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Cassie’s jaw tightened irrationally. “Victoria.”
Victoria finally glanced over. “Do you need something?” she asked sweetly. “Money? Somebody to sign you into a mental institution?”
Cassie forced herself not to react.
“Come on,” she said through gritted teeth. “You’re drunk. Let me get you home safely.”
Victoria laughed softly. “If you’re my idea of safety, I might as well hitchhike.”or,
Cassie tries really hard not to have sex with her girlfriend's daughter until she doesn't.Bookmarked by Fivesterfr
03 Jun 2026
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Trinity knows it’s inevitable. She understand that this–this thing–can only coil so tightly before it snaps. And guess who’s ass is in the trap?
‘Santos. A word.’
Not a question. Not even a suggestion, really. An order veiled as something softer, something less loaded. Garcia doesn’t even look at her; pert buns swaying slightly as she and her perfect posture lead Trinity to the stairwell. How is she still standing like that–after, what, nine hours? Trinity aches. She has blisters from her shitty tennis shoes that Huckleberry insisted she buy–her ratty old gym shoes were fine, by the way–and an omnipresent thudding behind her eyes and the inability to keep her shoulders rolled anywhere but forward. Garcia spins on her heel; her shoes are pristine, white and stitched with fine thread. Trinity wants to die, just a little.
‘You’ve been avoiding me.’
There it is. Trap, meet ass. She’s been told she has a nice one, so hopefully that counts for something.
Bookmarked by Fivesterfr
01 Jun 2026
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Baran gives her girl exactly what she needs.
Series
- Part 3 of the babycatverse
Bookmarked by Fivesterfr
31 May 2026
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“Let me get this straight,” Santos says, flat and disbelieving. “No one you’ve fucked has ever made you come?”
Samira glares at her, flushed with embarrassment. “Say it a little louder, why don’t you? The people upstairs might not have heard.”
"Samira,” Santos says, shaking her head. “This is a crime that should earn your exes fifty to life, no parole. Getting you off would be a fucking privilege.” A beat, and then: “Shit, if you ever want a hand with that, you could just ask me.”
Bookmarked by Fivesterfr
31 May 2026
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It was purely sexual. Not romantic. Not intimate. Nope, not at all. Trinity Santos did not have room in her mind right now to be attached to someone.
But now, Samira Mohan was in Trinity's tiny kitchen in the way-too-early hours of the morning, drinking coffee in an undershirt and panties that left little to the imagination. Some stupid indie song was playing from Trinity's speaker. For a moment, Trinity just… watched her. Stood in the doorway like a creep, not making a sound, and watched Samira quietly sing along to the sappy ass lyrics as she looked through the fridge.title from the magnetic fields song bc santos listens exclusively to 90s alt rock and u cannot convince me otherwise
Bookmarked by Fivesterfr
30 May 2026