Please can I get Prince Soma x gn or male reader that’s a Phantomhive servant? ^^
I’ve been craving Prince soma stuff but he’s so underrated </3
❝ Prince Soma x PHANTOMHIVE SERVANT!READER ❞
⸻
The first time Prince Soma notices you, it is not because you speak. It is because you don’t.
The Phantomhive Manor is never truly quiet. There is always movement, always something being done, servants passing through rooms with purpose, voices kept low, footsteps careful and controlled. And yet, somehow, you move through it all without being heard at all. You are simply there, completing your tasks with quiet efficiency, blending into the rhythm of the manor as if you are part of it.
Soma is not used to that. He is used to attention, to being greeted, spoken to, surrounded by presence. So when he realizes you have been in the room with him for several minutes without announcing yourself, he turns quickly, eyes wide with surprise.
“Oh!” he says brightly. “You were here this whole time?”
You pause mid-task, glancing at him briefly. “Yes, your highness.”
There is nothing remarkable in your tone, nothing that suggests you think this moment is important.
To him, it is.
“That’s amazing,” he says, completely sincere. “You’re like a ninja.”
You don’t quite know how to respond to that, so you don’t. You simply return to your work, leaving him to watch you with open fascination.
After that, he starts noticing you everywhere. At first, it feels like coincidence. Passing glimpses in hallways, brief moments where you appear exactly when something needs to be done. A door opened before he reaches it, tea prepared without being requested, small details handled before they become problems.
Then it stops feeling like coincidence.
Because he starts looking for you.
“You again!” he says one afternoon, spotting you across the room like he’s found something exciting. “Do you follow me around, or is this fate?”
“I’m working,” you reply simply, not even pausing.
He beams like that’s the best answer you could have given him. “Then I will simply work where you are.”
From that point on, wherever you go, he tends to follow.
Soma is not subtle about it either. He talks to you while you work, asking questions without much regard for timing or relevance.
“What’s your favorite food? Do you like music? Have you ever been to India? You should come, it’s beautiful, I would show you everything.”
You answer what you can and ignore what you can’t. He doesn’t seem to mind either way. If anything, he seems to like your quietness.
“You listen well,” he tells you one day, sitting far too comfortably nearby while you continue working. “Most people just talk over me.”
You glance at him. “You talk a lot, your highness.”
There is a brief pause before he laughs, loud and bright and completely unoffended.
“That’s true!”
Somewhere along the way, something shifts. He stops treating you like a curiosity and starts treating you like someone important. He asks for you specifically, even when other servants are available. He lingers in rooms longer than necessary if you are there. He finds reasons, small and unnecessary, just to be near you.
It confuses the others.
It confuses you more.
“You work too much,” he says one evening, watching you move from one task to the next without stopping. “Do you ever rest?”
“When my duties are done.”
“That sounds boring.”
“It’s my job.”
He frowns slightly at that, not dramatically, just thoughtfully, as if he doesn’t like the answer but doesn’t know how to argue with it.
One day, he finds you outside in the garden. It is unusual. You are not moving, not working, just standing there in the quiet with nothing in your hands.
“You’re not working,” he says, softer this time.
“I finished early.”
“And you chose to come here?”
You nod.
He looks around the garden like he’s seeing it properly for the first time. “It’s nice.”
You don’t respond, but you don’t leave either.
So he stays.
After that, he becomes gentler with you. Still bright, still talkative, still full of energy, but more aware. He notices when you’re tired, when your movements slow, when your answers become shorter.
“You should sit,” he tells you one day, already pulling out a chair.
“I’m fine.”
“You say that a lot,” he replies, not moving it away.
You hesitate before finally sitting. The look on his face is immediate, like he’s just accomplished something important.
He starts bringing you things after that. Not grand gifts, not anything excessive. Just small things. Food he insists you try, flowers he thinks you might like, little trinkets that reminded him of you for reasons he cannot quite explain.
“For you,” he says every time, placing them carefully into your hands.
You never quite know what to do with them.
But you keep them anyway.
One evening, as the sun begins to set, he finds you again.
“You’re hard to understand,” he says, leaning a little closer than usual.
You glance at him. “So are you.”
He laughs softly this time, quieter than before. “That’s fair.”
There is a pause, and then, more quietly, “I like you.”
It is so simple that it takes a moment to register. No teasing, no exaggeration, no performance. Just honesty.
You don’t answer right away.
And for once, he doesn’t rush to fill the silence.
He just waits.
Being with Soma is different. He does not expect you to change, does not push you to be louder or softer or anything else. He meets you where you are. If you are quiet, he fills the silence without overwhelming it. If you are tired, he slows down. If you are busy, he stays nearby without interfering.
And slowly, without realizing when it began, you start doing the same for him.
One day, he takes your hand without thinking. It is easy, natural, like it was always meant to happen.
Then he pauses, looking down at your hands, then back at you.
“Is this okay?” he asks, softer than you have ever heard him.
You nod.
His smile returns instantly, brighter than before.
In a manor full of noise and constant movement, you become something steady for him.
hiiiii!!! omg i’ve been looking for someone who writes for soma, i’m so in love with her😞 i saw that your requests were open and i was wondering if you could write some headcanons for soma with an affectionate s/o but she’s kinda shy, so she has a hard time expressing it? i really hope that makes sense aha, thank you so much for the consideration though!
She isn't the best at expressing affection as well so she totally gets it. She isn't big on PDA either so except for the fact that you had a very public marriage no one would know you two are together.
Expresses her affection through gifts and acts of service rather than physical touch. Gives you wine, honey, knives, and such gifts.
She loves the shy smiles you send her from across the room. She knows they are just meant for her which makes them really special.
Don't get mad if you get cuteness aggression and bite her. She would probably just laugh and pet your hair.
Likes the subtly of hand holding its the easiest way for her to express her love physically so there is a ton of hand-holding going on.
❝I just have to get you to say it tastes good, right?❞ being challenged by none other than, Yukihira Soma!
⸻ you’d been in charge of this year’s entrance exam. and you knew for a fact, these newbies stood no chance. just the sight of you had a person trembling in their shoes. pathetic really.
not soon after you’d announced that their main ingredient was eggs, they all went crying back home. you never would’ve expected him, to stay behind and actually challenge you.
Arato, your assistant, then took out his file, showing you its contents. yukihira soma, huh?
You taste haute cuisine practically everyday, so what in the world does this.. red-haired boy thinks he’s doing—challenging you with that.. smug grin of his? Your palate’s been called the God Tongue for a reason. only the most elaborate and refined, haute cuisine graces your dining table. so why the hell was he serving something so.. basic? ‘Rice with transforming seasoning?’ how dare he?
tch, if it wasn’t for him you’d have stormed off already and failed him for such an insult. but that grin of his told you there was something other than the eggs.
getting in close enough you noticed, that it wasn’t just ordinary eggs.. there was something hidden beneath it! “well then.. here we go!” Souma exclaimed confidently, taking out a bowl of rice he had cooking nearby and pouring the egg along with the mystery element hidden beneath them. the gold, gelatine-like substance practically melted against the rice’s heat, coating both the eggs and the rice.
your nose caught whiff of a deliciously, almost, dizzying aroma. you were salivating just from the aroma. damn him.
you supposed you could at least grant him the honour of taking only one bite, after all, generosity wasn’t foreign to you. at your words his grin widened even more, a devilish laugh escaping him at your reaction.
the first bite was.. surprisingly exquisite. you had to practically bite back a moan of pleasure. wait a minute. how could you have forgotten to judge it and just savoured the taste?! this would’ve.. you’d never make a mistake like that—! just, what the hell was that texture?
just as you were going in for a second bite, your eyebrows furrowed in frustration and confusion, his voice rang out. “oh? you’re going in for a second bite, princess?" Souma taunted, a grin spreading onto his annoyingly handsome face. “good thing you didn’t storm off earlier, yeah? though, i though i remember you sayin’ one bite only?” he snickered, leaning in close and getting all up in your personal space, towering over you.
he couldn’t deny how amusing it was to see you struggle and deny saying just how good his dish already was. such a stubborn little thing. “so, gonna tell me how good it is?”
note: merry first day of queermas y’all. IYKYK. Please ignore the fact that I was supposed to post this during pride month LMAO
As always MINORS DNI.
9 pm.
It had already been an entire hour that you’ve reluctantly decided to stay for a date you reluctantly agreed to even more. When you weren’t too busy essentially eye fucking the brunette woman that kept sending smiles your way, you were checking your phone to see if the son of your mother’s work friend had even bothered to send a smoke signal of any kind.
Both of your mothers were really adamant (well, his more than yours, because even your own mother had her limits) about you going on this already disastrous date. It was something you had successfully avoided for months, until your mother had bamboozled you into the other night over Sunday dinner.
It was to be beneficial for everyone’s sake, especially for both families considering how well off everyone involved was. But you didn’t give a shit about doing things for other people’s benefit. You weren’t interested in standing there and looking pretty for someone who wouldn’t appreciate it, and you definitely already had a very successful business of your own to tend to.
Please do me this favor, little bird. You could practically hear your mother’s voice right in your ear as you sipped on another glass of finely aged Bordeaux, glancing at the mysterious woman yet again. As you swallow the carefully savored wine, you tilt your glass over to her in thanks before checking your phone for the umpteenth time in that moment.
You sigh, clearly annoyed that the guy hadn’t considered that your own time was equally as valuable.
“Sorry I’m late.”
The sudden intrusion shakes your attention, making you grimace. The guy removes his jacket and shakes it slightly, making a few raindrops fall into the half eaten bread basket, making you grimace. Though the contents were no longer as warm as your initial outlook on this date, you had been planning on at least having one thing to eat for coming all the way out here.
He’s already a little too posh for your liking. From his borderline condescending tone down to the way he extends a hand for you to shake (or kiss like he was some sort of mafia don, if you had to take a guess)--he’s rubbing you in all sorts of wrong ways. He looks like he stepped right out of a Men’s Health magazine--the epitome of picture perfect to most conventional people.
But you weren’t conventional, and you weren’t interested in picture perfect.
It takes a Herculean effort not to roll your eyes as you shake his hand in an impersonal way, also introducing yourself, before settling back in the respective seats again. You make a mental note about thoroughly washing your hands if you ever managed to make a clean break for the bathroom.
This guy hadn’t really done much of anything with a lot of effort. But you figured that was his thing--doing not a whole lot while blowing the effort out of proportion when it seemed most convenient to him. He hadn’t even bothered to ask if you had arrived to the date well, or if you had even looked forward to this inconvenience at all.
He was on just this side of icy with the waiter, all but shooing him off with his drink order. But most of all, he had interrupted the intense eye fucking that had been going on between you and the ridiculously attractive lady at the bar, currently surrounded by the menagerie of her friends.
You’re hoping he doesn’t mistake the shiver and flush you’re suddenly overcome with as something of his doing.
“I see you already helped yourself.” He says, eyeing the open bottle of Saint-Emilion that was already half empty along with the bread basket, “I hope you’re not too expensive down the line.”
Leaning back in your seat as you take another sip of wine, you glance over at your not so secretive admirer. Unlike you, it looks like she’s clearly enjoying herself with the company she has, an arm draped around a rather tall blonde woman in what was hopefully a friendly way. Part of you wishes that it had been her instead of the lukewarm wet mop sitting in front of you. Lord only knows how much you would’ve enjoyed yourself more with her.
“Are you normally this quiet, or do you just save it for the bedroom?”
Turning back to your intended company of the evening, you couldn’t stifle the budding frustration in your stomach at offensive question. It was like no part of him was redeemable the longer you sat in his presence: misogynistic, condescending, and much too aloof for someone who’s probably had the silver spoon up his ass since the umbilical cord formed.
It’s also as if he’s been scrutinizing you the entire night. He’s got too much of an eagle eye on the way you hold your fork. The way you chew and wipe your lips with the cloth napkin. You can’t really get a word in while he’s talking about mostly himself and what he does at his family’s company. But it’s not like you’re really all that interested in having any sort of conversation with him anyway.
That’s why you feel no remorse when your gaze flitters back to your pseudo date again.
The weight of her stare doesn’t pass you by entirely. Another glance proves your guess correct, making you smirk a little. You tear your eyes away knowing you were looking a little too long, struggling to stifle a laugh when you look at the quizzical expression on your actual date’s face.
The date clearly wasn’t between you and him anymore. It hadn’t been for the perpetual drone of his stuffy drawl, and the fact that he hadn’t realized it clearly amused you most of all.
It was clear that the not so foreign stranger was still interested in you by the way your skin prickled in goosebumps. It was also clear that in all his talking, your date hadn’t even bothered to compliment your dress. For all you knew, it could’ve been too inappropriate for his tastes.
Fuck this guy, you thought. He clearly didn’t have any good tastes in clothes to even compliment you. He could fucking choke on his own self importance for all you cared.
Seeing as one out of the two of them seemed to genuinely enjoy your outfit, you figured it would be a shame to let your dress go to waste. You had put in great effort, as you do with most things in your life, and you were determined to get your much deserved validation from someone who’d truly appreciate it, and you.
You lean forward to rest your elbows on the table, resting your chin on top of your laced fingers to try and fight the urge to keep the slit of your dress revealing any more of your leg. You subtly cross one over the other, clenching your legs slightly, pushing your cleavage out a little to give a lovely view. Clearly none of it was for Wet Mop’s enjoyment in any kind of way.
By some miracle, the message you were trying to send reached its intended recipient.
“Someone you know?” He asks, finally looking at you fully for the first time that night. He glances at your cleavage, grimacing.
“Hm?” You cooly glance at your intended participant in this date, awful at hiding the sparkling interest in your eyes. “Oh, not at all.”
Not yet, at least.
You always were an awful liar.
For the first time that night, Wet Mop gives you a semblance of an unrehearsed smile. He waits for you to elaborate, giving you time to sip and appreciate the wine you were gifted.
“I suppose it’s not too ridiculous to owe our admirer a thank you,” he adds after a poignant, uncomfortable silence. He was clearly feeling ignored, having trouble getting you to look at him longer than he liked you too.
“You mean my admirer.” You correct a little too quickly for his liking.
“I’m sorry?” He raises a brow, his expression matching the incredulous tone.
“You were late to this dinner by more than an hour, nowhere to be found. Didn’t even send so much as a courtesy text, so you could’ve stood me up for all I’ve cared.” The words came out a little more vehemently that you meant them too, but if he noticed it would be news to you. “So she is my admirer”
It doesn’t take anyone with half a brain cell to figure out what someone like Wet Mop would react like when hearing that his “competition” was another woman. Someone as smug as he is, you can only brace yourself for the incredibly disgusting response you’ve received a million times before.
“Oh, then I have nothing to worry about.” He waves his hand as if to shoo away some superfluous thing flying around, laughing easily.
The very phrase itself makes you chortle loud enough to make him look at you weirdly again. Knowing that he was waiting for you to clarify yourself once more, you sigh and roll your eyes.
“I’m bisexual”
“Oh!” he pipes up, eyes shining bright like he found some new toy to play with. Once again you feel your stomach roiling at the idea that was cooking up in his gelled up head. “So that means you--”
“Yes.”
“Would you be--”
“Absolutely fucking not.” You snap immediately, cutting off whatever fuckery he was already forming up in his brain.
Whether it was a request for a threesome or a request for you to not be…”obvious” (whatever the fuck that meant), you weren’t going to put up with it. You never had to, and you weren’t about to start tonight. Especially not from another guy who couldn’t even keep dinner appointments the least bit interested in what he had to say.
Wet Mop doesn’t get much of a chance to say anything, jumping a little when you toss the cloth napkin a little too hard on the table. You didn’t give a fuck if it knocked anything over, you were sure he could afford it. He could complain about it to both of your mothers too, for all you fucking cared.
Snatching your clutch bag, you give him a murderous glare before shoving the chair back and making your way to the ladie’s room to cool off. Under any other circumstance, maybe one where you didn’t have any semblance of sanity or taste in actual human beings, you might’ve entertained your mother’s idea of becoming someone’s trophy wife.
You knew you’d get yelled at for ditching him with a mouth gaping like a fish struggling for air, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to give a fuck about it or him.
It’s not like you’re against the idea of threesomes, or inexperienced with them by any stretch of the imagination. But you just didn’t like it when men did this shit to you, or when women declared you gay by virtue of being with them. You knew exactly who you were, and you weren’t ever going to entertain anyone’s bullshit.
You’re determined not to have your resolve whittle away when you see that you have to pass by the enticing and tall brunette stranger to get to the women’s bathroom. She’s probably not paying attention to you anymore, but it doesn’t make the feeling in your stomach any less floppy.
You try to keep the knowing smirk at a minimum as you pass her by, squaring your shoulders and swaying your hips confidently as you pass her by, muttering a small “excuse me” to avoid bumping into another patron. You don’t see her stormy eyes following you, but you can sure feel them on your back.
Even if you never spoke tonight, she’d supplied you with plenty to fantasize about later over more wine and a nice, hot bath. Cliché, yeah, but you couldn’t help it.
Barreling into the surprisingly empty bathroom, you let the door slam in on itself as you let out a deep breath. You set your clutch down on the marbled countertop, turning the knob for the cold water to dip your hands into, and cool yourself--and the rage you were feeling, off.
You wondered about the mysterious woman back at the bar, and how she seemed to be having a genuinely fun time with what seemed like the rest of her friends. You figured you could probably scrawl your number on one of the thick, fancy gold embossed napkins--maybe pass it off to a waiter to give to her if you wanted to be mysterious about it all.
You’d make your way back home while it was all happening. Maybe start a nice warm bath that you were pondering earlier, with even more wine while spending some quality time with the plug and the vibrator; thinking about the woman that had already enraptured you so easily while you dragged out your own climax and pretending your fingers were here own, fantasizing about her voice.
Blinking at your reflection in the massive and well lit mirror, you pondered at the kind of compliments the woman would tell you. But you let out a hum of disappointment, knowing that the interaction the two of you had back outside was just a one off thing, a fantasy never to actually be acted upon.
You shrug, figuring you could at least take a decent selfie of yourself before making your way out the back. You adjust the imaginary wrinkles in your dress, letting your hands linger on your waist for a moment before they travel up to your chest.Taking advantage of an empty bathroom, you shamelessly adjust your plush breasts. You let your palms linger, gently squeezing and caressing, once again wondering what it’d feel like to have her hands on your body instead of your own.
The door suddenly swings open, startling you out of your intimate hype session. But you’re too surprised to even let go of your own breasts, your brain trying to decide on what to do or what excuse to come up with.
Soma’s eyes hold your eye contact in the mirror, letting the door shut behind her. They’re sparkling with lascivious enthusiasm, waiting for you to react.
“Hi there.” She all but coos, voice as smoky and husky as the mezcal she had been drinking earlier. She hums in approval as she looks, her lips curling into a smirk when her gaze travels from your face down to your breasts. You can’t help the way they harden beneath her stare, nor the heat and the slick blooming between your legs.
She’s only said two words to you, and she already has you feeling a lustful weakness in her presence.
You let out something of an embarrassed whine, your agape mouth snapping shut in shame. Soma saunters over to you while keeping eye contact, reaching over to turn off the faucet that was still trickling.
“I’m Soma.” She says in lieu of a hello, resting her hip against the marble counter, angling her body towards your own.
Your breath hitches, hands slowly coming back down to your sides as you imagine running your fingers across the smooth skin of her neck, appreciating the feel of the fine suit she’s wearing.
You swallow hard, almost struggling to say your own name. “Hi, Soma.”
God, you wanted to absolutely melt beneath her with the way she was looking at you like you were her dinner. You’re certain that the lascivious enthusiasm in her eyes is something that must’ve come naturally to her.
“Did you like the wine?” Soma asks, as if she was asking a lover if they liked what she was doing to them in bed. She’s so close to you, standing just there, but she doesn’t do anything. She only looks, waiting for your next move.
“You have fine taste.” You said, nervously wiping your palms on your dress. It takes you a second to catch onto the innuendo of your words, and you’re flushing all over when you realize what you said as Soma bursts out a beautiful, melodic laugh.
“I-I meant the wine…” You huff out, feeling quite embarrassed of your inability to keep a coherent sentence formed around someone attractive.
You were never usually like this around people, especially men. But then again, you had been ensconced in work for so long to even bother going on a date for who knows how long. Soma was the first woman you had been this close to in such a long time, you’d be surprised if you hadn’t turned into a puddle of mush already.
Soma licks her lips, and your eyes can’t help but focus on the way her lips have a natural shine to them. They look just as inviting and tantalizing and sweet as the bottle of Bordeaux she had sent over to your table, that had now long been abandoned along with your tragically awful date.
She catches on to you glancing at the clock above the door, because the next thing she asks you is how much time you’ve got left until you have to go back. She could tell you were trying to plan your escape, even if it meant walking out of the front door and pretending like you couldn’t see him at all.
You swallow again as you feel your pulse quicken, angling your neck to rid yourself of the discomfort. You wondered if you could get Soma to come home with you, or if you could get her to take you home with her. The low huskiness of Soma’s voice and the sparkle of mischief in her eyes reel you in even more, and you knew then that you were a goner.
“Honestly? I don’t give a fuck.”
Soma’s eyes widened slightly at your frankness for the first time that night. For a moment you wonder if you fucked up, if you came onto her too strong or too desperately.
But you’re not left wondering about her intentions with you for much longer at all.
It all happens too fast and too slow at the same time. In a single moment, your feet, ensconced in matching heels, are still on the floor as Soma backs you up further and further until your lower back is pressing into the edge of the counter.
Her soft, perfectly manicured hands roam your torso until she keeps one on your waist while the other one reaches up to softly cradle your jaw, thumb softly tracing your full lips--as if asking for your consent before she proceeds to do anything to you, with you.
You release another whine, unable to hide the way you squeeze your thighs together to keep your slick from escaping the confines of your body and your underwear any more than you could help. Soma keeps your eye contact, humming softly when she feels your lips kiss the pad of her thumb just so before wrapping your lips around it and taking it into your mouth a little, experimenting with how far you could go.
As much as Soma liked the feeling of your tongue around her fingers and how much it made her think what other parts of her could get your lips on and around, she was desperate to kiss you. She slots her lips across your own, hands cradling your head to kiss you more, deeper.
The kiss is all kinds of messy and desperate, hot breaths and moans escaping both of you as hips grind into each other. Your hands finally touch her, roaming everywhere to be able to feel everything, until they reach her chest, slightly smaller but no less plentiful. You knead them softly, experimenting with just how much she liked, earning a shaky moan out of her that you swallow in the kiss.
“Can I--” Her words are slightly shaky as you knead her breasts again, a little more firmly this time, as she rucks up the skirt of your dress.
“I will literally cry if you don’t.”
Soma beams, “Oh. You’ll see.” As much as she loved the way you played with her breasts, she was eager to make you see stars now that she had your attention.
“Up.” She commands, nearly making you come right there and then with the authoritative tone of her voice, “I want to see just how fine my taste is.”
You’re able to steal one more kiss from Soma before she growls, making you quickly place your hands on the counter for support as you hop up with some help from her. You let out a small squeal at the feel of the cool marble on your bare ass, giggling when you see her shake her head.
Soma gently quiets you with a small squeeze to your lush hips, nudging her nose with yours.
“You trust me?” She asks, hands fiddling with the straps of your lacy thong, “Because I’ve got you.”
You dig your teeth into your lips, nodding desperately. A shaky moan escapes you as she unzips your dress slightly so she can pull it down, revealing your bare chest to her.
“Naughty girl.” She coos, eyeing the nipple piercings adorning your chest. A delicate, red gem adorning each end of the metal studs. Soma bends down as she pulls the top of your dress down, practically unwrapping you like a gift, and takes a nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it as if savoring an ice cream.
You hiss at the arousal that sizzles through your body, nearly already lost in the heat of it all until you remember an important detail.
“W-wait, Soma--”
Soma instantly stops, thinking she did something wrong.
“The door..” You gasp out, “Someone will--”
That half smile that had you melting returns to her face. “Maybe they will. I can lock it, if you want.” Soma’s fingers dance across your waist, toying with the fabric of your dress as she pushes it further up slowly. “But isn’t it more exciting, knowing that anyone, even that asshole date of yours, could walk in here while I’m eating you out, my tongue deep in your cunt?”
Soma’s words nearly have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, pulse fluttering as much as your lashes.
Eyes, and lips, meet again. Crashing messily and consuming each other with determination. Soma searches every inch of your soft, lightly cocoa lotion scented skin. Her lips and teeth latch onto whatever part of you will make you shudder and melt underneath her touch. Your fingers hook themselves together behind her neck while she practically unwraps your dress from your body like a gift, letting it pool and gather around your waist.
At this point, your outfit stops resembling a dress entirely--tucked up above the swell of your ass and completely exposing almost your whole body to her. The cool air of the bathroom pebbles your nipples, both of which Soma plays with teasingly, mouth and hand switching breasts.
“You’re not playing fair…” You whine, throwing your head back as your knuckles strain with your tightening hold of the counter’s edge.
Soma draws her lips away with a soft pop, kissing the swell of your breast, then your sternum until the ephemeral kisses reach right below your ear. “I’m not really one to follow the rules. But I like making an art out of breaking them.”
“You’re also wearing too much.” You groan, pouting when Soma tuts at your grabby hands.
“I’ll make it up to you later” She murmurs, loving how you wiggle underneath her touch as she slides the thong over your soft thighs and further down your legs until she can actually take them off and pocket them in her pants. Her hands are on your knees again, massaging them softly. “Spread your legs for me nice and wide, baby.”
The praises were already doing you in, doing wonderful things to the arousal crackling like electricity throughout your body. Your stomach swoops and flutters when Soma glides down to her knees without any hesitation, determined to make you see stars.
You moan softly, head lolling to the side against the mirror, nibbling on your bottom lip as you eagerly spread yourself open for her.
“That’s it, honey.” She coos, rubbing your legs encouragingly before sliding your legs over her shoulders. Her warm breath on your center practically has you shuddering. She makes a whole show of it: sucking and licking her fingers to lubricate them with enough spit. Both of you were sure you were pretty wet as it is, but Soma enjoys making a whole thing of the pleasure she wants to give you. And you enjoyed the pretty show she was giving you.
“Relax for me, ” She says in between soft kisses on your inner thighs, “We’re both going to enjoy the hell out of this.”
You whine even more when Soma softly blows some air over your center, teasing you just over your slit by kissing you everywhere but directly where you want. She looks up at you, enjoying the way she watches you squirm, desperate for her to fuck you.
“Please,” You whine, “Want it, want you.”
Soma finally decides to indulge you, and herself. Holding on to your legs that were over her shoulders, she opens you a little wider and makes sure you’re not going anywhere before she digs in. Her tongue softly laps at your folds to spread the arousal. She hums at the taste of you, the sounds vibrating against you.
Soma is absolutely driving you up the wall with need, each soft kiss and lick stoking the fire hotter. She explores your cunt like she did the rest of you, tongue lapping at you from your hole to your clit until she pushes her face in, determined to make good on her promise to make you cry.
When you feel her slide a finger, then another in, you slap a hand against the marble counter, squealing when she begins to curl her fingers in the way she could tell you liked. Just like with your nipples, she takes your clit into her lips, softly rolling it with her tongue while her fingers play you like a game she’s played thousands of times before.
Your hips start to squeeze her head, making Soma hum loudly against your clit. The sensation gets you to start rolling your hips, wanting her fingers to go in as deep as they could. Soma learns fast, loving the way you preen at the way she touches that spot that has you melting and your mouth dropping open. She slides in a third finger, and you moan at how full you feel. You let out the most embarrassing noises, sobbing at how very little effort it takes Soma to get you to the precipice of your orgasm. Sagging breaths leave your lungs when you feel her fingers come to a still.
“Shhh, baby, keep quiet for me.” She digs her free fingers into your thigh when you try to move and seek more pleasure. “You don’t want anyone checking in on us because of the noise and walking in, do you?” She moans when she feels your velvety walls clench around her fingers, letting her feel just how wet she was making you. “Oh, you like it when people watch,” —tsk-tsk— “naughty bunny.”
“Maybe next time we can get someone to join, huh? Would you like that, kitten? Have someone watch us while I ruin your pussy with a toy?”
“I-I...” Your body starts to shake, hips meeting the thrusts of her fingers. You prop your leg up on her shoulder, keening at the groan she releases when she feels your heel dig into her shoulder. “Please, I want it. I’m gonna--’mgonna cum soon. Fuck. I wanna cum so bad, please.” —”You wanna cum, baby? Wanna make a mess all over me?” — “Pleasepleaseplease.” — “That’s my girl, there you go. You’re doing so good for me, honey.”
You thread your fingers through Soma’s hair, tugging at her roots the more your orgasm builds and builds inside of you. You think you’re being too rough on her, but you’re proven wrong by the way Soma groans at the pull of her hair in pleasure the more she eats you out like a woman starved. It makes her actions on you grow more enthusiastic than before.
That familiar flutter in the pit of your belly comes alive again when Soma keeps her fingers in you, rolling her tongue harder against your clit, curling her knuckles deeper in your weeping slit as the tips of her fingers toy with the spongy spot inside of you.
“Fuck, that’s it…’m so close.” You moan, “s’little more…”
A loud, sharp knock rattles the door and you gasp, sweaty body trembling as your blooming climax leaves you boneless and breathless. You groan loudly, feeling yourself make a mess all over the counter and on Soma’s face. You bite your lip harshly to try and muffle the moans the best you can, even if it meant tasting copper on your tongue.
Soma is careful to slow down her movements, cooing to you about how good of a job you did making a mess all over her as you tremble and come down from your high.
The voices from behind the door grow more desperate and instant. You start to scramble to get your dress back on you, but Soma is already on it, helping you zip up. She pulls away after kissing your forehead to bark orders at the people behind the door, “Give us a damn minute! Dealing with some issues if you couldn’t tell!”
Leaning into Soma’s arms as she rubs your back while zipping up your dress, you chortle into her shoulder.
Soma listens for a few more moments, making sure the footsteps fade away for sure before getting her attention back onto you. She hums softly, a small smile on her lips when she sees the dopey, soft look on your face as you practically curl yourself into her embrace.
“How do you feel?” She asks, cradling your face after tossing the napkin used to clean your smudged makeup into the bin. “You okay?”
“Mm,” you purr, closing your eyes for a moment as you appreciate the feel of her caressing your face, “I just need a moment.”
“Been a long time?” Soma jokes, chuckling when she sees you nod bashfully.
Despite regaining the feeling back in your legs, you’re feeling much too self indulgent to even think of forcing yourself out of Soma’s arms. It wasn’t like she was forcing you to get off her either, so the both of you indulge yourselves in a close embrace, soft coos and whispers in between short kisses and giggles. You can’t help yourself but shiver at the way Soma licks the remainder of your climax from the corner of her lips, so you try to regain some composure by holding her hand after hopping down from the counter.
“When can I return the favor?” You ask her, glancing at yourself in the mirror to make sure you looked the most presentable as you could.
“Is this your way of trying to get my number?” She teases, squeezing your hand before cleaning up herself.
Your cheeks heat up again, using your tongue to soothe your swollen lips. “I was actually hoping you’d wanna come home to mine, or uh..me to yours. Whatever works.”
One step, then another, and Soma is in front of you again. There’s something about the way she towers over you despite being almost the same height as her that has you feeling small, protected by her enough to be able to let your guard down.
“I like it when you’re bold.” She says in a hushed tone, holding your chin with her thumb and forefinger. Soma’s always been used to the women that are much too shy for her own liking.
“Not as bold as fucking someone else’s date on the bathroom counter.” Already, you were thinking about taking her thumb into your mouth again.
“Touché. But you’re going to break that guy’s heart, you leaving with me.”
You roll your eyes, “It was an arranged date. We only met an hour ago.”
“So did we.”
“So what if we did?” You ask, holding her wrist as she cradles your jaw, kissing the pad of her thumb softly. “You ditched your friends too.”
“That I did.” She conceded.
“Then, I’d like to find out what you’d be like on a proper date, Soma.” You say, before sticking close to her as you two weasel your way out of the restaurant, ignoring the looks the both of you get.
“I think I’d like to find out too, ” She agrees, arm around you as she unashamedly rests her hand on your butt.
This doesn't even scratch the surface, and there's 2000 odd words under the cut. This entire AU was built around Soma. I am unwell. As a big supporter of women's wrongs, the fact that in the game's canon, she allegedly managed to piss off the entirety of Mercia within a couple of years of being in England appeals to me greatly. That's a nefarious feat. Her hands are bloody.
The whole Oathsworn premise post is linked here.
The King isn’t a tactful man, and managed to piss off a very powerful nation overseas just a year after his coronation. They’re cunning merchants, and equally as cunning on the battlefield. The Danes are governed by a war council, led by Guthrum Jarl, with formidable politicians and warriors seated beside him.
Guthrum does not like the acting King. But neither side would profit from an all-out war. Your kingdom has money and connections from trade that the Danes (creatively named) didn’t want to compromise. And in terms of prowess in battle, your army didn’t stand a chance. Tensions were high, with neither side willing to escalate things past sanctions, a few shot messengers, minor sieges of neutral territory, and a lot of threats.
Three years ago, the King – bored of current circumstances – acted against the advice of the court and ordered a disproportionately sized infantry unit to attack a very small encampment flying a Dane banner on neutral ground, breaching the peace. He smiled while the council were left to develop one hell of a contingency plan. Thirty men sent to kill three or four Danes, according to the scout.
One soldier returned, his right leg dragging limply behind him, utterly harrowed. He trembled, wide-eyed and halfway retching as he recounted how the one Dane who survived the ambush sprinted into the swamp with thirty men on her tail. With a single axe, murky water and the darkness of the night, she cut down the infantry. She sliced the sole survivor’s heel and forced him to watch her butchery of the twenty-ninth soldier. Then she escorted him back to her camp. Cleaned and dressed his wound, purely so he’d live to tell the tale.
The court froze with dread as he gave a description of the woman. Specifically at the scar, ragged and deep, cutting through her face from her ear to her nose. That woman was Soma: one of Guthrum’s most trusted councillors, and something of a nightmare to your kingdom’s soldiers.
Your court anticipated full retaliation. However, they were met with diplomacy. Despite the breach of unspoken contract, Guthrum had no intention of returning the gesture, still believing that the price of a war wouldn’t be worth its rewards. He arranged to visit the kingdom with his war council after sending a draft of a new peace treaty, full of mutually beneficial trade outlines, but pending one unfinalised condition.
Soma, looking like Soma does, caught your immediate attention upon the Danes’ arrival. She immediately recognised you as the crown princess without introduction, despite the King’s children also being present. She knew something, and that was unsettling, but she was courteous nonetheless. Her smile was warm, her eyes betraying her calculation. You weren’t completely in the dark yourself, though – the scar was unmistakable. This woman could likely take on all the Kingsguard in the room without the help of her colleagues. Whatever their game was, she was an integral player.
Guthrum said he was content to forgive the King for his misdeeds, and while the phrasing angered his Majesty, the animosity was silenced by the treaty’s very generous terms. The Danes saw profit in an alliance, but needed a reason to believe the King would honour it. After this, Guthrum nodded to you and bowed politely; word of your stride towards free public education had reached their shores, and he found it an admirable goal indeed. No wonder your kingdom spoke fondly of their heir, he remarked.
His caveat to the treaty was simple. Your court, by now, was familiar with the capabilities of Soma. Guthrum had heard of the Oathsworn tradition. Soma was prepared to abandon her port and her seat at his council in favour of swearing the Oath. This way, if the King was to lash out again, she would be within striking distance to take the life of the kingdom’s crown jewel – and your death wouldn’t be painless. The oath would be sworn with him and a noble of your choice present as witnesses, and it would be sworn.
Very few people in the court were aware of the King’s intention to eventually dethrone you, and he was in no position to refuse the treaty. The Danes did not come without reinforcements. He agreed to the terms, signed the papers, and you asked your queen mother to bear witness. She was sickened by the thought of the Oath being sworn under these circumstances, suspecting her husband’s intentions regarding his succession, knowing your life was doubly at risk here. But she agreed, because it wasn't up for negotiation.
That same evening, yourself, Soma, a priest and the two agreed-upon witnesses took to the chapel. She recited the sacred vow, never breaking your gaze. Her tone was steeled, but there was no mistaking her contentment to abandon the tenet, should it be asked of her.
The first attempt on your life occurred a mere month after the Oath ceremony. The assassin concealed the family crest of one of your kingdom’s nobles on a cufflink. He struck when you were checking in with the headmaster of a school you recently built, dealt with swiftly by Soma, who shadowed your public appearances. She was professional – positioning herself between you and the attacker in a suit of armour she had yet to adjust to, incapacitating him. The visit was cut short as she wrapped you in her cloak to mask your identity, leaving the other guards to formally arrest the assassin.
She had an authoritative, no-bullshit attitude about her as she used her newfound influence over the royal guard – a perk of the position given the politics – to organise an inquiry, presenting to the King the engraved cufflink found on the assassin. No doubt, she took pleasure in getting information out of him, but how she handled the inquiry made it clear that your life was paramount, and you took peculiar solace in this. The conspiring noblewoman who sent him was soon tried and punished accordingly. Soma insisted upon standing in as her executioner.
You cursed yourself as your defensive, wary demeanour around her cracked over time. There were other attempts on your life, and she took her role as your Oathsworn seriously, seemingly more so with every new perpetrator. Beyond duty, though, she showed you kindness. And as you learned about one another in your close proximity, you grew fond of each other. A profound respect was building, and it was mutual.
At one point, you both had problematic revelations. You had never felt safer around the woman tasked with taking your life, should the causal circumstance arise. And Soma realised she had no desire to act on that kill order. You made a promise to her: when you were queen, you would grant her deeds to the kingdom’s port, because she had once confessed to you how she mourned that part of her old life, and the gods knew she could bloody run it. She pondered the promise being empty, but dismissed the thought. You listened to her in a moment of vulnerability. This changed things.
A dalliance was inevitable, but this was neither fleeting nor inconsequential. Your affection for one another, your devotion in all its intensity, was a secret well-kept from all eyes, ears and quills.
And it was intense. Fast. Hasty, even. The threat of a sudden awful change loomed over you both, leaving no time for courtship. Butterflies were reserved for the newfound gesture in Soma’s hand on your back as she escorted you through crowds. Her solitary company was filled with dizzying kisses, passionate rendezvous under the moonlight and unbridled laughter.
At first, your mutual desire for physical intimacy was overwhelmed by a sudden anxiety in your closeness. There was the persistent fear that the kill order had been given, and that Soma was waiting for you to be at your most vulnerable before she ended your life. It choked you, frustrated you, but you were honest with her. The first time it happened, Soma assured you that she would sooner cut off her hand than lay a harmful finger on you. She thanked you for your candour, bidding you goodnight with a comforting smile and a chaste kiss to your knuckles. She would not lay with you until you felt safe enough to trust her with your body, and she wanted you to realise this safety on your own. With time, that safety came about. You made love, and confessed that love shortly after.
Your relationship introduced a new variable to the political equation. Until the present, you tried your best not to question any loyalties. Foolish as it were, you were content in the illusion of security.
With his reign coming to an end, though, the King is under pressure to secure the line of succession for himself and his children before he’ll be forced to abdicate. Never having had a penchant for patience, this urgency is beginning to seep into his actions in court. None of the assassination attempts were successful. His co-conspirators are dwindling in their numbers; those who haven’t been convicted of treason are succumbing to fear.
Truthfully, he never anticipated Soma would honour her vow, nevermind with such ferocity. He had hoped one of his carefully organised, bloody fates would befall upon you, and her subsequent execution would bury the evidence of his crime. But she complicated things terribly, and in his frustration, he begins to suggest processions that would put the treaty at risk. Gambling merchandise due to be exported form your kingdom to Guthrum. Proposing a mandatory armistice for all Danes in the kingdom. Inquisitions, the likes. All fortunately talked down by the court, but not without rapidly building concern.
You and Soma begin to see through the cracks. The King isn’t intelligent, but he also isn’t naive enough to accidentally compromise the kingdom’s safety. As your step-siblings begin to look at you through a different gaze, you're forced to navigate court with a pit in your stomach. Conversations with Soma following the string of conspiracies only reinforced the idea that foul play is at work.
Soma caught word some weeks ago that Guthrum’s war council had undergone a few changes of seats, and not all of the new councillors share his ambitions. They seek conquest. She suspects they’re in contact with your King, most likely manipulating him into pushing for political moves that would spiral the kingdom into a war you would certainly lose.
Her fears reside in whether Guthrum could have a change of heart, or if he would be willing to isolate you from the actions of the King with your coronation inbound. There is every possibility that the King could overrule the democracy of the court regarding one of his rash decisions, and the kill order would be given. There would be war, and if she refused to take your life, she’d be an enemy of her people – her family – as well as your own.
Yet when she confides in you, distressed, it’s abundantly clear that Soma doesn’t see a dilemma in all of this. She paces about your quarters and thinks aloud, knowing you’ll always lend your ear and comfort to her. If all negotiations failed, she would rather live as a pariah than betray you. The idea of taking your life is unfathomable.
Amidst a sea of uncertainties, you’re unable to avoid doubt. Those panicky feelings from the early days of your relationship are resurfacing, as much as you want them to stop. Your heart yearns to trust Soma. You hear the truth in her words, the humanity in her voice, but you can’t shake the fear that it’s an elaborate act. Your apprehension hurts her. It wounds you both.
A bitter few days pass by. You’re sick with worry, unable to sleep. Questions of if she’d do it bleed into how she’d do it. Your mind lingers on poison, to the extent where you employ somebody to taste your food and before you so much as touch the plate.
Soma knocks on your bedchamber door one night with a goblet in hand. She lets out a pained breath when you flinch away from it. It’s a sleeping aid, she tells you gently. It’s agonising to watch your health deteriorate under paranoia. You are her heart, after all. As difficult as it is to acknowledge your wavering trust in her, her love for you has not lessened.
You’re exhausted. And scared – not just for your life, but for the future of your kingdom. Apologies flood from your lips as you crumble before her. Soma can’t stop herself from holding you. Tears of her own escape as you sob at the sensation of her embrace, trembling in her arms as your sleep-deprived, anxiety-riddled mind tries desperately to refute that immediate feeling of safety.
It dawns that neither of you have the luxury of certainty in anything but each other.
Tenderly, after a small eternity in each other's arms, Soma asks if she can renew her vow, right here. She wants you to hear her Oath anew, her tenet solemn, devoted, and devoid of political motivation. Fuck the chapel, the priest, the gods. Witness be damned. The only blessing that matters is yours.
hello if u have any requests or hc ideas please feel free to send them to me!!! i really want to write but it feels like i’ve wrung all the ideas out of my brain 😬
