#pre corona

[thunderon]

judith is so underrated i could cry like this kills me:

judith refuses corona’s offer because judith wants her and there is never a way judith wouldn’t want her, not in this life or any other.

[asthedeathoflight]

Do you think Pyrrha and Cam ever bonded over being the hottest cavaliers at their respective Canaan houses

[daughterofhecata]

Fun detail für eine Story, die ich noch nicht mal wirklich angefangen habe (es sind hauptsächlich Bruchstücke und concept notes bisher): Justus beschuldigt Victor (halb im Spaß) für den Einbruch ins Grüne Gewölbe verantwortlich zu sein und Victor ist beleidigt, weil er das definitiv eleganter gemacht hätte.

[homoangel]

so after 14 seasons of uhm how do you say.. not wearing these stupid ass uniforms

they decided to yk ..wear these stupid ass uniforms

and so i guess my question is just um why?? why did they do that??

[mothpdf]

holidays with my mother are great bc we'll just go places

[andredias95]

871. Plasencia Cosecha 151 San Diego Pre Release

Gifted by Rodrigo Medina, Sales Director Europe of Plasencia Cigars.Location: This review was made indoors in a cigar lounge.Information:Wrapper: Honduras Binder: Honduras Filler: Honduras Origin: Honduras Factory: Tabacos Oriente (Honduras)Box: Sold in 10 count boxes. Release: 2023Availability: Regular Production Size: 5.75×46, Corona Gorda. (Pre Release bands on it). Wrapper: Coffee bean brown,…

[freelancearsonist]

make a move on me

➔ pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x reader - 5.5k

➔ You've been teasing Joel every day since he started remodeling construction on your house. He finally works up the courage to do something about it - but not in the way you expect him to.

➔ Rated MA for baby’s first anal fic protected p in a and anal fingering (r receiving), age gap (reader is early 20’s, joel is 36), m masturbation/pillowhumping, daddy kink, size kink, praise kink, gentle-turned-rough sex, pet names (baby, darling, honey, good girl, baby girl, little lady), slight degradation and condescension but only in a sexy way, one use of “slut”, pussy pronouns, one (1) pussy slap, gratuitous dickscription, heavy dom/sub dynamics i mean seriously these power dynamics are out of control, tommy is a little bit of a shit (affectionate) [pls let me know if i missed anything at all :)]

➔ This reader insert character: has female anatomy and uses feminine pronouns, no name/no use of y/n, is generally able-bodied, fits in joel’s shirt and is implied to be shorter/smaller than him, is on summer break from college but no major/year is mentioned.

Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. Keep his hands to himself and his mind on the job. Don’t fret over the pretty little thing who’s been draping herself all over the house ever since he started demo, practically begging to be fucked.

If he had any sense, he would pack his shit and drop the job–or, at the very least, tell your parents to put you on a leash. But there’s a little part of him that might be a glutton for punishment–that savors the teasing.

The most infuriating part of the whole thing is that he can’t blame you for this whole mess. He shouldn’t be so quick to temptation. You should be able to walk around your own home in whatever you want and not have to worry about the creepy contractor getting flustered every time he looks in your general direction.

But god, you make it hard–double entendre intended. You walk around like you haven’t a care in the world because you don’t; you’re home for summer break after a grueling year at college, and you intend to savor every languid second of it. Your preferred method of savoring just happens to be wearing tight little bikinis that barely hold anything in place as you lounge out by the pool in the Texas heat, or tight leggings that hug your ass so perfectly it almost makes him jealous of the material as you curl up with a book on your couch.

Joel’s a grown man. He can keep it in his pants, no matter how badly he wants you. But you’re not exactly making it easy on him.

Really, it’s Tommy’s fault when the levee breaks. If he could keep his big mouth shut, Joel might’ve been able to maintain the thin control he had over himself. But Tommy goes and makes an off-handed comment about you one night, and that’s the beginning of the downward spiral.

The brothers are both lounging on Joel’s couch after a particularly taxing day of demolition work, beers cradled in hands and the TV droning uselessly with some movie that they’re more staring at than actually watching. It’s late, yet weary muscles are melted so comfortably into the couch that neither of them try to move even after Sarah’s gone off to bed.

Tommy’s eyes flicker over to Joel, then back to the TV. “That girl’s gon’ be trouble for us, brother.”

There’s a question mark in the grunt Joel emits, leaning forward with interest because he knows Tommy’s talking about you without any specification.

Tommy hums in confirmation and takes a sip of his Corona. “She’s always wearin’ those skimpy little outfits a’hers, and she ain’t coy. Must catch that pretty little thing starin’ at your ass even more than I catch you starin’ at hers.”

Joel plays it off as best as he can until Tommy goes home for the night with a half-assed promise to actually be on time in the morning for once. Then he goes up to his room, locks the door, and wraps himself around the spare pillow that lays against his headboard.

He tries so desperately hard not to think about the plump round curve of your ass, or the enticing way you lick your lips, or those damned little bikinis you favor. He grinds his aching cock into the soft pillowcase and tries to think about anything that isn’t you.

But he comes with a muffled growl of your name anyway, face pushed deep into the pillow and hips jerking arrhythmically.

There’s not much he can do now besides clean himself up and try not to think about how thoroughly fucked he is.

The next day is torture because he can feel your gaze lingering. He catches you checking him out on more than one occasion, and you’re brazen about it now. You can tell something has shifted, so you shift with it. Where you once would’ve flushed with heat and hurried away to your room, you now meet his heated eye contact and hold it.

Joel’s jaw hurts that night from the way it’s been hard-set and clenched all day long. He rubs over his sore temporomandibular joints with his long, thick fingers and wills himself to siphon you out from beneath his skin.

It doesn’t work.

The work helps. Laying tile is something he normally considers tedious, but it’s a welcome reprieve in your home because he can get down on his hands and knees and focus on something that isn’t you.

You see the labor he’s going through, and you appreciate it. And really, what kind of host would you be if you didn’t reward his efforts?

It starts with a pitcher of iced tea. It’s made just the way Joel likes it, with light ice and a few slices of lemon. He doesn’t know how you could possibly guess that, but it makes him want you that much more.

And then it’s cookies. Pain-stakingly handmade oatmeal raisin cookies, to be exact. You’re like something out of his most shameful domestic dreams in your cute floral-patterned apron and oven mitts as you pull the tray of cookies out of the oven, and an image of you in nothing but those mitts and that apron flickers through his mind before he can stop it.

All the while you traipse around the house like a mirage–humming along to the yacht rock that drifts from Joel’s stereo, swaying your hips in the kitchen as you put together the most delicious bologna sandwich Joel’s ever eaten, toweling off your soaking wet body after an afternoon in the pool. You’re the worst temptation Joel’s ever had to face.

It becomes his mantra. Be respectful, be respectful, be respectful.

But there’s no respect in your eyes. There’s nothing honorable about the way you bite your lip and smirk when he catches your gaze lingering on him.

Joel had one rule for himself going into this job: be respectful. But why should he have to play nice if you don’t?

And really, the whole thing is Tommy’s fault. He started it with that first comment about you, and then he goes and calls out sick (read: horribly hungover) this morning. He leaves Joel all alone with you–gives you the perfect opening to pounce.

Or, more accurately, entice Joel into pouncing on you.

He’s just setting his tool bag down, about to decide where he wants to start today, when your beautiful face pops in through the door.

“Good morning, Joel,” you say with that gorgeous smile of yours that makes his knees go a little weak. “No Tommy today?”

He nearly chokes on his own tongue when you step further into the room wearing a plaid button-up he left here earlier in the week and booty shorts so small he has to do a doubletake to make sure you’re actually wearing anything on your lower half. You look fucking good in his shirt, and suddenly all he can think about is pulling you in and bending you over the half-finished vanity–

“N-no. He’s sick,” Joel manages to choke out. He takes a deep breath to steady himself, then, “that’s my shirt, isn’t it?”

You look down and rub the time-worn fabric between your fingers like you have to think about it, like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.

“Oh, it must’ve gotten mixed in with our laundry!” The little giggle you let out is so innocent that he almost believes you. Almost. “Here–”

You start to lift the fabric up your torso in the most tantalizingly slow fashion, and he just sits there and watches it happen. He sees the first peek of skin above the waistband of your shorts, and then your beautiful stomach, then the delicious curve of a breast–

He quickly jolts out a hand to stop you in the midst of mentally willing every single molecule in his dick to control itself. “S’alright, darlin’. You keep it. Looks better on you, anyway.”

“Okay,” you acquiesce and let the fabric drop back down into its rightful place. “Can I get you anything? Water maybe?”

He certainly could use it. His neck and face are flushed red, and there’s sweat starting to form at his temples despite the relatively cool temperature within the house.

He realizes, with startling clarity, that he’s at a precipice right now. This might be the only chance he gets to really do something about this burgeoning tension that’s spread thicker than butter between you and him. He’s got a choice to make, and it’s not going to be an easy choice.

“Sure.” It comes out a bit too high-pitched, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Sure, sweetheart. That’d be great.”

“Alright,” you say with that damned giggle again. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as you leave the room, Joel feels like he can breathe again. It’s so much easier to think straight when you’re not standing there, smiling up at him and looking so damn gorgeous.

He’s got two options, when it boils down to it: fuck you or leave you alone. And he really, really wants to take you. Make you scream his name while he pounds himself into you, fill you so full that you never completely wash him out. And you want it too, he knows you do, you’re practically begging for it.

But he promised himself he would be respectful. That he would keep his hands away from the girl that’s definitely too young and too pure for someone like him–because he knows that if has you, he’ll never be able to get enough.

There’s a very clear and obvious loophole that comes to mind now; a way he could have you without ruining you, a way you could both come out of this satisfied yet mostly intact. Joel’s never been opposed to doing the hard jobs, after all.

He’s got a condom in his wallet and KY jelly in his bag–mostly used for plumbing fittings, but it’ll do the job for this kind of pipework, too.

You come back with a glass of ice water, and his resolve slips. How the hell is he supposed to initiate this? What if you say no and think he’s disgusting? What if you tell your parents? He can’t do this, this was such a horrible idea, he–

Your touch on his back is like a gentle breeze, just a flutter of your fingers to alert him to your return. He flinches a bit at the sudden contact, but when he turns you’re still so achingly close. He can smell the agonizingly sweet aroma of your conditioner and the lotion you slather on your body after showering, and all he wants is more. He wants to wrap you around him, to inhale that scent straight from the source. His resolve is back, just like that.

He doesn’t give himself another opportunity to hesitate. He places one big, meaty palm on your cheek and wraps the other around your hand that holds the glass of ice water to steady you; and then he kisses you with such bruising force it almost knocks the wind out of you.

You moan. You actually moan the second his lips meet yours, and he knows just like that–with a startling moment of clarity–that this isn’t going to be enough. He’s going to take, and take, and take–gorge himself on you until you have nothing left to give. And the strangest thing of the whole matter is that he thinks you’ll actually enjoy his greed.

“Joel–”

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmurs as his lips break away from yours–so low and soft in your ear it can’t be anything but a growl. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop right now.”

“I want it,” you affirm.

He searches your eyes, but he finds only earnest honesty and lust. That darkness, that pure and unadulterated want is enough to make his pants tighten. “Fuck.” 

He’s so big underneath your roaming hands as he crowds you back against the long bathroom vanity. He lifts you like you’re nothing and sets you on the counter top; he slots himself between your legs and there’s an actual stretch in your muscles to accommodate the width of his hips. One of his wide palms slips behind your head and his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging a little bit to angle your head just the way he wants it. It’s messy and frenzied and desperate–your hands gliding over tee shirt-covered muscle, his tugging your (his) shirt up over your stomach.

“Was starting to think you weren’t interested.” Your voice is heavy and breathy as he breaks away to tug the shirt over your head, casting it aside to lie forgotten on the floor.

“I’ve been tryna convince myself m’not,” he kisses into your neck. “Didn’t work.”

With a sudden roll of his hips, he has you gasping into his neck. He can’t be more than half-hard, but that bulge is formidable. Thick and straining and… suddenly you can’t focus on anything except getting him out of those tight jeans to see what you’re working with.

Your hand just barely fits around him. He’s thick and flushed, getting harder with each passing second as he scatters feather-light kisses over your neck and shoulders. He muffles a groan into your neck as you slowly pump his length–you think he’s seven, maybe eight inches at best guess. The tip of him is flushed red once you get his uncut skin out of the way, and it makes your mouth water. There’s a slight upward curve to him and a long, prominent vein that runs down the left side. It’s porn star material–you didn’t know real people had dicks like this.

“Joel… Jesus, that’s gonna be a tight fit.”

“Oh, don’t worry darlin’,” he hums, thumb ghosting over your clit in a way that makes your entire body jolt. “It ain’t goin’ in there.”

There’s nothing but pure excitement in your voice, despite the anxious gulp that tracks down your throat. “Where…”

“Flip over f’me.”

You follow his instruction with a sort of morbid curiosity, hopping down from the counter before folding yourself over it.

You can feel his eyes on you, as he takes in your willingness. It’s like you’re on display for him, for his appraisal. You’ve still got shorts and a bra on, yet you’ve never felt more exposed.

It’s almost like he can sense your mind swirling–maybe it’s because his is prone to do the same. He sets a gentle hand on your back and smooths it down your spine as he crowds up against you–you can feel the press of his exposed cock against the curve of your ass, and it makes you shiver.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmurs as he folds over you, caging you in with the delicious weight of his body. His lips trace along the curve of your jaw and down your neck as he speaks. “But I made myself this little promise that I wouldn’t fuck you. You got me actin’ so unprofessional, honey.”

You whine at the sincerity in his voice–all you’ve wanted since the day he started was for him to have you folded over and at his mercy like this. 

“You can fuck me,” you whine earnestly. “It’s okay, I promise. Won’t tell.”

“Mmm, I know. You’re too good a girl to go gettin’ me in trouble over somethin’ like this,” he hums–you can hear the condescension in his voice even as he praises you, and it makes your cunt clench around nothing. “But with all the teasin’ you been doin’... don’t rightly know that you deserve to be fucked.”

“Please–”

“However,” he continues, landing a light smack to your ass in retaliation for your interruption, “might be willin’ to take you anyway, with some conditions. Out of the goodness of my heart.”

He pauses to let you ask, “What conditions?”

And then he pauses again, asking his own question this time. Is he really going to go through with this? But he’s spent the better part of two weeks staring at your ass, and you’ve spent the better part of two weeks putting it on display for him. It’s like you’ve been silently asking him all this time to take it.

His hand slides down from where it rests on your spine, over your tailbone to where he’s been thinking about all this time. He feels the way your muscles tense up even through your shorts, and it sends a thrill he can’t describe coursing through his veins.

“You ever taken someone here before?”

“N-no.” He feels it again as his other hand comes to soothingly rub your hip–that excited-yet-nervous flutter of muscle. You haven’t run away screaming yet, and that’s the biggest motivator he could have to keep going.

“I think you ought to let me. As a thank you, for puttin’ up with all your play,” he growls into your ear.

It’s fucking dirty, the idea of letting a man you hardly know take you in such a taboo way. It’s even dirtier how fucking excited the idea has you.

“You say no right now and I’ll drop it,” he murmurs so sweetly. “Don’t ever have to talk about this again.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished talking–a sly smirk spreading over your lips as you grind back against him hard enough to make him choke on a moan.

“It’s only right,” you affirm. “Gotta make it up to you for how naughty I’ve been.’

His eyes flash dangerously as he grinds his cock against you again, smearing precome against the flimsy fabric of your shorts. “Atta fuckin’ girl.”

He has your bottoms and panties down around your ankles in a flash, and he actually groans at the sight of your sticky cunt all puffy and wet and on display for him.

He can’t resist the urge to swipe a finger through your folds, delighting in the string of shiny arousal that connects his finger to your core when he pulls away. “She wants it so bad, hmm? Such a shame she ain’t gettin’ any.”

It tugs a moan from your throat, especially when he drags as much slick as he can up to circle your tightest hole. He feels the way you flutter with apprehension, and he leans back down to kiss the corner of your jaw.

“Gonna get you nice and ready, I promise. M’not gonna hurt you, baby girl.”

“Thank you, da–” You almost lost yourself there for a second–almost laid your whole hand of cards out on the table for him to see. You try not to get flustered over the slip–you simply clear your throat and try again. “Thank you, Joel.” But you aren’t nearly as smooth as you hope to be.

In a flash Joel’s free hand is lifting your head, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. They’re so much darker than normal, and it only serves to make you wetter.

“What’d you call me?”

“J-Joel.”

His hand slips down to your throat and gives it a warning squeeze–his jaw is set, you know he isn’t playing. “Try again, and tell the truth this time.”

“D… daddy.”

You try to hide your face, to cower in shame, but he won’t let you. He smashes his lips to yours at the exact second his first finger probes that tight, waiting entrance.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he slowly breaches you, using your own slick to guide the way. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You can’t do anything but gasp, hands clutching for dear life to the edge of the counter. This feels different, and not in the way you were expecting it to. It’s tight, sure, and it feels foreign, but it also feels so much better than you ever could’ve expected it to. The subtle stretch around his thick finger is addicting.

Joel’s jaw drops at the expression on your face; you already look so thoroughly fucked-out, and he’s barely even started. “Fuck.You like this, hmm? Like feelin’ daddy’s fingers gettin’ you ready for his big cock?”

The only response he gets is a wrecked little whimper, and he props your chin up again to meet his heated gaze. “Talk to me. Gotta talk to me, tell me how you’re feelin’, or I’m gonna stop.”

“Fuck!” It’s shriller than you want it to be and you would feel pathetic if you weren’t so thoroughly overwhelmed with this new sensation. “Don’t stop daddy!”

“Feels good, yeah? How long has daddy’s little slut wanted to try this?”

But there’s no way you can be expected to answer, not when he’s adding another finger to the onslaught. Not when your legs are already shaking and you’re thinking about just how many fingers he’s going to have to use to get you ready for the massive cock you can feel throbbing against your thigh.

He retracts just as suddenly as he started, and a needy little whine escapes from your throat involuntarily.

He can’t help chuckling as he reaches for the bottle of KY jelly he’d dug out of his bag while you were getting him water. It feels like it’s been years since you left the room on that little errand for him–definitely not the barely ten minutes it’s actually been.

“Relax, baby girl. I’m comin’ right back.”

You feel the cool drizzle of the water-based substance over your hole and it forces another whine from your throat. It’s met with his thick fingers again, spreading the jelly over your hole before plunging two in knuckle-deep.

“Atta girl.” His voice is thick and sweet as honey as he slowly works his fingers, thrusting and scissoring at an achingly slow pace. “Doin’ so good f’me.”

“Daddy–”

“I know,” he coos. “I know, it’s so much, isn’it?”

All you can manage to do is nod your head, arms shaking under the strain of holding yourself upright. He sees the way your limbs tremble and he adds a third finger just to be extra cruel–although he steadies you by grabbing your hip firmly with his free hand, keeping you in place as he fucks you open with his fingers.

Everything is so hot. There’s a sticky sheen of sweat covering your forehead and your chest; you can feel your own slick dripping down your thighs.

And then his free hand drops down to thumb at your clit, and everything twists in your gut so fast it nearly gives you whiplash.

Within seconds you’re coming–no pretense, no warning. It explodes white-hot from your belly and sweeps through you to the tips of your fingers and toes with flash flood speed. One second there’s nothing more than pleasant anticipation–the next, you’re shaking and convulsing and sobbing Joel’s name as you fight with every cell in your body to remain upright.

He does his part to work you through it, thumb swiping even circles on your sensitive clit, pulling his fingers from you to pin you in place on the counter so he can continue working you through it.

“I know, I know,” he coos so sweetly in your ear over the sound of your moans and cries. “You’re doin’ so good baby, let yourself have it.”

It’s minutes before you’re breathing normally again–your legs are cramping from trying so desperately to support your shaky weight. Joel’s hands are soothing you the whole time once he lets up the onslaught on your clit; it’s like he’s mapping you, tracing over every dip and curve so tenderly you could almost forget what this encounter really is.

“Doin’ okay?” He husks into your ear–and then he’s folding himself over you again, and you can feel the insistent press of his hard cock against the curve of your ass.

For some reason, that’s what really makes it sink in. That’s the moment you realize that this is actually going to happen–that you want it to happen. Joel’s about to take something from you that no one has ever taken before, and you want him to. You’re offering it willingly, even.

You hum in response and buck your hips back, giving him a delicious taste of friction that pulls a ground from his throat. “Mhm. I’m ready, daddy.”

“Fuck, that’s my girl.” He gives your hip a light pat before pulling away for a moment, and you somehow have the presence of mind to jump up on the deep countertop because you know your legs won’t be able to support you through what’s about to happen.

There’s a smile on his handsome face when he turns back towards you, lube and condom in hand. “That how you want it, baby?”

Despite everything that’s already happened, you feel so much more exposed like this. You’re completely naked, and he’s fully clothed with his pants shoved down just enough to free his dick. Even as you spread your legs to admit him between your thighs, you feel shy. And he senses it, the slight apprehension in your gaze, because his smile softens even further; he sets the lube and condom down on the counter next to you so he can grasp the collar of his worn t-shirt and tug it up over his head.

He’s beautiful for a nearly forty-year-old man, you think. He’s firm and toned, but there’s a softness about him that you can’t help admiring, especially around his belly. Your eyes eagerly lap up the soft curve of his tummy, following the tantalizing promise of his treasure trail to his cock, hard and aching for you. The ruddy, flushed tip is weeping for you; you don’t know that you’ve ever seen someone so turned on before, and it’s a heady rush of power.

He chuckles as he sees your hungry eyes taking him in–he raises one big hand to cup your chin and pull your gaze up to meet his. “You’re so pretty, baby, look so good spread out f’me like this. You sure you’re ready f’this?”

“Fuck yes,” you say with an alluring little wiggle of your hips, and that’s more than enough for him.

He pulls his bottom lip between even rows of shiny white teeth as he rolls the condom down over his length, and it’s actually intimidating like this. He’s so big and imposing and it makes your legs want to close, but–

“M’gonna go slow, okay?” He vows, voice gentle as his big, brown eyes look into yours. His fingers wrap tightly around the half-used tube of KY jelly, and he leans down to kiss you when he sees the nervous gulp that bobs your throat. “Gonna be real gentle, I promise. You tap out at any time and we’re done, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you affirm, and you feel a lot better. As out of the blue as this is, as little as you really know Joel, you can tell he’s being sincere. You trust him; you know he won’t hurt you.

The first press of his aching tip against your hole is enough to make you choke on a gasp. He’s big, and even with all of his attentive prep work to get you ready for him it’s a tight fit. You can tell it’s affecting him, too. His eyes flutter shut and he bites down hard on his bottom lip, and you can tell that he’s fighting with all his strength not to just shove himself deep inside you. You appreciate his restraint more than words can convey, so you don’t even try; you hook your arms around his neck and pull him in for a deep, messy, desperate kiss instead. His tongue licks eagerly into your mouth as he eases his hips further and further towards yours, and it’s a nice distraction from the nearly overwhelming stretch of your muscle trying to accommodate his girth.

He shudders when his hips finally meet yours, cock stuffed to the hilt into your ass. “God damn baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight. You doin’ okay?”

You whine at the first roll of his hips, nodding your head rapidly because words won’t come. It’s such a foreign sensation, being stretched and breached like this. Not unpleasant necessarily, but so brain-scramblingly different that all you can do is dig your nails into his strong, broad shoulders and hold on for dear life as he actually starts to fuck into you.

It’s nasty, and you’ve never been so wet in your life. You hear the sticky squelch of lube as he thrusts his hips, shoving his cock deeper than you imagined possible. Your own wetness seeps from your neglected cunt and drenches him, dripping down around his cock and wetting the dense curls at the apex of his sex.

“Shit baby, you’re takin’ daddy’s cock so well,” he whines breathlessly; one arm hooks under your knee so he can spread you open a bit wider for him, and then the other hand returns to your puffy, arousal swollen clit.

You make what has to be the most high-pitched sound you’ve ever made as his index and middle fingers start a torturously slow pace on the little bud. “Fuck daddy!”

“I know,” he coos–you think that soft, breathy, Southern twang is going to actually put you in your grave. “I know, you wanna come, dontcha? It’s okay baby, daddy’s gonna make you come all over his cock just the way you need.”

His hips pick up the pace in time with his fingers, and all you can do is lay there limply like a ragdoll. The pleasure is so much different than what you’re used to, but it’s good. It’s amazing, the feeling of him balls deep in your guts in tandem with his ministrations on your clit, in a way you never imagined it could be.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl f’me,” he growls, hitching your leg a bit higher over his hip so he can thrust even deeper. “Fuck, m’not gonna last long like this. You’re gonna make daddy come so hard in this tight little ass.”

His words are accentuated with a little smack to the side of your ass, and it makes you moan louder still. Your head rolls back as he picks up the pace of his fingers, swirling hard and messy circles with reckless abandon. He’s not trying to prolong it anymore–he’s going for the kill.

“Fuck daddy!” Your hands scrabble for purchase on his smooth, freckled skin as he pounds harder into you. “W-want it, please, want you to come in my ass–”

“Gonna give it to you, impatient girl,” he growls deep in his chest. “You gimme one first.”

Your entire body jolts when he brings his hand down on your sensitive cunt before groaning at the way your arousal sticks to his hand and makes his fingers shine.

“She wants t’be stuffed so full, doesn’t she?” He purrs, fingers dancing so fucking teasingly around your fluttering cunt that it makes your eyes water. “Bet she’d love to be chock full’a cock right now.”

“Joel–”

“Now, now, baby, no whinin’. It’s unbecomin’ for such a sweet little lady,” he grunts, and the condescension dripping from his tone is almost enough to make you come on its own. “You’re gonna take what I give you and be grateful for it, aintcha?”

“Yesyesyesplease–”

His fingers have barely returned to your clit before you’re coming again. This one is even more powerful than before–a hurricane instead of a flash flood. Your entire body trembles with the ebbing flow of pleasurable waves–the words you’re panting aren’t even discernible English anymore.

The way you clench and flutter around him in your own pleasure pulls him over the edge faster than anything ever has before. He comes hard, chest clenching hard around his breath, cock twitching more violently than anything you’ve ever felt before as he spills his load into the condom.

It’s a long, breathless moment before he pulls himself from the vice-like grip you have around his dick. He pulls out with a deep, long groan–it makes you giggle, because it’s the most over-dramatic sound you’ve ever heard in your life.

There’s a beat, and then he starts laughing, too. At the sweet sound of your laugh, at the way he feels like he just ran a marathon, at the absolute absurdity of this whole thing. His laughter is so sweet and gut-deep and infectious, and it only serves to make you laugh harder. For a good few moments it’s just you and Joel, half naked, panting and sweaty, doubled over in laughter.

And then the bathroom door swings open and Tommy barges in. 

“I’m feelin’ a helluva lot better after sleepin’ in, what’s so funny–” He stops dead in his tracks; he sees you naked and spread out on the counter and Joel disheveled and sweating. Neither of you are laughing very much anymore as you both scramble to cover yourselves up.

Tommy quirks a brow, a smirk spreading across his lips as his eyes dart back and forth between you and Joel. “Well, well, well. What have we here?”

You don’t know how to answer when you’re so mortified, so you do the only thing you can think of–you dart out of the room and down the hall to the safety of your bedroom as fast as your shaky legs can carry you.

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[liesmyth]

My Coronabeth Dominant Twin manifesto is simple and it's as follows: there's no way the twins could have planned for Canaan House.

John requesting new Lyctors wasn't something anyone in the Houses would've expected to happen in their lifetimes with any meaningful probability. This means that when the Tridentarii started the double necromancer ruse, they expected to carry on for life. It was an arrangement that benefited Corona vastly more than Ianthe.

What Ianthe got out of it, as far as we know: Corona would rule Ida, which she isn't keen on (as per NtN). But it also meant that Ianthe signed up for a life in her sister's shadow, with everyone regarding Corona as the perfect heir and Ianthe as the lame spare. Worse, for Ianthe, everyone believed Corona was the better flesh magician (as per As Yet Unsent). There's a lot more in for Corona in this arrangement and a lifetime of mild humiliation for Ianthe. As we see during the reveal in GtN, she was just dying to tell anyone that SHE is the necromantic genius of the pair, actually.

On their relationship with Babs: in GtN, Gideon notices that Babs obeys Ianthe's orders over Corona's. She also notices that Corona looks shocked about this — to me, this means that it's NOT something Coronabeth is used to. Pre-Canaan House, they are equals in their ruse. At Canaan House, it becomes obvious that if Ianthe ascends she'll leave Corona in the dust, and their relationship has to change. I don't think the way they act around each other from Canaan House onwards is at all representative of their relationship back on the Third, and I don't think Babs deferring to Ianthe over Corona is something that has happened often before, if at all.

There's the bit where Corona routinely threatened suicide to get her way since they were teenagers. In NtN she's doing it to save Camilla's life, but she reminisces fondly about it like it was something she did often to get her way, like it was a fun mind game they played with each other.

You've also got Ianthe calling Corona a bimbo and insulting her and whatever, and me arguing that Corona pulled the few strings doesn't make Ianthe good but as things stand I'm much more inclined to believe that, before Ianthe attained Lyctorhood, Corona was the one in charge — and I’m also firmly convinced that she’s using BoE for her own ends, and we’ll see her Fuck Shit Up in AtN.

[theinternetarchivist]

It's only tea, Varian!

I feel like Varian is 100% the type to psych himself out when preparing for something important... say, an interview.

The context for this particular thing is I'm thinking Varian might be getting ready for an interview, regarding the role of the royal alchemist. He knows he has it in the bag, there's no alchemist like him in all of Corona, maybe even in all of the seven kingdoms, but man... pre interview jitters kill ya

[abluebluesun]

Listen I know and understand and indeed support the fact that Gideon and Harrow are meant to be together and destined for each other, and I’ve read the books, I want that for them, but I ALSO think that after all she has been through, Gideon has earned some kisses from Coronabeth. Maybe something more. And it’s good for Corona too because Gideon is HOT and she can take a quick break from pining after Judith. I just want her to have some nice straightforward messing around with the hottest woman the Nine Houses have seen since pre-Lyctorhood Pyrrha.

[tarjapearce]

That First Kiss

Pre Soccer Family! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warning: 0. Just fluff. Mildly suggestive towards the end

Summary: The first kiss shared with Miguel ~

After that dance back at Peter there was something undeniable blooming between Miguel and you.

He had tried to kiss you after all, only to be denied by a simple yet crucial mistake made by none other than his own doubts.

He mulled over your words over and over. Would've something changed if he invited you properly to the party? Maybe something, maybe everything. He didn't know anymore but his mind was set into achieving that kiss.

Would it be too desperate if I want to kiss her?

He had asked Peter.

Cause in all truth, Miguel O'Hara, a prodigy, and soon to be ascended in the Alchemax's bureaucracy lines, didn't know a peep in flirting, much less in when to make a move.

The epitome of such thing was him telling you about the party, but not inviting you.

Social gatherings weren't his forte but Peter and Gabriel had been kind enough to include him in every activity and prevent him from being a forever stunted wallflower. The reason why Peter always asked him to cook for his parties.

And the reason he was having an override in his system after you left him with his lips pursed, perfect to touch yours.

"If you wanna do that, means you're into her. That you like her."

Peter mumbled while sucking the sauce off his fingers.

Despite the disgusting sight his red eyes got at the moment, he knew Peter was rather intuitive when it came to these things. He wasn't a complete idiot.

But with MJ at his side, Miguel had secretly made Peter a prime example of what to do and not do when it came to women.

"Can't believe she refused to kiss you." his friend snorted while drinking the last bit of his Corona.

"Don't remind me."

Miguel rubbed his face and picked up the dishes.

"Look, you're the only one that hasn't realized she also likes you." Peter smirked when Miguel gave a faint and proud chuckle at his words.

"You just gotta make a little more effort if you know what I mean."

"Not really."

"C'mon pal, I know you had a girl back in college."

"Dana? We just lasted a semester."

"Still is experience. Negative or positive. But your friend that's into you too, is a new chance to make things right. If that's what you're after."

"I wanna take it slow and see where it leads us."

Peter nodded but then shrugged.

"Tell me something. Do you want just a hookup with her?"

"No."

"What do you want then?"

"Get to know her more and see where it takes us." Miguel mumbled a tad sheepishly.

"Do you want whatever it is to be something more?"

"If she wants to. If she doesn't then... I'll leave her be."

"And how would you do that?" Peter kept inquiring and Miguel seemed to actually consider his words.

"By inviting her to a dinner or a movie."

Peter smiled and nodded proudly. "You're welcome. Now... All you gotta do is save her number I totally did not asked MJ, and invite her." Peter sent him your number and washed his hands.

"I got you, pal. Don't screw it up this time though."

-----

Would you be asleep? Would it be rude of him to suddenly text you out of nowhere? It had been a week of staring at his phone screen, glaring at your name on the chat log and watching the profile picture change a couple of times.

A week of pure self torture and replaying the many scenarios of him being fooled and rejected. He was angry at you for making him this nervous and, angry at himself for not being able to press send after rewriting several times the future message that could either make it or break it, before anything could even take off between you two.

"If you're trying to see if you have telepathy, I'm telling you, it's not working Miggy."

Miguel rolled his eyes and heaved a frustrated sigh.

"I like her. You haven't even started something and you're already nervous."

Miguel threw a pillow at Gabriel and the latter laughed to then return it.

"It's just a message, not a proposal."

"How do I know-"

"Goddammit" Gabriel groaned annoyed.

It felt like time slowed down when Gabriel pressed his fingertip against the screen on the send button.

Three letters were sent. And the seen icon showed up.

Hey

But his heart thumped harder when the three dots appeared on his screen along a message

Hello, stranger :)

Gabriel snorted and patted his shoulder.

"Good luck, Miggy."

----

Hey

Hello, stranger :)

It's Miguel. Peter gave me your number.

Oh? Too afraid of asking it yourself, Dracula?

He chuckled while accommodating the pillow behind his head.

It always escapes my mind doing so, Pitufina.

Sorry if I'm interrupting .

My overthinking maybe, so thanks for that.

His smile widened

Must admit though, didn't expect you to message me.

Sorry for taking that long. Wasn't that sure you'd engage into this.

'Engage into this' he says. Relax, I ain't biting.

Unless that's your sort of thing. I don't judge :) .

A little warmth spreaded through his cheeks as he read the message with an airy chuckle.

Wanna find out?

I believe the polite thing to do before that happens, is for you to take me out on some dates, sir.

He had you right where he wanted. With a deep breath he typed, not letting the sudden burst of boldness that took over to waste.

Then next week, a dinner on Friday. I'll pick you up at 7.

He left no room for doubts, just a yes from your end.

Yes, sir.

And it was official. Miguel O'Hara had a date.

Then a second and a third. Tonight was the fourth one. Something regular, more intimate and comfortable. A movie night.

I'm going through the popcorn section and there's no spicy one. And I know you give the caramel ones the mean eye.

They get stuck in my teeth, preciosa. Not precisely something I enjoy removing.

I've got Butter Lovers and classic.

Bring the classics and some tajín. I'll prepare them here.

Ok. On my way

You closed the chat log and went to the cashier.

----

Even though he had explained you that he didn't have a problem by paying up in all the dates, you still wanted to give some of that back. He had refused but eventually agreed upon sensing your pouting through the texts.

So you were in charge of the snacks this time. You'd be a liar to say if you didn't go overboard with it. The usual candies and some Mexican snacks he talked about in the past dates.

Movie begun, both of you laid on his couch, inches away from touching each other's knees and shoulders. A bowl of popcorn on his hands big enough for the both, some soda and other candies.

The movie played, earning a few giggles here and there from you and sometimes Miguel.

You didn't know when his fingers grazed your shoulder, or when his arm draped around you.

You could feel his heart thumping through his solid and warm chest, inviting you to rest your head on it.

And when you did, his whole body tensed, to finally relax when you smiled.

His eyes had long stopped focusing on the movie, rather your expressions and reactions.

The way your eyes crinkled with joy, your lower lip trembling on a specific sad scene and how lovely they stretched whenever a laugh came out of them.

"God, that's so corny."

You tittered while resting your head ontop of his chest again. Body relaxing with a deep and silent sigh.

Your fingers curled softly ontop of him and his hand immediately opened to hold yours. Long and calloused fingers entwined with yours.

The darkened room and the dim light irradiating from the tv were the perfect catalyst for him to inch his head closer to yours.

Miguel gulped when you craned your head upwards to watch him,

"Are you ok?"

He nodded but gulped again when your tongue misted your lips, as if preparing them for an emerging endeavor.

"You? Are you enjoying?"

A sweet smile stretched again in your lips. But your eyes were locked in his, breaking the contact for a minute to stare at his lips.

His arm pulled you closer and one of your hands slid through his cheek, caressing his skin, mildly prickly with stubble.

He was about to speak, but closed his lips to finally dip his head and kiss you. As if deciding that going for it instead of asking made it better.

Your lips received him with a soft sigh that only deepened when he placed a hand on the slope of your jaw to keep you in place as his lips kept kissing and marking yours in slow and gentle motions.

Your hands thrummed over his chest, and soon both of his hands were gently cupping your face. Some of your strands entangled in his fingers.

Neither wanted to break it. Not when his tongue was curling and playing with yours, fighting sensually for control. But your lungs demanded air. And when the kiss broke, he took a deep inhale to give gentle pecks on your sweet tasting lips.

"Happy?" your forehead rested against his and his hands roamed your back. Taking a much heat he could from you.

"Very." Another peck and you bit him softly. He returned the bite with his fangs trapping your bottom lip to then deliver a gentle lick on it.

"Can I have more?"

He put a strand of hair off your face and tucked it behind your ear while nodding with dazed eyes and a warm smile on his face.

"Los que quieras, mi amor." (As many as you want.)

[cahootings]

It’s impossible to capture or describe what totality feels like. It becomes viscerally clear why some ancient civilizations feared eclipses, saw them as anger from the gods. Even well knowing the science behind it, TEACHING it, you get overtaken by the Wrongness of it all. The minutes before and after totality, when the sun still shines but the light hitting the ground dims drastically all around you; the air changes, the temperature lowers, a cool breeze kicks up; the geese start to squawk and fly, the crickets start their chirping. And when the sky has reached a haunting midday sunset all around you, you see the sun, this thing that is so reliable and predictable and constant, this thing that gives us life, disappear and transform into a pitch black disk before your eyes. The absence of its light and the bright spray of the corona behind the moon looks like someone tacked an odd lamp on a wall. It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t look like it can be real. I’ve seen it twice now and it still seems so impossible.

I can’t believe how different this one felt from 2017. The bigger shadow allowed nearly two more minutes of totality, and I felt every second of those four minutes. It was a noticeable full sensory experience - I felt the cooling air so much more, we sat in the dim pre-totality twilight for so much longer, the geese and the crickets warned us early. When totality hit we got to relish in it. I’m glad I snapped a few hasty photos but mostly I just couldn’t tear my eyes away. I didn’t want to blink. The corona was sprawling, and those bright pink solar prominences took my breath away. There is nothing that compares to that sight. Nothing comes close. I’m so grateful to have gotten to see this. I’m so lucky.

But my favorite part by far is seeing so many people I love getting to see it too. I love sharing this. I want to see everyone’s pictures and videos!!!! We really saw this impossible thing!!!

[alienarthouse]

Here, two pre-contact Kipip pause in their travels, soaring low over the desert sands, to witness a total solar eclipse.

The planet Anyanayap is well known for its vibrant orange and yellow skies, a phenomenon caused by the large amounts of sand and dirt blown up into the atmosphere. During a total solar eclipse, though, the sky is painted a deep crimson, making it quite the event to behold. The planet’s native intelligent species, the Kipip, does not see this eclipse the same way—rather literally, in fact.

Rather than having eyes with color-sensing cones, they see changes in light and shadow through their photoreceptive whiskers, and smell changes in heat through thermosensory pits along their muzzle. So, when viewing the eclipse, the Kipip see the darkening of the sky, the bright corona around the moon, and sense the sudden drop in temperature.

Having relied on warm air rising from the sands to glide, it seems this pair must wait out the eclipse to continue their journey.

[joelmillerlover123]

Workin On Me | JOEL MILLER X READER

You and Joel meet at a bar and he instantly notices you. Your little dress and games are workin on him.

One shot! Inspired by Workin On Me By Riley Green.

No/Pre outbreak AU! Fem!Reader. Age gap (Reader is 23 and Joel is like 35/40 ish idk) HEAVY flirting. Cowboy!Joel (sorta). It’s cute this is cute.

Work count ~ 750 ish.

𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁 𐚁

(those r supposed to be cowboy hats but they don’t rlly look like cowboy hats. its fine.)

Joel saw you as soon as you stepped into the bar. You were wearing white cowboy boots, a little red sundress with spaghetti straps that tied into bows on your shoulders and big gold bangles that jingled when you walked. Gosh, you were gorgeous.

Joel tried his best not to look too obviously but you were making it real hard with your gorgeous smile and long hair trailing behind you. You were there with a group of friends, he guessed. Y’all all looked awful friendly, laughing and singing to the songs, line dancing when a good song came on. He hoped that meant you wouldn't notice him, but you did. Of course you did.

You noticed him as soon as you stepped in the bar. Gosh, he was just your type. Big and broad, nursing a beer. Of course it was a Corona, a lime sticking out of the lip. What you would do to get a beer out of him. You were a Michelob girl yourself but you would drink Corona for him. You would drink any kinda beer for him. You immediately alerted your friends that the hottest man you’ve ever seen was at the bar.

“The old man?” Your friend asked, wrinkling her nose. You just laughed. You’d always like an older man. Maybe it was a thing. Maybe he was just your type.

You tried to ignore him looking at you, mentally high fiving yourself for wearing this dress.

Eventually, though, with a shot or two in you, you had the confidence to ‘bump’ into him when ordering your next drink.

Your shoulder touched his, slightly harder than you meant it to but clearly enough because he just smirked as he sipped his beer again.

“What?” You smiled at him and played dumb. “Sorry about that,” Your voice lowered slightly so that only he could hear.

Your voice shot through him like a lightning bolt, he hid his nerves with a smirk and another sip from his bottle.

“Corona?” You ask, hoping to strike up a conversation about beer, a topic you knew plenty about.

“Ol’ reliable,” He replied, lifting the bottle.

You took his response as the invite to sit down while you waited for the drink you just ordered, facing him.

“What’re you drinkin’?” He asked, smiling a lazy, half-lidded smirk.

You practically shivered from the excitement of talking to this hot man. Sure, you’ve talked to your fair share of barflies but this was no barfly. This was a man.

“Usually Michelob, but tonight,” You look over your shoulder at your friends who are dancing, “Tequila.”

“Tequila?” His eyebrows shoot up, chuckling a bit. “How old are you?”

“I’m 23,” You say, confidently. He couldn’t have been more than what.. 35? Maybe 40?

He laughs again, looking at her head on, “You’re a little young to be chattin up an old man like me.”

“Well, maybe I like older men,” You pull out your best seductive voice which sounds a lot less cool in your tequila-buzzed ears and more awkward than you meant it to. No matter, Joel’s cheeks blush a deep red anyways. You smirk. Hook, line, and sinker.

He looks at you now, really looks at you. Not a half-lidded lazy grin. No, his eyes are anything but lazy, sweeping over your dress. He can’t help but wonder how many guys have looked at you in that dress. Surely you picked it on purpose. And to top it all off, his favorite color was red.

“Yeah?” He said, his voice deeper than before, “A little thing like you likin an older man?”

“What? You think boys my age can take care of me?” You laugh as nonchalantly as possible, and then shake your head.

“Oh, I see. You want a real man,” Joel’s eyes sweep over you again. What is it with him and this red dress? He can’t help but wonder what it’ll look like on his bedroom floor.

“Somethin like that,” You reply, smiling. The bartender comes and hands you the drink you forgot you ordered and you smile politely at him and turn back to Joel. You decide to go in for the kill. Now or never. “So, am I gonna have to take this shot and ask you to leave with me or are you gonna take me to yours?”

Whatever this little game you were playin with him was, he liked it, and it was working.

“Come on,” He said, putting down some cash for his drinks and hers, “Let’s get outta here.”

[lockedtombmemes]

how do we reckon Corona approached the idea of Nona?

like, did Pyrrha and pre-Paul say, "yeah this is Harrow's body but we don't know who's driving, so just be aware"?

and did Corona take that information and say to herself "it may be Gideon, who was yummy, so I'm gonna flirt"?

did she say "it may be Harrow, who lbr I was always curious about, carnally, so I'm gonna flirt"?

or did she meet Nona, hear her talk one (1) time and say "I have no idea who this is, but by talos I will flirt with anything that moves so let's fuckin go"?

also did she see Nona for the first time and think "THAT'S what the Reverend Daughter looks like under the skull paint?? pretty?????"

[dmsr-art]

I'm working on a fic where Ianthe bimbofies/brain drains Corona with necromancy; do you have any ideas for dynamics/weird mind alteration stuff to make it nastier and more depraved? My core is that it's a kind of revenge to make her as dumb and slutty on the outside as Ianthe knows she is inside (the lust of 15+ years of having to make her seem capable and regal) but you seem like the real connoisseur who might know how to make it even worse/things Ianthe would do with that power.

(I found it odd that nobody seems to have done something like that since Ianthe is supposed to be pretty good with brain and fatty tissues. This was also inspired by your one cumslut collar Corona piece.)

omg.... anon thank u for coming to me with this [twirls hair] well i just think it would be really hot if after ianthe bimbofies/brain drains her she fucks with her by like quizzing her on necromancy stuff (things coronabeth would have known pre-bimbofication as part of pretending to be a necromancer). she's like we're gonna play a little game and corona is like yay ❤️ okay ❤️ i love games but then when she gets the questions wrong ianthe punishes and degrades her :) and suddenly corona isn't having fun. tears are involved (horny). ianthe already loves insulting her intelligence and i feel like she would get off to that SO MUCH more after tweaking corona's brain. i also think ianthe should pull a pavlov's dog on her as part of training her to be the perfect little cock-drunk cum slut