Hell, NO.

It didn’t budge.

Her breath hitched. “No no no no no…” she whispered, voice cracking as her body folded lower, crouching in place, her face twisted in pure, undiluted agony. She clenched tighter—every muscle, every nerve, trying to stay in control. Every tiny bounce, every sharp breath felt like it might be the one that broke her. Deep within her lower belly, she could almost hear the **** slosh of fluid, pressing relentlessly against her straining internal walls. “I just need a way in… please…”

Then—

“WaaaAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”

The scream tore down from above like a siren, high-pitched and gaining speed.

Gina jolted upright with a gasp, panic igniting every muscle in her body. Her eyes snapped wide just as a tremendous THUD slammed into the ceiling above her.

The entire floor shook.

Dust exploded outward as ceiling tiles cracked and shattered, and with a **** burst of crumbling plaster and insulation, the panel above her blew apart.

“AHH!” Gina yelped and dove—bare and shivering—behind the nearest object: a large potted fern sitting against the wall on the landing.

She pressed herself into the shadows, standing as still as possible behind the large ceramic pot, trying to shield her body from view. The cold from the tile seeped into her skin, and her back scraped against the rough plaster as she shifted slightly. Each shift brought a renewed, uncomfortable friction against her bare flesh, a constant, gritty reminder of her predicament. Her hands remained locked between her thighs, gripping with a desperation that matched the panic racing through her veins. She felt every muscle in her legs quivering.

The fern’s broad leaves drooped just enough to fall across her chest, covering her breasts from view. It was a pathetic hiding place, but she was grateful for every inch of accidental modesty.

She whimpered softly.

The noise above had stopped—but her bladder had not. It sent a vicious throb through her abdomen, and Gina bit her lip to suppress a moan. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe too loud. The slightest shift might be too much.

Then came the voice.

“Fear not, fair citizen!”

A blue, fuzzy hand erupted upward from the rubble.

Gina’s blood ran cold.

“For I, Super Grover, have heard your cry and come to save the day!”

From the broken ceiling, Super Grover stumbled upright, helmet tilted askew, cape fluttering from the impact like a crumpled flag in a storm.

He puffed out his chest, trying to strike a heroic pose—only to slip on a dislodged ceiling tile and wobble dangerously. Somehow, he didn’t fall.

Gina’s eyes peeked between the leaves, wide and horrified.

“Not now… not him…” she mouthed, heart hammering against her ribs. Her thighs pressed together tighter, rocking slightly in place as the potted plant’s leaves rustled with every shallow breath. The sheer proximity of Grover intensified the liquid ache, threatening to dislodge her last, **** hold.

“Please, Grover, just go,” she mouthed again, silently begging.

“Where is the distressed citizen? Aha!” Super Grover announced triumphantly, eyes scanning the hallway.

Then—he turned toward her.

“Could it be you, mysterious foliage?” he gasped, stepping forward and poking at the plant.

Gina sucked in a sharp breath. Her entire body froze.

She remained standing behind the pot, trying to make herself as small as possible, her back straight as she leaned ever so slightly toward the wall. Her hands dug in tighter, knuckles white, nails pressing into her skin. Her bladder pounded with urgency, and she fought every reflex to gasp or groan.

“Do not be alarmed, my leafy friend!” Grover declared proudly. “I am trained in all forms of heroic assistance!”

He turned and spun in a wide circle, completely oblivious.

Gina didn’t dare move.

She stayed hidden, shivering, ****, and trying not to explode—both from the overwhelming pressure inside her and the sheer chaos that had just crashed through her ceiling.

And Super Grover, cape fluttering behind him, had absolutely no idea the very person he’d come to “save” was currently standing naked behind a plant, praying he wouldn’t turn around again.

Note: This chapter was initially composed with the help of ChatGPT, and then edited with the help of Gemini.