Random plot bunny whilst I have been busy helping refugees of the nearby Fire Nation attack.
I apologize if the random sexy French in this is off or wrong gendered or something. It has been a long time since high school and dating someone who knows any.
Cold and Hot
It was just like in the movies. Literally. You were sure she had said something like this exactly, in fact. Well, not her specifically. But a character based on her. A famous director and a story centered on how history remembered her.
“I’m cold,” Marie says.
That was, of course, an absolute lie. Servants could feel sensation, certainly, but natural elements did not discomfort them in the same way. They weren’t like humans who could be harmed or die via hypothermia. They could stand in the deadliest cold with no extra clothing and still operate completely fine. When they rested, it was to preserve their magical energy and did not actually require sleep, much less physical comfort.
In other words, there was no way this petite young woman actually felt uncomfortably cold.
The inn you were staying at was also rather comfortable, furthering the unlikelihood of a true statement. While nothing special, the walls were secure, the floorboards barely creaked, and the window was not drafty. There was the faint light from a lamp on either side of the bed, just enough to even mentally feel secure and warmed. The bed itself was fluffy and comfy; she had charmed the proprietor to grant them their very best, even if the inn itself was probably far from the regal luxury she had been used to in life. The man, middle-aged and obviously still a bachelor, had forked over the key to one of the two third-story rooms that overlooked the main town square. It was perfect to keep watch from as well, and Mashu was on the rooftop, keeping a lookout. No soldiers passed by, however, and they had not garnered sight nor sound of a wyvern for the entire day.
Marie stirs in the bed next to you, her feet wheeling a little as if restless. Or actually cold, as she said. Your thoughts drift to that movie, where the character based on her had said something like this. To seduce her shy husband in a subtle way. An effort to produce heirs to the throne. He had been infuriatingly dense and it had taken him far too long to cotton on.
Were you going to be like that?
But what if she was genuine? That did not make sense, as you have already considered. But why else would she do this? For you? She only flirted with you the same way she seemed to with everyone. Your interactions were nothing greater than what she had with others, or what you had with the team of Servants that fought by your side. Actually, you were probably closer to Mashu than any of them, and even that was of a certain level of distance. In fact, this might have been the first time you and Marie had even been alone together.
Did you do it? Do you dare? Was she merely playing with you? Would she cream you into paste if you actually made a move? Even with the Command Spells, there was little you could do if she really wanted you dead. Someone like her could just charm you into walking right off a cliff.
Yet—
What kind of Master would you be if you couldn’t respond to your Servants?
So you move from where you had been laying on your side and turned to face her, finding her on her side as well, facing the window. Ready any second to be blasted out of the bed, the room, the town, maybe even out of the time period altogether, you slide a hand up her smooth, soft leg—
And continued straight up to the flare from her hips, no garment to keep your touch separated from her body. Your fingers traced right over the gentle curve multiple times, as if unsure if what you are feeling is what it is and means what you think it does.
Marie wiggles in place, her voice coming out like a purr. “Mmm, j'aime quand tu fais ça.”
You are not exactly certain what she is saying, but it sure sounds wonderful. Perhaps she has already cast her spell and you are now her thrall. If so, she only wanted you to continue, as your finger traces little circles along her skin just below her waist. It must tickle, as she lets out a tiny giggle that sounds glorious—somewhere in the space between amusement and arousal. The latter half of that is enough to send you right into a fit and you are surprised you can manage to not just rip all covers and clothing off and ravage her.
“Warmer,” she says. To accentuate this, she pressed into you so her back was flush to your chest. Your hand slides further along her body, across her waist beneath her naval. You can feel her dress ride up beneath the covers to accept the intrusion. Her legs tangle with yours; her toes try to slide a pant leg up one of your calves to no avail. You suddenly wish you had not attempted to be polite by wearing your pants to bed.
She seems to feel the same way. Happy that you are responding, she smiles like a little angel over her shoulder at you, then rolls around and pounces atop you, grinning like a little devil. She turns in place and sits on your stomach, then grabs for the fastener of your trousers.
Maybe you really should have just ripped all covers and clothing off to ravage her.
Marie certainly makes a case for that being in her own repertoire, as she slides everything off your legs at once like some kind of magic trick. You feel cool air hit your freed body, then disappear just as fast. She leans down and envelops you with her mouth.
For some strange reason, the idea that she wants to warm up by drinking something hot bubbles up in your mind. As her head bobs over you and her body slides over yours, you think that might be a very likely scenario. It is apparently to her taste as well, as when she comes up for breath, her tongue continues to slide over your length, then flicks at the very top again and again.
Her dress has slid up her body, giving you a clear view of what lies beneath. You reach up to take her pearly skin in hand, but before you can do anything more, her warm mouth descends on you again. Your head falls back and you groan; she hums in amusement, the perfect rounds of her rear wiggling as she does.
She seems to know exactly how much you can take, like you are an open book. She slows down as your hips start to feel restless, speeds up before the pulse of your heart fades away from your ears. Marie Antoinette, supposedly terrible at educational pursuits, a perfect student here. She releases you before it becomes too much, looking over her shoulder at you as her hand continues to stroke your body.
You manage to sit up, putting your back to the headboard of the bed. You wrap your arms around her waist and pull her to you, draping over her like a blanket. Your hands roam along her stomach and chest and she leans back into your embrace, resting her head on your shoulder. Her breath comes in near your ear, a pleased groan escaping as your fingers find her breasts, brushing just beneath them feather-soft through her clothing. Her lips brush your cheek, then she whispers, “Baises moi.”
There are some things that just sound universal in many languages. This one is most certainly one of them.
Her hand guides yours down her body, up under her skirt. You feel heat there as your hand brushes past the faint tickle of hair to the wet warmth of her entrance. She makes another faint gasp as her guidance slides your fingers within. “Baises moi,” she says again, looking at you with parted lips and a drowsy gaze.
“A-are you sure?” you stutter. Actually, you’re surprised your mouth functions at all. That kind of expression from her was certain to stop all higher motor function to the opposite sex. You’re actually not sure if you remember how to breathe.
“I would not have responded if my Master were not perfect for me,” she says, one hand coming up to gently touch your other cheek as her lips touch just below your ear again. You’re not sure if she means the summoning or now. You’re not sure you care. “Tu es mon maître. Most definitely forever.”
She raises her arms as you unlatch the back of her bodice and pull it up over her head and shoulders. Your fingers fall down her bare arms and body, sliding over her breasts and stomach. You hope they are warm enough.
“No need to be so gentle,” she says, a wink and another brush of her lips to you. Before you can fully undo her skirt and slide it off both legs, she leans forward out of your grasp, shifting over you to put her hands between your ankles. She slides her body back, your length brushing against her smooth rear. “Prends moi par derrière.”
You think you understand. At least your body does. Your knees find their way beneath you so you can kneel behind her. She falls forward on her shoulders as you lean forward. Her hand slides between her legs and guides you in. You almost can’t take it the moment she has fully enveloped you.
“Mmm, and how does Marie feel?” she asks, looking back at you, almost purring. “You, my Master, feel so wonderful.”
All you really want to do is burn this image in your head forever, of the most beautiful woman of her time before you, her skirt hanging from one leg, her head down and hair displayed like a halo about her head. She lets out a little gasp as you draw back, her pinkish tongue barely visible as if she’s imagining tasting you. Emboldened, you push back in, then withdraw again, the second stroke drawing out another beautiful little sound of harsher and harsher breath.
You work up a rhythm fairly soon, sliding so easily within her, sure she was dripping right down both her legs and your own. The sound of your hips smacking into her buttocks starts matching the throbbing sound of your heartbeat in your ears. Your hands slide up her back to her shoulders, unsure whether to push her down and ram into her harder or pull her back and force her body into your embrace. You settle for the latter, lifting her so her spine arches, her hands snaking back up and around to around your neck, fingers through your hair. Your touch comes around to her bouncing breasts, small but defined and perfectly rounded, the contact just beneath them making her squirm, this time most definitely on the side of arousal.
Marie turns her head to look at you out of the corner of her eye, her face flushed. The color only adds to her charm. “Harder, lover,” she moans. “Harder, until you fill me with your cum.”
Well, that was that. Magic words. The spell was cast.
You don’t exactly recall doing it, but your hands grabbed her hips and you drive up into her as hard and passionately as you can. She falls forward again, her face landing in the fluff of the bed, and she acts even more like a cat, digging her head down into it as if to get comfy. You find yourself almost lifting the rest of her body off of the bed, hands to her thighs as you repeatedly drive into her, eventually pulling at one leg to hold it flush to your chest. She rolls to her side and groans, a hand sliding down her stomach to reach for where you are joined.
And you thrust again, the warmth between you spreading; you feel like you have to pump her so full she’s overflowing. She shakes as you move, biting her lower lip to hold her cry within.
That actually does it for you, the thought of this being of beauty pleasuring herself with you, and you do as she said, filling her with your seed.
Only that’s not the end. As you thrust into her to pump everything you have deep into her body, she brushes her finger against your stomach. You look down to the touch, then up to her, and she leans back, winks at you, and with her other hand kisses her own fingertips before blowing the kiss to you.
The real spell. The actual spell. The expression she just gave you was simultaneously heart-stopping and heart-racing, the cutest, sexiest thing she could have done. She was an idol.
If you weren’t in love before, you were now, and it really had nothing to do with desire.
It was just like in the movies. You were sure of it. A line in a movie from a famous director and actress about another kind of legendary figure.
“I’m cold,” Mashu said.
That was, of course, entirely possible. As part-Servant, Mashu had abilities far and above what you yourself could do. She could face down Heroic Spirits of the past and go unflinchingly headfirst into the best they could throw. But at the end of the day, she was in fact a real, flesh-and-blood mortal human with many of the same needs you had. She was not a soul copy inhabiting a spiritual body, but someone who required food and rest and could be affected by weather and terrain.
Marie was gone. Returned to that place where only heroes and villains beyond mortal ken reside. You may never see her again, and what you had was ephemeral, even if it was wonderful and intense. She said farewell to you in a wonderful and intense way, too. But across time and space, it was not meant to be, and she happily told you to live your life to the fullest. “Just remember Marie,” she said, as her lips were still touching yours, her body still against yours, her warmth still around you. “Just remember, and that will be beautiful.”
That was great, yet very, very lonely.
So now you rest, safe back in Chaldea, although with so much of the facility damaged and so few people still around, it is largely empty. Which only heightens the loneliness. You and Mashu sleep in the same room, if nothing else than to keep company to combat that, although partially because she now has the Servant-ness of protecting you engrained upon her very being.
And the facility being so scientific and austere, it has a different kind of cold to a town in Orléans some centuries ago. The fact that the air conditioner blew right down on the bed could also be a part of it.
Your thoughts drifted to that movie again. To seduce her shy husband in a subtle way. An effort to produce heirs to the throne. He had been infuriatingly dense and it had taken him far too long to cotton on.
What kind of Master would you be if you couldn’t respond to your Servants?
So you move from where you had been laying on your side and turned to face her, finding her on her side as well, facing the door. Your hand finds her bare leg—
“Kyaa!”
You think you might recall Mashu’s shield appearing in a flash of light. Or maybe the flash of light came afterward, along with the sparkles in your head. You do know you were sent right off the bed. You think you might have left a you-shaped imprint on the wall. You’re not exactly sure, because the ringing in your head keeps you from thinking too clearly.
“S-Senpai!” Mashu says. You think maybe she is in fact shouting, but it comes very faintly. “I’m so sorry!”
Apparently, long-term romance was going to take a longer term.
Okay, this is kinda dumb and I did it all at once, but the idea kinda wouldn’t go away. If you’ve seen Sofie Coppola’s Marie Antoinette movie, Marie saying “I’m cold” as subtle seduction is something I’ve had a conversation with a previous gf, since she pulled the same goddamn line for that exact purpose, which at the time flew over my head, and so when we saw the movie sometime later, we came out of the theater and her immediate words were, “SEE!” to prove to me that I’m a moron.
Boys, if your girlfriend says this to you and they are of the flirty, sexually-charged type like Marie, they apparently mean “fuck me hard right now.” If they are not of that type and are instead a shy kohai like Mashu, I presume they are being literal, like they have crap circulation and just wants you so they can jam their ice cold hands against your body so they won’t freeze to death. Not like I would know about that, either. Women are confusing.
I have the next chapter of Hearts done but in need of look-over from my notes since I did it on a different computer, so it may be a couple days. Also halfway done with another oneshot that is of the fuck Fate I need something else fuck you Servants, fuck you Shirou, fuck you Grand Order, I need some more ninja schoolboys and washboards in my life kind. And then I take a vacation for a week, so haha I won't be on again.
And now we stare lewdly at Raff's avatar.
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Originally Posted by Arashi_Leonhart
