed painfully apparent now.

It might have been how hyper aware you were.

It felt like there was the barest pinch upon his reentry.

You opened your mouth and as if on cue a B.E.D.F.A.S.T. arm unfurled from its unit. Your mouth snapped shut and you watched it reach over. It had a rounded head which inched toward you at the same snail’s pace Donnie was going at. It meant you were stuck watching until you felt your mate pull out. For that seven second rest, B.E.D.F.A.S.T. finally reached its destination over your genitalia and you heard it dispense something before you felt it.

A thread of lube coated Donnie’s member which you felt when it pressed wet into you. It trailed him instead of you and the slow feed meant it mostly caked up around your entrance. His cock felt cooled by it and drummed interest in your needy sex. The closeness you had gotten to earlier peeked up as if it had been hiding and waiting for its moment of opportunity. You tried to reason with it in your head as it wasn’t going to get much more than this.

Donnie ticked off his seven second pause within you before pulling out.

Like barking gulls, the horny part of your brain called out on repeat about the action. You protested with logic as again this wasn’t any different. Donnie’s outward pull tested tense flesh and you felt a lit around your clit. One small maneuver of his dick would press it into your walls instead of straight down the flesh tunnel. It would take the slightest maneuver or even tilt of your hips, but your partner forbade such things.

He emerged from you and you felt his glans. A part of his 15 second signature must have been offsetting the spread. His head was about its normal dormant size which meant not too far off from his shaft at large. The only thing really built up around his tip was the excess flesh ready to expand and lock. In its usual state it created small ridges that weren’t solid enough to feel. They moved with the tensile strength similar to the raw skin of his length and he pressed inward once more.

You hadn’t accounted for the slight cup of his glans. As he had sat at your entrance, the lube built up there was naturally leaking. It hadn’t been an abundance, but it had been all around your hole. Donnie’s cock had shoved it away at first, but as it emerged, it studiously dripped down into the awaiting cavern. His awaiting glans picked up some in the process and then pressed it inside. The pressure of your sex then spread it about and it made his journey a slippery one.

It felt good.

Better than anything had in a bit and you bet this is what Donnie meant by charting. While there could be pleasure derived by a basic in and out, it was always the slight differentials that helped you along. Any repeated action to one specific spot would eventually spell aggravation and your mate tried to offset pain in any way he could. There was a certain inevitable amount to your curious sex life, but overall you were in one another’s care.

While it helped you, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was enough for his dick. B.E.D.F.A.S.T. had only dropped what seemed like the least amount necessary and that didn’t seem like enough for his member. His cock was a special thing and you imagined it would need far more lube to deal with this sort of abuse. Even during the subsequent heats where he added his cock sleeve, the rigors of weeklong sex wore on his member. That, your similar exhaustion, and the over abundance of touch, not that he remembered, all culminated in you taking lengthy breaks from coupling so he could recover.

It was an odd sort of reverse of your current situation and you pondered on it lightly. You weren’t particularly in the mood for larger examination since you’d been there and done that on baby-related misery. While the break had been difficult for your partner, it had been more recuperating for you in an emotional sense. The distance from the rigid schedule had done wonders for your mental health and you couldn’t imagine going back.

The spontaneity was fun, but even that was forced. You were ready to reclaim your usual life with your mate. You liked the one where you came together because you cared about one another. You adored when you’d been watching a movie and would just sense the proverbial ‘it’. There would be the slightest shift in the air and all you would think was, ‘we’re going to have sex.’ It took one look at your partner for intent and the whole evening would change.

You had never called that sort of thing spontaneous even though it by definition was. Your last few sexcapades had gone to extremes in a way that combated the previous inflexibility. There was a need to press hard in the other direction of exact sperm dispersal and hip angles so you had the best chances of conceiving. Donnie’s cum had poured into you anyway, his unavoidable kink, but the drink from different types of dildos paled in comparison. You wanted cozy nights where sex was about reminding yourselves that you were endlessly intertwined in this world and the next.

Enough time had gone by that B.E.D.F.A.S.T. generously added another glug of lube onto Donnie’s cock and you waited out the almost minute until that lube soaked into you. The prickling interest around your entrance perked up again and you thought about your clit. You imagined your hand making similarly lazy circles to the bundle of nerves without the intent of orgasm. It was an added pleasure without real pace. It would be helping maintain that status quo that Donnie was trying so desperately to maintain.

“100.”

You jarred from your imagined masturbation.

Your husband’s fingers adjusted ever so slightly as he continued.

“It’s been over an hour?”

“Yes.” He counted out a few seconds. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

A little puff of laughter caught you, rolled down your abs, and right onto his cock.

“Dearest… please…” He had a pinch to his features that he had to release in a weary exhale.

“I’m thinking about touching myself.”

His cock immediately twitched in your depths.

Your cunt had been waiting for any such movement and tried to grip it with a tensing that was out of your control.

“Love…” He warned.

“I’m telling you your story.” You smirked at him.

His eyes narrowed.

“Imagine this: two fingers.” You held up a modified scout’s honor in demonstration.

He was on his backswing, but his eyes were on you.

“I bring them down.” You made a come-hither motion. “Start right above my clit and round out a build up.”

His lips parted and closed like he wanted to ask for more.

You waited until he was in his exposed rest to continue. “Match this pace you’ve set. Nothing crazy. Help you, you know?”

He gave into a nod that rocked him back inside.

It was the ever so slight change to his angle that had him dragging lightly at your entrance.

Your ass tensed and you tried to keep the movement from traveling inward.

Donnie leaned forward to keep you to the bed.

It bent the angle of his cock more and his glans ran a metaphorical finger along your walls.

Again, you squeezed him.

He panted a few of his inward inches.

“Enough.” He declared without a bit of will.

“Don’t want to hear what else I’ve been thinking?”

He whined.

A millisecond long sound, it was something completely needy and out of his control.

He bottomed out and his head fell to count to seven and regain his control.

You told him.

You told him about the evening on the couch.

You regaled him in the many moments of supposedly banal sex.

You told him how your desire for him throbbed.

How release came in the form of entanglement.

Of what you missed.

Of what you gained.

You even told him how you’d been ready to thwart his plan by cumming the moment he pushed in.

By then, he derived amusement from your story.

He had run the entire gamut of emotions.

You had weighed it so he would feel just that.

You wanted to offset that teasing high.

You didn’t care about his maximum insertion challenge.

Not really.

You only had worries about his cock which you shared.

You only withheld how you knew about the calm that came with repetition for the same reason you hadn’t asked about it before.

That was his.

If he needed it, you were happy to supply.

You cared about him.

You wanted him to know everything because he also desired that.

Your tale was your love.

As it had always been.

It helped soothe him further until time wore on.

No amount of jaunty conversation was going to offset what he was doing.

His anatomy was too different.

Not only just the internal nature of his cock, but it was somewhere around the 200 thrust mark that the mechanism struck you. To keep his member erect it needed to be engorged with a certain amount of blood. With the length of his dick, he needed a particularly large amount of it and sustaining that sort of flow for as long as he had was taking a toll. What looked like anemia was paling your mate as he continued.

It dulled his eyes despite his listening skills. His pupils unfocused and he clung to the task of counting like a lifeline. The triggering number set hitting fifteen for a reset was reversing gears. The mechanism moving his body barely registered the renewed fluids. Nothing was enough to lubricate the rusty creak he was taking on and the seven markers were his only reprieve. You weren’t sure he was even registering the state his cock was as he closed in around 300.

It felt almost like Lamaze. Only, instead of coaching him through breathing, you were working him through the in and out of his thrusts. There was more organization to it and the ‘hee’ and ‘hoo’ was replaced with pinches of his brow. It was focusing in on that crease that you saw a drop of sweat gather. It ran through the waves of his washboard before finding the smoothness of his cheek. There it trickled down to his chin only to fall somewhere by the wayside.

“Measly…!” He groaned out during a rest inside you.

“Think you can make a timer? How long we’ve been at this? I know you weren’t counting but-”

There was a flicker of a hologram twice before he could fully summon it.

It ticked past the three and a half hour mark.

You gawked at it.

Donnie seemed none the wiser and had to begin a withdrawal.

It had been years since you were this aware of a sexual duration. Both for today’s exceedingly session and because time fucking mattered less than the proverbial time that went on. There had been a playfulness in those early days. You did challenges for the sake of finding each other’s limits and marathons were commonplace because desire was at an all time high. You clung to one another early on because it felt like you had waited your whole lives and catching up was more than necessary. Now that you had reassurance, more often than not, you never looked at the clock during the start of a session because it rarely mattered. You had each other for as long as you wanted and that was that.

You felt a little bad that you were relatively okay when he looked worse for wear.

You had never really thought much about your stamina. Your mate was bred to be a supersoldier so it was always a useless comparison though now it made sense that it had been built up. You had grown to match his appetite though yours had never been a small one. It seemed like a distant dream, but you couldn’t help but remember when you were strapped to B.E.D.F.A.S.T. for an entire work day’s worth of fucking. You had survived it with extreme exhaustion, but had persevered. 

However, you hadn’t been denied a single orgasm that day. 

You were pushed to the brink of how many you could handle instead and here was Donnie, three hours in, and still staving off his first. While you were in a similar boat, you had sort of become numb in practice. The lube helped ease any chance of irritation, but overall you had truly become a hole for him to stick it into.

“I c-can’t…” He seemed to admit, though he hadn’t stopped.

“Let’s-” You tried to move.

He shot to ferocious attention and sent you a heightened glare.

You twitched with a little bubble of fear.

It sliced straight through his involuntary reaction and he fell into open despair.

It read to you as the distress he often exhibited when overstimulated.

You added that to the mental pile of Donnie’s stressors and put on an expression that was ready to argue with your mate.

“Sweet…” You began.

It only warped him into further anguish as he had no will to fight.

“I know.”

He was clinging to this exercise like a lifeline.

“You gotta stop.”

He shook his head.

“It’s hurting you.”

He couldn’t disagree, but his head had become a second hand.

You opened your mouth to tell him that he needed to accept that this wouldn’t work and that came with further pause.

How could you tell your husband who had retreated into himself for months due to failure that he should give up on purpose?

The circumstances weren’t anything alike, but you knew it would pain him that same way. It was clear that was what was keeping him going, no matter how many cons built up. He had, at large, stopped caring about the distresses because the mission now was success and redemption. His determination had to be compounded with the fact that this was your first time back to fucking since, but his reasoning was a collapsing cave.

The self soothing and staving off were fine at first, but he hadn’t worked himself through anything. He had prolonged a painful inevitable and in the process turned this session into exactly what he had been avoiding. Grief had still somehow caught up with him and he was fighting it off with the rest of his emotional and physical state so as not to succumb once again.

“300…” He whispered it like a curse.

You had to help.

You couldn’t move. 

You couldn’t obviously reason with him.

You had to start slow.

“My love, can you focus on me?”

“Am.” His response was immediate.

“Like a focal point, maybe my face?”

He openly debated.

“You’ve gotten good at counting. I bet you can do both.”

The small praise brought his eyes up.

You tried to remove judgment and nodded to him.

You ticked out Mississippi’s in doing so.

It helped and he settled his gaze on your visage.

You had his attention, now you needed to know what to do with it.

“I’m here.”

He exhaled lightly at the fact.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He was a bit slower to blink and you took note that more sweat had cropped up.

You softened. “Did we ever talk about what would change?”

You felt the barest interest percolate through strain.

“Like the bed.” You rested your head and closed your eyes for a moment. “Same bed we’ve had the whole time… minus like… Wait, actually how many times have we replaced it?”

“Three.”

You chewed and blew out a laugh so it wouldn’t shake your body. “Same model.”

“True.”

“Same canopy!” You gestured. “We haven’t replaced those I think.

The curtains barely billowed from Donnie’s speed.

“Same apartment layout. Same apartment. Same kind of sheets. Same us.”

He held your legs a little tighter.

“It’s sort of like your tech gauntlet if I think about it. You may gut it for new circuitry or whatever, but it’s still the same object. Even if every piece was swapped out, it would always been your gauntlet. That’s the part that matters. The one that has sentimentality.”

He was wearing it and you felt it press your thigh.

“It seems like everything changes, but there’s so much that’s still you.”

His fingers spread.

“I always thought we’d move the dresser.”

His attention shifted in his breathing.

“The one over by the window with your villain suit compartment, I figured that was the best place for a crib.”

You felt him twitch at the mention.

You eased him through your martial bond and looked out to where you had mentioned. “You’ll want them close, the baby, but as they get bigger I doubt we’ll stay here.”

“We’d move.” He agreed almost timidly.

“Suburban dad Donatello.” You mused.

There was a little extra pressure when he seated himself deep for a seven second pause.

“We’d fill the place with our same old furniture. Add some new pieces because we’ll need them, but set up our bedroom the exact same way. The same.”

When he animated for the withdrawal it began with a slight press.

“I want to keep those things, some things, the same. It’ll be nothing but change so having that one thing for us helps.”

His outward drag came with a bob at your entrance.

“Even when it feels like everything’s different we can look at something and be like, hey, not everything. We’re still us. Still here.”

He was reluctant for a full exit and settled for his outer rest with his glans just inside.

“You know when we said we’d dream?” You looked at him.

He perked a little at the attention.

“You’ve accepted so much for what it had to be.”

Seven seconds passed and he seemed reluctant to move forward.

“Your life. Your pain. This.”

He did anyway.

“That doesn’t mean it’s okay. Not what happened. No matter that it got you to me. Not that it made you the way you are. That can all be what it was and still be shitty. You can accept it and still acknowledge how much it sucks.”

His gaze broke from yours for a second to look down at your connection.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get pregnant.”

He stumbled the last few seconds and properly thrusted into your depths.

You weren’t proud of the little noise you made, but fought it. “I don’t feel guilty. I’m not confused, but I’m still sorry because it sucks.”

He stared at you with wide eyes.

He had your legs, but had never had your feet.

You tucked them inward and just barely toed his carapace in the form of a hold.

“I’m sorry.”    

His eyes welled up.

“I’m so sorry, Donnie.”

You counted past seven and he didn’t move.

He sent his watery gaze down once again and stared at where his pelvis almost touched yours.

He eased forward with a tilt of his hips to press your skin together.

You flexed your muscles to hold him more.

He scrubbed ever so slightly.

He then stopped for another hold that didn’t have numbers.

You felt his cock twitch a few times before he lifted up within an inhale.

It took him to his perfected posture and he met your eye with a slight gleam of his.

You recognized this man.

This was your mate.

He glanced back a single time before he bounced your thighs. It was a heeding move and you broke your legs free from him. You encircled his hips and you locked your feet near his tail. It shifted slightly against the pair and was clearly heightened from the sex. 

You gave another kegel.

His cock animated amongst the pulse. He caught your waist in a small squeeze before pulling you down from where the tiny ministrations had sent you further up the bed. He spread out his thumbs over the flat lands of your abdomen and breathed deeply for what you counted as four, seven, and eight.

“Two fingers.” He spoke right after his lengthy exhale.

You made your modified scout’s salute.

He nodded down for you to go ahead.

You ghosted between his hold on your sides and dipped two pointed fingers into your sex. There, you rolled for that circular motion you had described to him and felt a needle prick of pain at your clit. It had been rubbed raw even without obvious attention and B.E.D.F.A.S.T. immediately offered a warm squirt of lube over the nub. You sent Donnie a wry look before you carefully eased the pearl until your pleasure cropped up. You were soon stroking yourself with little care for the interval and it was only when you pulsed something out of your volition that Donnie pulled out.

He only pulled the pin back a few measly inches before he pressed back in. He settled again, testing the movement on what you were sure was his razed cock. You doubted he’d get much enjoyment from cumming like this and you reached out to grab B.E.D.F.A.S.T. where it was hovering close. You did a milking maneuver to its tip and it produced immediately.

You gathered up at least seven pumps worth in your free hand before you sent that handful between your legs. You had to lift a little which Donnie aided in with his grip around your waist and you caught hold of his knot. The thing seemed to burn beneath your grip and you worked the dripping sludge into his member there before easing up against yourself.

With your other hand still rubbing your clit, you ran soaked fingers to where his length disappeared inside you. Minding your nails, you managed to get the tip of your forefinger wedged in with his cock. It was caught in a ring of tight flesh and shoved hard against Donnie’s shaft, but you wriggled it until you wrenched yourself open. A bit of cooler air nipped your insides, but you immediately wicked up the excess lube to shove it in.

The moment you withdrew your finger, Donnie gave into a fuller thrust.

You both exhaled at the feeling and you went to tug B.E.D.F.A.S.T. for more liquid. You added pump after pump along Donnie’s cock as he pulled out more with each thrust to give you further access. Switching grips to ease his battered member, you palmed him and felt the twitching of life in his glans. It marked the beginning of his spread and you chanced fisting whatever amount of his length you could reach.

Your mate warbled on something that was equal parts churr and agonized relief.

Your folded feet pressed directly on his tail to send him to your reaches.

He sank in with a faint pained chirp and picked up speed.

You brought your torso up and tipped your hips down.

Donnie pulled your ass right off the bed so he could plow your g-spot.

You cried out at the targeted attention after hours of nothing.

Your sounds spurned him on.

His hands slipped with sweat.

As if ailed with a fever, your mate began to drip.

His face flushed dark.

His eyes swirled with heat.

He gave weary squeaks in his delirium.

The growing lube had soaked both of your hands far past the wrist and you wiped it off on the bed.

You then caught his forearms and hoisted yourself up. It sent him deeper into your walls and you broke your leg lock to instead tuck around each of his powerful thighs. It gave you leverage and you dug your nails into his flesh. He yipped, but it sent his attention to a much needed elsewhere as you pulled your muscle taut before fucking yourself onto his form. 

The sensation not of his own had him squeaking from somewhere deep in his throat.

“It’ll help! Try to breathe!” You managed through clenched teeth as you were rapidly depleting your reserves.

Donnie’s gasp was as soaked as your cunt.

He forced the first breath down then a few more before it stabilized in wheezy bubbles through his nose.

His knot grew.

It had a tantalizing grip on your entrance and you let yourself rut against it before settling with it inside. It would lock in place and you switched movements. Leaving him all the way in, one of your hands flew to your clit while the other moved up to grab his wrist. You yanked and shoved so his palm pushed upwards onto your breast. He deliriously cupped before you forced him to roll. He caught wind of the movement and moved for better stimulation.

With him sorted, you reached out and with a few twitchy misses and caught the hinge on his shell. Using that to steady yourself you rolled hard against him instead of allowing anymore in and out. A mating call emerged loud from your mate and you refolded your legs behind the small of his back. Sending all of yourself onto him, you felt the tightening constrict his withered dick.

His breathing picked up as if it were spiked.

It was like something was caught in his throat and he appeared to be choking when you cracked your eyes open.

You might have asked him if he were okay had his spread not hooked you.

You rarely if ever felt him when he was that deep, but you felt something lock on to your innermost walls.

You stalled on rocking and warbled out something fearful for it.

He picked up your slack and the pressure in your pelvis grew.

It felt like he sank a little deeper and that pricking sensation grew.

“Don!!” You eked out.

He opened his mouth to presumably respond, but what came out was more of a snarl.

The knot hit peak inflation and the hold you could only imagine his spread had on your cervix dug its pricking tendrils in.

From where you had his shell, you smacked his plastron.

He shook with it and you got one breath out before he came.

You didn’t feel the spray, but you knew from the proto-howl he gave into. It was the agonized sound of actual relief for the first time in hours. He spasmed with it, giving wholly over to emptying and his eyes rolled back. You watched on fondly and nowhere near as close when his grip on you loosened. You readied yourself for him to let go, but he moved one hand down to your clit.

His single finger was thicker than your two and he rubbed with far better cohesion than any other part of him seemed to have. You tensed up under the sudden assault and felt yourself squeeze what was amounting to a gratuitous volume of spunk in your cunt. His other hands then swept down over your stomach before targeting inward with his thumb. You felt the pressure of him sweeping through your layers of tissue to where his cock was buried before he adjusted a bit higher than that. His thumb pressed inward then stroked outward in a move you couldn’t quite place as your orgasm was getting closer by the second.

It took a few more of those tandem strokes to your clit and belly before you came. You did so by kicking at his backside. He held you down steady before he released your clit and his other thumb joined the first in the massage of your lower abdomen. Your spasms fell in time with his movements and the ache of cumming after so long pulsed painfully. It was those incessant fingers of his that kept your attention divided. Distraction offset the pain and he switched from a swipe to rolling his thumb pads upward. It made little sense and you almost said something when he jarred to a halt.

You looked up at him in dawning horror to find his eyes murkier than before.

You recognized that vision. 

He was going to pass out.

“Donnie! Ah! Donnie, wait!” You scrambled to get out from under him.

He lurched backwards and you got upright.

Both of you wheezed from his dick disengaging with a whorish squelch.

You felt your cunt leak and his cock did the same as he stumbled.

You didn’t have time to worry and immediately tried to get on your feet only to slip on the fluids on the floor.

Skidding outward, you turned pain shot through your ankle from the twist. 

Ignoring the zap completely, you caught your mate and flung him with all your strength.

It spun you around on the slippery floor where you tossed him onto the bed, but momentum sent you to the ground instead. You smacked onto the hardwood the same time the springs in the bed bounced. You groaned more from the sticky pool you landed in rather than the sting of your arm or ankle. It hadn’t hurt too bad as your shoulder took the brunt and you levied to get yourself upright.

It took several tries to get on your feet with the lube and cum puddles, but with a clawing grip to the sheets, you got enough height to see Donnie’s face. His eyes were cracked open, but he saw nothing amongst the sea of sweat and drool. Not really an image of bliss, he was at least a picture of resignation and you moved to lie down beside him.

“Whose punishment was that?” You teased lightly. 

His silence was his culpability as far as you could tell.

He wasn’t far enough on the bed so his thighs dangled off, but you curled up into the crook of where one of his arms was raised and rested your head against his sticky shoulder. He gurgled as proof he was still alive in spite of it all and you kissed his cheek. “You weathered it well.”

He grunted once in sufferance.

💜 NEXT 💜

I'm still on vacation, but you know me and my betas @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83 pre-prep!

[scientia-rex]

What caused you to choose family practice after med school? What different specialties did you consider?

I kind of always knew--I started out before I knew anything thinking I wanted to specialize, maybe neurology given my history with Neuroscience, but once I shadowed a couple of doctors I was like "Oh. Family Medicine. That's what I like."

It's got a little bit of everything, it's impossible to be truly good at--I'm constantly forced to learn new things about every specialty because out here we have no one. I need to be half a nephrologist, half a rheumatologist, half a dermatologist. I do a crap ton of procedures--I like them, I like the satisfaction of an IUD insertion or a cyst removal done well. I will stay busy forever. I will never have a chance to get bored. I can do migraine care, manage Parkinson's, diagnose dementia, remove some skin cancers, differentiate between polymyalgia rheumatica and statin rhabdo--if I wanted to, I could still be doing hospital care, I could still be delivering babies. I have so many patients who either don't want to or can't drive two hours to the closest city for specialty care, and if I don't learn this, fast, and well, they'll get nothing. So there's always a fire under my ass. Rare genetic blood disorder? Shit! Read up! Molar pregnancy? I've seen two. Rural medicine is fucking wild and it's my happy place.

I recommended reading Med School Confidential for a better handle on a lot of this.

[saturnine-saturneight]

Teeth

Dear Mr. Caradoc,

this is me emailing you so you have this in writing, just like you asked me to. I'm nervous to leave a paper trail, for obvious reasons, but I also trust that you aren't going to use this against me. On the other hand, I am grimly excited. Like this, nobody will be able to say that I didn't ask for help before it was too late, least of all you.

Which brings me to my point: please, for the love of God, help me. I've tried everything by now, dentists, doctors, family, friends, nobody can help me. They are all itching to send me to a therapist, or better yet a closed institution, and as fast as possible too. But I am telling you right now, if you call the police on me for a wellness check and I am locked away, my blood is on your hands.

With that out of the way: Here is what you didn't want to hear from me the other day at the coffee machine, properly and in writing.

It all started early one morning. I usually wake up around five these days, but I remember it being even earlier that day, I think around 3am or 4am. Did you know that we feel pain stronger at night than during the day? I looked it up. It peaks exactly at 3am. But even without looking that up, I could've told you, because the pain I felt that morning was something I'm never going to forget.

Have you ever gotten a root canal, Mr. Caradoc?

I did, two years ago. It was my lower molar, the first on the right side. I can still see the filling, I think, when I pull my lips back—well, I could, anyways. My dentist did a pretty good job all around, not just with the actual procedure, but also in explaining to me how it works. When a tooth is infected or inflamed down to the pulp, the very inside underneath enamel and dentin, what they will do is, they will bore a hole in the respective decaying tooth, and then hollow it out completely, removing everything within it that's alive, and then fill it with something dead and inert, with rubber and cement. And although it is a dead man walking from then on, surrounding tissue is able to keep such a tooth alive, as my dentist told me, almost indefinitely. He did an excellent job hollowing me out, but it was a bad day to find out that I don't properly respond to the anesthetic he used.

It was that same pain that I felt again that morning, at 3 or 4 in the pain hour, and that was what I was looking for in the mirror as I was standing there in the dim grey light and pulling my mouth open with a finger. A sign that my root canal had to be redone.

But what I saw instead was, and I know how difficult this is to believe: a tiny, tiny dark door, hollow, maybe more of an archway, smaller than the pin of a needle, carved right into the enamel of my tooth.

The first thing I did was of course to call my mom up in a panic. She had to spend twenty minutes calming me down before I'd stopped crying for long enough to take a picture of it, and then when I did and sent it to her, I could immediately hear the pity in her voice. She told me that it was a very normal thing to have nightmares like this during pregnancy, and that she had gone through the exact same thing when she was pregnant with me. I have to admit that I got very angry at her for it. I know what a nightmare is, I am not a child. I was wide awake. People all around me have taken on this patronizing air towards me ever since I've started showing, as if carrying a baby somehow negates everything I have accomplished and everything I am, and has turned me into some fragile stupid thing.

I hung up on her. I'm not proud of it. We haven't been on the best of terms anyways, and I'm sure this didn't make it better.

Four hours later, I stood on my dentist's doormat, practically banging at the door to be let in. I was overjoyed when he opened my mouth to inspect the molar and immediately agreed to give me a filling, but it only struck me why he'd told me to take the day off as I was inspecting the molar in the rear view mirror of my car, and all he had done was to fill in the archway, leaving the intricate carvings around it alone. And they were intricate now: It was as if somebody was miming pillars around the hole in my tooth. I stormed back into his office in distress, and found myself set up with a blanket and some hot tea in the waiting room as one of the dentist's assistants patted my knee, instead of just filling the damn structure in.

I went home. What else was I supposed to do?

The next day, the pillars had been carved.

It went on like this. First there came windows, rows upon rows of them, with ledges and flourishes. Then, the next tooth showed a hole. Then the next. Archways started to grow steps to lead up to them. Windows became larger, more opulent. And the pain—I never saw the actual carving happen, not even once, but I felt it. I felt every single chip, every last line in them.

I saw dentist after dentist, convinced family to look into my mouth, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, even my boss, but there was always that same goddamned look of pity. The woman is going crazy, their faces seemed to scream, as they even stopped being able to see holes at all. But I am not crazy. This is not phantom pain. I know what is happening to me, and I need it to stop. I am being made a home for something, and I want it out.

My parents have asked me to move back in with them. I will be packing my bags next week, but I'm afraid that they aren't planning to help me with the pregnancy. If my suspicions are true, these bags will be on the floor of a mental hospital very soon.

I am asking you for your help because you have always been on my side, even back when I was fighting for accommodations for my morning sickness. I don't know who else is left to ask. I also don't know what I expect you to do about this anymore, but I need it to be something.

My jaw has started hurting.

Please.

Yours,

Kalinka Czajkowska

If you liked this, don't miss the continuation in the next chapter of Particle Decay! Ms. Czajkowska isn't going down without a fight.

Particle Decay taglist:

@gioiaalbanoart @noblebs @wyked-ao3

@cowboybrunch @writingrosesonneptune @marlowethelibrarian @cometkov

[partialbirthabortion]

in what ways do you see abortion access getting worse?

There are several potential avenues of attack, short of a federal ban (which I've said I think is unlikely). In June, the Supreme Court declined to issue a ruling on Idaho and Moyle (a case regarding whether EMTALA obligates Medicare-funded emergency departments to offer abortion when necessary to stabilize a life threatening condition) so that is currently still being litigated in lower circuit courts. A Trump FDA could choose to restrict access to mifepristone, which would limit the efficacy of medication abortion. The Comstock Act could be utilized to restrict abortion-by-mail.

We will almost definitely get back the Gag Rule that Biden reversed in 2021, which means that Title X funded programs cannot counsel on or refer for abortion. I think that feels smaller to people who don't work in abortion, but I cannot emphasize enough how decimated family planning clinics were by the gag rule: you either stop providing abortion to patients who need it, or you become essentially financially insolvent (meaning you eventually stop providing abortion to patients who need it). In practice, the gag rule looks like this (a case I was personally very close to through work); a 15 week molar pregnancy really could have killed this woman, and there's a real likelihood that she has permanently lost her fertility.

We are also just a few years out from feeling the logistical repercussions of the current cohort of trainee physicians (med students, residents, and fellows) having severely restricted access to abortion training. I see this closely through work too; obgyns are graduating now with basically zero d+e experience. Even if you are in such a life threatening situation that your state restrictions allow abortion, what if there are no physicians on staff who have real practical knowledge of how to do one?

[jksprincess10]

Bad news under the cut

I had my ultrasound on Monday and we realized something was wrong. There was no baby to be seen.

Sadly, I had a molar pregnancy. It's very rare. I have to wait another 6 months to attempt conception again. Until then, I have tests every week to make sure my pregnancy hormones go down.

I'm honestly traumatized and scared for the future.

I want to come back slowly as inspiration strikes again, but I don't know how I'll feel tomorrow.