#Live Streaming App Development

[kickassdevelopers]

🎬 Entertainment App Development Services: Build the Future of Digital Entertainment

In a digital-first world where users stream, binge, listen, and share content 24/7, the demand for entertainment app development services is skyrocketing. Whether you're launching the next Netflix, Spotify, or a regional OTT platform, a powerful entertainment app can place your content at the fingertips of millions.

This blog explores everything you need to know about building a successful entertainment mobile app—features, tech stack, monetization models, and how the right development partner can turn your vision into a captivating, scalable reality.

📱 Why You Need an Entertainment App in 2025

The entertainment industry is undergoing a massive digital shift. With over 6.5 billion smartphone users globally, streaming content—whether video, music, or live performances—has become the new normal. Audiences demand convenience, personalization, and immersive experiences, all of which can be delivered through a well-developed mobile application.

From OTT platform development to podcast and music streaming apps, custom solutions are now essential for media brands, production houses, indie artists, and entertainment startups.

📈 Market Stats Worth Noting:

The global video streaming market is expected to surpass $920 billion by 2030.

Time spent on entertainment and media apps increased by 40% post-pandemic.

Subscription-based platforms like Netflix, Hotstar, and Gaana have seen record-breaking growth.

If you're in the business of content creation or distribution, now is the time to invest in expert entertainment app development services.

🛠️ Core Features of a Winning Entertainment App

To compete with giants like Netflix, Spotify, or Amazon Prime, your app must go beyond basic functionality. Here's what users expect from a top-tier entertainment mobile app:

1. Content Streaming (Video/Audio)

High-quality streaming with adaptive bitrate, low buffering, and seamless playback across devices.

2. User Profiles & Personalization

Smart algorithms that recommend content based on watch history, preferences, or listening habits.

3. Subscription & Monetization Models

Support for freemium access, in-app purchases, advertisements, and recurring subscriptions.

4. Search & Filter

Powerful content discovery with keyword search, genres, languages, trending content, and more.

5. Multi-Platform Access

Cross-platform compatibility (Android, iOS, smart TVs, tablets, etc.) with a unified user experience.

6. Offline Downloads

Let users enjoy content without internet access by enabling secure offline downloads.

7. Live Streaming

Incorporate live shows, concerts, or podcasts with real-time chat and engagement.

8. Push Notifications

Keep users engaged by notifying them about new releases, trending content, and personalized suggestions.

9. Social Sharing & Integration

Let users share what they watch or listen to on social media, enhancing app visibility and virality.

🧠 Choosing the Right Technology Stack

Behind every great entertainment app is a powerful and scalable tech architecture. Here's what a reliable entertainment app development company should offer:

➤ Frontend (Mobile App Development)

React Native / Flutter for cross-platform development

Swift (iOS) and Kotlin (Android) for native apps

Custom UI/UX based on Figma, XD, or Sketch

➤ Backend

Node.js, Laravel, or Django for scalable API architecture

MongoDB or PostgreSQL for content and user data

Real-time databases like Firebase for chat, notifications, and analytics

➤ Streaming & CDN

Integration with AWS CloudFront, Vimeo OTT, or Wowza

DRM support to prevent piracy

Adaptive Bitrate Streaming (HLS, MPEG-DASH)

➤ Analytics & Recommendation Engine

Firebase, Mixpanel, or Google Analytics for user behavior

AI-powered recommendation engine to boost engagement and retention

💰 Monetization Strategies for Entertainment Apps

Monetization is crucial. Your entertainment app can generate recurring revenue through several models:

🔒 Subscription (SVOD)

Offer access to premium content on a weekly, monthly, or annual basis.

🎯 Advertisement (AVOD)

Free content monetized through banner ads, interstitials, or video ads using Google AdMob or Facebook Audience Network.

📥 Pay-per-view

Ideal for exclusive concerts, movie releases, or premium shows.

💼 Freemium

Provide basic content for free while charging for access to premium features or shows.

🤝 Why Hire Expert Entertainment App Developers?

Entertainment apps are high-stakes projects. Performance issues, bugs, or poor user experience can lead to instant churn. Here’s why hiring a team with domain expertise in entertainment mobile app development is critical:

They understand media licensing, content management, and user behavior.

They can optimize infrastructure for millions of concurrent users.

They’re familiar with UI/UX best practices that align with binge-watching or continuous listening behaviors.

They offer post-launch support for updates, bug fixes, and user feedback handling.

A team like Kickass Developers, with expertise in custom mobile app development, OTT app development, and audio/video streaming, ensures your idea is executed with precision and long-term scalability.

🚀 Final Thoughts: Your Entertainment App Is the Future of Engagement

Whether you’re building a regional OTT app, a music discovery platform, or a niche video streaming service, your success hinges on the right blend of technology, UX, scalability, and speed to market.

Investing in experienced entertainment app development services is your first step toward captivating your audience, building loyalty, and driving recurring revenue.

📞 Ready to Build Your Entertainment App?

Looking for a team that understands the entertainment industry inside and out?

Kickass Developers specializes in designing custom, high-performance entertainment applications tailored to your audience, brand, and growth goals.

📧 Contact us today at zeeshan@kickassdevelopers.com 🌐 Or visit us at kickassdevelopers.com

[devstree]

Discover the key factors that influence the cost of OTT (Over-the-Top) app development in 2025. Learn about pricing models, essential features, platform compatibility, and the latest trends in streaming service development. Find out how Devstree can help build a high-quality, scalable OTT platform tailored to your business needs.

[harsh9990]

Navigating the New Era of OTT Service Providers: The Role of Mogi I/O

In recent years, the entertainment landscape has been dramatically transformed by the emergence of Over-The-Top (OTT) service providers. This shift has revolutionized how audiences consume media, offering unparalleled convenience and variety. As traditional television and cable networks face stiff competition, companies like Mogi I/O are stepping up to redefine content delivery and enhance user experience. This article explores the evolution of OTT services, their implications for the industry, and the unique position of Mogi I/O in this dynamic environment.

Understanding OTT Service Providers

OTT service providers deliver content directly to consumers via the Internet, circumventing traditional broadcast and cable distribution channels. This model allows viewers to access a wide array of media content—movies, TV shows, documentaries, and live events—on their terms. Notable players in this space include Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime Video, and Disney+.

The appeal of OTT services lies in their flexibility. Viewers can choose when and how they watch content, a stark contrast to the rigid scheduling of traditional TV. As the demand for on-demand viewing continues to grow, OTT platforms are increasingly becoming the go-to option for consumers.

Factors Driving the Growth of OTT Platforms

Several key factors contribute to the rapid expansion of OTT platforms:

1. Evolving Consumer Preferences

Today's audiences seek content that fits their lifestyles. They prefer the ability to binge-watch their favorite shows or watch content on mobile devices while on the go. This shift in behavior has made OTT services a favored choice, allowing for on-demand viewing that traditional media struggles to provide.

2. Cost-Effectiveness

OTT services typically offer more affordable options compared to traditional cable subscriptions. Many platforms feature tiered pricing structures, allowing users to select plans that suit their financial needs. The ability to watch content on multiple devices without additional fees makes these services even more appealing.

3. Investment in Original Content

To attract and retain subscribers, many OTT service providers have invested heavily in original programming. This strategy not only diversifies their content library but also builds a loyal audience base. Popular series and films produced by platforms like Netflix and Amazon Prime Video have set new standards for quality and creativity, drawing viewers away from conventional media.

4. Global Accessibility

OTT platforms are not bound by geographic limitations. They offer global access to diverse content, allowing users from various regions to engage with programming that reflects their interests. This globalization opens new revenue streams and subscriber bases for OTT providers.

The Impact of OTT Service Providers on Traditional Media

The rise of OTT service providers has significantly disrupted traditional media:

1. Declining Cable Subscriptions

As more viewers opt for OTT services, traditional cable subscriptions have plummeted. This trend forces cable providers to reconsider their business models and enhance their offerings to retain subscribers.

2. Increased Competition

The emergence of OTT platforms has intensified competition among media companies. Traditional networks are now compelled to innovate and either develop their streaming services or partner with existing OTT providers to remain competitive.

3. Evolution of Advertising Strategies

The shift toward OTT platforms is altering how advertisers approach marketing. With targeted advertising capabilities, OTT services enable brands to reach specific demographics more effectively than traditional methods. This shift challenges broadcasters to rethink their advertising strategies and find new ways to engage audiences.

The Future of OTT Service Providers

As technology continues to advance, the future of OTT service providers looks promising:

1. Personalized User Experiences

Advancements in artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning are set to enhance the personalization of content recommendations. By analyzing viewer behavior and preferences, OTT platforms can deliver tailored content, increasing viewer engagement and satisfaction.

2. Growth of Live Streaming

The demand for live streaming is on the rise, especially for events such as sports and real-time shows. OTT providers are likely to invest in these capabilities, providing more opportunities for interactive viewing experiences.

3. Virtual and Augmented Reality Integration

The incorporation of virtual reality (VR) and augmented reality (AR) into OTT experiences has the potential to revolutionize how content is consumed. By offering immersive experiences, OTT providers can engage viewers in unique ways, blending reality with entertainment.

4. Niche Market Focus

As the OTT landscape continues to evolve, providers may seek to cater to niche markets, allowing them to build dedicated audiences. By focusing on specific interests or demographics, OTT services can foster community and loyalty among viewers.

Conclusion

OTT service providers have reshaped the entertainment industry, granting viewers unprecedented access to a vast array of content. This shift reflects changing consumer preferences, advancements in technology, and the increasing demand for personalized viewing experiences. As traditional media adapts to this new reality, the outlook for OTT services is bright, promising innovative and engaging content for audiences worldwide.

In a world where on-demand entertainment is the standard, OTT service providers are set to play a crucial role in the future of content consumption. Companies like Mogi I/O are strategically positioned to lead this transformation, embracing the opportunities presented by the OTT revolution and redefining audience engagement. By prioritizing quality, accessibility, and innovation, Mogi I/O aims to significantly contribute to the ongoing evolution of the entertainment landscape, ensuring that viewers receive the best in modern content delivery.

[oodlestechnologies123]

Our video streaming development solutions provide a fast and cost-effective way to launch your own app with best video streaming development services.

Video Streaming Services, video streaming development solutions, Live video streaming app solutions

[christyrdiaz]

In the growing world of digital media, podcasts have emerged as a powerful and engaging form of content. Live podcast streaming software is crucial in delivering content to a global audience. 

Podcast streaming software refers to the technology that allows the distribution and consumption of podcasts over the Internet. It facilitates the seamless streaming or downloading of audio content, allowing users to explore various topics, genres, and creators. 

[abhijeetomninos1122]

Build a Twitch Clone with the NODEJS AND FLUTTER

Twitch, the popular live streaming platform, has taken the world by storm. With millions of users tuning in daily to watch their favorite streamers, it's no wonder that many entrepreneurs and developers are eager to create their own platforms similar to Twitch. If you've ever wondered how to build a Twitch clone, you're in the right place. In this article, we'll delve into the world of live streaming and guide you through the process of creating your very own Twitch-like platform using Node.js and Flutter.

1. What is a Twitch Clone?

Before diving into the technical aspects, let's understand what a Twitch clone is. A Twitch clone is a platform that allows users to broadcast live video content to an audience in real-time. It typically includes features like user profiles, chat functionality, and monetization options. Creating a Twitch clone offers a unique opportunity to tap into the ever-growing demand for live streaming content.

2. Why Choose Node.js and Flutter?

Choosing the right technologies is crucial. Node.js, known for its scalability and real-time capabilities, is an excellent choice for the backend of your Twitch clone. On the other hand, Flutter, a framework by Google, is perfect for building a cross-platform mobile app with a beautiful user interface. The combination of Node.js and Flutter ensures a seamless user experience.

3. Setting Up Your Development Environment

To kickstart your project, you'll need to set up your development environment. Install Node.js and Flutter on your system and configure them for your project. This step is essential to ensure smooth development and testing.

4. Building the Backend with Node.js

Your Twitch clone's backend is the brain behind the operation. Develop features like user registration, video streaming, and chat functionality using Node.js. Node.js's event-driven, non-blocking I/O model is perfect for handling multiple concurrent users.

5. Creating the Frontend with Flutter

The frontend of your Twitch clone is what users will interact with. Flutter allows you to design a stunning and responsive user interface. Implement features like user profiles, video playback, and interactive chat rooms. Make your app visually appealing to keep users engaged.

6. User Authentication and Profiles

User authentication is vital to ensure the security and privacy of your platform. Learn how to implement secure user registration and profiles. Make it easy for users to create accounts and personalize their profiles.

7. Live Streaming Functionality

The heart of your Twitch clone is live streaming. Dive deep into the technicalities of streaming live video. Understand codecs, streaming protocols, and transcoding to ensure a seamless streaming experience for your users.

8. Chat and Interaction Features

Build a robust chat system that allows users to interact with each other and streamers. Implement features like emotes, whispers, and moderation tools to create an engaging community.

9. Monetization Strategies

Explore different monetization strategies, such as ads, subscriptions, and donations. Learn how to integrate payment gateways and reward your content creators.

10. Testing and Debugging

Every software project requires thorough testing and debugging. We'll guide you through best practices for testing your Twitch clone and provide tips for efficient debugging.

11. Deploying Your Twitch Clone

Once your platform is ready, it's time to deploy it to the web. Learn how to choose a hosting provider, configure your server, and make your Twitch clone accessible to users worldwide.

12. Growing Your User Base

User acquisition is a critical aspect of any online platform. Discover marketing strategies and tactics to attract and retain users. Building a strong user base is key to the success of your Twitch clone.

13. Legal and Ethical Considerations

Operating a live streaming platform comes with legal and ethical responsibilities. Understand copyright issues, content moderation, and user guidelines to maintain a safe and legal environment for your users.

14. Challenges and Solutions

Building a Twitch clone is no small feat. We'll discuss common challenges you may encounter during development and provide solutions to overcome them.

15. Conclusion

In conclusion, creating a Twitch clone app script using Node.js and Flutter offers an exciting opportunity to enter the world of live streaming. With the right technology stack and careful planning, you can build a platform that attracts a wide audience and content creators. Don't miss out on the live streaming revolution—start building your Twitch clone today!

[omninossolutionclone]

OyeLive Clone Script | Live Streaming App Development company

Omninos Solutions a development Social Media App in Mohali, Chandigarh Provides Best OyeLive Clone App, OyeLive clone app most remarkable app. 

OyeLive is a popular live video streaming app that allows users to share their talents, thoughts, and experiences in real-time. Picture it as a platform where you can host your own live show and interact with an audience from all around the world.Now, imagine having the same kind of experience tailored specifically to your needs and requirements! With OyeLive Clone development or using a live streaming script, you can create your own version of this fantastic app.

[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.

[omninostechnologiespvtltd]

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[silveridot]

season 3 predictions!

I'm thinking of season 3 as the final one, so it'd make sense to bring back characters from the og run, such as todd and daria + it would be a great opportunity to reveal more info about shirley and butthead’s mom, even if they just appear as background characters or are part of another childhood flashback

cornholio is DEFINITELY going to show up, but just think about it: middle-aged cornholio he needs beer for his bunghole

speaking of beavis, he already got plenty of episodes focused solely on him — which is AWESOME, I'm all for it 🙏 but butthead deserves some development as well, especially since he got WAY meaner than he used to be. he was an asshole in the og series too, but at least he complimented beavis every once in a while and didn't really mind explaining things to him, even if it was something obvious and stupid

it'd be nice to see that side of him again. it doesn't really matter whether it's very subtle or made into an entire episode, since tumblr users (me included) will take it to a whole other level anyway lmao

the boys simply complimenting each other would melt my heart already, I just want them to be happy 💔 a hug would be adorable as well, but that would be extremely out of character

some ideas I had (like the open house and dating app episodes) are exclusively meant for their middle-aged versions! but now that I think about it, I could easily see young beavis and butthead trying to hit the gym or being sentenced by accident lol

(and old men b&bh appearing on a live stream and doing numbers online would be hilarious)

I know some scenarios have been used already (looking at you, driver's ed), but c'mon… beavis has contracted rabies TWICE and it honestly seems like their house is getting invaded by rats, flies and raccoons on a daily basis...

[arcsparkasriel]

Introducing Lofitale (part 1)

LOFITALE ASRIEL DREEMURR

My AU Lofitale is an idealistic Post Pacifist AU that adds in the Deltarune characters as little kids. How they actually were in Undertale! Susie and Noelle, according to the unreleased Alarm Clock app, were called Suzy and Noel. It also serves as a medium to advertise my streaming persona of Lofitale Asriel Dreemurr, who I Vtube as! It takes place on the Surface in the city you see at the end of the game, which I aptly named New Ebott City! Here, monsters and humans are learning to co-exist in harmony.

The main character of this story and who I play as on Twitch, YouTube, Twitter, and Tumblr. Prince Asriel Dreemurr! During the final confrontation, Frisk and Ralsei constructed a new soul for Asriel from small pieces of all seven human souls, including Frisk's own, to fill in what was left of his own fragmented soul. What resulted was retaining the adolescent form he attained in his Angel of Hyperdeath form. The resulting reunion with his family was long awaited and bittersweet. It took a long time and help from his extended family to get him through the darkness of his memories. Asriel developed something of a guilt complex and a short temper, but he's still the same golden child of goodness that he once was. Henow works three jobs to support his family in their lavish apartment in New Ebott City. One of them is a professional streamer from the comfort of his own room. Oftentimes, with his little brother Ralsei.

LOFITALE RALSEI DREEMURR

Ralsei, in Lofitale, is Asriel's first blood brother. Born in the Ruins eight months after Toriel first leaves Asgore. So he is also a prince in this world too. He's born with albinism which would explain his poor eyesight, pink eyes, pink horns, and pink claws. Ralsei was more reserved and shy than his brother before him. He would come to know each and every one of the six fallen humans who would ultimately be harvested and break his heart even further. Unbeknownst to him, his big brother was still alive, watching over him from the shadows as the soulless Flowey. When Frisk arrived, Ralsei developed a strong bond with him and stuck close throughout the whole journey through the Underground. He would come to finally meet his big brother Asriel, and to this day, they are inseparable. Ralsei is with Asriel every time he streams on Twitch.

LOFITALE SUZY DREEMURR

Suzy in Lofitale is an orphaned little girl who lost her parents to Alphys' original determination experiments. Unlike the later trst subjects who became amalgamates, her parents fell down on the spot. Forcing her to live alone for some time. Surviving off of whatever scraps she could find. Sometimes, resorting to stealing or eating inedible objects. Susie was malnourished and sickly when Frisk first met her in the passageways of Waterfall. Being the gutter rat she was, Suzy developed her own survival at any costs mindset. She was suspicious and hostile at first, but she quickly warmed up to Frisk and Ralsei. All three of them would form a bond stronger than they realized. Toriel would adopt her alongside Frisk when they all return to the surface. She currently goes to Seaside Elementary with her new brothers, Frisk and Ralsei.

LOFITALE FRISK DREEMURR

The Hero of the Underground. The Seventh Fallen Human. The Most Determined. You all know Frisk. You all know the story of the Undertale and Frisk's journey through the Underground. Frisk would be introduced to Ralsei when he first arrived in the Underground. Much like Asriel and Chara before them, Ralsei would bring Frisk to his mother. Unlike the other six fallen humans, something special about Frisk stood out to Ralsei. Ralsei would follow Frisk through the whole journey and learn about everything. In Waterfall, Frisk would meet the street urchin Suzy and develop a kinship with her. On the surface, after helping Asriel free monsterkind, Frisk is living his best life with his new family.

[putschki1969]

Today's Music Champ Broadcast

Damn it, I HATE THIS STUPID APP!!🤬🤬🤬 It took me almost 10 minutes to access the live stream and it looks like many fans had similar issues. However, Hikaru seemed to be unaware of the troubles and just kept on streaming and talking (apparently, a number of people actually managed to watch the whole thing so it must have appeared like there were no issues - if anyone has more info about the first few minutes, please share them with me!!).

When I finally made it into the stream, Hikaru was in he middle of apologising for causing so much sadness, not only to fans but also to Yuki Kajiura. She deeply regrets that things turned out this way (apparently, the original plan was quite different with some sort of involvement from YK being discussed but things developed in a way that was out of their control due to lots of people having a say in the matter <= these people most likely being the higher-ups at Space Craft). At this point, she was basically in tears. Her eyes looked puffy and red. Her voice broke a little. She had no idea how this would affect the upcoming Asia tour and whether she would still be able to appear during these circumstances. But the good news is that Hikaru has had a chance to talk with Yuki and apologise to her. They cleared up some of the tension/awkwardness and Yuki insisted that both Keiko and Hikaru should still appear at the concert. They are looking forward to a great time together. [Hopefully, they can all use that time to properly talk things through and sort out any remaining issues.]

Hikaru also makes sure to mention that they want the concert in January to pay tribute to Kalafina's music. It will be a celebration of Yuki's music and they will all do their best to create a wonderful time for everyone.

Then, she almost starts crying again when she expresses her gratitude to all the fans who have sent her positive messages day in and day out during these past couple of weeks. She appreciates each and every single one of them. [So if you are one of the few people feeling happiness and joy about the Kalafina Anniversary Live, be sure to send a short message to Hikaru via her social media channels. With all the backlash, it's more important than ever to convey our appreciation]

Last but not least, she will be going back to her weekly live broadcasts starting next Wednesday so everyone, please look forward to that.

The live stream ended after about 15 minutes so it really was just a very short conversation.

[scoutofmymind]

lovveeee your writing!! so crazy to ask but how would luigi/hasan react to the reader getting pregnant?? would they all want to raise the baby together?? 🥺🥺🥺

This isn’t crazy. Actually.. I was hoping someone would ask about this. But… maybe that makes it crazy.

Mini pregnant throuple drabble time 😋⭐️

You suppose it was inevitable.

Given the delicate precipice between desire and precaution you've all been playing.

While you've made attempts at being careful — relying on timing and tracking cycles through your app — there's an undeniable truth in how you crave the intimate completion of letting them claim you fully.

You've never hidden how much you prefer them staying inside you when they finish, the connection of it all, even knowing what such passionate abandon could eventually lead to.

Through Hasan’s open bedroom door drifts Luigi's gentle morning banter with his chat, his usual Soft Boy Hours stream where he lounges at his desk, coffee in hand, offering playful critiques of game developers and thoughtful responses to viewer questions.

Meanwhile, Hasan remains curled around you in bed, his breath warm against your neck as he holds you close; you try to focus on Luigi's voice floating in from the living room, but your attention scatters as a wave of inexplicable nausea washes over you — the third morning this week you've felt this way.

The nausea surges without warning and you wrench yourself from Hasan's embrace, his sleepy protests and grabby hands only adding to your panic. "No — let go, you fucking idiot," you gasp, fighting through the luxurious prison of pillows and tangled sheets until you tumble gracelessly from the bed.

You scramble across the floor on trembling limbs, cursing this ridiculously oversized house and its endless hallways as you desperately race to the bathroom.

By the time you reach the toilet, you're barely able to drop to your knees before your body betrays you.

The bathroom door stands wide in your wake, and within seconds both of them materialize behind you — Luigi dropping to his knees at your side while Hasan perches on the tub's edge, his warm hand finding the small of your back. "Baby, what's wrong?" Luigi's voice carries that gentle concern that usually melts you, while Hasan traces soothing circles against your spine, murmuring soft sympathies.

You want to tell them to leave, to not witness you like this, but another violent wave of nausea cuts off your protest. "I'm fucking dying.” you manage to groan between heaves, your attempt at humor falling flat as your stomach continues its rebellion.

The next few days blur together as you find yourself gravitating to the kitchen with increasing frequency, standing before the open fridge in a trance-like state while your mind spins elaborate culinary fantasies.

Every shelf holds infinite possibilities, and somehow each bizarre combination your brain conjures seems more appealing than the last — as if your taste buds have staged a rebellion against all conventional flavor pairings.

The telltale jingle of keys and footsteps approaching has you freezing mid-bite, the pickle hovering guiltily over your pint of vanilla ice cream.

You don't dare turn around, suddenly hyper-aware of how questionable your breakfast choices have become.

"Whatcha eatin’?" Hasan's fingers find your waist, playfully teasing as he peers over your shoulder.

He's radiating warmth from his morning workout, all sun-kissed skin and damp curls, the contrast between his disciplined routine and your current kitchen escapade not lost on you.

Here he is, having already conquered his morning fitness goals while you're conducting dubious culinary experiments, still in your pajamas.

His exaggerated "Ewww" echoes through the kitchen as he spots your breakfast, and you can't even muster a defense.bThe evidence is damning — a half-eaten pickle suspended over rapidly melting vanilla ice cream, looking as ridiculous as it probably tastes delicious.

"I know it looks insane," you concede, abandoning any pretense of shame as you deliberately dip the pickle back into the ice cream. "But you don't understand how perfect it-" The words dissolve into a contented hum as the unlikely combination hits your tongue again.

Hasan's palm slides warm and steady across your back, his lips brushing your temple as he watches your methodical pickle-to-ice-cream ritual with growing concern. "Please tell me Luigi got you astronomically high, because that's the only acceptable explanation I’ll take." His tone carries equal parts amusement and horror as you continue your rhythmic dipping — pickle, ice cream, mouth, repeat — while meeting his gaze with what you hope is innocent conviction.

"Completely sober," you mumble around another bite, knowing full well this admission only makes everything worse. "Just. Dunno, really good, somehow?"

Luigi shuffles into the kitchen like a zombie seeking caffeine, performing his morning cold brew routine on autopilot until that first blessed sip brings him back to life.

His eyes finally focus on your ongoing crime, coffee cup freezing halfway to his mouth as his brain processes the scene. "What the fuck?" His free hand gestures wildly between you and your breakfast, face contorting in theatrical disgust. "No — absolutely not. What is happening right now?"

Neither of them have connected the dots yet — the morning sickness, the strange cravings, your body's sudden rebellion against all conventional taste combinations.

Even you haven't fully processed the possibility, though somewhere in the back of your mind, a calendar is slowly being counted backward, pieces of a puzzle you weren't ready to solve starting to click quietly into place.

Luigi's hand finds your knee as he navigates through traffic, the gesture automatic and comforting while your thoughts scatter like autumn leaves in the wind.

Hasan's absence feels heavier than usual — his first extended trip to Japan since you all came together, leaving an emptiness that seems more pronounced with each passing day. "Your period tracking app keeps sending me those missed cycle alerts," Luigi mentions casually, stealing a quick glance your way as he merges lanes. “Can you log it so my phone will leave me alone?”

Your fingers tremble slightly as you pull up the app — the one you'd shared with both of them months ago, mostly so they could brace themselves for your hormonal storms, which usually included lashing out on either, or both of them at least once.

As you tap through the familiar interface, your breath catches sharply in your throat. The words stare back at you, bold and unambiguous.

Your period is two weeks late.

Suddenly, every strange craving, every morning spent hugging the toilet, every inexplicable emotional surge slots into place like pieces of a puzzle you hadn't known you were solving.

"And neither of you thought to mention this before now?" The words tumble out with more accusation than intended as you turn to Luigi, who merely shrugs while guiding the car down the winding coastal road, ocean glimpses flashing between the trees.

His response carries that particular brand of careful nonchalance that you know masks deeper thoughts, "babe, it's your period. Wasn't really our place to point it out." The gentle rationality of his answer only makes your heart race faster as the implications continue to unfold.

And that’s when you knew.

The bathroom feels impossibly small with both you and Luigi crowded inside, even despite its generous size.

The pregnancy test sits heavy in your palm while your bladder protests the wait, but something about this moment feels too important to rush.

Your phone rests against the marble soap dispenser on a FaceTime call, Hasan’s tired face illuminated by the soft glow of Japanese sunrise filtering through his hotel blinds, while here, California's sunset paints the bathroom in warm amber tones through frosted windows — a reminder of the distance currently between you.

"God, I should be there," Hasan's voice carries that particular strain of longing that makes your chest ache, the twelve-hour time difference feeling more cruel than ever.

His eyes are soft with sleep and something deeper as he watches you both through the screen, his usual commanding presence somehow both diminished and intensified by the digital divide. "Miss you both so fucking much," he adds quietly, and you can hear in his voice how badly he wishes he could reach through the screen, could be here holding your hand instead of watching from half a world away.

The weight of this moment feels heavier knowing how often Hasan's voice would soften late at night, confessing his deepest wishes between sheets and shadows to yourself and Luigi — “I know the world's a fuckin’ mess," he'd murmur, fingers tracing abstract patterns on warm skin, "but something in me still wants kids."

Those vulnerable admissions would always carry a hint of guilt, as if wanting to create life in such uncertain times was somehow selfish, yet the longing in his voice would betray how deeply he yearned for it.

Luigi's approach had always been more measured, more distant — though you'd caught glimpses of something warmer in his eyes whenever Hasan would spin his paternal fantasies.

He'd never actively voiced his own desires, but there was a telling gentleness in how he'd engage with Hasan's dreams, adding little details to their shared imaginings of future possibilities, his usual sardonic edge softening just enough to reveal the careful hope he kept buried beneath his practiced indifference.

Your fingers tremble as they find Luigi's, his steady presence beside you on the cool tile floor anchoring you as the test sits waiting.

The enormity of this moment has your pulse racing beneath your skin as you try to steady your voice. "We considered waiting for you to get back, Has, but seven more days felt.." You trail off, unable to find words for how impossible that wait would have felt.

"Don't even think about it," Hasan's voice comes through soft and sleep-rough, but even through the pixelated screen, you can see the emotion swimming in his dark eyes. “It’d drive you crazy.”

His digital presence feels like a ghost of what should be — in any other circumstance, he'd be right there with Luigi, claiming his usual spot on the bathtub's edge, his warm palm finding the small of your back.

Instead, he watches through a screen, thousands of miles and twelve time zones away, trying to be as present as technology allows while clearly aching to close the physical distance between the three of you.

The test grows heavy in your trembling hands as you sit frozen in this final moment of uncertainty, until your body makes the decision for you.

There's an odd sense of surreality as you cap the test and position it before Hasan's watchful digital presence — this small plastic stick that holds the power to reshape your entire existence.

The familiar routine of washing your hands feels strangely profound, water rushing over your fingers in what might be the last ordinary moment before everything shifts irrevocably, your reflection in the mirror showing someone caught between who they were and who you know they're about to become.

Luigi can't contain himself any longer, closing the distance to cradle your face between his palms as you sink onto the closed toilet lid.

His thumbs trace gentle paths across your cheekbones, his voice dropping to that tender register reserved for your most vulnerable moments. "I see how scared you are," he murmurs, catching a tear before it can fall. "But you're not alone in this — not for a single second. Whatever happens, the three of us face it together, just like we always have." The fierce certainty in his whispered promise makes your heart clench, even as more tears escape your weary eyes. "Everything, baby. We're here for all of it."

You press your lips to Luigi's palms, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth of his skin, before turning your attention to the phone.

Hasan's expression has transformed completely — his earlier drowsiness replaced by something electric, his smile stretching so wide it seems to barely fit his face.

Yet somehow, his joy is so overwhelming that you can't quite decode what it means.

"Can you see it?" Luigi shifts carefully, trying to glimpse the results without disturbing the test's position in front of the camera, but before he can get a proper look, Hasan's entire demeanor shifts.

He sits up abruptly in his hotel bed, flicking on a lamp that bathes him in warm light, his face absolutely luminous with barely-contained excitement.

The sleepy softness from moments ago has evaporated, replaced by something almost incandescent.

"Why don't you check for yourself, Papa?"

[abhijeetomninos1122]

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