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She shakes her head. “What did you think this was going to be, Rhaenyra? Quickies in my office? You going to finger me in the lunch line?”
Rhaenyra quirks a brow. “I’d wait until we sat down, at least.”
(OR the wet hot (not) american summer dead-poets-society boarding-school-professors au that runs absolutely off the rails)
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Bookmark Notes:
such a beatiful prose
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