valerie

current fave fcs/muses: jared harris and jennifer beals

[prxfessors]

JoJo. 28. AEST.

Indie rp sideblog. Mature plots with mature fcs. My rules are the same as everyone else. Dm always open for plotting. Give me your middle aged women!

open starters. muses. wanted plots. prompts. desired opposites.

main @jojos1x1

ships:

marigolds in winter

maritza x noah

silken restraint

[delucaxbishop]

[bowties-and-sweetdreams]

[midsommars-deactivated20201109]

Rosy (2018) Directed by Jess Bond

[prxfessors]

@fuyante

[prxfessors]

@siinncrs

The soft blue glow of the laptop screen illuminated the dimly lit bedroom. Noah lay beside his wife, his body warm and insistent against hers. She was still propped up against the pillows, fingers flying across the keyboard, that focused expression on her face that always drove him a little mad. "Come to bed, my love," Noah whined softly, his voice a low, teasing rumble as he reached over. His fingers hooked the thin strap of her green camisole, tugging it down with deliberate slowness to expose the curve of her shoulder and the swell of her breast. He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her exposed chest, trailing lower with heated intent until his lips closed around her nipple. He bit down, his tongue swirling in lazy circles. Pulling back slightly, Noah looked up at her with a wicked smirk, his eyes dark with desire behind the faint reflection of the screen. "Or don't…" he murmured, voice husky against her skin. "I can work while you work." His hand slid under the laptop's edge, fingers brushing her thigh suggestively as he held her gaze.

[cestpasfaux24601]

Jared Harris in B.Monkey (1998)

bonus ~

[schnoobums]

Jonathan Carnahan, master of priority.

[prxfessors]

Noah’s mouth opens, ready to argue that a single vague text wasn’t nearly enough to stop him from worrying himself sick, but her quiet admission drains the fight out of him. He lets out a slow, heavy breath and shakes his head, hands settling on his hips, eyes dropping to the floor. For a long moment he just stares at the hardwood, processing.

"We’re a team, aren’t we?" he asks, finally looking back up at her. The words hurt even as he says them, because they haven’t felt like a team in a long time. "Our relationship isn’t something for you alone to ‘fix’, Meena. What about me? I can help. I want to help." His voice softens, almost pleading... however, when she suggests she should have just stayed quiet on their anniversary and left things as they were, he makes a face, brows pulling together in a mixture of confusion and something close to offense. "Why not? That doesn’t make any sense." He takes a small step forward then stops himself as the words come out sharper than he intended.

"If you’re unhappy with me, you need to tell me..." Her words poke at an old wound he’s carried for months; the way she so often keeps things to herself, the careful way she edits what she shares about her family visits to India, the way she withdraws and tries to handle things alone instead of telling him when she needs more from him. "...Because right now, it feels like I'm on life support and you’re deciding whether or not to pull the plug... Don't I deserve a fighting chance?" Of course you don't, Noah. The insecurity flares hot and familiar in his chest. That quiet, gnawing voice that always reminds him he’s the lucky one here. She’s the one with the money, the successful career, the family who could probably find her someone far more suitable. He’s just the academic who forgets anniversaries and plays in the dirt for a living.

[fuyante]

We're a team, aren't we?

His words, though well meaning, fell with a phantom weight of promises long expired. A glance in the reflections of their relationship revealed a trail of frayed edges slowly unraveling with each passing month. I'm not sure we know each other anymore. Except to say such a thing felt needlessly cruel, despite the seed of certainty in her chest. Because if they knew one another, then she would have seen the earnestness in his proposal...and he would have known better than to do it then. You will adjust. A phrase uttered by elders so many times in passing and yet Bharati's words were no less prominent: You still have time to decide if you want to adjust. Merely thinking it filled her with a sense of guilt as she witnessed the shift in his emotions, her fingers twitching along the windowsill.

His request sounded so simple, yet Meena was familiar with wounds borne from emotional honesty, of the scars left when someone dared to rise above maintaining peace. "We've given this a fighting chance." Her words teetered on hollow, a gentle resignation woven in threads of sadness. "We've met one another's parents, we live together, we intertwined our lives..." And here we are. Her throat tightened. There were sharper things she could have said: complaints, resentments, fears buried for months. Things would no doubt delve into an argument and that along filled her with a sense of anxiety. "I think we have different approaches to life and different ways of communicating. I think we love each other," she admitted sincerely because denying it would have been pointless, "but in some ways...we don't understand each other. In some ways we're strangers." The next sentence nearly caught in her throat. "And I fear we're holding on to something that's already faded."

[prxfessors]

Noah stands frozen for a beat, her words hitting him like a slow-motion collapse. His chest tightens painfully, a sick, hollow feeling spreading through his stomach. He didn’t know it had gotten this bad. He knew things had been strained since the last trip to India, but strangers? The word hits him like a gut punch. He scoffs, a sharp, disbelieving sound that echoes in the quiet apartment. "Wh-where is this coming from?" His voice cracks with disbelief. He feels slightly hysterical, like the ground beneath him is crumbling and he’s watching it happen in real time. "I'm sorry I forgot our anniversary. I’m sorry the proposal came out all wrong! But strangers, Meena?!" He shakes his head, looking physically ill, his face paling as the full weight of her words sinks in. The woman he’s been sleeping next to, waking up beside, building a home with… thinks they’re strangers. It makes him want to be sick.

"I don’t believe you," he continues, voice rising with raw emotion. "How can you stand there and say we’ve given this a proper fighting chance, when you’ve been going out with other men every time you go home to India?" His nostrils flare, eyes glistening with barely-held tears and mounting anger. "Yes, I know about your suitors. Do you even tell them you're taken?" The question hangs heavy in the air. "What am I to you? A placeholder until you find someone more suitable? How would you feel if I was going on dates with other women every time I went overseas? Keeping my options open too?" He takes a shaky breath, trying to steady himself, but the hurt keeps pouring out. "And you know what? I wouldn’t have even cared that much if you had just told me... If we’re strangers, Meena, it’s because you’d rather discuss what goes on between us with your cousins and friends - people who have never liked me - instead of speaking to me like I’m actually your partner, and not just your roommate."

[schnoobums]

THE MUMMY (1999)

endless gifs of Jonathan Carnahan 11/?

[prxfessors]

"You'll see," Noah grinned, a spark of mischief in his blue eyes. When Meena complimented him, he stood a little taller. "Thank you," he replied, warmth colouring his cheeks. As they crossed the threshold, Noah leaned in slightly, voice dropping with dry humour. "You know, I was just getting comfortable with the breeze between my legs when you kicked me out of-"

"Mr. Noah! My favourite Englishman." The host, an older Chinese man, spotted Noah and lit up. "Good to see you back on your feet!" he called out, coming around the stand to clap him on the shoulder. "Table is ready, just as you asked. Come, come." Noah gave Meena a quick, almost boyish glance before they followed the host through the cozy dining room. The man led them to a quiet corner table, partially tucked behind a beautifully painted folding screen for privacy. Soft lighting glowed over the crisp white tablecloth, which had been decorated with a small vase of fresh flowers and a little tea light. Right beside them sat a large, gently bubbling fish tank filled with colourful koi and neon tetras, casting shifting light across the table. Noah pulled out Meena’s chair for her, waiting until she was seated before taking his own. He was aware this wasn’t the most upscale place in New York, but was hoping the effort and charm would count for something. Plus the food here was excellent.

"I’ve been coming here for years," he explained, settling in with a small, genuine smile. "Mr. and Mrs. Wei were some of the first friends I made when I moved here from London, ten years ago. They practically adopted me when I didn’t know a soul in the city." He gave a light, self-deprecating chuckle. "I can cook, by the way," he added jokingly, eyes meeting hers across the table. "But it seemed only fitting to get takeaway while I was still unpacking boxes in a new country."

[fuyante]

Meena's eyes had just begun to widen, unsure if he was about to say what she thought was about to say, when an older man's voice cut through just in the nick of time. A quiet breath left her and she couldn't help a smile as Noah was swept along in the flow of things. Inside, soft lighting and low conversation gave the restaurant an inviting intimacy. It felt lived in, beloved. As they followed the host deeper inside, Meena found her attention drifting to passing tables, drawn by the fragrant dishes tickling her senses. There was open curiosity in the way she catalogued each plate, mentally narrowing down possibilities as if she even knew the names. She was so focused that it took her a a beat to realize they were stepping behind a partition. Her gaze swept over the tucked away table, lingering first on the small vase of flowers, then the flickering tea light, before settling on the large aquarium nearby bathing the corner in a quiet, dreamlike glow. It was far more romantic than she'd anticipated and something about that realization made her face feel warm. This is a proper date. She draped the coat neatly over the back of her chair before claiming her seat, al but hidden from view of most of the dining room now.

"Oh, how lovely." Meena smiled, her eyes crinkling when he assured her he could in fact cook. "If you didn't cook, I don't think anyone would notice." She teased gently. "Most of my coworkers live off takeout or dine in- unless they have children." A faint lift of her shoulder followed. "I do think people get attached to certain places here. Especially transplants. Everyone has that one restaurant they swear by from when they first arrived." Her fingers traced along the edge of her napkin as she glanced around, a thoughtful warmth in her voice. "I think it's very telling when someone brings you to their favorite place." Her eyes returned to his then, softer now beneath the aquarium's shifting blue hues. "It's like getting a peek into them." A small smile touched her lips after she said it, recognizing how sentimental it sounded despite believing it all the same. "Ten years is a long time away from home. What brought you to New York?"

[prxfessors]

Noah watched as Meena slipped off her coat and draped it over the back of her chair. The rust-coloured dress underneath caught the soft light beautifully, and he drew in a quiet breath, suddenly feeling a little out of his depth. Even so, Noah couldn’t stop smiling. It was subtle but persistent, the kind of smile that reached his eyes and made the corners crinkle. He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, utterly captivated by the calm, melodic way she spoke. It was the same soothing voice he remembered drifting through the anaesthesia fog; warm, steady, and far too easy to listen to for hours. "And what peek are you getting from my favourite restaurant?" he asked, blue eyes bright with amusement and curiosity.

"Adventure, mostly. I’m an archaeologist by trade. Fancied myself a little like Indiana Jones, minus the whip and the hat, sadly." He gave a lopsided grin, a touch of embarrassment colouring his cheeks. "I wanted a completely new setting. Different energy. Different stories buried under the concrete." Noah paused, gaze softening as he studied her face in the gentle blue glow from the fish tank. "And you?… forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but I love your accent. It’s beautiful. How long have you been in New York? Or are you a native to the city?" He tilted his head slightly, clearly content to let her talk all evening if she wanted. A few moments later, their waiter appeared, politely placing menus in front of them both with a knowing little smile, clearly in on Mr. Wei's special treatment. "Good evening. Can I get you both something to drink to start?" the young man asked.

[connerys]

Charade (1963) dir. Stanley Donen

[fuyante]

@prxfessors

[prxfessors]

@fuyante

Even as evening began, the dusty streets of Cairo hummed under the relentless Egyptian sun. Noah Fischer wiped the sweat from his brow and pushed through the heavy wooden door of the dimly lit bar. The place was a classic Cairo watering hole with low ceilings, flickering oil lamps, and the sharp scent of hookah smoke. It wasn't his first time in this chaotic city, but he still stuck out like a sore thumb. Tall, fair-haired, dressed in a slightly rumpled cream linen suit with a loosely knotted tie, like a proper Englishman who’d taken a wrong turn on the way to the British Embassy. Back in London, he'd been a mediocre archaeologist... more treasure hunter than scholar, if he was honest. He'd only gotten into the field for the money. But nothing important had ever turned up. His late mentor, Dr. Harrington, had been the real expert on ancient Egypt. Noah had just tagged along for the funding and the occasional big score that never came.

Then British Intelligence came knocking. They'd pieced together whispers that the Americans were sniffing around for some legendary artifact, and worse, the Germans were in the mix too. The target? The Book of Amun-Ra, said to be hidden in the lost city of Hamunaptra. Most dismissed it as myth, a fairy tale. But the Queen wanted whatever ancient power might be buried out there in the sand - better in British hands than anyone else's. Intelligence had better things to do than chase ghosts, so they recruited Noah. Your mentor's notes are our best lead. And so here he was. No grand expedition, just a solo mission with a local guide, a man named Anouilh. Instructions had been clear: meet at this bar, wait, make contact quietly.

Noah had been nursing the same warm drink for over an hour now, boredom setting in hard. He'd asked around for Anouilh earlier, discreetly at first, then with growing impatience, but the responses were the same. Narrowed eyes, muttered curses, and a few locals who spat on the floor near his boots. Either Anouilh was bad news, or the locals were simply fed up with foreigners digging up their history like it was their own backyard. Sighing, Noah reached into the bowl of dates on the bar, a small mercy for his rumbling stomach. He leaned back against the worn wooden counter, scanning the room with that roguish half-smile of his, and his eyes landed on a striking woman at the end of the bar. Noah straightened up a bit, running a hand through his messy dark hair. "Well now," he said, his British accent smooth and playful as he slid a little closer, flashing a grin. "Name's Noah. Waiting on a rather unreliable fellow, but suddenly the wait doesn't seem so bad. Care for a date?" He offered one from the bowl with a wink, his tone light but undeniably flirtatious, the weight of his secret mission momentarily forgotten.

[prxfessors]

Her words hit him like a shockwave. Noah couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. Sweet, proper Meena - the same woman who blushed at PDA - was whispering filthy, desperate things to him while her parents slept under the same roof. Begging him to finish inside her every time. Saying she wanted him tired and spent. It short-circuited his brain completely. A deep, broken moan tore out of him as his hand sped up, stroking himself hard and fast. "Yes…" he groaned, voice wrecked. "Fuck, Meena…" He could barely string his thoughts together. The contrast between her proper daytime demeanor and this needy, possessive version of her had him reeling. "I’ll come inside you every time. I can never hold back with you," he panted, words rough and simple, unable to form clever sentences. All he could do was stroke himself and try to answer her. "You feel too good… always so tight and wet for me. I can’t… I can't stop myself." He swallowed hard, hips jerking up into his fist as he pictured her touching herself just a few doors away, legs spread, fingers buried deep while she thought of him.

"In the garden… in that beautiful marigold saree… I wanted you so badly. I wanted to lift your saree up around your waist, tug your panties down your thighs and take you right there against one of those palm trees." His breathing was ragged, and that familiar low groan started building in the back of his throat, the one Meena knew meant he was right on the edge. "I want to give you everything… I’ll fill you again and again, until you're dripping with me. I want to make you the happiest woman on earth, Meena." His voice cracked slightly, thighs tensing, teetering right on the edge, waiting for her to either push him over or tell him to hold back.

[fuyante]

Heat swept through her so intensely it almost felt unbearable. To think he'd been imagining taking her there, beneath heavy blossoms of her mother's garden... Such a pervert. And yet, she craved it. Loved the gravel roughening his voice, the way his breaths deepened with each sound she made for him, every crack in composure nudging her closer to the edge until her thighs began to tense. "You can't finish yet." Words barely held together between uneven breaths and soft sounds she could no longer suppress. "No." She repeated weakly, greedier this time. "You said you'd put it where it belongs. You can't waste it." Her face burned at the admission, yet the image only dragged her deeper- the thought of him pent up, saving everything until he could have her properly again. "I want all of it." She whispered, voice softening into something almost desperate. "I want to feel how you missed me."

By then, every sound from him pulled another needy motion from her hips. The thin fabric of her pajamas clinging to damp skin while she buried her face into the sheets. "Noah-" His name dissolved into a broken sound as pleasure crashed through her, warm and overwhelming enough to make her curl inward. Her body tensed hard against the mattress, hips stuttering through it while she tried and failed to stay quiet, the phone nearly slipping from her hand. Her body stayed tense for several long seconds after, small tremors moving through her legs as she slowly came down from her high. Her entire body felt warm. Heavy. Still aching with the lingering want of him.

[prxfessors]

Noah was right there - cock throbbing hard in his fist, hips jerking up, breath ragged - when her words cut through him. You can’t finish yet. He let out a deep, tortured groan, the sound strained and frustrated as he forced his hand to slow down, then stop completely. His cock twitched angrily in protest, leaking steadily, but he obeyed, chest heaving as he listened to her fall apart. He stayed perfectly still, eyes shut tight, drinking in every shaky moan, every broken whimper of his name as Meena came. The sounds she made were exquisite; soft, desperate, trying so hard to stay quiet and failing beautifully. It was pure torture, and he loved every second of it. "I didn’t waste it…" he whispered, when her breathing finally started to even out, voice rough and low. "I’m going to wait for you..." His tone was deep, hungry, edged with a slight pain, but entirely for her ears alone.

He was still trembling, cock painfully hard and untouched now in his boxers. He reached down to adjust himself, wincing, then wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his arm. "I love you, you wicked woman. Building me up like that and then telling me, no." A dark, affectionate chuckle slipping out despite how wound up he was. "I’m going to make you pay for that. The next time I finally get my hands on you… I’m not letting you sleep. Not until you’re shaking and dripping and can’t even remember your own name." He let out a slow, shaky exhale, trying to calm his racing heart. "Goodnight, baby. Sleep well." He ended the call, even as his body still ached with unspent need. He wanted her to drift off feeling wanted and adored, not self-conscious about what she’d just let herself say.

[filmgifs]

Paul Newman in From the Terrace (1960) dir. Mark Robson

[prxfessors]

Noah set the glass down on the nightstand with a soft clink, his last sip of Amrut burning pleasantly down his throat. He couldn’t focus on anything else now, only her shaky breaths, those soft, desperate little moans she was failing to hide, and the way her voice trembled when she asked if he’d take her right here, in her bedroom. The thought sent a sharp pulse of heat through him. "Yes…" he groaned deeply, his hand tightening, stroking firmer now, the slick sound barely audible over his ragged breathing. Closing his eyes, he let her words wash over him... And I'd be so quiet for you…no one would know... it made something primal flare hot in his chest. She so rarely let herself speak this way, and when she did, when she got demanding, it drove him absolutely crazy.

"You're mine, Meena. Only mine," he growls, voice thick with possession. "Yes, I promise… you’re the only one who get me like this. The only one who ever will," he rasped, the words coming out almost reverent. "God, I wish I was inside you right now." He let out a heavy, frustrated groan, hips lifting slightly into his hand. It was nothing compared to her; nothing compared to that perfect, slick grip that always seemed to pull him deeper.

"I’d take you so slowly, make you feel every inch until I’m buried completely. Then I’d just stay there, feeling you throb and squeeze around me while you try so hard to stay quiet." He swallowed hard, thumb swiping over the leaking head of his cock, and a low, needy sound escaped him. "I’d hold you tight against me, one hand over your mouth if you couldn’t stay silent, and whisper in your ear the whole time... tell you how perfect you feel… how you’re mine. How I’m going to come so deep inside you that you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

[fuyante]

A broken little whine slipped as she pressed her slick fingers deeper, a knee bent as her hips moved in uneven, needy motions against her palm. It was hardly enough and every word from him only made it worse. The image he painted settled easily in her body: the feeling of him slowly pressing into her heat until he was buried to the hilt, right where he should be. When he spoke about finishing deep inside her, Meena's breath caught sharply. "Noah…" She whimpered softly. "You have to come inside me every time, okay?" The plea left her in a breathless rush, desperate and earnest all at once. "I love feeling full of you after. I like knowing you couldn't hold back." Another soft sound escaped her as she buried her face briefly in the pillow, trying and failing to steady herself. "That you wanted me so badly you had to." Her breathing had gone completely uneven, little catches and shaky exhales slipping free between words.

His name broke from her in another needy whisper as her hips rocked harder against her own hand, chasing the feeling of him she could almost convince herself was real. "I can't stop thinking about you touching me." She admitted breathlessly. "Everywhere I go here I keep imagining you there with me." Her fingers moved faster now, desperation overtaking patience entirely as another helpless moan fell. "In the garden…in the shower...in the living room…You've made me so spoiled." She swallowed hard, voice turning soft and frantic all at once. "My body only wants you." Another breath. "I want you tired after," she added weakly, "so I know I took everything from you too." Her body tightened suddenly beneath her own touch, the sensation sharp enough to make her gasp softly into the dark.

[prxfessors]

Her words hit him like a shockwave. Noah couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. Sweet, proper Meena - the same woman who blushed at PDA - was whispering filthy, desperate things to him while her parents slept under the same roof. Begging him to finish inside her every time. Saying she wanted him tired and spent. It short-circuited his brain completely. A deep, broken moan tore out of him as his hand sped up, stroking himself hard and fast. "Yes…" he groaned, voice wrecked. "Fuck, Meena…" He could barely string his thoughts together. The contrast between her proper daytime demeanor and this needy, possessive version of her had him reeling. "I’ll come inside you every time. I can never hold back with you," he panted, words rough and simple, unable to form clever sentences. All he could do was stroke himself and try to answer her. "You feel too good… always so tight and wet for me. I can’t… I can't stop myself." He swallowed hard, hips jerking up into his fist as he pictured her touching herself just a few doors away, legs spread, fingers buried deep while she thought of him.

"In the garden… in that beautiful marigold saree… I wanted you so badly. I wanted to lift your saree up around your waist, tug your panties down your thighs and take you right there against one of those palm trees." His breathing was ragged, and that familiar low groan started building in the back of his throat, the one Meena knew meant he was right on the edge. "I want to give you everything… I’ll fill you again and again, until you're dripping with me. I want to make you the happiest woman on earth, Meena." His voice cracked slightly, thighs tensing, teetering right on the edge, waiting for her to either push him over or tell him to hold back.

[victoryrifle]

THE MUMMY (1999) dir. Stephen Sommers

[bcrrycakes]

CLOSED STARTER for @prxfessors PLOT: just vibing, coworkers?? MUSE: maddison "maddie" ellis, 43, she/her, bi demisexual, archivist

TAKING ON A NEW POSITION was both exciting and terrifying. maddie was not a fan of change. she was routined, found comfort in them. having to change those routines and figure out a new city was overwhelming in a way that maddie didn't quite know how to describe. but her recent breakup and the subsequent tensions at work due to the fractured friendships made the change a necessary evil. then her ex could continue to say whatever he wanted to say about her and she would be too far away for any of it to matter. and with settling into her new apartment and job there was little time to even think about him or their friends, anyway. it felt like she had blinked and the first two weeks had gone by. maddie, unsurprisingly, had barely introduced herself to any of her colleagues. she had tried to keep to herself as much as possible ⏤ not wanting to mess anything up when she was still so new. maddie was finishing up for the day when one of her new colleague's approached. they said something about grabbing dinner or a few drinks and it took maddie a moment to realize they were speaking to her. "oh, right, um -," maddie paused for a moment, thinking of a polite way to decline before remembering her painfully bare refrigerator and cabinets, "yeah, that sounds nice." making a new friend wouldn't hurt, right? it wasn't like they were asking her out on a date. maddie didn't need a repeat situation from her last job.

[prxfessors]

The group had settled into a corner booth at the little wine bar downtown, the kind with low lighting and jazz humming in the background. June wore a tailored black button-down rolled at the sleeves, the top two buttons undone. Effortless, but deliberate. She had made sure she was sitting directly across from the new girl. She’d been watching Maddie for the last two weeks: the way the redhead kept her head down in staff meetings, the quiet confidence in her stride despite the obvious nerves... June wasn’t the welcome committee type, usually left that to the chatty ones, but tonight she’d made the move. June had a well-documented weakness for redheads. Always had...

She waited until the others were deep in their own chatter before turning her full attention to Maddie. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her dark curls falling just so over one shoulder. "So," June said, her voice low and warm, a little smoky from the single cigarette she’d allowed herself on the walk over. "I heard you’re new in the city?" She took a sip of her old fashioned, letting the question hang. "What’s your story, Maddie?" She tilted her head, a small smirk playing at her lips.