Female|30|professional gremlin I'm quite friendly and am here for many many tv shows, video games, anime, sleep, and my favorite pastime is drinking coffee. Don't trust my khajiit, she has wares but won't give you your coin.
“i’m sorry,” caleb pants, swiftly coming to regret provoking you earlier. i shouldn’t poke the bear, he'd always tease in your younger years. there’s no telling what she’ll do to me.
now he knows.
“don’t care.” reveling in his ragged breaths, you slide your fist to his base and give him a firm squeeze. then, you pump your hand even faster than before.
his hiss is instantaneous. “i didn’t mean it,” he tries again, dark eyebrows furrowing in the lamplight.
“don’t care,” you sing. you press a lingering kiss to his cheek, savoring the way his hips buck into your eager hand. “you bet that you could affect me more than i could affect you. you were so confident earlier. what happened?”
while he struggles to answer, you climb onto his lap. trembling hands encircle your waist, grasping for purchase as you settle yourself just below his waistband. a long, thick length—the fruits of your admittedly light labor, since it’s been five minutes tops—strains hard against your center.
dragging your hips forward and back, you lay one hand on shoulder, the other on his cheek.
on instinct, he nuzzles into your palm. when his eyelids flutter closed, you lean in and kiss him breathless. but as soon as he links your tongues together, you pull back and bounce in his lap two times fast, giggling at the pained moan that floats through the air.
“please,” he begs.
you press your lips to the corner of his eye, trailing a crescent down his cheek. when you reach his mouth again, you roll your hips so deep that you can feel what it does to him—the way he chokes on air, the way his heart stutters in his chest. still, he refuses to break from you, relishing any contact you'll allow him.
again, you pull away first, to his dejection.
“what do you want me to say? already said sorry,” he slurs, leaning close just for his lips to brush the bottom of your chin. caleb frowns at the lack of contact. you tap his nose, and his frown deepens further.
“take it back,” you order.
confusion and want clash on his face. “huh?”
“i affect you more. say it.”
he swallows. sparks of rebellion light in his violet eyes, but ultimately fizzle out.
he sobers up some as he holds your gaze, and you welcome the quickening pulse in your center. “everything you do makes me like this,” he admits. “your voice, your scent—even when i just think of you, i almost…”
his reluctance spoils your excitement. huffing, you thread your fingers in his hair and tug, pulling a low groan from his throat.
“you almost what? keep going.”
“i—” his eyes rove over you, frantic, troubled. when you tug his hair again, harder this time, his face falls in a mix of shame and agitation. “please,” he grumbles in defeat.
you take in his flushed face, sweat-slick skin, and the rapid rise and fall of his firm chest. the quivers of the muscles that could so easily dominate you.
cooing softly, you pinch his cheek. “caleb?”
“yes?” he rasps.
“don’t tease me like that again. it makes me feel needy, and then i have to prove you wrong.”
despite himself, he chuckles. “yeah. yeah, okay,” he answers shakily. “i’m the needy one.”
nodding in acceptance, you lean in to kiss him, giving him all that he wants this time. when he pushes his tongue past your lips, you soothe his desperate one with your own, rewarded by a soft sequence of moans.
humming, you break away and tap his grey boxers. “these stay on. i’m still mad.”
“you know i’ll take anything,” he breathes.
“won’t you?”
granting him the gift of friction, you swivel your hips with abandon, grinding your core against his ever-hardening length. in a matter of moments, he screws his eyes shut tight, abdomen flexing into stone beneath you. as warmth flows through your clothes, he throws his head back in relief, consumed by the release he's been aching for.
while he steadies his breathing, you kiss his brow and roll off to the side. your eyes catch on the wet patch spreading in his lap. “good?” you ask.
“good.”
“good.” you snap the waistband of his stained boxers, and it bites into his skin. “you should wash those before it dries into the fabric. maybe mine, too, while you're at it.”
Mountain Temple, Mixed media on satin spar, 12" tall
These little satin spar towers always remind me of the Guilin Karst, so I turned it into a tiny mountain! To make a mountain temple I looked at lots of reference pictures of the Hengshan Hanging Temple, which is a very cool building you should look up immediately. Because it's satin spar, the mountain glows beautifully on a lighted stand and makes for a cool little lamp.
“he’s totally changed!” you exclaim through the phone.
“uh-huh.”
“seriously, it’s fine. he doesn't even do that stuff anymore!”
“right. so the reports i’m seeing about rapid gunfire and a high-speed chase across town don’t have anything to do with him, then?”
was it a blessing or a curse to know your best friend so well? you can just picture her mocking left eyebrow, arched within millimeters from a perfect parabola.
conviction coats your response. “i have no reason to believe so.”
“right.” she hums skeptically. “there’s a crow protecting the car at the very front. when the other drivers get too close, it nosedives onto their windshields until they spiral in the street. any idea who could be behind that?”
holding back a scoff, you defend what’s yours. “he said he’d tone down the violence, okay? he’s lived this life for so long—you can’t expect him to change instantly. we’re taking baby steps here.”
“please tell me what baby is into sports cars and shootouts.”
mine is! you almost answer. but you keep it to yourself.
sylus is so cute.
“come on. at the very least, you have to admit that he’s trying. no bombs, no fires—wouldn’t you call that an improvement from before?” you sigh. sylus is so noble. “sounds like growth to me.”
“one of the cars chasing him just crashed into the median barrier. the screen went black,” she narrates flatly.
“well, they were probably getting too close to injuring civilians, and he put a stop to it.” he always does. “he hates when the innocent are collateral, you know. he told me that last week.”
her voice, shrill and incredulous, crackles over the line. “last week? i thought you two were still on break last week. you know, until he swore to stop dragging you into his markedly less-than-legal schemes.”
“he took me to dinner,” you sigh dreamily. “and he bought me an apology necklace.” sylus is so kind.
for a second, she’s quiet. “and you just accepted tha—”
buzz! buzz!
“can you hang on a second?” you rush, trying to mask your excitement. “i’m getting another call.”
“mm-hmm, go ahead. i’m taking bets on how much of the city will be left when you get back.”
in one ear, out the other. as you greet the new caller, all you can focus on is that rich, baritone voice flooding your senses once again.
“sweetie?” sylus says. you hear the faint squeak of overworked tires in the background. a squeak, not a squeal, you note, warmth fluttering in your heart.
he must be going the speed limit.
“i’ll be home soon,” he continues, “but i wanted to pick up a gift for you on the way. you still like lilies, right?”
“mm-hmm!” you chirp. “they’re my favorite.” oh, how he spoils you.
“i thought so,” he chuckles lightly, the sound soaring over flurries of piercing, thunderous cracks. the final round is the loudest, and then, they stop altogether. “get a vase ready, then. i’ll see you soon.”
“see you soon,” you echo, missing him already.
when you hang up, you redial your friend’s number. “hey, you still there?”
“yup,” she answers, popping the p. “the news feed cut back on. the car in front just drove through a flower stall.”
for the first time since the last time, your blood runs cold. “was anyone hurt?”
“no. the reporters said it’s conveniently closed today.”
“oh, well…that’s a relief.” with a hand to your chest and a grin on your lips, you imagine the bouquet of semi-charred lilies you'll see when he gets home. you’ll find the beauty in their imperfections, just like you do with sylus.
love the trope where an authoritative side character pointedly pretends not to help the hero they’re not supposed to be helping by saying shit like “well I can’t just let you wander around up to the THIRD FLOOR where you could just FIND THE THING YOU NEED in the FIRST ROOM ON THE LEFT. And under no circumstances should you USE THE KEY FROM UNDER THE MAT. I wish I could help you, but I CAN’T. Now excuse me, I need to take this phone call for the next 37 minutes EXACTLY.”
My doctor did that for me once. I had to get an expensive brain scan and she was like ‘do you smoke?’ and I was like ‘no’ and she was like “well that’s a pity because the government will pay for this expensive brain scan if you had been a smoker so - do you smoke?” 🤣🤣🤣 I was like ‘yes’ and she’s like ‘oh wow then this scan will be free’
