#talking tidbits

"I said the same thing when I first held it." He watches you hold the weapon as if to strike. The position of your hands is off. He doesn't tell you that. The desire to guide your wrists and shift them apart to better steady the blade does flit through his mind though.

"I can't believe you can wield this with just one hand." The katana catches the light as you get a feel for it. A similar light sparks in your eyes, the kind he recognizes from whenever an idea goes off in your head.

"Gotcha!" Yuta can see it coming, but he lets the blade of his own weapon point itself at the side of his neck. A special grade sorcerer—you have no chance of hurting him, but he swallows hard at the way you smile in this moment. Lips upturned, that spark still in your eyes, your head tilted every so slightly as you pretend to size him up. It all breaks in a puff of laughter as you lower the sword.

Do you realize just how much Ashveil savors domesticity? How much he appreciates the small moments spent with you. Your voice ringing soft in his ears as you discuss his cases. Takeout dinners eaten at a table strewn with files, and the bump of your knee against his causes his heart to jump. Watching you curled up against his chest, limbs tangled and his fingers brushing through your hair, in a freezer he can barely afford to keep running.

The Ashen Detective Agency is just a single room scattered with papers from his cases, but it becomes his home with your presence. A place he can return to. A place he can belong. A place to lie down.

Phainon's hand takes yours, fingers interlacing. He pushes it against the sheets as his cock pushes into you, imagining he were taking you in the golden fields of Aedes Elysiae instead of his bed in Okhema.

How beautiful you would look, glowing under the warm light and amidst the sea of wheat. Your moans carry up to the open sky, and neither of you care who hears it. The breeze blows through your hair, and the grass brushes against your skin, making Phainon jealous that, unlike them, he can only touch so much of you with his two hands.

He thinks he could live out eternity there with you, days mundane but spent together. He'll relish your laugh filling the corners of your home while he chases you, eventually capturing you in a hug. You beg him to stop as he tickles your sides, and he relieves your torture with a kiss. He'll wipe every stray crumb from your face, smiling at the heat that warms your cheeks from the graze of his thumb. You turn away to avoid that smug look of his that is aware of how much he affects you. He'll wrap you in his arms every night, fitting your body perfectly against his and being lulled to sleep by you mumbling in your dreams. He swears he always rests better when you're cozied up to him.

"Phainon..." You mewl beneath him, bringing him back to reality. Your hand squeezes his as he stretches your walls, and it makes his cock throb.

"I'm right here," He presses a kiss to your forehead.

There’s something so hot about imagining Dan Heng so needy to fuck you. Maybe he accidentally gets hit by an aphrodisiac while on a mission. When he gets back, he’s all over you.

His movements are uncoordinated as he pushes you down onto his bed. His kisses are sloppy while his hands hastily remove your clothes. He’s more impatient than you thought when he can’t be bothered to slip your panties off, merely pushing them to the side in order to sink his cock into the warmth of your pussy.

You wince slightly at the intrusion with little foreplay, yet admittedly, seeing him like this has you wetter than normal. He whines and pants into your neck as you clench around his length. His thrusts are harsher, desperate to spill his seed into you and watch it leak out. He finally gets his wish, eyes focused on how his cum and yours starts to stain your panties.

Sitting up straight, your eyes glance around the table for a perpetrator. If Nott wasn’t at the complete other end, you would assume it was her trying to pickpocket you. You look to Fjord sitting next to you, but he’s fully trapped in a conversation with Jester. Plus, it’d be obvious if he was reaching behind you.

The only remaining option would be the person on your other side—

“Molly, why are you poking me with your tail?” You turn to the tiefling as casually as possible.

“Whatever do you mean?” He replies just as smoothly. You’re not sure if the smirk he gives you is from being caught in the act or just his usual suave attitude.

“Someone keeps poking me.”

“Well, there are six other people at this table. Jester could be casting some sort of spell for all you know.” Deflecting just convinces you further, although you don't say it.

“You’re the only one who could have done it and would also want to mess with me in the first place. I know it’s you!” You accuse, determined to make him confess at this point.

“Fine. You win.” Wait, did he really just give in that fast? Surprising but you’re happy to take this; that is until his tail wraps around your waist, pulling you across the bench to his side. He keeps you there with an arm around your shoulder.

“Your reactions were cute to watch while it lasted though, dear. The gears in your head turning as you figured it out.” His voice dips into a whisper, and you can feel his breath warm against your ear. With the rapid thrumming of your heart and heat on your face so unshakeable it seems embedded in your cheeks, maybe Molly's actually the one winning this.

“You shouldn’t. I’m a terrible person, you know.” You grit your teeth through the ache in your chest, seeing Phainon at a loss from your words. His blue eyes shine just a little less and his lips purse at your barking tone.

Good. Maybe that will scare him away. You don’t deserve someone like that. Someone bright and warm. You refuse to let him be tainted by you.

Instead, he takes a step towards you.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” His finger taps the center of your forehead. “To be thinking such untrue things?”

Now you’re the one who’s scared. The one defense you had to throw up he’s completely ignored. And now he’s terrifyingly close.

You could reach your hand out, but the past memory of it never being taken clings to you. All those people had to have a reason though right? Maybe you weren’t worth all the trouble. Maybe you were what chased them away. Maybe you are terrible. Your cold palm stays hugged to your own chest these days.

Only now, something warm presses against its surface, fingers intertwining with your shaky ones. When had you held your hand up to him?

Phainon so eagerly takes your hand in his. Your weak, unknowing invitation—plea, maybe—has been overwhelmingly accepted. Accepted by someone as bright as the sun.