Typhon

As Shirou Emiya stepped into his room, the first thing that struck him was the scent—cloyingly sweet, like crushed berries and overripe peaches.

It wrapped around him in an invisible haze, thick enough to taste, dizzying in its intensity.

Then he saw her.

She sat at the edge of his bed, framed in the fading twilight, like a forbidden dream given form. Her crimson hair spilled down her back in long, elegant waves, the deep red strands catching glints of light like molten rubies. Soft curls framed her face, partially veiled by a lacy black ribbon woven into her hair—a bow that trembled ever so slightly as if it, too, were nervous.

Her eyes—those eyes—one glowed faintly gold other pitch black, wide and shimmering, flicking away from him the moment they met his.

Not in fear… but in shyness. Her gaze lingered low, and her hands fidgeted with the edge of a velvet-red fan pressed against her chest as though it were armor.

Her outfit was something out of a gothic fairytale—elegant black lace wrapped around her pale figure, hugging her delicately but leaving subtle hints of bare skin in a way that wasn’t lewd, but intimate. Straps and ribbons traced across her legs, wrapping upward like sinuous thorns, ending in high, heeled shoes that looked more ceremonial than practical. Her entire presence was poised between innocence and danger, like a rose about to bloom… or bite.

“...Typhon,” Shirou whispered.

She flinched slightly, then slowly nodded, her voice so soft it nearly broke.

“Master Shirou, I-I didn’t mean to intrude…” She looked up at him, cheeks flushed, lips parted in a trembling breath.

The room suddenly felt smaller. Warmer.

Shirou took a cautious step closer. She didn’t retreat.

Her thighs pressed together nervously, the hem of her dark dress riding just high enough to make his heart skip, and the candlelight behind her shimmered in the folds of her clothing like low-burning embers.

“You’re… beautiful,” he said before he could stop himself.

Typhon’s eyes widened. Her lips curled into a shy, nervous smile.

He sat beside her, close enough to feel the warmth from her skin.

She didn’t speak after that. Just leaned gently into him, her hair sliding across his shoulder, the scent of sweet fruit wrapping around them like silk.

Shirou’s heart thudded in his chest.

Her proximity was intoxicating—his hand hovered over hers, the warmth of her skin radiating, beckoning him closer.

Shirou swallowed hard, his throat dry, eyes locked on hers—the gold and black a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow.

Her smile grew a touch bolder, a hint of a dare in it, and she placed her hand in his. He didn’t need a second invitation.

With practiced hands, he began to unravel the lace that bound her dress—each loop and tug revealing more of her flawless skin, pale as moonlight and just as tantalizing.

Her breathing grew shallower as he worked, her chest rising and falling with anticipation, the soft curves of her breasts peeking out from the parting fabric. When the dress finally slipped from her shoulders, it pooled at her waist, leaving her upper body bare.

Her skin was cool to the touch, but it warmed under his fingertips as he traced the delicate lines of her collarbone, then descended to her breasts. He took one in his mouth, feeling the hardened nub of her nipple against his tongue, eliciting a gasp from her. The sweetness of her breath filled his nose as she arched her back, pushing herself closer to him. His other hand found its way between her legs, his fingers slipping through the damp fabric of her panties.

Her hips bucked at the first intrusion, a silent plea for more, and he gave it. He stroked her clit with the pad of his thumb as he worked two fingers into her, feeling her tighten around him, her wetness coating his hand. She was so soft, so responsive. The gentle squelching sound of his digits moving in and out of her was a symphony in his ears, punctuated by her whimpers and sighs.

Shirou leaned in, his mouth finding her neck as he began to kiss and suckle at the tender skin there. He felt her pulse quicken under his lips, her body arching into his touch like a bow drawn taut.

He continued to explore her body, his palms brushing over her firm, round breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples until they were pebbled and hard. Her breaths grew shallower, and her hands reached up to tangle in his hair, gently pulling him closer. He took his time, savoring the feel of her body as it responded to him.

Shirou kissed his way down her chest, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to elicit a shiver. He paused to kiss her stomach, feeling the muscles tighten beneath his lips. His fingers deftly worked the strings of her panties, pulling them down her legs, revealing her completely. She was wet and ready for him, and the sight made his cock throb painfully in his pants.

With a gentle tug, he pulled her closer until she straddled him, her legs draped over his. He looked up into her eyes, asking for permission without words. Typhon nodded, her cheeks aflame, and he took her in his mouth.

Her taste was a sweet shock—like biting into a ripe strawberry dipped in honey. He kissed and licked her folds, tracing the softness of her with the tip of his tongue, feeling her shiver and squirm above him. He found her clit again, this time with more purpose, and sucked it gently. The sound she made was a mix of surprise and pleasure, a high-pitched moan that made his blood surge.

Her hand found his hair, her grip tightening as he worked his tongue and fingers in tandem. The room grew hazy with desire, the only sound their muffled gasps and the sticky wetness of his hand moving inside her. Shirou felt the tension coiling in her body, her muscles tightening around his fingers, her hips grinding against his mouth.

He sucked harder, flicking her clit with the tip of his tongue, feeling her thighs tense. Her breaths grew ragged, and she began to rock her hips, setting a rhythm that he eagerly matched. With each pass of his tongue, she grew wetter, each pulse of his fingers brought her closer to the brink. Her body was a symphony of sensation, and he was her maestro, playing her to perfection.

The tension grew unbearable, coiling tighter and tighter within her until she was a living wire, sparking and pulsing with need. Shirou could feel her orgasm approaching, her muscles contracting around his fingers, her breaths coming in stuttering gasps. And then it hit—a crescendo of pleasure that shook her to the core, her body spasming and bucking as she rode wave after wave of ecstasy.

He lapped at her gently, savoring her release, her sweetness coating his tongue. Her hand loosened in his hair, her grip going slack as she leaned back, panting, her chest heaving.

Shirou took a moment to appreciate the beauty before him—the flush on her cheeks, the sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, the way her eyes had glazed over with pleasure.

He gently lifted her off his face, his mouth wet and his chin shiny with her essence. Her legs trembled slightly as she sat on his thighs, strands of her crimson hair sticking to her flushed skin.

“Your turn, Master Shirou,” she murmured, her voice still a little unsteady.

He stood, his cock straining against his pants, and she reached up to unbuckle his belt. The sound of his zipper echoed in the quiet room as she pulled his pants down, revealing his erection. It sprang free, the head a dark shade of red, and she took him in her hand. Her grip was firm but gentle, stroking him in a way that made his eyes roll back.

Her thumb swiped over the pre-cum beading at the tip, spreading it around, her eyes never leaving his face.

Shirou watched her with rapt attention, his chest rising and falling with every shallow breath. She leaned in, her breath warm on his skin, and took him into her mouth. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock.

He placed his hands on her head, guiding her gently as she took him deeper, her eyes never leaving his. The sight of her, kneeling before him, her crimson hair a stark contrast against his thighs, was almost too much to bear. He felt the pressure building, his toes curling in anticipation.

But Shirou didn’t want it to end like this.

He pulled her up, his cock slipping from her mouth with a wet pop. Typhon looked up at him, eyes glazed with desire.

“I want more,” she whispered, her voice a siren’s call, and Shirou knew he couldn’t refuse.

He laid her back on the bed, Her legs parted for him, welcoming, inviting. Shirou’s gaze lingered on her pussy, glistening and begging for his attention. He lined himself up with her, the tip of his cock kissing her slick entrance.

With one swift, firm thrust, he buried himself in her warmth. She let out a cry of pleasure, her back arching off the bed, her nails digging into his arms. He paused for a moment, savoring the feeling of her tight around him, her walls clenching in a silent plea for more.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, her ankles locking at the base of his spine, urging him deeper. He complied, pushing in until he was fully seated inside her. Her body was made for his, and the thought made him want to claim her fully, to mark her as his own.

Shirou began to move, his hips pistoning in a steady rhythm that had Typhon’s eyes rolling back in her head. Her moans grew louder, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps as he hit her just right. He watched her face, the way her eyebrows furrowed with every thrust, the way her mouth formed a perfect 'O' when he pushed particularly deep.

Her hands roamed over his back, nails digging in as she clung to him, her legs tightening around him with every stroke. The heat between them grew, their bodies slick with sweat as the friction built, each movement setting a new fire alight in his veins.

Shirou’s thrusts grew more urgent, his breath coming in harsh pants. He felt Typhon’s walls tighten around him, the sweet friction growing almost unbearable. He could feel her climbing again, her body wound tight like a coil ready to spring.

“I’m going to come, Master Shirou!” she gasped, her voice a **** whine that sent shivers down his spine.

“Me too, Typhon,” he groaned, his own release a tight coil in his belly, winding tighter with every thrust.

Her eyes snapped open, meeting his, and in that moment, he saw the wild, unbridled passion in them—like the eye of a storm, fierce and demanding.

Shirou’s rhythm grew erratic as he chased his own climax, the pressure building until he thought he might shatter. Typhon’s hips matched his, her movements frantic, her breaths coming in **** pants.

Her eyes held his, a silent communication passing between them, a promise of what was to come. With one final, powerful thrust, he felt her tighten around him, her pussy spasming in a second wave of pleasure that sent him over the edge.

Shirou’s orgasm crashed through him, a white-hot release that seemed to steal the very air from his lungs. He filled her with his seed, his hips jerking with every pulse, her body milking him for all he was worth.

The room was alive with the sounds of their passion—his grunts, her cries, the slap of their bodies coming together in a **** dance of lust. The scent of their mingled arousal was a heady perfume, thick and cloying in the air.