#erikas ocs

[spectralreplica]

My full piece from pris-M-agic: A Magical Girls Zine by @dotzines ! It's free to download now, so please go check out everyone's pieces! 🌈

I had lots of fun putting in little easter eggs for people to find. Some are probably more obvious than others lmao

[esote-rika]

derision as prelude to desire | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader

Category: smut 18+ MDNI, fluff if you squint

Summary: Spencer Reid’s new coworker is mean but one night doing overtime together leads to the two of them bonding.

Content: glasses!Spencer, workplace rivals if you squint, Spencer Reid vs technology, reader is kind of mean and based on Blair Waldorf (in background, looks, and personality), Spencer is petty, his mind is in the GUTTER, use of eye drops, making out, sub!Spencer, fingering, oral (male receiving), whining and begging glasses!Spencer. Let’s pretend the BAU doesn’t have any CCTV cameras for this one m’kay thanks

Word count: 3.6k

A/N: This is an ITCH in my brain, like I’ve been thinking about a Spencer Reid x Blair Waldorf crackship since August last year it’s actually concerning. One of my favorite ship dynamics is loser boy x popular girl, so it makes sense. Still in second person to make it immersive. This isn’t a crossover, so there will be no spoilers for Gossip Girl. The reader's personality, looks and background are just based on Blair. Let me know if you want to read more of this dynamic because I have so many ideas for it oh my god. I hope you enjoy it!

Spencer Reid often muses on the series of events that had brought you from the streets of the Upper East Side to work in Quantico, Virginia. It would be easy to ask, of course, or even have Penelope do a quick background check on you, but he’s made a game of it instead, piecing together what he knows of your history, filling in the blanks of what would have gone wrong, what decisions you would have taken, in order to leave the privileged life you led and enter public service.

As far as he had been concerned, you don’t belong anywhere near the FBI, let alone the BAU. Spoiled, rich, with a mean streak he is all too familiar with from his time in school.  

He had been so sure you wouldn’t fit in when you first joined the team. You had been, and continue to be, perfectly made, every single hair shiny and curled just so, heels always so shiny and matching whatever designer bag you have slung over your shoulder. Everything about you screams high maintenance, and his profiler instincts point to several things: uncooperative, wants everything handed to you, ditzy.

But then you had shown your cards, had proved his assessment so wrong and he could never forgive you for the sting of that defeat.

It doesn’t help that you seem to enjoy riling him up as well. Every case is an opportunity to one up him, an attempt to claim his spot and it’s unfair. You already have everything, yet you still refuse to yield the title of team genius to him, the one thing he can cling to, the thing he knows is his. 

He is still glowering today, four months into your employment, passive aggressively hitting the keys on his keyboard. He’s a slow typist, and he’d agreed to write Morgan’s reports for him this week, a favor between friends he’s now beginning to regret. You are the only one keeping him company. The rest of the team has already left hours ago, but you’re typing away at your desk, fingers flying through the keyboard without even a glance. His own skills seem laughable in comparison, going at the keys one by one, with the speed of an old grandparent squinting over a typewriter instead of a man in his twenties. 

“Take a picture, Reid, it’ll last longer.”

He blinks, forcing his eyes back to the monitor. “You’re so original.” he mutters, pushing his glasses up to nestle on top of his head. He rubs his eyes, already despising the glare of the screen.

“Aw, what, the genius can’t handle a little blue light?”

He doesn’t bother with a response, blinking at the screen instead. The sooner he can get this done, the sooner he can leave. Sounds of tapping keys fill the air again, but he stops after a few moments again, rubbing at his eyes. He hears a sigh, and then your voice again, haughty but somehow concerned.

“You’re not supposed to rub your eyes, it makes it worse.” 

“I know,” he grumbles, “I don’t need you lecturing me about the importance of eye health.”

“It seems like you do, since you’re still doing it.” you reply derisively. He’d be rolling his eyes if he isn’t too busy rubbing them.

“Here,” you say, “Catch.”

Confused, he lifts his head, only to flinch as something hurls right at him. “What-” it hits his desk, then bounces off.

“Oh, look what you’ve done, genius.”

“You threw it at me.” his lips are pulled into a tight line of disapproval, “A head’s up would have been nice.”

“I did, genius, I said catch. You just have the reflexes of an eighty year old.” your voice is tinged with annoyance.

To his surprise, you’re up and walking to his desk, heels echoing in the empty bullpen. He watches as you gingerly kneel on the ground, bending down, and his eyes grow wide. The image of you bent down like this is surprisingly enticing, your skirt straining against the soft curve of your hips, hair falling down your shoulders like a curtain of the night sky. You’ve gotten close enough that he can smell your perfume, something citrusy and clean, and he subconsciously leans closer.

Mouth dry, he manages to croak out, “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find the damn eye drops.” you snap, an arm extending towards him and for a moment he holds his breath, waiting for contact. Instead, you grab something from the ground, “There it is.” 

He watches as you straighten, lifting your torso upright, but still kneeling in front of him. An image flashes through his mind, your face between his thighs, those large eyes staring up at him, but he banishes it quickly lest his thoughts begin to stir his body. 

“Here, these should help.” You say, finally standing back up and placing the tiny bottle on his desk. A filthy part of him wishes you’d get back on your knees. He catches the tilt of your head, the confusion in your eyes, “Reid. Are you still with me? Has your brain finally short circuited from all those statistics?”

Oh his brain is short circuiting, all right, just from a different cause.

“I’m - yeah.” he replies, and then he rattles off the first thought his frazzled mind could come up with, “Did you know some people have used eye drops as a method for murder? Not these ones, but there are specific brands that contain—”

“Tetrahydrozoline,” you finish for him, “Yeah, I know.”

He blinks. There you go again, proving your intellect, your value, somehow matching his even though he’s pretty sure you are no genius, not in the same way he is. Still, perhaps it’s the late night, or your offer of relief, but the sting of being bested doesn’t resonate tonight. A softer feeling unfurls in his chest, something warm and addictive, something like understanding. He smiles, “That’s right.”

You nod, curls spilling over your shoulders again, “Mhm. Well… These are for your eyes, I’m not trying to poison you.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you.”

A scoff, “Please, I’m not dumb enough to attempt murder in the office.”

His brows lift and he finds himself grinning, “So you’ve thought about it?”

“I will neither deny nor confirm.” you’re smiling now too, and he lets his eyes roam over the pretty lines of your face, memorizing how lovely you look in this moment, guards lowered and smiling at him with ease. He thinks he sees something flash in those pretty eyes of yours but he’s not sure. Reading people has never been his strong suit, regardless of his profession.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” you gesture at his glasses, and he immediately obeys, pushing it back up to nestle on his hair. He holds his breath as you come closer, bites his lips when your hand comes to his chin. It’s soft, unbelievably gentle, and you tilt his head back. From this angle, he can see the way your lashes curl, the soft hint of shimmer swept across your lids. Eyeshadow, he remembers from what Penelope and JJ have told him, and it highlights the shape of your eyes, making them appear brighter.  

He blinks as coolness hits his eye, and then you’re tilting his head to the other side, and he’s trying not to panic, trying not to be a creep, but in reality, he hasn’t been this close, this intimate to a woman in so long that it’s messing up his ability to inhale, to think, to function. Your hair flutters gently around his face, and the scent of citrus is stronger now, heady, and he feels so light headed he’s afraid he’ll faint.

The same coolness hits the other eye, and before you can pull away, before he can think it through, he’s curling his own hand over your wrist. He lifts it up, pressing a kiss to the inside of your palm, admonishing any thoughts of germs and bacteria, and instead relishing at the tender flesh beneath his lips. He kisses your palm again, lips gently tracing the lines, before moving down to the inside of your wrist, before pausing.

He dares to peer up, waiting for a reprimand, a cutting sentence that would have him lashing back at you, but there’s none. There it is again, the flicker in your eyes, and now he finally knows the word to attach to it: desire.

He kisses the inside of your wrist again, and feels you pulse fluttering beneath his lips. Fast, to his surprise, almost matching the quick succession of thudding in his chest. 

“Reid,” you whisper, and he waits again, allows you time to pull away. You don’t, but he’s apprehensive now, afraid he’s crossed a boundary. He definitely has, but he would do it again if you express the desire to do so, to tumble into whatever this is with him. He just needs confirmation, one verbal acknowledgement that you want this too, because he doesn’t trust his ability to read you yet, not when he’s spent so much time despising you.

But you’re just looking at him, and the embarrassment is almost painful. His cheeks heat up, and he drops your hand.

“I’m sorry.” he murmurs, sinking back on his seat. He’s about to turn to his monitor, intent to forget about this, forget everything even though his memory would make that impossible, but he finds his face being tilted up again, cradled between impossibly soft hands, and then there’s lips against his own, your lips, oh god you are kissing him.

He wraps his arms around your waist, following the movement of your mouth to the best of his limited ability. Your teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lets out an involuntary whimper, his body jerking at the sting. He feels you smiling against his mouth, cocky even in the midst of a kiss, in the midst of the most heated kiss he’s had since - since - he can’t even remember her, the brief dalliance he had with an actress once upon a time, because all he can think of is your mouth, and your hands, nails scratching at his scalp, and every single thought is expelled from his mind when you climb on his lap.

“God,” he moans in between kisses, his breaths ragged, but he would gladly drown in you before stopping.

“Not god,” you correct him and nip at his lower lip with more force this time.

“Mhm.” he whines, and kisses you again, shifting so you’re more comfortable on his lap. He wonders if the chair is creaking from your combined weight, but then you’re grinding directly on his cock and he’s lost in a haze of white hot pleasure. 

Apparently, Spencer Reid cannot multitask, because his lips fall slack as you grind against his hardening cock. Your laughter tinkles in his ear, before your mouth latches on his jaw, down his neck, open and wet and sticky. He knows you said you aren’t god, and he’s never been religious, but he swears this must be heaven. Fitting too, in the same way he’s never thought he’d reach some place he doesn’t even believe in, he’s also never thought he would have you—beautiful, infuriating, untouchable you—grinding on his lap with a desperation that borders frenzy.

Recognizing that your need burns you just as his is making him reckless, he manages to whisper, “Tell me— tell me what to do. How do I make you feel good?”

You giggle, taking one of his hands away from your waist and leading it under your skirt. The fabric has bunched up over your thighs, and he grips the smooth flesh greedily. But you have other ideas, and he’s eager to learn, so he lets you move his hand higher, until the tips of his fingers brush against moist fabric.

His mouth goes dry. You’ve soaked through your panties. 

“Like this?” he dips his fingers past the lace, his mouth falling open at the slick that’s gathered at your core. You have your face buried at his neck, lips and tongue still assaulting the tender skin there, but he feels you nod, feels the shudder that runs through you, and he takes those as a good sign. His touch is exploratory, gentle, fueled by an intoxication over the fact that you’re here and you’re enjoying it, you’re making those sounds for him. 

He’s awestruck rather than cocky, and when he slides his fingers into your pussy, he’s immediately trying to figure out a rhythm that would draw out those pretty noises from your lips. When he finds it, he sticks to it, greedily drinking in your moans, no matter how muffled they are against his neck.

There’s a sense of degeneracy to this whole thing. Fingering his coworker in the office, right there on his desk, he could get fired should this get out, they both could. Still, he’s never truly had anyone want him so unabashedly and he simply cannot stop. You had been the one to kiss him, after all, the lines in the sand had been completely trampled by the time you had climbed on his lap. 

“You feel so good,” you whisper, and he feels you move, riding his hand shamelessly, and he has to bite your shoulder to keep himself from whining again. The sight alone nearly undoes him, and you’ve barely done anything. He’s been actively providing you with stimulation this whole time, fucking you with his fingers relentlessly, and somehow, he wouldn’t change a single thing. 

“Yeah?” he asks, pupils blown wide, wanting, needing the assurance that he’s doing good, he’s making you feel good.

“Yes, oh fuck, yes!” your voice grows sharper as he curls his fingers with every thrust. After a few moments of fumbling with your panties, his thumb presses against your clit and he’s rewarded by another groan from you. 

He draws figure eights against your slick core, finding a rhythm that has you tugging at his hair wildly, and he’s whispering into your ear, pleading, “That’s it, please come for me, please, let me see how good you feel, please, please—”

“Spencer!” you groan, and then you’re shuddering in his lap, and his fingers down to his knuckles are wet with your slick. 

He grins, helping you through your orgasm, pressing kisses to your hair, the FBI issued office chair creaking so much he’s afraid the two of you would break it if you don’t stop. The image is hilarious in its absurdity, making his grin widen, and you must have taken it for arrogance because he feels a slight smack on his shoulder.

“Don’t get cocky.” you mutter.

He takes you in, the flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, mascara now smudged along your lash lines, and he’s reverential instead of arrogant, grateful that he has brought someone so stunning and capable to the throes of pleasure, has taken you apart so much you’ve ruined your normally perfect facade. 

“You’re beautiful.” he tells you, his own eyes glistening with an unfocused daze. You roll your eyes and shake your head, and he’s seized with a desire to keep you hear and bury his fingers inside you over and over again until you believe him.

“Your turn.” You chuckle, hands unwinding from his neck and travelling down the length of his abdomen, coming to the buckle on his belt.

“Wait, I—uh,” he turns beet red once again, clearing his throat, “Are you on the pill? I don’t have—”

You tilt your head, as if the idea of a man walking around without a condom is foreign. Perhaps it is, but Spencer simply never assumed he would have any use for it. He turns away, teeth worrying his lower lip, but you pull his face to you again.

“I have hands.” you say as you resume undoing his pants. You shift, then slink away from him, and he whines at the loss of your warmth, but he sees you on your knees once again, and this time it’s not just his brain making up lewd, inappropriate thoughts, “And a mouth.”

“Y-you really don’t have to.”

“I know,” you grin, pretty as the devil and twice as tempting, and as your hands wrap around his engorged length, thumb circling at the tip, “But how can I not, when you’re this pretty?”

He blacks out, he swears he does, there’s no way this isn’t a perverted dream, no way that you’re actually stroking up and down his throbbing cock. Somehow he comes to, only to feel a warmth, a wetness, enveloping the swollen tip, and his hips buck up instinctively. He whines when your hands push at his thighs, holding him in place. 

“Please,” he gasps, babbles, really, “Please, oh god, that feels so good.” 

You take him further down and he throws his head back so violently the glasses slip past his ears and clatter onto the floor. He feels your laughter vibrating against his cock and it almost has him keening. He whines, wriggles against your hold with no real desire to break free. He finds that likes the force of your hands on him, nails leaving harsh indents on his flesh as he struggles. The pain is delicious, heightening his already frazzled senses.

You bob your head up and down, your hair swaying gently, and he manages to will his hands to move, gathering the soft tresses in his hand so they won’t impede your movement. Your eyes flicker up, meet his own, and he swears there’s a thank you in the glint of them. He cannot do anything else. 

Slack jawed, he watches you hollow your cheeks, saliva dripping down the sides of your mouth as you give him the best head he’s ever experienced. Never mind that it’s his first one, and that he doesn’t have a point of comparison. He’s convinced this is the best, you are the best, and he’s never been more thankful for his eidetic memory until this night, knowing that he cannot, will never, ever forget the way you look as you knelt down and sucked his cock like you were being paid to do it. 

“God, you’re so pretty, oh my god, yes, just like that, please, please, yes.” he’s aware that he’s whining, and there’s an amused twinkle in your eye that tells him he would never hear the end of this after. 

He knows you well enough to know that you would dangle this over his head any chance you get, that you aren’t above playing dirty. Instead of dread, it makes his stomach roil with another gush of desire, and he knows that that is even more concerning than whatever you were going to do.

(It never occurs to him to do the same, that he could tease you back and point out that he has had you on your knees and sucking on his cock like you were made for it simply because his brain cannot fathom ever associating the sight of you kneeling before him as something to be ashamed of.)

He’s drawn from his thoughts as he feels your hands cupping his balls, stimulating an entirely new area that has him thrusting up. He feels his cock brush against the back of your throat, and he pulls back immediately, eyes wide with worry as you gag around his length.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby you can stop if—”

But you do it again, soldiering past your gag reflex and taking him all the way, and he can hear someone saying oh fuck oh fuck I’m cumming agh, please, I’m cumming, and he thinks its his own voice but he’s unsure. His eyes are squeezed shut, colors exploding behind his lids as he feels your tongue swirling over and over his sensitive cock, before the cool air surrounds it, telling him you’ve stopped completely.

When he opens his eyes, you have your head on his thigh, cheek pressed against the fabric, a lazy smile on your ruined lips.

“God,” he whispers, reaching for you, wanting you close, “That was—wow, you—come here, please.”

He watches as a flicker of surprise flits over your face, before you mask it with a giggle, “Good?” you murmur, tucking his soft cock into his pants before climbing on his lap again.

“Incredible.” He holds you tight, your slick only half dry on his fingers, the taste of him still on your tongue, “You’re incredible.”

You’re quiet, contemplative, and he presses a kiss to your neck, wanting to bring you out of whatever funk you’ve gone into, “Hey, what is it?” He’s almost terrified of the answer, worried you would pull away and leave him cold.

“I just didn’t think you’d be a cuddler.” you reply, eventually sinking into his arms. Your voice is soft when you say, “Most men aren’t.”

The thought of her having experiences doesn’t bother him; it’s the fact that they callously left her after that makes him tighten his hold on her. “I’m sorry.”

“For the entirety of shitty men? You’d need more apologies than that,” you chuckle, fingers absently curling into his hair, “But thank you. This is— this is nice.”

“It is,” Spencer nods, leaning into your touch, eyes shut.

“You lost your glasses.”

“I did.”

Your laughter fills the air, “Hey, are you sleepy? You still have Morgan’s reports to finish.”

His eyes flutter open, a sheepish smile on his lips, “Why’d you have to remind me?”

“Because the sooner you finish it, the sooner we can do this again.”

Spencer laughs, kissing your shoulder as he relents, “All right, all right.” That’s more than enough incentive to brave staring at the monitor again.

[psykocryptic]

I KNOW I'M COMING LATE BUT I REALLY wanted to do my best for the birthday of the cutest woods man in the world. We had an amazing day together celebrating it. Happy birthday my little boy, I love ya 💚(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) @hatchetmanofficial

[ellie-shy]

Yeah, so...

I muted the music and lower the volumes for ambient and SFX sounds during Lucanis's final romance scene. Thought I share a certain point of interest for everyone :

You're welcome :)

Emmrich's ;)

[lenyavok]

Get scolded dork

[kabishkat19]

Years later…

Albert vs Ethel🦋

[loustica-lucia]

DATV — Rookery

One dagger, four Rooks... How are they gonna solve that?😂 (My Rooks Calico Aldwir, Priscilla Thorne, Alba de Riva and Kataqun Ingellvar)

For those completely off the loop, these awesome people are the english voices/mocap actors of Rook! Erika Ishii, Bryony Corrigan, Alex Jordan &Jeff Berg!

[weirdcandyclown]

putting my oc on a meme i made myself to sorta explain what the deal is about him plus to show this sorta thing cuz i find it altho confusing but still fun and lovely, hope people get what i mean with this post tho

[flavorcrash]

[laimabynight]

Erika 'Kiki' Halász (30). Once came to Berlin from the Hungarian town of Csenger with grand promises of good work and a better standard of living. Today, after years on Kurfürstenstraße and in various brothels, she works for a more "exclusive" agency. Kiki has a sharp business sense and—out of necessity—very few scruples.

Berlin by Night

Art by dansulmortii

[kiiirtiiiniii]

@kyanite-shards' Kyanite and Gabbro for a request! Plus a lil writing... enjoy ::] <3

The night was cooler than Kyanite liked it, but too warm to have bothered exchanging their flannel for a sweater. A shiver passed over them. They almost rolled down their sleeves, but the thought left them the moment they spotted the person they were out here for just ahead of them, their strides long but slow, unhurried.

Gabbro was leaving in the morning, and though Kyanite was sure they'd stop by for a quick farewell before they launched, they wanted something a little less rushed, more calm and quiet. Something more like Gabbro themself, now that they thought about it. They'd only been dating for a short while now, but Kyanite thought it would be okay to ask that much.

Their footsteps crunched on grass and pine needles as they jogged over a shortcut. Gabbro's ear twitched before they lazily swung around to face them.

Cute. Kyanite's face was already warming.

They stopped a short distance away and kept their voice quiet. Slate was just around the next bend on the path, waiting for Gabbro by the base of the launch tower. They'd have a crackling fire, but that wasn't reliably loud enough to cover voices.

"Hey, Gabs."

"Hey." They replied softly, automatically matching tone. Gabbro's voice was deeper than Kyanite's, just enough to send a little shiver down their spine. "Thought you'd be asleep."

By all rights, they should be. Kyanite had an early morning tomorrow filling in for Slate doing whatever little mechanical repairs they could that were needed around the crater, since Slate would be pulling an all-nighter for Gabbro's pre-launch campout.

"I wanted to say goodbye properly." Kyanite muttered. They ground the toe of their boot into the dirt path and clasped their hands together to stop themself picking at their clothes. "Since, y'know, I'll be pretty busy tomorrow. Won't really have time for much more than a wave, or whatever."

"Properly, huh?" Gabbro smiled slowly, almost as warmly as Kyanite's face was flushing, now. They were glad it was dark. "And what does a 'proper' goodbye entail?"

"More than a wave," Kyanite said stubbornly. They knew what Gabbro was doing.

"Uh-huh. I guess this's been more than a wave." Their smile grew just enough to be considered a grin when Kyanite huffed. "Seeya."

Gabbro half-turned to leave, but found their arm caught by the sleeve.

"More than that," their captor forced out, cheeks burning against the cool night air. "C'mon, Gabs, gimme a break here."

"Oh?" Gabbro's grin was more shit-eating than sincere, now. "Then, what d'you mean by 'more'?"

Kyanite crossed their arms and huffed again, eyes on the ground. "Hearth. I dunno. A hug? And maybe..."

"Maybe...?"

Their shoulders were around their ears, their voice barely a squeak. "Maybe a kiss...?"

"That, I can do." Gabbro laughed under their breath. "Was that so hard?"

"Yes, to the damn void with you." Kyanite grumbled.

"Hey, I can go if you want..."

They all but glared daggers at their partner. "Gabs."

"Alright, alright." Gabbro was still grinning, but more softly. "Sorry, Ky. You're just too cute when you're flustered."

Kyanite nearly sputtered at that, but suddenly their partner was backing them towards a big cedar and propping them up on one of the upgrowths at the base of it.

"What-"

"Hey." Gabbro interrupted gently, firmly. "Look at me."

Kyanite looked.

Gabbro was silhouetted by moonlight; it shone dimly through their ears and surrounded their head and shoulders with a delicate halo of silver. Their scales almost seemed to sparkle in the darkness. Kyanite might've laughed at the cliché if they weren't so genuinely taken by it.

Their partner interrupted their staring by pulling them against their chest and wrapping them up in a warm hug that chased out the last of the night's chill. Kyanite responded in kind, draping their arms comfortably around Gabbro's waist and sighing deeply. They smelled of pine needles and grass, campfire smoke and treated wood, hearth and home. They'd finally shaken the weird briny scent that had clung to them when they'd most recently returned. 

A long few minutes passed. Warm, pleasant minutes. Soft, comfortable minutes.

Kyanite snapped back to themself with a sharp inhale when Gabbro murmured their name, pulling a chuckle out of their partner.

"You really should be asleep, Ky." Gabbro whispered softly into their ear, making it shiver.

Kyanite's nose crinkled and they pulled away to pout at the taller hearthian. "Still not a proper goodbye."

"My bad." Gabbro smirked fondly. "How's this?"

The pair shifted, Kyanite following Gabbro's lead, until they were nose-to-nose, then almost, almost mouth-to-mouth.

"Good?"

Kyanite could feel Gabbro's breath on their lips. They couldn't speak, so they nodded, but as they moved the tilt of their head brought the pair together.

Gabbro made a soft, satisfied little noise and pressed into the unintentional kiss. It wasn't their first kiss, but it would be their last for some time and Kyanite meant to make the most of it. After melting into their partner's touch for a long, long moment, they tipped their head to the side just so.

The reaction was immediate, faster than Kyanite expected. Gabbro inhaled deep. Their mouth parted and their tongue darted out to taste Kyanite's lower lip, running along it slowly, smoothly, and pulling a tiny, undignified squeak from them.

Kyanite pulled away to apologize, anxiety rising in their chest, only to be chased and pinned against the tree in a heart-pounding, open-mouthed kiss. Nervousness forgotten, their arms flung out, one to stabilize them against an upgrowth, the other to cling to Gabbro's back, pull them closer. Gabbro kept them in place, trapping Kyanite's legs between their own and firmly holding their shoulders. The kiss was intense, but as unhurried as Gabbro always was. It was the only thing keeping Kyanite together and coherent enough to really enjoy it.

Just as they felt stable in the kiss, as they started thinking about trying to do more than barely keep up, Gabbro shifted a hand upward. Their two fingers trapped Kyanite's ear between them and their thumb pressed into Ky's cheek. The larger finger hooked around the back of Kyanite's head, holding them firmly in place as Gabbro pulled away for a breath.

"Gabs..." Kyanite's voice sounded strange and reedy to their own ears.

Gabbro hushed them, then spoke ever-so-gently. "I gotcha, Ky."

And they were kissing again; slow, closed-mouth, but no less intense. The space between Gabbro's fingers slotted comfortably into the lower notch in Kyanite's ear and they hummed against their partner's lips, reveling in the feeling of Gabbro's smile.

"So cute..." they muttered between kisses, their low voice sending yet another pleasant jolt down Kyanite's spine. "I really, really like you. Sorry I'm gonna miss your launch."

It took a long few moments for Kyanite to gather enough of their mind to respond. "I'll, hmm, come visit you."

"Yeah?" Gabbro inclined their head to nuzzle noses. "That'd be pretty sweet."

"After Esker."

They snickered. "Of course."

The sound of a log dropping into a fire around the bend startled both hearthians out of their reverie. Gabbro was the first to crack a smile, and stroked Kyanite's cheek when they smiled, too.

"I'd better run," Gabbro whispered. "Ol' Slate's probably grumbling about how slow I am, or something."

Kyanite curled their lip, then grinned. "I'll give up marshmallows the day you run outside an emergency." 

Gabbro ducked their head and snorted into Kyanite's shoulder. 

"Thanks for the 'proper' goodbye, Ky." They said, muffled, then raised their head. Their face was saturated with affection and Kyanite's heart skipped a beat. "I'll see you on Giant's Deep. Careful landing." 

"Of course." 

Gabbro hesitated a moment longer, just long enough for Kyanite to loop their arms around their waist and pull them in for one last kiss that turned into half a dozen more. The pair fell into a pleasurable haze.

"Gonna hafta swear off spaceflight f'you keep smoochin' me." Gabbro murmured into the kisses. "C'mon." 

Kyanite grinned, but pulled away. "Sorry."

"Sure you are," Gabbro huffed, but they were grinning, too. 

"Bye, Gabs. Be careful." 

"I will be. Later, Ky." 

Gabbro's stride was lighter as they turned and walked away, somehow more energetic without being any faster. Kyanite hugged themself and smiled ear-to-ear. One more thing to look forward to on their launch day.

[megu-art-blog]

Some characters I like in bunny suits + OCs

[dicenete]

It took me a moment but I actually designed an IkeVil Oc : D Not a standin for the MC but her own character outside of Crown ^^

[esote-rika]

Once Upon A Dream | Spencer Reid | Masterlist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!OC

When: Post season 15

Summary: But we've met before! / We have? / Yes! You said so yourself. Once upon a dream. Following his brain injury, Spencer Reid begins having dreams of a mysterious woman. He is desperate to know more about her. She's desperately trying to get him out of her head. Jet Clarke's protective spells seem to be no match for one Dr. Spencer Reid, especially when the BAU handles a case her sister is somehow involved in. Content Warnings: typical criminal minds violence, female character is a witch, inspired by Practical Magic and Sleeping Beauty (very loosely), stalking, murder (will update as I go)

MASTERLIST:

Act 1: I think I made you up inside my head - Sylvia Plath

o. Introduction and Prologue i. parting is such sweet sorrow ii. a remembrance of dreams, or S.R. entries 1-4 iii. seeing visions am i bad, or mad, or wise? iv. i sleep so i can see you, or S.R. entries 5-8 v. you who put roots in my dreamland

[lenyavok]

expression studies

[kabishkat19]

Barbie NextGen🦋

(Princess and the pauper)

Albert (16)

Kyla (6)

Ethel (16)