#i wrote this when i was ovulating and i was meant to post it on valentines day but alas... things happen (university)

[lavshaze]

🖤 | Terrible thing

✧ contains ⤐ SMUT. dirt and filth. oral, missionary, doggy in front of a mirror. very brief mention of a breeding kink. also very brief reference to cannibalism bc im into the artistic image it creates. title is a reference to the song by AG because I'm obsessed with that song, and with silco. oh and lethal levels of yearning but yk, that's the usual. based on a real true story! w.c ~ 2.6k

Ao3 version | part 2 | collective works

You remember how he tastes. 

The feeling of him in your mouth— warm, sweet, and entirely unexpected of someone like Silco, who's all jagged teeth and rough angles. 

You remember gazing up at him through your lashes, fingers eagerly digging into his thighs as you wait for him to open his mouth and say something— praise your performance, degrade you for being so desperate to have him that you'd get on your knees in his office, call you a filthy whore for the behavior you've been exhibiting, for acting like a bitch in heat— anything in the sonorous tone that you’ve grown accustomed to. 

But nothing comes out of his mouth. 

Instead, you blink and find yourself in a new location. One where he's on top of you taking you at an agonizingly slow pace. You're on his bed now, sinking under his weight into plush crimson sheets; the questions you had a second ago melt on your tongue when he digs himself deeper into you, erasing any coherent thought from your head.

He fucks you into the bed with a passion that you have only dreamt of finding in other men you’ve taken to bed. He splits you open at the center, keeping your legs wrapped around him securely, and stitches you together with every deep slow thrust. He buries his head into your neck, hot breath over your skin as his teeth sink into the junction of your neck and shoulder. The moan that escapes your mouth is intensified when his long lithe fingers dig into your hips, making sure to leave dark, blossoming bruises to match the ones on your neck. The thought of admiring all these marks later makes your heart beat erratically in your ribcage. 

Yeah, that's more like the Silco you know. 

Your vision blurs as you reach up to thread your fingers through his unkempt hair, so different from his usual look. Despite the slow pace, you find yourself inching closer to your release, body hungrily clenching around his length. The heat of his body and the slow languid motion of his thrusts plants a sort of heavy yearning in your heaving chest, a hunger that grows every time he’s deep inside. You want to hold onto him forever, cage him in your arms, hold him against your chest as you come undone under his ruthlessness. You want to reach out and dig your teeth into his flesh, take a part of him and keep it to yourself.  

The moment feels too short. It feels too long. You can't tell where he ends and you begin. 

His scent heightens your senses, the characteristic dark musk mixing with cigar smoke, as you find yourself drawing closer to the edge. This is something holy, something sacred, something you’ll be praying to for a tremendously long time. His hips snap against yours in a particularly brutal thrust and a devastating noise escapes you, akin to a warning. He pulls back from his attack on your neck to watch, to observe with eager eyes— dark and wide, pupils blown wider than you’ve ever seen— as you fall apart under him. 

Despite him blowing into you like a shimmer addict, the desire in your body isn't fully sated yet. 

You’re just as hungry for him as you were when you kneeled down in front of his office chair and hurriedly unbuttoned the pants holding the cure to all your late night problems. The need to see more of him lands the two of you in front of his vanity; the mirror you imagine he adjusts himself in every morning now reflects the sight of your naked bodies, giving you a perfect view of all the bruises he’s been littering your body with. Pliable under his touch, your body aches deliciously as he enters you, a firm arm on your waist holding you back from toppling over. The sensation still feels new, the ache in your chest reinvents itself over and over again. 

In this room, it feels like only the two of you exist, and all you have to care about is how he feels. 

How does he feel? 

He handles your body so recklessly and yet with so much love, bending you in whichever way he likes and taking you as deep as he can go. You give yourself to him readily as you watch his face in the mirror, aquamarine and hellfire orange merging to touch the deepest part of your soul while his cock does the work to reach the deepest part of your body. 

He wraps his other arm around your waist and kisses your neck, almost like he's apologizing for the bruises he left earlier— warm, wet tongue soothing the ache of the newest ones. 

You admire how he looks in the reflection, nose buried in your neck like he’s finding a lost part of himself in your body, like he wouldn’t mind getting on his knees and worshipping you. 

Your eyes move down to observe your own body. It responds so steadily to his touch, moving and changing every time he thrusts forward, if it weren't for his tight grip on your waist and the possessive hold he has on you, you'd be up against the mirror. You wouldn’t mind that if it meant he got to feel you deeper. But you focus on your appearance, on your breasts, on your chest and the heaving thrum of your heartbeat, on all the imperfections you thought would bother you forever. The dip of your hips, the stretch marks that decorate your body, the fat of your stomach that Silco holds so possessively. 

Were you always this perfect? 

The thought is so erotic, it makes you want to lean in and kiss the mirror, press your bare tits to the cold glass and create a mark for everyone who comes into his room to see. For everyone to know that he bent you over the vanity and fucked you until you saw stars and could only utter his name. It makes you want to turn around and kiss Silco, make him feel the same appreciation that he works so hard to fuck into you. 

The man in question lifts his head and your breath hitches when your eyes meet in the reflection. Countless people have gazed into his eyes in fear, trembled at his feet and begged for their lives, but few of them have had the pleasure of trembling under his touch in the way you’re doing right now. The thought that this man is dangerous, and undeniably cruel at times, sends a jolt through your body. The realization that you’re in the arms of a monster, a beast, and he’s holding you so affectionately, it plants an unspeakable feeling in your chest. 

You watch with bated breaths as his eyes scan over your body, appreciating everything you have to offer. It's a little humiliating— being put on such an open display, having nothing to cover up your most intimate areas besides his bruising grip that travels from your waist to fondle your breasts— but it turns you on endlessly to be ravaged by something as simple as his gaze. 

Something deep in your stomach coils as you watch a sharp, razor-like smile stretch across his face. You think about his sharp edges, how you'd willingly cut yourself on them over and over if it meant having him close. Even when he's literally inside you, filling you up to beyond satisfactory levels, you're thinking of ways to have him closer. 

The thought of him planting something irreversible inside you, something alive, passes through your head like a seductive whisper. 

Your eyes meet in the mirror again and he looks proud of his work. He must know that after he's had you, he's ruined everyone else for you. He must know that everytime you let someone else touch you, you'll be thinking of his steady slender hands; and everytime someone slips their length inside you, you'll be comparing them to his size, to his drive. He must be smug as fuck knowing that no one in the undercity will ever fuck you like he's doing right now.

He looks into your desperate, wanting eyes and knows that you belong to him. 

The thought of him being possessive over you, with all the marks he's been planting, is nearly enough to push you over the edge once again. But you hold back, wanting to savour this moment, to savour the way he stretches you out and holds you close. Your breathing grows erratic and your pleas more desperate, but you hold it in because he looks at you like it's a silent order. If you hold out a little longer, you can come together.

The increasingly loud sound of your moans and gasps makes you long for his voice. You realize, on the verge of ruin, that he hasn't spoken much to you. This whole time, the sounds echoing through the bedroom have been coming out of your throat, deep from your chest, and only intermittently interrupted by his groans as he drilled into you like an animal. He hasn't been talking to you, using that silver tongue of his at what he does best, telling you things to satisfy that gnawing desire in your chest. 

You wanted him to tell you that he loved you, but you wouldn't fling that onto him during your first time together. You wanted to hear him call you nice things, call you pretty and use pet names like he always does outside the premises of the bedroom. Darling, dove, lovely, filthy, whore, slut. You wanted him to be a little mean, tease you for how desperate you've been to get into his pants. You wanted him to claim you verbally the way he does physically, you wanted him to say it out loud, claim you as his in a passionate declaration so you could replay it in your head when you touch yourself to the thought of him. 

You wanted to hear his voice. 

You straighten your back, pushing up against his chest, and tilt your head slightly to try and face him. You observe his neck and his flushed complexion, watch his throat bobbing like he's almost nervous that you're looking so closely. You notice some fresh love bites that you barely remember creating on his neck, but they're undeniably yours. It’s almost like they carve your name into him. You soften at the sight, realizing that Silco must trust you tremendously to let you touch him so intimately, especially around his neck. 

He looks down at you and you admire the shape of his nose, hoping that you'll get to have it between your legs soon. You look directly into his eyes and feel your knees grow weaker at the fondness in them, so raw and honest, like everything he's ever given you. The scarred side of his face is uncovered, giving you a clear view of the dark grooves that run down his face, like river streams flowing down to his neck. You lean your head further back, resting it on his shoulder, losing sight of his normal eye but holding the gaze of the altered one. The deep charcoal has always fascinated you, how someone could survive and continue fighting after being plunged into the depth of darkness of betrayal. But what always stole your breath away was the burning orange in the middle, illuminating the orb like a vicious flame in the middle of the rich black darkness. You catch your reflection in them and feel your chest swell with pride, the Eye of Zaun only has eyes for you.    

Your eyes move down to his lips and you feel the desire inside you increase tenfold. The shape that you've spent years memorizing, pinning after, it's so close in your reach now. Your mouth goes dry when you realize he's drawing in closer, the same idea infiltrating his mind. 

You can almost taste the alcohol and rich flavorful cigar on his lips, only a sliver of distance between you and everything you’ve been yearning for. 

But not all good things come to fruition. 

You should've known. It doesn't make sense. 

Three years of being his friend, being at his side when he needed you the most, growing closer despite everyone warning you about the notorious crime lord ruling over Zaun. Months of pining over him and memorizing his features and the lovely shape of his lips, wanting desperately to get a taste of him, to get a taste of the bitter and evil monster that sends horror coursing through the undercity. Sitting in his office, on his couch, pretending to innocently read the book you borrowed like you weren't imagining him bending you over that desk and fucking you until your legs were shaking.

Nearly a year of harboring feelings for him and you've never told him. 

The first thing you see is darkness. It takes a few seconds for your eyes to adjust to the lighting, and you realize, with a heavy heart, that you're in your bedroom. Alone, no Silco between your legs, nothing to accompany you besides the dull aching in your lower stomach and the wetness between your thighs. 

You knew your feelings for him were getting out of hand, but a wet dream like that is officially reaching a new low. 

Not that you haven't had dirty dreams about him before, or fleeting inappropriate thoughts when you were around him, but none of them have felt this raw. You've never felt so loved in any of your previous wet dreams, and you're starting to doubt if you've ever felt that loved when awake too. 

You turn to plant your face into the pillow, groaning in frustration. Even in your dreams, he fucks like an animal and loves like a starving artist. It felt like you were cursed; when everyone was warning you about him, they forgot to mention that you'd want to fuck him so bad it would haunt your every waking thought— and sleeping ones too, apparently. 

The alarm besides your bed beeps and you lift your head up from the eternal anguish to glimpse the time. The realization that it's 6:50 on a Saturday night jolts you awake. 

In exactly half an hour— 7:20 never made sense to you but you've learned to stop asking questions when it comes to Silco— you were supposed to meet the man who was just fucking the daylight out of you. Or, well, the man you wish would fuck the daylight out of you, and the nighttime and all times of the day really. But that's besides the point, you're fucked, and not in the way you need to be. 

You fight the urge to bury yourself into your bed sheets and just play dead until Sevika or some other trusted employee comes to drag you out of your apartment. But the thought of having to meet him in your sleepwear, the one with all the evidence of your arousal, was more mortifying than having to pretend you aren't thinking filthy, dirty thoughts about him. 

You've done it before, how hard could it be? 

Besides, it's almost a family activity now, your weekly meetups. Maybe Jinx will be there and a reluctant Sevika will join you and attempt to teach you how to play poker and you'll suck at it and it will just be a good old fun time. And you wouldn't be thinking of how sexy he looks when he leans back on the couch and drinks his whiskey like that and blows smoke rings and smirks when you lose and- 

No.

You were going to get up, take a cold freezing shower, and exorcise every dirty thought from your gutter of a mind. You were going to sit in his office and not have a single deranged thought about him, and it was going to be fine. 

Right? 

[bejeweledinterludes]

still got the blues.

OR on one quiet night spent in the bunker, you discover that the notorious, god-fearing, big, bad ‘n scary, six-foot badass hunter that is dean friggin’ winchester (aka one of your closest friends) isn’t as tough as he seems.

well.

in bed, at least.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : sub ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 8.8 k. (FAITH BE NORMAL CHALLENGE LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS 🤺🤺🤺 GET BACK! AWAY!later seasons sub dean winchester x fem reader (yes i have a problem, no i don’t care thank you!). masterbating, handjob, unprotected sex. yeah this may be the horniest thing i’ve ever written in my life.

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

HELLOOOOO THE LONG-AWAITED SUB!DEAN SMUT IS FINALLY HERE 🙂‍↕️🙏‼️ shoutout and thank you to @supernotnatural2005’s drabble / oneshot for the inspo on this one <3 because i think we all want to catch dean like this— which is why i wrote about it!

ALSO @figthoughts’ post from the other day too… yeah idk guys we’re just horny and ovulating connected or something when it comes to mr. jensen ackles and his characters. love you figgy pudding!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

being on the road with sam and dean for god knows how long now, you’d gotten used to all the sounds each idiot knucklehead brother would make in their sleeping state as you passed their rooms— so much so that it was basically white noise at this point, and you just tune it out.

yeah, tonight was different, though. sam had left much earlier— he and elieen were finally going on a real, live, actual date, much to your joy. which meant you and dean were alone in the bunker together. that doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you usually stay up watching 80s movies and arguing over niche things like whether or not they used real flames in back to the future (they didn’t).

that was yet another reason why tonight was different: you hadn’t seen dean all day, much less tonight. he’d been out doing god knows what— and you barely even heard him come back a few hours ago.

but you didn’t push. actually, you didn’t dare to set foot past dean’s door— taking the long way down the hall to get to the kitchen or the library throughout the evening, secretly hoping he wouldn’t come out of his room or even acknowledge your existence.

because… honestly?

living with two other men?

who the hell were you kidding. you could use a night to yourself.

and not to your knowledge or anything, but so could dean.

no disrespect though, because dean really was wishing you were there— or, rather, he was imagining you with him, which was the only acceptable option at the moment.

���but this was definitely a new low. even for him.

see, while you were actually attempting to be productive with your night, dean was not.

like, at all.

while you were doing your laundry, putting clothes away in your room, watching a show on your laptop with your airpods in— thank god, otherwise this whole thing would blow up in dean’s face…

…for the most part, figuratively.

because dean— and how does one say this without sounding like a complete and total creep?

well, dean was jerkin’ it in his own room.

fappin’.

beatin’ da meat.

whatever the male version was of flickin’ the bean.

oh, and the (best) grossest part?

he was thinking about you while doing it.

yeah, yeah, it’s sick, it’s definitely wrong on so many levels— and it sure as hell feels downright illegal and a sin to be doing it while you’re in the fucking bunker.

it’s the lowest of the low. weird. pathetic.

but then again, dean’s always been a little… pathetic when it comes to you.

don’t let anyone know you know that, though.

so, back to dean being pathetic and horny. he’d been at the bar in town for hours earlier tonight, trying to find someone to satisfy the strain on his pants— and that someone needed to look a whole lot like you to get the job done.

how hard could it be?

well, apparently, in lebanon, kansas, finding a look-alike clone of your best friend so you could fuck them silly? it’s really goddamn hard.

and so was dean.

so here he was—did i say pathetic already?— jerking off in his bedroom like some horny teenager. he’s on his fourth, maybe fifth time cumming to the thought of purely just you.

that’s right, no porn, no nudie mags, not even a goddamn picture in his free hand— because dean was wound up so freakin’ tight, he didn’t need anything. just his hand and his filthy imagination.

it’s humiliating. dean’s literally bucking his hips up into his hand as of right now, imagining it’s yours and not his— all while letting out these little noises that do not sound like they’d be coming from a six-foot, tough as nails hunter. but they are.

and they’re all for you.

dean winchester does not whimper. hell, no. but the broken sound that rips from his throat, tossing his head back on his pillow after he tugs a little too hard on himself was anything but.

and maybe dean should be making less noise— but he knew you so well, too well— you’d have your airpods on noise canceling, anyway. and he can’t even think about if you didn’t. he’s too wrapped up in a haze right now. he’s so distracted. by-god intoxicated.

because dean’s imagining you after that one hunt in virginia. yeah. the moon had been out that night, and god, the way it hit you— a combination of this deep blue and silver and it just lit up your skin, illuminating you like you were one of those ancient goddesses, like the ones he’s only read about in old myths and legends when he’d been so bored he actually did research in the library.

dean’s imagining you, just you, right there with him, and it was your hand, not his. imagining you pulling those sounds from his throat while he’s breathing so heavy, his chest heaving up and down. and the sheets covering only his bottom half were shifting with him as he was moving what seemed like his entire bed along with him as of now.

dean was trying to be quiet.

but his body was not letting him.

and poor you— oh, sweet, innocent you. because as far as dean knew, you were completely oblivious to what was currently occurring in his bedroom at the moment.

but what dean didn’t know was that your airpods had died over an hour ago.

and you’d made the mistake of not taking the long way back to your room this time, thinking that dean had gone to bed due to the late hour.

you had stopped in your tracks in the hall coming back from the kitchen— because you heard dean. heard his little broken groans, damn close to whimpers.

and you genuinely believed that dean was just having a nightmare at first— because hell, with the shit you guys encountered on the daily, it wasn’t uncommon for any of y’all to make a goddamn racket in your sleep.

drawing that conclusion— because it was the only one that was realistic, you start towards your room again, already starting to tune out dean’s weird-as-hell noises.

but before you even take two more steps past dean’s room, you hear something else— a little muffled through the door, but clear as day. because it sends a jolt straight through you.

your name.

he’s having a nightmare, you remind yourself. he could be just calling out to you in that sense, because that would be logical. but then he says your name again. and again.

and it’s just your name.

not sam’s.

not cas’.

just. yours.

and dean sounds like a man possessed at this point. his eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s trying to banish the image of you from his mind.

but he can’t. and he never would.

he just can’t do it. can’t keep himself in check anymore.

so that’s why dean groans your name at the next motion of his hand on his dick— saying it for the fourth time since you’ve been stopped outside his door.

and it wasn’t a ‘i’m-in-so-much-pain-and-scared’ groan, the kind when someone has a nightmare— no, dean’s groan sounded like a ‘oh-that-feels-so-fuckin-good’ groan, like the kind someone makes when…

oh.

oh.

dean knows he sounds pretty close to, if not completely pathetic. not at all like the good ol’ badass hunter of lore, not that you’d believed him to be. you’d think he’d sound more in control, or at least not whimpering.

dean’s battled both heaven and hell. purgatory. angels, demons, monsters, even sometimes, just people, you name it— he’s fought it and kicked its freakin’ ass, even god himself.

and his one fault? his only weakness?

you.

it’s always been just you. your stupid pretty face. the way you laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny. the way you stood by him and his brother’s side— and in the hunting world, associating with the winchesters meant a death sentence. you didn’t care, though. you never did. it was in the way you were always there, especially when it counted.

and here he was. jerking off and thinking about you.

this had to be rock bottom. right? if not that, purely a whole new level of scumbag. even if you couldn’t hear him.

oh, but you could. and you’re lingering outside dean’s door— because you didn’t even have to put your ear on it to hear the noises he was making, clear as day.

dean feels like he’s drunk, delirious. this always happened whenever he fantasized about you. a pathetic, groaning and whimpering mess. hell, in this state, he’d damn well beg.

and oh, he was.

“fuckin’— please— god, i need you, please—”

damn, you could almost see it— dean’s hand, hidden by the dark of his room, but the way the sheets move makes it obvious just where his hand is. and it’s a blur.

yeah. there was no more holding out, no more being strong. not now.

because dean feels like he’s on the edge of his own personal hell.

and you? you’re stuck.

dean was… well, fucking doing that. and you’re just… stuck. you would have just kept walking past his door, putting your pillow between your ears and teasing him about it tomorrow morning.

because instead crying or groaning out the name of some random girl or even farah fawcett— dean was currently begging.

for you.

and you’re still stuck. dean feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. he’s gonna cum again, he knows it. he also knows he should be quiet, but the words and your name just keep spilling out of his mouth, and he’s too far gone to stop them.

“ah— fuck. please. please, please, goddamn it, i need you, i need you, i need you…”

yeah, dean’s brain’s not in charge anymore. honestly? it hasn’t been since he met you all those years ago— with your stupid pretty hair, and your stupid pretty mouth, and the stupid soft sounds you make in your sleep that drove him insane whenever you used to share a motel room.

dean needs you.

and you needed a fucking cold-ass shower.

because the way dean was sounding right now? he only sounded like that in your dreams. your deepest, darkest fantasies. it was making your knees buckle.

yeah. there’s absolutely no way any of this was real. this was straight out of a porno. this had to be the trickster’s doing, or something.

because the real dean didn’t act like this. and yet, here he was. and here you were, your stomach flipping each time a sound leaves dean’s mouth and bounces off the wooden door that was still splitting you two apart.

and right then and there, you wished you had the balls to just open it.

because you wanted to be right there next to dean, pulling those noises out of him yourself.

“need you—need you right there, need you, right, right, oh, god, there—”

even in dean’s own fantasies, the ones that drove him to insanity like right now, he’d always thought about this. you actually being there, him actually saying all this to you.

dean would’ve given anything, then. anything. just to have you right next to him in his bed.

yeah, well, you’re still just stuck.

because what the fuck do you do.

do you walk back to your room? pretend you didn’t notice? pretend it never happened? not listen to the sounds dean was making?

or, do you open the door? go in his room and just show dean how you’d really felt about him— for years now?

and lately, it seemed like you all you could think and dream about was being in the same bed with dean, touching every part of him.

because if you were in there right now, you’d touch dean’s skin that you yourself had deemed forbidden, because it’d be seen as crossing a line, breaking a boundary.

hello? reality check, anyone?

come on. dean was your friend.

but the noises he was making in your name— because of you? that was anything but.

yeah. if you were in there, you’d start with your hands on dean’s chest, going lower, and lower, until he started making the sounds he was making now, gasping and begging right in your ear for you, not stopping until he completely just—

yeah, that was it.

you knew your answer.

and dean needs exactly what you’re about to do. because god, he’s thought about it. in the dead of night, when he was alone, or when you’d been just out of reach sitting next to him in a dive bar, he’s wanted this. wanted you.

dean wanted to know the way your hands would feel against his skin, how your body would feel against his own. he’s thought about it. hell, he’d dreamed about it. fantasized— just like he was doing now.

and dean was still fantasizing when you throw away every single rational thought you had at the moment and manage to open his door without making a noise— thank you, hunter skills.

this was crazy. right?

eh. you’ve done crazier.

no. not like this.

and not with dean.

but still, you managed to cross the threshold of dean’s room— and you even sit down on the edge of his bed.

okay, the more you thought about it…was this awkward?

maybe.

oh, but dean doesn’t even notice you— his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted and huffing out pants and broken noises as one of his hands continues to move fervently. his hips are wild, bucking into his hand— and his body is shaking his entire bed frame.

dean’s too far gone to notice anything, lost in a fantasy that’s been haunting him for longer than he’s willing to admit out loud. the only thing that could even remotely stop him would be—

hold on.

dean’s hit by a familiar scent— the one he’d been imagining this whole time. but that really does smell like— and its now so close, so real, it practically envelopes him. and his eyes open to—

you.

right there. in his bed. within reach. looking at him like he’s always wanted you to look at him.

and there’s no disgust or anger on your face as you look down at dean, still frozen in place. no, just a hint of amusement, mixed with something else—

something dangerously close to pure want.

you don’t say anything, even though you know you should by now. because now dean knew that you knew exactly what he’d just been doing— more importantly, you were now aware of who the focus of it all was.

and goddamn if the look on your face doesn’t have dean pausing, too. he’s never seen it on your face before. and it’s too dark in his room for him to really make it out, but he thinks he sees—

you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t grossed out, or even angry.

you’re just… looking at him like the fantasy he’s been chasing isn’t a goddamn fantasy anymore— but instead something he could reach out and touch. feel.

dean has to swallow whatever excuse he could come up with to talk himself out of what you’d just walked in on. what you’d just heard. and his mouth is dry.

a part of you wants to pounce onto dean right now. to kiss him silly, touch him everywhere and make him gasp your name again— only with you being the sole instigator this time.

but the annoying other part of you halted that urge.

and why?

because of your stupid morals.

your goddamned feelings.

and you had to ask dean, had to know— even if the answer hurt you.

“how long?”

dean’s brain almost completely flatlines for a long moment. though, he knows what you’re insinuating, of course.

how long dean has been thinking about you in that way? how long and hard had he fantasized about his hands on your body, his mouth on your skin, and his dick buried so deep inside you, he gets hand cramps almost every night he’s alone?

yeah. it scares him, just how goddamn long it’s been.

“…years.”

that was all you needed. in reality, you don’t actually pounce or anything, but you do move closer to dean on his bed, tossing one leg over both of his to straddle his lap before meeting his gaze again.

“you have no idea,” your voice is barely above a whisper to dean as you keep his gaze, making yourself comfortable in his lap. “how much i wanted to hear that.”

and dean can’t help the groan he lets out, at feeling your weight, your body, straddling his lap. he’s spent too many nights dreaming of exactly this. his hands automatically go to your hips, as if they’re on autopilot.

because he’s not in charge anymore.

and honestly?

he doesn’t think he ever was when it came to you.

and a small smile tugs on your lips when you feel dean’s hands on your hips— your own fingers start to trail from his wrists and up his arms, your pace slow, but deliberate.

because you were going to memorize every inch of dean that you could.

oh, dean’s just barely managing to keep his hips still, to not buck up underneath you. he can feel you, now that you’re straddling him, the heat there, where he’d wanted to feel you for so, so long.

and when your fingers trail up his arms, dean shudders. because it’s so gentle, tender. he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him this way, if at all.

your hands eventually reach dean’s face. oh, his gorgeous face. you cup both sides, taking in everything: those green eyes of his, the freckles you could see only if you were up close dusting on his nose and cheeks—his features were illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp, but you could see so much because of how close you both were now.

the slight smile is still on your lips as you look at dean— because you were still a little sure you were going to wake up at some point.

but this wasn’t a dream, you had to remind myself. dean was under you. he wanted you, in the same way you’d wanted him for as long as you can remember.

and dean feels like he can’t breathe properly. he’s been slapped, punched, cut, beaten, tortured, everything violent under the sun done to his face— but no one’s had their hands on it like this.

he feels too exposed, too vulnerable, but he doesn’t move.

because it’s you. it could only ever be you.

dean keeps his gaze locked to yours, even as he has to stop himself from just completely melting into the palms of your hands on his face. he wants to look at you for forever, keep you just like this— and his expression is so open, so bare.

your thumbs gently graze across both of dean’s cheeks as you hold his face in your hands.

and you can’t look away.

so you don’t.

but you do lean a fraction closer to dean in his lap, breaking the silence in a hushed whisper— because there goes your stupid doubts and feelings, again.

“you want this?”

even though he almost wants to, dean can’t laugh. not when he knows you’re being serious. it kills him, a little— that you’re still doubting it.

because how could he not want this? you?

“god, yes.” dean’s not even sure if he says that out loud, or just thinks it— but he’s nodding regardless, and with the movement bringing his face even closer to yours.

and your gaze softens almost completely when dean says that— but there’s one doubt that sticks, even when his words wash all the others away from your mind. the one that’s been there almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“de, i…” you don’t take your hands off of dean’s face when you try to speak again— but the words die in your throat. you swallow a little, averting your gaze.

and god, when dean hears you hesitate, he’s already on edge.

dean doesn’t know what you’re about to say,— all he’s aware of is that you’re now looking away from him. and he can’t have that, so he brings his hand (non-jerking, of course) to your chin, gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him again.

he tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t.

“tell me.”

you’re forced to keep dean’s gaze when his hand touches your face— and his fingers are so warm, you almost lose your train of thought completely.

you’ve wanted dean for so long— but you had to make sure he fully felt the same way you did.

not just lust. not something to walk past awkwardly the next day.

“i— i can’t do this… just for tonight,” you swallow hard again, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flick between dean’s. “but i… i think you know that.”

even with the worry that had been coursing through his veins, dean couldn’t help but be impressed at the fact you think there’s a chance in hell he’d be able to have you once and just… let you go afterwards. his hand on your chin drops a fraction, resting on the side of your throat instead. he swallows, then finds his voice.

“i know.”

your gaze softens a little— and it’s a little embarrassing how much weight felt completely lifted off your chest when dean says that.

you had denied your feelings for dean for years now. and now knowing that he felt the same way, it was getting harder and harder to control the urge to just do what you wanted.

“well, good,” you bring your hands to tilt dean’s head up more to you as you’re in his lap, eyes flicking down to his lips— because you so needed to know what they felt like. “that’s— that’s good.”

and damn, if dean isn’t already struggling. nothing’s even happened yet, and he’s trying his best just to keep still, to resist all his natural impulses and desires to just grab you and never, ever let you go. when your eyes flick down to his lips, his follow suit almost instantly. his voice is almost a damn croak when he responds.

“yeah?”

all your senses were filled with just dean. and you needed more. you’d denied your feelings for far too long— years now, in fear of him not reciprocating. but you couldn’t deny your feelings or your urges anymore.

“yeah,” you echo back in an exhale, your thumbs grazing on dean’s cheeks. your gaze is still on his lips, but you look back up at him. “you— you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

hot damn.

dean feels like he’s going to wake up at any second at those words that just came out of your mouth. because he never dared to let himself hope that you could feel the same way he did. and it’s been so, so goddamn long of wanting you with every fiber of his being, wanting to touch you and hold you and never, ever let you go.

oh, he’s too far gone to even feel sheepish about how he’s almost shaking now, hands trembling and breath coming fast as he’s barely keeping the reins on his self-control.

dean’s trembling sends a shiver down your spine. even after you just said all that, he still wanted this.

you might die.

or you were already in some version of heaven that jack made up.

because dean wanted you.

“just lemme kiss you,” dean would be embarrassed of how desperate and out of breath he sounded if he could give two damns. he says your name again: “please—”

dean can’t even think straight anymore. yet, never could when it came to you. his hands go to your thighs, gripping tight like it’s all he can do to resist the urge to just flip you over right that moment.

you can’t hold back anymore.

neither can he.

so you don’t.

you close the final distance between you both, taking his mouth in a kiss that’s hard, desperate and full of years’ worth of emotion.

and dean’s lips felt like home. and that’s a weird thing to say, but it was true. you’d never kissed him before this, but it really was him that you’d been missing all this time.

your hands on dean’s face trail into his hair, and you could feel yourself completely melting into him when you pull myself closer to him in his lap, hips fully slotting with his own— and you both groan a little at the feeling.

dean kisses you like a goddamn starving man, his hands gripping at your thighs so hard he’s afraid he’s leaving marks. but he can’t bring himself to care, because he’s finally kissing you. finally having you in the way he’s only dreamt of.

dean hasn’t been touched— kissed like this, ever.

like he’s something precious. to be loved. it makes him feel weak. but he can’t really bring himself to care about that, either.

all you could think about was how good dean smelled. and as his lips danced with yours, he even tasted good. like whiskey and something you couldn’t place— but it sure as hell was definitely dean.

and god, it’s perfect. dean’s trying to swallow the little noises his mouth is threatening to make again as you kiss him back, kissing him like you feel the same— he thinks he’s losing his mind for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

dean’s grip on your thighs tightens even more. he couldn’t help it anymore— he rocks you against his lap, his hips bucking up against yours in an involuntary but much needed movement. and a little sound pretty close to a whimper does escape him this time, hitting your lips as you grind your own hips down onto him.

you had to break your lips from dean’s to get stupid air, but your forehead rests against his as one of your hands unlatches itself from his hair, trailing downward on the fabric of his henley as you’re in his lap.

and you’d tease him about the noises he’s making— if it wasn’t leaving your underwear a complete and sopping mess because of it.

dean’s mind is hazy, lost in the feel of you against him and in his lap, his mind trying to keep up with all the things happening.

he’s a hunter, goddamn it.

he needs to get a freakin’ grip.

but he can’t.

because of the way your kiss felt like a drug. the way you’re so close he can feel your breathing, and the way you’re grinding up against him like you mean it—

and then dean feels your hand on his shirt, sliding further down past his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to go insane. he’s hallucinating, under some sort of spell that shows you what you’ve always desired. that’s the only plausible explanation.

but this was real. oh, so real.

dean’s hands were still holding on for dear life on your thighs, but your own was still going farther and farther down the fabric of the henley he was wearing, stopping at the hem and tugging on it, talking against his lips—

“put your arms up f’me, dean.”

goddamn, if that doesn’t make him literally shiver when you say his name like that, all breathless and pretty.

and dean follows the instruction, raising his arms and letting you pull the shirt over his head, revealing his the skin underneath.

he’s not even embarrassed of his scars, the marks on his body from over the years. not with you. the uneven skin told their own tales he wouldn’t dare open his mouth about, even after three whiskeys deep.

you discard dean’s shirt somewhere in his room without another thought when he lifts his arms up.

you’ve actually only seen dean shirtless twice— once after a hunt, and if you count that one time when that motel room with shitty air conditioning that got too hot last summer. you kept your eyes glued to the lore in front of you then, not daring to look.

this time, however, you couldn’t look away.

not even if you tried.

your lips are parted in what could only be described as pure awe while your eyes and fingers rake over every inch of new skin revealed while still in dean’s lap. first trailing a path up his exposed arms as your eyes continue to drink in all the details of him you’d never thought you’d see.

dean has never, ever been looked at the way you’re looking at him right now.

your fingers continue to trail up dean’s arms, fingertips grazing on the scars you could see in the dim light of his room. you actually knew some of them— having been there when he sustained the wound that made the scar, but a lot were new to you.

and you wanted to memorize it all.

it’s almost embarrassing how he feels like something to be worshipped under your touch. like someone to be taken care of. to be cherished.

as your fingers trail up his arms, he has to bite down on a whine in the back of his throat— forcing himself to keep still under your gaze as you rake your gaze over him. his voice is rough and hoarse when he manages to speak, but all he could get out was your name.

your hands found themselves resting dean’s shoulders while you take in the breathtaking view that is him under you, meeting his gaze when he says your name, voice just as quiet as his.

“yeah, de?”

your touch feels like dean took the jumper cables he had in the back of baby and put it against his skin. but it’s so soft, so gentle. it’s also making his whole body ache, yet he just wants more. and he can’t keep his eyes off you, either. the way you’re looking at him, at his scars like they’re nothing to be ashamed about… it’s almost safe.

dean swallows, hands coming to rest on your waist now that he’s topless. his voice sounds wrecked, broken.

because he’s begging.

“touch me.”

dean’s hands on your waist were making your heart beat all out of rhythm— and you almost completely lose your train of thought looking into his green eyes, wide and blown out.

for you.

you just nod at dean’s words— and your fingers continue their journey downward from dean’s shoulders, trailing over his skin until you eventually reach the waistband of his boxers, and you keep your hands there on the fabric when you look back up at him.

because you still needed to know:

“can i take these off?”

oh, for the love of—

dean nods rapidly before you’re even done asking, because he’d do anything, anything, to have you touch him like he had been not just a few minutes earlier— in fact, he’s already lifting his hips off the bed to make it easier for you, because he’s not about to hesitate. he needs you. he’s needed you for too goddamn long.

and when you manage to pull off dean’s boxers, discarding them in one fell swoop after he confirms and lifts his hips for you, your eyes widen at the sight of him completely exposed beneath you on his bed— and a quiet ‘jesus christ’ escapes from your lips before you can stop it.

and your reaction makes dean’s breath hitch. because it’s not a disgusted one— it’s the exact opposite. he feels vulnerable like this, exposed to you in a way he’s never been to anyone else. he should feel embarrassed. but he doesn’t, oddly enough.

his voice is so goddamn quiet when he bites down on another whine.

“please.”

and you just nod again. then both your hands find dean’s chest once more— and you start trailing a path down his lower torso with your fingers.

dean can’t help the way he lets out a strangled moan at your touch against his bare skin. with no clothing in the way to block it, he’s so much more sensitive. every single touch makes his breath hitch, his head spinning with how perfect it feels.

it’s too much.

and yet, he needs more.

dean’s hands find your hips again, gripping, trying to get you even an inch closer to him.

and as your fingers get lower and lower on dean’s stomach, you hesitate your hands. not because you weren’t sure— but it felt… well, wrong not to at least ask him for permission first.

so you look back up and meet dean’s gaze, eyes searching his again as you whisper, shifting closer to him in his lap.

“can i go lower?”

and at your question, a sharp shiver wracks through dean’s whole body— he’s half convinced he’s going to to just cum right there, even if you don’t end up touching him.

dean’s practically trembling under you now, hands gripping tighter on your hips. he tries to speak again, to say something— but his voice comes out in a strangled moan.

all he can do is nod against his headboard.

a soft exhale escapes you when dean confirms. you nod— and don’t hesitate again.

not when he was like this.

you take all of him in one of your hands— but you don’t even try to look away from his face while you do so. because you had to see his face for this.

and dean feels like the air’s getting ripped from his lungs at how good your touch feels. he’s never felt anything like this before. it could be the fact that he hasn’t had actual sex in a while (apparently, he’s considered old now), or purely just because of you.

yeah, but dean’s never been touched like this before. so goddamn gentle. but it’s still perfect. his eyes are still locked to yours, and his expression looks pained. it’s all too much, after wanting this for so long.

and all he can do is whisper your name before your hand starts to move.

you start starts slow— not too slow, though, because dean had already fucked his palm tonight more times tonight than he’d like to admit.

dean’s eyes actually flutter shut for a moment when your hand starts to move, a moan catching in the back of his throat. because it’s barely even started, and it’s so good. too good.

dean’s hands on your waist are close to shaking now, but he has to speak— even as it comes out in a hoarse croak.

because he needs—

“more. jesus, i need—”

you don’t even entertain the thought to tease dean or not do as he asked— because the sounds he was desperately trying to keep in were making you want to keep going, to not stop.

so you don’t stop. your hand speeds up, going back and forth on dean’s dick— and your gaze still doesn’t leave his while in his lap, touching him in the way you’ve always wanted to for so long.

and when you pick up the pace, dean’s breath hitches even more— god, it’s so good, but he still needs more. his hands are shaking as they grip tight on your waist, and his eyes somehow keep your gaze, even as his head feels like it’s spinning right into his headboard.

dean manages to get out his next request, in a begging whisper of a breath. he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so desperate.

“please— please, i need—”

“its alright,” you nod before he can finish this time, leaning your head and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i gotcha, de.”

and that’s it. you say those words and dean feels like he could cum right there. he’s already so close, just from your touch, the way your hand’s moving so beautifully up and down on his dick. the way you’re looking at him. he tries to keep his eyes open, too— to keep looking at you, but everything you’re giving him is starting to overwhelm him, he can hardly even breathe anymore.

dean glances down at your hand between both of you— big mistake, because the sight of your fingers around his dick and covered in him makes him let out strangled whimper. he bites down on his lip hard, his head falling back against the headboard and his eyes screwing shut. because it’s embarrassing how close he is to cumming in your hand.

you notice, of course— your hand doesn’t let up, but your other hand on dean’s shoulder goes to the side of his face, thumb grazing on his cheek. it’s a stark contrast to what you’re doing to his dick.

“de, its okay,” you reassure dean as his breaths become more and more unsteady, eyes flicking over his face. “you can let go if you wanna.”

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

as soon you give him permission, dean’s gone.

his body suddenly goes rigid, then he’s bucking his hips into your hand so erratically and sloppily you would’ve been knocked from your position on dean’s lap if he hadn’t buried his face in your still clothed chest, tightened his arms fully around you and pulled you closer to him. he cums loud and hard, a mixture of soft groans, whimpers, swears and pants of your name spilling into the fabric of your shirt.

you’d never heard him like this before, ever.

but dean winchester— the man, the myth, the hunter god, was whimpering as you’re in his lap.

for you.

because of you.

and because it’s all too damn much— the way your hand feels, the touch of your thumb against his face, the look in your eyes when you said that it’s okay for him to let go of the tight rein he’s been holding onto for so long.

dean can feel himself shaking and still coming apart under you as you guide him through it, his face buried in your shoulder as you pull every last bit of pleasure out of him that he has with your fingers. he’s never felt so goddamn free before. he’s never come apart, not like this— not completely exposed like this.

dean’s hands are still shaking as they rest your waist, his entire body almost trembling with it being still so overwhelming. but it was perfect. and he needs to say that, to tell you that it was everything he’d ever wanted—

“please— please, just kiss me.”

and that comes out of dean’s mouth instead. you’d barely started to wipe your hand when the words spill out in a plea— a beg into your shirt. you’re a little surprised that was the first thing he said post-orgasm.

but still, you lean back just enough after dean says that, bringing your free hand to the side of his face while still in his lap, your gaze flicking between his in the dark of his room for just a moment before you lean back in, pressing your lips onto his again.

dean doesn’t hold back now. he doesn’t care about the mess he just made, the way he sounded, or the fact that he begged you to kiss him after you just made him cum.

he kisses you like a starved man, like the air he was breathing needed to come from your mouth and not any other source. his hands move to the back of your hips, gripping your shirt tight and pulling you even closer to him on his lap, now that your hand wasn’t between you both anymore.

dean tears his lips off of yours— and he is still just barely coming back to himself. his brain still hazy from pleasure, from you, but he tries to get out words because he needs to tell you how much he still wants, needs you. his hands grip tight on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll just get up and leave if he lets go. his voice is still wrecked when he only manages to whisper your name again.

you don’t move out from dean’s lap, though. you stay pressed against him, his skin so warm and flushed against your own. neither of you had to say anything to know how intimate this all was. dean should be attempting to at least do something besides burying his face back in your shirt.

but you don’t let dean stay like that for too long. your hands go to the sides of his face, holding his head as you tilt it back to look up at you, searching his gaze as you continue to straddle him. and your own voice is a whisper, too.

“y’okay?”

and god, dean feels like his entire body’s just come apart again at that single word, because how do you answer a question like that.

dean has to take a breath, because he still feels the aftermath of it. everywhere. he nods, once— because he’s better than even alright. then again, because he has to tell you that, too.

“yeah,” he manages to get that out, and it’s still so damn wrecked, so out of breath. “more than okay.”

“okay, good,” your gaze softens and you nod when dean confirms that he was okay— and your other now-clean hand finds the side of his face when he looks up at you. a small smile tugs on your lips as your thumbs graze on his cheek. “just checkin’.”

dean’s blown-out eyes are still locked to yours as you brush your thumb against his skin, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling you touch him like this.

it’s so tender. so soft.

and dean’s just… lost. in you.

but dean does finally manage to speak again, his voice still hoarse as his hands release from your hips start to trail down, calloused fingers rubbing gently on your exposed thighs and saying your name like a prayer. “god, i need—”

you keep dean’s gaze still— but not before glancing down to see his hands on your bare thighs in his dimly-lit bedroom as you straddle him.

dean’s hands looked like they belonged on you.

felt like it, too.

one of your own hands reaches down from dean’s face to his on your thigh, grasping on his fingers with yours.

“tell me what you need,” your voice is still a hush of a whisper, but remains completely and utterly genuine as you search dean’s gaze. “de, tell me what you need me to do, and i’ll do it.”

holy goddamn.

dean’s breath actually stutters a little at that, because you sound so ready, so willing— he can’t help but let those last three years of pining, of wanting you, of hoping show as he looks up at you.

“ride me. please.”

the words come out in a half-choked plea. dean’s so damn desperate for you, he’d beg. hell, he was begging in the darkness.

and you weren’t about to say no.

your hands take themselves off of dean’s face and hand, lifting your leg to discard your sleep shorts, then your (soaked) undies— then going to the shirt that you’d still been wearing, grabbing the hem of it and tearing it off, discarding it somewhere in his room before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

and when that finally comes off, too, dean’s entire damn body tenses. because he felt like the air had just been ripped from his lungs.

again.

he’s seeing you more exposed to him, for him than he’s ever seen you before— and the sight of you like this is goddamn perfect. you’re so perfect.

dean’s hands tighten on your thighs, his eyes taking in the view of you like a man starved.

“holy—”

there’s a thousand words he has for you right now. things like beautiful, perfect, mine. but he can’t get them out yet. because his brain is still trying to catch up from the fact that you’re actually here and naked in his lap.

both of dean’s hands reach for your hips as he’s still staring up at you in awe, his fingers gently but almost greedily gripping on you— because he wants to touch you so bad that he wants to let out a goddamn sob. because no one has ever felt like this for him.

because no one has ever come close to the way he craved you.

your eyes meet back up to dean’s green ones once again. you didn’t have to tell him anything or even say something else.

so that’s why you just nod, then reach down between you both once more, starting to fully sink yourself on dean’s dick— all while still keeping his gaze while you let your hands rest on his shoulders, a exhale escaping you both.

you not even halfway on his dick, and dean thinks he might bust again right then and there. his fingers dig into your hip, all while a groan escapes his parted lips: “ah, shit—”

and oh, he’s big. it takes you a second, but you sink down completely on top of him, your pussy sucking him all up— dean feels like he can’t breathe. again. the sight of you like this is gonna fuel his jerk off sessions for the rest of his goddamn life.

dean’s not sure if it’s possible, but he uses his hands on your hips to gently just pull you even closer against him— which ended up being a mistake, because you involuntarily clench around him. his head drops in between your tits at the action.

and.

he.

whines.

“f— fuck—”

yeah. dean just whined at the feeling of being inside of you, eyes screwed shut and everything as he buries his face deeper between your breasts— you can feel the pant of air and his lips on your skin.

dean’s fingers lace together with yours fully, holding your hand tightly while his other is still gripping tight on the meat of your hip, finally taking his face off of you to look up at you above him.

and oh. you’re a goddess, at least. not something heavenly though, because angels are dicks— but you look unreal as you look back down at dean, your mouth just a little parted from feeling him.

dean twitches a little inside you as he tries to find words, just a few, to tell you how much he wants this— or at least to tell you to move.

all he can get out, though?

“p— please.”

you don’t have to ask for clarification.

you know what dean’s asking for.

so you give it to him.

you grind your hips—and dean whines a little again at that— down onto his just once, testing the waters before you find a rhythm.

and dean feels his entire brain just go on complete and total motherfucking overdrive. because this is it. he’s finally getting the most intimate part of you, the part he’s been wanting for so damn long— he literally can’t see straight anymore. that’s how good it feels. how good you feel.

dean’s head goes in between your tits again, still holding your hand as you move your hips on top on him, grinding down on his dick. his other arm goes around your waist, pressing himself against you and gripping you tight in an attempt to steady himself— but it barely helps. his eyes screw shut again, and he’s letting out another whimper before he can stop it.

“fff— oh, fuck—”

a moan drops from your mouth, too, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds dean’s making, gasping and groaning into your skin as he fucks up into you, meeting your movements. his dick is brushing on that spot that makes you groan— and kickstarts your urge to go faster.

so you do.

dean can’t control anything right now. his hips are bucking up into you erratically, the movements only being stunted a little due to how strong your thighs were around him as you straddle him.

your hand not holding dean’s goes into his hair as you’re both pressed together for a better grip— and dean almost sees stars. he groans a little again, his breaths coming in hard pants on the skin between your breasts.

and the praise falls from your lips onto dean’s ear before you can stop it—

“you’re doin’ so good, de.”

dean feels like he’s gonna cry. just from how perfectly good you feel on top of him— and he’s making the most delicious noises that sound like words but it’s just broken moans mixed with whimpers. his hand on your hip tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but you don’t mind all that much.

“ah, don’ worry, i gotcha,” you whisper against dean’s ear again, your hand tightening on his as you let out a rough exhale, chest heaving rapidly against his as your movements don’t falter once. “you’re doing so good f’me, dean.”

dean’s not in control of the sounds that come out his damn mouth anymore— the praise goes straight to his dick, straight to the familiar burning building low in his tummy. it’s just all swearing, sounds of your name and incoherent begging being said into your skin.

“ah— shit, fuckin’— please—”

dean’s not even trying to stop the words from rushing out of his mouth right now, even if he sounds pathetic. because it all feels so goddamn good, and he’s being so good— for you.

and dean can feel nothing but you right now, in every sense possible. everything else has been long gone, and he’s been so goddamn wrapped up in how good your pussy feels around his dick.

dean gasps for air, because wants to tell you that you’ve ruined every living thing for him in the entire goddamn universe forever.

he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum— again.

“jesusfuckin’christ— oh, please—” is what comes out of him instead.

the words are barely intelligible, and dean’s whole body is starting to tense underneath you as he manages to choke out a ragged cry of your name. your hand is still gripping hard onto his own, the other burying itself deeper his hair. you needed to hold onto him right now. shit, you needed a sec.

because dean winchester was begging to cum inside of you.

you almost stop grinding down on him for a second— the keyword being almost.

you just nod against dean’s head still buried in your tits, holding him against you as you talk into his ear again.

“go ahead, baby.”

dean almost sobs again when you say that. he lets go completely just as before, his hands’ grips becoming painful on you as his whole body shakes and convulses against yours, the movements of his hips becoming so erratic once more as he’s painting your walls with his… sixth? seventh? load of the night— only this time, it’s inside of you. and he’s making every sound in the book: whimpers, groans, a whine here and there, too.

you came, too— but honestly, if you didn’t, you would’ve been fine either way. seeing and hearing dean come apart like this was enough to last you a lifetime.

you don’t know how long dean and you stay like that, pressed into each other and panting, fluids mixed together, spilling out and sticking all over your thighs— but even as you pull back just enough to look down at him, dean’s still trembling under you, long after both your orgasms had surpassed their high, melting into a thick haze between you two.

dean can’t look at you— or won’t, but either way, your hand in his hair trails to the side of his face, and you gently force him to look up at you.

dean swallows hard, and his face flushes. the embarrassment was finally, finally starting to set in now that he’d fucked you and himself out. he braces himself for the teasing, the jokes— and the look on your face.

but you weren’t looking down at dean like he was pathetic, or weak. you never did— and you sure as hell weren’t about to start now, after he’d just shown you every side you’d wanted to see of him.

no, you just smile a little, eyes flicking between dean’s as your thumb grazes on his cheek. he can’t help but lean his head into your palm as you exhale your next words out in a breath—

“that was really fuckin’ hot.”

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

heyyyyyyy guys… soooo how we doin’? LMFAOOOOOOOO this has got to be the longest i’ve ever spent on a fic (only for dean wbk!)

and i know i said this last time, but on a real note: if you have stayed to the very end— first, THANK YOU FOR READING! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write (again). i would love to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina + i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[agentstarkid]

CUANDO PENSÉ, POR FIN LA GUERRA ACABÓ, FUISTE UNA BALA PERDIDA ✦ DR3

✦ PAIRING: daniel ricciardo x famous!latina!reader

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 10.3K

✦ TRACK LIMITS: some fluff, some angst, Daniel Ricciardo (he is a menace so it's only fair imo), found family (I guess?), complicated feelings, a teeny tiny bit of horniness—english is not my first language, besties.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: you can easily guess which scene i wrote when i was ovulating *sigh* i really wanted to post the 20.3K chapter in one go but tumblr is a bully and didn't let me, so this is part 1 of a chapter that i've been dying to write for well over a year 🫡 — that ring and the ‘let's fuck’ one alter my brain chemistry every time he wears them 😮‍💨

Part of The Joker & The Queen series | Set at the end of Revenant.

Divider by: cafekitsune

Meet: Fiorella | Vittoria | Danna

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The rest of the night passed in a comfortable blur of good food, laughter, and just the right amount of chaos.

Dinner was a feast—Vitto’s coxinhas were as perfect as ever, crispy on the outside, warm and gooey on the inside, making everyone groan in delight after the first bite. Andrew, ever the dramatic one, declared that he’d fight someone for the last one, which led to an impromptu game of rock-paper-scissors between him and Blake. (Blake lost, but only because Andrew played dirty and distracted him at the last second.)

(Also, did you know Aussies say “Scissors, Paper, Rock”? What the f—! The discussion around the correct way to call it took at least an hour, it was an “Aussie vs. The Rest of the World” battle.) 

Danna had brought a fancy bottle of white wine, something rich and sweet that went down a little too easily. The conversation flowed just as freely, weaving between teasing, old stories, and even a few slightly embarrassing confessions.

And then, of course, came UNO.

What started as a friendly game quickly spiraled into one of the most aggressive rounds the house had ever seen. Alliances were made and immediately broken. Accusations flew. Fio nearly flipped the entire deck when Andrew hit her with a Draw Four. Iza, sitting on Vitto’s lap with her own tiny set of cards, giggled at the madness, blissfully unaware of the true betrayal happening at the table.

By the time the game ended—Danna victorious, because of course she was—it was well past midnight, and one by one, everyone began to retreat to bed.

You turned and turned in bed, replaying the day's events—specifically, every moment spent with Daniel.

It wasn’t intentional. You had done your best to stay busy, to throw yourself into the excitement of Iza’s birthday preparations, to laugh and dance and lose yourself in the warmth of your friends. But every time you let your guard down, your mind circled back to him.

The way his eyes softened when he watched you with Iza. The ghost of a smirk when you got a little too competitive during UNO. The effortless way he fit into the group, like nothing had changed—like time hadn’t carved a painful gap between you.

But it had.

You exhaled sharply, flipping onto your stomach and pressing your face into the pillow. Stop thinking about him.

Easier said than done.

Because the truth was, for the first time in a long time, being around Daniel didn’t feel like a knife twisting in your chest. It didn’t feel like walking through a minefield of old wounds and unspoken words. It just… was.

And maybe that scared you more than anything.

Your phone lit up with a new message, the glow casting soft light against the darkened room.

“Meu anjo, como foi o seu dia?”

A pang of guilt settled in your chest. You hadn’t texted him all day—not out of neglect, but because you’ve been busy. The day had just been full—of laughter, of movement, of memories, of…him.

You sighed, shifting onto your back as you stared at the message. It wasn’t like you had meant to ignore him.

You swallowed hard, pushing that last thought aside.

“Oi, meu céu! Sorry I didn't text you earlier. The day was a little busy but fun. And you? Cómo está Ibiza?”

His reply came almost instantly.

“I know you're busy, don’t worry. Bom demais, meu amor. My day was relaxed, enjoying time with family and friends… but I missed you.”

Your chest tightened. I missed you too.

You chewed on your lip, a familiar warmth spreading through you. Rúben was steady. Constant. He was always there, always checking in, always making sure you were okay.

And yet…

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the unease away. It wasn’t fair to him—not when he gave you nothing but patience and love.

“I missed you too. I can't wait to see you in Greece!” You bit your lip, shifting onto your side.

“Not long, meu anjo. Enjoy these days, and rest too, okay?”

You knew he meant it—he always looked out for you, even from miles away. And you loved him for that. But as you typed out your goodnight message, the guilt twisted a little deeper.

“Okay, you too, mi cielo! I’m counting the days. Tell Vancinho and your parents I said hi! I love you.”

You locked your phone before he could respond, burying your face into the pillow.

Tomorrow was a new day. A busy one. One where you wouldn’t let your mind wander where it shouldn’t.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you drifted off to sleep.

Morning came too soon, sunlight filtering through the sheer curtains, casting a soft golden glow over the room. You blinked against the brightness, groaning as you reached blindly for your phone.

7:12 AM.

You had barely gotten five hours of sleep. Your mind had been too restless, thoughts swirling between the past and the present, between what was and what could have been. But today, there was no time to dwell.

Sighing, you forced yourself out of bed. If sleep wasn’t an option, you might as well be productive.

Padding quietly into the kitchen, you weren’t surprised to find Vitto already there, her hair tied up in a messy bun, coffee mug in hand. She looked up as you entered, immediately noticing the slight bags under your eyes.

“Alguém não dormiu bem,” she observed, raising an eyebrow.

You groaned, reaching for a mug. “Shut up.”

She smirked but let it go, handing you the coffee pot. “At least you’re up. We have a lot to do today.”

You nodded, taking a sip of the warm liquid. “What’s the plan?”

“Andy and I hired a party planner and decorator to help set everything up outside,” she said, stretching. “But we still need to help with some final touches, make sure everything is perfect for our little cowgirl’s big day.”

You smiled at the thought of Iza’s excitement. “She’s going to love it.”

“Of course she is,” Vitto grinned. “This ain’t her first rodeo, after all.”

You chuckled at her playful wink, finally feeling a bit lighter. The moment was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing. You frowned, exchanging a glance with Vitto.

“Who the hell is up at this hour?” you muttered.

Before Vitto could respond, Daniel appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily, sweat clinging to his shirt from his morning run. He paused when he saw the two of you, running a hand through his damp curls.

“Morning,” he greeted, voice slightly hoarse.

Your stomach flipped.

Vitto, ever observant, narrowed her eyes at you before smirking slightly. “Morning, Danny. You went for a run?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. “Needed to clear my head before all the chaos starts.”

You swallowed hard, fingers tightening around your coffee mug. If only a run could clear your head as easily.

Daniel’s gaze flickered to you for a moment—just long enough for you to notice. Then, just as quickly, he turned back to Vitto, asking about the party plans.

You exhaled slowly, trying to push the tension aside, taking another sip of your coffee.

Daniel took a long sip of water before setting the bottle down, his gaze flickering to you again. This time, he hesitated for a split second before asking, “Did you sleep okay?”

Your grip on the mug tightened slightly. It was a simple question—normal, even—but coming from him, it made something in your chest tighten. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, finding them softer than you expected.

You debated lying, brushing it off with a quick fine, but something in his expression made you falter.

Your fingers tightened slightly around your mug. “Yeah,” you lied. “Just a little restless.”

His lips pressed together, and he gave a slow, knowing nod—one that almost felt like he went through the same. Like maybe he hadn’t slept much either. Instead of saying anything, Daniel grabbed the water pitcher from the fridge, poured a glass, and without thinking twice, slid it across the counter toward you. It wasn’t flashy or overly thoughtful—it was just instinctual. Muscle memory, you guessed.

You blinked at the glass, a little caught off guard. You hadn’t even mentioned being thirsty. But he used to do this all the time—especially on mornings after long nights or deep conversations, when he somehow just knew you needed water before you even realized it yourself.

Your fingers curled around the glass as you looked up at him, but he was already leaning back against the counter, stretching his arms above his head like nothing had happened.

“Hydration’s important,” he said lightly, flashing a crooked little smile.

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head slightly as you brought the glass to your lips. “Yeah, I know.”

It wasn’t grand, wasn’t performative. It was just him—Daniel, with all his quiet attentiveness and little gestures that made you feel seen even when you didn’t ask for it.

Vitto, of course, didn’t miss a thing. You could feel her eyes on you, amusement flickering in her expression, but she said nothing.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look away as you murmured, “Thanks.”

He gave you a nod.

The morning moved forward in a quiet rhythm. The house was slowly waking up, the scent of coffee and whatever Vitto was cooking filling the air. You focused on sipping your water, trying to ignore the way Daniel’s presence felt too familiar, too easy—like slipping into a song you hadn’t heard in ages but still knew all the words to.

Vitto, ever the observant one, broke the silence first. “The decorators should be here soon,” she said, glancing at her phone. “Andy’s setting up outside, and Iza will wake up any minute now demanding breakfast.”

You hummed in response, grateful for something else to focus on. “Need me to do anything?”

Vitto shot you a look like you should already know the answer. “Obviously. You’re on balloon duty.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Of course I am.”

Daniel chuckled softly at your reaction, and it made your stomach flip—because that was another thing he used to do all the time. Laugh at you in that way that wasn’t mocking, but amused. Fond.

Vitto raised an eyebrow at him. “And you—” she pointed a wooden spoon in his direction “—are on table setup. Don’t disappear on me, Ricciardo.”

He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You were about to make a snarky remark when tiny, quick footsteps echoed from the hallway.

“Mamãe?” Iza’s sleepy little voice rang out just before she appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes and clutching the stuffed bear Daniel had given her the day she was born—his first gift as her godfather. The bear was a little worn now, its fur matted from constant cuddling, but it was still her favorite. Her curls were a mess, her onesie slightly rumpled, and your heart melted instantly.

“Bom dia, meu amor,” Vitto cooed, crouching down to scoop her up. “Did you sleep well?”

Iza nodded against her shoulder, her gaze suddenly shifting to you and lighting up instantly. “Titiiiii!,” she screamed, arms outstretched as she launched herself at you.

You barely had time to set your coffee down before scooping her up. “Bom dia, princesa!” you cooed, pressing a kiss to her chubby cheek.

She giggled, curling into you like a little koala. “Is mah birfday!” she announced proudly, as if you could have forgotten.

You gasped, playing along. “No way! How old are you now?”

“Two!” she squealed, holding up three fingers before correcting herself. “No… this many!”

She held up two fingers this time—her thumb and index finger,—and you laughed, squeezing her tight.

“Iza,” you said softly, brushing some curls from her face. “Are you excited for your rodeo party?”

She nodded eagerly, still hugging her bear. “I have hat!” she declared again, beaming.

Daniel chuckled. “I bet you do, cowgirl. You ready to show off your best yeehaw?”

She gasped dramatically before yelling, “YEEHAW!” at the top of her lungs, making everyone in the kitchen burst into laughter.

One laughter in particular made a shiver run down your arms and chest in a pleasant way.

You see, Daniel’s laughter had always been a force of nature—impossible to ignore, impossible not to get swept up in. It didn’t just fill a room; it exploded into it, loud and uninhibited, the kind of laugh that demanded attention without ever meaning to. It was rich, full-bodied, the sound of someone who felt every emotion with his entire being.

When he laughed, really laughed, it wasn’t just his mouth that moved—it was his whole body. His shoulders shook, his hands found his knees or his chest like he needed to physically hold himself together. His head would tilt back, eyes squeezed shut, as if the sheer force of joy was too much to contain. It rang out, clear and unmistakable, the kind of laugh you could pick out in a crowd, the kind that made you want to laugh along even if you hadn’t heard the joke.

And outside? It carried. Through walls, through open windows, through the crisp morning air, like an echo of something familiar—something you once had. It reached you even when you weren’t trying to listen, pulling you back in, making you remember.

Daniel had always laughed with everything he had. And maybe that’s why it always left an impression, why it was impossible to forget.

Iza wiggled excitedly in your arms, the sheer energy of a freshly woken toddler making it hard to keep her still. She clutched her bear tighter before twisting to look over her shoulder, her wide brown eyes locking onto Daniel.

“Nanel!” she gasped, as if just now registering his presence. Her little hands reached for him instantly. “Uppie!”

You adjusted your hold on her, but she was already pushing against you, her little legs kicking in her eagerness. The chair beneath you wobbled slightly from the movement, a sharp reminder that toddlers had no concept of balance—or the danger of tipping over.

“Iza, wait—” You barely got the words out before you felt yourself start to shift, the chair unsteady beneath you.

But before anything could go wrong, before you could even react, Daniel was there.

Fast.

His hands found your waist instinctively, steadying you before the chair could tilt any further. The warmth of his touch burned through the fabric of your shirt, familiar in a way that made your breath hitch. His reflexes had always been sharp—years of racing had trained his body to react before his mind could catch up—something you always found sexy about him.

Your hands had shot out too, gripping onto his arms out of reflex, fingers curling around the solid muscle and tattoos. For a brief second, everything else faded. The kitchen noise, the smell of coffee, the sounds of the house waking up—it all disappeared into the background. It was just you, him, and the space between you that suddenly felt too small.

His eyes met yours, something unreadable flashing behind them. It was quick, almost imperceptible, but it was there. A split second of something softer, something too dangerous for you and your sanity.

But then, just as fast as it happened, you both snapped out of it.

Daniel cleared his throat, stepping back first, though not as quickly as he usually would have. His hands lingered for a fraction of a second longer before he finally let go. You let out a breath, willing your pulse to slow down as you shifted Iza into his arms, breaking whatever moment had just passed between you.

“Careful, cowgirl,” Daniel murmured, his voice light but a little rough around the edges. “You almost took your Titi down with you.”

Iza giggled, blissfully unaware of the tension that had just crackled between the two adults in the room. She wrapped her arms around Daniel’s neck, tucking her face into his shoulder. “Sowy,” she mumbled, though it was clear she wasn’t too concerned about it.

Daniel huffed a soft laugh, adjusting her weight easily. “It’s alright, princess. But maybe next time, we work on our dismount, yeah?”

Vitto, who had witnessed the whole thing, smirked over her coffee mug but said nothing. You shot her a warning glare, already knowing she was going to bring this up later.

Taking a steadying breath, you grabbed your drink and stood up. “Alright,” you said, forcing your voice into something breezy, something unaffected. “We have a party to set up. Let’s move.”

Daniel met your gaze again, something unreadable still lingering there, but he nodded. “Alrighty. Lead the way, cowgirl.”

It should be studied how one simple word could mess up your head in an instant. 

The way he said it—the rasp in his voice—made warmth bloom in your chest and spread like wildfire up your neck, all the way to your cheeks.

Your body responded before your brain could catch up, heating up in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the morning sun filtering through the windows. You swallowed, shifting on your feet, suddenly feeling too aware of yourself, of him, of everything that wasn’t being said.

You forced yourself to move, to act normal, to do anything other than stand there and melt under the weight of something you weren’t ready to name. But as you turned, all you could do was send a silent plea to whoever deity was up there—please, please, don’t let him notice.

Or worse, don’t let anyone else notice.

And just like that, the moment was gone. But the warmth of his hands on your waist? That lingered.

The hours leading up to the party passed in a whirlwind of movement—decorations being set up, last-minute food preparations, and an endless stream of people filtering in and out of the house. Despite the busy atmosphere, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being hyperaware of Daniel. Not because he was loud or drawing attention to himself—if anything, it was the opposite.

He was just… there.

Always a step ahead, anticipating things before you even thought of them. When you went to grab the stack of extra plates, they were already in his hands, set neatly on the table. When you reached for Iza’s favorite juice to pour into her sippy cup, he wordlessly passed it to you. When you started to tie the pink balloons to the chairs, he had already taken half the bundle, quietly making your job easier.

The cake stand wobbled ever so slightly? Before you could reach for something to steady it, he was adjusting it with careful hands.

Iza needed distracting while you helped Vitto set up the last of the decorations? There he was, swooping her up into his arms, spinning her around until she dissolved into delighted giggles.

At first, you chalked it up to coincidence. But after the fourth or fifth time, you started to realize—it wasn’t.

It was subtle, never overbearing, never calling attention to itself. Just a quiet attentiveness, an unspoken understanding of your needs before you even voiced them.

And maybe it was nothing. Maybe he was just being helpful, being him.

But every time your eyes met, every time he sent you that small, knowing smile, a warmth spread through your chest that had absolutely nothing to do with the golden California sun.

It was a quiet kind of devotion that lingered in the air between you. And if anyone noticed how easily the two of you moved around each other, how naturally he fit into your space, they didn’t say anything.

“Here.”

You turned just in time to see him holding out a cold glass of lemonade, condensation beading against the surface.

“You haven’t had a break,” he added before you could question it, as if reading your mind.

Your fingers brushed against his as you took the glass, a small spark of something crackling at the contact. You told yourself it was just the warmth of the day, that your skin was only flushed from the sun overhead—not from the way his eyes lingered just a second too long.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking a sip, savoring the tart sweetness as it cooled you from the inside out.

Daniel didn’t say anything, just smiled, soft and unreadable, before nudging you gently with his elbow. “Take a second to breathe, Chip. Go and get ready. Party’s about to start.”

You froze. It had been so long since you’d heard that name, the personal little inside joke from a lifetime ago. The sound of it, warm and familiar in his voice, sent a jolt through you. Something in your chest tightened, caught between nostalgia and something dangerously close to longing.

Your lips parted as if to say something, but the words never came. Instead, you nodded, forcing yourself to take another sip of lemonade, to act as if that one simple word hadn’t just cracked something open inside you.

You excused yourself quietly, slipping away to the guest room to take a shower. The warm water did little to ease the tightness in your chest, the way your mind kept replaying the sound of your name on his lips. It had been so long since you heard it like that—soft, familiar, like he was still allowed to say it.

By the time you stepped out, steam curling in the air around you, you tried to shake the feeling off. You focused on getting dressed instead, pulling on the denim cropped vest and the black sheer maxi skirt, the fabric light against your legs. The paisley details shimmered subtly when they caught the light, a small detail you never would have cared about before—but now, as you adjusted the bold belt cinching your waist, smoothing your hands down your skirt, you wondered if you were putting in just a little more effort than usual. Not that anyone would notice. Not that you wanted anyone to notice.

You were running your fingers through your damp hair when there was a soft knock at your door.

“It’s me,” Danna’s voice came through, calm and steady.

You exhaled before opening the door, and she gave you a once-over with a smile. “Wowza, you look gorgeous, babes! Need help with your hair or makeup?” she offered.

You hesitated, then nodded with a small blush due to the compliment. You weren’t sure if it was because you actually needed the help or because, for some reason, your anxiety was clawing up your throat at the thought of stepping out there again. Either way, Danna took it as an invitation, stepping inside and closing the door gently behind her.

She didn’t press immediately, simply guiding you to sit while she started working on your hair, brushing it out with practiced ease. The silence wasn’t heavy, though. It was comfortable, like she was giving you space to breathe before she spoke.

“It’s okay if this whole thing feels weird,” she finally said, voice gentle. “Seeing him again. Having to experience him again.”

Your hands clenched slightly in your lap, but you didn’t interrupt her.

“I can tell you’re holding a lot in,” she continued, still focused on your hair. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t affect you. That’s not how healing works.”

You swallowed. “I don’t even know what I’m feeling.”

Danna hummed as she reached for a curling iron you’ve already pre-heated. “That’s okay too. Just… don’t shut yourself out from it completely. You’re allowed to feel whatever you feel, without guilt, without expectation.”

You let her words sink in as she styled your hair, her presence grounding you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. Maybe she was right. Maybe you didn’t have to have it all figured out yet.

There was a reason why you and the girls saw Danna as the wise, gentle older sister you all never knew you needed. Her personality always brought a sense of calm—she was the kind of calm that encourages you to let loose, feel seen, and stay grounded. Always balancing out your wilder sides with her dependable, warm presence.

As Danna moved on to the finishing touches of your hair, she kept her voice light, as if she could sense that any sudden shift in tone might send you spiraling back into your thoughts.

“Do you want me to do your makeup too, or just a little touch-up?” she asked, setting the curling iron aside.

You met her eyes in the mirror and hesitated. “Just a little touch-up,” you murmured.

She nodded, already reaching for a soft blush and a lip gloss. She worked with careful precision, her touch featherlight as she dabbed at your cheeks. “You know,” she mused, “I think sometimes we assume we have to either be completely over someone or still in love with them. Like there’s no in-between.”

Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept still as she swiped gloss over your lips.

“The truth is, you can care about someone and still not want them back. You can remember the good parts and still know you deserve better. And you can—” she paused, giving you a knowing glance, “—put in a little extra effort when they’re around without it meaning anything.”

That last part made your stomach twist, and you quickly looked away. Because it did mean something. You just didn’t know what yet.

You feared that your feelings for Daniel weren’t gone. That they had been dormant, buried deep beneath time, heartbreak, and the love you’d found with Rúben. And you loved Rúben. He was good to you—steady, kind, everything you had once convinced yourself you needed. 

You were happy. 

Weren’t you?

But Daniel had been… different. What you had with him had felt like a one-of-a-kind love, the kind that still lingered even after you thought it had burned away completely.

Danna caught the shift in your expression, but she didn’t say anything right away. Instead, she set the gloss down and met your gaze in the mirror. “Talk to me, babes,” she said gently.

You exhaled shakily, gripping the fabric of your skirt in your lap. “I don’t know what I’m feeling,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Danna gave you a soft smile, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s okay,” she assured you. “But whatever it is, don’t ignore it. Pushing it down isn’t going to make it go away.”

You swallowed hard, nodding.

She squeezed your shoulder before stepping back. “You look stunning, by the way. And whatever you're feeling? You don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”

You nodded again, standing slowly. One deep breath, then another. You weren’t sure how the night would unfold, but one thing was certain—ignoring it wasn’t an option anymore.

You gave her a small smile. “Thanks, Danni.”

“Always,” she said, “Now, let’s go enjoy this party, yeah? No overthinking, just vibes.”

You let out a quiet laugh, taking one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hey, maybe you’d let yourself do exactly that.

By the time you and Danna made your way downstairs, the backyard was already alive with laughter and music. The decorations were straight out of a Western dream—pink and brown balloons shaped like cowboy boots and cacti framed the entrance, while a giant banner reading ‘This ain't my first rodeo (It's my second!)’ stretched proudly above the party area. Mini hay bales served as seats around low wooden tables, each one topped with cow-print napkins and tiny, pink cowboy hats for the kids.

Near the dessert table, which was decked out with cupcakes shaped like lassos and horseshoes, a few toddlers gathered in excitement, eyes wide at the cake—an adorable two-tiered masterpiece featuring a little fondant cowgirl riding a pony. The scent of barbecue mixed with the sweet smell of caramel apples, cotton candy, and fresh lemonade, making the whole space feel like a perfect blend of childhood joy and cowboy fun.

Then, a familiar voice rang out.

“Oi! Look who finally decided to show up!”

You barely had time to react before Ed Sheeran appeared, grinning, a toddler clinging to his legs.

“Ed!” you laughed, moving forward to hug him.

“About time you got here,” he teased before stepping aside to let Cherry greet you as well.

“It’s been too long,” Cherry said warmly, wrapping you in a semi hug.

“Way too long,” you agreed, before looking down to find Lyra staring up at you with wide, excited eyes. “Oh my God—look at you! You’ve grown so much!”

Lyra giggled, hugging Ed’s leg tighter, while little Jupiter peeked at you shyly from Cherry’s arms.

“They’re getting big,” Ed said, ruffling Lyra’s ginger hair. Lyra giggled, hugging Ed’s leg tighter, while Cherry shifted the baby in her arms with a small smile.

“You’ve got your hands full, huh?” you said, nodding toward the little one.

Cherry laughed softly. “Always. I don’t think you’ve met the latest addition to the family—This is Jupiter.”

Your breath hitched slightly. You had seen photos—Ed had proudly shown you a handful of them when she was born—but seeing her in person was different.

"Oh my gosh, hi," you murmured, getting closer to the baby, taking in the tiny features, the soft tufts of ginger hair. “She’s beautiful.”

Ed beamed. “Takes after her old man.”

Cherry rolled her eyes fondly. 

“Please, she looks exactly like Cherry.” You chuckled, shaking your head as he gave you a subtle middle finger pretending to scratch his nose. “Either way, you two make adorable kids.”

Lyra, clearly growing impatient with the adult conversation, tugged at Ed’s hand. “Daddy, I wanna go play.”

Ed glanced toward the bounce house and the growing number of kids running around. “Alright, alright, go on then. But stay where I can see you.”

Lyra didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed a handful of her dress and took off in a sprint, her braided hair bouncing as she ran toward the other children.

Ed sighed, shaking his head with a chuckle. “She’s gonna sleep like a rock tonight.”

Cherry laughed, adjusting Jupiter on her hip. “If we’re lucky.”

Before you could add anything, a delighted squeal cut through the air.

“Titiiiiiiiii!”

You barely had time to react before Iza came charging toward you, her tiny cowboy boots stomping against the grass. You knelt just in time for her to collide into your arms, hugging you with all the strength her little body could muster.

Your heart melted instantly. “Hey, birthday girl!” you cooed, lifting her effortlessly. She giggled, curling her small fingers into your vest. “Are you having fun?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Lots fun! Look!” She pointed excitedly toward the bounce house. “Too big!”

You gasped dramatically. “No way! Have you been jumping super high?”

Iza giggled. “Like this!” She threw her arms up, wiggling excitedly.

“You better show me later,” you grinned.

Before she could respond, Andrew came up beside you with a playful smirk. “So she sees you for two seconds and suddenly forgets all about her dad?”

Iza turned in your arms, giving Andrew an exaggeratedly sweet smile. “Hi, Papai!”

Andrew let out a fake gasp. “Oh, now I get a greeting? Wow, my own kid replacing me with her godmother—this is betrayal!”

Iza giggled and reached for him, and you passed her over with a laugh. “You knew what you were signing up for when you asked me to be her godmother.”

Andrew sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. I did this to myself.”

Ed clapped him on the shoulder. “At least you’re not outnumbered by two mini versions of yourself. Trust me, it’s terrifying.”

Andrew chuckled, shaking his head. “Give Iza a couple more years—she’s already got my attitude. I’m screwed.”

Iza clearly wasn’t paying attention anymore, too enthralled by the sight of another child running past with a balloon. She wriggled in Andrew’s arms. “Down, Papai! Wanna play!”

Andrew set her down, and she took off at full speed, joining the other kids without hesitation.

“Well,” you said, watching her go, “looks like she's got the social skills covered.”

Andrew exhaled. “I have no idea where she gets it from. Must be Vitto's genes.”

“Man, be for fucking real. She got it from both of you, and thanks to those genes she’s not a social butterfly—she’s a social tornado,” You rolled your eyes playfully and Andrew just shrugged with a knowing smile on his face.

The group shared a laugh before Ed nudged you playfully. “So, you ready to introduce to the world those new songs we’ve been working on?”

You rolled your eyes with a smirk. “You know I like to get things perfect before I let anyone hear them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ed grinned. “Perfectionist. But seriously, I’m excited, mate. The last one we wrote last December might be my favorite.”

You smiled, knowing exactly which song he was referring to. “Me too, man. And yeah, I think that one is my favorite, too.”

You let yourself just enjoy the moment—surrounded by friends, laughter, and the easy warmth of people who knew you best.

Even if, in the back of your mind, he was still there.

And there he was.

Your breath caught in your throat before you could stop it.

Daniel stood near the entrance, scanning the party with that easy confidence of his, but there was something almost hesitant about it. (Maybe it was just you projecting.)

He was dressed to fit the theme perfectly, in a way only he could pull off. A cream-colored open button-up shirt hung loosely over a white tank top, the fabric catching just enough of the golden afternoon light to make him glow. Fitted brown flared pants emphasized his frame, hugging his legs in a way that made it impossible not to notice. A Western-style belt buckle gleamed at his waist, the intricate silver detailing catching your eye for a second too long. His boots—snakeskin-patterned and broken in just enough—clicked softly against the ground as he stepped forward.

A wide-brimmed brown cowboy hat sat atop his head, the kind that would look ridiculous on most people but somehow suited him effortlessly. He lifted it slightly, running a hand through his untamed curls, a motion so casual yet so familiar it made your chest tighten. The movement exposed the chain around his neck, one you were sure was new. The silver horseshoe ring on his finger made your stomach twist, you instantly knew the words engraved on it, ‘Hard Luck’—a relic you might or might not have seen in a few pictures on instagram.

He hadn’t seen you yet, but you could already feel your body tensing in anticipation. You weren’t sure if it was nerves, nostalgia, or something else entirely.

“Shit,” Andrew muttered beside you, following your gaze. He let out a low chuckle. “Well, if this was a movie, this would be the dramatic slow-motion entrance.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose, shaking your head. “Shut up.”

But Andrew wasn’t wrong—He looked damn good.

He hadn’t seen you yet.

Not really.

But the moment his eyes finally landed on you, it was like the world around him blurred. His smirk faltered—just for a second, but long enough for you to catch it. Long enough for something unreadable to flicker behind his gaze.

His stare lingered, dragging over your face, down your figure, the way the fading sunlight kissed your skin. He looked almost… caught off guard. Like he hadn’t been expecting this. Like you had knocked the wind out of him without even trying.

Something in his expression shifted—something unguarded, something raw.

And then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

The smirk returned, that effortless charm sliding back into place. But you had seen it. You knew what you had seen.

And for the first time since stepping into the party, you weren’t sure if you were the only one feeling like the past wasn’t as buried as you had thought.

Daniel stood near the entrance, taking in the scene before him. The party was already in full swing—clusters of people chatting, kids running around, laughter mixing with the hum of country music playing softly in the background. It was the kind of gathering he had always loved, the kind that felt easy, familiar. And yet, there was something about this moment that made his steps hesitate just slightly, something he couldn’t quite place.

Or maybe he could.

He adjusted his grip on the wide-brimmed brown hat in his hand, running his fingers briefly through his curls before settling the hat back on his head. The soft click of his boots against the ground barely registered as he stepped further in, the late afternoon light catching on the silver buckle of his belt and the chain around his neck. His usual confidence was there, sure—his presence always commanded attention whether he tried or not—but something about this felt different.

And then he saw you.

Everything else faded into the background.

He hadn’t even been looking for you, not really—at least, that’s what he told himself—but the second his gaze landed on you, the breath in his lungs felt suddenly too tight. You stood there, laughing at something Andrew had said—wait, was that Ed Sheeran next to you?,—your head tilting slightly in that way he knew meant you were fully engaged in the conversation. The golden light hit your skin just right, accentuating the soft glow around you, making you look almost unreal.

His smirk faltered, just for a second.

It wasn’t fair. That you could still do this to him. That after all this time, after all the distance, after everything—just one look at you could make him feel like the ground beneath him wasn’t as solid as it had been a moment ago.

You looked so damn beautiful.

And the worst part? He could tell the moment your eyes met his that you had caught the way his expression slipped.

His stare lingered, dragging over your face, down your figure, the way your dress hugged your form, the way you carried yourself. He wondered if you had any idea what you were doing to him—if you could feel the way the air between you seemed to shift, charged with something neither of you had put words to yet.

For a split second, something cracked open inside him—something raw, something that had never really left.

And then, just like that, he forced himself to push it down.

The smirk returned, easy, practiced. He knew how to mask things, how to play it off. But you had seen it. He knew you had seen it.

And for the first time in a long time, Daniel wasn’t sure if he could keep pretending that whatever was between you had been left in the past.

Before he could even think about what to do next—before he could take a step closer, say something, do something—he felt a firm hand clap against his shoulder.

Blake.

Daniel barely had time to register his best friend’s knowing stare before he was being pulled away toward the party.

“Alright, cowboy, let’s keep you moving before you do something real stupid,” Blake muttered under his breath, low enough for only Daniel to hear.

Daniel rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “I wasn’t gonna do anything.”

Blake snorted. “Uh-huh. And I’m totally joking when I say you look like you might just march right over there and kiss her.”

Daniel opened his mouth to argue—but the problem was, he wasn’t sure Blake was wrong. Because for a moment, that’s exactly what he had wanted to do.

Daniel let out a breath, forcing a chuckle as he let Blake steer him further into the party. He could still feel you, even without looking. It was ridiculous, really—how after all this time, his body still reacted like this, like it was tuned to your presence in a way he couldn’t control.

“Relax, mate,” Blake said, side-eyeing him. “You look like you just got hit by a freight train.”

Daniel scoffed, tilting his head toward him. “Do I?”

Blake gave him a knowing look, but he didn’t push. Instead, he handed him a beer from a passing cooler, nodding toward the crowd. “C’mon, let’s at least pretend you came here to enjoy the party and not just to stare at her from across the yard like some heartbroken cowboy.”

Daniel huffed a laugh, shaking his head, but he didn’t argue. He took a sip of his drink, rolling his shoulders back like that would help shake the feeling of you still lingering in his chest.

But it didn’t.

His grip tightened briefly around the bottle as he stole another glance in your direction—only to find that you were already looking at him.

The eye contact lasted barely more than a second, but fuck, it felt longer. Like some invisible string had pulled taut between you, holding you there. You weren’t just glancing at him. You were watching him. And despite the way your expression remained composed, something flickered in your eyes—something that made his stomach twist in that way he hated admitting still happened whenever it came to you.

You looked away first, turning back toward Andrew, pretending to be unaffected.

Daniel swallowed hard, tipping his head back to take a longer sip of his drink. Yeah. This was gonna be a long night.

Blake nudged him, clearly amused. “Want some actual advice, or do you just wanna keep suffering in silence?”

Daniel sighed, rolling the bottle between his palms. “Not sure I like my options.”

Blake smirked. “It’s either be smart about this, or keep looking at her like you wanna put her up on your horse and ride off into the sunset, mate.”

Daniel exhaled sharply, half in amusement, half in frustration. “I don’t have a horse, Blake.”

“No, but you sure as hell have that look,” Blake shot back, before shrugging. “And listen, mate, I say this as your friend… if you’re gonna spend the whole night pretending you’re not thinking about her, you’re gonna need a stronger drink.”

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head, “You’re forgetting this is a kid’s party, dude,” but he didn’t argue further. Because Blake was right. And no matter how much he tried to push it down, he already knew—this party, this night, this you—none of it was gonna be something he could just ignore.

Blake hummed, taking a slow sip from his own drink. “Right, right. Kids party.”

Daniel shot him a look, but Blake just smirked, clapping him on the back before nodding toward the rest of the gathering. “C’mon, let’s go say hi before you combust.”

Daniel let himself be led further into the party, exchanging greetings with familiar faces, forcing himself into conversations that only half-registered. He laughed at the right moments, nodded along to whatever stories were being told, but his mind was elsewhere. Always. Inevitably.

Because you were still here.

Somewhere just beyond his line of sight, close enough that he could hear your laugh if the breeze carried it right.

And fuck, that laugh.

It was too easy to picture—your head thrown back slightly, the way your eyes crinkled just before the sound escaped you. How many times had he been the reason for that? How many times had he memorized it without even trying?

He forced himself to focus, redirecting his attention as a little girl—one of the other kids at the party—tugged at his shirt, holding up a toy horse with wide, expectant eyes. “You gotta name it!” she insisted, bouncing slightly on her toes.

Daniel crouched down, grinning. “Oh, this is a big responsibility,” he said, tapping his chin. “What about… Speedy?”

The girl scrunched up her nose. “That’s kinda boring.”

Blake snorted from behind him. “Tough crowd, mate.”

Daniel let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over his chest. “Alright, alright, what about… Lightning Bolt?”

The girl giggled, considering it for a second before nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! That’s a cool name.”

Daniel ruffled her hair before she ran off, and when he stood back up, Blake was watching him with a raised brow. “Good save.”

“I try,” Daniel quipped, stretching his arms over his head before glancing around. The yard was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows over the grass, laughter echoing from different corners of the party. It should’ve been easy to enjoy.

But then, as if the universe was hell-bent on making things harder for him, his eyes found you again.

This time, you weren’t looking at him. You were talking to Andrew, your head tilted slightly as you listened, a soft smile playing on your lips. And maybe it was just the lighting, maybe it was the way the evening breeze lifted your hair just enough to make the whole scene look unfairly cinematic, but damn.

Damn, you looked beautiful.

It hit him like a sucker punch to the ribs, unexpected yet entirely predictable.

Blake sighed beside him, clearly catching on. “Yeah, mate. Stronger drink.”

The party was going smoothly. Kids were running around, their laughter filling the warm evening air. Iza looked like she was having the best day of her life, bouncing from one activity to the next with boundless energy. The mechanical bull had been a hit—watching some of the grownups attempt it had been even better.

Andy had given it a shot, much to everyone’s delight. The entire group had hyped him up, cheering him on as he held on for dear life, grinning wildly.

Even Daniel had taken a turn. You had not been watching. Not really. But you had caught the sound of his laughter, deep and full of mischief as he gripped the bull’s handle, his cowboy hat miraculously staying in place. And maybe, just maybe, you had snuck a glance when he finally got thrown off, landing in the cushioned pit with a dramatic huff.

Blake had gone next, mostly to prove a point, and lasted a whole three seconds longer than Daniel before toppling over.

Now, though, the attention had shifted to the next act—one Vitto and Andrew had insisted on.

The clown performance.

It brought the familiarity of how birthday parties were back home, it gave you a little homesickness.

The guy was good. You’d give him that. The kids were thoroughly entertained, their giggles mixing with the occasional bursts of applause. You had been perfectly content standing on the side, drink in hand, chatting with a few friends.

That was, until the clown decided to involve the adults.

“There will be a very competitive dance-off!” he declared, arms spread wide, his voice ringing over the speakers. “To win some amazing prizes!”

A ripple of amused murmurs and the excitement of the kids spreaded through the crowd.

“First up,” the clown continued, his voice dripping with enthusiasm. “We need the parents of the birthday girl!”

Andrew groaned dramatically, but there was a fondness in his expression as he took Vitto’s hand and let her lead him toward the makeshift stage.

And then.

And then.

“Now, tell me, mom,” the clown-dressed dude grinned, turning to them. “Who else should we invite to the stage?”

You didn’t need to see it to know.

You felt it.

That spark of mischief igniting in Vitto’s mind. The way her gaze snapped to you across the yard.

And just like that, you knew you were absolutely screwed.

“Oh, we have to get the godmother up here!” the dude announced, his voice full of exaggerated excitement.

The crowd responded immediately, a mix of cheers and teasing whistles as heads turned your way.

You blinked, feigning ignorance, even as your stomach dropped.

“Where is she?” he continued, hand shielding his eyes as he theatrically scanned the crowd. “C’mon, don’t be shy!”

Vitto was already grinning like the devil incarnate, her eyes locked on yours.

You barely had time to shake your head before she really went for it—pointing at you, waving you forward, even nudging Andrew to join in.

The two of them started to chant your name.

And just like that, the whole party followed.

You sighed, lifting your drink in mock salute before handing it off to the nearest friend. “This is bullying,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else.

But you weren’t a sore loser. So with a dramatic roll of your shoulders, you made your way toward the stage, the cheers growing louder.

Andrew smirked as you passed him. “Better start stretching.”

You flipped him off over your shoulder.

Once you were on stage, a few other “lucky” contestants joined—some enthusiastic, some clearly roped in against their will.

The entertainer clapped his hands together. “Alright! Now, I did hear that the mother of our birthday girl is from Brazil…” he trailed off, grinning as murmurs and amused smiles spread through the crowd. “So, in honor of that, we’ll be dancing to something fun!”

‘Ho, ho-ho, ho-ho. E uma garrafa de rum. Ho, ho-ho, ho-ho. E não sobrou nenhum.’

Vitto’s head whipped toward you so fast, you almost expected whiplash.

And the second those first notes and lyrics of Onda Onda by Axé Bahia blasted through the speakers, you and Vitto locked eyes—both of you breaking into identical, knowing, smug smirks.

Oh, you were gonna kill this.

Together.

Your body moved before your brain fully caught up. Muscle memory, years of growing up watching and learning the choreographies of Axé Bahia on TV, with Vitto dragging you into impromptu dance sessions in her living room, at parties, at any opportunity she got.

This was a moment every 80s and 90s kid in Latinoamérica waited for all their life.

As soon as the chorus hit, you and Vitto went for it.

‘Vou te pegar

Essa é a nova sensação

Se liga, agora, nessa nova onda

Sou um pirata, o rei da embarcação

Oh-oh-oh’

Hips swaying, feet moving in perfect sync, your arms cutting through the air with the exaggerated, playful gestures the dance called for. Laughter bubbled up from the crowd as they caught on to what was happening—because while everyone else was stumbling through, figuring out the steps, you and Vitto?

You were killing it.

The energy skyrocketed. The crowd’s cheers got louder, and somewhere in the chaos, you heard Andrew’s voice yelling, “That’s my missus!” as he hyped Vitto up.

Daniel had been watching from the moment you stepped onto that stage.

At first, it was just amusement—the kind that came from seeing you get dragged into something against your will, that slight pout on your lips giving away your I hate you for this thoughts even as you played along. He knew that look well.

But then—then the music started.

And suddenly, it wasn’t just amusement.

It was something else entirely.

His breath hitched slightly as he watched you move—fluid, effortless, like you had been born for this. Every motion was perfectly timed, every sway of your hips commanding attention. It was hypnotic. The way you danced with Vitto, completely in sync, not missing a single beat, had the crowd roaring with approval.

And Daniel?

He was utterly enthralled.

You made it look so easy, so natural. The kind of thing that, if anyone else tried, would probably look ridiculous—but you? You owned it.

His eyes tracked your every move, taking in the way your body rolled with the beat, the playful flick of your hands, the sharp turns of your head as you hit every part of what looked to be a routine with precision. His mouth had gone dry somewhere along the way, every ounce of blood left his brain and went south—his mind only filled with thoughts of you, the way you moved, and he wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been staring before—

You looked at him.

And then you winked.

Daniel’s stomach dropped.

It was a split-second thing, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to him? It felt like a direct hit. Like you had aimed right at him and fired.

Blake, standing next to him, let out a low whistle. “Oh, mate. You’re fucked.”

Daniel barely heard him.

Because you had turned back to the dance, laughing with Vitto, fully lost in the moment.

And him?

Yeah. He was lost too.

You weren’t even breaking a sweat.

Even with the sheer amount of energy the choreography demanded, your breath was steady, your movements sharp and controlled—effortless. The months of training, the five hours a day of training with singing, prepping your stamina for the upcoming tour? Yeah, they were paying off.

The first song ended, and laughter and cheers erupted through the crowd. Some of the contestants—who were clearly not prepared for this level of dancing—bowed out, dramatically wiping their foreheads as if they had just run a marathon.

But you?

You were still standing tall, grinning as you caught Vitto’s eye. She looked just as hyped, barely winded, her energy only increasing.

And then—

The opening beats of Magalenha by Sergio Mendes hit the speakers.

The entire crowd reacted instantly, a mix of excitement and oh, shit energy rippling through them. Because if you knew anything about Brazilian music, you knew this song was no joke.

And for this?

You were gonna have to sambar.

Vitto turned to you, her eyes blazing with a competitive glint, the corners of her lips curling upward. You knew that look. It said let’s give them a show.

And oh, you were about to deliver.

The moment the beat kicked in, your feet started moving, quick and controlled, heels barely touching the floor, hips swaying effortlessly to the rhythm.

Your movements were fluid yet precise, each step carrying an air of confidence, the rhythm embedded in your very bones. Your hips rolled with a mesmerizing ease, arms moving in perfect coordination, every part of you flowing with the beat like you were born for this. 

The crowd’s cheers grew louder, the energy in the space skyrocketing as people clapped and stomped along, fully absorbed in the moment.

And somewhere in that crowd, standing completely still while everyone else was moving—

Daniel was staring.

Like he was seeing you for the first time. Like he couldn’t believe what he was watching.

(And if his eyes lingered any longer on the way your thighs were moving under your skirt, hips and ass shaking, taking away any sensible or appropriate thought out of his head and filling it with risqué ones, causing him to subtly readjust in his pants.—yeah, you didn’t need to know that.)

And when you caught his gaze again, lingering for just a second longer than necessary—

You smirked.

And then spun away, diving back into the dance, completely in your element.

The music pulsed through your veins, each beat driving you forward, faster, sharper, better. You could feel the rhythm deep in your chest, in the way your feet barely touched the ground, in the effortless sway of your hips.

The crowd was electric. People clapped in time, voices shouting encouragement, some kids were trying to mimic your dance moves, but the only reaction that mattered?

Daniel’s.

And you felt it—his gaze burning into you like a brand, following your every move, as if he were trying to memorize the way your body moved, the way you commanded the dance floor without a second thought.

A slow smirk crept onto your lips.

Oh, you had him.

You twisted, the movement sharp yet fluid, letting the music dictate your body. And when you glanced at him again, his jaw was clenched, his fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of his beer bottle.

Like he was barely holding himself together.

You should’ve looked away. Should’ve kept dancing, kept riding the high of the performance.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you let your movements slow just slightly—just enough to be intentional. Just enough to make sure he was still watching. And, oh, was he watching.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes dark, gaze dipping lower. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and—

You dragged your hands down your own sides as you moved, accentuating the motion of your body, the sharp snap of your hips with the beat.

Daniel exhaled sharply, shifting his stance, rubbing his palm over his jaw like he needed to physically stop himself from reacting.

He wasn’t the only one losing his composure.

Because the way he was looking at you?

Like he wanted to devour you?

It sent a thrill straight down your spine, heat curling in your stomach, the tension stretching between you so thick, it was almost suffocating.

Somewhere to the side, you barely registered Vitto laughing as she kept dancing, shouting something teasing about the boys not knowing what to do with themselves. But your ears were buzzing too much, too focused on the way Daniel was gripping his beer like it was the only thing grounding him to reality.

The song ended.

The crowd erupted into cheers, some of the contestants groaning in exhaustion.

You, however, were still perfectly fine.

And when you finally turned to Daniel fully, face still flushed from dancing, chest rising and falling with steady breaths—

His eyes met yours.

And you knew.

This night just got a whole lot more interesting.

The second the music cut off, it was like being yanked out of a dream.

The adrenaline, the thrill, the way your body had been humming with energy—it all came crashing down as reality settled in.

What the fuck was wrong with you?

You weren’t just some girl at a party, dancing, lost in the music.

You were you. And Daniel was Daniel.

And you weren’t together.

That truth hit harder than expected, knocking the air from your lungs.

Your heart was still racing, but not just from the dancing anymore. It was from the realization of what just happened. The stolen glances. The smirks. The tension so thick you could taste it.

And yet—

You had a boyfriend.

A perfect, loving, boyfriend.

A boyfriend who had texted you earlier, telling you once again how much he missed you, how he was counting down the days until you were back in his arms.

Guilt curled in your stomach like a vice, squeezing tight.

You weren’t doing anything wrong—but, God, why did it feel like you were?

The entertainer was saying something about a final round, but you barely registered it. Because when it came down to just you and Vitto, you made a split-second decision.

Even though you were famously competitive among your friends.

Even though the crowd was chanting your name.

You caught Vitto’s eye and shook your head lightly while you mouthed “sorry”, stepping back, forfeiting.

The pit in your stomach grew, gnawing at you from the inside.

You barely heard the cheers or the laughter that followed. The sudden need to get out clawed its way up your throat, a lump forming that you couldn’t swallow down.

So, the second you reached your friends, you excused yourself, forcing a smile, waving off their questions, ignoring their confused glances.

And most of all—

You avoided Daniel entirely.

Didn’t look at him.

Didn’t dare to.

Because if you did?

You weren’t sure what you’d see.

And you weren’t sure you were ready to face it.

You barely made it to the bathroom before locking the door behind you, bracing your hands on the sink as you let out a shaky breath.

The music, the laughter, the chatter outside—it was all muffled, like you were underwater.

You stared at your reflection, trying to get your breathing under control.

What the hell was that?

You were not the kind of person who let herself get caught up in something reckless. You were careful. You were in control.

And yet, one dance, one look—hell, one wink—had thrown all of that out the window.

You turned on the faucet, dabbing cool water on your face, hoping it would do something to ease the heat still lingering in your skin.

It didn’t.

The worst part? It wasn’t even just about the tension, the stolen glances, the fact that you could still feel Daniel’s eyes on you.

It was the guilt.

The way it sat, heavy and suffocating, in the pit of your stomach.

Ruben had texted you earlier. Miss you so much, meu anjo. Can’t wait to have you back in my arms. Call later?

You had smiled when you read it.

So why did you feel like the worst person in the world now?

You sucked in a sharp breath, gripping the edges of the sink.

You just needed to pull yourself together. Get back out there, pretend like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t felt every nerve ending in your body come alive under Daniel’s gaze.

Like you weren’t still thinking about it.

You straightened, smoothing your hands down your skirt, forcing yourself to take another deep breath.

You’d go back out. Find your friends. Keep your distance from him.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d be able to shake off whatever the hell that was.

You reached for the doorknob and exhaled slowly.

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you stepped out, smoothing your hands down your skirt again, trying to shake off the weight pressing against your chest.

You forced yourself to walk back toward the party, past groups of people chatting, past the decorations, the laughter, the energy that suddenly felt like it was moving way too fast for you to keep up with.

Your friends were still in the same spot, drinks in hand, chatting and laughing, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside you.

You plastered on a smile as you rejoined them, nodding along to whatever conversation they were having, but your mind was elsewhere.

On the way Daniel had looked at you.

On the way you had felt under his gaze.

On the fact that none of it should have mattered.

And yet—it did.

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[feralgoing]

seed cycling

I wrote this post a while back but just realized it was relevant to this blog. It may feel a bit out there, but I'm all about exploring other less mainstream categories too. So, having absolved myself of all guilt for anyone who misinterprets this post as hard fact, I begin.

I came across the term ‘seed cycling’ used on social media and became intrigued as to one, what it meant, and two, what benefit it had (if any).

A quick Google search led me to both answers. Seed cycling is somewhat literally what it sounds like (although my first guess as it was 4am as I wrote this, involved interpreting cycling as bicycling). You cycle between seeds in your diet, consuming specific ones at specific types during your menstrual cycle (and supposedly it can be use for peri-menopausal and post-menopausal women as well).

Anyway, the theory is that a menstrual cycle is most naturally working if it is within the 28-day cycle, and anything else indicates some sort of imbalance of estrogen. The seeds chosen during the two phases of the menstrual cycle (when estrogen is decreasing and when it is increasing) are chosen specifically to help balance out the estrogen in each phase to allow the person to resume the natural cycle duration.

At this point you may be wondering why am I posting about this on my eczema blog? Well, you may recall from my post on pregnancy, that one of the factors believed to provoke eczema in pregnant women is the surge of estrogen. So my hypothesis is that if one’s cycle is off, and they experience larger ranges of estrogen surges during phases of their cycle, perhaps that would increase the intensity of an eczema flare.

Here’s a quick overview about the menstrual cycle (I previously worked as a women’s health consultant, so I both enjoy this kind of knowledge and could use the refresher myself). We have 4 phases: menstruation, the follicular phase, ovulation, and then the luteal phase.

MENSTRUATION – This is the phase in which the lining of the uterus (or the endometrium), which has thickened over the month, comes off and there is bleeding from the vagina.

FOLLICULAR PHASE – This phase starts on the first day of menstruation. The pituitary glands, triggered by the hypothalamus, release follicle stimulating hormone (FSH), and FSH in turn causes the ovaries to release a few follicles, each of which has an egg. One of these follicles’ eggs will start to mature, while the others die (around day 10). The uterine lining starts to thicken during this phase too due to follicular stimulation. The follicular growth also causes a surge in estrogen, which the body compensates for by the hypothalamus releasing gonadotrophin-releasing hormone (GnRH), which gets the pituitary gland to release lutenizing hormome (LH) and FSH.

OVULATION – During this phase, the high levels of LH triggers the release of the mature egg from the ovaries in two days. The egg is propelled by little hair-like structures through the fallopian tube into the uterus. Once there, it can survive for only about 24 hours. During this process, the egg has “hatched” out of the follicle, and the follicular remnant that gets dragged along outside the egg becomes the corpus luteum. The corpus luteum releases progesterone and a little estrogen, a mixture that helps keep the uterine lining thickened.

LUTEAL PHASE – During this phase the corpus luteum releases progesterone and a little estrogen, a mixture that helps keep the uterine lining thickened. When no pregnancy occurs, the corpus luteum falls off and dies (around day 22), causing a drop in progesterone. The progesterone drop triggers the uterine lining to fall off (aka menstruation), hence the cycle repeats.

So how does one do this seed cycling, you ask? Well, during the follicular phase (day 1 when you start to bleed to day 14) you take a daily dose of 1 tablespoon of ground flax/pumpkin/chia seeds. From days 15-28 you take a daily dose of tablespoon of ground sunflower/sesame seeds. That’s all there is to it.

But why is this supposed to work? I couldn’t find any rigorous studies on seed cycling, but came upon a blog post written by a naturopathic doctor (Dr. Lindsey Jesswein). She explains that the seed hulls have chemicals called lignans, which help “modulate hormone pathways”, and the seed oils (made of omega fatty acids) help “provide the building blocks for steroid hormone synthesis”. Jesswein then describes each seed (minus chia) a bit more by what they provide:

Flax – vitamin B, manganese,  and magnesium

Pumpkin – iron, magnesium phosphorous, zinc

Sesame – vitamin E, vitamin B1, manganese, irin, magnesium, copper, sesamin

Sunflower – vitmin E, linoleic acid, magnesium, potassium, zinc, calcium

The Herbal Academy (which was how I came to Dr. Jesswein blog post) goes into a bit more detail about the various benefits of each of these seeds and provided studies, but noted that the information was on individual seeds and not their impact with seed cycling.

A few of the studies they included (and some additional ones I found) found that:

flax may help to lengthen the luteal phase and reduce missed periods,

pumpkin may improve HDL cholesterol levels and reduce hot flashes, joint pain and headaches

pumpkin and sunflower may aid in reducing postmenopausal breast cancer risk

sesame seeds, according to Ayurvedic philosophies, are supposed to be able to improve “scanty menstruation”

a maternal diet of flaxseed versus casein results in lower body fat mass and visceral fat mass, cholesterol, and triglycerides for the offspring when weaned. Note I have no idea what species they were studying as I could only access the abstract, but I’m assuming they tested mice

Overall the evidence of large changes for the menstrual cycle is not huge, but at the same time, it generally doesn’t hurt to consume seeds in one’s diet so it may be worth trying if you want to play around with your nutrition (though always seek advice from a medical professional first, especially if you have a specific condition you are trying to treat!).

I’m curious to apply seed to myself so I might give it a trial for a few months and report back. Maybe. I’m also incredibly fickle, so probably not. I generally eat flax anyway with breakfast and the like, but I wouldn’t be able to notice if there were any changes because I’m still breastfeeding and thus not getting my period anyway.

Also I do understand that engaging in many different eczema projects simultaneously results in confounding the data as to which project individually helps my eczema, but it is my belief that eczema cannot be managed by just one miracle solution (though diet is a huge one) and so enacting multiple positive changes and approaches, so long as they are sustainable to myself lifestyle, I view as being the most maximally beneficial.

REFERENCES

Gossell-Williams, M., Hyde, C., Hunter, T., Simms-Stewart, D,. Fletcher, H., McGrowder, D., Walters, C.A. (2011). Improvement in HDL cholesterol in postmenopausal women supplemented with pumpkin seed oil: pilot study. Climacteric. 2011 Oct;14(5):558-64.

Hall, Annie. “Seed Cycling for Hormonal Balance.” Herbal Academy, https://theherbalacademy.com/seed-cycling-for-hormonal-balance/. Accessed 22 Oct 2018.

“Menstrual Cycle.” Better Health Channel, https://www.betterhealth.vic.gov.au/health/conditionsandtreatments/menstrual-cycle. Accessed 24 Oct 2018.

Phipps WR, Martini MC, Lampe JW, Slavin, JL, Kurzer MS. (1993). Effect of flax seed ingestion on the menstrual cycle. Journal of Clinical Endocrinology & Metabolism. 1993 Nov;77(5):1215 – 1219.

Somwanshi SB, Gaikwad VM, Dhamak KB, Gaware VM. Women’s Health Issue: A Brief Overview on Irregular Menstruation. IJNRD. 2017 May;7(5):2456-4184.

Troina AA, Figueiredo MS, Moura EG, Boaventura GT, Soares LL, Cardozo LFMF, Oliveira E, Lisboa PC, Passos MARF, Passos MCF. Maternal flaxseed diet during lactation alters milk composition and programs the offspring body composition, lipid profile and sexual function. Food and Chemical Toxicology, 2010 Fed;48(2):697-703.

Zaineddin AK, Buck K, Vrieling A, Heinz J., Flesch-Janys D, Linseisen, J, Chang-Claude J. (2012). The association between dietary lignans, phytoestrogen-rich foods, and fiber intake and postmenopausal breast cancer risk: a German case-control study. Nutrition and Cancer. 2012;64(5):652-65.

[not-safe-for-bts]

Terms and Conditions of Friendship {JHS}

I wish I had it in me to apologise for this disgusting smut, but I just don’t. I just... don’t. Also I wrote so much I had to split it into two halves bc tumblr hates long posts sorry

Warnings: swearing (it’s me), fuckboy!BTS, sexual tension with like all of the members, a road trip with 7 rowdy men, slight exhibitionism, teensy bit of masturbation,smallest mention of thigh riding, intentional (but not obvious) orgasm denial, Jung Hoseok being rude aF, fratboy Bangtan shenanigans as per

Summary: 13 has always been an unlucky number. Always. It’s just... written into the laws of nature at this point. So it’s no surprise that when you hit the 13th month of your - ahem - dry spell, you do the one thing you swore you’d never do.

Part 2 || Masterlist

~^*^~

Just as you think you’ve successfully made it through the hallway, a voice calls your name and you audibly sigh and turn to the owner of said voice. Jungkook has his head peering around the door from, looking at you.

“Where ya going?” He inquires.

“To the bathroom...” you trail off, hoping that he doesn’t catch on to the very obvious need in your voice.

“Why did you sneak off?”

“Because I didn’t want to interrupt you guys. Enough interrogation I need to go.”

You ignore any more words coming from his mouth, as you’re already practically sprinting to the bathroom. Fuck Min Yoongi. God, you’d like to. Why he chose on having you sit on his lap during the movie, why he had to keep flexing his fucking thigh every time he so much as shuffled, why he had to keep a grip on your waist was beyond you and now you were all riled up. Well... technically, you’d been riled up for the last nine days and you were nearing insanity. You know that it was around the time that you are ovulating, so of course your body is craving a little more than usual but... this is a lot more than usual. This is tons more than usual. And hanging out with the Bangtan Fraternity is not helping your case.

No, it never helped your case. Because all seven members are hot. Yesterday, Namjoon had appeared in the kitchen shirtless and he’s been working out for the last five months and he’s got some real nice pecs and a faint but still obvious set of abs and- you inhaled your orange juice through your nose and Taehyung had a fit. He couldn’t stop laughing and you made Namjoon smirk because that fucker knew he’d struck a cord by coming in shirtless. Way to boost his ego.

A few days before that incident, you had slept over after a party and Seokjin had been getting it on with one of the sorority girls (you think her nae was Rose or something like that) and holy shit, hearing his grunts and moans sent you into a frenzy. You’d never really had a thing for Seokjin but it was hard to face him the next morning, that’s for sure.

Right now, though, you are close to calling a male prostitute or doing something because holy shit you hadn’t had sex in thirteen whole months. Your last rendezvous had been with Jackson Wang, your then boyfriend who had promptly dumped you just two days after. Something about needing space. Clearly he needed space to fuck that stupid Taeyeon or whatever her name is. Whatever. You’re totally over it.

Except you really miss sex. You really miss sex. To the point that you’re currently on your way to the bathroom to maybe get one orgasm out of the way so that you can focus on the rest of the movie. Of course, that doesn’t happen.

“Ey, [First], hurry up, I need to pee after.”

“Hoseok, there is a bathroom upstairs.” You grit your teeth, turning your head as you near the bathroom door.

“Yeah, exactly. This one is closer. So hurry up.”

He’s in a pair of grey material shorts and a black t-shirt and somehow he looks better than models on a runway. He’s looking at you with an accusatory gaze. Why are you being so feisty?

“Wait are you going for a shit-“

“No-“ you cut him off, “I’m not!”

“Good well hurry.”

So, you slam the bathroom door shut and stand there for a moment. You stare at yourself in the mirror and mutter to yourself in an attempt to cool your ever growing body temperature. Your eyes are blown wide and there’s a rosey hue to your cheeks. You look exactly how you feel and you know at least one of the members has caught on to what’s bothering you.

As you run a hand through your hair, the door knocks.

“Come on!”

Fucking Hoseok.

You tear the door open, giving him a glare.

“You didn’t flush.” He points out with a disgusted look.

“I didn’t do anything. You put me off.” Technically it isn’t a lie. Hoseok gives you a weird look and tugs you out of the room so that he can go in. He doesn’t even shut the door properly. Disgusting.

Why are you even friends with these disgusting frat boys? You do have to wonder. Your legs are starting to shake a little. You decide to sit down in the kitchen, opting you stay away from the room full of guys for a moment. You need to catch your breath. You hear the bathroom door shut and Hoseok whistles as he makes his way back to the living room. With him gone, you could totally just go back to the bathroom...

You’re seriously debating it. It’s so tempting and Yoongi’s actions have caused a horrible burn in the pit of your stomach. Your guts are doing summersalts and your fingers are itching to relieve yourself.

You could totally-

“Oh, there you are!” A boxy grin greets you and it takes every ounce of will power to not scream.

What the hell has gotten into you? Since when were you so horned up? You seriously need to cool it.

“Yes, here I am.” You mask over the frustration in your voice and give Taehyung as much of a smile as you can.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah...” you turn your attention to the fruit bowl, turning an apple with your index finger.

“Everything doesn’t seem alright. You jumped off of Yoongi Hyung like he was hot.”

“Yoongi is hot.” You roll your eyes.

“You know what I meant.”

“Everything’s okay, Tae, I promise.” You look back up at him and give him another smile.

He takes one proper look at your face and it takes a lot to not call you out. He knows that if you wanted help, you would definitely ask and you were obviously trying to ignore your whole situation. Your lips are bruising a little from how badly you’ve been biting them, your eyes are clouded and blown wide, your cheeks are gently flushed and so if the expanse of your chest from what he can make out of the skin peeking out of your shirt. You’re horny.

You suddenly feel as though Tae is eye-fucking you and you cross your arms over your chest, awkwardly turning away from him. Both of you have grown comfortable with one another. You usually send for Tae in your times of need (aka wanting someone to platonically cuddle with) because he has expressed no romantic interest in you. There’s no chance it could ever possible happen. So, you feel comfortable with him.

But right now, seeing only just a fraction of how you’d look being completely ruined, Tae can’t help but kind of okay really want to bend you over the counter and help you out.

He clears his throat.

“Okay well... if you say so.”

You hum in response and then turn to him again.

“The movie is kinda boring so I’m gonna chill out in here instead.” You announce, voice suddenly weak.

“Okay...” he barely manages a whisper and turns away immediately.

What the fuck was that?!

Did you just get eye-fucked by Kim Taehyung?

You slip into one of the cool bar stools and immediately there’s a burning cold running up and down your exposed legs. The plastic nips into your hot flesh and you sigh.

The clock is ticking behind you and you can barely make out the sound of people outside. There’s a good 30-40ft of distance between the frat house next door and so you don’t have to worry too much about their noise. It’s mostly quiet and the sun isn’t on this side of the house. The room is still bright, though.

Another sigh leaves your lips after a moment passes. Maybe it’s the coolness of the seat, but you’re finally feeling a little better. You definitely need to invest in finding more female friends.

~^*^~

“Psst.”

You ignore it. Just ignore it. Maybe he’ll stop.

“Pssst.”

Again, you pretend not to hear, jotting down another note.

“Pssssst!” A finger jabs into your side and you finally cave, head snapping to your right.

You come face to face with some coffee coloured orbs which are a little wide and sparkling in mischief (albeit a little regret after your angry face turns to him), he’s got mousy hair and plump-ish lips and holy shit he’s kind of cute. You don’t let your face falter, though. This is the first lecture of the year and he’s already interrupting and talking?

“Could I borrow a pen?” He whispers sheepishly, “I left my pencil case back home...”

You huff, not uttering a single word to him as you open your case and practically throw a pen at him.

“Thanks...” he whispers and now he feels bad. It was a genuine mistake, though! He got a little busy with Jimin and the PlayStation and before he knew it, he had like 20 minutes to get ready and get to class and it’s a seven minute walk from the frat house to this lecture hall so he only had 13 minutes to get ready and- he kind of left his pencil case on the kitchen counter, “...I’m Jungkook by the way.”

You don’t respond. He doesn’t say anything else until the lecture ends and he’s watching you throw things into your rucksack. It’s very cliche - and trust, he knows this - but you are the first girl who’s not melted at the look of him and he kind of likes that? He likes that you haven’t given in so easily.

“I’m sorry about all that,” he begins once people start to up and leave. You turn to him.

“It’s fine. Keep the pen.”

And you’re gone.

Jungkook spends the rest of the day thinking about you and he feels so guilty. It was the first day! How could he forget one of the two things that are going to carry him through his university. You can’t have paper without pen! Okay, that makes no sense but, he still feels really bad. So he goes out and buys this lowkey expensive pen as an apology and he’s super early the next day. He catches you outside and tugs you away from the doors.

“I hope you don’t want another pen-“ you snap at him.

“No, listen, I just wanted to apologise for yesterday. It was totally my fault and I’m sorry for making such a bad impression of myself. Here.” Jungkook has never done the whole gift-to-a-girl thing before so he just kind of thrusts you an unwrapped box. It’s a pretty pen. A muted metallic rose gold. It also comes with refills.

Oh. That was sweet. But you immediately realise how much this must’ve cost him and you decide-

“I can’t accept this, Jungkook.” You offer politely, reaching out to give it him back.

“Please, I really want you to have it. I felt awful after you looked at me like you wanted to bite my head off.” He rubs the back of his neck, unable to look at you for a moment. You ponder. This is a really sweet gesture.

“Alright,” you sigh, “but you’re not giving me a lot of choice. Thank you, Jungkook.”

“You’re welcome...” he trails off so that you can fill in your name.

“[First]. I’m [First].” You give him a smile.

Before you know where you are, you’re being pushed through the cafeteria by Jungkook and he’s screaming out “Hyung!” And then six different guys are all staring at you. Jungkook introduces you to them, sits you down next to the one called Taehyung and takes the biggest bite you’ve ever seen out of Namjoon’s sandwich. This happens for the next few days until you start to willingly accompany Jungkook.

~^*^~

Three years have passed since then and you are now sitting in their kitchen trying not to jump the bones of the next one that walks through the door.

You think about Jungkook back then. He’s always had a little bit of a baby face, but back then he was still a little lanky so it was more obvious. He had a pretty weak build. Obviously, since then, he’s been going to the gym like twice (sometimes thrice) a day because he’s earnt the nickname muscle pig. Somehow you also know that he’s gotten stronger because he can “hold an entire girl up with ease without needing any support” (it was also the worst sex he ever had, so he’d not done it since). Great. Now you’re thinking about Jungkook holding you up and-

No. No, you are not going to think about Jungkook like that. It’s bad enough you’re sitting in here avoiding the seven of them like the plague because you know that if you have to sit on Yoongi’s lap again you’ll end up riding his thigh like your life depends on it.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Jimin’s voice rips you out of your thoughts about Yoongi’s thighs and you look up at him. He’s recently dyed his hair black and holy shit he is the epitome of sex on legs. He walks across the kitchen to grab a glass and turns to you for a minute.

“Hello? Am I talking to the wall?”

“Sorry,” you find yourself finally finding words, “bored.”

“There’s a whole Fast and Furious in the living room-“

“Yeah but it’s boring.”

“Tokyo Drift is not boring.”

“Yes it is. And the main character isn’t even hot so it’s not worth it.”

Jimin blows his teeth out at your response. Of course you wouldn’t want to watch a movie because the main character isn’t hot. He fills his glass with water and takes a swig.

“Well sorry he’s not Leonardo Di-whatever his name is.”

“First of all, rude, second of all I didn’t realise you guys missed my company so.”

“It’s nice having female company.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“You’re disgusting, Park.”

“Not as disgusting as the girl who blatantly tried to ride Yoongi hyung’s thigh like ten minutes ago.”

He throws the words over his shoulder as he leaves the room and your face explodes in red. Shit. Okay. You need to leave right now if you want to save face. You pray to god that only Jimin saw because you cannot emotionally handle the guys making fun of you right now. You need to go home, get your vib and go to town for a couple of hours. You’ll feel better.

You almost jump off of the stool in your anticipation to leave. Part of you wants to go and say goodbye to the boys, but you know you’ll end up coerced into staying if you do. They’ll text if they worry about you.

Your feet are moving towards the front door and you pause just before you walk past the living room. The door is wide open (typical Jimin) and there is no way they won’t spot you. Round the back it is.

Who would’ve thought you of all people would be sneaking out of the frat house?

It’s not under the same circumstances as the other girls but, you’re still sneaking out and you still kind of feel like James Bond so it totally counts. The back door (as expected) is unlocked and you’re pleasantly surprised to see that the pool is actually covered. The boys have finally taken heed after two and a half years of you giving them shit for not covering it over.

You’re so close to leaving when you realise your fatal misstep in this whole mission. Your phone. It’s still on the sofa next to Yoongi. Fuck.

Maybe if you found a way to distract the guys and lure them outside, you could just rush back in and-

“What are you doing?”

The sass in the voice alerts you to who it is immediately. You literally don’t know how to answer him bevause your standing at the side of the house, looking out at the street that’s so close but so far away, nervously biting at your cuticles.

“I’m, uh, getting some fresh air.”

“Yeah, right. You can’t just leave, [First]!” Seokjin scolds and he’s pulling you back towards the back door.

“But I’m bored!” You whine.

“You let Jungkook choose the movie.”

“Yeah but he gave me his puppy eyes and an extra mini-cookie.”

The movie apparently just finished because Hoseok, Yoongi and Namjoon are standing in the kitchen. You can hear Jungkook and Jimin squabbling in the kitchen and you’re kind of a little too embarrassed to see Tae right now. None of them pay much attention to Seokjin or yourself as he scolds you for trying to leave without saying goodbye. You apologise to him before excusing yourself to grab your phone. You pass Jungkook in the hall and he grins at you.

“Hi baby,” he blows a kiss.

“Suck it, Jeon.” You playfully scowl and make your way to your precious phone.

You clutch it up and look at your notifications. Just a couple of snaps from Hyuna. Nothing out of the ordinary. Jimin is lolling on the sofa watching you. He knows he was the only member that saw what you were doing, and Yoongi probably didn’t even realise what was happening until you’d leapt from his grasp.

“[First],” he calls out.

“Hm?” You’re trying to act nonchalant.

“What the hell was that? With Yoongi Hyung.” His voice is a whisper and you draw yourself close to him.

“You don’t think anyone else saw, do you?” For a moment your mind flashes to Hoseok. God you hope Hoseok didn’t see.

It may have been pointed out by Jimin that you have a phat (with a capital PH) crush on Hoseok. Whilst that is certainly not true, it’s also not not true. You definitely have a thing for Hoseok but it’s not a crush, per se. There’s the obvious, first, that the man is fucking gorgeous in every sense of the word. He must’ve been sculpted by the gods themselves because no one should have a jawline that sharp, or a nose that perfectly sloping and pointed. And definitely not lips like that. Plump to just the right size and form the shape of a heart whenever he smiles. Also, the rest of him, his arms (which you notice he’s been working on lately. He came back after dance practise wearing a vest and you almost creamed right there - Jimin didn’t shut up for like a week), his hands, his fluffy hair, his legs, that slab of chocolate-shaped abs that you want to run your damn tongue over-

Okay you have a thing for Hoseok. But it’s only physical. Anyone would be crazy to not crush on him. He’s gorgeous. He’s a an absolute beauty of a man and with being a dancer, you can only imagine how much stamina he has.

But he’s also the most good-hearted person you’ve ever met in your life. He laughs so loudly, he smiles so brightly and it’s all so genuine. He’s always been there for the other frat members and for you whenever you’ve needed him. He’s gotten up at 3am to console a sobbing Namjoon after his girlfriend broke up with him. He’s gone to the gym to help a small and fragile Jungkook work on his personal goals. He’s sat with you for hours helping you revise for exams. He goofs off a lot and doesn’t care woo looks, but he’s not afraid to cry in front of his frat members and you. He finds the dumbest things funny and he’s also the biggest scaredy-cat you’ve ever met and he’s just so... so Jung Hoseok. Everything about him is so inviting from his raspy laugh to his sparking eyes. He makes you feel secure in being yourself because he’s definitely not going to judge. Hell, if someone can go to all of their lectures for a day wearing just a mankini because they lost a bet to the maknaes, they’re definitely not going to judge you for dancing on the kitchen counter to a little bit of the Rolling Stones.

He, of course, is a fuckboy, yes. He brings home a lot of girls. You’ve been over at the house when you’ve heard “oh god-! Hoseok! Oh~!” and felt that pang of whatever the fuck that feeling is whenever he brings a girl home. But you’d never ever go that far with him yourself. Hoseok doesn’t want a full-time relationship. He doesn’t have the time for it. At least, that’s what he’s told you when you randomly asked why he doesn’t date. And you don’t want to be just a fling to him. You want to be able to hold his hand and show him off because he’s the best guy in the world. You want to sit on his lap while he studies and run your hands through his hair and reassure him that everything is going to be ok when he’s stressing over the smallest things. You want to go with him to Hope World (his personal studio for his Producing class) and sit on that little couch with the flower plushy and watch him tack tack tack away as he works hard. You want to go places with him and just him and have him all to yourself always. But you definitely don’t have a crush on him.

“[First] did you hear a word of what I just said?”

“Huh?”

“What the hell are you thinking about?” Jimin launches a pillow at you and you manage to catch it.

“Nothing, what were you saying?”

“I was answering your question. I was the only one that saw you trying to get yourself off on Yoongi and I’m fairly sure he didn’t even realise himself but - why the fuck were you trying to get off on Yoongi?”

Hoseok is laughing at something Yoongi has just said when he remembers that he was in the middle of texting that cute girl from the club a few nights ago. He reaches into his left pocket and then his right and finds... well nothing. Where’s his phone?

He looks around on the counter and sees only Namjoon’s phone and Seokjin’s keys and shit he must’ve left them in the living room. He can hear Taehyung upstairs listening to his classical music. He’s probably studying or jerking off. Jungkook is no longer making a ruckus in the living room so he’s guessing it’s empty.

He excuses himself from the conversation and slowly makes his way back to grab his phone. Hopefully there will be another lacy surprise waiting for him.

“[First] did you hear a word of what I just said?” Jimin’s voice is hushed and low. Clearly he doesn’t want to be heard. Hoseok stops in his tracks. He pressed his back against the wall, standing right next to the arch where the door is. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop but he also doesn’t want to interrupt.

“Huh?” The confusion in your voice is evidence that you didn’t.

“What the hell are you thinking about?” There’s a sound. A soft ‘puft’ kind of sound. It reminds him of a pillow.

“Nothing, what were you saying?” Hosoek knows you well enough that he catches the breath of a lie twisting your words. You were thinking about something.

“I was answering your question. I was the only one that saw you trying to get yourself off on Yoongi and I’m fairly sure he didn’t even realise himself but - why the fuck were you trying to get off on Yoongi?”

Woah - back up. You were trying to get off on Yoongi?! During the movie?! Hoseok’s breath catches in his throat. He didn’t see you- yes he did. You were perched on Yoongi’s lap.... oh.

“Okay, look,” you sigh, defeated, “you can’t tell anyone this, alright?” Your voice lowers to a hush but Hoseok can still just about make out the words.

“Alright.” Jimin whispers.

For some reason, Hoseok feels really dirty. Maybe he shouldn’t be listening to this-

“I haven’t...” your voice trails off to a mumble.

“Huh?” It seems Jimin didn’t catch your words, either.

“I... I haven’t had...” again you trail away.

“Seriously, stop mumbling.” Jimin is growing a little irked.

“I haven’t had sex in over a year!” You hiss and Hoseok’s jaw literally drops.

“WHAT?!” Jimin leaps up and you smack your hand over his mouth. His eyes are swimming with genuine shock and your about to cry now that he’s alerted the entire street.

“Jimin!” You whine, “shut up!”

“Sorry-“ his mouth is muffled against your hand and it takes a strip of his tongue over your hand for you to pull away, “hope that didn’t turn you on more. If it’s even possible.”

“Oh shut up, Jimin.” You hiss, “it’s no big deal, obviously. It’s just getting to me a little. I’ll be alright. I just need to go home and have some... you know...” you look down at your feet. Oh god, this is awkward.

“I can always help.” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows.

“Help with what?”

You freeze up and Jimin looks like the heavens have just opened for him. His eyes light up and you’ve never seen anyone try to hold back such a huge, shit-eating grin.

Hoseok steps into the room like he wasn’t just listening to you confess you’ve experiencing the longest dry-spell of your life.

“[First] has a bit of a problem. Actually it’s a huge problem,” Jimin starts and your sending him a look of warning. But Jimin knows you’re so whipped for Hoseok so maybe if he just hints a little, he can get you some dick and some Jung dick at that, “it’s a real burning blunder. It’s a hot, hot issue, let me tell ya Hyung.”

“Park Jimin.” You warm quietly through gritted teeth.

“Oh yeah?” Hoseok’s grabbed his phone now and he’s looking between you and Jimin. You’re standing really close to one another and you instinctively step away. Hoseok wants to say that he knows what your problem is and looking at your face, he doesn’t know how it wasn’t given away much earlier. Fuck, you look hot with the need swimming in your eyes.

“Yeah. It’s a real peak of an issue, wouldnt you say? I bet it’ll be a pretty orgasmic feeling when you solve it.”

Never in your life have you considered murder. But right now? Yeah, right now you could smash Jimin’s coy smirk right into the fucking wall.

Hoseok wants to burst out laughing. He knows Jimin is teasing you and he can see the anger flooding your face. He pins that Jimin is trying to get him to catch on to your problem but he already knows. He figures he’ll have a little fun.

“Oh, by the way, [First], we’re going on a spontaneous trip tomorrow. Wanna come?” He’s smiling at you.

Oh god. Hoseok’s asking you on a trip? Technically it’s wil the others but your heart just skipped a beat and Jimin is certain that you’re going to cry out of happiness.

“I, uh, I don’t know I-“

“She’d love to!” Jimin answers for you, “you don’t have any plans whatsoever do you?”

You’re giving him such an evil eye that’s screaming ‘you know I have plans you evil fucking leprechaun-ass looking motherfucker’ and he’s giving you a look back that’s screaming ‘a date with your vibrator isn’t plans’.

“Great!” Hoseok is showing some serious enthusiasm, “you might as well stay the night, then. You have clothes here, right?” You nod in response, “cool. Well, now that I’ve got this,” he waves his phone about, “I’m gonna go jerk off or something.” He stalks out. Hoseok... jerking off... in the same house as you...

You now and swolloy a dry lump. Jimin has just sealed you in for at least another 24 hours of absolute no relief whatsoever. And now Hoseok’s gone and said that! You could kill Jimin.

So now you’re lying in the middle of Hoseok’a bed with Hoseok to your right and Jungkook to your left. Back to the Future is playing on the TV but only Jungkook is really paying any attention. It’s dark and the light illuminating from Hoseok’s phone is beginning to hurt your vision. You keep looking at his hands. They wrap around his phone easily and you wonder what he did earlier. If he did... you know. There’s a burning right at the pit of your stomach and the room is hot and you’ve got two of the hottest guys you know laying on either side of you.

Jungkook’s biceps are hard and his flesh is a little clammy and hot. His pecs are pushing against the material of his shirt and his basketball shorts leave very little to the imagination.

“Yeah but I saw it on a... rerun...” you can hear Marty McFly talking in the background but the blood is pumping through your ears.

Hoseok takes a look at you. Your face is red and you’re biting your lips. You’re drawing circles on your leg with your fingertips. Oh. You’re nervous. Hoseok turns, making a point to make a small little groan as he does so and you shift next to him. He’s facing you now but his phone is still in his hands. He’s tapping away furiously and you wonder who’s on the receiving end.

It’s most certainly a girl. It has to be. The only time Hoseok types so damn much on his phone is when he’s scolding one of the frat members for something and as Jimin, Taehyung and Yoongi have gone to another frat party and Seokjin and Namjoon have already gone to bed, you know that it’s not that. You eye him, careful not to out yourself. He smirks just a little. The light from his phone illuminated his face. How are his pores so small? And his eyebrows are so neatly kept. And his lips look so soft.

His eyes snap up to you and you are fast to look away. He smirks. God, you must be going batshit crazy right now. Hoseok isn’t narcissistic. He isn’t in love with himself like other people he knows coughjincough but he knows that he’s attractive. And he knows that Jungkook is attractive, too. And he knows that you haven’t had sex in over a year. He knows how hot the room is. He knows how little you all have on. He knows how easy it would be to touch you right now bevause Jungkook is way too busy watching the move.

But then he wonders if you’d make a noise. Probably given how blown out your pupils are right now. He can practically see steam coming off of your skin. He wonders how loud you could be. Would you scream out? Would you cry? What did you like?

Great. Now he’s getting hard.

‘Way to go, asswipe.’ He thinks to himself and lies back on to his back.

The last thing he wants is to press his cock into your side. You might just combust and he likes this bed. You peer over at Hoseok as he moves and hOLY SHIT HE’S HARD. You gulp hard and Jungkook actually notices.

“I’m gonna-“

You’re quick to push up and you clamber over Jungkook. Hoseok sees a damp spot on your shorts. Fuck. He’s getting harder and now he’s alone in a bed with Jungkook. This is really fucking weird.

“Jungkook can’t you fuck off? I wanna sleep.” Hoseok rolls to face away from Jungkook, placing his phone down on the nightstand. Whatever that Sara, Stacey, Sue - whatever her fucking name is - is saying is definitely going to be nowhere near as hot as what he’s just seen between your damn legs. You’re so fucking wet - how are you staying so composed?

“Can’t I watch the rest of this?”

“No.” Hoseok grumbles, “go sleep we’re taking a long drive tomorrow.”

Jungkook huffs loduly in protest but he gets up anyway and leaves the room.

You stand in the bathroom looking at yourself in the mirror. Your chest is rising and falling and you can feel your slick between your legs. It’s like a damn pool down there. What the he’ll is wrong with you?! Hoseok and Jungkook are your friends!

A few moments pass and you don’t return. Hoseok begins to think that maybe you aren’t coming back. Maybe you don’t feel comfortable sharing a bed with him but it’s getting cooler and he doesn’t like the chill biting at his back. He pulls himself up and he is straining against his shorts. Fuck. He makes his way out into the hallway. Silence except for the whir of the fan in the bathroom. The fan automatically comes on with the light so you must be in there. He moved towards the door. Maybe you’re feeling a little sick?

Hoseok nears the door and that’s when he hears it. Even the sound of the fan can’t drown out those small whimpers. Jesus. He presses his ear against the door.

“Oh my god.” You whisper. He thanks god for not fucking with his hearing. Your breathing is growing and your whimpers are slowly growing to be whines, “fuck,” Hoseok is biting his lip as he listens. He’s sure he’s rock hard until, “Hosoek,” you gasp.

Holy mother fucking shit.

Did you just-?

His name?

wHAT?

And now he feels 10x harder and he’s sure he’s never felt this hard in his life. Not even when that hot substitute in 10th grade had her blouse pop open because her breasts were just too big to not bust it open. Fuck. Shit fuck.

But then an idea pops into his head. He likes the game. He likes the chase and he wants to see how desperate you’ll get. Even when you were with Jackson, you were still kind of reserved when it came to sex. You’ve always been that way. Maybe that’s why you haven’t fucked any of the guys yet. And Hoseok kind of doesn’t want you to now that he’s heard you. He kind of wants you all to himself.

And so he knocks.

The noises stop immediately and your heart is thundering. You were so close! Just another couple seconds and you would have easily came. You freeze. Did they hear you? The pleasure isn’t really ebbing away. It’s just sitting there in your core, waiting to snap.

“Um, [First]?” Your face flushed a deep crimson. Why Hoseok?! Did he hear you?

“Y-yeah?” You try to sound normal, like your voice isn’t cracking, like you don’t want to burst into tears because you need to come so badly.

“Everything alright?” No. Absolutely not. You want to come. You kind of want him to come in and make you come. Over his cock.

“Yeah, everything’s peachy. I’ll be out in a mo’.”

“Alright.”

He stands there. He doesn’t know what to do now. He decides he’ll go in after you and maybe try to calm himself down after that. When the door eventually cracks open, you step out. Your vest is a little twisted and he realises he’s never seen you so exposed. Your chest is bigger than he originally thought. Why do you wear such tight clothes - you’re so hot! Your legs are long and gleaming. He wonders how they’ll feel wrapped around him. Your face is deeply blushed and your lips are really swollen now. How badly have you been biting them? Your eyes are sparkling with tears - just a little but Hoseok sees them. God, how pent up are you?

You look over Hoseok and the images that were in your head aren’t subsiding. He’s rock hard against his shorts. You think that’s he thinks because it’s dark you can’t see but Jesus Chris when it’s that big it’s hard to miss. You quickly look away and Hoseok coughs before stepping into the bathroom.

Anger is one emotion flooding your veins. You just need something. Anything. You don’t know when this is going to stop because you don’t know how long the boys plan on staying wherever you’re going. You should have left your dam phone here at the house and gone a night without it. It’s not like your laptop doesn’t have a link to your phone contacts anyway. God damn.

You clamber back into Hoseok’s bed and don’t bother pulling the covers up. Hoseok is gone for a while and you don’t know what’s taking him so long. What if he heard you? What if he’s gone to sleep downstairs? Dear god. Well that’s your friendship fucked with him. Oh lord.

If only you knew. His knuckles gripping the edge of the sink, his other hand being the reason for such an intense wave of pleasure coursing his veins. Thinking of the way his name rolled off of your tongue as you gasped for breath. Did you think about his tongue, or his fingers, or his cock? God he doesn’t care. Any of them will do to make you sound like that again.

And then there’s white coating the sink and dripping down and fuck. Hoseok’s never done that to the thought of you before. Now he has to get back into bed with you and act like that didn’t just happen.

He doesn’t realise how long he’s been until he pass back into the room. You’re facing the other side of the room but fuck. Your shorts have ridden up a little, your ass is exposed - since when did you have such a nice ass? Your curves are on full display since you’re lying on your side and when Hoseok moves around the bed to get into his side, your practically spilling out of your vest. Your lips are parted, brows a little furrowed but you look peaceful. All hints of the utter torture you’ve been enduring are wiped from your face and you look kind of cute.

You? Cute? Ew, no. You’re [First]. The dorky girl Jungkook brought to lunch a few days after he first started at the uni. You’re the sweet little thing that scolded Jungkook for eating half of Namjoon’a sandwiches in one bite. You’re [First] who always brings cupcakes on a Thursday and you always give each cake icing which is the favourite colour intended for its recipient. You’re the girl who brings extra pens just in case Jungkook forgets his again, and who dances with Jimin when he’s drunk and you just want him to not fall over again, and who reads to Namjoon when he’s sleepy. You’re [First] who somehow gets along with Yoongi really well and makes him laugh all the time, who sits with Jin and is the only one who sings “yummy, yummy, yummy I’ve got food in my tummy” with him when he’s cooking.

You’re [First] who showed up one day holding hands with a senior guy and who looked so in love Hoseok thought his heart was going to burst right there. You’re [First] who always brought Hoseok water and food to his dance practice, who visited him at Hope World to remind him to take a break. You’re [First] who once broke the coffee machine and went out the same day and spent all your wages on a brand new one because you felt so bad. You’re [First] who came crying to Hoseok first when Jackson broke your heart, who called him at 2am and just asked him to speak to you because you needed to hear someone’s voice and you always liked his for some reason. You’re...

You’re extraordinary.

Hoseok doesn’t realise that his hand is caressing your cheek until you melt into his touch. He pulls away as if you’re hot to the touch. What is he doing?

The next morning, you’re not there when Hoseok wakes up and he feels a little... deflated. It’s only about 7am and he decides to get up despite a little lack of sleep. He feels groggy. He feels a little ache-y. He’s quiet as he manuvers down the stairs. He knows that Seokjin is driving today and he doesn’t feel like waking him up early and getting a lecture.

There’s a smell coming from the kitchen and Hoseok quite literally almost has a stroke when he sees you pottering around the kitchen in his hoodie and your shorts (which the hoodie is covering so it looks like you’re wearing nothing but his hoodie). You’re making pancakes and there’s all sorts of toppings already lined up on the counter. When you turn, you give Hoseok a smile.

“Morning, Hobi!”

His heart flutters in his chest. All he wants right now is to kiss you. You look so good in his clothes... You’re smiling at him and the sun is bursting through the windows. You’re glowing. He can still see that subtle hint in your eyes where you’re burning up but it seems you’re pushing it back for the time being. Maybe you relieved yourself before he woke up?

“Morning...” he has to be honest, he’s a little... taken back. You’re not usually a morning person. He knows this because one time you slept over and you had an 8:30am lecture the next morning. It took him, Jungkook and Jimin to get you out of bed and then for some reason you decided to temporarily bond with him for the morning. He had to drop you off at class and you had a toothpaste mark on the corner of your lip, your hair was just pulled into a messy ponytail and you’d thrown an outfit together. You were glaring at anyone and anything that came within a 1m radius of you except for Hoseok. So seeing you standing there smiling with a spatula in your hand at 7am is most likely the most shocking thing he’s ever seen.

“I made pancakes.” You hummed, turning back to the stove.

“I can see...” he’s still a little tired and his voice is so husky. He looks so good right now with a little bit of a bed head and his eyes not quite as bright as they usually are. You pretend the heat on your face is from the heat of the stove and you laugh it off quietly. This is fine. You’re fine. Fine.

“Would you like one?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Hoseok is sure he’s never tasted anything this good in his life. You tell him that it’s your grandmother’s recipe and he makes a mental note to meet the woman who taught you how to cook so well. Right now, you’re seeming like the full package. Until Hoseok reminds himself that he doesn’t do relationships. It’s too hard. But then again, it’s you. He’s looking at you again and you’re not looking at him. You’re currently overloading your pancake with syrup and he doesn’t know how you can intake so much sugar so early in the morning. He doesn’t understand why his heart is threatening to burst open his chest but he scoffs down his packcake so that you’ll make him another. It’s not long before the other members start to wake.

~^*^~

“-WHEN I’M WITH YOU ALL I GET IS WILD THOUGHTS!” The chanting around you has you shrinking further into your seat. Not that it did anything, you have Taehyung on your left and Namjoon on your right. Hoseok is sitting right in front of you with Jimin on his right and Jungkook on his left. Yoongi is in the passenger seat and Seokjin is driving.

Taehyung is trying to get you to dance with him in the very limited space and you’re trying to become invisible. Hoseok is laughing and you swear your heart is leaping into your throat. Why did you agree to this again? Oh, right, you didn’t. You’re burning a nice hole in the back of Jimin’s leg when your phone makes a noise.

From: Jimin ‘stop glaring at me’

To: Jimin ‘I wasn’t’

From: Jimin ‘I can literally see you in the mirror’

To: Jimin ‘in that case it’s just my face’

From: Jimin ‘no it’s not. Especially when you’re looking at Hosoek it ISNT’

To: Jimin: shut it Park

Jimin turns and gives you a flash of his smile and if you were close enough you would have hit him. Taehyung gives you a curious look and you bat him off.

“White girl wasted on brown liquor! I probably shouldn't be around you! 'Cause you get wild, wild, wild! You looking like there's nothing that you won't do!” The boys are still belting out the lyrics, but Hoseok’s head turning to lock eyes with you makes you nearly whimper. Fuck. He knows.

You don’t know how, it’s not even that logical that he would know about 1) your fat crush on him 2) your current horniness levels being through the roof 3) your want to ease your horniness with your big fat crush - so why are you panicking?! Jimin wouldn’t have told him. Jimin is an asshole, but he knows when to stop. He wouldn’t tell Hoseok. You hope.

When you pull up to this gorgeous summerhouse, you’re blown away by the scenery that surrounds it and well, the house itself. So much so that Taehyung has to pull you out of the car.

“This is technically Seokjin’s parents’ but they only use it for like two weeks in July so it’s ours for the rest of the year.” Jungkook explains and you nod at his words. You look around and Hoseok, despite being in a conversation with Seokjin and Jimin, is staring right at you. You look away.

“We could totally skinny dip.” Taehyung muses.

“You seven are more than welcome to engage in said sausage fest. I don’t feel like getting algae in my vagina.” You roll your eyes.

“Strictly speaking, you can’t really get algae in your pus-“ Namjoon is stepping over now.

“Why are you guys talking about [First]’s pussy?” Oh, there’s Hoseok, too. Great.

Please, lord, just let a small [First]-sized sink hole open up right under your feet and KILL YOU.

All seven members are now debating on if you can actually get algae in a vagina and you’ve literally never felt more uncomfortable. Hoseok is laughing at the chaos he’s had a hand in causing and your heart constricts alongside the bubbling, angry pit in your stomach. A pair of ripped denim shorts, a huge oversized white t-shirt (so large that he has to tuck it in to the front of the shorts so that it doesn’t look like a dress), an orange cap and matching vans. He looks... hot. As usual, in line with every other Jung Hoseok ™ look, he is so fucking hot.

Instead of standing around with the boys, you venture inside for a while. The house is very spacious but there’s only four bedrooms which means that everyone is going to have to bunk up. Apparently Seokjin normally gets a room to himself so he’s a little disgruntled at having to share a bed with Yoongi. Jimin is quick to pick Taehyung to bunk with and Jungkook decides he wants Namjoon because “Namjoonie Hyung sucks at switch games” which means... you’re bunking with Hoseok.

Holy shit you’re bunking with Hosoek.

You honeslty don’t know why you’re freaking out because you’ve slept (not like that) with Hoseok before. You guys like to cuddle every now and then and sometimes you’ve just straight up told Hoseok you’re sleeping in his bed because it’s really comfy (he has a memory foam mattress). Many times you’ve woken with his arms around your waist, nose pressed into the crook of your neck. But right now, something feels different. It feels like... like something has shifted monumentally between you and Hoseok. You’re starting to think that he really did hear you last night. You’re starting to think he knows you have a crush on him and you feel so stupid. There’s no way he likes you back so now you’re stuck with having to share a bed with him.

The first day is quick to pass as you get to the house at like 2pm. Seokjin whips up lunch and you guys sit out the back, looking at the large pond/small lake that sits at the back of the house. It’s a relatively warm day and it goes by pretty quickly. Before you know where you are, you’re lying in a bed next to Hoseok. It’s dark and your shoulder is touching Hoseok’s because somehow you also got stuck with the small double. Apparently it’s “too sexual” for two guys to share a bed and be that close but you know it’s bullshit because Jungkook and Taehyung literally compared dick sizes by whipping them out and holding them side-by-side. How is that- you know, you don’t even want to venture into that anymore.

You don’t know if Hoseok is asleep next to you. His chest is rising and falling but his breathing is a little too fast for someone who’s sleeping. He also keeps fumbling with his hands just a little and you’ve slept next to him enough to know that he stills when he’s officially asleep. Even so, you refuse to call out to him. But... he’s so close. And you’re beginning to burn up again. Oh god why now? Why next to Hoseok? Which reminds you, you need to smack Jimin when you see him tomorrow. Making you lie in this small-ass bed with Hoseok of all people, fully knowing how physically pent up you are. You find yourself rolling over, turning away from Hosoek and gulping in a breath. You are t h r o b b i n g. Since when had you become so hot? Before you know where you are, your fingers are over the material of your pyjama shorts and you’re biting into the pillow so that you don’t make a sound.

Fuck. This is so wrong. This is so so wrong. But you can’t help yourself. 13 months you been in this hell-like state. 13 months you’ve suffered. Your body can’t handle it any longer. You know how wrong this is. Getting yourself off with Hoseok lying beside you. Your friend Hoseok. Heavens above, you know he’s a sex god. You’ve heard more than your fair share of his sexcapades and you know girls don’t cry out like that if the sex isn’t great. You have a great mind to just roll over and beg him to fuck you. But you can’t. Because it. is. Hoseok. Because you know you’ll never live it down and you’ll definitely end up crushing on him more if he fucks you good. Your fingers are working at your bundle of nerves and oh, Lord, you’re close already. Can you come like this? Is this as needy as you’ve gotten? You’re willing to come for the first time in like four days sleeping next to one of your best friends/crush?

You don’t get the chance. Hoseok rolls over, grunting a little as he does. His arm tangled around your waist and he pulls himself close. He hums in your ear. You freeze. Your fingers are digging down into your core. Your eyes are wide open now and your heart is beating so quickly. Hoseok doesn’t make any further movement. He’s sleeping.

Except he’s not. He knows exactly what you’re up to and you are not about to come right next to him like that. Even with the pillow muffling you, you’re still a little loud and whiney. He’s smirking as he listens to your racing heart and your rugged breath. He’s pinning your arm against you and he knows you won’t move now. You’re trapped like this until he really does fall sleep. You’re trapped with your fingers on your cunt, so close to coming and nothing gives Hoseok bigger pleasure than knowing you’re shut down again. How much further will you need to be pushed before you crack?

The next day, you wake after Hoseok. He’s already up and you find him outside bending open the open bonnet of a red car. It’s a Golf R and you’re not entirely sure where it came from but Hoseok seems pretty busy so you sit down on the porch steps and wait for him to notice you. He’s gone with some ripped jeans today and a white tank top. His muscles flex every time his arms dip in and out of the metal and you’re flushing already. Get a grip, girl, it’s only 8:45! Hoseok turns after a while and flashes you a smile. Then, he’s calling you over. You don’t think that you can stand but you push yourself up and make your way towards him. {Part 2}

[pcoswontstopme-blog]

The emotional roller-coaster you go through when having PCOS and wanting a family. TTC W/ PCOS

They tell you that everything will be okay and to keep a positive outlook, that no matter what, god will answer your prayers “When It’s Your TIME”. However, I find it hard to believe, then again i'm not sure what to believe anymore. There are way to many situations that make me think that it's not completely up to god to tell us when we are ready or not. I truly think that we are never really ready for anything this world throws at us. I have never really wrote down everything I've felt while experiencing this, and i think it's time i take the time to LET IT OUT. I am not posting this to get the approval from others but sometimes you just need to let it out, and from what I've come across on the internet, I might be able to help someone that may be experiencing the same things as me . . I hope to be that encouragement to those that face these challenges .

Well, let me start by introducing myself as Luna, ( Not my real name but we don't need to get that personal, i want to share my experience, not my government credentials ). However i will tell you this, i am at the age of 25 and will be turning 26 in just a few short months. I’ve been in a stable and healthy relationship for about 9 years, He is truly amazing and one of the biggest blessings in my life. We have a pretty active sex life and should have been blessed with a beautiful baby by now. Unfortunately, that has not happened yet. I was diagnosed with PCOS in 2016, and let me tell you everything started to make since after i heard the news. The lack of periods for months was the first sign that i suspected to have PCOS, following the lack of periods came the facial hair ( mainly light hairs on the upper lip ), the lack of weight loss or weight gain, ( i have been 175 lbs since 2010 ) and along with all of these symptoms i have one of the worst over-actives bladders. I wake up 6 times a night and use the restroom about every 30 minutes to every hour . Let’s just say, I finally had enough and went to the doctors where I was given Metformin and birth control to help regulate my hormones and period, unfortunately the Metformin made me feel extremely sick and the birth control made my periods even worse. I then decided to take the natural route and avoid any medications from 2016 mid year to 2018 mid year.

Mid 2016 after all the metformin and terrible birth control i finally decided to start home remedies, in hopes that something will spark a hormone in my body that will level out all the other hormones . After hours of research i came across this pill called “ Dong Quai Root “, Everything they posted on the website seemed amazing, but i should have known not to believe everything they post on the internet.  The Dong Quai Root was taken for approx. 2 months and within those 2 months i did not see a difference other then cramping and skin irritation. I felt dehydrated and sick the whole time i was taking that pill. At this point 2016 is coming to an end and i have given up all hope on having a family because nothing seemed to work . we decided to take a year off in 2017 and let nature run its course and just like the last year NOTHING HAPPENED . Not once did i get a positive HPT, everyone around me was having babies or announcing they were expecting . You try so hard  to be supportive but deep down you are drowning in your own tears because you just want to experience the babies movements and experience the start of your VERY OWN FAMILY, you just end up feeling so helpless and broken. You begin to question if you are good enough to be a mom, if god has some vendetta against me, if i'm living life the wrong way. BUT……. Then again you have to look at all the ones who get pregnant on drugs, get pregnant after being raped, and those who also have trouble getting pregnant. We are not alone and one day we will get our blessing.    

2018 , The start of clomid - After sitting depressed and losing hope, i got up and told myself not to give up. I have come this far to give up ? NO WAY, NOT TODAY SATAN ! . March 2nd, 2018 i was prescribed clomid on a small dose of 50mg for 5 days, now here's the tricky part. - My Dr. told me that since i do not get a period i can take it when i get the medicine and take OPK test to check when i ovulate. - NOW, anyone who has tried TTC and is new to the OPK knows that they can be beyond the point of confusing. So due to being confused the first month was a complete BUST. May rolled around and i took round 2 of clomid - 50 mg- about 2 weeks after taking the clomid i was experiencing cramping, cw discharge ( ovulation ) , extremely sore breast, still frequent urination ( i experience this on a daily and THIS WILL NOT HELP ME DISTINGUISH IF I AM PREGNANT OR NOT ), back pain, mood swings and being extremely tired all day . Even with all the symptoms i felt from the 2nd round i still had a negative HPT, the tears are rolling and my hope is flying out the window.

Ive seen and heard of women that take 2 rounds of clomid and they get pregnant after the first or second round. You start to think that you’re not meant to have kids. I refuse to give up that easily, through the pain and tears i will fight until the end to have a beautiful blessing . July, September And November i experienced the same symptoms that i listed above, expect in December i took the clomid with a tbsp of Robitussin , and Got a normal 6 day period and ovulated on the same time every month i took clomid, and still nothing but a NEGATIVE HPT . I ended the clomid in November , I started to get this extremely light pink spotting on November 9th nothing that required a pad it ended the same day it started and arrived again on the 13th to the 16th, again it was nothing that showed on a pad it was only when i wiped.  After the 16th i didn't get spotting again until the 24th of November to the 26th which was again nothing major with was accompanied by some slight flutters and cramping mainly on the left side of my uterus area. The flutters and cramps started to fade away and i felt somewhat normal until November 30th when the cramping and the spotting came back and ended on the 1st of December . I didn't have much spotting through December i only had spotting on December 7th, 20th, and the 21st, for the whole month of December i did not get a period but on December 26th thru the 28th i was puking and feeling extremely sick and sleeping. After those few days i felt completely fine and haven't thrown up since, with all of the on and off symptoms i really believed that this was going to be my first positive HPT, sadly i was mistaken. On January 1st , 2019 i took a HPT and it was negative. After about 15 minutes of reading the result on the test i noticed a very thin line , chances are that it was just the evaporation line from the test sitting for too long. This whole month of January 2019 has been a huge roller coaster. My body is feeling way to many symptoms to process what is really going on. On January 10th i started to get some very light spotting again. At this point i knew it wasn't going to last more then a day , it was beyond the point of light and barely showed. However that didn't make me think that i was pregnant, with all the negative HPT that i have taken i really couldn't bring myself to take another one and end up with heartache.

Here is where i start to worry, from January 11th thru the 19th i didn't feel any type of cramping, discomfort, spotting, sore breast, exhaustion, or mood swings. I started to believe that the PCOS was going back to a unbalanced mess until January 20th hit. On January 20th i started cramping on my left side, that spotting came back ( extremely light and only showed when i wiped ), i have this constant light/dull cramping sensation all across my uterus, and now i am experiencing 2 weeks of excruciating sore nipples and breast, my breast hurt when i walk no matter how fast or slow, they hurt to have a bra on, when water hits them, even massaging them makes the pain go from a 8 to a 15, this lasted up until today February 2nd 2019, On February 1st 2019 i took a HPT to check and see if maybe this was it, maybe i finally became pregnant after 7 full years of trying. So i made sure that i was going to buy a $5 test ( i don't trust dollar tree test since i have PCOS i have read about women who do not show HTC levels on most test mainly the cheap test - how true it is idk but i wanted a test that made me feel confident ) . I took the test and sadly got a negative, and again that ultra thin line showed up that is extremely hard to see unless you hold it up to a light. Evaporation line ?? . . i'm all out of options. I have a doctors appointment as of february 21st to see what we have going on . I promise to fight day in and day out until the day i get blessed with a family and even after i will fight to provide the best life for you that i can .

There will always be those people in you life that tell you “ Dont have kids “ “ you want them now but just wait til their 2, 3, 6, 16, 19, “ or the famous “ kids are expensive “ saying from people who would rather pay for beer then formula or diapers. No matter what we go through in life, we will never be fully ready to have a child. I know that mentally i can handle a group of 4 kids running wild and i still find the patience and time to tend to their needs and my own. I know for a fact that i can love a child unconditionally and provide for them regardless . My heart is screaming to be a mom. I would love nothing more then to be able to raise my child to be the best person they can be in this sad messed up world. Many people want to raise their kids to know how to fight and tell someone off when they feel offended. I want to raise my child to know that they dont need friends in this world to be successful, they do not need drugs or alcohol to feel like they can fit in, they dont need to bully other kids to make themselves feel better, i want to show them how to respect their elders, they will use manners and speak properly, they will attend school and most of all THEY WILL FEEL LOVED AND SAFE . they will know that no matter where they go in life , that i their mother will always be right there and always do my best to give them the world. Most people cant stand to see other parents actually attend to their kids needs. We are instantly called brainwashed or weak.

[chelsea9five]

oh baby

Just today, I’ve finished a post I had in my drafts, wrote a whole other post, and now I’m working on a third post. Tumblr really is my therapy and my journal. I guess I had a lot I needed to get off my chest today.

In my last post, I talked about feeling left behind because my 2 best friends got pregnant within a month of each other and now they’re moms to toddlers. Here’s the backstory.

Before the pandemic, we would get together for dinner once a month if we could. November 2019, Ashli broke the news to me that she was pregnant. Rissa had already known, but Ashli told me at dinner. A few weeks later, I get a frantic call from Rissa that she thought she was pregnant and she was scared to take a test. She eventually took one, and she told Ashli that it was positive, and later on, she told me. So now, my two best friends were pregnant. I had an IUD in. We always joked about getting pregnant together. It wasn’t meant to be for me though.

I live with my boyfriend. We’ve lived together for 3 years, been together for 4. Originally, he moved to PA from DC and transferred his job at Uhaul to a location near our apartment. After a few months working there, he decided to go back to school. He worked out a deal with his dad that his dad would pay his living expenses and tuition so that he could focus on his degree and not have to worry about a job. He is supposed to graduate this May. 

When we found out that my friends were pregnant, we talked about trying. He was in his third year of his undergrad degree. If we had been successful at that time, he would have had one more year in his degree to complete after I gave birth. He saw how much I wanted to be pregnant too and he’s known that I’ve wanted a baby for a while, so he was on board to try the next month after we found out Rissa was pregnant. That was January 2020. Early in the month, I got my IUD taken out. A few days after I got it out, he let me know that he wasn’t ready and that he wanted to finish his degree before we try. I was absolutely destroyed. I eventually made peace with the decision and we’ve been very conscious of safe sex because I refused to go back on birth control. BC has messed up my hormones and cycle, so I wanted to be off it to see if my cycle regulated itself. Spoiler alert: it has. I now track my cycle each month and we use condoms when I’m ovulating. We’ve been at the point where we’re ready to say, if it happens, it happens. But there have been some outside factors.

My best friends were both engaged. Rissa’s wedding was this past September. I didn’t want to be pregnant for her wedding because I didn’t want to miss out on the drinking fun as her MOH. Ashli is getting married next August. If I get pregnant now, I’ll be very pregnant and ready to pop by her wedding date. Since I’m also in her wedding party, I can’t risk that. So now, Liam and I are at the point where it’s ok with us if I get pregnant because by the time I give birth, he’ll have his degree and hopefully a job and be set. However, we still can’t because of the upcoming events. 

Liam has been very adamant about wanting to be set with life and a job and everything before we try, but I just can’t help but feel like every time someone I know announces a pregnancy, it’s bittersweet to me. I’m so happy for everyone else, but I’m so ready for it to be my turn. I almost want to ask myself, if they can do it, why can’t I? But that’s not a fair question. I love Liam, I love his dedication to getting it right for us, and I have never once wanted to make him feel pressured to do anything. I’m just sad about what I’m missing out on. I have always wanted to be a mother. I love babies and kids. I just have to be patient because my time is coming.

[atlanticcanada]

Pregnancy, fertility, menstruation and COVID-19: Your questions answered

While the pandemic has been a stressful time for everyone, it’s been particularly worrisome for those who are pregnant or trying to become pregnant. With new data and studies about COVID-19 and the vaccines to protect against it being released daily, it’s no wonder that confusion abounds.

Newsletter sign-up: Get The COVID-19 Brief sent to your inbox

From pregnancy risks to menstrual changes, fertility expert Dr. Marjorie Dixon, the founder of Anova Fertility and Reproductive Health in Toronto, separates facts from fiction when it comes to reproductive health in the time of COVID-19.

WHAT ARE THE RISKS OF COVID-19 TO PREGNANT PEOPLE?

Pregnant people are at a higher risk of severe complications, hospitalization, and even death from COVID-19 when compared with their non-pregnant, age-matched counterparts, according to Dixon.

“If you are a woman and you’re pregnant, you're at greater risk of having severe exacerbations, and admission, intubation, and potentially death from coronavirus,” she told CTV’s Your Morning on Wednesday.

According to a recent study published in the journal JAMA Pediatrics, expectant mothers with a COVID-19 diagnosis were at higher risk of preeclampsia, infections, admission to hospital intensive care units and death.

The risk of death for these women with COVID-19 was 1.6 per cent, which was 22 times higher than for pregnant women without the disease, the study said.

WILL GETTING VACCINATED AFFECT FERTILITY?

Dixon stressed that there is no evidence to suggest the COVID-19 vaccines affect fertility. She said this misinformation began to spread after a blog post from someone in the scientific community gained momentum online.

In the post, the author wrote that the vaccine targets the specific spike protein on SARS-CoV-2, the virus which causes COVID-19, which is true. However, Dixon said the blog post author claimed there is a placental adhesion, so how the placenta gets into the uterus and adheres to the uterus to then feed the pregnancy, with a similar amino acid to the spike protein. According to the blog post, that meant the vaccine and the antibodies the body produces to fight COVID-19 could theoretically attack these placental proteins.

“It’s fake news. It's not real,” she said. “It got propagated across the internet globally and patients are asking about it non-stop and I think it's very important to clear up that that is not real information.”

The claim has also been debunked by several medical societies around the world.  

 Dixon also added that throughout the pandemic, fertility providers such as herself have not noticed a drop in pregnancy rates.

SHOULD PREGNANT PEOPLE GET THE VACCINE?

Because pregnant people are at a higher risk of severe complications and death from COVID-19, Dixon urged them to get vaccinated.

“If you are planning a pregnancy, if you are pregnant, if I were pregnant, I would be getting the vaccine,” she said.

In fact, Dixon added that pregnant people should be prioritized over other groups to receive the vaccine sooner because of their higher risk.

She also said the benefits of the vaccine will extend to the fetus as well because the antibodies the body produces will cross the placenta and protect the unborn child against COVID-19 too. Furthermore, she said those antibodies can also be passed to the baby after birth during nursing.

CAN MENSTRUAL CYCLES BE AFFECTED BY THE PANDEMIC?

There have been anecdotal reports from people claiming they have witnessed changes to their menstrual cycle during the pandemic.  While Dixon said there is not a lot of science to back up why this might be happening to some people, she said stress can be a factor.

“There's the grand central control in our brains that actually sends messages and informs our endocrine system of how to grow an egg and then ovulate,” she said. “In periods of stress, women will actually mention, like when women are taking exams, for example, law school, medical school, stressful periods of their lives, their periods will actually cease.”

Some people have also reported changes to their menstrual cycle after being vaccinated, but Dixon said this could just be a reporting bias.

“When you're asked to report something, after you've had a vaccination or to remember when things happen, sometimes we may actually remember things not accurately, or not exactly as they were to have transpired,” she said. “It's potentially that we're looking at our periods and maybe they were irregular before we got the vaccine too and we're not actually noticing.”

While there could be another explanation, Dixon said at this stage there’s no evidence that vaccines actually impact periods.

“There may be correlation, but not causation,” she said.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/3bDgvxK

[kurtwarren54]

COVID-19 CANCELLED MY FROZEN EMBRYO TRANSFER

To be honest, I was never going to write this post until Monday came around. With this week being National Infertility Awareness week, my situation just hit me hard again and I was reminded that for me, being open and sharing my truth and struggles is something that not only helps me personally but hopefully helps others too. This Covid-19 world has become a super shitty time for so many people. Before I go into everything. Let me rewind.

Many of you know that we struggled for a long time to bring Otis into the world. You can read all about our infertility and multiple rounds of IVF as I wrote a lot of pretty detailed posts throughout the process. After settling into life as a new mom, Blake and I both started to think about expanding our family. We have 3 frozen embryos that have been genetically tested and our plan moving forward was to do a FET (frozen embryo transfer) to expand our family. We made the decision not to try naturally based on my own anxieties about my egg quality being poor. Plus, to have these little miracle embryos is such a blessing. We worked so hard to get them and we wanted to give them a fighting chance. Sharing the start of our cycle and what ended up happening. I had started a FET diary on my computer to document what I was feeling and going through so tapping into that in the paragraphs below.

STARTING MY FROZEN EMBRYO TRANSFER CYCLE

We decided to prep for a transfer at the end of March so that meant starting our treatment at the beginning of February. The first piece of the puzzle was doing a Hysteroscopy to take a look inside my uterus with a camera to make sure everything looked good to prep for a transfer. I remember the day I had the blood drawl in preparation for the procedure. It’s funny how quickly you fall back into these same routines of what now has seemed like a distant time away. After finally being in my own skin for about 2 months, here we were again. In my own skin meaning no breastfeeding and finally for once having my body literally to myself. The wildest thing after years of treatment and then being pregnant. Have to say, those 2 months were an incredible time to honor my own body and mind just being my own. Staring into a future of needles, meds, mood swings and anxiety had me on the edge of my seat. Maybe its PTSD from the years of treatments. It’s wild because it’s such a strange emotion. I am both calm and anxious at once. Is that even a thing?!? After going through this process before, there is a sense of calm in knowing what to expect. I also know that this really can work. Otis is sheer proof that the miracle possibility is something that is so real I can literally wrap my arms around him this second and hug him so hard and close. On the flip side, it’s heavy to know the journey that lies ahead and the obstacles ahead of us as well. So it’s this wild mix of emotions as I know those evil estrogen pills are on their way to my pharmacy and the countless needles that lie in my future. For a split second, I think about how much easier it would be if we could just be normal and conceive without all this baggage. But then I snap out of it. All the blood, sweat, tears and love we put into this process. All the work. Our precious embryos sitting frozen at the embryo bank. My mind instantly switches gears. It’s a privilege I get to look this battle in the eye again. And you know what? I’m a hell of a lot stronger than when I first started this journey and you bet the fight left in me is strong. 

FIRST DAY OF INJECTIONS

I hoisted the giant cardboard box of medications onto our kitchen island. I took a deep breath because I knew what was ahead of me. The first shot of many and the first opportunity to prep for baby number 2. So exciting. Nerve wracking. Emotional. All the feelings. I decided that I was going to do it. Blake was next to me reading my protocol papers and telling me my dosage. I was starting my lupron injections. The lupron basically turns off your own hormones so you can sync everything with the hormones I will be taking soon. The injection is telling my body not to ovulate etc. It’s wild what these meds can do to help prepare for an embryo transfer. Wild. I pulled out the bag of orange insulin syringes. Funny that something so distant was feeling all too familiar. I pulled back the syringe to the 20 mark and I was ready to inject. I stood there for a second. Anticipating how it would feel again, psyching myself up. And BAM. I did it. And just like that, we were “IN IT” again. Holy crap guys. We were really in it.

LEADING UP TO EMBRYO TRANSFER

Everything was on track. Everything was going, dare I say, GREAT. Time was flying by and really before I knew it I was taking my estrogen pills and estrogen patches headed into the doctor’s office for scans to check my lining. I remember Dr. M saying how surprised she was that my lining was looking so good toward the beginning to the point I thought something might be wrong! Maybe things were just finally playing out without a struggle. Maybe things were finally syncing up perfectly with the universe. There was an odd sense of calm and peace and everything was shaping up to look great.

RUMBLINGS OF COVID-19

Covid-19 was starting to slowly creep into every part of daily life and I we quickly felt like we were on a race against the clock. What was really happening in the world? How was it going to trickle to us? It started to quickly become scarier by the day and it was always in the back of my mind that our fertility center might close. I was talking to a girlfriend on the East Coast who let me know at some point that her fertility clinic was closing and my heart instantly sunk. Was this all really happening?!

COVID-19 I HATE YOU

It was March 16th that would darken this FET cycle for us. In the midst of the Coronavirus pandemic, it became clear that this was going to possibly affect my treatments. I feel like each day leading up to this started to become increasingly scary and left me feeling such fear looking into the unknown of what each new day would bring. The virus was spreading more quickly than ever and slowly but surely everything was starting to close. Of course like so many people out there I was glued to my phone. Waiting for updates from businesses, brands, and most importantly my fertility clinic and the CCRM. The CCRM is the facility that not only stores my embryos but performs the surgical and non surgical procedures of egg retrievals, iuis, and embryo transfers. The day before my doctor’s appointment, I was scrolling instagram and saw an update from the CCRM. My heart sank. It stated that at this time, they were still performing egg retrievals but had put a pause on all embryo transfers and iuis. The tears started to flow down my face. Of all reasons to have my cycle cancelled, it wasn’t my body’s fault, it was totally out of our control. This stupid virus was fucking up my whole treatment plan. After months of prep, and a month and half of medications, I was literally a week away from my transfer and it was cancelled in an instant. I sent the text to a close friend of mine. Blake was on a conference call, and I was mid convo with my friend. She called me immediately to say how sorry she was. And we both started crying. I just knew it. I was going to get cancelled and I had found out by casually scrolling my instagram. Brutal. Absolutely brutal. I still held on to a glimmer of hope for when I immediately called my doctors office. They were still waiting on feedback from our specific CCRM center and I would have to wait till the morning for a final word on whether I was getting cancelled. 

I woke up, showered, and got our whole family ready. Otis included! And packed us all into the car to head to the doctors. Keep in mind, we were in the middle of a quarantine to stop the spread of Covid-19 and didn’t have our nanny with us so Otis was coming with us to my appointment. We got 5 minutes down the road and I called my clinic. I let them know there was no way I was coming into the office if my cycle was getting cancelled. They placed me on hold and the receptionist said I was being cancelled. So we turned around and awaited a call from my doctor. I talked to my doctor later that day. In a way, I kind of felt awful for her too. Having to make all of these gut wrenching calls to tell patients why their cycles needed to be cancelled. I think in that moment, things shifted as I know the weight of all of this falls on so many people. She explained that since the effects of covid-19 on early pregnancy are so unknown, she was not comfortable compromising my healthy and strong embryo to these unknown circumstances. We talked for a bit and while it was a bitter pill to swallow, I agreed with her. It was better to put everything on hold until the world was in a more stable position and we had more information to implant an embryo for best chances of success. Also treatment and monitoring might become increasingly difficult to knowingly put myself at risk if I had any complications would just not be the right thing to do.

WHAT’S NEXT?

The honest answer is that we wait. We wait till the world starts to recover. We wait till our health care systems are not being overloaded. And we wait until our doctors office comes up with a plan to start treatment cycles again. 

Dealing with the repercussions of this pandemic world have left us all in a state of mourning. Mourning our past social lives, routines, and interactions. Not only was I mourning the state of the world, but I was mourning our cancelled cycle. While I am lucky to have doctors and a medical team that is putting my health and my future babies health first, the sting of being one week away from our transfer date is still fresh. It makes my heart ache knowing that others are going through the same and the worst of it, you can’t go to your girlfriends house to just get that hug you need right now. The solitude of quarantine kind of makes it an extra lonely time. 

But before it sounds like a doom and gloom story, I wake up everyday, looking at Otis and smiling. Every day I am lucky enough to spend with him and our family staying home and spending this time together. The advantage of being through this before is that I have seen first hand how all the emotional and physical drains of treatment can be worth it. I know for a fact that I am strong and that I can stare infertility in the eye and kick its fucking ass. Excuse my language (sorry Mom I know you are reading this!) but you know what, I did this before and I WILL do it again.

To all my warriors out there that are feeling alone, scared, and hopeless I want you to know you have an army of women (and men!) behind you. The hardest thing to have through this process is hope but hope is what saw me through this the first time. Please know my heart is with you and whether you have shared your own journey with anyone else, I am here to support you. DM me. Email me. It might take me time to respond but if you need a friend, I am here. Don’t ever give up. Everyday I get to hear Otis’ laugh makes me so thankful I never gave up. Stay strong friends. 

A note about this old photo from before quarantine. I was struggling to find a photo that was appropriate for this subject. This specific photo always reminds me that there is such beauty in the world meant to be enjoyed with your loved ones. And I know one day, we will be looking at this same sunset together as a family of four. 

The post COVID-19 CANCELLED MY FROZEN EMBRYO TRANSFER appeared first on eat.sleep.wear. - Fashion & Lifestyle Blog by Kimberly Lapides.

from Wellness https://www.eatsleepwear.com/2020/04/24/covid-19-cancelled-my-frozen-embryo-transfer/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[elizabethcariasa]

COVID-19 CANCELLED MY FROZEN EMBRYO TRANSFER

To be honest, I was never going to write this post until Monday came around. With this week being National Infertility Awareness week, my situation just hit me hard again and I was reminded that for me, being open and sharing my truth and struggles is something that not only helps me personally but hopefully helps others too. This Covid-19 world has become a super shitty time for so many people. Before I go into everything. Let me rewind.

Many of you know that we struggled for a long time to bring Otis into the world. You can read all about our infertility and multiple rounds of IVF as I wrote a lot of pretty detailed posts throughout the process. After settling into life as a new mom, Blake and I both started to think about expanding our family. We have 3 frozen embryos that have been genetically tested and our plan moving forward was to do a FET (frozen embryo transfer) to expand our family. We made the decision not to try naturally based on my own anxieties about my egg quality being poor. Plus, to have these little miracle embryos is such a blessing. We worked so hard to get them and we wanted to give them a fighting chance. Sharing the start of our cycle and what ended up happening. I had started a FET diary on my computer to document what I was feeling and going through so tapping into that in the paragraphs below.

STARTING MY FROZEN EMBRYO TRANSFER CYCLE

We decided to prep for a transfer at the end of March so that meant starting our treatment at the beginning of February. The first piece of the puzzle was doing a Hysteroscopy to take a look inside my uterus with a camera to make sure everything looked good to prep for a transfer. I remember the day I had the blood drawl in preparation for the procedure. It’s funny how quickly you fall back into these same routines of what now has seemed like a distant time away. After finally being in my own skin for about 2 months, here we were again. In my own skin meaning no breastfeeding and finally for once having my body literally to myself. The wildest thing after years of treatment and then being pregnant. Have to say, those 2 months were an incredible time to honor my own body and mind just being my own. Staring into a future of needles, meds, mood swings and anxiety had me on the edge of my seat. Maybe its PTSD from the years of treatments. It’s wild because it’s such a strange emotion. I am both calm and anxious at once. Is that even a thing?!? After going through this process before, there is a sense of calm in knowing what to expect. I also know that this really can work. Otis is sheer proof that the miracle possibility is something that is so real I can literally wrap my arms around him this second and hug him so hard and close. On the flip side, it’s heavy to know the journey that lies ahead and the obstacles ahead of us as well. So it’s this wild mix of emotions as I know those evil estrogen pills are on their way to my pharmacy and the countless needles that lie in my future. For a split second, I think about how much easier it would be if we could just be normal and conceive without all this baggage. But then I snap out of it. All the blood, sweat, tears and love we put into this process. All the work. Our precious embryos sitting frozen at the embryo bank. My mind instantly switches gears. It’s a privilege I get to look this battle in the eye again. And you know what? I’m a hell of a lot stronger than when I first started this journey and you bet the fight left in me is strong. 

FIRST DAY OF INJECTIONS

I hoisted the giant cardboard box of medications onto our kitchen island. I took a deep breath because I knew what was ahead of me. The first shot of many and the first opportunity to prep for baby number 2. So exciting. Nerve wracking. Emotional. All the feelings. I decided that I was going to do it. Blake was next to me reading my protocol papers and telling me my dosage. I was starting my lupron injections. The lupron basically turns off your own hormones so you can sync everything with the hormones I will be taking soon. The injection is telling my body not to ovulate etc. It’s wild what these meds can do to help prepare for an embryo transfer. Wild. I pulled out the bag of orange insulin syringes. Funny that something so distant was feeling all too familiar. I pulled back the syringe to the 20 mark and I was ready to inject. I stood there for a second. Anticipating how it would feel again, psyching myself up. And BAM. I did it. And just like that, we were “IN IT” again. Holy crap guys. We were really in it.

LEADING UP TO EMBRYO TRANSFER

Everything was on track. Everything was going, dare I say, GREAT. Time was flying by and really before I knew it I was taking my estrogen pills and estrogen patches headed into the doctor’s office for scans to check my lining. I remember Dr. M saying how surprised she was that my lining was looking so good toward the beginning to the point I thought something might be wrong! Maybe things were just finally playing out without a struggle. Maybe things were finally syncing up perfectly with the universe. There was an odd sense of calm and peace and everything was shaping up to look great.

RUMBLINGS OF COVID-19

Covid-19 was starting to slowly creep into every part of daily life and I we quickly felt like we were on a race against the clock. What was really happening in the world? How was it going to trickle to us? It started to quickly become scarier by the day and it was always in the back of my mind that our fertility center might close. I was talking to a girlfriend on the East Coast who let me know at some point that her fertility clinic was closing and my heart instantly sunk. Was this all really happening?!

COVID-19 I HATE YOU

It was March 16th that would darken this FET cycle for us. In the midst of the Coronavirus pandemic, it became clear that this was going to possibly affect my treatments. I feel like each day leading up to this started to become increasingly scary and left me feeling such fear looking into the unknown of what each new day would bring. The virus was spreading more quickly than ever and slowly but surely everything was starting to close. Of course like so many people out there I was glued to my phone. Waiting for updates from businesses, brands, and most importantly my fertility clinic and the CCRM. The CCRM is the facility that not only stores my embryos but performs the surgical and non surgical procedures of egg retrievals, iuis, and embryo transfers. The day before my doctor’s appointment, I was scrolling instagram and saw an update from the CCRM. My heart sank. It stated that at this time, they were still performing egg retrievals but had put a pause on all embryo transfers and iuis. The tears started to flow down my face. Of all reasons to have my cycle cancelled, it wasn’t my body’s fault, it was totally out of our control. This stupid virus was fucking up my whole treatment plan. After months of prep, and a month and half of medications, I was literally a week away from my transfer and it was cancelled in an instant. I sent the text to a close friend of mine. Blake was on a conference call, and I was mid convo with my friend. She called me immediately to say how sorry she was. And we both started crying. I just knew it. I was going to get cancelled and I had found out by casually scrolling my instagram. Brutal. Absolutely brutal. I still held on to a glimmer of hope for when I immediately called my doctors office. They were still waiting on feedback from our specific CCRM center and I would have to wait till the morning for a final word on whether I was getting cancelled. 

I woke up, showered, and got our whole family ready. Otis included! And packed us all into the car to head to the doctors. Keep in mind, we were in the middle of a quarantine to stop the spread of Covid-19 and didn’t have our nanny with us so Otis was coming with us to my appointment. We got 5 minutes down the road and I called my clinic. I let them know there was no way I was coming into the office if my cycle was getting cancelled. They placed me on hold and the receptionist said I was being cancelled. So we turned around and awaited a call from my doctor. I talked to my doctor later that day. In a way, I kind of felt awful for her too. Having to make all of these gut wrenching calls to tell patients why their cycles needed to be cancelled. I think in that moment, things shifted as I know the weight of all of this falls on so many people. She explained that since the effects of covid-19 on early pregnancy are so unknown, she was not comfortable compromising my healthy and strong embryo to these unknown circumstances. We talked for a bit and while it was a bitter pill to swallow, I agreed with her. It was better to put everything on hold until the world was in a more stable position and we had more information to implant an embryo for best chances of success. Also treatment and monitoring might become increasingly difficult to knowingly put myself at risk if I had any complications would just not be the right thing to do.

WHAT’S NEXT?

The honest answer is that we wait. We wait till the world starts to recover. We wait till our health care systems are not being overloaded. And we wait until our doctors office comes up with a plan to start treatment cycles again. 

Dealing with the repercussions of this pandemic world have left us all in a state of mourning. Mourning our past social lives, routines, and interactions. Not only was I mourning the state of the world, but I was mourning our cancelled cycle. While I am lucky to have doctors and a medical team that is putting my health and my future babies health first, the sting of being one week away from our transfer date is still fresh. It makes my heart ache knowing that others are going through the same and the worst of it, you can’t go to your girlfriends house to just get that hug you need right now. The solitude of quarantine kind of makes it an extra lonely time. 

But before it sounds like a doom and gloom story, I wake up everyday, looking at Otis and smiling. Every day I am lucky enough to spend with him and our family staying home and spending this time together. The advantage of being through this before is that I have seen first hand how all the emotional and physical drains of treatment can be worth it. I know for a fact that I am strong and that I can stare infertility in the eye and kick its fucking ass. Excuse my language (sorry Mom I know you are reading this!) but you know what, I did this before and I WILL do it again.

To all my warriors out there that are feeling alone, scared, and hopeless I want you to know you have an army of women (and men!) behind you. The hardest thing to have through this process is hope but hope is what saw me through this the first time. Please know my heart is with you and whether you have shared your own journey with anyone else, I am here to support you. DM me. Email me. It might take me time to respond but if you need a friend, I am here. Don’t ever give up. Everyday I get to hear Otis’ laugh makes me so thankful I never gave up. Stay strong friends. 

A note about this old photo from before quarantine. I was struggling to find a photo that was appropriate for this subject. This specific photo always reminds me that there is such beauty in the world meant to be enjoyed with your loved ones. And I know one day, we will be looking at this same sunset together as a family of four. 

The post COVID-19 CANCELLED MY FROZEN EMBRYO TRANSFER appeared first on eat.sleep.wear. - Fashion & Lifestyle Blog by Kimberly Lapides.

[unlikelywallflower]

on the futility of intellectual knowing

(Continuing to catch up with the posts I wrote but never shared: this one was written early January 2019.)

It was prudent of me to wonder how I was going to make it through that week and a half after our first attempt; I would have done well to turn that wonder into some planning (not that I’m sure that would have helped). I swore I could smell things more strongly than before. I swore I was more tired than usual. Everything became a sign of potentially being knocked up. I had several nights of waking up at 4am and my body deciding it was just done with sleep for the night. Even knowing that most pregnancy tests would not be valid until at least 10 days after ovulation (since it takes about 7-10 days for an embryo to implant in the uterus, and hormones go up to detectable levels from there), I took a test on the 8th or 9th day because I just couldn’t stand it anymore. 

It was negative, as were the tests I took on days 10-12 (and I don’t mean only one per day). By the time my period arrived to confirm what I already knew, I was dramatically sad. There was a lot of crying involved, and, it was one of the many times in my life I have been grateful for all of my tools, as I managed to keep myself from spiralling completely out of control. I managed to catch the stories as they came up (mostly the story that this meant that I would never be able to get pregnant) and see them for what they were. I obviously knew, intellectually, that this process can take a while, and that very few people at this age get preggers on their first try, but knowing intellectually, as usual, was useless.

In between the first and second round, I took PSD2 home with me for my annual extended family Chanukah party (a.k.a. Latkefest!), at which he was a shining star, to no one’s surprise. My mom loved him. The next day, I got to go to his family Christmas party, which was both overwhelming and so great. On the way there, we took a little detour to visit the house and town he grew up in. I was so moved to get to see this part of his life, and so happy to get to deepen my relationship with him.

On the second round, I swung hard the other way: whereas with the first attempt, I had made it almost ceremonial, with my crystals and prayers and guided fertility meditations and visualizations, this time, I tried very hard (and surprisingly successfully) to not think about it more than I had to. I managed to keep the symptom-guessing to a minimum (though I was fairly sure that the mild cramping starting on the 8th day post-ovulation was a good sign). I managed to only have one night of too little sleep (the night before I could take the first test). I even managed not to freak out when the test was negative, or the one after that, or the one after that, or even when my period came. I was sad, yes, but at this point it felt like I had dug in for what could be a long journey. The days after, though, made me wonder: I went into a spiral of random sobbing, not triggered by anything to do with thinking about pregnancy, but more often by work stressors. It was so intense that it reminded me of coming down off the hormones after my egg retrieval surgery last summer, which was basically a mini-menopause of an estrogen crash. Maybe it was lingering sadness and/or disappointment that I just hadn’t dealt with; maybe it was a chemical pregnancy; maybe I was just exhausted after a long year. I’ll never know, but thankfully, it only lasted about a week and then I crawled out of it.

The third time, I tried to find a middle ground: I prayed, and I visualized, and I meditated, but I didn’t get obsessive about it. I promised myself I would not take a pregnancy test unless my period did not arrive by the expected date. Most of all, I promised myself I would ride the wave of the relaxing I did over the holidays and continue to practice equanimity.

I won’t pretend it was all peace and love, though; at some point, while googling something in the week after Attempt #3 (it may or may not have been whether it’s safe to have orgasms around the time of implementation), I somehow happened upon the website of a TCM practitioner whose practice is focused on fertility. In addition to a list of fertility superfoods and videos of acupressure points, she had some tips, including the tip that intense exercise, particularly weightlifting, is not great for fertility, since it puts “downward pressure” on the uterus, and for fertility, we want to promote the opposite. Also, apparently people who are trying to get pregnant should avoid excessive sweating. I freaked out at this, since weighlifting (specifically metabolic conditioning) is my primary form of exercise, and exercise is my primary form of self-regulation. I was so freaked out that I stopped exercising altogether, save for long walks, yoga, and swimming (all of which are apparently okay). I decided I could handle this until I saw my own TCM practitioner, whom I trust implicitly (my work with her has done more than anything else to get my chronic hives condition under control). She, thank goodness, was a voice of reason and moderation: from her POV, moderate exercise of varying modalities is fine. So, I won’t be doing intense quite as intense MetCon workouts as I have been, but at least I can get back to the gym.

To close out 2018, I did a ritual of writing down all of the major things that happened in each month of the year for me, then meditated on letting go of each thing, one month at a time. As I did this, I kept welling up in gratitude for the love, community, growth, guidance, and support that the year was so full of. There were some hard times, and there were also the things and the people that kept me buoyant and resilient.

Last night, at our very intimate Russian NYE dinner party (one of my closest friends is Russian, so we celebrate every NYE Russian-style, which involves somewhat of a feast and a gift exchange), my community and I closed out the year by saying what we were proud of, what we were grateful for, and what we were looking forward to. I am proud of the growth I did last year, of buying my first home (!), and of making the tough choices and taking action toward fulfilling what I truly want in my life. I am so deeply grateful for my community, for my spiritual practice, and for my burgeoning relationship with PSD2, with whom I’ve gotten so much closer over these last few months of trying to make a human.

Two more updates:

PSD1: Sometime in between rounds 1 and 2, I met up with PSD1. I was nervous as hell to tell him that PSD2 and I had already started trying, and just prayed that he would be as understanding as he’d said he would be. God bless the man: he was all of that and then some. He’d been on his own journey since we’d last talked, leading him to the realization that he actually does want to be a parent, and was grateful to have had that particular box opened up for him through our conversations. I’m so grateful that we both came away from the whole ordeal with more love and respect for each other than we’d ever had before, and a renewed connection.

The Roomie: He started coming to Choir!Choir!Choir! with me on the regular, and when we’d go out for food afterward (food which I was neither hungry for nor awake enough to be eating, but it meant spending time one-on-one with him), we had some pretty real conversations. Conversations in which I discovered that a) I may not be at all what he’s looking for, and b) he may not be ready for a relationship at all right now. I am, however, proud to say that I told him I have a crush on him; I figured I had nothing to lose. He stepped right over that little nugget and responded to everything else I’d said. So, that crush has boiled down to a low simmer for the time being, but has not died yet; the fact that he continues to flirt with me is all the flame it needs for now…

[fostertoforever]

Infertility.

This one goes out to all the ladies struggling out there… The women who desperately want to be a mother. Who physically ache in defeat month after month after month. The ones who pay thousands of dollars to get poked, prodded, and pumped full of hormones in hopes of a miracle. Who take their temperatures and pee on sticks and hang upside down in hopes of creating life. The ones who lose faith in their bodies….faith in their God as time goes on and failures continue. As your biological clock continues to tick on and every pregnancy announcement you see gets more and more devastating- not because you’re not profoundly happy for them, but because there are no words to describe the sadness you feel for YOU. There is a unique pain that comes from loving a child that might never exist. It’s extremely hard to wait for something that may never happen, but harder to let go when it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. You fall apart, then start again, fall apart, start again, fall apart, start again. You hear other mothers complaining about their kids, about their pregnancies and you think, “God, what I would give to have one day of your life! Don’t you understand how lucky you are, you twit?!?!” You get told, “Ugh! You can have my kid! He’s driving me crazy!” (Oh yeah, because that’s a big consolation prize for my infertility, thanks). You find out that so and so is pregnant AGAIN when she doesn’t even take care of the ones she has! She said she’s too selfish to have a baby, that she hates kids, and my personal favorite, “a baby is the worst STD you can get,” but there they are. Pregnant. Again and again. Weekend flings gone wrong. Drug addicted women having sex to score drugs are giving birth but you can’t. You can’t, you can’t, you can’t. But you keep trying and trying, don’t you? Because medicine is not an exact science and you convince yourself there’s hope- there’s always hope, right? This time it’ll be different. Doctors scratch their heads and say, “Let’s try this” month after month and you follow the rules to a tee! You take your vitamins, you don’t drink caffeine or alcohol, you exercise, you journal, and you pray. You are strong. You are made for this. “It’ll happen, I just know it!” you tell yourself…And then you walk by the baby section at Walmart, and you die inside. And suddenly you’re the crazy lady in aisle 12 sobbing over burp cloths. Because it’s too difficult to think that everything you’re doing won’t work. That this is all for nothing. I remember through my fertility treatments, my doctor recommended I talk to a therapist about my issues, my feelings of inadequacy for not being able to get pregnant. I think she was getting nervous because of my hysterical sobbing (and sometimes angry outbursts) at every appointment when they’d tell me I didn’t ovulate again that month. So, I went. I sat in this guy’s office and poured my heart and soul out and all he could say was, “I don’t think there’s anything more beautiful than a pregnant woman. I hope it works out.” Seriously. I came unglued. Yes, pregnant women are beautiful. You know what else is beautiful, dufus? STRONG women. Women who have tried, who’ve failed, and who’ve pulled themselves up, put their big girl panties back on, and tried again. Should’ve known better than to pour my infertile heart out to someone with a penis. Let’s be honest here. (I apologize to any of my readers who are reading this and who have a penis. No offense, but this post is mostly for the ladies.) It’s been over 4 years since I went through this, and let me tell you, it STILL hurts. I STILL ache and I STILL grieve for that baby I’ll never have. It sounds stupid, right? Get over it, Jess. I have a son after all. I’ve had him since birth. He calls me Mommy. I have no reason to have those feelings, right? Wrong. It never goes away for me. I am profoundly sad I’ll never feel the kick of life in my belly. That my body will never be able to make a life, grow a life, and bring life of another human being into this world. I frequently feel like less of a woman. I do. And it hurts like hell. Still. And I admit that I am sooo bitter and soooo angry when I hear of abuse, neglect, drugs, etc. towards children, which is an occupational hazard in my line of work. Women that don’t deserve to be mothers- who clearly do not understand the miracle that is motherhood- getting knocked up all over the place. Sigh. So, when did I give up hope? When did I finally accept my infertile fate? It was shortly after the final phone call on October 29, 2012 when my doctor called and said, “We overlooked a test result. This one little hormone shows that you don’t have a lot of eggs and unless you do IVF, which will be a stretch, it’s going to be very difficult for you to conceive. And even then, with your other issues, you may not be able to carry a baby to term. Maybe you should consider surrogacy.” My world stopped. Maybe I had known this in my head for awhile, but I had never accepted it in my heart. I was always so sure it was going to work out- that I was meant to be pregnant. For a brief moment, I considered begging my family for their life savings. I considered quitting my job and moving to Syracuse, New York, to be near a good IVF clinic. I thought of what friend I could ask to be my oven and have a baby for me. Seriously. But after about 5 minutes of these crazy thoughts (which were done hugging my toilet on the floor of my bathroom- because I wanted to puke after I got off the phone), I knew my journey was over. This was the end of the road. (And yes, I’m totally singing Boyz to Men now). So, my husband and I decided to do foster care. We gave up on the dream of pregnancy, but we never gave up the dream of becoming parents. Four years later, we are getting ready to celebrate our son’s 4th birthday. We have a little baby girl in our home, who I thank God every single day is with us. I wake up every morning and look at her sweet, chubby face and am so grateful for another day with her. When times are tough and I’m uncertain of the future or I play the “what if” game, I’m reminded of what I just wrote- we never gave up the dream of becoming parents. Motherhood came to me in a way I had never dreamed of, but it was no less of a miracle. Maybe I’ll never get to grow a baby in my belly, but I’ve got two growing in my heart and that’s an amazing blessing. And just because I still think of the baby I never got to create, doesn’t mean I don’t love the two precious angels that were chosen for me any less. I have friends going through the long struggle of fertility treatments right now- wonderful women who would be amazing mommies. And I can see it in their faces. I know their pain and I know their heartbreak. They smile and go on with their days and pretend it’s all ok. Believe me when I tell you it’s not an easy dream to give up on. The pain will always be there. BUT the hole in your heart can be filled. It seems impossible, I know you don’t believe me, I know you think pregnancy is the only option, but it’s true. There are little people out there who need you, who are just waiting on you. After I laid eyes on my Baby P for the first time, I knew why the fertility treatments never worked. He was MY baby. And yes, the journey to forever sucked. I’m not going to sugar coat it. But he is mine and I am his and we get to live happily ever after…at least until his teenage years. Ha. Foster care isn’t for everyone. I know this better than anyone. And this isn’t some sales pitch for DHHR to get you to sign up. But I KNOW there is a need. I KNOW lots of babies need homes. When I tell people I’m a foster mother, I still get the “Oh my gosh, I could NEVER do that!” But, you’d be surprised what you’re capable of when given the opportunity. The system sucks at times. Those workers are overworked and underpaid. The goal of foster care is reunification with their family. Blood is thicker than any love and security my husband and I can provide for these kids- a fact that I sincerely struggle with, but fully accept. It’s not easy. But it’s what we signed up for. I could have either spent my life savings and my family’s life savings to try IVF and/or surrogacy OR I could’ve opened my home and my heart to children in need with the knowledge I may have to give them back. Double edged sword. What’s worse? It was a gamble we took and we won with P, but it was a hard game to play. Will we get lucky with Baby C? Time will tell. We never gave up on the dream to become parents. Bio, Foster, Adoptive, Step…..it truly doesn’t matter what comes before the word “parent.” What does matter is the love you give. We wanted to be parents. I always thought I was born to be a mother. I THOUGHT that would happen through pregnancy. Turns out, I WAS meant to be a mother, just in a different way. It doesn’t make the role any less important, especially in the eyes of my babies. My husband and I weren’t meant to create a life, but we were meant to change one (or two or three or four). We have the power to say “Nope. I am not going to let their lives be this way” and work every day to provide a safe, healthy, home full of love and laughter so these kiddos can thrive- whether they are with us forever or not. It’s pretty simple. Heart wrenching, yes, but simple. And so I truly encourage those families out there who are struggling with infertility and the immense pain and sadness that can go with it to consider opening their hearts and home to these babies in need. It’s not easy, but clearly, neither is infertility. So, to my fellow infertile sisters out there…please don’t let your hurt and your wounds stop you from becoming a mother. Don’t let defeat after defeat turn you into something you’re not. You are strong, you are valuable and you matter whether your stupid uterus is cooperating or not. And I am here to share my story and commiserate with you any hour of any day. Until next time, Mama Jess

[yogakiss]

Addressing my adult acne part two: balancing my hormones

Last year I wrote a blog about my 'adult-acne' off the back of a post on my instagram account where I spoke about taking the leap to come off the pill and learning to deal with the changes in my body, my menstrual cycle and most embarrassingly (for me anyways) my skin. 

I originally went on the pill when I was 16 years old and it helped my teenage acne clear up straight away what I didn't know, or even think about, was the fact that for the next 10.5 years I would be putting fake hormones into my system meaning that my body began to lose it's ability to regulate itself. 

Interestingly, a lot of women believe that they put on weight when they went on the pill, I'm sure that does happen, however I definitely believe I was skinnier. Part of this is because when my period would begin it was no longer debilitating meaning that for at least 24-48 hours I would be bed ridden, I also didn't crave things like chocolate, or sugar for the magnesium because I wouldn't need it to deal with cramps or any of those other really fun things that come along with a REAL period. In addition to that I no longer had fluctuating energy, I was on a pretty even par and I guess I was younger... meaning that my metabolism was probably a little quicker than it is at now at 27. 

Understandably, my body freaked out when I stopped taking these artificial hormones and was all like "what the hell, I need to do this myself now??!!" so for the first 12+ months of being off the pill I would gain a dress size in weight whenever I ovulated and whenever I got my period, I would be stuck in bed for at least one day when I first got my period with cramps so bad it would go all the way down the front of my legs to my feet hitting me like a tonne bricks so that not even pain killers (yup I succumbed) would make a difference. My skin would break out twice a month, along with the change of my hormones and it would only just be recovery before the next bought. My moods were crazy, I would find that around 3 days before my period was due to come I would all of a sudden become teary at EVERYTHING, if something tipped me over the edge I would dangle there for hours finding it really hard not to just cry, and cry, and cry. You may think I'm overreacting, but ask my partner, my friends, my parents who all had to deal with the hormonal-emotional rollercoaster that was me. And you know what, I'm sure you're not alone. 

One of the best things that I did when coming off the pill was downloading a period tracker, I found a free one that allowed me to track the symptoms I was having (acne, bloating, emotions etc), as well as predict when my next period should come along. This meant that I could look back on the cycle and figure out all of the different things that I was experiencing based on when I should have been ovulating and menstruating.

The next thing that I did was take the advice of a lovely instagrammer (who I can't remember now, but THANK YOU SO MUCH) to take Chaste Tree tablets for my acne. I have been taking it every day since and saw a remarkable improvement to my skin within 30-60 days of taking it. What I did find however was two things 1) if it was a combination of chaste tree and other herbs in the one tablet it was less effective, they had to be 100% chaste tree which meant a higher dosage I assume; and 2)  it lessened the breakouts that I was having throughout the month and during menstruation but I was still getting some really horrible, painful acne when I was menstruating. 

If you read my previous post I found that drinking the Your Tea Skin Magic tea definitely helped my skin, but I'm not a huge tea drinker so found that after one month I was out of routine and didn't bother trying again. I also tried Skinny Mint tea to try to help with bloating, and definitely felt like it helped a little bit but am no where near committed enough to keep it going... 

I also had other recommendations around eating an alkalising diet and drinking bone broth. Similar to my tea-trials, I'm not so great at sticking to a particular diet, everything in moderation, but the bone broth recommendation is amazing and I'm going to keep trying to drink it as often as possible because I really notice a difference. A couple of weeks ago I went to a hot yoga class and drank half a litre of chicken bone broth (because I had it there and to help rehydrate afterwards) and the next day I woke up and my skin was glowing. What made it even better is that I got my period that same day and my skin stayed CLEAR THE WHOLE ENTIRE TIME!!!!!! I know right... amazing! Usually I would start to get a breakout as my hormones shift during my period, but not this time. 

In addition to that, my good friend Georgia (who is an amazing nutritionist and has really kicked my butt into gear as far as fuelling it right for the amount of movement I do) prescribed me to take a liver detox supplement as I learnt that your liver controls your hormone production and health (make sure you consult with your professionals or contact Georgia as a qualified nutritionist before you do this). After taking that supplement for 30 days straight, once a day, a spoonful in water, my skin has made an incredible improvement and glows more often than it looks dull. I also found that since doing that I haven't had ANY major breakouts on or under my chin or on my neck - even when I've been menstruating. 

Last but not least, I've found that a little bit of self-love and care goes a long way and have been making sure that I do one if not two face masks each week. There are 3 that I switch between, Dr Manuka Acne ApiClear Face Peel, Payot Mask D'Tox & a Rotorua Thermal Mud Mask that I picked up duty free on my way home from Wanderlust Great Lake Taupo. 

My skin is by no means perfect still, and I've realised just how little I actually know about female hormone and reproductive system health but I'm so lucky that I've got an incredibly open, loving and caring community willing to share their tips and tricks and have so much incredible knowledge to share.