Im a P★rv in a V★rg★n body

٠࣪⭑About me٠࣪⭑

Hi, my name is Andrea, you can call me Drea, she/her, Aquarius, INFP, lesbian, I wouldn't know if I should label myself as a femme or just a loser, maybe both. I love Taylor Swift's songs and I definitely use her lyrics in some of my titles. My first language is not English. I'm from latam, so I usually go back to my posts to check that everything is correct.

٠࣪⭑About this blog٠࣪⭑

I usually write or think about writing about:

The pitt: Cassie mackay, Dana Evans, Trinity Santos, Victoria Javadi, Emery Walsh, Mel king and keep naming...

Hannibal (all media): Alana Bloom, Margot verger, Bedelia Du Maurier, Clarice starling, as a plus, butch Will grahan and Fem Hannibal lecter

House M.D: Lisa Cuddy and Remy Hadley (ofc)

Arcane: Sevika, my wife

Life is strange: Max, i love geeks, but i can write about Chloe and Rachel

The blue eye samurai: Mizu, tloml.

and counting...

Although I call myself as a pervert, I can still write platonic scenarios with any possible character from this list or any other character from the tv show/game. I am not a weirdo.

٠࣪⭑Things I don't do/DNI!٠࣪⭑

Straight ships, I can write about ships to a certain extent, but I don't feel entirely comfortable as a woman talking about gay experiences. In this house, we love age differences, but I will not accept anything illegal or fetishization of any culture, subculture, identity, etc. Any offensive responses, in addition to those that are obviously immoral or unethical, I am actually quite open-minded.

٠࣪⭑Small TW!٠࣪⭑

I have suffered and continue to suffer from anorexia and self-harming behaviors, and throughout much of my recovery I have written as a method of distraction or comfort. Therefore, I am willing to write as a form of venting about these issues, and for this reason, I am open to receiving requests in this regard.

Nothing else to say, leave a comment or write to me for anything.

She, too, had a special knack for knowing when a situation was too much for you—a brightly lit room, a noisy crowd, clothes that were too rough—and she made it her mission to create a little haven of comfort and love inside your apartment.

So when you started talking seriously about starting a family, Samira was the first to jump in, volunteering to carry the baby.

“We know how overwhelming this can be and how tedious pregnancy and postpartum are,” she had said as they were curled up on the living room sofa, not really paying attention to the show playing in the background. “I won’t make you go through that stress when I can do it myself,” she emphasized, tightening her embrace to pull you close to her side.

Despite everything, you couldn’t stop thinking about how difficult it would also be for your beloved girlfriend, even though deep down you knew it was just a small excuse to mention that you wanted to carry her child.

The few times you visited her mother and her new boyfriend, he had insisted on showing you, for three hours straight, all the photos of little Samira in every possible situation—including the embarrassing ones.

You couldn’t stop daydreaming about holding a mini version of your girlfriend in your arms, with her beautiful eyes hidden behind thick black lashes; your heart ached just thinking about it.

Despite this, neither of you had much time to think about who would be the surrogate mother due to the multiple appointments and waiting lists at every possible clinic in Pittsburgh; that didn’t change much over the course of a few weeks.

But today, just today, you felt there was no turning back. You were getting ready for the first part of this terrifying journey. You were sitting on the edge of the bed you still shared, wrapped in the soft bathrobe they’d gotten so it wouldn’t scratch your skin. You just watched Samira getting ready in front of the mirror, not really knowing how to bring up the subject.

Despite your efforts to seem as normal as possible, Samira noticed your strange behavior as she watched you through the mirror.

“Is something wrong, honey?” she asked, sitting down next to you on the bed and planting tender kisses on your temple.

You turned to look into her eyes—those eyes you’d dreamed of seeing on the face of your unborn baby—and you couldn’t bear the thought of missing this chance.

“Samira, what would you say if I told you I want to carry the baby?” you said, lowering your gaze to your hands, still slightly damp, your face flushing with uncertainty and a hint of restrained excitement.

You lifted your gaze slightly to look at your girlfriend’s face at her lack of response, only to find the most radiant expression you had ever seen on her. She leaned in, tucking a few strands of damp hair behind your ears and giving you a long kiss on the forehead

“Sweetheart, that would be the most beautiful thing I could ever ask for.” She then covered your face with little kisses before pulling away to let you get ready. You sat there for a few seconds before starting to get dressed, a silly smile on your face.

You couldn’t wait for this.

The reception area of the office was quiet; the secretary was energetically typing in the information Samira was dictating to her while you sat on one of the plush sofas, reading a small brochure without much interest. Samira returned, sat down next to you, gently took your hand, and rested her head on your shoulder.

“Are you absolutely sure?” she asked again, making you laugh and causing you to snuggle up against her. You nodded vigorously, glancing up slightly every time a door in the hallway opened.

“Okay, okay, they said we’d be going in in five minutes.” You both let out a relieved sigh, knowing that from there on out, things would be an emotional roller coaster.

It had all been strange, as if you’d been in a little bubble during the first few months of the process. It was relatively easy compared to other couples, and in less than two months of treatment, the test had come back positive. The excitement hit both of you like a truck—you hadn’t even anticipated everything that came with it.

From one moment to the next, everything exploded—literally.

First came the nausea. You’d banished yourself from the kitchen during lunchtime because the smells made you sick, though of course, your girlfriend tried to cook things with neutral flavors and aromas you used to tolerate to avoid that sickening feeling in your stomach—despite your growing appetite. Despite her efforts, this didn’t save you from morning sickness.

You used to wake up very early just to stagger a little to the bathroom and end up throwing up everything you’d eaten the day before; even if you hadn’t eaten anything, she’d sit by your side, rubbing your back and holding your hair until the wave of nausea subsided.

She barely had the patience to stay by your side while you sobbed over how awful it was to be forced to vomit.

A small respite during the first two months was seeing the first images of your baby; you both cried a lot in the car.

By the fifth month, you found yourself lying down on any available surface more often than helping Samira with the nursery and the baby’s preparations; your back ached just from existing, and you couldn’t stand being on your feet for long stretches. on top of that, the growth and pain in your breasts were bothersome; regardless of your size, pregnancy had made them much more sensitive and heavy, though to be fair, Samira didn’t give you time to complain because she had already bought maternity bras to keep everything in place and always brought you a chair so you could sit near her while they prepared the baby’s room.

Although everything had been controlled and managed, there was something inevitable: the delivery came earlier than expected, long before you could have prepared yourself for everything it entailed. That little corner of your own world had exploded in an instant— the fluorescent lights of the hospital, the beeping of machines, the collective murmur of other patients outside—you ended up sobbing next to Samira, trying to block out all the noise in your head.

Time seemed to fade from your mind; you tried to focus solely on Samira’s voice whispering instructions in your ear during the C-section. You felt sweat running down your body and swore that at any moment you would fall apart piece by piece on that stretcher.

In the end, what brought you back to the world of the living was a small, sharp, and loud cry. You immediately opened your eyes, focusing right away on the tiny creature they were bringing to your chest. You sobbed chokingly as you looked at the little one and then at Samira—your precious angel had finally arrived and was already with you.

You spent a few nights in the hospital making sure that both you and your newborn son were doing well; it had been a difficult delivery, but after a few nights in the incubator, he was ready to come home with you.

Your family and friends were over the moon with the little one and showered both of you with countless gifts and attention; despite all the affection, the only thing you wanted was to be together, as a family.

Samira took care of both of you with incredible dedication; even on the days she was on shift, she managed to make sure you were both okay. At the end of a long day, the three of you would lie down together on the sofa, sharing warmth with each other and admiring the little being you had brought into the world together.

Even after everything—the sleepless nights, the crying, the discomfort, and the pain—you didn’t regret it, not when you had the two most important people in the world in your arms.