#Volley pearl

[james-p-sullivan]

S01E18 - Beach Party

[starrynight-onpennylane]

Rewatching Steven Universe future. The Pearl Fusion moment (like most moments) was so powerful. Both had to come to the realization that Pink Diamond/ Rose was not perfect, and hurt them. Steven didn’t want to believe his mother could be THIS bad adds more layers. He’s still actively working on separating himself from his mother, while still having to navigate how he is HER to an extent.

This series has been with me in a few stages of my life, I’m happy I have it again at this one.

[birdinabowl]

*sniffs you* what are your favorite volleypink hcs

I usually never write out hcs but here you go :33 Uhhh so my first one I’ve already talked about but I love the headcanon of Volleyball sneaking into the tower anytime Pink got locked up. For Pink it caused her punishment to be a little more bearable knowing that Volleyball would be by her side.

Volleyball would listen to Pink rant after an argument with the diamonds. She’d might not say much during it but she gave Pink a place to get her frustration out without being scolded for not acting properly.

Pink would take Volleyball to her gardens and spend hours/days with her there. Her and Pink would take care of the plants together and keep the gardens in good health. Pink would love to talk about the different types of flowers as they took care of them. They also would totally make flower crowns for eachother. (I think it’s also cute to think that Volleyball took Peridots class because she still liked working with plants like she did with Pink).

When talking to the other Pearls, Volleyball would always gush about Pink. Blue and Yellow Pearl always suspected there was something going on between the two but they never talked directly to Volley about it. (Totally talked about it when it was just the two of them though).

One of Pinks favorite chill activities would’ve just been Volleyball playing with her hair/combing it out while they talked. She loves physical contact and Volleyball found it relaxing so it became a mutually enjoyed activity.

Not something they would’ve done on homeworld but if given the chance Pink would try to bake something for Volleyball but completely burn it. Volleyball will still insist on eating them, claiming they’re still good.

that became a lot of yapping but they’re so silly and I love them skakksksjdjdj

[water-fan-art]

A new start afresh chapter? In 2024? More likely than you’d think

Chapter 16 AKA Jasper gets punched in the face

[joowee-feftynn]

Idgaf anymore so pink and volley as deep cut!!!

[introvert-celeste]

Finally rewatching Revolutionary Girl Utena and ugh, it's still so good. Really weird and uncomfortable at times, but so good.

[kyle1]

"Oh no... he going back again!"

[lottiecrabie]

you know how lorde brought jack out at one of her shows and he played the guitar while she sang and they were very touchy feely and just gazing at each other the entire time? imagine a blurb like that on gto readers tour when her and matty are just friends now but there is still definitely underlying tension the entire time

i Know where this blurb idea came from I see you🫵

the screams rain over you, a torrential wave of love that you can’t help grinning at. you sit there, legs hanging off the stage, gripping your mic in silent awe. the world ripples in front of you, bodies of people — real, tangible, knowledgeable of your lyrics better than you sometimes — face you. the room seems larger, like entire cities could fit between these walls, like everyone you’ve ever known could be smiling back at you.

you use the energy like fuel. pretend your heart isn’t racing up your throat as you tilt up the mic. ‘i have a surprise for you guys,’ you say, teasing, confessional. another wave of screams, delighted in just being special. you laugh. ‘there’s a really special person here tonight. the producer of this album, my dear friend—‘ you barely need to let the name out, high-pitched cries already drowning it out, but still; ‘matty healy!’

he comes from backstage and he cracks the world open. stagelight transforms in soft sun rays, shining over your head until sweat pearls your forehead. strawberry ice cream lingers on your tongue. the faint smell of cigarette comes through, burning in the heat. he’s summer, even in the thick of this december month. you have to blink away, blind.

there’s a part of you way that will always be in august, and it throbs when he’s around you.

matty sits down beside you, offered a guitar by some worker. he waves to the crowd, working his charm easily. you have no sun to blame this flush on. you hope the stage makeup hides it, stop yourself from pressing the cold microphone to your cheeks and draw attention to it.

‘hello,’ you say. ‘not too tired?’

‘never,’ he answers, though it’s lost to the ears of the crowd, micless that he is.

‘i warmed the crowd up for you.’

‘you’re—‘ you aim the mic his way, graciously allowing the public into this moment, ‘—too sweet.’ you want to laugh. your chest tightens, in the habitual ways it still hasn’t learned not to.

something in you is angry that he’d dare say it here, in front of anyone, in front of everyone. not because he’s sharing anything personal, anything momental; because he’s not. to him, too sweet is any other phrase, and you’re left reeling from the slap he doesn’t know he gave.

‘we made pygmalion two summers ago, in this very city,’ you say conversationally, addressing the crowd. ‘i lived here for four months and so, forever, london will be the intrinsic pygmalion city. i don’t think i can walk any street without being washed with it.’

‘i live here and there’s still places i can’t visit without being reminded of pygmalion,’ matty says in the cadence of a joke. you chuckle for him, ever gracious.

‘there’s still wines i can’t drink,’ you attempt to volley back, but it starts feeling a little too raw, a little too real. you get the uncomfortable impression of being under a microscope, and you clutch the microphone with the need to swallow it all back.

matty steals the mic from your hands, eyes wrinkling with mirth. ‘this one used to say she didn’t like red wine.’

you roll your eyes, taking it back. ‘yes, well, i just—‘

again, matty’s fingers brush yours, angling the mic back to him. ‘—never drank the correct sort, yes, i told you so.’

‘stop taking my mic!’ you laugh, giving a look to the public as you gesture to him. ‘it’s a wonder we finished any song with all of this.’ you sit up straighter, attempting to put the show back on track. ‘and yet we did. you might know this one, it’s called galatea.’

again, a new wave of excited screams wash you. galatea is always a highlight of the night. the broken lyrics that come back to you, sung and cried, tears filling the eyes of the first row until you have to look away. this time, you don’t even attempt to watch them, instead turning to face matty, crossed-legged.

his fingers strum the chords familiarly; you croon the first words. you get projected on a sofa, red lights drenching the two of you, the stars shining just for you. he’s so known you might choke up. you have moved on, you promise yourself you have, but what can you do with all the knowledge you gain of someone? where do the memories go when you’ve stopped needing to play them back every night just to fall asleep. they can’t cease to exist, yet they can’t fit in the palms of your hands either.

his eyebrows tilt as he concentrates, bobbing his head. a curl strikes his forehead and you stop yourself from reaching up and brushing it away. parts of you wake up, called to attention. the need to wish and hope and yearn; to exist in the possible, nearly-not but just enough that it’s exquisitely painful. you think of new lyrics, you hate yourself for it.

the chorus cries out of you. you scoot closer, sing it to him. you’re back in a booth, angry eyes pinning him down vengefully. matty glances up and there must be something in you that has quietened, that has folded over and surrendered. he doesn’t look away from your stare. he doesn’t get overwhelmed with the weight of it.

your hand flies to his knee, as if to make sure he’s real. he is; flesh and muscle and that stubborn heart of his, beating somewhere far away from you.

for all the sun he represents, he doesn’t burn anymore. it’s a soft sting, like another memory buzzing in you. your fingers retreat. mournfully, you sing the next lyric.

you whisper the last words out, smiling faintly. his fingers halt. he stops suddenly; he’s there and then he’s not, per usual. the cries roar back to you. for all the worlds that exist in this very room, they always seem to cease when he’s beside you. a summery cocoon you craft out of nothings, one that’s off somewhere in a london apartment.

you turn back to the crowd, remind yourself of everything that is real too. ‘thank you,’ you whisper to them, a hand to your chest, vaguely bowing. thank you for being there when the ground doesn’t seem to hold you up anymore. you look at him. and then, a grin, waving an arm to him. ‘matty healy, everyone!’

[floralembarrassment]

What did you Expect? (1/1) (jegulus | wolfstar)

"You know your cousin's kid is a little brat," Regulus chided, waggling a finger at Sirius.

"Oh so now she's my cousin?" Sirius retorted, drawing out the 'my' and feigning a pearl clutch.

"Well technically she's always been your cousin," Regulus volleyed back matter-of-factly.

"She's your cousin too Reg, and in fact we only talk to her because of you," Sirius huffed.

"All I'm saying is he is a little shit." Regulus folded his arms as he spoke with a tone of finality.

"Darling, I don't know how to tell you this but umm what did you expect? First of all he's a Malfoy... second of all you know who his parents are, and honestly a kid named Draco has to be a bully otherwise he would get bullied." James placed a gentle hand on Regulus' shoulder as came to stand behind him.

Regulus fell into James' chest, and leaning his head back on James' shoulder he sighed: "well maybe he needs to be bullied," and a small glint appeared in his eyes.

"Reg, no. Come on Harry would be so upset."

Regulus quickly spun around to look at James. He pointed a finger at him, "oh fine but if it wasn't for him I would be bullying that twerp."

"Agreed" Sirius and James said in unison.

"What did he do?" Remus asked.

Sirius' mouth fell open in brief betrayal. "Moony come on. You can't seriously be trying to play devil's advocate. It's Lucius Malloy's boy! He's bound to be a dick," Sirius waved his arms dramatically as he spoke, but no one missed the upturn of his lips as he purposefully messed up the last name.

"I just want to know the story," Remus said waving Sirius off, who only rolled his eyes in response.

"You just want the gossip," Regulus corrected.

"Sue me," Remus said shrugging his shoulders.

"He bought his way onto the quidditch team and then called his daddy when Harry beat him anyway before breaking his arm..." James explained.

"HE BROKE HIS ARM?" Remus jumped up from his seat. He looked between the three others incredulously.

"Technically his house elf set a bludger after him," Regulus corrected.

"Here we go again, you and the elves..." Sirius threw his arms in the air and dropped them quickly by his side.

Regulus continued as if Sirius didn't exist: "If I thought he was smart enough to charm it himself, I would be pushing it harder, but that kid is as dumb as his hair is blonde. Harry is fine though, Madame Pomfrey is excellent as always." Regulus glossed over the insult and quickly a warm feeling fell over the group at the reminder of Madame Pomfrey's caring abilities.

After a moment Remus spoke. Breaking the silence: "It's a good thing he's got a crush on the Weasley girl,"

The others looked at him a bit quizzically.

"What? If he's anything like his fathers, we'll all be lucky if doesn't end up in love with the boy," And Remus burst into laughter. While Sirius' barks soon followed, James and Regulus shared worried looks.

[ww2yaoi]

[Here's another taste of my so far untitled webgott fic because I feel like sharing but know finishing the fic is going to take a while longer so enjoy...]

The sun is beginning to set when David finally rises from his chair, eyes stinging from staring at a blank page for so long. He closes his notebook, grabs a towel, then starts down the winding pathway from the hotel to the lake.

Thankfully, no one’s at the dock when he gets there. The horizon is bathed in burnt orange light, slowly dimming as the sun settles between the mountain peaks in the distance. The air is a bit too cool for a swim, but David enjoys the breeze as it bites at his skin. Anything to draw him out of his thrumming head, to distract him from the lacuna in his sternum, aching with oblivion.

He strips all the way, wanting nothing between him and the water, and dives into the lake. The cold water hits him like a grenade blast, roaring past his ears and soaking him deep to the bone. When David was a child, spending summers away from school on East Coast beaches, he used to see how long he could hold his breath underwater. He would revel in frightening his mother when his head failed to emerge from the waves for minutes at a time. He liked it down there. It was quiet, and he could imagine himself coming from a different world, somewhere unknown and endless where he was better understood, inexplicable like the ocean but loved for his inexplicability all the same.

In the present, David holds his breath until his lungs sting and his head feels fuzzy. Eyes closed, he welcomes the black, embraces the stillness surrounding him. Then, he emerges, gasping, droplets beading like pearls at the ends of his hair. His eyes flutter open, and the first thing he sees is the bottom of a jump boot resting at the edge of the dock. David follows the line of the attached leg to the face peering over at him.

Joe is lounging there with an elbow propped up behind him. He nurses a cigarette, the cherry burning tangerine between his pursed lips. His paratrooper jacket is opened to reveal the clean white of his undershirt, his Magen David glinting around his neck in the dying sunlight.

“Thought you were never gonna come back up for air,” Joe says and the smoke he exhales conceals his pinched expression.

David is surprised to see him. He stands up in the water, toes nestling in the wet sand. Luckily, the waterline comes up to his waist, hiding his nakedness.

“How long have you been sitting there?” he asks.

“Long enough to wonder if you’d fucking drowned,” Joe says, scowling.

“What are you doing here?” David replies. He crosses his arms over his bare chest, feeling oddly exposed underneath the razor’s edge of Joe’s gaze. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

“I was,” Joe admits. His eyes flick downwards. “I heard about Janovec. Chuck says you were there.”

News travels fast; David frowns. “So what? You here to blame me for it?”

Joe’s eyebrows furrow. “Jesus, Web. Why the fuck would I blame you?”

David shrugs. “I don’t know, Joe. You blame me for a lot of things.”

Joe smirks, a disparate concoction of amusement and irritation that David has memorized on his face a thousand times before. He takes another drag of his cigarette and taps ash into the water. It floats on the surface like flakes of pepper in a bowl of tomato soup.

“Yeah, Web, like what?”

David meets his eyes, unwilling to back down. “Well, for one, you blame me for getting wounded in Holland. You blame me for missing Bastogne. You blame me for not killing a man just because you asked me to—”

“He was a fucking Nazi,” Joe spits, expression hardening. “He deserved to die.”

“Maybe so,” David volleys back. “But the war is over, Joe. Why bloody our hands? Where does this end for you?”

“Until they fucking pay.”

“Yeah, who? Who pays? Millions of people are complicit. Are you going to kill half the population of Germany?”

Joe goes quiet at that, fiddling with his cigarette between his thumb and index finger. His silence simmers with anger and something else, something somber and oppressive, and David realizes he much prefers his open-mouthed rage to this. The only time he’s seen Joe this short for words was after Landsberg, and the last thing David wants is a repeat of that.

It makes him think back to the German baker whose throat he held a gun to. Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he can feel the weight of the pistol in his hand, his finger inching closer and closer to the trigger. Sometimes, in his dreams, he pulls it. He never told Joe what happened that day. Maybe Joe would say he should have done it.

“You want to go home, right?” David adds quietly. “Leave all this behind?”

Joe says nothing. By now, the sun has dipped behind the mountainscape, painting everything in a spectral blue. A gust of wind whips across the lake, casting ripples through the water, and David shudders slightly. Goosebumps pimple his arms.

“Come on,” Joe says, beckoning him with the tilt of his head. “Get out of the water, Web. You’re shivering.”

“Okay,” David says, but heat blooms on the back of his neck. “You might want to look away though.”

“Why?”

“I’m naked, Lieb.”

Joe snorts and smoke pours out his nose. “What? You ashamed of that tiny, uncut dick of yours?”

David rolls his eyes. “It’s not tiny.”

“Well, it’s hard to see with all that hair on you.”

“You’ve been looking?”

“Jesus Christ,” Joe says. “Come on. We’ve showered together. It’s nothing I haven’t seen.”

“Suit yourself.”

David wades over to the edge of the dock and pulls himself up out of the water, getting to his feet. He reaches for the towel by his discarded clothes, keeping his eyes trained on the tree line in front of him, knowing full well if he glances over at Joe and sees him looking he’ll flush from head to toe. David wraps the towel around his waist and sits down beside him on the dock, pale legs outstretched and freckled with lake water.

They look out at the horizon and David feels the distance stretching between them, like he and Joe are the twin but separate mountain peaks piercing the dusky sky miles ahead. Joe finishes his cigarette and butts it out on the dock, leaving a scorch mark on the wood. He tosses it into the water and it floats for a moment on the surface before being swept under by a wave.

“Hell,” Joe says after a while, his voice low. “What the fuck do I have to go home to?”

David snaps his head to look at him. “What are you talking about?” he says.

“Nothing.” Joe looks sullen, chin tucked towards his chest. “Forget it.”

“What about your job at the cab company?” David asks. “The Jewish girl with the big tits? What about your family?”

Joe scoffs. “Yeah? What the fuck am I gonna say to them? What am I gonna tell my ma?”

“You tell them whatever you want to tell them,” David says. “That you’re a war hero, that you saved Western civilization as we know it.”

Joe laughs, a bitter, leery thing. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

David shrugs. He doesn’t know what he thinks anymore, about the war, about the things he’s done, the things he’s seen. Sometimes he lies awake at night and wonders how his life might be different, if in some version of history the right politicians had shaken hands and all this destruction and bloodshed had been avoided. Joe would still be driving his cab around Frisco, maybe he’d have a wife and a home and children to fill it, and David would be back at Harvard, studying Tolstoy and Flaubert and writing his novel. They never would have met except in this ravaged and desolate place. They would have no reason to relate to one another, vastly different men from vastly different backgrounds, situated on disparate coasts on opposite sides of the country.

David doesn’t believe in fate, or predestination, or whatever the poets call it, but there’s an inevitability to it all, that David would find his way to Easy, to Joe. He’s not even sure if they’re friends, but since Joe lifted him up into that truck in Haguenau, he’s felt drawn into Joe’s orbit. If David’s being honest with himself, he’s never fit in well with the guys of Easy. Not really. They tolerate him, sure, but they never seek him out, not like Joe does. David has never fit in anywhere, not at HQ before his transfer, not at Harvard, not even in his own goddamn family. Without Joe, without his ardour and annoying persistence, it’d be like being lost at sea.

David is pulled out of his thoughts when he feels a knobby finger jab him in the leg. He looks down and sees that Joe is poking him in the calf where the Kraut bullet pierced his skin in Holland, just barely missing the bone. The scar there is pink and mottled, the flesh raised and twisted like the mark on Joe’s neck.

“Hey, quit it,” David says and drags his leg away from Joe’s touch.

Joe leans back on his elbows, smirking. “So that’s the million-dollar wound.”

David glares at him. “If it was a million-dollar wound I’d be home by now,” he says. “And I’m still fucking here, aren’t I?”

Something softens in Joe’s expression, and if David didn’t know any better he might mistake it for fondness.

“That you are, Web. That you are.”

[smurphyse]

Spencer's Turn | S.R.

.Series Masterlist | Smurph's Masterlist

Part 17 of Room 405

Warnings: anal sex, fingering, dirty talk, vibrators, eating dinner and dessert

Summary: Spencer has his turn, and it goes an unexpected way

Spencer didn't want to get up for a bath, so you went in yourself and filled the tub with vanilla scented bubbles and oils. 

You knew he was sore and tired, but you managed to coax him from the bed with the promise of a back massage. Most of the bath was spent talking about nothing while you rubbed the frankly ridiculous knots from his shoulders, kissing his freckles and his neck, delighting in the way he shivered. 

After, Spencer ordered some food. Deciding he was finished with being the focus of the night, he hand fed you pasta and for dessert chocolate covered strawberries. Kissing you after each one, he made sure to shove his tongue down your throat just to taste it on your lips. 

You were laying with your head on his lap in the bed, dressed in nothing but your pearls as he scratched your scalp with one hand, using the other to lightly drag his knuckles up and down your belly before coming up to grope your breasts. Some movie played on the television on the dresser, but neither of you were really paying attention, just focused on one another's touch and company after a long week. 

"These feel bigger," Spencer remarked, sliding his palm across your sternum to grab one of your breasts, squeezing lightly. 

You groaned and adjusted uncomfortably. You still felt a little gross and bloated, not that the pasta had been much help. "Aunt Flo is on her way."

Spencer sniggered, "I get to earn my red wings next week, then."

You shot him a playful glare, "You've already earned your red wings plenty of times over."

He poked the tip of your nose, "I'll earn them every month, then. You have no idea how good you taste, sweetheart."

You just shook your head and looked back to the movie, but it seemed Spencer had other plans. His thumb slid across your nipple, tweaking it lightly before moving on to the other one. In your sensitive pre-menstruation state, it sent a volley of airy tingles through your chest. You pretended not to notice, as he pretended he wasn’t doing anything to rile you up. 

It was difficult, though. You were still coming down of an orgasmic high from earlier, a prideful ride after fucking Spencer in his sleep. He pulled his hand from you long enough to lick his fingers, his warm palm cupping you as his wet fingertips rubbed your aching bud. You breathed in sharply, that familiar heat blossoming in your cheeks and across your chest, but you stayed still.

If he’d wanted you to move, he would have told you.

He trailed down your chest and belly, making his way to the patch of hair on your mound. Your legs spread automatically, on instinct, because you were his plaything and you acted like it. When his fingers brushed your lips, a whimper squeaked its way from your chest, your back arching as you pouted up at him.

Spencer paid you no mind even though he was hard beneath you, just leaned against the headboard and watched the movie. He brushed back your hair with his free hand, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. You pushed out your breasts to entice him, but he didn’t seem to notice. 

He dragged his finger along your slit, and your eyes closed in aching anticipation, but he stopped just before your clit and moved back down. 

“Daddy…” you whined, closing your thighs to trap his hand. 

Spencer’s hand moved from your pussy in a flash, slapping your exposed sex sharply and making you cry out in shock. His other hand threaded into your hair and gripped tightly, and he didn’t look at you even though he growled, “I’m playing with my toy. Don’t interrupt.”

Your legs trembled as you opened them once more for him, and he rewarded you with a soft hand brushing over your forehead. You sighed and closed your eyes, melting into his touch in utter bliss. You could spend forever lounging in his arms.

Spencer toyed with you slowly, feeling you up and spreading the growing slick bit by bit. You were still open from earlier, still wet with anticipation, and you let your legs hang open as you waited patiently for his next command. 

Finally, his fingers delved into your pussy, fingers smoothing around your hole and pressing just a little inside before coming back up to brush your clit. Your hips jumped with sensitivity, but you stayed still for him. 

You opened your eyes slowly to gaze up wondrously at him. His eyes glittered with mischief as he touched you softly, working you up until you were wriggling anxiously. He was beautiful, exquisitely so, and you couldn't help yourself when you reached up to run your fingers over his pink bottom lip. 

Spencer licked your fingertips lightly with the tip of his tongue, but he didn't stop you. Instead, he smiled down at you, "You drive me crazy, sweetheart."

You grinned up at him and keened, "Because you love me?"

He chuckled, his eyes full of love and gentleness for you, "Because I love you."

Spencer moved his hands beneath your head and lifted you from his lap, turning you until your head was pressed into the pillows and you were laid out beneath him. Planting himself between your thighs, Spencer reached over and opened the nightstand drawer. He pulled out a bottle of lube and a familiar little bullet vibrator and set them next to you on the bed. 

After closing the drawer, he covered your body with his and gave you a passionate kiss, slow and full of longing. Your hands tangled into his hair as he cupped your jaw, and you moaned into his mouth. His cock pressed against your cunt, hard and throbbing, but he wasn't in a hurry, just kissing you and caressing your skin. 

His lips dragged along yours, errant spit smearing along your cheek with each slide. One of his hands moved from your jaw and smoothed down your neck to your shoulder, down your side and under your back, making it arch as he pulled you close. He was warm against you, his body pressed against yours, soft and firm in all the right places. 

"I really love you," Spencer murmured in between kisses, groaning quietly and rocking his body into you. "So much, so much…"

Grinning against his lips, you kissed him back and whispered just as sweetly, "I love you, Spencer. I love you."

Spencer smiled and rested his forehead against yours, watching you intently with those beautiful eyes, "Are you ready?"

You nodded, "I'm ready, daddy."

He smirked pridefully and got to his knees, reaching out for the lube bottle and popping it open. You spread your legs wide for him, trying to keep your body from tensing with anxiety as he squeezed a bit onto his fingers. 

You shivered as you watched him, barely holding back an excited grin as Spencer smoothed it out to warm it up for you. When he saw you he stuck out his tongue playfully and shoved you down with a palm to your chest, quickly mounting you once more. 

"We can stop anytime you want," he said seriously, but his voice was soft. "You give me the red light and I'll stop in a heartbeat."

You gulped and smiled shakily at him, "If you can take that pink monster, I can take you, big boy."

Spencer huffed a laugh and shook his head, pressing his lips to yours and bringing his fingers between you. A shudder rocked its way up your spine as his warm wet fingertips pressed to your ass, his hot breath fanning across your lips. 

"Color?" he asked sweetly. 

"Green," you replied. 

Spencer dove in and gave you a hard kiss, languid and full of longing as he circled his fingers around your unfucked hole. You gasped and tensed, but he just smoothed his free hand down the inside of your thigh. 

"Relax, I'm not gonna hurt you. We'll go slow."

Spencer softly pushed at the ring of muscle, and when you sucked a breath in he kissed you again. His tongue pushed between your teeth as he probed your asshole gently, working in slowly. To distract yourself from your own anxiety, you tangled your fingers in his hair and focused on kissing him back, tongues battling for dominance even though you knew who would always win. 

You whimpered when he pressed inside, a slight burning making your legs twitch and shake. Spencer distracted you with sloppy kisses, lips dragging and moving so you had to follow him just to kiss him back. You didn’t even realize how deep he’d gotten until his knuckle breached you, making you gasp and your eyes fly open. 

“Shh, shh, shh,” he hushed, kissing the corner of your mouth and down your cheek. “Relax, sweetheart. Open up for me.”

You nodded and whined anyway, willing yourself to relax as Spencer pumped his coated finger inside, curling just enough to make you see stars and heat rush to your cheeks. 

“Sh-should I be on my knees?” you asked nervously, “Would that make it easier?”

Spencer shook his head and gave you a quick kiss, “I wanna see you when I fuck you.”

The burning subsided to him gliding in and out with ease as you let your body go lax, kissing Spencer and letting him play the way he wanted. You dripped from your slick cunt, and it slipped down between your cheeks and onto Spencer’s hand as your breathing picked up.

“See?” he chuckled, pulling out and pressing a second finger inside. Your teeth gritted with the new stretch, feeling full in odd places as Spencer nuzzled close and whispered, “So wet, just from having this little ass fingered… You can do it, I know you can. I know you want it, sweetheart.”

“I do, I want it,” you murmured breathily back, nodding against him as his thick fingers stretched you open. You didn’t even have a prostate and this was starting to feel so good you could cum… but your pussy was so empty. 

You found yourself rocking down slowly on his hand, mouth hung open as Spencer watched with glittering eyes. His gaze took in each quiver of your jaw, each gasp that huffed from your lips, goading you on with gentle prodding.

Heat coursed through your veins like a wildfire, fingers scissoring inside you slow and methodically. Spencer captured your lips with his as your pussy clenched around nothing in excitement. You were so ready for this, ready for him, ready to give your trust to him in a new way.

Spencer kissed you again as he slipped his fingers from your fingered hole. You whined at the empty feeling, but Spencer tutted and slapped the inside of your thigh lightly, “Patience, sweetheart.”

Spencer groaned as he picked up the lube and popped it open once more. You watched with your bottom lip held tightly between your teeth as he squirted it into his fingers and smoothed it down his cock, hissing at the cool sensation. He watched you through hooded lids as he jerked himself off slowly, smirking your way.

“You gonna fuck me or not?” you pouted, and he chuckled. 

Spencer’s large hand wrapped around his dick slid smoothly with the lube, and you watched as his balls tightened in anticipation, knowing exactly what was going through his mind. You arched your back and spread your legs wide for him, grinning as his pupils blew wide. 

He growled and crawled over your body once more, eyes going dark even as you smiled widely beneath him. He leaned in close and cocked one brow at you, “I said I was going to be gentle, but if you keep testing me I may not be so nice.”

He reached between you and gripped the base of his dick, the blunt head pressing against your stretched hole and making your jaw drop. In a low voice he asked, “Are you going to be good?”

You nodded excitedly, “Yes, daddy. I’ll be good.”

“You better be,” he said lowly, but when he kissed you it was soft. 

Spencer kissed you gently, slowly pushing inside with gentle rolls of his hips. Your head swam with the stretching burn, the sensation of being filled, and you clung to him and the feeling of his lips against yours. He pumped himself slowly, grunting through gritted teeth as he tried to hold himself back.

“Fuck, so tight,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. His breath was hot against your face, fucking you slowly and carefully when you knew he wanted to pound you until you were nothing. “Oh, god, sweetheart, I knew you’d be perfect.”

You smiled softly as he sheathed fully inside, thick and holding you wide open, his chest pressing to yours and holding you down on the mattress. His cock was somehow heavier like this, throbbing and hot in such a forbidden place, and you loved it.

“Daddy?” you asked quietly, and he looked to you through bleary unfocused eyes, hazy with lust. “Wanna cum, please.”

He huffed a strained laugh, struggling to keep himself in check when you were still begging for more and he hadn’t truly gotten to start yet. You’d both wanted this for a while, but never got the opportunity, and you just wanted to experience it together.

Propping himself up on one elbow as you wrapped your legs around his waist, hiking them up to keep yourself wide open for him, Spencer kissed you and shakily pulled most of the way out. His lips pressed insistently against yours as he slid back in without much resistance on your body’s part. 

You moaned at the sensation, full and heady and so delightfully dirty, his cock in your ass and his heart belonging to you. You tangled your fingers in his hair as he fucked into you slowly, working you up even though you were both ready now.

Sensing your neediness, Spencer got up on his knees. Gripping your hip with one hand, he rocked into you as his thumb smoothed through your pussylips and gathered up your slick, moving up to rub along your clit in tight circles. 

Your back arched as you watched him through hooded lids. You were so sensitive from earlier, from cumming on that dildo as you fucked him and his playing with you after. You knew you weren't going to last long, and by the desperate look in his eye he wasn't going to either. 

"You look so pretty like this, daddy," you muttered, hips jerking and ass clenching with each swipe of his thumb. His curls clung to his forehead with sweat lining his skin from the effort of holding back. 

"I'm not gonna last long," he warned, and you nodded in reply. 

You reached over and grabbed the vibrator from the covers, letting out a small grunt of discomfort as Spencer gripped you by the backs of your knees and pushed them up. He waited for you to turn on the bullet before thrusting into you once more.

He held you wide open as you pressed the little toy to your clit, groaning to himself as the vibrations got to him. His cheeks were patched bright red, trailing down his chest and belly. His voice was husky as he watched you play with yourself, “Look at you…”

You bit your lip, smirking at him as he fucked your ass with pained thrusts. Your hips twitched each time you swirled the toy around your clit, the burning stretch only making you wetter. 

“You like getting your asshole fucked, sweetheart?” he asked lowly, his fingertips digging into your thighs as he held you up.

“Yeah, daddy,” you gasped, your pussy squelching as you clenched around nothing. “Fuck me harder.”

Spencer’s hips stuttered and slowed, his brows furrowing, “Can you take it?”

“I can take it,” you promised, giving him a pout and arching your back. As if to prove your point, you turned the vibrator speed up on your sensitive bundle of nerves, letting your eyes flutter closed at the beautiful sensations.

“C’mon, daddy, please!” you begged when he didn’t do as you asked. “Want it so bad… I need to be fucked up the ass, I need you to fill me up, please!”

His jaw clenched as the dilemma rocked through his mind, but soon enough he dropped your legs and leaned over you. Spencer gripped your throat as he braced himself on the bed, angling your neck to force you into a fierce kiss.

It was a clash of teeth and tongue, rough thrusts as he fucked your ass raw and hard. It hurt… hurt so fucking good as he stretched you open on his dick, thick and throbbing without mercy. Your hips rocked down to meet him with each one, your hand crushed between his belly and yours as you did your best to swirl your clit with the bullet.

The vibrations rocketed through you, and you used your other hand to tug harshly at his hair. Spencer was relentless, growling and growling as he used you like a sleeve. Though his kisses were rough, dragging and pulling and insistent, his love and care for you was the best thing shining through. If you hissed in pain or made a noise he wasn’t sure of, Spencer switched speeds, angles, anything to keep you comfortable. 

The heat became too much, the swiping vibrations through your empty cunt overwhelming and soaking both your bellies, and your vision whited out as you came. Your fingers and toes curled as pure ecstacy ripped through you, a sharp guttural cry that seemingly shook the room. 

You heard Spencer’s pained grunts as he fucked you through it, trying to last long enough for you to enjoy yourself. Your body overstimulated and hazy as you came down, you turned off the vibrator and wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist.

“Cum for me, daddy,” you murmured hotly in his ear, taking care to press your lips to that spot behind his ear that he loved. “Cum right in my little hole, you can do it for me.”

“Oh, thank god,” he gasped, and while you expected a little more from him, Spencer buried his cock as far in your ass as he could and let out a long groan. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You yelped in shock as cum flooded your ass, hot and thick and making your jaw drop as you held him. He thrust short and fast as he spurted thick ropes inside you, fingers gripping the sheets tight enough to shred.

When Spencer finally slowed, he collapsed on top of you. You groaned at his body weight, your own overused and rubbery after such a long night. Spencer got painfully to his knees and pulled out slowly, both of you gasping at the sensation. 

He flopped on the bed next to you, and you halfheartedly slapped your knuckles on his chest. He gripped your hand tightly as he panted, bringing it up to his lips and kissing it. 

“I thought I would last longer,” he huffed.

“Me too.” 

Your head rolled in time to see him doing the same, and when you locked eyes you both burst into laughter. 

Spencer pulled you close and into the crook of his arm, wrapping his hands around you to squeeze tightly. He kissed the top of your head and murmured, “I had so many dirty things I wanted to say but it’s like my mind was erased the second I got inside.”

You chuckled against his side as he kissed your hand again. “It was amazing, Spencer. I loved it, even if I couldn’t do anything but take it. I wanted to say more dirty things, too.”

“Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked suddenly, angling up so he could look at you. You simply reached up, palmed his face, and pushed his head back into the pillow.

When he let out a little grunt, you brushed your fingertips along his lips as you watched him stare at the ceiling, “I’m fine, Spence. I never gave you the red light, did I?”

“Well, no,” he mumbled slowly. “No you didn’t.”

You smiled to yourself, and when you lightly pulled on his bottom lip, Spencer pretended to try and take a bite of your fingers. 

"Are you busy Friday?" you asked lightly, even though your next question was a loaded one. 

"God, I hope not. I'm planning on being here," he chuckled, looking down at you and giving you a goofy grin. 

"What if we went…out for dinner?"

Now Spencer frowned at you, "Isn't that the plan?"

You waved a hand dismissively, "Plans, plans, make them and God laughs."

Spencer made a face and got up on his elbows to peer down at you, "What are you on about?"

You groaned a little as you sat up, trying to ignore your sore backside. Naked and vulnerable, you reached out your pinky, and Spencer looped his with yours. 

"We said we'd go slow, just dates…and then we spent the night at a romantic cabin. We said we'd wait to meet the kids… and then you meet three out of five at a random soccer game you didn't want to go to."

"All true," he said slowly, cocking a brow at you and your evasiveness. "All wonderful experiences I cherish."

You smiled softly at his earnestness, "We said slow and it hasn't been more than a few real months of dating and we've told one another we love each other."

Now his gaze turned worried, and he gripped your hand tighter, "What is it, sweetheart? You're scaring me?"

"I love you," you told him, eyes blazing with sincerity. He opened his mouth to speak but you interrupted him. "I want you to meet my husband and kids, on purpose this time. I'm tired of tiptoeing around the fact that I want to spend forever with you."

Spencer broke out in a teary smile, laughing lightly to himself. He got to his knees and took your hands in his, both of you naked and covered in one another unashamedly. 

"I'm gonna tell you something, and even if you want to run screaming from this room, I'm asking you not to," Spencer said seriously, and you made a face before nodding. 

He took a deep breath, holding it in before letting it go. His pretty hazel eyes bored into yours, glittering with love and excitement. 

"I love you. I've known that for a year and a half, since I saw you in the hotel bar," he began, and you smiled at the memory. Spencer held your hands tightly, smiling so sweet and soft you could have melted right there. "If I knew that on day one, then I have no doubt that this funny feeling I have is going to come true."

"What feeling? Are you sick?"

"No," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm going to marry you. Maybe not this year, maybe not for ten, but one of these days I'm going to call you my wife."

Your eyes filled with tears, and without warning you flung your arms around his shoulders. Your sore breasts pressed against him, but you didn't care as Spencer clutched you tightly to his chest. 

"That's okay, right?" Spencer asked worriedly as you cried in his arms. 

You pulled back and smiled at him, "If you marry me, you also marry Chuck and his girlfriend, and you'll get five kids to boot. Are you okay with that?"

Spencer looked at you like you were an idiot, "Sweetheart, of course I am. A life with you and the people we love… that's everything I want."

"So…" you murmured, a playful smile creeping its way along your cheeks, "You wanna have dinner with my husband Friday night, future husband?"

Spencer scoffed and nodded, his chest shaking as he laughed, "It's a date. A really weird, weird date, but one I'm excited for."

"Baby with this family, weird is all you'll get."

He pulled you down to lay on the bed, and you knew soon you'd both have to clean up and leave, going back to your lives apart. But soon you'd have those lives together, and one day forever. 

You trusted him. He trusted you. It was all going so perfectly. 

Maybe too perfect. 

Notes: Please let me know what you think! Why do you think Sweetheart's feeling all bloated? Aunt Flo or... something else? o.O

CM Forever Tag:

@thedancingcostumeyoungadult @muffin-cup @simplyparker @spencerreidsmommy @hotchandspencearedilfs @gspenc @kbakery @nomajdetective @givemeth @hoshihiime @halloween-is-my-nationality @reidselle @thisiscalmanditsdoctorreid @dreatine @thebloomingeagle @fortheloveofwonderland @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @reidselle @randomhoex @scargarcia-magshotchner @stitchwrites @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @cle13 @aysixdy @elhotchner @directioner5life @elhotchner @loveeee2134 @preciousbabypeter @la-stuffs @stories-you-wont-hear @hotchlover @fortheloveofwonderland @lokiandhisdagger @bellanutellababyyy @dark-night-sky-99 @straightforbuckybutgayfornatasha @maltamurdock @charelletjee @kansas-reid @zephyrmonkey @spencer-reid-wonderland @spencersprettyslut @im-sure-its-fine @tvdstelenaforever @teddylupintonks  @lilibet261 @kneelforloki @dirtytissuebox @almostgenerallyalways @whovian378 @cl0udyqu33n @thegettingbyp2 @averagestudent03 @the-sun-died-out @squishycalumxo 

Room 405 Tag:

@rexorangecouny @nomajdetective @halloween-is-my-nationality @spenciesprincess @hoely-scripture @gspenc @princesssmooshie @loveeee2134 @reidslefteyebrow @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @hotchandspencearedilfs @barbietiingz @riverjane-d @2-gay-possums-in-a-trench-coat @simplyparker @thebloomingeagle @pygmygoat-bicyclehelmet @fangirling-galore @randomhoex @drspencerreid80 @kbakery@fortheloveofwonderland @athenabrown @yukachankyu @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @baciamisottolalucedicentostelle @athenabrown @theforgottenwinter @parkerreidnorth @elhotchner

[gladumfdoodles]

wrote a quick warmup based off of Grian and Scar's secret life episode 6 :]

word count: 495

characters: Scar, Grian, Pearl, and Etho

It's chasing him. It's chasing him and it's screaming at him and he is barely dodging its attacks.

Scar leapt over a crater in the ground, not daring to slow down as he ran his third circuit around the secret keeper, heart pounding, breath coming in short bursts. He couldn't stop. He couldn't stop, because it would catch him and he would die.

The wither let out another ear piercing shriek, launching another volley of missiles around him. He ducked around three of them, then skidded around a fence post, heading back around the mounders base.

“Help!!” He shouted, running past Mumbo and Pearl's tower. “It won't stop chasing me!!”

“You’re on your own, Scar!” Pearl hollered back, dragging one of her wolves by the collar into her home.

Scar hurled himself over the small pond, just missing the bank, landing with a splash. He hauled himself out as quickly as he could, racing for the gate and throwing it open.

He sprinted back towards the secret keeper statue, stumbling over the divots in the landscape, nearly falling over one of them as he did so.

“Etho! I'm back, got any ideas?” He yelped as he saw the other man come into view. He had something to do with this, right? He could help.

“The warden is down there, if you can lead it to him!” Etho called back, running in front of him.

As he did so, Scar's communicator exploded with messages, and he managed to pull it out long enough to see that it was Grian, repeating the same thing over and over again.

[Grian]: scar ill log you out

“What does that mean?” He panted, dropping his communicator back in his pocket. “Grian?”

“Follow me, follow me, right here.” Etho pulled him over to Joel's MLG tower, up against the wall. “We'll log out here!”

“What is–” Scar started, but he was unable to finish as the world disappeared from around him. The breath in his lungs was sucked out, leaving him gaping for air that didn't exist. He felt like he had fallen into the void, except that even the void had some detail, some amount of life. This was nothing. He was nothing. It was tearing at his arms, his legs, his face, threatening to consume him, and then–

Purple threads wrapped around his wrists and ankles, pulling taut and dragging him up through the nothingness. The world rushed back in a burst of color and light, and he looked up to see Grian standing in front of him, glowing purple strings twisted around his fingers. Eyes floated around his head, seemingly made of the same material. As he watched, the eyes closed and the threads vanished, leaving them both breathing heavily, the sound of a wither screaming in the background.

“What was that?” Scar whispered, eyes wide.

“Logging out.” Grian patted him on the shoulder, and Scar could feel his hand shaking. “Come on, let's go kill this wither.”

--

listen this is pretty canon divergent but I thought it would be super cool if logging out isn't a normal thing that people do, they just live on the server until the game ends, but grian has the power to boot someone off the server for a short time and bring them back

[ohtobealady]

October Prompts

3 October: Time

Sybbie glanced again at the fob watch that dangled from her pin, and she sat up straighter. 

Granny had said she’d be here at noon, exactly. “For luncheon,” she’d said in her posh little way, though Sybbie -- only fifty years or so separating the two women -- had told the other nurses thirty minutes before that she was “stepping out for a quick lunch.”

“With Countess Granny?” they’d teased, but it was all in good fun. They’d been surprised, that was all. And the older Sybbie grew, she'd begun to understand it.

She shifted in her seat again. She looked around the dining room. She picked at the hangnail bothering her ring finger. And then, again, Sybbie glanced at her watch. It was nearing a quarter-after, now. She’d have to be back at the hospital before they’d be able to place their order. And truth be told, she was starting to feel a little self-conscious sitting here, in the Ritz dining room, wearing her nursing uniform. There may be a war on, but it didn’t yet prevent the table cloth that she now wriggled with her bouncing knee from being whiter and crisper than her apron. 

“Excuse me, Miss?” 

She drew in a breath, in surprise, and glanced at the waiter now standing at her side. 

“Would you care for a drink while you wait? Perhaps you know what your companion would like as well?”

“Oh,” she pushed her hands into her wrinkled lap. “I believe a glass of water, for now. For me. And then a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for Lady Grantham? Who will be joining me very soon.”

That had done the trick. The waiter smiled, bobbed his brows and nodded. “Very good, madam.”

Sybbie smirked. Miss to Madam in the matter of a minute. What a snob, she thought, and sighed. Now all Sybbie had to do was wait for Granny. 

Again, she glanced at her pendant watch, the seconds ticking by; but then, out of no where, “Oh, darling. We are so sorry.”

Sybbie glanced up and found, to her relief, her tall, slender grandmother. And she looked every inch the countess she'd promised the waiter she'd be: her cream colored silk shirt, her tailored tea-colored coat, the pearl earrings dangling at her throat. She smiled. Yes, the countess, but still very much just … Granny. Her granny.

But then, “Wait, ‘we’, Granny?”

“Yes,” she sighed as she sat, rolling her eyes. The host behind her pushed in her chair. “I did try to dissuade him, but he was so determined.”

Oh. Donk.

She couldn’t help the smile that spread at seeing his flustered entrance, his quick thanks to the host for bringing another chair, the nods to people Sybbie supposed he might know, all the while Granny looking up at him with her crooked smirk. 

“How does anyone get anywhere with the absurd number of cars?” Donk grumbled, nodding again as a different waiter placed a menu and serviette before him. “Doesn’t anyone walk anymore?”

Across the table, Sybbie caught her granny's eye and laughed as they grew larger and then rolled, again, but more dramatically.

“Well, yes,” Sybbie answered. She took her napkin and placed it in her lap. “I did, in fact. And I still managed to get here on time.”

“Ah, I’m not suggesting that I’m late, of course.”

Sybbie heard as Granny grunted a small chuckle under her breath, and she watched her grandfather also take his serviette and sniff as he draped it into his lap.

“I see,” she volleyed. “Is that perhaps because you don’t believe lunch should ever be as early as noon or,” Sybbie lifted her chin, “is it because you cannot possibly be late to something you were never invited to in the first place?” 

“What do you mean I wasn't invited?”

Sybbie tipped her head. “This was meant to be a girls’ lunch, Donk. Just for Granny and me.”

“Oh, well that’s impossible.” Donk lifted his chin back at her. “We come as a pair, you know, your grandmother and I.”

This time it was Sybbie who rolled her eyes, but her chest felt warmer all the same.

“I know,” she admitted, glancing between her chuckling Donk and her glowing Granny who, laughing, shook her head. “And let no man put asunder.”

[birdinabowl]

never mind I’m not being the bigger person

[joowee-feftynn]

If you have any, what are your Volleyball and/or Pink hcs?

OOUUUGH 14 year old me would've combusted with an ask like this lmaooo

But either way, I may not remember a lot of them nor really like some anymore but I'll try listing some so here it goes

For Pink:

-In my head she would most likely be capable of having fire powers, both because it sort of makes sense and is slightly hinted to be possible as well as I found it really cool

-She would probably really enjoy food and maybe grow an interest for cooking

-She's scaringly good at climbing

-She's pretty damn athletic, being able to perform impressive stunts and maneuvers like it's nothing, as well as being extremely flexible

-LOVES physical touch. She hugs everything and everyone and loves to be hugged as well. She rarely ever realizes when she's being overly affectionate

-Actually possess behaviors and mannerisms similar to a cat's (this sounds ridiculous but I thought it was super cute and somehow fitting. yes she purrs)

-She developed an aversion to the dark due to her time spent locked in the tower. This could go into the theory that the diamonds essentially starved her since gems are powered by light but I won't get into that here

-She got the Wombo Combo (autism + adhd and developed a special interest in earth things in general)

-She likes having her face touched and caressed :]

-She used to hide things in her hair, and since it was so dense and thick it worked really well

-Really Really REALLY hates being held, because it makes her feel small and vulnerable and that's a no-no for her

-She would looooove naps. she's an eeper and goes snork mimimimimi

-She likes to dance and do silly things for volley to watch. Seeing her laugh made her really happy, and sometimes she even participated in her performances along with the pebbles :D

For Volley:

-When she was first introduced to pink, she used to be a pretty quiet but compliant pearl, always following orders and all that. However, since Pink is a huge enabler (and has no actual idea of how much authority she has over any other gem), she slowly started to develop and show her true personality. She still comes off as nice and quiet, but is actually pretty sassy and quite the jokester too!

-She has a tendency to be passive-aggressive, but she either means it completely or doesn't even realize it. She would stab a bitch if necessary imo

-After joining Little Homeworld, she develops a liking for botany, as well as photography!

-If she ever got the chance, she would have defended pink from the diamonds and even argue with them about how terrible they treat her *stares at this concept art by rebecca sugar*

-Volley isn't as favorable of physical touch like Pink is, but she lets her lay her head on her lap. She likes to rest her head on pink's hair also

-She likes to squeeze pink's cheeks because they're squishy and it makes her giggle (pink does not know how to feel about it)

-She likes being held and carried around by pink. it makes her feel closer to her (emotionally), and she likes being high up there and gets all sassy about it sometimes lol

-She really likes coffee :]

-Sometimes she likes to quietly sit and lean on pink, and of course pink doesn't know how to react to that, so she just lets her be. It's probably some of the most peaceful moments they have together before The Incident

-She is Such a showoff lmao

-She doesn't cry very often, unlike pink, the latter being much more of a crybaby

-And of course she's autistic too

-She used to take pride in being so close to her diamond, which the other pearls found utterly disgusting, but she didn't care because to her, being pink diamond's best friend meant way more than just being her pearl

Aaand we're done I think. didn't expect this to be this long LMAO

Either way, thanks a lot for the ask! I love these two a lot and really wish we got more of them

[introvert-celeste]

Now that I've warmed up with a few toh fics I might actually start writing su fics again 👀