kitty trinity coming out more and more often as her & baran's relationship continues :3
trinity is laying across baran's waist while the older woman is rubbing and massaging her back & shoulders, pleased at how she can tell her girlfriend is relaxing more into her touch
when baran changes from massaging to lightly dragging her nails across her bare back, trinity lets out a happy purrrrr
"oh?" baran says, smiling. "is my good girl feeling like my pretty kitty now?"
cheeks flushed, trinity replies, "yes. want you to put my collar on me."
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.
It was literally my first day of being a doctor. And Langdon gaslit me and made me question my skills over and over again. And it’s taken me a long time to feel like I belong here. And now he’s back.
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
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.
pitt is really baby's first fandom for many bc wdym criticising the show or the writers is the worst offense known to man. i know fandoms where hating the writers is a baseline requirement for liking the show
i (type 1 diabetic) was explaining autoimmune diseases to someone and she was like ohh right so yours is the good kind of diabetes where you didn't do it to yourself. to which i objected that's not how type 2 works either. and she said well that's the fat old people disease. and i was like you can't say that, a) not how it works and b) extremely rude. and her defense was her grandparents have type 2 and "did it to themselves" and since they're fat old people she reserves the right to hate on them. i understand hating shitty grandparents but YOU are the shitty one here to hate on them for their medical conditions and weight rather than literally anything else. hello?!
anyway type 2 diabetics i'm sorry about the world. everyone* be kind to type 2s or else
*note to type 1 diabetics especially we need to be better at solidarity and not cling to being the "good ones" at type 2s' expense. what the fuck is a good kind of diabetes anyway
also worth saying diabetes is a complex reaction to a not-yet-fully-understood set of factors and environmental pressures and genetics and it's reductive and fatphobic to say fat=diabetes BUT EVEN SO no matter if someone did incontrovertibly "give themself diabetes" that's not a free pass for dehumanization. shut upppp
