#barantos asks

barantos - gonna be you and me

by the time the ninth month rolls around, trinity isn’t sure which of them is more physically tired, her or baran.

she understood, had read in medical textbooks, that libido often went tenfold during pregnancy but that was supposed to be around the second trimester and baran was still going.

“please, baby, more. need you again.”

she had to be superhuman, it was the only explanation. it was like she was constantly wet, like she constantly wanted it, constantly needed trinity. she couldn’t function without her.

trinity could barely get home these days without being pounced upon, strap shoved into her arms and boxers pulled to the floor before she could even drop her work bag. she’d become a play thing for baran to use and god above, she was not complaining about that.

“you like that baby? you like my dick in you? pumping you full?”

baran nods through tears and fluttering eyelashes. they have to do it this way these days, baran bouncing in trinity’s lap, belly too big for her to be pinned face down on the bed, body too sore for trinity to rail her from behind. she presses her tits, full and heavy, to trinity’s face and gasps in relief when trinity wraps her tongue around them.

“yes, please, god baby, again. more more more.”

it’s usually gibberish by this point in the evening, baran on her fourth or fifth orgasm, wringing more and more effort out of trinity each time. she’s already a mess but the minute she’s sated, it all comes roaring back again.

“need you again, baby. need it harder. need to know how much you want me.”

“I want you all the time, baby. gonna give you a kid again, as many as you want. gonna knock you up whenever. here just for you.”

barantos - i’m very much in love with you

trinity decides about seven months in that she’s officially sick of being pregnant.

don’t get her wrong, she’s excited (read: scared shitless) but the effect it’s having on her body is driving her nuts. first it had been the morning sickness, then it had been having to buy clothes that were bigger and then more clothes after that because the first set got uncomfortably tight.

lastly, it’s how everybody’s reacting to it.

crash looks at her like she’s about to explode, dennis tries to hold back a laugh any time she mentions her ankles and robby, fucking robby, keeps asking when she’s going on maternity leave.

not yet, fucker, is usually her answer, conveyed much much more politely than he deserves.

the worst of all is baran, that wonderfully happy look she has on her face any time they pass each other at work. she’s only smiling because she knows how much trinity hates being banished to charts, not being allowed to do much else in her condition, and how trinity glares at her whenever they see each other.

she’s having the time of her life about that.

it’s fucking torture.

trinity santos is a badass.

trinity santos is scary.

trinity santos is not to be fucked with.

trinity santos is-

“hm.” she flexes the muscles in her neck and her jaw as another tinge of pain pressed just beneath her ribs. “ow.”

trinity santos is fucking sore.

the way she says it, mutters it under her breath, she might as well have yelled it for baran’s ears to hear because the attending is up and across central in less than a minute, eyes clinical but concerned.

“you okay?”

“mhm.” trinity tries to make that sound convincing but there’s another jab beneath her ribs and her face betrays her. “m’all good.”

“you don’t look all good.”

“well, if I’d known al-hashimi babies were going to treat my insides like a goddamn rage room I would’ve - shit - made you carry instead.”

baran smiles in that way that trinity loves, like trinity’s her whole world and the sun’s just come out from behind the clouds. she sinks down a bit, kneeling between trinity’s legs and gently cupping her bump in a way that doesn’t make her feel so heavy.

“hey azizam. are you being bad for your mama, hm? we can’t be having that.”

trinity sighs and closes her eyes, doesn’t care that they’re in the middle of the ER and are supposed to be working right now.

baran’s half-asleep when she hears it, when she feels it.

trinity’s mouth, nuzzling against the sensitive spot beneath her ear, her hands soft and supple at her hips, the gentle breath of her voice as she begs and coos at her.

please, baby. please, can i? need you so bad, please.

baran only hums, too tired to protest and too happy to have her near again, and she can feel trinity tugging at her, pulling on her hips as her mouth trails down her spine.

please, baby, let me. wanna make you feel good. missed you so much.

she stretches out like a cat, feeling trinity’s tongue flicking out over the flexing muscles in her shoulder blades. trinity’s half-dragged her into her lap now, nudging at her entrance, teeth gently nipping at the top of her spine.

she won’t do anything until baran says she can, will just keep whining and begging and pawing at her until baran grants her a modicum of relief. and even then, she won’t do it for herself, she’ll do it for baran.

she’ll drag her back properly and give it to her over and over again until her muscles give out, until baran’s pleased with her, until she’s told how good she is.