#Rachel Miller
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Paladin Character Illustration - Rachel Miller
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Small Press Expo 2023: Raeghan Buchanan Spotlight
Small Press Expo 2023: Raeghan Buchanan Spotlight #spx #smallpressexpo #spx2023
The Small Press Expo has posted all of the programming panels from SPX 2023 on YouTube to watch! Raeghan Buchanan is an artist, writer, and musician whose book, The Secret History Of Black Punk: Record Zero is a fascinating deep dive into the lives and careers of trailblazing Black musicians who have been unjustly forgotten. Moderator Dr. Rachel Miller will go into depth with Raeghan on her bookâŠ
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âwe need more complex female charactersâ the second women start showing a glimpse of emotion yâall call them over-sensitive or annoying. smh.
#life is strange#chloe price#rachel amber#harry potter#cho chang#hermione granger#lavender brown#fleur delacour#molly weasley#marvel#carol danvers#wanda maximoff#kamala khan#peggy carter#chappell roan#heartstopper#imogen heaney#scream#tara carpenter#sam carpenter#millerâs girl#cairo sweet#wednesday addams#bojack horseman#diane nguyen#princess carolyn#my hero academia#ochako uraraka#momo yaoyorozu#itâs scary how many tags i could add
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a lover's pinch | five
joel miller x f!reader
pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.
Sunday.
The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.
Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin. Â And thereâs a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm â soft in its caress, like the trail of a loverâs fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.
Another page turns.
 You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. Itâs a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.
You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.
His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.
You break the silence finally. âWhat are you reading?â
Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.
âYouâre awake.â
âI am,â you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. âTell me.âÂ
âShakespeare,â he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blushâtaste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. âAntony and Cleopatra.â
âI love that one,â you yawn. âWhere are you up to?â
 âAct five,â he says. âCleopatraâs big scene.â
âWill you read it to me?â you smirk.
Thereâs an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye.Â
âReally?â he drawls, unimpressed.
âPlease?â your smile softens into something kind, something honest.
With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.
âGive me my robe, put on my crown,â he begins slowly, as if unsure. âI have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egyptâs grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.â
His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.
âMethinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.â
His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs thereâlow, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name.Â
âI am fire and air,â Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. âMy other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?â
Slowly, listeningâhangingâyou shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.
âCome then, and take the last warmth from my lips.â
Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length. Â
âFarewell, kind Charmian,â Joelâs voice deepens. âIras, long farewell.â
You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.
Joel sighs. âYou donât have toââ
âKeep going,â you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. Thereâs still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and itâs so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.
The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. âJoel,â you urge him quietly when he still doesnât speak.
âHave I the aspic in my lips?â His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. âDost fall?â
You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.
âSuch a pretty cock,â you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.
âYeah?â he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. âGonna show me how much you like it?â
âMhm,â you bat your eyelashes up at him.
Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watchingâstill devouringâthe way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.
âIf thou and nature,â he murmurs. âCan so gently part.â
And itâs almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.
His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. âFuck,â he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. âThatâs it, baby, god youâre good at that.â
You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until itâs dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.
âSensitive there?â you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.
âSâgood,â he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. âJesus,â he mutters, eyelids fluttering. âYeah, good girl.â
You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until heâs pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.
âGot the prettiest fuckinâ mouth, baby,â Joel whispers. âSâlike a fuckinâ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.â
You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.
âYeah,â he sighs. âTake it all, baby, yeaâyes.â
You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.
âThe stroke of death is as a loverâs pinch,â he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. âWhich hurts, and is desired.â
Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.
âGod damn,â he swipes a finger across your lower lip. âDoinâ so good, sweetheart. So so good."
You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.
âI want it,â you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.
âWhat do you want?â he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. âTell me.â
âWant you to come in my mouth,â your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. âWant all of it.â Everything.
âOkay,â Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. âTake it, come on. Itâs yours.âÂ
He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.
âDost thou lie still?â he reads. âIf thus thou vanishes, thouâChristâthou tellâst the world.â
Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.
âFuck,â you hear him spit, and then heâs arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until youâre moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock.Â
It doesnât take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds heâs making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and thenâ
âFuckinâlook at me,â he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. âNeed to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.â
And fuck youâre wet. So wet that itâs seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes itâs with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckinâ good at that god damnit and thatâs it, swallow it all baby, itâs yours, itâs yours, itâs yours.
You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.
Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.
After a few quiet moments you ask, âWhat time is it?â
âEighty thirty,â he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.
âProbably time to start the day,â you grumble, throat raw and tired.
But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.
And he says, âNo,â shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. âNot yet.â
You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.
Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure. Â
But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Parkâshowered, dressed, sureâeyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings â you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.
A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm.Â
âCan I see it?â you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.
âSure,â Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.
âThe cover is beautiful,â you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.
âJoel.â
Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. âWhatâs wrong?â he frowns.
You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. âShe⊠how did you get a signed copy?â
âWeâve met a few times in passing,â he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. âIâve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. Sheâs very impressive, the first woman toââ
âThe first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,â you interrupt. âYeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.â
âAnd now sheâs published The Iliad,â he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. âIâm lookinâ forward to readinâ it. Especially now that Iâve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. Iâm sure itâll be on my mind as I go.â
The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. Youâre still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.
You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.
âYou like her?â you tease.
His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.
âI like terracotta,â he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder â a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.
âOh of course,â you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. âMe too. Terracotta virgins.â
âYou know,â he huffs, turning to face you head on. âYou oughta start showinâ me a bit of respect. Whereâs your reverence for an authority figure, huh?â
âAuthority?â your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. âAnd what authority might that be?â
âI could fail you,â he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. âTell everyone youâre the worst student I ever had. Never does as sheâs told, always talkinâ back.â
âOh, Professor,â you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. âI hate to say it, but youâre not very convincing in your distaste.â
You donât wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you canât help but grin.
âNot bad right?â Joelâs voice comes from behind you.
âNot bad at all,â you turn to smile at him. âWouldâve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.â
âA dinosaur,â he repeats, quietly amused. âOf course, you like dinosaurs.â
âI thought, uh,â Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. âThought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.â
The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.
âIt does,â you nod. âA little bit.â
âWhat was it like?â he asks.
âGreece wasâŠâ you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. âIt was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.â
Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.
âGood,â is the response he settles on, finally. âIâm glad. You⊠you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.â
And itâs been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and donât stop yourself from asking him something in return.
âHave you really never been?â you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it â near impossible to decipher, as always. âYou said you werenât interested, that first night when we spoke about it⊠but I wouldâve thought⊠I donât know, maybe a semester abroad or⊠or a fellowship?â
âNever,â he looks away. âAlways too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.â
You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.
âThereâs still time,â you offer. âYouâve got so much time, Joel.â
Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that heâs grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.
His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.
The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you donât stop him. Donât pull your hand away, donât take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighsâthe soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage. Â
âSoft,â he says, his voice low and thoughtful. âYouâre so soft.â And it sounds painfully like, youâve got so much time.
And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.
Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me hereânowâI wouldnât say a word, wouldnât tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand wonât wander, wonât stray, Iâll take it in my own and show you where to touch.
So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.
Joelâs knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder.Â
And after youâve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.
And he whispers, âDoes it hurt?â with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.
And you whisper, âNo.â with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.
Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.
The bubble doesnât break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.
âEverything okay?â you ask.
âYeah, yes,â Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. âI, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethinâ I need to do tonight.â
âSounds mysterious,â you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesnât match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.
âRachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,â he explains. âWhen we both agreed to attend the conference.â
âOh,â you blink. âThatâs nice.â
âItâs this thing we do,â Joel offers, shifting on his feet. âA tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.â And you remember, Iâve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.
âThatâs nice,â you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again. Â Â
Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.
Only when youâre alone do you let the smile fall.
After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.
Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday â of her hand on Joelâs arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.
And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because itâs wrong. Joel isnât like that. Joel wouldnât do that.
When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.
âHow did it go?â she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.
âIt was good,â you respond. âI feel good about it. Glad itâs over though.â
âYou never answered my textâ" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. âI was worried something bad mightâve happened.â
âFuck,â you apologise. âYeah, Iâm sorry about that, IâI got caught up with something, I⊠I wasnât looking at my phone.â
Thereâs a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.
âOh you cheeky bitch,â she gasps then. âYou couldâve just said you were getting some!â
âNoraââ you try, stomach dropping.
âWho the fuck was it?â she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. âWas it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?â
âNo, no,â you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. âIt was just a random guy, we⊠I met him at a bar afterwards, itâs no one from Maine. No one from the conference.â
Another pause.
âAnd?â she asks finally. âHow was it?â
You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room â slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.
Quietly, earnestly, you say, âIt was amazing,â and smile when she hollers down the line.
And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if youâre not really talking about him. Even if she canât really know the truth.
You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! Thatâs hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.
âYou really do,â you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.
Are you enjoying your dinner?
He replies within minutes.
Yeah, the restaurant is nice.
What are you doing?
âHey Nora?â you interrupt. âI actually need to go.â
âOh,â she huffs. âAlright, alright, I get it. Youâre gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.â
âI love you,â you laugh, already typing out a response to him. âSee you tomorrow when I get home.â
Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed
You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and thenâ
Show me.
Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.
For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen â that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.
I know you want to show me, sweetheart.
So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.
The response is almost instant.
Jesus.
Are you wet?
You know I am
Are you touching yourself?
No
Good.
Dinner finished early. Where are you?
You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, youâre waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.
Joel doesnât say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home. Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and Iâd never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?
You say, âLetâs go inside,â as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.
âNo,â he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. âWant you here.âÂ
You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists.Â
âYou donât want that?â his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. âDonât want them to see us together?â
âThatâs notââ you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. âFuck, Joel.â
He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you.Â
âYouâre hard already,â you breathe, surprisedâdelighted.
Joel grunts, distracted. âBeen hard since you sent me that picture.â
A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt â tender and swollen and aching.Â
âBut thatâs what you wanted, hmm?â he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. âYou like knowinâ how much I want you? How badly? You like that Iâd leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?â
Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.
âThat is how much I want you. All the fuckinâ time,â he says. âGet it?âÂ
âJoel,â you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. âSâtooâfuck, Joel, itâs too sensitive.â It burns, too much â but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until itâs a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much.Â
âI know, honey,â he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. âYou sore?â
When you donât answer immediately Joelâs fingers still, body straightening as if heâs about to stop, about to pull away.
âDonât,â you say quickly. âJustââ
âMânot goinâ anywhere,â Joel hushes. âDoes it hurt?â
You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. âItâs⊠yeah a little, but itâsâŠâ
âBut you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?â he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he wonât see your reaction. But he doesnât let it slide. Of course not. âTalk to me.â Â
âYeah, yes, I like it,â you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.
âGood,â he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.
His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful â the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.
When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there
âGod,â he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. âYouâre so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, donât you?â Â Â
You can only moan in response â a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.
He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then heâs moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything youâre feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.
âThought about you all night,â he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. âYou know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldnât get this perfect cunt out of my head. Sâdrivinââmeâfuckinââcrazy.â
And itâs sick, itâs awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.
âYeah?â you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. âWhat were you thinking about?âÂ
ââBout how tight you always are,â he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. âHow perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.â He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. âHow, if I can help it, Iâll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.â Â
You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. âPlease,â you mutter desperately. âJoel, please.â
âThought about fillinâ you up,â he continues eagerly. âFuckinâ you so hard, so deep with my come that youâd feel it for days. And youâd be mine.â His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.
âIâm yours,â you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. âYou know I am.â
And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesnât slow down.
âLook at them,â he hushes, voice quietening some.
His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you donât see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but youâre looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.
âI said look at them,â his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.
You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.
Joelâs hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.
âWait,â you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, âSomeone might see.â
âI hope they do,â he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.
His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and itâs intoxicating; a high that youâve never experienced before, and never want to end. You donât realise how loud youâre gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.
âI knew it,â he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.
âAdmit it. Admit you fuckinâ love it,â Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. âDirty little thingâyou want them to see. Say it.âÂ
âFuck,â you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.
âFuckinâ say it,â he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.
âI want it,â you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. âW-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.â
âThatâs it,â he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.
âWant them to know,â you continue, and thereâs tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. âWant them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.â
And itâs too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples â Joelâs touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.
âFuck,â he groans. âCan feel you squeezinâ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?â
âI canât,â you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. âFuck, I donât think I canââ
âHey,â his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. âYou can, you can, I canâtâI fuckinâ need this, need it.â Â
âItâs too much,â you gasp frantically. But your words arenât matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Arenât matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. âFuck, IâmâIâm close but itâs too much, Joel, itâs too much, I canât, I canâtââ
He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.
Thereâs no shying away now, no stuttering or whining â you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.
And you donât notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Donât notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumplesâwrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joelâs mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.
âFuck,â you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. âSo good, youâre so beautiful.â
Joelâs face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like heâs done for you.Â
His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.
After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesnât flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.
âYou okay?â he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.
You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.
You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.
And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if itâs the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if heâs worried it will be the last.
âI should go,â he says, painfully unconvincing.
âYeah,â you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.
Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.
âYou gotta be up early,â he says.
âI do.â
âAnd itâs late,â his eyebrows raise.
âIs it?â you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.
âAre we really doing this again?â you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. âTalk to me.â
âMâtryinâ,â he admits quietly. âTryinâ⊠tryinâ to be good. I want to be good.â
Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you canât name, donât want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.
âYou are good,â you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. âYouâre good, Joel. We are good.â
And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums. Â
Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.
âI hope youâre right.â He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.
Towards you.
thank you for reading! x
#i hope you wanna know what happened at the dinner with rachel#cause i'm gonna tell you#my writing#fic: a lover's pinch#professor!joel#ALP#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller smut
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Even more stargate BTS!
More SGA this time.
#stargate#stargate sg1#jack o'neill#sg1#stargate sg-1#daniel jackson#tealâc#sga#stargate atlantis#stargateatlantis#richard dean anderson#christopher judge#micheal shanks#david hewlett#rodney mckay#jeannie miller#kate Hewlett#carson beckett#paul mcgillion#teyla emmagan#rachel luttrell#joe flanigan#john sheppard#aiden ford#rainbow sun francks
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defending overhated characters on the internet isn't enough. I need a mini gun.
#ginny miller#jenny humphrey#jeremiah fisher#jessica davis#kyle spencer#alyssa chang#nini salazar roberts#sam fraser#deena johnson#jules vaughn#cassie howard#kiara carrera#landon kirby#tina cohen chang#rachel berry#britta perry#annie edison#shirley bennett#emily fields#dan humphrey#aria montgomery#lizzie saltzman#sam carpenter#jaiden rants
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why is it so hard to get over your comfort couples like they're literally fictional
#todd anderson posting#dead poets society#dps#todd anderson#dead poets fandom#neil perry#dps fandom#anderperry#neil and todd#romeo and juliet#romeo montague#juliet capulet#mercutio escalus#benvolio montague#bencutio#secret shanghai#marshall seo#benedikt montagov#friends#ross geller#rachel green#ross and rachel#freaks and geeks#lindsay weir#nick andopolis#new girl#nick miller#jess day
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I hate Greek retellings.
I don't actually hate them like that. I have a few that I love (Percy Jackson, God of war, etc).
Shit like "a Hades and Persephone retelling!" Pisses me off.
Lore Olympus did some damage, fuck Rachel Smythe. Persephone is a self insert of her and Hades is apparently based on Mads Mikkelsen.
AND HOW SHE PORTRAYED APOLLO? He's one of my favorite gods and I don't remember a myth where he "assaulted" someone (correct me if I'm wrong!)
How did she see Apollo and go "I'm going to make him a rapist!" There are a bunch of gods and goddesses who are that, why him?
People had the sheer fucking audacity to attack pagans/witches who work with Apollo. Bitch, it's a real religion/belief that people have been following since the ancient times?
Is this a safe place to say I'm not a fan of Madeline Miller? Circe assaulted Odysseus and Achilles tries to assault Tenes' sister, murdered Tenes, and assaulted Troilus who is Apollo's son in APOLLO'S OWN TEMPLE.
Paris is an icon for putting him downđđŸ
#anti lore olympus#greek retelling#mythology retelling#anti rachel smythe#rachel smythe#hades and persephone#apollo#anti madeline miller#anti circe#anti achilles
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Am i wrong?
I have personal beef with Ovid (IF I HAVE TO GET INTO ONE MORE ARGUMENT ABOUT MEDUSA WITH SOMEONE IM SELLING SOMEONE TO ONE DIRECTION), every time I mention him picture me saying it with the exact expression and tone as this:
#Rick Riordan is also one but he gets a pass cause hes writing for kids and doesnt claim to be accurate#also I like Rick. I dont like Ovid or Rachel#Madeline i have yet to cast judgement on cause i havent read Song of Achilles yet#greek mythology#greek myth#anti lore olympus#anti TSOA#id tag anti Ovid but i dont think thats a tag#anti madeline miller#anti lo#meme#shitpost
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pedro pascal & rachel zegler.
"that's FATHER".
#tbosas#the ballad of songbirds and snakes#thg#the hunger games#rachel zegler#lucy gray baird#pedro pascal#the last of us#movies#tv shows#people's choice awards#joel miller#actors#rachel talking about pedro pascal#i love them#celebrities
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⥠đđđŹđđđ«đ„đąđŹđ
WARNING! Most of the following contain SMUT and/or have a DARK theme.
â„ This masterlist contains all my works, I hope you enjoy!
Dark: ᔠAngst: ᔠFluff: ᶠSmut: ˹
LISA ANN WALTER
Melissa Schemmenti
It's a craving not a crush Ëą
Summary: you caught melissa's interest ever since you started at abbott six months ago. but, you being you, you were blind to her attempts at flirting with you because you thought she was just being well, melissa. however, when ava suggested that you should all have a get together on the last Friday before Christmas, you noticed. and oh, how much you loved it.
In the staffroom Ëą
Summary: melissa getâs jealous that the new teacher at abbott is flirting with you. she makes sure that you know who you belong to.
Chessy
...
JENNIFER ANISTON
When we're alone á¶
Summary: you come home from work to find your girlfriend cooking for you and you can't help but cherish these moments.
Rachel Green
Mismatched shoes Ëą
Summary: rachel can't find an outfit to wear to a party tonight, leading her to become frustrated and anxious about her appearance. she rummages through her closet, trying on multiple options before finally settling on a simple black dress. however, none of her shoes match the dress, causing her to feel even more stressed. you find a way to calm her down, causing you both to not go to the party after all.
City lights á¶
Summary: after rachel arrives at my apartment heartbroken over ross, i comfort her. we sit on the balcony, watching the city lights as i quietly confess how deeply i care for her, even if she doesnât realize the full extent of my feelings yet.
HELEN MCCRORY
Narcissa Malfoy
Please Ëą
Summary: you give narcissa exactly what she has been needing for years.
O children á¶
Summary: for the holidays, you are staying with the malfoys. because of the time you've spent together, you and narcissa have grown closer. narcissa is concerned about draco and the possibility that he will not return in time for christmas, so you try to cheer her up.Â
Polly Gray
...
CHRISTINA RICCI
Marilyn Thornhill
Secret gardens in my mind á¶
Summary: ...
CATE BLANCHETT
Lady Tremaine
Pink and blue masquerade á¶
Summary: you spot a particular redhead at the ball where you are supposed to find a suitor. however, that doesn't stop you. it will never stop you.
Carol Aird
Dearest Ëą
Summary: ...
Lou Miller
...
#wlw#lisa ann walter#lisa ann walter x reader#wattpad#harry potter#narcissa malfoy#christinaricci#malfoy manor#marilynthornhill#wlw romance#wlw post#wlw ns/fw#wlw nsft#sapphic#wlw blog#masterlist#cate blanchett x reader#jennifer aniston#rachel green x reader#lady tremaine x reader#lou miller x reader#marilyn thornhill x reader#narcissa malfoy x reader#melissa schemmenti x reader#chessy x reader#the parent trap
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the numerous love affairs of don draper
#i am so incredibly correct about this#mad men#shipping#don draper#dick whitman#bobbie barrett#pete campbell#michael ginsberg#lane pryce#rachel menken#joan holloway#peggy olson#ted chaough#faye miller#roger sterling#i dont remember diana's surname but i dont think anyone would look up that tag lmao#fandom#ship tag
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autism x adhd but they both have autism and adhd because i said so and they are just so silly hehe so silly i love them
and so so many more
#i donât even know what iâm saying at this point#ofmd#our flag means death#community#abed nadir#troy barnes#trobed#ed x stede#ed and stede#aziracrow#ineffable husbands#ineffable wives#good omens#dana mythic quest#rachel mythic quest#mythic quest#nick and jess#new girl#nick miller#jess day#bubbline#princess bubblegum#marceline#adventure time
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Trap (2024) dir. M. Night Shyamalan
#trap#trap 2024#trapedit#filmedit#lady raven#saleka#saleka shyamalan#cooper abbott#josh hartnett#riley abbott#ariel donoghue#rachel abbott#alison pill#logan abbott#lochlan miller#my gif#/gifset
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HAVE CATSUIT, WILL TRAVEL
Who'd I miss?
#catsuits catsuits catsuits#florence pugh#scarlett johansson#anne hathaway#jessica alba#charlize theron#lee meriwether#julie newmar#honor blackman#diana rigg#bobbie phillips#cobie smulders#mil#milla jovovich#sienna miller#summer glau#rachel nichols#olivia wilde#natalie morales#carrie-anne moss#kate beckinsale#uma thurman#michelle pfeiffer#elizabeth hurley#alicia silvertone#halle berry#ashley scott#anna paquin#famke janssen#lisa ryder
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via elsie fest's instagram âšïž
#darren criss#jordan fisher#rachel zegler#lizzy mcalpine#helen j shen#joy woods#andrew barth feldman#noel carey#nick blaemire#john gallagher jr#adrian enscoe#max adler#curt mega#augie bello#anais mitchell#ryan miller#elsie fest 2024#defying gravity#wicked movie#elsie fest ig#me edits
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