Gay and Delerious

20 | They/them | Ao3 I write sometimes

[boitterfly]

it’s so special to me that so much of fan culture is textual analysis for the love of the game. like thank god there are people in my phone who are also thinking about this thing i love so much that they are writing transformative fiction as character studies and setting clips of the show to music with theme-relevant lyrics and writing long text posts analyzing every line of dialogue like!! yay!!!

[chainedupdyke]

Don't even joke lad. don't even.

( from : la times)

[lostamongthefearnes]

Working On It - part two

A garsanshimi established relationship fic :)

Two and a half years after permanently joining the staff at PTMC, things are going better for Baran than she ever could have expected. She has an amazing kid, a demanding but rewarding job, two incredibly wonderful and hot girlfriends. Everything has it's place, her life is ordered and routine. It's great. Things are great. As long as everything stays in its assigned box, things will continue to be great. Right?

Maybe the status quo isn't working anymore.

[18+ . MDNI . 5.7k words . part one here . both parts on ao3 here]

this part is much smuttier! heads up for spitting in mouth, oral, fingers in mouth, strap-ons, strap sucking, and use of Daddy as an honorific

Baran doesn’t sleep. Which isn’t surprising, even if she wishes it were different. Honestly, she can’t remember the last time she was the only person sleeping in this house– between Jasper’s nights with her and her sleepovers with Yolanda and Trinity, she’s never alone at night. It’s the quiet, she tells herself when sleep proves itself hard to come by. The quiet, not the fight. And had it even been a fight? Or had it been Trinity having a conversation they had had before? Baran had just reasserted her position. She tells herself it was good that she left, that Trinity and Yolanda had needed time to talk about things without her there. Tells herself she was right. Ignores the ache in her chest that begs her to consider she might not be. When telling herself things becomes useless, and the ache grows too strong, she gives up on sleeping in her bed. Makes a cup of tea and gets comfortable on the couch, a documentary she thinks she’s probably seen before on the TV.

She’s still on the couch when Yolanda comes the next morning. Flat on her stomach, tea half-empty and cold on the coffee table, screensaver bouncing around the TV. She stirs at the sound of the front door unlocking, brain coming back to consciousness enough to register her alarm system chirping before it's disarmed. Realizes who that means, and buries her face in the couch cushions beneath her.

“Good morning,” Yolanda says as she sits on the edge of the couch next to Baran, a hand coming to rub gently up and down her back.

“Morning.” Baran rolls to her side, curls a little around Yolanda to give her more room to sit. There are bags under her eyes, and they seem a little puffier than normal. If Yolanda is carrying signs of last night on her face, then Baran supposes she must look even worse. “What are you doing here?”

“I wasn’t sure if storming out last night meant you also cancelled our run,” Yolanda says. “Thought I better come over and check. I brought coffee.” She nods to two cups on the table.

“Coffee?” Baran raises an eyebrow. Coffee, any caffeine really, was a rare indulgence for her.

“I didn’t sleep very well last night,” Yolanda brings her hand to Baran’s face, thumb tracing gently over one of her eyebrows. “Figured you didn’t either.”

Baran shakes her head and leans into the touch. “Trinity?” she asks, a ball of guilt settling in her chest.

“She’s sleeping now,” Yolanda says simply. “How are you doing?” The look she gives Baran when she asks is so loving, so open, that Baran almost turns away.

“I should be asking you that,” she says instead.

“Maybe, but I asked first.”

Baran turns her face to place a kiss against Yolanda’s palm. In truth, she doesn’t really know how she is. Her position hadn’t changed, she believed everything she had said the night before. But the way she had said things, well. There was a lot to atone for in the cold light of the morning. Baran shrugs. Kisses her hand again.

“Great, go get dressed.” Yolanda stands from the couch, reaching out her hands to help Baran up. “If we’re not gonna talk, we’re gonna run.”

Baran can’t come up with a good reason to say no, so she doesn’t. Just accepts Yolanda’s hands and stands up. Goes upstairs to her room to fish out something suitable to run in. Listens to Yolanda busy herself in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher. She doesn’t let herself think too long about the warm feeling that gives her.

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

Trinity is there when they get home. She’s sitting on the front steps, though she’s clearly already been inside; a glass of water from Baran’s kitchen is on the steps beside her. Baran stops in front of her while Yolanda continues inside, dropping a hand briefly on Trinity’s head as she goes. Wordlessly, Trinity offers up the glass. Watches intently as Baran drinks it all.

The run had been hard. She and Yolanda almost always ran on their days off together, the same 5-mile loop through her neighborhood and along the river. Usually the pace was easy, more about moving their bodies and spending time together than anything else, easy to keep up conversation. Baran hadn’t known what to say today, though, and clearly Yolanda hadn’t either. And so they had pushed each other, pacing faster and faster until they were done. Baran thinks it's probably the fastest she’s ever run five miles.

She doesn’t think it’s made her feel better, just different. Like some of the guilt and shame that’s been sitting in her chest since last night has synthesized into more concrete thought. Into things she probably has to say. She doesn’t think she knows how, yet.

Trinity stands up and puts her hand out for the glass when it’s done. Baran parts her lips to speak, but Trinity kisses her before she can. And, well, Baran’s lips were already open, so it’s not hard for her to reach out and drag her tongue along Trinity’s lower lip. Not hard to slip inside her mouth when her lips part, too. Baran fights against the part of her brain that is incessantly reminding her that they are outside where her neighbors can see. She just pushes her lips harder against Trinity. It lasts just a second longer, with Trinity’s free hand resting on Baran’s hip, before the younger woman is pulling away. “Go shower,” Trinity says with a small smile, and steps away fully.

Baran wants to ask her to come with, but she’s still not entirely sure where they stand after last night, and so for the second time today, she finds herself alone in her room at the direction of one of her girlfriends. It feels lonelier than it had earlier this morning. Maybe because now they’re both here, downstairs, even after she had stormed out on them. She feels off balance.

The hot water only runs over her for a few seconds before she realizes it’s not going to ground her in the way she needs. So she goes through the barest minimum of steps, leaves her hair pulled up in a bun and unwashed, grabs the first t-shirt and pair of denim shorts she sees when she opens her closet. Returns back downstairs twenty minutes later, determined.

They’re both on her couch, curled together in almost a mirror of last night. Trinity is upright this time, hand stroking idly along Yolanda’s bare arms, the surgeon’s head resting on her shoulder. The sitcom on the TV gets switched off when Baran enters the room. Two sets of eyes turn to her expectantly as Baran crosses to stand in front of them. She hesitates for a second before slowly sinking to her knees, ankles complaining as she sits all the way back on her feet, one hand coming to rest on each of their legs.

“I’m sorry,” she says, making eye contact with Trinity. Then turns to Yolanda. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. Yolanda nods, still tucked close to Trinity.

“I’m sorry, too,” Trinity says as she reaches up to tuck a stray curl behind Baran’s ear. Leaves her hand resting on her cheek. There’s a long pause, heavy silence as the three of them sit with this step towards reconciliation. The energy is closer to their baseline than it’s been in days. Not fully, but closer. “I don’t really wanna talk about it now,” Trinity says after a long moment.

Baran nods, swallows the words that had been on the tip of her tongue. “What do you want, love?” she asks instead.

Trinity thinks for only a second. “I want to turn my brain off,” she says, voice lower than it had been a moment ago.

It’s a request Trinity has made countless times before. One that usually leaves heat pooling immediately in Baran’s stomach, overwhelms her with need. Today it just strikes panic. They’ve said they’re sorry, but Baran feels too vulnerable, too raw, too undeserving of Trinity’s submission. She needs to atone, to give, not take. Baran’s eyes go wide, and she seeks out Yolanda, prays the other woman will see that she can’t take from Trinity. Not right now, not yet.

To her credit, Yolanda picks up on it immediately. “And what do you want?” she asks, hand coming up to cup Baran’s other cheek.

Baran feels heat rush to her face, bracketed as it is in both of her girlfriends’ hands. “I want to turn my brain off, too,” she says, dipping her chin a little, looking up at Yolanda and Trinity through her lashes. “Want to make it up to both of you.”

Above her, Trinity gasps. Turns her head quickly to look at Yolanda, making sure the woman will comply with the request. Gets to watch the moment her eyes darken. This is not new, but it is rare. Baran Al-Hashimi, dedicated mother, exacting attending physician, and singularly focused partner, does not give up control. She demands excellence from everyone she meets, takes broken systems and controls what she can to fix what she can. She has high standards for everyone— for no one more than herself. She does not bend.

She will bend today.

Yolanda nods once, and drops her hand, sitting up straighter as the weight of what’s being given to her settles in. “Go wait on the bed,” she says to Trinity. “We’ll be there soon.” Trinity goes without another word, barely contained excitement playing across her face. 

“Come here,” Yolanda directs once she’s gone. Baran’s knees protest as she stands, and Yolanda holds both hands out to help her, gently pulling the older woman down to straddle her lap. “Are you sure?”

Baran wants to shy away from the eye contact being leveled at her, their faces only a few inches apart now. But she knows this check in is important, knows Yolanda won’t do anything unless she’s sure. “I am,” Baran nods. “I want to make it up to her. And to you.”

“You don’t have to,” Yolanda says. “We’ve forgiven you. I won’t punish you for last night. If you want the control, we’re both happy to give it.”

“I don’t want it,” she asserts. “It’s not about punishment it’s–” she cuts herself off, choosing her next words carefully. “You both give so much to me. Not just this…” she gestures between them, grabs Yolanda’s hands from where they’ve settled against her thighs. “But in so many ways. All the time. And now Trinity wants to turn her brain off, wants to give even more, and I just. I can’t take it from her. Not right now. I need to give, too. Need to show you both how much I love you. Please let me,” she begs.

“Okay,” Yolanda says.

“Okay?”

“Okay. But if the giving starts to feel like too much, if you need to come back to yourself, promise me you’ll ripcord out of there.”

“I promise,” Baran says. “The same goes for you, you know. It can get intense for me sometimes, with both of you. Just say the word and we’ll–”

“I will,” Yolanda cuts her off, bringing her hand up to cup Baran’s jaw. “Are you ready?”

Baran nods, and the grip on her jaw turns firm as Yolanda raises an eyebrow. Heat surges through Baran’s body, her limbs and head feeling almost weightless as everything concentrates in her center. “Yes,” she sighs out, nodding again. It’s not enough of an answer for Yolanda, who tightens her grip further still and rests her thumb on Baran’s bottom lip. She knows what the surgeon is waiting for, knows she’s on the precipice of giving in fully. She takes in a shaky breath and lets it happen. “Yes, Daddy,” she exhales.

“Good,” Yolanda says, “let’s go.” She’s moving before Baran has a chance to react, standing and letting the older woman fall clumsily off her lap. She waits impatiently by the bottom of the stairs as Baran finds her feet, and directs her up the stairs first, one hand on either side of her hips.

The sight that greets them when they reach the bedroom takes Baran’s breath away. Trinity is sprawled in the center of the bed, completely naked. Eyes shut tight, one hand is tugging hard at her nipple while the other rubs furious circles between her legs. Judging by the flush creeping up her neck, she’s close. Yolanda stops a few feet from the end of the bed and pulls Baran’s back flush to her front. One arm wraps around her waist while the other loops over her shoulder, pressing into Baran’s sternum. They stand there for a moment longer watching Trinity work herself up even more. Baran’s body hums with energy, wanting to jump on the bed, replace Trinity’s hands with her own. There’s sweat pooled at the base of Trinity’s throat between her collar bones, and the need to lick it is so overwhelming that for a second Baran forgets and goes to take a step forward. Yolanda’s hold on her tightens, pulling her back as she tsks disapprovingly.

“Baby,” Yolanda says, and Trinity’s eyes snap open. Her flush turns a darker shade of red, but she doesn’t stop. “Did I say you could do that?”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t,” Trinity gasps. “You guys were taking a really long time.”

“Hmm, I don’t think it was that long,” Yolanda hums. “Do you think it was that long, B?”

“No, Daddy,” Baran sighs. Her vision is fuzzy around the edges, she needs to get to Trinity.

“You need to stop now,” Yolanda says.

“Make me.” Baran feels Yolanda’s arms twitch against her, feels the huff of breath pushed out of her nose as Trinity says it.

Yolanda drops her lips to Baran’s neck, kisses once, open-mouthed just behind her ear, before releasing her grip. “Go on,” she says, pushing Baran towards the bed. Baran moves without thinking, relief flooding through her as she sits on the bed just above Trinity’s head. She grabs each of Trinity’s wrists, smiling when she’s met with no resistance, and pulls them into her lap. She leans over Trinity, is about to finally drag her tongue down the younger woman’s neck when Yolanda speaks. “Stop,” she directs. “Wait for me. No touching. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Baran says immediately, eyes locked on Trinity’s.

“You’re not who I’m worried about, baby,” Yolanda laughs.

“Yes, Daddy,” Trinity whines a moment later. She whines again when Yolanda leaves for Baran’s walk-in closet without saying the expected ‘good girl.’ 

It feels like forever and no time at all that they’re stuck like that. Trinity’s hands, wrists held together loosely by one of Baran’s hands, twitch every so often in her lap. Both of them are breathing shallowly. The look in Trinity’s eyes is one she’s familiar with, pupils blown wide, unfocused, almost glassy with desire, waiting for her next instruction. Baran has brought that look out of her countless times. She wonders if Trinity recognizes what she can see, or if Baran’s face is different, somehow, in this new dynamic.

An eternity later, or immediately, Yolanda is returning, having traded her clothes for the little box of supplies that Baran keeps tucked in the back of her closet. She drops the box unceremoniously on the nightstand and comes to stand between where Trinity’s legs hang off the edge of the mattress. “Look at me,” she instructs, and both pairs of eyes snap to her face. “Are you going to listen now, baby?” Yolanda asks, fixing Trinity with a hard stare.

“Yes, Daddy,” Trinity nods emphatically. “I’m so sor–” she’s cut off by Yolanda holding two fingers up.

“Save it,” Yolanda says. Baran feels drunk, watching with hooded eyes as Yolanda places her fingers against Trinity’s center, circling her clit once, twice, before dipping lower. She pushes in, Trinity’s moan almost covering the obscene squelch from her soaked folds, wrists straining against Baran’s grip. Yolanda withdraws as quickly as she went in, fingers coming away glistening, a string of fluid hanging between her fingers as she separates them slightly. Trinity whines at the loss of contact.

If Baran thought the need to lick up Trinity’s sweat had been bad, this was ten times worse. Most of her conscious thoughts are gone, replaced instead with pure primal want. Her lips part and she sucks in a shaky breath, about to speak, to beg, when Yolanda’s gaze shifts to her, silencing her. Yolanda must see the need plain on her face, because she brings her fingers to Baran’s mouth, pushing past her lips without preamble. Baran moans, the heady taste of Trinity on Yolanda’s skin overwhelming her. She sucks like her life depends on it, wraps her tongue around and between Yolanda’s fingers until she’s sure she’s got it all. Too soon, Yolanda is withdrawing her fingers to wrap around Baran’s jaw instead, guiding her to rest higher up on her knees, drawing her in for a kiss.

It’s sloppy, and delicious, all teeth and tongues and spit, and Baran almost forgets Trinity is there, releasing her hold on the younger woman to instead clutch at Yolanda’s hips, her arms, her hair. Anywhere she can reach. The kiss ends when Yolanda pulls back with a gasp, looking down sharply at the woman below them. Baran lets her gaze follow, and sees that with her hands free, Trinity has taken the opportunity to grab at Yolanda’s thigh, fingers aimed up at her center. “Hands to yourself,” Yolanda snaps. Trinity whines, but listens, tucking her hands under her own lower back to contain them.

“Please,” Trinity begs, chest heaving.

“Feeling left out?” Yolanda raises an eyebrow. Trinity just nods and whines again. “Don’t worry, we’ll share.” Then Yolanda’s mouth is on Baran’s again, impossibly wetter than before, pushing spit past Baran’s lips before pulling back again, the hand on her jaw pushing up on her chin to close her mouth. It snakes around to grip the hair at the base of her skull and she directs Baran’s head to hover over Trinity’s face. Yolanda’s other hand has come up to grab Trinity’s jaw and force her mouth open. The hand in Baran’s hair tightens and she knows what’s expected of her, letting the spit in her mouth pool behind her lips and slip out, dropping heavily onto Trinity’s waiting tongue. “Good girl,” Yolanda says when Trinity closes her mouth and swallows. Trinity lets out a sob.

Yolanda steps back then, tilts her head as she takes in the scene before her. Trinity is still flat on her back, hands tucked underneath her, slick glistening between her thighs. Meanwhile, Baran still has all her clothes on, hands fisted in the hem of her shorts, kneeling near Trinity’s head, a stray string of spit hanging from her lip. They look wrecked already, tracking Yolanda’s movements as she opens the box on the nightstand and pulls out the already-prepared harness inside with hazy, love-drunk eyes. She laughs. She’s hardly even touched them. “You,” she taps Trinity’s leg gently, “lay against the pillows. And you,” she directs, turning to Baran. “Need to get undressed.”

Baran nearly falls off the bed in her haste to get off of it, grateful to have something to do. Yolanda catches her elbow, steadying her and helping her untangle her foot from where it got caught in the comforter. She meets Baran’s gaze for a moment, pretenses and roles dropped, eyebrows raised in a silent check-in. Baran just nods, reassuring. She can’t imagine being anywhere else, doing anything else right now. Everything that’s happened so far, everything she expects to happen still, sets her bones alight with its rightness.

By the time her clothes are off and tossed to some random corner of her bedroom, Trinity is pressed back into the pillows and Yolanda is tightening the straps of the harness around her hips. “Now here’s how this is gonna go,” Yolanda says low in Baran’s ear, pulling Baran to her, back to front, the dildo between Yolanda’s legs pressing firmly against her hip. “I’m going to fuck you, and you’re going down on her,” Yolanda inclines her head toward the bed. Baran chokes down a moan. “And all Trinity has to do is keep her hands to herself,” Yolanda says a little louder, so Trinity can hear.

“No, please Daddy, please let me,” Trinity begs. “I promise I’ll be good, just let me touch.”

“You already had a chance to be good,” Yolanda says. “And you didn’t take it. So now you’ll keep your hands to yourself. Am I clear?”

Trinity chokes on another cry, but dutifully tucks her hands back away as she lets out a broken “yes, Daddy.”

“Are you ready, love?” Yolanda says into Baran’s ear, leaning down to pepper kisses on the side of her face, teeth lightly scraping over her earlobe as Baran nods. “Good girl,” Yolanda chuckles quietly. And oh, Baran hadn’t realized what hearing that would do to her. Praise was always Trinity’s thing, the youngest of the three blooming under the slightest compliment. She’s heard Yolanda say it countless times, but never at her. Hearing it now, Baran melts. Her thoughts become even more of a haze. She wants to be good, she needs to be good, for Yolanda, for both of them. They deserve it, her goodness. She has to give it to them.

Yolanda helps her move to the bed, laying her down between Trinity’s legs, placing a pillow under her hips, hands running all over, stroking her back, her legs, her hips. When Yolanda’s fingers knead Baran’s inner thighs, she jumps, and her head falls from where it had been resting on Trinity’s thigh to her center. Above her, Trinity gasps, and while Baran supposes some part of her had been waiting for Yolanda to say she could start, she can’t wait any longer. Pulling Trinity’s legs over her shoulders, she dives in with a focus usually reserved for Trauma rooms.

Baran is so lost in it– in the whines falling from Trinity’s mouth, in the way her legs shiver and jump around her head, in the way she’s getting impossibly wetter, slick and spit coating Baran’s face, running down her neck– that she almost misses Yolanda get on the bed behind her. Her brain doesn’t really even catch up to what’s happening until there’s hands back on her thighs, pulling her legs farther apart before the head of Yolanda’s strap is pressing against her entrance. She moans into Trinity, but is determined not to lose focus as Yolanda pushes in deeper, the stretch burning her from the inside out. Yolanda gives her a moment to adjust but eventually begins to pick up the pace, and Baran moves her tongue from where it’s been drawing careful tight circles over Trinity’s clit to push inside of her instead, matching Yolanda’s thrusts into her. Trinity’s earlier activities had worked her up plenty, and once two of Baran’s fingers replace her tongue on her clit, she’s coming hard, walls fluttering and pushing against the tongue inside her.

The sounds that fall out of Trinity’s mouth as she comes are music, and Baran would do anything to hear them again. So she does. Or rather, she doesn’t stop, continuing to lick and suck as Trinity rides through her orgasm, never breaking pace, never pulling back. “Please, please, please, Daddy,” Trinity is begging above her, voice breaking. Baran thinks she might be crying. She isn’t going to raise her head to check, though, pushes down the rising tension in her own center in favor of sucking hard on Trinity’s clit. She’s worried Yolanda will give in to Trinity’s demands and pull her off, and that is not something Baran is willing to let happen. At least not until the younger woman comes again. “Please, just let me touch her,” Trinity cries. Oh.

“Go ahead, babygirl,” Yolanda grits out between thrusts. And then Trinity’s hands are in Baran’s hair, slipping between her bun and her scalp, pulling her head closer to Trinity’s center, adjusting the angle in a way that has Trinity moaning even louder.

With Trinity’s hands in her hair, the arms Baran has wrapped around her thighs feel less necessary for support, so she releases one, letting her hand move towards Trinity’s chest– it’s stopped before she reaches her destination. Yolanda’s hand on her wrist drags Baran’s arm the opposite direction, helping her to position it instead between Baran’s legs before gripping her hips again. She whines into Trinity’s clit and the hands in her hair tighten. Even in her hazy state, Baran understands the surgeon’s intention, understands that Yolanda knows she can’t get off without some added stimulation, but she’s not ready. She’s not coming until Trinity does at least one more time, maybe two.

So she leaves her hand still, which apparently wasn’t an acceptable thing to do, because Yolanda is smacking lightly against her backside– not enough to hurt, but enough to get her attention. “Come on, B,” Yolanda says. “Are you going to help, or do I have to do all the work myself?”

She wasn’t going to answer, that would be interrupting the task at hand, but Trinity’s hands in her hair pull her head up long enough that she can get out a quick “Not yet.” Before diving back in.

“Baby,” Yolanda says from behind her and Baran isn’t really sure who she’s talking to, but she also isn’t really sure that she cares. “Don’t let her help you unless she’s also helping herself.”

Trinity pulls her off again, and Baran stops herself from letting out a frustrated whine. “Please,” she says instead, trying to fall back down, stopped this time by Trinity’s grip on her head.

“No one’s trying to stop you,” Yolanda sounds a little out of breath; she hasn’t stopped thrusting into Baran through their conversation. “You know what you have to do.” Baran does whine then, but she starts to move her fingers against her clit, making sure her arm moves enough that Trinity can see it. Moans out something that might be thanks when her mouth is allowed to return to Trinity.

It’s harder to focus like this, the heat coiling low in her stomach becoming harder to ignore, but she does her best anyway. The growing uncoordination of her movements as her body gives over to feeling– Yolanda’s grip on her hips, her own fingers against her clit, the strap thrusting in over and over– doesn’t seem to matter much to Trinity, if the fluttering hands in her hair and the increasing pitch of her moans are anything to go by. A few more minutes of this and Trinity will come again and then Baran will let herself fully give in to the sensations between her legs and then–

She’s ripped away again, Yolanda gripping her by both shoulders and pulling her all the way back onto her knees, pressing Baran’s back to her front. “Please,” Baran whines, trying desperately to reach back down to Trinity, now infuriatingly out of reach.

“Baby, you stopped the second Trin let go,” Yolanda chides in her ear. She’s stopped thrusting entirely now, focused instead on keeping Baran upright against her even as the older woman struggles to lay back down.

“No I didn’t, I was,” Baran says, trying to think back. “Okay I wasn’t moving, but I could still feel.” It feels like a miracle she’s able to string the sentence together. “Please, just. Just one more, then we can focus on me. Promise.” She struggles in Yolanda’s grip again, but doesn’t get anywhere. Below her, Trinity has taken Yolanda’s permission to touch to heart, and has replaced Baran’s mouth with her hands.

“Hmm, seems like you’ve forgotten who you put in charge,” Yolanda teases, thrusting her hips once, sending a shockwave through Baran. “I thought you were going to be good?”

“I was, I am, fuck,” Baran whines, lost. She can see Trinity getting closer without her, and it’s not fair, she needs to be down there, needs to feel her fall apart on her tongue. “Please, Daddy, just let me give her one more.”

“Sorry baby, but it’s your turn now,” Yolanda says, not sounding sorry at all. “If Trinity wants another one she can give it to herself.” She begins to move again, keeping Baran clutched to her chest, one hand moving against her clit. Baran moans in frustration, hands reaching out futilely for Trinity for just a moment longer before giving over to the sensation of Yolanda in and on her. The new position has the head of Yolanda’s strap hitting just right inside of her, and Baran finds herself reaching around behind her to grab at Yolanda in a desperate attempt to steady herself.

Baran might give in to her new circumstances, but she doesn’t give up, instead doing her best to talk her girlfriend to orgasm if she can’t touch her. An almost unintelligible string of “good girl,” and “that’s it,” and “keep going,” falling from her lips until finally, finally, a perfectly timed “come for me,” sends Trinity careening over the edge. Baran laughs breathily, and Yolanda sucks a hickey into her neck, and then Baran falls apart, too.

A moment later Yolanda pulls out, and Baran collapses down onto the bed next to Trinity, rolling over to place a kiss on her hip before turning to look at Yolanda above them. Even as the aftershocks of her orgasm still ripple through her, Baran feels a wave of new desire as she looks at her. Her girlfriend has sweat dripping down her neck in a few places, the curls at her hairline frizzing slightly with the added moisture. Her eyes are almost all pupil, and her lower lip is between her teeth as she as one hand subconsciously rests loosely around the base of her strap. Baran thinks it might be the best she’s ever seen her look. Trinity reaches up lazily, not sitting up enough to actually reach Yolanda, but enough to easily grab her arm when she does get close enough on her way down to the bed.

A fair bit of shuffling and giggles later, and the three lay side by side, Yolanda in the middle, arms wrapped around her girls. “I should have known you wouldn’t totally listen,” Yolanda says, pulling away from the kiss Baran wrapped her up in.

“Sorry,” Baran says, kissing down her neck, tongue darting out to taste the sweat drying on her skin.

“I’m not,” Trinity adds from where her head is resting on Yolanda’s chest, fingers tracing random patterns across the flat expanse of Yolanda’s stomach. Her comment pulls a full-bodied laugh from both of her companions.

“Yes well,” Yolanda says when she’s caught her breath. “You’ve had two orgasms. I’ve had none.”

“Sorry,” Baran says again, biting gently at Yolanda’s earlobe, eliciting a gasp from the younger woman. “We’ll make it up to you, Daddy.” She looks down Yolanda’s more rapidly rising and falling chest to where Trinity has picked up her head in interest.

“Yeah, Daddy,” Trinity says, moving up to kiss Yolanda deeply for a moment. “Let us take care of you.”

“I don’t–” Yolanda tries to start, but is quieted by Trinity kissing her again. Baran only lets it go on for a minute before she snakes her hand into Trinity’s hair, pulling her up to kiss her instead. “Wait, what about me?” Yolanda asks frustratedly.

“Sorry,” Baran repeats yet again, giggling slightly this time as she pulls off of Trinity’s mouth. One look at the wicked glint in Trinity’s eyes and she knows they’re on the same page. They move in tandem, Trinity settling between Yolanda’s legs, hooking her fingers around the straps of the harness as Baran settles back on her knees, one hand coming to rest on Yolanda’s truly soaked center. “All this for us, Daddy?” She teases.

“If you two don’t touch me right now, we’re never doing this again,” Yolanda groans.

“Yes, Daddy,” Trinity says with a mock salute, which makes Baran laugh and Yolanda rolls her hips in frustration. They take pity on her then, Baran sliding her thumb under the base of the strap to rest on Yolanda’s clit while she slips two fingers inside. At the same time, Trinity opens her mouth wide and sinks down onto Yolanda’s strap. The motion pushes it down onto Baran’s thumb, which pushes against Yolanda’s clit, and the sound that comes out of Yolanda’s mouth is downright sinful. Baran lets Trinity set the pace after that, timing her thrusts into Yolanda with the bobs and twists of the youngest woman’s mouth and hand on the strap.

From her position on her knees near Yolanda’s hip, Baran has a perfect view of it all. The way Trinity loses herself in the task at hand, the way Yolanda’s hands grip the sheets beneath her as she fights the urge to grab Trinity’s head. Baran grabs Yolanda’s nearest hand in her own unoccupied one, steadying her as she falls apart around her fingers.

When Yolanda’s abdomen has stopped jumping with aftershocks, Trinity moves back up to her previous position in Yolanda’s arms, trailing lazy kisses along her collarbone before collapsing entirely. Baran lets herself stay back where she is for a moment longer, looking at her partners, letting the love and admiration she has for them wash over her in place of the desire that had been present a few minutes before. With striking clarity, she knows she would do anything to keep them.

The thought doesn’t scare her as much as it once might have.

Later, once they’ve showered, and hydrated, and eaten. When they’re all curled up on her oversized couch, maybe reading, maybe napping, maybe doing nothing at all, Baran will allow herself to ask the question. Will let them start making plans, schedule a meeting with HR, talk about how best to tell or not tell their coworkers. For now, though, she is content to stay here, looking at them.

[clueless-rads]

Me the entire time reading this:

[theincorrectpitt]

Walsh: Why do you look like that? Garcia, lying face down on the floor: Like what? Walsh: Like you’re dead. Garcia: It’s because I’m dying. Leave me here to perish. Ellis: Garcia accidentally called Santos “babe” in front of everyone today. [Garcia sobs into the floor]

[lostamongthefearnes]

hello little gay people in my phone, happy pride

here is one little line of garsanshimi smut from a scene i’m working on

bc honestly i need the notes to motivate me to keep going

Baran nods, and the grip on her jaw turns firm as Yolanda raises an eyebrow. Heat surges through Baran’s body, her limbs and head feeling almost weightless as everything concentrates in her center. “Yes,” she sighs out, nodding again. It’s not enough of an answer for Yolanda, who tightens her grip further still and rests her thumb on Baran’s bottom lip. She knows what the surgeon is waiting for, knows she’s on the precipice of giving in fully. She takes in a shaky breath and lets it happen. “Yes, Daddy,” she exhales.

[clueless-rads]

[queer-of-hearts-rerun]

Echoes and Reflections

https://archiveofourown.org/works/86016021

Pairing: primarily Barantos, minor Garsanshimi

Summary:

For a moment they just sat, holding the painful memory between the two of them. Baran breathed slow and purposeful, measured, practiced. Trinity felt a swell of pride. She was always impressed at her partner's ability to sit with her trauma, to keep the panic from taking the ground out from under her. Trinity was constantly taking notes.

After a moment of composing herself, Baran turned fully to face Trinity, bringing her legs up onto the couch pretzel-style to mirror Trinity's posture. She lifted a hand to cup the younger woman's cheek, gently brushing a thumb over her cheekbone.

"Sheereen-am, why are you awake? Did you have a nightmare? A flashback?"

OR

Trinity and Baran can't sleep. Together they process some trauma.

CW: Violence, Rape/Non-Con, CSA, War, active shooter situation, minor character death.

[santospilled]

outakes from the garsanshimi household

some fluffy snippets of the lives of trinity santos, yolanda garcia, baran al-hashimi, and their two kids.

there are a few more little snippets i have of them but i am impatient and lazy 🙂‍↕️. plus i’ve seen a bunch of funny tiktoks that i think these five would embody and i don’t wanna gatekeep the thoughts any longer

the polycule 🥰 @blueeyesshyskies @black-plant-leg @saintfingers

egging on

"do you see this egg?" jahan asks, holding out his hand. in it is a hollowed out eggshell, still completely intact.

alma nods, eyes wide and full of wonder. she reaches out to grab it but jahan yanks his hand away. "wait, look." jahan crushes the eggshell with ease, displaying the remnants to his little sister.

"how did you do that?" she questions, grabbing his hand and peering into it.

jahan adjusts the angle of his phone camera and pulls his hand away. "it’s a fake egg," he says, setting down the eggshells on the table and grabbing another. "here, take this."

he hands the egg over to alma. "okay!" she agrees, taking it into both of her little hands. "what do i do?"

"we are gonna prank maman." he smiles, nodding towards the kitchen where baran is making dinner. "you’re going to go into the kitchen, tell her it’s a real egg, then throw it on the ground."

"okay!"

he stifles a laugh as he follows alma to the kitchen. she’s so gullible, no matter how many times he tricks her she keeps falling for it and believing him. it’s cute but also the perfect fuel for an older brother.

she looks back briefly, smiling widely as jahan gives her an encouraging thumbs up. he hides around the corner, phone and head being the only thing sticking out.

"maman, look!" alma says, holding the egg out in front of her like a prize.

baran turns from where she is chopping something, setting down the knife and kneeling. "and what is that, golam?"

"an egg." she looks as smug as any six year old can, eyes gleaming mischievously. "watch what i can do!"

"and what wo—" baran is cut off by the sound of an egg hitting the ground. not a hollowed out eggshell, a full, real egg. it splatters everywhere, some yolk getting on baran’s slippers, eggshells mixed in.

baran blinks in shock, staring at the mess on the floor. laughter erupts out of jahan, stepping into the doorway and doubling over. he makes sure to keep his phone trained on alma, capturing the look of betrayal on her face.

she looks between jahan and baran, tears welling in her eyes. they quickly spill over and alma is wailing, pointing at jahan to accuse him. "jahan- jahan lied," she cries, whole body shaking. "he said it’s fake." she’s blubbering, snot pouring out of her nose already.

baran looks at jahan, furrowing her brows and pressing her lips into a thin line. he is so fucked, but the video is definitely worth it. he ends the recording and runs out of the room, passing yolanda on the way.

"it’s okay, golam, it’s okay," baran soothes, scooping alma into her arms. "it’s just an egg, right? we can clean it up." she strokes her hair, listening to alma sob about jahan.

yolanda quirks an eyebrow at the sight before her, leaning on the doorframe. baran just shakes her head at her while pressing a kiss into alma’s temple.

—

please be quiet, please

"mama farted!" alma yells, pointing at yolanda.

yolanda halts, grocery cart wheels squeaking with the sudden stop. her eyes fly open and she stares at alma, mouth agape. she had not.

"you farted, mama," alma continues, laughing her head off. "fart, fart, fart, you farted!"

yolanda leans down, holding onto her outstretched hand. "shhh, please be quiet honey," she whispers, trying to ignore the people around them staring. "we’re in a store so you need to use your inside voice."

laughing, alma shakes her head. "faaaaaaaart," she sings, wrestling out of yolanda’s grip. alma runs around the cart and her mama, continuing on about her farting.

yolanda hangs her head in shame, hiding her face in her hands. she can hear adult laughter around her and wants to disappear. alma’s tiny hands grab her arm and shakes it.

"mama, mama, you did a fart. you did a fart!" she says, a new wave of giggles taking over her.

yolanda groans and picks her up, putting her into the seat of the cart. "okay honey, let’s keep shopping."

alma keeps giggling, repeating the word fart over and over until they get into the car with yolanda sporting a beet-red face.

—

AHHHHH

trinity knows she fucked up at 8:21 at night when trying to give alma her bath.

trying being the keyword because every time trinity tries to bring alma into the bathroom, she screams and cries.

maybe, just maybe, showing a five year old jaws was a bad idea.

trinity thought it was a classic, the very basics of horror to the point it barely even counts. it was just a shark attacking people at the beach, and they rarely go to the beach. it should have been fine, it should be fine.

she may have forgotten the water aspect applies to a lot more things. like the bath that she takes every night.

the shark toy in the bath definitely did not help.

"alma, bunso, it’s okay. it’s just a toy, it’s just sharky," she tries, holding up the toy and moving it around playfully.

alma cries harder and buries her face in baran’s leg. baran shakes her head and looks down at trinity’s pleading eyes. she picks her up and alma quickly wraps herself around her maman who bounces her gently, whisper words of comfort into her ear.

"how about this? how about i get in the bath with you?" trinity offers. "no shark will get you if i’m there, right?"

alma calms a little and nods. "okay," she squeaks out.

trinity takes a bath with alma every night for thirteen weeks, only slightly regretting her decision.

—

he’s…. straight?

jahan takes a deep breath, rocking back and forth on his feet. his nerves were obvious, emanating off of him in waves.

the nerves spread through his mothers, all equally worried about what he wants to tell them. baran already has a sneaking suspicion, having caught him smiling like a child at his phone. trinity and yolanda on the other hand, assume the worst. crashed the car, failed a class, got in a fight, something wildly out of character for him.

"um, i was wondering…" he trails off, eyes darting between the three. "can i bring a girl home?"

a warm smile spreads across baran’s face then yolanda’s quickly after, a mix of pride and happiness washing over them. trinity however, tilts her head.

"yeah? why would you not be able to?" trinity asks, raising an eyebrow. the confusion is clear in her voice. he’s had girls over before, half of his friends are girls.

yolanda snickers before baran elbows her in the side. "stop it," she whispers harshly. baran is glaring at her wife who is now holding her hand over her mouth to hold back her laughter.

jahan shakes his head, looking down to the floor. "no, she is— imani is my girlfriend. we want to watch a movie and we have a nice tv."

furrowing her brows, trinity leans forward. "that’s fine, you’ve had girl friends over before. i’m confused."

"nanay," he whines, staring at her with pleading eyes. trinity is usually so sharp, picking up on the subtlest of hints to piece things together. now though, she was missing ever clue even though they barely counted as such. it was spelled out plainly before her and she was reading it with both eyes shut.

"what?" trinity asks, drawing out the word. "it’s true! i’ve never met imani before but i’m sure she’s wonderful."

jahan looks desperately between yolanda and baran, begging them for help. yolanda shakes her head, still stifling laughter, and baran sighs. she scoots closer to trinity and leans into her ear.

"my love," she begins, grasping one of trinity’s hands gently. "what jahan is trying to say is, he wants to bring a girl over for a date." when trinity says nothing, eyes just widening as she blinks slowly, baran continues. "imani is his not his friend who happens to be a girl, she is his girlfriend. they’re a couple."

yolanda has given up on holding back her laughter, letting the sound fill the room as she gives jahan a thumbs up.

trinity doesn’t move, staring straight ahead. jahan has a girlfriend. jahan likes girls. maybe he’s bi, or pan, or omni, or fluid, or, oh god she doesn’t even want to think it. he could be straight.

"jahan," trinity says slowly. she still hasn’t moved, but her grip on baran’s hand has tightened.

"yes, nanay?" his voice shakes, clearly surprised by whatever sort of reaction this was from trinity.

"i need you to know i will love you no matter what, okay?" jahan nods and trinity continues, "are you straight?"

jahan swallows, nodding as he meekly says, "yes."

trinity inhales deeply, ignoring yolanda’s continued laughter and the beginnings of baran’s, holds for four, and exhales. "okay," she squeaks out. "that’s fine. i just—"

she stops, letting go of baran’s hand and standing. "three polyamorous queer moms. three," she whispers, beginning to pace. "where did we go wrong? was it the star wars? yola, was this because of you?" she asks, running her hands through her hair.

yolanda quells her giggles to stand and cup her wife’s face. "baby, cariño, calm down." her amusement at this scenario clear. "as long as he’s safe and happy, that’s all that matters. right?"

nodding, trinity sighs. "i know, i know. but, straight? really?" she asks, sending yolanda back into her fit of laughter and giving baran the final push into hers.

[curry4]

i just know yolanda still owns a pair of skinny jeans that she bought circa 2013 and still wears them till this day

[lamortwrites]

Women being described as handsome >>>>>>>>>>>>

[lamortwrites]

TARGET AUDIENCE REACHED

[1000cavalry]

Women being described as dashing

[drpepperwhoree]

remember that pride is still a protest

[whirling-ghost]

[ID: "a world without trans people has never existed and never will" written in silver on a black background and surrounded by stars. end ID]

[specialarrogance]

new garsantos fic just dropped and you can read it here!

[banchie]

i've been phasing the phrase 'google it' out of my vocabulary and going back to 'look it up'. fuck you youve lost your generic trademark privileges

[unyieldingsilence]

‎

[pghumfort]

I’m still not over Whitaker never being home cos he thinks he’s a burden and Santos thinking he’s never home because she’s a burden.

[blossom2blossom]

the fact that langdon gets to be an asshole to everyone except for his favorite white girl and his abrasiveness is accepted as a character quirk but when trinity lashes out it's treated as a personal moral failing instead of a response to her environment

[xmoonw4terx]

Yolanda Gracia and her collection of PTSD ridden girlfriends

[mistydear]

need you

kicking off pride month RIGHT. sneak peak of an upcoming barantos fic! mdni! strap on, squirting, w/c: 1k

Baran is moaning so fucking deliciously, her face red, eyes closed, head thrown back into the pillow as Trinity fucks her into the bed. She’s fisting the sheets, tensing, when Trinity hears the front door open and keys being tossed down.

“Trinity? You home? Have you seen my book on calving?”

“Fuck,” she hisses, stilling.

Baran whines, so drunk on Trinity’s strap she has no idea why she stopped. As much as Trinity would love to drive Baran over the edge right now, she’s maddeningly incapable of being quiet when she cums — she knows this from experience trying to shut her up in inappropriate places — and that is not something Trinity wants to think about the next time she has to meet Huckleberry’s eyes.

So, she pulls out, probably too quickly, and Baran moans sharply. Panicked, Trinity clamps a hand over Baran’s mouth, which at least gets her to focus. But her eyes go sort of dark and hungry, and Trinity swallows.

“Fuckleberry’s home. Stay here,” she breathes, leaning forward on her hands to kiss Baran, who chases her and whines faintly when she pulls away and hops off the bed.

Baran’s trying to catch her breath, draping an arm over her eyes, knees fallen apart, thighs sticky, as Trinity throws on some boxers and the closest t-shirt. It’s Baran’s Stanford 2010 debate team shirt that practically lives at Trinity’s apartment. She opens the door and closes it quickly behind her, almost running right into Whittaker.

“Fuck. Jesus, hi,” she gasps, shoulders brushing back against the door.

“Hi…” he drawls, eyeing her weirdly.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, out of breath.

“I live here?” Trinity levels him with a glare.

“You’re supposed to be out playing house right now.”

“Yeah, and Amy called on the way asking for my calving book. She’s got like two cows that could give birth any day.”

“Ew, oh my god,” Trinity groans.

“I think we used it to level your dresser,” he starts, and Trinity’s eyes go wide, desperately hoping that isn’t the case.

“Nope, don’t think we did. I thought you were using it as a plant stand or something,” she offers, and he thinks for a second.

“Right, yeah.” He glides past her with a suspicious look, noticing how sweaty and disheveled she is. When he passes the second time with the book, she’s just standing in front of her closed door. His expression drops. “Oh my god, do you have Garcia in there?”

“No. No, I’m not, we’re not…anymore,” she says quickly, awkwardly, following Whittaker into the kitchen. He doesn’t say anything, but Trinity can feel what he’s thinking. He’s oddly protective over her, and it never fails to make Trinity squirm.

“Why do you have a Stanford shirt?”

“Oh it’s, uh, not mine,” Trinity says thoughtlessly.

“So, you do have someone in there,” he grins, and she forces down a blush by grabbing his shoulders and spinning him around in the direction of the door. “Have fun. Be safe. I’ll text next time I need to enter my own apartment,” he says as she’s shoving him out the door.

“Good riddance, Huckleberry,” she calls after him, locking the door and securing the chain just to be safe.

Trinity takes a deep breath outside her room — trying to flush Whittaker from her mind — before entering. On the bed, Baran has her hand between her legs, slowly, quietly circling her clit. Her eyes are closed, one hand rolling a nipple between her fingers, soft gasps pushing past her lips.

“Fuck, Baran,” Trinity sighs, tearing off the shirt and boxers and sliding the strap back on. “Have you been touching yourself the whole time I was talking to Huckleberry?” Baran whines and nods, her eyes barely fluttering open. Oh, she’s fucking gone.

Trinity settles eagerly between her legs and just watches her. She’s so wet she’s dripping onto the bed, swollen and clenching around nothing. Trinity moans, her hands falling to Baran’s soft thighs.

“I need you inside me,” Baran mumbles, and Trinity can’t help but smile. She loves when Baran gets like this, so aching and desperate she’d do just about anything to cum.

“I can tell, baby.”

“Please. I was so close when you left,” she whines, her fingers clicking against her clit, and Trinity can see the stringy slickness on them.

“You’re still close,” Trinity teases but not for long, her own clit throbbing at the sight.

She shifts closer, aligning the strap and holding Baran’s hips. When she drives in hard and bottoms out, the most obscene sound Trinity’s ever heard punches past Baran’s lips. Her back arches, and her hand flies up to press low into Trinity’s belly.

“Fuck. fuck. Actually, I think you need to pull out. Oh, god.” Trinity can feel her clenching down, twitching and trying so hard to keep still. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Now you’re embarrassed?” Trinity laughs at the blush that rises to Baran’s cheeks. She pushes against Trinity, but Trinity doesn’t budge. “You worked yourself up while I was gone, and these are the consequences.”

Baran’s hips twitch.

“Oh, Trinity, fuck,” she moans, her head rolling back, fingers falling from Trinity’s belly to fist the sheets as she cums without Trinity having to do a goddam thing.

And then she fucks Baran through it, hard and deep, swiping at her clit until she cums again with a series of cries and moans that almost make Trinity fall apart. She can feel the spattering of liquid on her thighs as they slam together, hear it on the strap as it squelches in her. And when Baran can’t take it anymore, tears stinging at her eyes, Trinity slows and stops.

Baran keeps a vice grip on the strap as she comes down, so Trinity just runs her hands up and down her damp skin, soothing. They’re both gasping as Trinity finally pulls out. Baran’s eyes flutter open, hazy and tired, and she reaches her hand down to feel the soaking wet sheets between her legs.

“Your sheets,” she groans. “I’m sorry. I don’t normally do that. I would’ve laid a towel down.”

“I think that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” is all Trinity can manage knowing she’s dripping wet and throbbing. Baran’s eyes go dark, and she licks her lips.

“Come here,” she breathes, and Trinity’s scrambling up to kiss her, the strap pressing into Baran’s trembling thigh.

[clueless-rads]

The Australian weather is doing incredible things to my hair