Hyacine

"Ugh, Hyacine what are you wearing?" Shirou Emiya sighed, fingers rubbing his temple as he stared at the pink-haired girl currently dressed...

Well it was hard to call her dressed at all—the pink-haired was showing more skin than someone on a beach.

"Do you like this, Lord Shirou?" Hyacine spun around, the barely-there fabric of her outfit fluttering with indecency. She grinned, utterly oblivious to the way Shirou's eye twitched. "Lady Aglaea gifted me this, thought it'd be perfect for tonight's activities." The way she emphasized "activities" made Shirou's stomach fluter.

Before he could protest, she closed the distance between them in two strides, pressing her lips towards his.

Her transplant veil did little to conceal the softness and warmth of her lips.

Shirou stiffened, caught in the sudden intimacy. But Hyacine was already moving, nimble fingers tracing the hem of his shirt before slipping underneath.

The fabric rustled as she peeled it away, her fingertips dragging lightly over the ridges of his abdomen. Shirou swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his throat as she dropped the shirt to the floor.

He didn't protest as her hands found the waistband of his pants—couldn't, really, not with the way her lips curved with rare example of mischief. The button gave way with a quiet snick, the zipper following in a slow, deliberate slide that made his breath hitch.

Shirou exhaled sharply when cool air hit his bare skin, his hips jerking instinctively as Hyacine’s fingers brushed the sensitive skin just below his navel.

She didn’t tease—not this time—just sank to her knees in one fluid motion, fingers curling around the base of his cock with the casual certainty of someone who knew exactly what she wanted.

The first drag of her tongue along his length drew a strangled noise from Shirou’s throat, his fingers tangling instantly in her hair. Heat pooled low in his gut, sharp and urgent, as Hyacine took him deeper, her lips sealing around him with practiced ease. She hummed, the vibration rippling through him, and his knees nearly buckled when her tongue flicked against the underside of his cock head.

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, lashes fluttering with deliberate innocence even as her mouth worked him with filthy precision. The contrast was maddening—her lips, slick and soft, stretched around him while her fingers traced idle patterns along his inner thighs. Every slow pull of her mouth drew another ragged breath from him, his hips twitching forward helplessly.

The scent of her shampoo—something floral and faintly sweet—mixed with the musk of his arousal, thick enough to taste on the back of his tongue, Shirou’s fingers tightened almost painfully in her hair. The vibration of her answering moan traveled straight to his cock, his vision briefly tunneling at the edges.

She hollowed her cheeks, sucking with a rhythm that bordered on cruel—slow drags punctuated by the wet, obscene sounds of her lips working him over. He could feel the pressure building, coiling tight at the base of his spine, his thighs trembling with the effort to hold still. But Hyacine didn’t let up, her gaze locked onto his face as if begging.

So, he did.

Shirou's grip on her hair turned **** as the heat surged, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. Hyacine's lips tightened around him, her tongue flattening against his shaft as she took every last pulse, swallowing with a throaty hum that vibrated through his entire body.

The taste—salt and musk and something uniquely *him*—flooded her senses, With greed her fingers dug into his hips, anchoring him as she milked him dry, her cheeks hollowed with each suck until he twitched from oversensitivity.

When he tried to pull away, she tightened her grip, her tongue swiping one last teasing stripe along his softening length before finally releasing him with an obscenely wet pop.

Hyacine licked her lips, slow and deliberate, savoring the remnants of him clinging to her mouth.

As Shirou catch his breath, she rose fluidly, pressing her body flush against his—the heat of her skin searing where they touched.

One hand slid up his chest while the other guided his wavering balance backward, toward the low bed in the corner of the room. He stumbled, hitting the edge of the mattress, and Hyacine didn’t hesitate—she pushed him down, climbing atop him with the predatory grace of a panther claiming its territory.

It should have been simple to flip their positions—her weight was negligible against his trained strength—but the ravenous glint in her eyes seized his nerves, rooting him in place. She wasn’t merely eager; she was *hungry*, and the unfamiliarity of her unrestrained demand coiled his muscles tight with anticipation instead of resistance.

Her knee slotted between his thighs, pressing upward until his breath stuttered, the friction just shy of painful. "Lord Shirou." Her voice was honey-thick with intent. "Tonight, please let me ruin you."

Fingernails scraped lightly down his sternum—too light to mark, heavy enough to make his skin prickle.

Hyacine’s free hand curled around his cock again, her grip firm enough to draw a sharp inhale from Shirou as she pumped him languidly, her thumb smearing precome over the flushed head. But it was her other hand that seized his attention—the fingers hooking into the scandalously thin fabric between her thighs, lifting it with deliberate slowness. The dampness there clung to the material, stretching obscenely before snapping free with a wet sound that punched the air from his lungs.

The scent heady—musky sweetness layered with salt and the unmistakable arousal. She ground against his thigh, her slick coating his skin as she rocked forward, her breath coming in shallow pants against his collarbone. "See?" she murmured, guiding his fingers to her folds, pressing them into the swollen flesh. "You make me like this." The words were a confession, an accusation, raw and unfiltered as she arched into his touch.

She lowered herself onto him with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, the heat of her searing his cock as she took him inch by inch. The stretch was dizzying—her body tight and slick around him, her thighs trembling as she settled fully into his lap. Shirou’s hands flew to her waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh as she began to move, her rhythm unhurried but relentless. Every rise of her hips dragged a broken noise from his throat, every downward thrust sent sparks dancing behind his eyelids.

Hyacine leaned back, bracing her palms on his thighs, her head tipping back with a shuddering sigh. The candlelight caught the sheen of sweat along her collarbones, the rapid flutter of her pulse at her throat. Her breasts still bound by a scrap of lace that did nothing to hide the peaked hardness of her nipples.

Shirou’s hands slid up from her waist, calloused thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts, drawing a sharp gasp from her. Her hips stuttered—just once—before she regained her rhythm, rolling forward with renewed hunger. "Touch me," she demanded, breathless, guiding his fingers higher until they grazed the stiff peaks. The second he pinched lightly, her back arched violently, her inner muscles clamping around him in a pulse that wrenched a groan from his chest.

Her climax hit like a storm surge—her body locking around him, she threw her head back with a cry that was half his name, half a sob. The vibrations of her trembling thighs, the way her walls fluttered rhythmically—it was too much. Shirou’s vision whited out as he spilled into her with a hoarse shout.