Note- This one is long for those who like slow-ish cooking stories if not whatever, the second one will be a shorter version more focused on the intimacy and things.
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The rain had long ceased in Fuyuki, leaving the Emiya residence bathed in the soft glow of a late summer moon. Shirou Emiya stood in the kitchen, his calloused hands deftly slicing vegetables for a late-night meal, the rhythm of his knife a quiet meditation. His auburn hair fell slightly into his golden-brown eyes, a faint scar on his cheek catching the light—a remnant of battles past. The Fifth Holy Grail War was a distant memory, yet its weight lingered in the air, especially in the presence of the woman who had fought by his side. Artoria Pendragon, Saber, sat at the low table in the living room, her posture regal even in repose. Her golden hair, usually tied in a tight bun, cascaded loosely over her shoulders, framing her sharp yet delicate features. Her emerald eyes, softened by the peace of this moment, followed Shirou's movements with a quiet intensity.
The years since the war had forged an unbreakable bond between them. Artoria had chosen to remain as Rin Tohsaka's familiar, living alongside Shirou in the Emiya household. Their love, once tentative, had blossomed into something fierce and unspoken, a silent vow that needed no words. Tonight, the house was empty—Rin away at the Clock Tower, Sakura visiting the Matou estate, and Taiga off on one of her spontaneous adventures. The rare solitude wrapped around them like a warm blanket, amplifying the quiet hum of anticipation. Shirou glanced at Artoria, catching the faint flush on her cheeks as their eyes met. "Dinner's almost ready," he said, his voice steady but laced with warmth.
Artoria rose, her blue dress swaying slightly as she crossed the room to stand beside him. At just over five feet, she was petite compared to Shirou's lean, muscular frame, yet her presence filled the space with quiet authority. "You always insist on cooking," she said, her tone carrying a playful reproach. "Allow me to assist." Shirou chuckled, handing her a wooden spoon. Their fingers brushed, a spark igniting in the simple touch. Artoria stirred the simmering broth, her movements precise, but her gaze lingered on Shirou's hands—strong, scarred, and capable. She remembered those hands wielding blades, saving her, holding her. The memory stirred something deep within her, a heat that clashed with her knightly composure.
The meal was simple—miso soup, grilled fish, and rice—but to Artoria, it was a feast. Shirou's dedication to nurturing those he loved was evident in every bite, and she savored it with a reverence that made his heart swell. They ate in comfortable silence, the clink of chopsticks and the soft rustle of fabric filling the space. As they cleared the dishes, their movements synchronized, a dance honed by years of shared moments. Shirou reached for a plate just as Artoria did, their hands colliding again. This time, neither pulled away. His fingers curled around hers, warm and firm, and she met his gaze, her eyes a storm of emotion—loyalty, longing, love.
"Artoria," Shirou murmured, his voice low, almost a growl. He stepped closer, the heat of his body radiating against her. She tilted her head up, her breath catching as his thumb traced the curve of her jaw. "You don't have to hold back," he said, reading the restraint in her posture. Artoria's lips parted, a rare vulnerability softening her features. "Shirou, I…" She faltered, her knightly resolve crumbling under the weight of her desire. "I wish to be closer to you. Always." It was a confession, raw and unadorned, and it broke something in Shirou.
He kissed her then, his lips capturing hers with a hunger that had simmered for years. Artoria responded with equal fervor, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss was a clash of need and devotion, her lips soft yet insistent, tasting of the salt and sweetness of their meal. Shirou's hands roamed her back, tracing the curve of her spine through the thin fabric of her dress. She pressed herself against him, her armored heart yielding to the warmth of his touch. The kitchen counter pressed against her hips as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing hers, drawing a soft moan from her throat.
They stumbled toward the living room, unwilling to break contact. Shirou's hands found the hem of Artoria's dress, lifting it to reveal the smooth expanse of her thighs. Her skin was pale, almost luminescent in the moonlight, and he marveled at her beauty—both fierce and fragile. Artoria's fingers worked at his buttons, her movements precise yet trembling with anticipation. His shirt fell away, revealing the scars that crisscrossed his chest, each a testament to his resolve to protect her. She traced them with her fingertips, her touch reverent, as if mapping a sacred text.
They sank onto the tatami mats, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat building between them. Shirou's hands slid beneath her dress, finding the soft curve of her hips, the warmth of her skin. Artoria arched into his touch, her breath hitching as his fingers brushed the edge of her undergarments. "Shirou," she whispered, her voice a plea and a command. He obliged, slipping the fabric aside, his touch gentle yet deliberate. She gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he explored her with a tenderness that belied his intensity.
Artoria's hands weren't idle. She tugged at his belt, her fingers deft despite the urgency in her movements. Shirou's trousers fell away, and she marveled at the strength of him, the evidence of his desire pressing against her thigh. She met his gaze, her emerald eyes blazing with a fire that matched his own. "I am yours," she said, her voice steady despite the flush on her cheeks. Shirou's heart thudded, his love for her a tidal wave that threatened to drown him. He kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her body molding to his.
Their clothes became a memory, scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. Shirou's lips traced a path down Artoria's neck, lingering at the pulse point that betrayed her racing heart. She tilted her head back, giving him access, her fingers threading through his hair. His mouth found her collarbone, then lower, worshipping the gentle swell of her breasts. Artoria's moans were soft, almost musical, each sound a gift that spurred him on. He took his time, learning her, memorizing every curve and sigh, his hands and lips a mapmaker charting unclaimed territory.
Artoria's hands roamed his back, feeling the play of muscle beneath his skin, the strength that had carried them through countless battles. She pulled him closer, her legs wrapping around his hips, urging him to bridge the final distance between them. Shirou paused, his eyes searching hers for any trace of doubt. He found none—only love, trust, and a desire that mirrored his own. With a reverence that felt almost sacred, he entered her, their bodies joining in a rhythm as old as time. Artoria's gasp was a symphony, her body arching to meet his, their connection a perfect harmony of need and devotion.
They moved together, slow at first, savoring the intimacy of their union. Shirou's hands framed her face, his thumbs brushing away the damp strands of hair clinging to her cheeks. Artoria's eyes never left his, her gaze a lifeline that tethered him to the moment. Each thrust was a promise, each sigh a vow, their bodies speaking a language that needed no words. The world outside the Emiya residence faded, leaving only the two of them, bound by love and desire in a moment that felt eternal.
Artoria's breaths grew ragged, her nails leaving crescent moons on his shoulders as she neared her peak. Shirou's rhythm faltered, his own release building, driven by the sight of her unraveling beneath him. "Artoria," he groaned, his voice raw with emotion. She answered with a cry, her body trembling as pleasure overtook her, her eyes fluttering shut. Shirou followed, his release a white-hot surge that left him breathless, his forehead resting against hers as they rode the aftershocks together.
They lay there, tangled in each other's arms, the tatami mats cool against their heated skin. Artoria's fingers traced lazy patterns on Shirou's chest, her touch grounding him in the quiet aftermath. "I never knew…" she murmured, her voice soft, almost shy. Shirou smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Neither did I," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. They stayed like that for a time, basking in the warmth of their shared intimacy, the world beyond their embrace a distant concern.
But the night was young, and their desire far from sated. Artoria shifted, straddling Shirou's hips, her hair falling like a golden curtain around them. Her eyes gleamed with a playful challenge, a spark of the knight who never backed down. "You think me so easily satisfied, Shirou?" she teased, her voice low and husky. Shirou grinned, his hands settling on her hips. "I'd never underestimate you, Artoria." Her laughter was a rare, beautiful thing, and it fueled the fire that reignited between them.
She leaned down, kissing him deeply, her tongue exploring his with a confidence that made his pulse race. Shirou's hands roamed her body, memorizing the feel of her skin, the strength beneath her softness. Artoria moved against him, her hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm that drew a groan from his lips. She was in control now, her movements precise yet passionate, a knight commanding the battlefield of their desire. Shirou surrendered to her, his hands guiding but never dictating, letting her set the pace.
Their second joining was fiercer, a clash of equals who knew each other's strengths and weaknesses. Artoria's breaths came in short, sharp gasps, her hands braced against Shirou's chest as she rode him. He watched her, mesmerized by the sight of her—hair wild, skin flushed, eyes alight with a fire that burned for him alone. His hands gripped her thighs, urging her on, their rhythm building to a crescendo that left them both trembling. Artoria's cry was louder this time, unrestrained, and Shirou's own release followed, his body shuddering beneath her.
They collapsed together, laughter mingling with their heavy breaths. Artoria's head rested on Shirou's chest, her ear pressed to his heartbeat. "You are relentless," she murmured, a smile in her voice. Shirou chuckled, his fingers tangling in her hair. "Says the King of Knights." They shared a quiet moment, the intimacy of their laughter as binding as their physical connection. The night stretched before them, a canvas for their love, and they were far from done painting.
The hours blurred, each moment a new exploration of their desire. They moved to the bedroom, the futon soft beneath them as they continued their dance. Shirou took the lead this time, his lips tracing a path down Artoria's body, lingering at the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Her gasps were music, each sound urging him to delve deeper, to worship her with every touch. Artoria's hands gripped the sheets, her body arching as he brought her to the edge again and again, her pleasure a testament to his devotion.
Artoria returned the favor, her lips and hands exploring Shirou with a curiosity that belied her regal demeanor. She learned him as she had learned the battlefield, with precision and passion, her touch igniting sparks that threatened to consume him. Shirou's groans filled the room, his hands fisting in the sheets as she teased him to the brink, her emerald eyes gleaming with mischief. Their love was a give-and-take, a balance of power and surrender that left them both breathless.
They experimented, their curiosity boundless. Artoria's strength allowed her to lift Shirou effortlessly, pinning him against the wall as she kissed him with a ferocity that made his knees weak. He retaliated by flipping their positions, his hands firm yet gentle as he pressed her against the futon, their bodies moving in sync. Each encounter was a new chapter, their love a story written in sweat and sighs, each climax a punctuation mark in their shared narrative.
The moonlight shifted, casting silver patterns across their skin as they lay tangled together. Artoria's fingers traced Shirou's scars, her touch a silent acknowledgment of their shared past. "You've always protected me," she said softly, her voice heavy with emotion. Shirou's hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her lips. "And I always will," he promised, his voice a vow. They kissed again, slower this time, the urgency giving way to a tenderness that spoke of forever.
Their desire flared anew, an ember that refused to die. Shirou pulled Artoria close, their bodies aligning as if made for each other. He entered her again, their rhythm slow and deliberate, savoring every moment. Artoria's moans were softer now, a quiet symphony that filled the room. They moved together, their connection deeper than the physical, a melding of souls that transcended time and space. Each thrust was a declaration, each sigh a confession, their love a force that could rival Excalibur itself.
The night wore on, their bodies tireless in their pursuit of each other. They explored every position, every touch, their curiosity and love driving them to new heights. Artoria's laughter mingled with her moans, a sound that warmed Shirou's heart even as it stoked his desire. He marveled at her, the King of Knights who had chosen him, who loved him with a fierceness that matched her blade. She was his, and he was hers, their bond a sacred pact forged in the fires of their passion.
As dawn approached, they slowed, their bodies spent but their hearts full. Artoria lay in Shirou's arms, her head tucked beneath his chin, her breath warm against his chest. "I never imagined this," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. Shirou tightened his hold, his lips brushing her hair. "Neither did I," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "But I wouldn't trade it for anything." They lay there, the world outside their embrace irrelevant, their love a beacon in the fading night.
The sun rose, casting golden light through the shoji screens, but Shirou and Artoria remained in their cocoon. They made love again, softer now, a gentle reaffirmation of their bond. Artoria's eyes held Shirou's, her gaze a promise that needed no words. He kissed her, slow and deep, their bodies moving in a rhythm that felt like home. Each touch was a reminder of their journey, each sigh a testament to their love.
They spent the morning tangled in each other, their laughter and whispers filling the room. Shirou traced the curve of Artoria's hip, marveling at the softness beneath her strength. She smiled, a rare, unguarded expression that made his heart ache. "You make me feel alive," she said, her voice soft but certain. Shirou's hand stilled, his eyes searching hers. "You are my life," he replied, his voice raw with truth.
Their final joining was slow, almost reverent, a culmination of the night's passion. Artoria's hands framed Shirou's face, her thumbs brushing his cheeks as they moved together. Their climax was quiet, a shared breath that sealed their bond. They lay together afterward, the world outside forgotten, their love a fortress against the chaos of their past. Shirou held Artoria close, her heartbeat a steady rhythm against his chest, and knew that this was enough—this was everything.