#and calhoun to just know about it

[fridgrave2-0]

hehe ghost-turbo haunting felix au

turbo is connected to the last piece of his code in the whole arcade - a trophy he gifted to felix in mid 80s as a symbol of him genuinely caring about their relationships on par with being the best racer. felix also gave him one of his medals and both kept their gifts next to other rewards, but when roadblasters and turbotime were unplugged, the medal was gone with everything else

now, after burning in cola-lava turbo is basically dead, but scraps of his code still were intertwined with the trophy (after all, it was his first winner's cup, but felix never knew about it), giving turbo an opportunity to exist as a shadow incapable of interacting with anything and anyone besides felix, who kept the trophy even after the roadblasters incident

also I went crazy in tags, feel free to check them out

[saintaviator]

moar hl scraps…. does a pose

[ohnoitsz1m]

Halflife ponies. Btw.

A warning to any MLP enjoyers: if this ends up on derpibooru or any similar site I'll gnaw you into splinters like a cheap plastic dog toy. I'm on the DNP lists under animatorfun and I'll request a new link for this blog specifically if I havw to. Please stop reuploading my shit 💀

Edit: i forgot to reenable the layer with Gordon's glasses it's so over. I was wondering why she looked weird oughhgggh

Edit2: fixed gordon <3

[halflifebutawesome]

Man Barney had to have had like. Complete trust in Gordon at the beginning of HL2. he fully turns his entire back to him and completely moves in a way that obstructs his vision to remove his mask and helmet. DUDE .

[simpingforcys]

To be laying beside (or on top) of the short racer king man holding him like a doll cupping his cheek that for some reason feels soft like a marshmallow maybe he programmed it himself who knows, caressing his face with your fingers while kissing him over and over<333 his little giggles and silly noises of "hoohoo~"s as you dote on him since he's not used to getting so close and personal with someone cuz of secret identity I mean what you're not suppose to know that hahaaaa

You lean in down to whisper in his ear "I love seeing you ride on those tracks... has anyone ridden you~?"

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Aftermath au: Red Letter Day

Barney gets a call that Gordon Freeman had been found after ten years of being missing in action.

Word count: 4382

Notes: Another fic for my au "Aftermath" because I think its neat. I'm not sure what else to put here, enjoy the fic

Barney was beginning to remember how much he hated Winter as he stared through the warehouse window in front of him. Despite it being the beginning of March, spring was yet to come, meaning the snow was still falling with the temperature following suit. Barney had always hated the season, and as much as he tried, he could never come up with a proper reason. Maybe it was the fact it was cold, wet, and dreary, making any trip outside miserable, or perhaps it was the fact he was mainly cooped up inside all day, leaving him to get cabin fever. Or maybe it was a mixture of those two at the same time, along with the loneliness that came from them. No matter the reason, Barney kept quiet about it, realizing he had no ability to change the weather. All he could do was drink his hot coffee and put on a few more layers than usual. 

Barney took a sip from his mug as he looked away from the window, instead focusing his attention back into the room he was in. It was a storage room, full of random junk and scientific doodads Barney had no knowledge of. Boxes and crates were stacked up in piles taller than he was, stacked in such a way that it made Barney nervous even being near them in the case of them toppling over. Due to the lack of a radiator in that room, it was even chillier than the rest of the refurbished warehouse, making Barney glad he was wearing the warmest sweatpants he could find in his closet, along with a worn out grey hoodie, with the logo on the front being so faded that it was hard to make out as Black Mesa’s logo.

As he looked around, he was startled by the sound of a box slamming against the concrete floor, along with a short exclamation. “Oh, blast it!” “You alright, Doc?” Barney asked the other man in the room, watching as he bent over to pick up the fallen crate.

“I’m fine, just…hoping whatever was in here isn’t fragile…” 

Dr. Isaac Kleiner, or “Doc” as Barney referred to him as, was wearing a white lab coat over a robin-egg-blue dress-shirt and black tie, trading warmth for safety at his place of work. His glasses were slipping off his face as he moved boxes and rummaged through everything in the storage room, making it even more of a mess than it was before. 

“Where on earth could she have gone?” Kleiner asked, not necessarily expecting an answer. “There aren’t any vents she could have crawled in, are there?”

“I hope not,” Barney stated. “Last thing I want is that thing to fall on someone.” As Kleiner looked under a table, Barney spoke up again. “You think it ran off or something?”

“Oh no, I don’t believe so,” Kleiner stood up straight, “I’m sure she wouldn’t. After all, she needs to get fed eventually, so I imagine she’ll come out for that.” “If the thing didn’t eat someone's cat or something.”

“Hush!” Kleiner held a finger up to his mouth, causing both he and Barney to become silent as he listened closely. Barney attempted to hear what Kleiner was listening for, but to no avail, hearing nothing but silence. “Fie! I could’ve sworn I heard her moving around…”

Barney let out an exhausted sigh, “Doc, please, there’s plenty of those pests out there–”

“But there’s only ONE Lamar!”

“...Right.”

“Now, are you going to help me look?” Kleiner adjusted his crooked glasses, “Or are you going to simply stand there, doing nothing?”

“Uh…” Barney glanced away, thinking for a moment. “...No thanks.”

“Oh, you act like she’s some kind of wild animal.”

“It kinda is.”

“She’s been de-beaked and trained, and you know this!” Kleiner stated as he walked towards a filing cabinet near the corner of the room.

“‘Trained;’ I don’t think that thing is really…trained. My dog is trained, and I know you can train cats, but I don’t think you can train a literal parasite–”

“Oh! I think I’ve got something!” Kleiner said excitedly, “Help me move this cabinet, would you please?”

Barney reluctantly approached the metal cabinet as Kleiner positioned himself to the side of it, ready to move it as soon as Barney was. As soon as Barney placed his free hand against the side of it, he pushed, with Kleiner on the other side pulling it towards him.

Barney let out a loud yelp when something leaped at him from behind the cabinet, causing him to fall on his back and drop his mug on the floor. It was Lamar, the “Pet” headcrab that Kleiner had lost, and it was even uglier up close. As it laid on Barney’s chest, its six small, beady eyes stared back at him as he remained absolutely still, afraid of it trying to attack him. Its teeth on its stomach prodded at his stomach, along with its chipped, large front claws, which had colorful duct-tape covering the tips of them to prevent them from being too sharp. After a few moments of tense silence, Kleiner came to the rescue, picking up Lamar from where it rested on Barney’s torso, allowing him to take a breath.

“LAMAR!” Kleiner exclaimed, looking at his pet with relief in his eyes, “Oh, delightful! I’m so happy to see you weren’t left out in the cold somewhere…”

“Mm-hm…” Barney lifted himself off the ground, looking at his feet to see his knocked over coffee cup, with its contents spilled over. “Ugh…” 

Barney picked up his cup from the floor as Kleiner let Lamar go, watching as it waddled across the floor before jumping up onto one of the tables. Barney stared at it with contempt, the opposite reaction to Lamar’s rediscovery compared to Kleiner’s joy. 

“Do you even have a license for that thing?” Barney questioned as Lamar sat down on top of some loose documents. “If you don’t and animal control finds it, they’ll kill it–”

“I’m…in the process of getting one,” Kleiner stated, voice stumbling slightly. “And I hope no one finds her, cause if they do…I’m afraid of what you said coming true. I’m sure it will be fine regardless, at least she knows to stay inside.”

“...Sure.”

“Is everyone safe?”

Barney and Kleiner turned towards the doorway that led to the rest of the warehouse, seeing a lone, albino Vortigaunt staring back at them with her four maroon eyes. She was wearing a similar lab coat to Kleiner’s, with a borrowed pair of black dress pants, along with a fitted light brown sweater, with a hole in the middle of her chest for her third pseudo arm. She stared at Kleiner and Barney for a little while before Barney answered her question. 

“Yeah, we’re fine…” Barney sighed, glancing towards Lamar, “We just found Kleiner’s…pet.”

“Everything’s under control, Violet, you can get back to work!” Kleiner added.

“I see.” Violet’s gravelly voice seemed quieter than usual, making Barney’s brows furrow a bit.

“You alright?” He asked.

Violet seemed puzzled. “Hm?”

“Are you doing alright? I have noticed you’ve been a bit…closed off for the past few hours.” Kleiner inquired.

“We have been…distracted…” Violet responded. “I imagine it will be cleared up soon.”

“We?” Barney asked.

Violet didn’t answer. “I must get back to helping the others…the teleporter is nearly ready for its first test...”

“Oh! Wonderful. I’ll be there in a little bit.” Kleiner stated as Violet left the room. Barney remained puzzled, looking back at Kleiner with a feeling of unease in his chest.

“She said ‘we’.” Barney stated.

“I’m aware,” Kleiner responded. “You see, the Vortigaunts are able to tap into something they refer to as the ‘Vortessence’, and are thus all conne–”

“I know, Doc, I just…” Barney paused for a second. “If she’s talking about all the Vortigaunts, then wouldn’t that be a bit worrying?”

“...Maybe, but I'm not sure.” Kleiner stated. “Though, one of the members of the survey team we sent earlier today was a Vortigaunt, and that team hasn’t returned yet so…maybe there is a connection there.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way, I believe i’ll go and speak with her, just to make sure everything’s alri–”

Barney’s phone ringing from his pocket interrupted their thoughts, and when Barney pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open, he saw the number was from one of his coworkers at the hospital. “Sorry, I gotta take this.”

“You’re fine, you go ahead and I’ll go check in with the others.”

Barney nodded, watching Kleiner leave the room before he answered the call and put his phone up to his ear.

“Hello?”

Barney listened closely to the person on the other end of the phone, barely processing what they were saying. 

“What’s going on? 

Not going to believe what? 

So what, why are you telling me this?”

Barney listened closely, all before he felt his heart skip a beat. The sinking feeling in his chest was enough to render him silent, all before he let out a meek “I’ll call you later.”

Barney rushed out of the room, running past Kleiner in the process, nearly pushing him over as he approached the exit. “Barney? What’s going on, are you alright–” “They found him.” Barney’s voice shook as he spoke, with him barely being able to make out the words from how tight his throat was.

“Found who?”

Barney was already out of the building by the time Kleiner asked the question, leaving it unanswered.

Barney saw his own breath clouding in front of his face as he sprinted across the parking lot of the warehouse, nearly slipping on ice multiple times but not giving any time to care. When he reached his car, he swung the door open and crawled inside, starting the engine and speeding off without a single word. His thoughts ran through his head faster than his car was capable of going, slurring together without a single cohesive thought coming through. He didn’t care if he was a few miles above the speed limit; he needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. He needed to see if what his coworker said was right.

If it was truly Gordon Freeman that was brought into the ER, he needed to be there.

When Barney made it to the hospital lot, he rushed through the front doors, looking around before approaching the front desk, out of breath from both the physical and mental strain that was put on him. Through harsh breaths, he asked, “Is Gordon Freeman here?”, with pleading eyes focused on the woman behind the desk.

“Oh, hello Mr. Calhoun, I can look through the system for a ‘Gordon Freeman’, if you’ll sit tight for a moment.” She looked towards the computer in front of her, typing in something and looking through files as Barney waited, his impatience building up inside of him.

“Fuck this.” He pushed himself away from the desk, storming down one of the hallways despite the woman at the front desk telling him he wasn’t allowed to as he was off duty. Barney rushed past hospital workers, asking them if they knew where Gordon was, only to be met with worried and frightened looks along with no answers. Barney’s frustration only grew as he ran through the hospital halls, with the familiar building beginning to feel like a maze meant to confuse him. As he ran further into the hospital wing, he slammed against one of the doctors in the hall, causing him to topple to the ground as Barney tripped over his own feet.

“Sorry, I just have to–”

“Barney? What the hell are you doing back here?” The man questioned as Barney sped past him.

“I’m looking for Gordon Freeman,” Barney answered, turning around. “Have you seen him?”

“He’s in the ER right now,” The man snapped back as he slowly stood up. “You can’t see him until he’s out of surgery.”

“Surgery? Is he safe? Is he alright?” Barney questioned, walking closer to the doctor. 

“Yes, he’ll be fine, just…” The doctor let out a tired sigh. “Get out of here, you’re off duty and risking your job with a stunt like this.”

“I need to see Gordon, alright?” Barney explained. “He’s been gone for a fucking DECADE, and he’s been found again, I can’t just leave him–”

“Calhoun.” The man raised his voice as he glared at Barney with a look of both contempt and pity. “...Listen, just wait until he’s out and I’ll see what I can do, do you understand?”

Barney remained silent for a moment, letting out a sharp breath before nodding. “Alright,” He stated, defeated. “But he better be getting the best treatment in there.”

“I’m sure they’re doing all they can, they understand his reputation–”

“I don’t care about his reputation, if i’m right, that’s my goddamn friend in there.” Barney spat. “...Let me know when he’s out. I need to at least…make sure it’s…the right guy.”

“I’m sure someone will let you know.” The doctor stated. “...Now please go back to the waiting room before I call security.”

Barney did as he was told, reluctantly walking across the hospital premises and back into the waiting room, where he will stay for another few hours. He paced around the room, bounced his foot up and down, fidgeted with his hands; anything to try and pass the time as the minutes passed by agonizingly slow. After he had already been there for what felt like days within the timespan of a few hours, he saw a nurse walk towards him. “Mr. Calhoun?”

Barney’s head lifted up, looking towards the nurse before following her down a hallway. After a couple-minutes walk, they stopped in front of a door leading to a recovery room. “He’s in there,” The nurse stated. “He’s currently sleeping, so I ask you to be quiet and not attempt to wake him up.”

“...Yeah.” Barney hesitated before walking through the door, stepping into the room, seeing a curtain blocking his view of the bed. He paused, standing in place for a moment as he wondered if the face he was about to see was truly Gordon, or simply someone mistaken as him. He wondered if he wanted the answer, or if he’d rather live in ignorance, avoiding the crippling disappointment if it wasn’t the man he thought it was, but as he walked past the curtain, every worry in his mind ceased and his thoughts became silent as he looked at the man on the bed.

Sure, his body was covered with blood-soaked bandages, his right leg was in a cast, he had medical equipment around him, and he was missing his glasses, but his face was painfully recognizable. Barney choked back a sob, covering his mouth when he saw Gordon’s face again.

“Are you alright?” The nurse behind him asked, noticing Barney’s teary-eyed look.

“I’m fine.” Barney whispered before letting out a short chuckle and a forced smile. “It’s just…he didn’t change a damn bit.”

Barney hadn’t even noticed it had been an hour since he entered the room, being surprised when he glanced at the clock and saw it was nearing 10 PM. He sat on a chair beside Gordon’s bed, having moved it from the corner of the room to right beside it. His leg bounced up and down as he looked at Gordon, all before lowering his head and letting out a deep sigh. He wished to speak to him but he was out of words he could possibly say at that very moment, not to mention the wish to stay quiet so Gordon could recover without being woken up. He wanted to tell Gordon everything that had happened in his absence; how Kleiner started up another lab to continue Black Mesa’s studies, how Eli also set up one on the other side of the city, and how Barney had finished college and was able to become a nurse. Gordon missed so much, and even though Barney wished to dump every piece of information onto him, he realized that even the realization that it had been ten years would be overwhelming enough. Thus, Barney figured to start simple, and just talk, like friends, for the first time since the Black Mesa incident.

As Barney leaned back into his seat he felt the back of his head hit something that wasn’t there before, feeling bitter cold yet organic at the same time, like a corpse’s fingers curling around the top of the backrest. He swung around, half expecting someone to be there, yet he saw nothing of the sort, seeing only the beige wall behind him. Barney let out his breath, looking back at Gordon before realizing he should head back; his stress and emotional state must have made him paranoid, not to mention the feeling of his hair standing on end. He stood up, walking towards the door out of the room before taking one last look back at Gordon before he finally left.

Later that night, Barney paced around his living room, being watched by his pet rottweiler as he talked on the phone. “The Survey team were the ones that found him?” he asked.

“That’s what they said,” Kleiner stated from the other side of the line. “The Vortigaunt was apparently the one that found him, specifically.”

“I see.”

“Quite Miraculous,” Kleiner continued, “The fact that Gordon had survived there for ten years before being found.”

“Yeah…” Barney unsurely stated under his breath.

“Nevermind that, what are you planning now?” Kleiner asked. “Should we have some kind of party? A celebration should be in order for him being back, I’d say–”

“I think he needs rest, he’s…been through a lot.” Barney stated. “I’ve thought of him staying over at my place until he can find a place of his own or until he recovers, but we’ll see how he’s feeling.”

“Are you sure? I’m sure we can find a spare room in the lab for him.”

“I dunno if he’d wanna live in a loud lab with a headcrab, doc.”

“...I suppose you have a fair point.”

“It was just so…strange.” Barney stated. “They say it was a ten year coma, but I don’t buy it. I don’t buy it at all.” “What makes you believe that?” 

“The fact he was bleeding. The fact he had fresh wounds from Black Mesa,” Barney elaborated, brows furrowed and his free arm crossing over his chest. “Not to mention the fact he was found with that…suit on.” “What kind of suit?” Kleiner questioned. “Oh, do you mean the Hazardous Environment Suit?”

“Yeah. Why would he be wearing it ten years after the incident was already over?”

“Who knows,” Kleiner sighed, “I’m sure I can talk with Eli to see if he has any ideas on–” Kleiner was interrupted by a loud crash and squeaking coming from behind him, audible through Barney’s phone. “Goodness gracious, LAMAR, NO–”

“You alright Doc?” 

“I’ll have to speak with you later, Lamar got in the vents again–Lamar get DOWN from there, that’s not safe!” After that, the call ended, and Barney was left to himself once again. Barney sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket before he heard a deep ruff coming from his dog, who was laying next to the couch in the living room, with its white patches of fur on its snout showing its age.

“You hear that, Gordon?” Barney said. “You might get a new roommate…a…different Gordon.”

The dog yawned and rested his head on his paws as Barney walked towards the living room couch, sitting on it and resting his feet on the coffee table in front of it. He leaned over the armrest, scratching the top of the dog’s head. “Guess I’ll have to explain to him why you’re also named Gordon, huh bud?”

Gordon didn’t respond, instead just letting out a soft ruff again. Barney leaned back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling before folding his hands on top of his stomach. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining why his pet was named after his friend, he realized. After all, it’s not very easy to tell someone you thought they were dead for years.

As soon as Barney received the call that Gordon was awake the following evening, Barney rushed back to the hospital to visit him once again. As he drove across the city, worries he didn’t think about before began to creep up inside his brain. Even though he didn’t necessarily believe the coma theory the doctors had, nor did he believe even they believed it fully, he thought of the possibility of it being true, and if Gordon would even remember who Barney was after a full decade of sleep. It would be a surprise if Gordon remembered anything after that amount of time, but Barney pushed down his pessimism, trying to be optimistic just this once.

After making his way down the hospital hallway once again, he found himself back in front of the door to Gordon’s room, with a nervous feeling deep in his gut as he prepared to walk inside. He took in a breath and stepped inside, looking towards the bed in which Gordon was laying on, only to have his gaze met by two bright green eyes, ones Barney hadn't seen since ten years prior. Barney froze in place, staring back at Gordon, who appeared to be surprised to see him. As Barney sat down in the chair beside the bed, he swallowed hard, wondering what he could possibly say now that Gordon was awake. As he thought to himself, a question left his mouth that he wasn’t initially planning on asking:

“Where were you?”

The question lingered in the air like a foul odor, with Gordon’s brows furrowing lip quivering slightly, all while he curled his hands into fists. He turned away from Barney, looking down at his feet, thinking of something to say, though his hands didn’t once lift up to sign a single word.

“You…disappear for 10 years without warning,” Barney continued. “Leaving everyone to believe you were dead.”

Gordon didn’t make eye contact with Barney as he spoke.

“I thought you were dead and buried somewhere, Gordon,” Barney choked. “But…You’re here in front of me now.”

Gordon glanced at Barney before he felt arms being wrapped around his shoulders, tight, but not too tight to make it hurt.

“I fucking missed you, Gordon.” Barney said as he hugged Gordon, feeling the gesture being returned to him. Gordon’s hands shook, feeling weak and cold, yet he didn’t want to let go of the single shred of kindness he had felt since what felt like eternity. After a few moments Barney let go, sitting back down with red, tear-filled eyes. 

“...You…missed a lot.” Barney stated; Gordon nodded knowingly in response. “I’d tell ya’ everything, but…I don’t even know how to start.”

“Are they safe?” Gordon’s hands were shaking, but Barney could make out the message regardless.

“Who, like…Kleiner? Eli?”

Gordon nodded slightly, lips pursed in anticipation. 

“They’re alright,” Barney assured, allowing Gordon to let out a breath. “In fact…they’re excited to see you again. Kleiner especially, he’s hoping to get you back into his lab…don’t know if you want to do that, but the offer’s there.”

Gordon appeared to have had a weight lifted off his shoulders at the news, but the cold yet somber gaze didn’t leave his eyes. Barney planned to tell Gordon that they were among the few survivors of the Black Mesa incident, but he bit his tongue for the time being.

“...Never thought you’d be in the history books, did ya?” Barney let out a lighthearted chuckle in an attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re a hero in everyone’s eyes, now.”

Gordon shook his head, looking down and away from Barney’s gaze as he clasped his hands together on his lap. Barney stared at him with a look of confusion and worry, all before forcefully clearing his throat. 

“I’m just…happy to see you alive, Gordon.” Barney stated. “After…a few years I began to…to lose hope.” Barney paused for a second, realizing Gordon was still not meeting his gaze. “...Should’ve known you were a tougher son of a bitch than that, I guess.”

Gordon scoffed slightly before shaking his head again, still staring at his feet. Silence fell as Barney attempted to think of something else to say to ease the tense atmosphere, though his thoughts were blank and void of any ideas. Barney looked towards Gordon yet again, seeing he was raising his hands up to sign something:

“Missed you too.”

Barney smiled slightly, despite feeling as if he wanted to cry right then and there. He never anticipated he’d be this emotional in his life, yet here he was; about to cry for the second time that day. Seeing his legally dead friend after ten years of being missing in action was enough to warrant it, he supposed.

“I’m sure the others will be happy to show you everything they’ve been working on,” Barney said, with Gordon finally looking back up at him, before looking directly behind him, “They’ve been working on a new telepor–”

Gordon flinched, staring at something behind Barney before attempting to crawl backwards, nearly ripping off his IV in the process. Barney looked behind him, seeing nothing but the wall before he heard a loud thud coming from the bed. He turned, seeing Gordon had fallen off of the bed and onto the cold linoleum floor. “Gordon!” Barney quickly ran to his aid, holding out an arm for Gordon to grab, lifting him off of the floor. When weight was put onto his right leg, Gordon grimaced, using Barney as leverage as he was put back onto the bed. “Jeez Gordon, what got you freaked out so ba–”

Barney was silenced when Gordon hugged him without warning. Barney could hear him quietly sobbing into his shoulder, and as he returned the hug, he wondered if he had ever seen Gordon so touchy before; It was as if he hadn’t had human contact in days. This time however, Barney wasn’t quick to let go. The last thing he wanted to do was leave his best friend behind again.

Not this time.

[shitpost-it-tristan]

I often think about Felix hanging off Tammy's arm like he's on the monkey bars while she flexes her muscles and idk what to do with that mental image

[gordonfreemanspussy]

kicks my feet... i don't see it a lot outside of barmey but... have we considered pre-rescas [or just pre-combine] barney calhoun with kinda shaggy long hair. the kind he has to put up into a little bun to hide under his helmet, but it's just not quite long enough to be an elegant bun. the kind of length that always has him saying "haha yheah i need a haircut" but that haircut always comes late and then after that he ends up back at square one... have we thought about this [i am talking to two ants on my bathroom counter]

[frogatz]

half life does horrible things to you . literally never coped so hard

[mormon-character-tournament]

Group Two Round Four

Character info from submission under the cut

Brett Hand (Headcanon) Brett Hand is the co-team leader at Cognito, Inc., alongside Reagan Ridley. He was hired and microchipped by J.R. Scheimpough to help Reagan because of her intense anger issues and difficulties in social interactions. He is voiced by Clark Duke.” (From the Inside Job wiki) He is almost toxically optimistic and constantly desperate for validation and positive feedback. He currently works for the “Shadow Government,” but suffers from severe anxiety and worries he has no individual personality or even a favorite color. He is from a larger family (7 kids), has a constant smile on his face, his positivity is almost toxic, and is the “guy with Mormon energy” according to the character Myc.

Elder Calhoun (Canon) Elder Calhoun is a lovable and charming new missionary, fresh from the MTC. Geeky and lacks charisma, but won't let that stop him from doing his job. He is the only member of the church in his family. Started his mission mere months after getting baptized. Has considerably more faith than his companions

[ceo-of-sloppy-women]

"Ceo, why are you like this?"

So, it all started when I watched Wreck-It Ralph and Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs 2 -

[shitpost-it-tristan]

YES. YESYESYESYESYES!

random thought but you just KNOW there’s a whole list of extremely cheesy adult contemporary songs that felix thinks are peak romance and kiss me by sixpence none the richer is at the top of that list

[ohnoitsz1m]

Uhh post canon Barney

Man who has not had a break since the rescas and refuses to start now. Alyx and Gordon are hiding his gear as we speak while Kleiner distracts him.

I was sposed to do Alyx too but I blinked and it was 3 am so. Next time

Oh also I forgot to make a note but he does carry a sidearm

[storiesofsvu]

Rituals

Rita Calhoun x fem!reader Warnings: language, minor angst/hurt-comfort. Anxiety, general like, sadness I guess? This is a post-SSS update. There will likely be more in the future as I cannot leave this world alone and it all fits so well together and I love it so freaking much. 4.2k

Rita was always anxious on the days you were scheduled to come home from an undercover operation, never knowing what the actual outcome was going to be. She hated the days that all she got was a quick phone call, an update that the op was extending and she wouldn’t be seeing you for another month. Worse were the days you’d come home with lingering bruises marking your skin, or the one time she had to meet you at the hospital, your Captain forcing you for a full work up and observation after a concussion and other injuries. But today was different.

Today she woke up feeling jittery, the usual excitement about getting to see you vacant from her body, nerves tingling through her instead. She felt so off she even refrained from coffee until nearly noon, managing her first cup alongside delivered lunch as she took a break from laundry. Rita always wanted the house to be clean when you got home, fresh sheets on the bed, things tidy and neat, a hinting smell of cleaning supplies lingering through the kitchen and a nice candle or two burning in the living room. It was something she started doing for you not long after the two of you moved in together, prior to that she didn’t really notice or realize just how much of an impact going undercover had on you. Having to be on and ready to go twenty-four hours a day, sometimes stashed in crappy little apartments with barely any fresh air in the same clothes for a week on end. Sometimes you were thrown in so quick you didn’t have time to do more than prep for the case, coming home to rotting vegetables and no clean laundry. Those days you started going straight to Rita’s place, your body aching to relax, finally able to let go of all the tension you’d been holding for however long. It didn’t take her long to figure out what you needed and how to combat any lingering stress and anxiety, how to welcome you back into your real world. Now it had become part of her routine, a ritual to make sure things were as perfect as they could be for the person she loved the most.

Rita stabbed her fork into her salmon salad, forcing herself to chew another bite at the island as her eyes searched through the living room. It wasn’t too bad, a blanket bunched up on the couch, a personal development book her therapist recommended left abandoned beside it, the novel she’d picked up instead tucked in the cushion. There were a few case files and obviously a collection of coffee mugs scattered across the coffee table, a handful of dishes in the sink. She doubted it would take her that long to finish everything so she took the opportunity to open her phone and place a grocery order while she battled her anxiety and attempted to finish her lunch. She was adamantly trying to shake out of it, continually telling herself that she was being ridiculous, that she had no reason to be this stressed about seeing her literal wife again. It wasn’t some weird gut feeling that something was wrong, it was her apprehension about a few changes she had made while you were gone, the worry about how you would react to them, the fear churning in her gut that you were going to hate them or not understand.

As she finished stashing the cordless vacuum in the hall closet she let out a sigh of relief, pushing her hair back with her hand, still finding it jolting when her hand was free so much faster than it had been a week prior. She found herself fiddling with the ends of the bob as she wandered the apartment, making sure everything was ready for your arrival before she finally headed to the shower. Warm water cascading across her body mixed with the lavender soap seemed to be helping calm her down, her eyes softly shutting when she washed her hair and her heart didn’t seem to be pounding so hard in her chest. Wrapped in a towel she blow dried her hair, taking the time to style it a little bit, putting on just the bare minimum of make up to feel a little more pretty before slipping into cozy clothes. She had a text from Olivia on her phone, saying you had offered to run the last of the paperwork over to Carisi on the way home, but she’d officially kicked you out of the precinct.

Rita took a breath, taking one last look in the mirror to survey herself, her hands smoothing down her shirt before she tugged on a cardigan, scooping up her phone and grabbing her glasses before wandering out to the living room. She tucked herself into the corner of the couch, eyes flitting between her book options until her pulse kicked up again and she opted for the self care one, tossing the blanket over her legs. She got halfway through her chapter by the time she heard someone in the outside hallway, her ears pricking up at the sound. She knew it could be a neighbour, but the book gently lay open in her lap as she looked over the back of the couch toward the door, hope surging through her that it would actually be you.

A tinkling sound echoed through the wood, the lock moving a second later and she couldn’t help the warmth bursting in her chest as you half toppled through the door. Your hands were full, a large Tupperware in one, go bag tossed over your elbow with a plastic bag in the other. You’d obviously changed out of whatever your UC look had been in, leggings and an NYPD tee clinging to your frame, your work issued windbreaker draping from your shoulders.

“Hey, sorry I’m so late.” You started, while kicking off your shoes, crossing to place the items in your hands down on the island, “got caught up at Carisi’s with the girls and ‘Manda. But he did send me on my way with homemade chicken piccata and a bottle of pinot so neither of us can really be mad.”

“It’s alright.” She laughed softly, slipping off the couch to properly greet you.

“I’m just happy Liv wasn’t a drill sergeant about finishing paperwork, I—” You stalled suddenly when you actually looked up at her. Rita felt her heart leap into her throat at the way your eyes widened and for a moment she was scared until a smile burst onto your face, “oh my god, you’re blonde!” Three very quick steps later and you were directly in front of her, your hands combing through her hair as you admired her new look.

“I take it that reaction means you don’t hate it?” She asked timidly and you laughed, your hand cupping her cheek.

“Are you kidding me? You look absolutely gorgeous baby.” Still caressing her face you leant in, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. One that Rita utterly relaxed into, all the jitters in her body melting away at the feeling of your embrace, both incredibly happy to have you home and the relief she hadn’t done something drastic that you despised. You took a moment to hold her close, letting out a soft sigh as you nuzzled your nose against hers before kissing her again. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more, believe me.” She huffed gently, her hands raising to cup your cheeks before they slid down your neck, squeezing at your shoulders.

“I’m sorry I had to go; I know the timing was shit. Last thing I wanted was to leave you on your own.” Your thumb brushed across her cheek and she leaned into the embrace before shaking her head, fingers wrapping around your wrist and turning your hand so she could leave a kiss on your palm.

“You have an important job, I understand. Just the way you do about mine.”

“Mmhm.” You nodded, a soft smile on your cheeks before your hand raised again, continuing to comb through her hair, playing with the ends. “I never thought I’d see you with hair this short. It’s kind of a drastic change.”

Rita chuckled softly, “Liv and I got to talking, she said a drastic change really helped her after everything.” Her gaze drifted to the kitchen island behind you, “that it took some of her control back. She couldn’t change what happened, the things she experienced, but she could control what happened going forward. She mentioned how we’re the ones who make decisions about our bodies, appearances, that we can alter them whenever we want and that can remind us of who’s in charge.”

Your fingers twirled a strand of her hair before trailing down her cheek and curling under her chin, redirecting her gaze to you, “I love that.” You pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, “I didn’t realize you and Liv were hanging out.”

“Darling, Liv and I have been hanging out far longer than you have been a part of her squad.” She teased and you laughed, squeezing at her hand.

“I’m sure.” You reluctantly slipped out of her grasp, “I need to change. I showered at the precinct but I’d much prefer my own clothes.”

“Please tell me you weren’t covered in blood this time.”

“Would it help if I said it wasn’t mine?” You suggested and Rita grimaced, her nose crinkling in the way you adored so much. “If you haven’t eaten, the food should still be hot, if you don’t mind plating it up, cracking that bottle?” You raised an eyebrow toward the island and Rita nodded, a smile on her cheeks as you disappeared down the hallway.

You made it back relatively quick; face now bare of any remaining makeup, Rita’s Harvard shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts covering your body as you returned to the couch. You’d chosen to curl up in her corner, snagging the blanket and picking up her non-fiction, fingering through a few pages before placing it down on the table when she approached.

“Thank you.” You smiled as she passed you a plate of food along with a glass of wine.

“I believe all thanks go to Carisi.” She shot back and you laughed.

The television had some soft jazz playing, the soundtrack Rita preferred when she was reading or working, something comfortable to occupy the space without being overbearing. It was perfect as the accompaniment to your dinner, something calming as you readjusted to real life and Rita welcomed you back into your shared home. She was only slightly worried with how you scarfed down your dinner, her mind wandering, thinking about when your last actual meal had been before she reminded herself that you’d gotten very good at taking care of yourself on these operations over the years. The lectures from your mother were one thing, but when they started coming from your wife it turned out you actually listened.

You placed your now empty plate down on the coffee table, a gentle sigh leaving your lips as you picked up the wine glass, taking a large sip. Resting back into the corner of the couch, your arm laid across the back of it and you looked over at your wife, a small smile on your cheeks.

“What?” She finally asked, finishing her last bite of chicken.

“Nothing.” You shrugged, “just appears your hair wasn’t the only change you made.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes darted around the living room, thinking she had left something embarrassing out.

“Looks like you hit up a mall or two, the closet is practically all new clothing.”

“Oh..” she chuckled awkwardly, “I guess it is.”

“A lot more neutral colours…” You left the sentence hanging, surveying her for a moment, “cute stuff though. Some of them almost political looking, you change you mind about that?”

“God no.” This time she did let out a laugh, swapping her plate for her wine glass.

“Well they look nice. I’m sure you and Raf had a great time picking them out.”

This time she ducked her gaze, a little huff blowing out of her nose as Rita felt a sense of melancholy sweep through her, “I actually went with Sam.” She glanced up to see your head tilt, your brow furrow.

“Sam?”

“Maroun. Manhattan ADA.”

“Oh! I think I’ve seen her around, works with Price, right?”

Rita nodded, “she’s nice, has a fire to her that reminds me of myself at that age, honestly I think her and Casey would get along wonderfully. But most importantly her fashion sense is fantastic.”

“I’ve heard good things.” You took a sip of wine, “I guess I just never thought you’d find a better shopping partner than Barba.” This time Rita nearly tensed on the couch beside you and your brow furrowed again, “what?”

“About that…”

“Rita… what?”

She sighed heavily, taking a gulp of her drink, “we… aren’t really talking anymore.”

“What?” You felt a little ridiculous repeating yourself again without meaning too, shaking your head as you tried to refocus, “sorry…I just… you guys are best friends, you’ve been through it all.”

“We had a falling out.” She shrugged, “I guess we’re just both too stubborn to see two points of view and that was the demise.”

“Clarify, please?” You raised a brow in her direction, giving her a minute to gather her thoughts. You frowned at the sight of tears building in her eyes, this was clearly more than just a stupid argument or something they both fought on.

“Do you remember the case Ed came to me about? Back in twenty eighteen?”

“Yeah, Ana. She was being charged with some terrorism bullshit despite the fact she was being manipulated into everything and never actually made a shot.”

“Rafael never understood that one. He thought I was being ridiculous, that I must have fucked something up royally and desperately be in need of money.”

“She was a rape victim.”

“I tried to tell him, over and over again. That it didn’t matter she didn’t speak up right away, I didn’t need it on the record. I told him he could at least give me the grace to look me in the eye and agree, that sure, his bosses would tell him to bury it, but we could pretend. I thought it wouldn’t matter because deep down we would both know the truth; Ana wasn’t evil she was a victim.” She took a shuddering breath, “all he said was that he would ‘do his best.’” She scoffed, “all I could think was that he was rolling his eyes over someone who had done something to escape, who only wanted to be free. He didn’t see her, didn’t understand her position, he didn’t want to help her at all. She was a victim… and he didn’t give a shit.”

“Rita…” your hand reached out, squeezing softly at her ankle.

“I wish it ended there, honestly I do. If it was just me being a stubborn bitch we could probably repair things, but it wasn’t.” She sighed, “every time we saw each other that case was just hanging over our heads, we fought instead of just playful bickering. He kept bringing Ana up, how dare I defend someone like her, what good could I possibly have gotten from standing up for her. When he found out I was visiting her regularly, making sure her commissary card was full, he absolutely lost it.”

“And you saw yourself in Ana.” You stated, your hand finding hers along the back of the couch. Rita let out a long breath, nodding.

“I want to say that case was the beginning of the end but I’m sure it started with Abbey’s.”

“Did you ever tell Rafael about what happened to you?”

She groaned, “there were a few offhand comments here and there. Things I hoped he would pick up on, I mean he was the sex crimes ADA for six years for Christ’s sake.” She let out a watery laugh, “Olivia picked up on it, he never did.” Tears began to cloud her eyes once again and for some reason she felt shame burning through her body, “I just wanted him to understand. And before I could, he disappeared. If we’d still been talking I would have been the one to represent him in court, things would have gone magnificently better and maybe he wouldn’t have had to run off to another state to find himself. We iced each other out and honestly it might be for the better, every time we pass each other in the firm hallways he has that look in his eye whenever he sees me. It’s like he can’t decide whether he still hates me or whether to treat me like I’m broken.”

“Rita, I’m so sorry.” You squeezed at her hand, “I had no idea. I wouldn’t have kept inviting him around, I just assumed.”

“It’s okay.” She wiped at her eyes, “it’s probably good we’ve been forced to cohabitate, maybe one day we’ll actually figure things out again.” She let out a long blow of air, focusing on her breathing in order to not let another tear spill over this, she didn’t want to spend much longer thinking about how she’d lost her best friend, how so much had happened that she was sure their relationship would never be the same.

“I hope so.” Your fingers traced across the lines of her palm, “anything else you want to talk about?”

Rita’s eyes flicked up to yours, a nervous look on her face and your head tilted, a small smile on your cheeks, “I’m honestly not sure if you’re going to like it.”

“I’m in support of anything as long as long as it involves us being together.” You replied and she chuckled, taking another deep breath before she spoke, her gaze drifting out the window.

“I.. I think I want to take some time off.”

“Babe, you know I’ve been in support of that. You need to take the time, probably longer than either of us realize, you deserve it after all of this. I mean, what does your therapist say?”

“They agree. But what I’m worried about is that we don’t have the same idea.” She looked up at you and your stomach nearly plummeted,

“Rita…”

“No! No, nothing like that.” She took a heavy breath, “I need to step back from criminal defence. Maybe permanently. I need to refocus on cases that actually mean something, where I know what I’m doing is right, where my client is someone who needs the help, especially if they can’t afford it. I want to work closer with Casey and Alex, do more of what they do.”

“I think that’s fantastic!” You squeezed her hand again, “I mean, you’re going to be amazing wherever you are but you’ll kill it at that.”

Rita smiled softly, “and…if there’s more?”

“What? Did you resign from mom’s firm?”

She sighed, taking another swig of her wine, “no, but I did put in a leave of absence.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow, watching as your wife took a breath, sinking into the couch behind her.

“I didn’t want to. But it was Casey who convinced me into it. Said she had her own issues in the past that she didn’t take the proper time to recover from and it ended up affecting her entire career.”

“Nearly got her disbarred, yeah.” You looked across at her, “so what are you thinking? Remodel the bedroom? Consume yourself with reality tv? Take up CrossFit?”

Rita laughed, though this one was not like any before, it was almost a sad one, her chest tightening as she looked across at you. “Well.. I was thinking…” she started, her heart throbbing in her chest, “that maybe I would check out that new resort in the Alps.”

“Babe,” you chuckled warmly, “I can’t. I used my vacation time already; Benson won’t let me.”

“That’s… why I was thinking about going alone.”

Rita’s words hung heavy in the apartment, the realization washing over both of you. A sense of relief flooding through her veins as she finally let all her thoughts out. Her heart pounded in her throat as she watched your reaction, the slight widening of your eyes before they softened, a small smile on your lips.

“Are you sure?” You asked.

“Unfortunately yes.” She let out a sigh, “darling, believe me I would love nothing better than a couple’s retreat but—”

“You need time alone.” Your hand raised, stopping her, “especially right now. I get it.” Leaning in you kissed her cheek. “You take all the time you need. You’re the love of my life and I would do anything for you, especially if it helps you heal.” You grasped her hand in yours.

“Thank you.”

“Rita… you mean the world to me; I’m not going to be upset if you need time to cope with shit. You’ve had so much happen and I had to disappear right after it was all getting exposed. I didn’t want to take this gig but—”

“You needed to.” She shut you off with a squeeze to your hand, “we both know how our jobs work, that’s part of the deal.”

“Exactly.” Smiling, you leant forward, kissing her softly, “so how about I take you to bed and remind you just how much I love you? Then whenever you’re ready I’ll take you to whatever airport you need to rejuvenate.”

“You would do that for me?” Rita asked, pulling away only an inch and you smiled.

“My love, I would do anything for you.” You shifted on the couch, wrapping your arm around her shoulders and tugging her to you, letting her relax into your side. “Rita, I’ve been head over heels in love with you for eleven years and that’s not changing anytime soon. I made a promise to be there for you no matter what, through thick and thin, for whatever you needed. I’ll miss you like hell, but if what you need is room to breathe and it so happens to be the air of a different continent, then so be it.” You placed a kiss on the top of her head, “I want you to be happy, healthy… at peace. So yes, I’d do that for you, because I know that you would do the same for me.”

“A hiatus is exactly what I need.” She murmured, nuzzling deeper into your embrace.

“I think after all these years you definitely deserve a break from the courtroom. It’ll be really, really good for you.” Your hand came up, toying with her hair, “Alex and Casey both took substantial ones… voluntary or not.” You both laughed, “and they both said they helped a lot. I was with Case for part of hers.”

“I remember. Your mother wouldn’t stop complaining.” She taunted and you rolled your eyes.

“It was crucial for her, especially after everything else she had been through that had bottled up inside, shoved deep down into a box to be ignored. She said she finally felt free again.”

“That’s all I want.” She murmured and you felt a twinge of sadness move through you at the tremor in her voice.

Rita felt trapped; she was trapped even after the verdict coming back in her favour. The darkness of what happened still hanging over her as she tried to move on surrounded by the places and people that held the memories of trauma. A weekend in the Hampton’s had lifted it a little bit but she’d returned to the city and thrown herself directly back into work, burying herself in it like she usually did to avoid dealing with things. Only this time, it wasn’t working. She needed to take a break from the courtroom, have a month or more of not dealing with other lawyers, no more motions or subpoenas, no more spending hours at night going over closing arguments. It was more than just a hair cut and new clothes, it was about reinventing herself, rediscovering how to maneuver through this world. She was more than well aware what her new wardrobe represented, what she wanted to present herself as when she made a return. She was still Rita Calhoun, she would forever be a shark in the courtroom and would always make the best fight for her clients, get them what they deserved. But she didn’t want to pull the amount of attention that she used to, wanted to be able to drift through courthouse halls without all the head turning and whispers. She had a new lease on life and she was planning on taking full advantage of it, not letting another second go by wasted or clinging onto the past.

Which is why two weeks later you were walking her up to security at JFK, a slightly tearful see you soon, but one that you were nudging her in the right direction. After all, you would be right there to greet her the moment she got back and you were there every single moment onward. You were each other’s rocks, bound together by the love and life you had created, as you were meant to be. You knew that no matter what, you could get through anything life through at you, because you had each other.

___________

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[jareaufiles]

THE SPARE ROOM || r.calhoun x female reader

PREMISE: You’re renting a spare room from Rita Calhoun, a sharp, confident woman who’s as intimidating as she is irresistible. When mock trial week forces you to prepare together, distractions quickly turn into something much more charged — and complicated. With unspoken tension simmering beneath every glance and touch, the lines between mentorship and desire blur in ways neither of you expect.

WARNINGS: explicit, consensual sexual content featuring possessive dominance and soft ownership language (“baby,” “sweetheart,” “good girl”). Detailed, explicit cunnilingus and fingering with prolonged oral sex focus, including licking, sucking, and fingering leading to multiple intense orgasms. Scenes include overstimulation, wetness, slick descriptions, and slow, deliberate undressing. Contains marking through kisses, bite marks, and praise whispered during intimate body worship. Dirty talk and teasing interplay with mutual desire and explicit expressions of lust. Depicts straddling, grinding, and pussy-to-pussy contact with vivid descriptions of slickness, arousal, and orgasmic release. Includes aftercare moments with bathing, cleaning, cuddling, and tender flirtation, highlighting emotional intimacy and developing connection

WORD COUNT: 7.4K

NAVIGATION

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, catching in your sleep-tousled hair as you padded barefoot into the room. The cotton of your oversized T-shirt clung lazily to one shoulder, the hem barely skimming the tops of your thighs, and a pair of flimsy pajama shorts peeked out beneath. The scent of fresh coffee drifted through the air, warm and rich, wrapping around you like a familiar touch.

And there she was.

Rita Calhoun, sitting perfectly composed at the small table in the corner of the kitchen, one leg crossed over the other. The sunlight hit the sharp angles of her face, catching in the pale blonde of her hair where it framed her face.

She was, maddeningly, already dressed — fitted black slacks, a soft grey blouse with the top two buttons undone, sleeves pushed to her elbows, and a pair of delicate reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she eyed the newspaper spread open in front of her. Not a phone in sight.

You grinned at the sight of her, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy stretch that made your shirt ride up a little higher. “Jesus, Calhoun,” you teased, voice rough with sleep. “You look like a character from a noir movie. Who the hell still reads an actual paper? You know they have apps for that now, right? You’re one pair of suspenders away from full grandpa chic.”

Without missing a beat, Rita glanced up over the rim of her glasses, arching one perfectly manicured brow. The corners of her mouth tugged in that wry little smirk you were already starting to live for. “Some of us still appreciate tangible media, sweetheart,” she drawled, her voice smooth like aged bourbon, dark and rich and laced with dry humor. She gave the paper a shake for emphasis. “It’s called culture. I wouldn’t expect your TikTok-addled generation to understand.”

You snorted, crossing the room to pour yourself a cup of coffee, half for the caffeine and half because you wanted an excuse to be near her. The coffee pot was still warm, and you felt her eyes on you as you reached for a mug, the hem of your T-shirt lifting just enough to flash the curve of your lower back. You threw her a smirk over your shoulder. “Culture, huh? You mean like those articles about what celebrity’s dog wore a diamond collar last week?”

Rita laughed — a low, throaty sound that made something tighten low in your belly. She leaned back in her chair, tapping one elegant finger against the paper. “For your information, it’s the crossword, not tabloid trash. Keeps the mind sharp. You might try it sometime, in between posting thirst traps and whatever else it is you kids do.”

You howled at that, the sound echoing through the kitchen as you nearly spilled your coffee. “Thirst traps?! Oh my god, Calhoun, you did not just say that.”

“Thirst traps,” she confirmed, deadpan, lifting her mug to her lips. The smirk lingered around the rim as she drank, eyes glittering with the satisfaction of landing the perfect jab.

You collapsed into the chair opposite her, grinning so wide your cheeks ached. It’d only been a couple of weeks since you answered her ad for the spare bedroom — a decision born from desperation and a last-minute change in your housing situation. Law school was bleeding you dry, and finding a place close to campus that didn’t cost half your soul was a goddamn miracle. You hadn’t known what to expect when you met Rita, but from the moment you told her you were in law school, something had clicked. She’d offered you the room before you even finished your second cup of coffee during that first meeting.

And now, mornings like this had become… a thing. Easy, sharp-witted banter. The occasional lingering look you tried not to overthink. The sound of her laugh filling the house. You couldn’t explain why it felt so good, just that it did. That sitting in her kitchen in your pajamas, hair a mess, teasing a woman twice your age while the scent of coffee and sunlight filled the air — it felt like something you didn’t even know you’d been needing.

You took a long sip of your coffee and sighed, letting the warmth bloom in your chest as you gave her a lazy grin. “Alright, fine. You win. You keep your dusty crossword, old woman. But just so you know, if you start yelling at kids to get off your lawn, I’m moving out.”

Rita smirked over the top of her paper. “If I wanted a roommate who respected her elders, I’d have rented to a cat.”

The kitchen settled into a comfortable kind of quiet after that — the kind where you didn’t feel the need to fill the space with small talk. The only sounds were the soft rustle of Rita’s paper as she turned a page and the occasional clink of your spoon against your mug as you stirred the last of your coffee. The sunlight had shifted, catching motes of dust in the air like tiny flecks of gold, and outside the faint city noise hummed like white noise against the glass.

You sighed into your cup, mind already racing ahead to tomorrow. Mock trial week. The biggest stretch of your semester so far. Five days of opening statements, objections, and cross-examinations in front of professors and actual working attorneys who’d volunteered to judge, half of whom had reputations for being ruthless. Your stomach twisted just thinking about it.

You were halfway through mentally outlining your cross-examination strategy when Rita spoke, not looking up from her paper. “You know,” she said, casual as anything, “I’ve got the day off.”

You glanced up, catching the way her eyes flicked toward you over the rim of her glasses before returning to the crossword. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” She jotted something down in the margin with a fountain pen because of course Rita Calhoun still used a goddamn fountain pen. “And seeing as you’ve got a trial to prep for, I’m feeling charitable. I could be persuaded to give you a hand… provided you can do a little something for me first.”

You narrowed your eyes, wary but intrigued. “What kind of something?”

Rita set the pen down, folded the paper in half with precise, practiced movements, and fixed you with that smug little smirk you were quickly learning meant trouble. “You’re good with cars, right?”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “How the hell do you know that?”

She shrugged, the picture of innocence. “Word gets around. Well, word and your intake paperwork. You wrote it down under ‘other skills.’”

Your jaw dropped. “You actually read that thing?”

“Of course I did,” she scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t rent out a room in my house without knowing who the hell I’m letting in. And it turns out, my car’s got a flat spare and it’s about due for a tire change. So...” she gave a one-shouldered shrug, leaning back in her chair, “...you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

You snorted, finishing the last of your coffee and setting the mug down with a clink. “You’re such a goddamn lawyer, you know that?”

“I prefer opportunist,” she said sweetly.

But there was a glint in her eye you couldn’t quite place, somewhere between amused and impressed, and it made a warmth bloom low in your belly, despite the stress still gnawing at your edges. The idea of spending the day with her, even elbows-deep in grease and mock trial prep, was a hell of a lot better than drowning in legal briefs alone.

“Alright, Calhoun,” you sighed, shoving your chair back and standing. “Deal. But you’re buying lunch.”

She grinned, satisfied. “Done. And none of that takeout garbage you kids live on either. Real food. Grown-up food.”

You grabbed your mug, hiding your smile behind it. “Yeah, yeah, grandma.”

As you left the room, you could still hear her laughing behind you.

You headed upstairs with the warmth of that teasing banter still lingering under your skin, a crooked little smile playing at your lips as you peeled off your pajamas. The bathroom tiles were cool under your feet, the water hissing to life in the shower. The hot spray loosened the sleep from your muscles, and you stood under it a little longer than you meant to, letting the steam ease the tension in your shoulders. Tomorrow might’ve been mock trial week, but for now… for now you had Rita Calhoun's goddamn car to deal with.

You dressed in old, oil-stained jeans and a faded black tank top, one you kept buried at the bottom of your drawer for jobs like this. Your hair went up in a messy bun, a few strands already escaping, and you grabbed an elastic to tie it back again as you made your way outside. The sun was warm on your bare arms, the faint scent of freshly cut grass and city pavement mingling in the air.

Rita’s car was parked in the driveway. A sleek, cherry red BMW that she treated like a goddamn accessory. It was spotless, of course, not a smudge on the paint, but the moment you crouched down by the rear tire, you spotted the issue. Flat as hell. You shook your head, muttering under your breath, “What kind of lawyer drives a car like this and lets her spare rot?”

As if summoned by the commentary, Rita appeared in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with a mug in one hand and her paper tucked under her arm. She’d swapped her slacks for a pair of fitted dark jeans and a loose white blouse, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She looked maddeningly good for someone supposedly having a day off.

“Well?” she called, lifting a brow.

You gave her a crooked grin, wiping your hands on a rag you’d snagged from the garage. “Flat as a pancake. Lucky for you, I’m feeling charitable.”

“Must be my lucky day.”

You shot her a look and got to work, grabbing the jack and wrench from the trunk. The tools were pristine, barely touched — of course they were — and it took a little coaxing to get the old tire off. You worked methodically, hands streaked with grease, hair clinging to your temple in the sun. Rita stayed nearby, pretending to be invested in her crossword but watching you out of the corner of her eye the whole time.

Once the new tire was on, you wiped your hands again and popped the hood, curiosity getting the better of you. The engine was in decent shape, but you gave it a quick once-over anyway — checked the oil, topped off the wiper fluid, and made a note about the brake pads needing attention sooner rather than later.

You straightened up, stretching out the kink in your back and catching Rita watching you openly now, her head tilted slightly, an unreadable look on her face.

“Didn’t realize I was getting the full-service treatment,” she said, voice low and a little smug.

You smirked, shutting the hood with a solid thud. “Consider it a bonus. You’re lucky I don’t bill by the hour.”

She laughed, a rich, genuine sound that sent a ridiculous little pulse of heat through your chest. “I’ll make it worth your while. Lunch’s on me, remember?”

“Damn right it is.” You tossed the rag into the garage and wiped your hands on your jeans. “You’re good to go, Calhoun. Try not to blow a tire on your next midlife crisis joyride.”

She grinned, leaning against the car now, arms crossed. “You keep mouthing off like that, you’re gonna owe me more than a tire change, kid.”

Something about the way she said it made your stomach flip, a sharp flicker of heat curling low and lazy through you. You bit back a grin, feeling it anyway.

“Careful,” you shot back, voice light but edged with something neither of you named. “You might like it.”

Her mouth quirked in that maddening half-smile, and for a second the air felt heavier, thick with the unspoken. Then she stepped back, gesturing toward the house. “C’mon, grease monkey. Let’s see what you’ve got for this trial of yours.”

And just like that, it snapped back to easy. Comfortable. But you couldn’t help the grin as you followed her inside, already dreading and savoring the rest of the day in equal measure.

You sprawled out at the dining table with your laptop, case notes, and a tangle of highlighters in every color you could find. The mock trial packet sat open between you and Rita, legal briefs and annotated statutes scattered across the wood surface. Sunlight slanted through the blinds now, painting lazy stripes across the table and catching in the golden strands of Rita’s hair as she leaned in to read one of your notes.

And god, it was a problem.

You were supposed to be focusing on your opening statement, on jury strategy and phrasing objections, but it was becoming nearly impossible. Because every time she spoke — every time those smooth, perfectly glossed lips moved around words like objection sustained and inadmissible hearsay — your attention slipped. Those lips looked way too soft. Way too distracting.

And worse, your brain refused to stop wandering into dangerous territory. Like how those lips would feel brushing against yours, slow and deliberate. Or ghosting along your neck, down your stomach. Or wrapped around—

“Earth to law student.”

You jolted a little, realizing too late you’d been full-on staring, chin in your hand, eyes locked on her mouth like a lovesick idiot. Rita was smirking at you, smug and knowing, the kind of expression that made you want to crawl under the table and/or pin her against it.

“Jesus,” you muttered, clearing your throat and dragging your gaze down to your notes.

But Rita wasn’t letting it go.

She reached out, waving a perfectly manicured hand in front of your face. “You’ve been eye-fucking my mouth for the last fifteen minutes, sweetheart. I’m flattered, really, but if you’re gonna keep undressing me with your eyes you might as well buy me a drink first.”

You felt your cheeks burn, a flush creeping up your neck. “I wasn’t—”

“Oh, you definitely were,” she cut in smoothly, leaning back in her chair like she owned the entire room. And she probably did. “Don’t get all shy now. You’ve got that look, you know.” She gestured lazily, a crooked grin on her lips. “The ‘I’d climb you like a tree if I wasn’t so busy pretending to be professional’ look.”

You laughed, partly from sheer embarrassment and partly because it was so unfair how easily she read you. “You’re impossible.”

“That’s what they tell me,” she teased, and then, maddeningly, she made it worse. She dragged the tip of her tongue slowly along her bottom lip, a barely-there, unconscious little flicker that made your stomach twist and your pulse spike.

Rita caught your reaction, eyes narrowing just a little, like a predator who’d finally cornered her prey. “Alright, here’s the deal,” she murmured, voice dipping into something lower, silkier. “We finish prepping this case. No distractions, no daydreaming about my mouth, no undressing me with your eyes. You give me one solid hour of your full attention…”

She leaned in, close enough that you could smell the warm hint of her perfume and coffee on her breath. “And maybe — maybe — I’ll let you kiss me when we’re done.”

Your stomach dropped and flipped at the same time, heat crawling up your spine. You swallowed hard, meeting her gaze with a stubborn smirk you barely managed to muster. “And if I’m an overachiever and finish in forty-five?”

Her grin went sharp, wicked. “Then you’ll have to get creative, sweetheart.”

You let out a breathless laugh, heart hammering, and forced yourself to look down at your notes. “Alright, deal. But you better not back out.”

Rita chuckled, leaning back in her chair and picking up a highlighter. “Honey, when have you ever known me to back out of a bet?”

You had a feeling you were in so, so much trouble.

The next hour was, hands down, the most excruciating test of willpower you’d endured since starting law school. And not because of the mock trial materials sprawled out in front of you. Not because of the dense pages of precedent or the notes scrawled in your barely-legible handwriting. But because of her.

Rita sat across from you, one leg crossed over the other, reading through your opening statement draft with that maddening little smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Every so often, she’d hum softly under her breath in approval, or let out a dry, amused chuckle when she found something she didn’t agree with. And you — god, you tried. You really did. You forced yourself to focus on strategy, evidence lists, witness prep, and crafting clean, sharp objections.

You reviewed your opening argument aloud while she made notes in the margin. You debated whether it was better to call your character witness first or let the opposition cross the medical expert before you put your witness on the stand. You went over phrasing for objections. Leading, hearsay, relevance — and Rita grilled you on them like a goddamn judge, which she somehow made infuriatingly hot.

And yet… even while you rattled off the standard for admitting business records, your eyes kept drifting to the curve of her mouth, the way her lips formed around the word admissibility. The delicate hollow of her throat when she tipped her head back to laugh at one of your snarky remarks. The flash of her tongue against her bottom lip as she read. Every so often, she’d catch you staring — and she’d smirk, like she knew exactly what kind of thoughts were skimming through your head.

“Focus, sweetheart,” she murmured at one point, tapping her pen against your notes without even looking up. “We had a deal, remember?”

You groaned, scrubbing a hand over your face. “You’re not making it easy.”

“Life’s not easy,” she quipped, glancing up with a knowing look in her eye. “And neither am I.”

You almost choked.

What you didn’t know — what you couldn’t have known — was that Rita was battling her own brand of distraction. Because for all her smug little comments and confident posturing, she’d been watching you just as closely.

The way your brow furrowed when you got deep into your notes. The flush of pink that crept up your neck every time she teased you. The lazy stretch of your limbs when you reached for another highlighter, the way your shirt rode up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin.

Rita wasn’t blind. And god, if she was being honest with herself, there’d been more than a few nights since you moved in where she’d caught herself thinking about you in ways she absolutely shouldn’t.

About how those sharp little remarks would sound in a bedroom instead of a courtroom. About what kind of sounds you’d make with her mouth between your legs, coaxing every last needy little whimper out of you. She’d imagined you on your knees for her more than once , and if her own fingers had found their way between her thighs afterward, well, that was nobody’s business.

But today? Today you’d been making it very hard to behave.

By some miracle of sheer determination and the promise of that kiss hanging over your head, you powered through. You finished drafting your direct examination questions. You practiced your objections until Rita stopped finding ways to trip you up. You debated evidentiary issues, worked out a strategy for dealing with the opposition’s bullshit surprise witness, and fine-tuned your closing statement.

And when you finally glanced at your phone, you heart heart pounding, it had been an hour and three minutes.

You let out a heavy breath, leaning back in your chair and tossing your pen onto the table. “Done,” you announced, a smug grin curling your lips. “I lasted an hour. Pay up, Calhoun.”

Rita arched a brow, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was fighting a grin. She closed the case packet and set it aside, leaning back in her chair with a languid stretch that made your stomach flip.

“Well, well,” she drawled. “Look at you. Stamina and self-control. Colour me impressed.”

“I believe you owe me something,” you reminded her, unable to keep the heat out of your voice.

“Mmm,” she hummed, eyes glittering. “I suppose I do.”

And for a moment, the air thickened between you. Every teasing remark, every lingering look, every imagined what-if hanging heavy in the space as she slowly uncrossed her legs and stood, the sleek lines of her body moving with predatory grace as she circled the table.

You turned in your chair, pulse skittering, as Rita came to a stop in front of you, gaze dark and unreadable. She reached out, fingertips brushing lightly under your chin to tilt your face up to hers.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart,” she murmured, voice low and dangerous. “Let’s see if you’re as good at following directions as you are at cross-examination.”

And fuck, you were so ready.

The moment Rita’s lips touched yours, the rest of the world dropped out of focus.

Soft. Warm. So much softer than you imagined; plush and slow at first, like she wanted to savor it, like she wanted to make you feel how long she'd been waiting to do this. You kept your eyes shut like she’d told you to, and it only heightened everything. The taste of her mouth, the light scent of her perfume—some subtle floral layered with spice—and the heat of her breath as she shifted closer.

You couldn’t help it, you moved without thinking, arms instinctively wrapping around her waist and pulling her in. She followed easily, effortlessly, like her body was always meant to fit against yours.

Rita moved to straddle your lap, smooth denim gliding over your thighs as she settled into place, one hand slipping behind your neck while the other braced herself on the table.

“Open your eyes,” she whispered, lips brushing yours, breath warm.

You did.

And fuck.

Her eyes burned with hunger—sharp, dark, devouring. Gone was the smirking lawyer across the table or the landlord reading the morning paper. This was Rita undone, Rita wanting. And it hit you like a goddamn freight train—she wanted you just as badly.

You couldn’t stop yourself. You guided her hips, hands gripping her tight as you rolled her against you, the pressure delicious. She gasped softly into your mouth, her thighs tightening around your lap, hips responding immediately with another slow, grinding roll that sent heat pulsing straight through your core.

You moaned, helpless to hold it back, and she smiled against your mouth—smug, pleased, soaked with power.

But you felt how wet she was. Even through layers of clothes, you could feel the heat between her legs, soaking into your thigh as she ground down again. And you were soaked. Your panties clung to you, slick and hot, every shift of her body against yours making you want to tear your clothes off and press your cunt directly against hers.

“Fuck,” you whispered against her lips. “You feel so good.”

She chuckled low, breath catching as you shifted under her. “You have no idea what you do to me,” she murmured, voice all gravel and sin. “I’ve thought about this. About you. In my bed. On your knees. Making you beg.”

Your whole body trembled.

You couldn’t take it anymore—you fisted the hem of her blouse and started tugging it up. She moved with you, helping you pull it off, and tossed it somewhere behind you without a glance. You stared, dazed, at the lace of her bra, the flush across her chest, the way her nipples were already hard under the fabric.

Rita made quick work of your shirt in return, tugging it over your head, fingers skimming down your spine as you arched into her. Her mouth found your neck, then your collarbone, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that made your head spin.

Clothes came off in a feverish blur. Pants unzipped. Bras unhooked. Panties peeled down with shaking hands. You fumbled and laughed, mouths meeting between kisses and moans and swearing under your breath when zippers caught or buttons refused to cooperate. But every touch, every inch of exposed skin, only made you both needier.

You kissed down her shoulder, hands sliding along her waist as you stood, Rita still clinging to you as you walked—half-stumbling, half-guided—toward her bedroom. She kissed your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again, breathless and panting by the time your backs hit her doorway.

She pulled back, just enough to look at you, her chest rising and falling, lips kiss-swollen and eyes gleaming like she wanted to devour you.

“On the bed,” she breathed. “Now.”

And you didn’t even hesitate.

The mattress dipped beneath you as you settled in the middle, body already thrumming with anticipation, every inch of you flushed and aching. You leaned back on your elbows and spread your legs shamelessly, baring yourself to her in the dim glow of the afternoon light slanting through the curtains.

Your pussy was soaked — glistening, pink, lips plush and swollen, your clit already stiff and begging for attention. You reached down with one hand, two fingers sliding through your slick folds, parting yourself as you rubbed soft circles over your clit. A broken gasp tumbled out of you at the contact, back arching slightly. The sensation was so sharp after all that teasing, and knowing Rita was watching you — that sharp gaze fixed on the way your fingers moved over your dripping pussy — only made it hotter.

Rita groaned low in her throat, the sound absolutely wrecked. “Fuck, look at you,” she breathed, running a hand through her hair like she didn’t know what to do with herself for a second. Her eyes dragged up and down your body, lingering on your bare tits, your parted thighs, your fingers playing with yourself. “You’re so goddamn pretty like this.”

You bit your lip to keep from whining, and she was on you in the next breath, straddling your hips again. The heat of her body pressed against you, the delicious friction of her bare pussy against your stomach as she leaned in and kissed you hard. It wasn’t careful or tentative — it was filthy, desperate, her tongue sliding deep into your mouth, teeth catching your bottom lip in a way that made you moan.

Her hand slid over yours, her palm warm as she guided your fingers lower, pressing them inside you, her own fingers joining yours in teasing your clit. Your cunt clenched around your fingers, wet and needy, the obscene, slick sounds of it filling the room as you both touched yourself under her hand.

“God, you’re fucking soaked,” Rita growled against your mouth. “I’ve been thinking about this — about how you’d taste — ever since you moved in.”

You whimpered, the admission making your head spin, your pussy clenching tighter.

Then she slid down your body, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses along your collarbone, between your breasts, pausing to suck your nipple into her mouth with a filthy little moan that made your hips jerk. Her hand didn’t leave you though — fingers still gliding through your soaked folds, teasing your clit just enough to keep you on the edge.

By the time her mouth reached your stomach, you were trembling, legs falling wider apart as she settled between them like she belonged there.

“Rita—fuck, please—”

She glanced up, eyes dark and wild, a smug little smirk curling her lips. “God, you beg so sweet.”

And then she buried her mouth between your thighs.

Her tongue found your clit instantly, hot and slick, swirling over it in tight, relentless circles that made you cry out. At the same time, two fingers slid deep inside you, thick and perfectly curved, pressing against your walls in a way that made your toes curl. The stretch was perfect — her fingers filling you, the drag of her knuckles against your soaked, fluttering cunt so good it was almost unbearable.

You moaned, high and desperate, hands fisting in her hair as you rocked against her mouth. Rita groaned into you like she was the one getting off, the vibration of it shooting straight through your core. She fucked you with those long, practiced fingers, curling them with every thrust, her mouth never leaving your clit.

Your orgasm hit you hard and fast, a sharp, electric snap of pleasure that made your vision white out. Your whole body tensed, thighs clamping around her head as you cried out her name, your cunt spasming around her fingers, gushing wetness over her hand and mouth.

“Oh my fucking god,” she groaned against you, licking you through it, dragging every last aftershock out of you. “You taste so fucking good — I’ve wanted this for so long, you have no idea.”

You whimpered at the words, tugging her up by her hair, crashing your mouth against hers, moaning when you tasted yourself on her lips — hot, slick, and so fucking filthy.

“I want you,” you panted against her mouth, cupping her face. “God, Rita, sit on my face. Now.”

The look she gave you — equal parts lust, hunger, and smug satisfaction — made your pussy throb all over again.

Rita’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk, her breath hot against your cheek. “You want this mouth so bad, sweetheart?” she teased, voice husky and ragged from moaning into your cunt. “Then you’re gonna get it.”

She slid back down your body with the kind of effortless, predatory grace she carried everywhere — but now, stripped bare, you could see the flush across her chest, the rise and fall of her breathless tits, the way her nipples were dark and tight from how turned on she was. And then there it was — between her thighs, glistening and swollen, her pussy so fucking gorgeous it made your throat go dry.

She was soaked. Slick coated the insides of her thighs, her folds puffy and flushed a deep pink, her clit stiff and peeking out from between them. The lips of her pussy were plush and soft, glistening in the dim light, and you could see how wet she was — her slit glimmering with it, a slow bead of slick teasing down toward her ass as she crawled up the bed.

“Holy fuck, Rita,” you groaned, your hands grabbing at her hips without thinking, thumbs brushing over her slick skin as she swung one toned thigh over your face.

She settled onto you slow, teasing, her wet heat hovering just above your mouth. You could smell her — rich, heady, sinful. The mix of her slick and arousal made your head spin, and your tongue darted out, desperate for a taste.

Rita smirked down at you, reaching to grab the headboard, bracing herself. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

And when you met her gaze, dark and heavy-lidded with pure want, she finally lowered herself onto your waiting mouth.

You moaned the second your tongue made contact with her slick pussy, the taste of her heady and addicting. She was salty and sweet, the warm, clean musk of her coating your lips and chin as you flattened your tongue against her folds. You licked a slow, deliberate stripe from her dripping entrance up to her clit, swirling around it before closing your lips around the swollen bud and sucking.

“Ohh fuck yes,” Rita gasped, her hips jerking against your mouth, one hand tightening around the headboard, the other burying into your hair. “God, you’ve got a filthy little mouth on you.”

You moaned against her, the praise making your pussy clench, your own slick soaking the sheets beneath you. You gripped her thighs, holding her steady, flicking your tongue rapidly against her clit before dipping down to fuck your tongue inside her. She was so warm, so tight and soaked, her walls fluttering around the slick slide of your tongue.

Rita’s moans were shameless now — breathless, broken, swearing under her breath as she rocked against your mouth, grinding her pussy against your tongue like she’d been starving for it. “Goddamn it, baby—fuck—you eat pussy like you’ve been waiting your whole goddamn life for this.”

You couldn’t even answer, too busy devouring her, tongue and lips and teeth working her over. You flattened your tongue against her clit and hummed, and Rita’s thighs trembled around your head.

“Fuck—fuck—don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—” she gasped, her entire body tensing.

You didn’t. You latched your lips around her clit and sucked harder, flicking it rapidly as her hips ground down against you. Her slick coated your chin, your lips shiny with it, the obscene, wet sounds of your tongue working her filling the room.

And then she came.

Hard.

Her whole body jerked, a raw, desperate cry tearing from her throat as her pussy pulsed against your mouth, soaking you. “Jesus fucking Christ—” she moaned, thighs trembling, her grip on your hair tightening as she rode it out, hips rolling against your mouth in short, frantic little movements.

You moaned into her as she came, tasting every drop, not stopping until her gasps softened into whimpers and her thighs quivered against your ears.

When she finally eased off your mouth, her chest was heaving, sweat clinging to her skin, hair a wild, gorgeous mess. She dropped down beside you, her hand finding your face, thumb swiping your wet chin as she kissed you deep, tasting herself on your tongue.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” she rasped against your lips, her voice wrecked and satisfied, “you’re gonna fucking ruin me.”

You weren’t done with her — not even close.

Rita collapsed back against the sheets, chest rising and falling, skin flushed and glistening in the low light. But even wrecked like this, she looked fucking incredible. Hair mussed, lips kiss-swollen, the sharp, powerful attorney turned into something softer, needier, spread out beneath you.

And you wanted to worship every inch of her.

You moved slow, savoring the way her breath hitched when you pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone, tasting the salt of her skin. You dragged your tongue down to the curve of her breast, nipping lightly before soothing the sting with your mouth. Her nipple was still hard, begging for attention, and you sucked it between your lips, moaning softly when her fingers fisted in your hair again.

“God… baby,” she breathed, her voice wrecked and gorgeous.

“I wanna worship you,” you whispered against her skin, kissing your way lower, lips brushing the underside of her breast. “Wanna mark you up, make you feel good everywhere. You deserve it.”

She shuddered at the words, letting her head fall back, completely at your mercy.

You trailed lower, leaving little love bites along her stomach, across her ribs, down her hips — marks she’d find in the mirror tomorrow and remember exactly how you’d put them there. You muttered praise between every kiss, your lips ghosting over the skin just above her mound. “So fucking beautiful,” you whispered. “Taste so good. Could spend all night with my face between your legs.”

When you reached her pussy again, still slick, flushed, and glistening from her last orgasm, you blew a slow stream of cool air against it, watching the way her thighs twitched, her hips giving a little helpless jerk.

“Fuck—” Rita whimpered, her hand flying down to fist the sheets. “You’re a fucking menace.”

You smirked up at her, savoring how wrecked she looked, before deciding to take it even filthier.

Shifting up, you positioned yourself so your breast brushed against her pussy, your hardened nipple grazing over her slick, swollen clit. The contact made her cry out, a sharp, broken sound that made your cunt ache all over again.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, her hips lifting.

You teased her with it at first — slow, lazy little circles, your nipple dragging over her clit, slick making everything messy and obscene. Your own breath was ragged, the sight of her pussy glistening against your skin, the way her slick smeared over your tit, so fucking filthy you almost came from it alone.

Rita’s thighs trembled, her whole body arching as you kept going, adding a little more pressure, watching the way her clit throbbed under every stroke. She was already oversensitive, you could see it in the way she bit her lip, eyes fluttering, moans ragged and desperate.

“Come for me again,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss the side of her breast. “Want you to soak me.”

She did. With a sharp cry, her whole body jerked, thighs quivering as her pussy spasmed against your breast, slick gushing out, coating your tit and nipple. The sound she made — half gasp, half moan — was fucking beautiful.

You didn’t give her time to catch her breath.

You dragged your tits up her body, straddling her chest so your soaked nipples hovered over her flushed face. “Clean me up, baby,” you teased, your voice low, fucked-out. “You made this mess, you get to taste it.”

Rita groaned, absolutely wrecked but still hungry, and took one of your nipples into her mouth, sucking hard, licking her own slick from your skin like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted. Her tongue was hot and greedy, flicking and circling as you moaned, your hips grinding down against her stomach, your soaked cunt leaving wet streaks over her skin.

Your pussy throbbed, dripping wet, aching for more.

And you knew what you wanted next.

Pulling back, you panted, cupping her face and tilting it up. “I know you’re sensitive,” you whispered, voice dark and filthy, “but I need to feel you against me. Want your pussy rubbing against mine, baby. Wanna cum with you.”

Rita’s breath caught, pupils blown wide, chest heaving. “Fuck,” she groaned, licking her lips. “Do it.”

You wasted no time. Sliding down her body, you settled between her legs, lining your dripping cunt up with hers. The first contact made you both moan, your slick folds pressing together, clits nudging against each other, the heat of it almost unbearable.

You started grinding — slow, steady rolls of your hips, your soaked pussies sliding against each other in the most obscene, wet, perfect friction. The sounds were filthy, slick and messy, your moans and gasps mingling as you moved together.

Rita was so sensitive, every little drag of your clit against hers making her hips jerk, her hands gripping your ass, pulling you down harder, chasing the friction.

“Oh god… fuck yes, just like that,” you gasped, feeling your orgasm build again, the pressure sharp and desperate.

Your tits bounced between you as you rode her, her nails digging into your skin, her slick mixing with yours as your clits rubbed together, so wet and perfect you both lost control, hips grinding frantically.

And when you both came — loud, shaking, cursing each other’s names — it was like your whole bodies seized together, your cunt pulsing against hers, your juices slicking your thighs, your clits throbbing as you gasped and cried out.

You collapsed against her, panting, trembling, your face buried in her neck, tasting her skin, and neither of you moved for a long, long time.

The room was thick with the heady scent of sex and sweat, bodies tangled, hearts still hammering from the way you’d both utterly wrecked each other. You lay there for a moment, limbs draped over one another, neither of you speaking — just breathing, letting the quiet settle over the room like a blanket. Rita’s fingers lazily traced the curve of your hip, her touch featherlight now, nothing like the sharp, filthy grasp she’d had on you minutes before.

Eventually, she hummed, lips brushing your temple. “C’mere,” she murmured, rolling out from under you with a soft groan and sitting up, stretching in a way that made you almost want to crawl right back on top of her. “We need to clean up before I fall asleep and glue us both to these sheets.”

You laughed, breathless and blissed-out, but agreed. Your thighs ached, your body sticky and tender in the best possible way. Rita stripped the sheets with practiced efficiency, balling them up and tossing them toward the hamper before grabbing a fresh set from the closet. You watched her move — graceful even in exhaustion, her hair a wild, dark halo, the curve of her ass catching the light.

“Quit staring at me like that,” she teased, smirking as she caught your gaze.

“Can’t help it,” you grinned. “I’ve got a thing for smug older women who fuck me stupid.”

Rita barked a laugh at that, shaking her head as she threw the clean sheet over the mattress. “Smartass.”

When she disappeared into the bathroom to start the bath, you moved on instinct, padding over to her dresser. You rifled through the top drawer until you found one of her old T-shirts — soft, worn, probably one she used for sleeping — and tugged it on. It hung loose on your body, brushing your thighs, the fabric carrying the faint, lingering scent of her perfume.

By the time she came back, hair damp, carrying a couple of towels, you were standing there with a smug little smirk, tugging at the hem of the shirt like you’d just gotten away with something.

“Well, well,” Rita drawled, one brow arching high as she set the towels down. “Look at you. Stealing my clothes already?”

“Claiming my spoils,” you shot back, grinning.

She rolled her eyes, but there was unmistakable affection in it. “You’re lucky you look so goddamn cute.”

The bath was heaven — hot, fragrant, and exactly what your sore bodies needed. You both sank into the water, legs tangled, Rita’s head tipped back against the edge as you lazily ran your fingers up and down her thigh. She returned the favor, washing you slow and gentle, so different from the ruthless way she’d handled you in bed. She made sure you drank water, peppered soft kisses over your shoulder, and let out content little sighs as the tension slowly ebbed from your muscles.

Afterward, back in her room with clean sheets and flushed skin, you hesitated at the edge of her bed.

Because this was the part you never knew how to handle. The come-down. The aftermath. You didn’t know if you were supposed to grab your clothes and head back to the guest room, or if this was the kind of situation where you curled up and stayed until morning. The last thing you wanted was to overstay your welcome.

Rita noticed immediately.

Her brow furrowed as she saw you standing there, gnawing your lip, uncertain. And then, without a word, she patted the mattress beside her, a crooked little smile playing at her lips.

“C’mon, baby,” she murmured, voice soft, eyes tender in a way that made your chest ache. “This is more than a one-time thing.”

God. You didn’t realize how much you needed to hear it until the words landed, sinking into your bones and making your throat tighten. You climbed into the bed without hesitation, curling into her side as she tugged you against her chest. Her arm looped around your waist, her hand splaying over your stomach like she wanted to anchor you there.

You felt safe. Wanted.

It was quiet for a long while, the soft hum of the city through the window, the warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her breath under your cheek.

Then you smirked against her skin. “You know,” you murmured, half-drunk on exhaustion and afterglow, “if you ever need another tire changed, I work for kisses and orgasms.”

Rita let out a low, sleepy laugh, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your bare thigh. “Sweetheart,” she murmured, lips brushing your temple. “After tonight, you can have anything you fucking want.”

You grinned, eyes fluttering shut, and drifted off in her arms, feeling for the first time in a long time like you were exactly where you belonged.

[doctor-cowboy]

Just got around to watching Holly's Chronicles of Benry stream. It's great and everything I wanted. I love viewing it through the lens of it being Benrey's personal playing-with-dolls recreation of his fantasized life, where he imagines himself to be a relatable Normal Person who can be sympathized with because his life has been sooo hard (and normal). Favorite moments along with my interpretation of them: -The introduction of Emmet Calhoun. I love characters that barely exist and Emmet is no exception. I think we should let him be real -When Benrey is talking about the boss battle, he calls Xen his home -He talks about getting shot with the "Gordon gun" and being killed, and then says "I never forgive him, and he's my best friend, so I gotta forgive him". He's still mad about what happened but he likes Gordon enough that he "has to" forgive him -After his death, he is trapped in gm_construct and not allowed to leave -Constantly talking about how happy he is, how he doesn't have any friends but it's ok, how he's dead but it's ok, and how he can do anything he wants. From the perspective of this being his fantasy world, (and with all context), it can be assumed the opposite is true -Everyone in his fantasy perceives him as very funny, smart, kind, and helpful. I think the whole section with the cow friend says a lot about how Benrey sees himself in relation to others- mostly about how he thinks others should see him -^He tells the cow that he can do "bad stuff" with his powers. She responds by saying everyone is capable of good and evil, and that she thinks Benrey is good. Despite everything, Benrey wants to be a good person, or at least perceived as one -^After saying this, Benrey says that she reminds him of his friend Tommy. The cow then says "he sounds like a fine man, and its really cool when you know him." Benrey and Tommy are best friends -When he was on the phone with Dr. Coomer or Emmet, he insulted them once or twice. They responded by laughing. Could be interpreted that when he's being randomly mean to someone, he thinks he's being funny rather than an asshole -Claims now that he has died, he can't die ever again -Every part with Gordon is important. Gordon's 2 roles in this are being a damsel in distress- with a high-pitch voice and everything-begging Benrey to help him (which he does, because he's so nice and cool), or Gordon talking about how happy and proud they all are of Benrey's performance in "the videos" -^Gordon tells Benrey he's not mad about the "arm stuff" anymore because he has his arm back now. Benrey wants Gordon to forgive him too, and thinks he deserves forgiveness because of the perceived impermanence of what he did. It *is* hypocritical, since Benrey is still mad at Gordon for killing him, despite him being "alive" now -Overall implication that Benrey is not only self-aware as an AI but self-aware as a show character. Talks about "the videos" a lot. If you couple it with the idea that Gordon was streaming the game in-universe to justin.tv, I think that could be really interesting

Conclusion: I love to take a joke so real and serious. This stream is only tangentially related to canon, but in a comedy series, "canon" means a lot less. Which means that anything about it can be real if you want it to be. Or not. But I enjoyed the stream and thinking really hard about it, and I encourage everyone who hasn't watched it yet to check it out!!!