ꮐꮖꮮꭰꭼꭰ ꭼɴꮩꭹ

“your   pops   called   earlier,”    it's   a   measly   attempt   to   sound   casual   while   bennett   is   turned   away   from   his   daughter,   practically   bent   over   the   kitchen   sink   as   he   scrubbed   helplessly   at   the   grease   that   seemed   embedded   in   his   knuckles.   he   swallows,   eyes   flickering   up   once   to   the   window   just   above   the   sink,   catching   the   light   in   gage's   place   finally   flickering   off.   he   huffs   out   a   breath,   tension   in   his   shoulders   only   managing   to   grow   more   persistent.   he's   all   too   aware   of   her   presence   behind   him   in   a   way   that   should   have   been   something   that   gave   him   more   pause   than   it   truly   did.   he   shuts   the   sink   off,   the   tap   dripping   for   a   few   more   seconds,   making   him   frown.    “said   you   were   tryin'   to   get   into   it   with   alicia   last   time   you   were   in   nashville.   we   talked   about   that,   tals.   i   know   —   i   know   you   ain't   my   little   girl   anymore,   but   y'gotta   start   playin'   nicer.”

bennett’s   voice   was   rough,   careful,   like   he   was   trying   to   navigate   a   conversation   he   didn’t   want   to   have,   and   talia   had   to   resist   the   urge   to   roll   her   eyes.   of   course   he   had   called.   always   playing   messenger   for   alicia,   his   perfect   little   wife,   the   woman   who   had   always   looked   at   talia   like   she   was   a   project   that   needed   managing.   talia   sighed   dramatically,   the   sound   long   and   suffering   as   she   perched   on   the   stool,   bare   feet   dangling   just   above   the   cool   linoleum.   the   oversized   t-shirt   swallowed   her   frame,   fabric   soft   against   her   skin,   hem   riding   up   just   enough   to   hint   at   the   boy   shorts   beneath.   she   rested   her   head   on   her   open   palms,   “you   want   me   to   play   nice   with   alicia?”   her   laugh   was   sharp,   bright   and   bitter.   “the   woman   who’s   spent   years   acting   like   i’m   a   burden?   and   thinks   she   knows   better   than   i   do   about   how   i   should   live   my   life?”   she   leaned   against   the   counter,   the   cool   surface   a   contrast   to   her   heated   skin.   “i   graduated   from   tisch,   dad,”   she   said,   her   voice   dropping,   “i   did   everything   i   was   supposed   to.   i   shouldn’t   have   to   settle   for   being   a   camp   counselor!”   the   kitchen   smelled   of   grease   and   regret,   the   scent   of   her   childhood   clinging   to   the   walls   like   a   stubborn   stain,   and   she   hated   the   way   it   wrapped   around   her,   threatening   to   pull   her   back   into   the   life   she’d   fought   so   hard   to   escape.   her   dreams   of   stardom   always   felt   a   little   further   away   with   every   mention   of   that   woman’s   name.   the   clink   of   the   tap   dripping   was   a   dark   punctuation   to   the   silence   between   them,   each   drop   a   tiny   hammer   against   the   porcelain.   get   into   it   with   alicia?   she   couldn’t   help   but   scoff,   as   if   that   was   the   only   thing   she’d   been   getting   into   lately.   is   that   why   her   dad   had   brought   it   up?   sour   her   otherwise   good   mood   so   she’d   leave   him   alone   for   the   night?   fat   chance.   she   shifted   on   the   stool,   the   wood   smooth   beneath   her   thighs,   and   let   her   gaze   drift   over   the   older   man,   eyes   wide   and   innocent.    “beside   daddy,   i   think   i’ve   been   plenty   nice   lately,”   she   countered,   voice   dripping   with   false   innocence.   leaning   into   the   double   meaning   only   she   and   bennett   would understand.   the   memory   of   their   last   shoot,   his   hands   on   her   waist,   her   back   arched   against   him.   it   all   came   rushing   back,   a   thrill   that   made   her   pulse   race.   “i   mean,   if   helping   you   get   to   use   all   your   untouched   toys   doesn’t   count   as   being   nice,”   she   continued,   ocean   hues   alight   with   a   playful   spark   despite   the   pout   forming   on   her   lips,   “i   don’t   know   what   does.”   she   sighed   again,   the   sound   long   and   dramatic,   and   let   her   gaze   drop   to   her   lap,   fingers   picking   at   the   hem   of   her   t-shirt.   “but   if   she’s   that   worried   about   me   being   jobless   that   she   sent   pops   after   you,   maybe   we   should   just   tell   them   how   i'm   making money?”

🌸✨️🌸✨️🌸✨️🌸✨️

ara's   voice   is   like   a   warm   blanket,   covering   georgia   completely.   she   shivered   slightly   as   her   words   were   repeated   back   to   her,   and   her   whole   body   grew   tense   as   ara   finally,   finally   dragged   her   fingers   between   her   thighs,   cunt   throbbing   in   time   with   her   heartbeat   in   response.   her   whole   body   was   hot,   almost   embarrassed   as   she   felt   herself   flutter   around   nothing,   georgia   swallowing   harshly   at   her   fingers   pressed   tighter,   a   soft,   needy   whimper   spilling   from   her   lips.   her   knees   were   already   smarting   against   the   hardwood   floors   of   ara's   apartment,   even   though   she's   been   in   this   position   more   times   than   she   could   possibly   count.   “no,”   she   starts   before   she   can   stop   herself   as   ara   walks   away,   her   body   curling   in   on   itself   slightly   as   she   resists   the   urge   to   squirm.   her   whole   body   was   trembling   like   a   dandelion   in   the   breeze,   and   she   whimpered   again   as   she   watched   her   closely,   cataloging   her   every   move.   she   doesn't   dare   to   even   move.   knows   her   own   release   hinges   on   ara's   decisions,   on   if   georgia   is   deemed   good   enough,   and   she   wouldn't   do   anything   to   jeopardize   that.   she   swallows   as   she's   told   to   come   closer,   before   she   nods,   almost   immediately   crawling   across   the   floor   to   get   closer   to   ara.   this   was   humiliating,   once   upon   a   time.   the   action   of   being   on   her   hands   and   knees,   crawling   toward   her   domme   as   if   georgia   were   a   disobedient   pup,   but   she   also   knows   that   now   it   was   hard   to   hide   just   how   badly   she   craved   it.  lots   of   things   with   ara   had   been   deemed   new   to   her   —   her   desperation   was   a   genuine   piece   of   that,   how   easy   it   seemed   for   ara   to   make   her   fall   apart   with   just   a   simple   touch.   even   the   cat   ears   had   been   something   that   had   made   her   squirm,   but   now   they   just   seemed   to   make   her   mind   shut   off   completely.   she   settled   on   her   knees   in   front   of   her,   the   bell   on   her   collar   jingling   with   every   harsh   breath   that   seemed   to   sputter   from   her   lips,   and   she   couldn't   stop   the   whine   that   slipped   from   her   as   she   heard   ara's   command.   even   then,   following   it   was   nothing,   and   she   shuffled   forward,   cheeks   going   even   redder   as   she   settled   herself   down,   thighs   bracketing   the   rough   leather   of   her   boot   before   she   sinks   down   even   lower.   the   first   touch   of   the   leather   to   her   clothed   cunt   had   lightning   practically   racing   up   her   spine,   and   she   hadn't   even   moved   yet.   she   bites   down   hard   on   her   lower   lip,   movements   clumsy   as   she   rolls   her   hips   just   once,   looking   up   at   ara   with   bright,   wet   eyes.   “mommy,”   she   starts,   breath   hitching   as   she   gets   the   hang   of   it   finally,   hips   rolling   slow   as   if   she's   testing   it.   she   can't   make   herself   look   down.   can   feel   the   slick   drag   of   her   soaked   panties   against   her   cunt   and   doesn't   even   want   to   perceive   the   kind   of   mess   she's   probably   smearing   all   over   her   boot   right   now,   and   georgia   whimpers   again,   back   arching   slightly   as   one   of   the   buckles   grinds   against   her   clit   just   right.   “mommy,   please,   please   —   s'good,   feels   s'good   —”

“does   it   feel   good,   humping   against   mommy like   a   little   slut?”   georgia   always   looked   the   most   beautiful   with   her   cheeks   flush   with   embarrassment,   and   right   now,   it   was   all   ara   wanted   to   see.   wet   eyes   and   red   cheeks.   her   perfect   girl.   “you   look   so   pretty   like   this,”   she   continued,   her   voice   dropping   to   a   purr,   rich   and   honeyed.   “all   desperate   and   needy,   grinding   against   my   boot   like   it’s   the   only   thing   that   can   save   you.”   her   gaze   flicked   to   the   leather,   to   the   way   georgia’s   arousal   was   smearing   across   the   toe,   a   glossy   sheen   that   caught   the   light   like   liquid   sin.   “and   look   at   the   mess   you’re   making,”   she   tsked,   her   voice   light,   almost   cheerful,   as   she   reached   down,   her   fingers   curling   around   georgia’s   throat,   forcing   her   gaze   up   to   meet   ara’s.   her   thumb   brushed   against   georgia’s   jaw,   her   touch   possessive,   claiming.   “i   do   hope   you’re   planning   on   cleaning   that   up,   pet.   or   do   i   need   to   throw   these   boots   away   after   this?”   the   thought   was   almost   amusing,   the   way   she   could   picture   it.   georgia   on   her   knees,   scrubbing   at   the   leather   with   her   little   tongue,   trying   to   remove   every   last   trace   of   her   need.   the   scent   of   georgia’s   arousal   was   thick   in   the   air,   a   perfume   of   need   that   made   ara’s   mouth   water.   “can   you   really   cum   like   this?”   she   murmured,   her   voice   a   velvet   whip.   “i’m   really   curious   to   see   whether   you   can.   mommy   will   be   so   proud   if   you do.”   her   smile   sharpened,   cruel   and   beautiful.   “don’t   you   want   to   be   a   good   girl   who   makes   mommy   proud?”

THE CARRIE DIARIES 2.09 ― "Under Pressure"

Tom Hiddleston, Diego Calva & Camila Morrone in The Night Manager Season 2 Episode 3 (2026)

L.A. CONFIDENTIAL (1997) dir. Curtis Hanson

For his part, Solo licks the angry welt from his bite against her throat. The feel of her pulse thrumming against his tongue sparks a litany of sinful urges and there isn't a one of them that he intends to deny. The man is having too much fun, both as spectator and participant. His kisses adhere to the curve of her elegant neck, following the marble trail to just behind her ear. He breathes in the scent of her shampoo, ruts his hard cock into the small of her back for even just the semblance of friction. "You're so fucking nasty, baby." He both taunts and compliments, his voice a barely there whisper for only her to hear. "God, I'm gonna love watching you cum on your brother's face."

hard   and   needy,   and   she   knew   he   was   watching   too,   knew   he   was   loving   the   sight   of   her   coming   undone   on   theo’s   face.   “f—fuck,”   she   gasped,   her   voice   rough   with   the   force   of   her   release,   her   body   a   trembling   mess   in   solo’s   arms.   sub   space   pulling   her   under   like   a   velvet   tide.   sydney   could   feel   the   way   her   mind   floated,   her   body   humming   with   the   aftershocks   of   her   climax.   she   was   boneless,   a   sacred   offering   between   them,   and   all   she   could   think   about   was   the   emptiness   inside   her,   the   desperate   desire   to   be   claimed.   immediately.   “please,”   she   babbled,   her   voice   a   breathy   whisper,   her   eyes   glassy   with   tears   of   need.   “someone,   anyone,”   her   fingers   scrambled   against   solo’s   chest,   her   touch   desperate,   pleading.   “put   your   cock   in   me,   please.”   her   gaze   flicked   between   them,   her   lips   parted   and   swollen,   breath   coming   in   sharp,   uneven   gasps.   “i   need   to   be   filled,”   she   whimpered,   her   voice   breaking   with   the   desperation   of   it.   “i   need   it   so   bad,”   her   free   leg   kicked   restlessly,   body   a   wanton   offering.   “theo,   please,”   she   begged,   her   voice   a   honeyed   purr.   “or   solo,   i   don’t   care   which,   someone   just   fuck   me,   breed   me,   make   me   yours.”

her   comment   makes   him   chuckle,   to   which   all   the   men   at   the   table   now   shoot   their   head   up   to   find   out   what's   so   funny.   one   even   goes   as   far   as   to   ask   if   he   had   something   on   his   face.   oliver   quickly   apologizes,   another   kiss   is   pressed   to   her   forehead.   “i'm   afraid   we'll   have   to   wrap   all   this   up   now.   happy   wife,   happy   life   am   i   right?”   that   earns   a   loud,   boisterous   laugh   from   all   the   men   agreeing   in   unison.   he   stands   up   and   walks   over   to   shake   all   their   hands   one   by   one,   leaving   ivy   in   the   presence   of   her   origami   zoo.   “i'll   have   isa   reach   out   with   the   details   of   our   next   meeting   as   soon   as   possible,   thanks   for   coming   by.”   the   last   man   finally   walks   out   of   the   conference   room,   and   oliver,   at   last,   is   able   to   loosen   the   all   too   tight   tie   around   his   neck.   “swans,   cranes…   is   that   a   dog?"   he   stands   behind   her,   hands   back   on   her   shoulders   as   he   looks   down   at   her   creations.   “can   i   keep   a   couple   of   these   for   the   shelves   in   my   office?”

"the   swan's   structural   integrity   is   questionable,"   she   finally   responds,   setting   it   back   down.   her   voice   has   lost   the   particular   tension   it   carries   when   the   room   is   full.   "i'd   recommend   the   crane.   second   from   the   left.   the   folds   are   cleaner.   and   the   lotus,   if   you   want   something   for   the   corner   of   a   shelf.   it   sits   flat."   she   doesn't   say   yes,   keep   them.   she   says   which   ones   to   take   and   how   to   place   them,   which   is   the   same   thing   dressed   in   different   clothes.   her   eyes   drift   to   the   two   men   still   visible   through   the   glass   partition   across   the   room.   one   of   them   looking   at   his   phone,   the   same   one   who'd   been   watching   all   night.   she   clocks   it   with   the   passive   attention   of   someone   who   has   stopped   being   surprised   by   surveillance   and   simply   begun   accounting   for   it.   "they're   going   to   report   that   you   ended   a   meeting   early   for   me,"   she   says.   her   fingers   find   the   edge   of   the   table,   tracing   the   seam   of   it   absently.   "that's   either   very   convincing   or   very   suspicious   depending   on   how   their   boss   reads   it."   she   looks   up   at   him   then,   properly,   turning   slightly   in   her   chair   so   that   the   watchful   eyes   across   the   room   get   married   couple   wrapping   up   their   evening,   get   exactly   what   they   came   for.   "you   were   doing   the   thing   again,"   she   says.   the   observation   placed   between   them   without   accusation.   simply   curiosity, the   same   tone   she   uses   when   she's   identified   something   she   wants   to   understand   before   she   decides   what   to   do   with   it.   her   eyes   hold   his   with   the   directness   she's   stopped   trying   to   moderate   around   him.   the   look   that   had   gotten   her   into   this   arrangement   in   the   first   place   when   she'd   sat   across   a   very   different   table   and   refused   to   be   the   thing   that   looked   away   first.   "the   forehead   thing."

"So are you playing Good Slayer, now?" She has to curl her burning palms into fists, forcing them to stay still against her svelte hips as she lets her gold-flecked gaze rake over him at her own forced leisure. "Because if it's roleplay you want..." She simply allows the insinuation to hang heavily in the air, the dangerous promise of something dangling like Tantalus' fruit.

she's   furious.   incandescent   with   it,   the   way   she   gets   when   something   has   been   burning   in   her   for   too   long   and   the   nearest   available   flame   finally   gave   it   permission.   jaw   tight,   chest   heaving   on   the   last   of   the   adrenaline,   gold   flecked   eyes   doing   something   lethal   in   the   low   light   of   a   cemetery   that   smells   like   turned   earth   and   old   stone   and   the   specific   atmospheric   charge   of   a   slayer   who   has   been   thinking   about   him.   he   knows   she   has.   he's   been   thinking   about   her   too,   in   the   quiet   hours   between   sleeping   and   not   sleeping   where   honesty   moves   through   you   whether   you   invited   it   or   not.   the   weight   of   her   on   his   lap.   the   smoke.   her   mouth   finding   the   place   on   his   throat   where   his   pulse   lives.   a   slayer   drinking   a   rogue's   blood   in   the   dark   like   it   was   holy,   like   it   was   necessary,   like   she   was   starving   for   something   she   hadn't   known   she   needed   until   it   was   already   inside   her.   kamal   has   done   a   lot   of   depraved   things   in   his   considerable   time   outside   the   council's   good   graces.   that   one   stays   with   him   differently.   so   are   you   playing   good   slayer   now?   his   eyes   track   her   slow.   a   deliberate   rake   of   her   gaze   mirrored   back   at   her.   taking   inventory   of   the   places   where   her   battle   wounds   have   faded   to   nothing,   slayer   healing   stitching   her   back   together   in   the   days   since.   he'd   put   some   of   those   marks   there   himself.   the   memory   of   it   sits   low   in   his   gut   with   the   patient   heat   of   an   ember   that   hasn't   decided   yet   whether   to   die   or   catch.   the   insinuation   hangs   between   them   like   weather.   kamal   tilts   his   head.   just   slightly.   the   ghost   of   something   that   isn't   quite   a   smile   living   at   the   corner   of   his   mouth.   not   amusement,   or   not   only   that,   something   more   complicated   and   less   polite.   "roleplay,"   he   repeats.   tasting   the   word.   "that   what   you're   calling   it."   he   takes   one   step   toward   her.   unhurried.   the   kind   of   step   that   announces   itself.   giving   her   every   opportunity   to   hold   her   ground   or   close   the   remaining   distance.   the   decision   exactly   where   it   belongs,   in   her   hands,   with   her   fists   still   curled   against   her   hips.   he   stops   close   enough   that   the   air   between   them   has   temperature.   "i've   been   called   a   bastard   for   a   lot   of   things,   millie."   quiet.   the   cemetery   absorbs   it.   "stealing   your   kill's   a   new   one."   his   eyes   drop   briefly,   deliberately   to   her   mouth.   then   back   up.   "though   i'm   starting   to   think   the   kill   isn't   what   you're   actually   angry   about."

she spit into her hand and began to stroke him while he decided, foolishly letting the spark of her attitude turn downright bratty. "do you have a preference? do you want me to pick? do you want to call me a liar a few more times so we can really get you hard?"

her   body   a   sacred   offering   against   his.   the   air   between   them   crackled,   charged   with   the   weight   of   his   need,   of   his   claim   on   her,   and   he   could   feel   the   way   her   breath   hitched,   the   way   her   fingers   scrambled   against   his   shoulders   as   he   carried   her   to   the   loveseat.   the   leather   was   cool   beneath   her   as   he   threw   her   face   down   into   it,   her   body   a   sinful   promise   against   the   cushions,   her   ass   raised   and   waiting   for   him.   he   didn’t   waste   a   second,   fingers   hooking   into   the   lace   of   her   panties,   slipping   them   to   the   side   with   a   feral   growl,   the   fabric   a   flimsy   barrier   between   him   and   what   he   craved.   and   then   he   was   sinking   into   her,   the   heat   of   her   a   perfect   completion,   a   bliss   that   had   them   both   gasping,   her   walls   clenching   around   him   as   if   to   keep   him   there,   to   own   him   as   much   as   he   owned   her.   “from   now   on,”   he   growled,   his   voice   rough   as   sandpaper,   each   word   a   solemn   vow,   a   promise   that   tasted   like   sin   on   his   tongue,   “i’ll   only   cum   inside   of   you.”   his   hips   rolled   forward,   testing   the   depths   of   her. “that's   what   you   want,   right?   to   be   daddy's   little   cum   dumpster?”

“i   will   not   share   your   cock,   your   mouth,   your   body,   your   heart,   with   any   other   woman.   not   when   it   is   mine,”   and   when   she   says   it,   she   means   it   with   a   conviction   so   complete   it   feels   older   than   language.   her   eyes   hold   his   across   the   narrow   distance   between   them.   close   enough   to   count   the   pale   flecks   scattered   through   his   irises.   close   enough   that   this   no   longer   feels   like   negotiation.   no   parchment.   no   signatures.   no   advisors   standing   witness.   just   two   people   seated   at   the   edge   of   something   irreversible,   speaking   truths   sharp   enough   to   draw   blood.   and   perhaps   something   else,   too.   something   neither   of   them   has   named   yet   because   naming   it   would   make   it   real.   “so.”   the   knife   shifts   in   her   hand.   a   deliberate   movement.   slow   enough   to   be   unmistakable.   she   lifts   it   from   her   lap   and   sets   it   gently   on   the   bed   between   them.   steel   against   linen.   a   quiet   sound.   and   yet   somehow   louder   than   anything   either   of   them   has   said.   an   offering.   a   surrender.   or   perhaps   simply   proof   that   she   has   laid   down   the   only   weapon   she   arrived   with.   her   hands   return   to   her   lap.   open.   unarmed.   then   she   lifts   her   gaze   to   his   again.   steady   as   moonlight   over   dark   water.   “do   we   have   an   agreement…”   the   smallest   pause.   and   then,   softer,   but   somehow   no   less   powerful.   “…husband?”

OFF CAMPUS 1.06 "The Breakaway"

DISTRITO SALVAJE (2018-2019)