#[to magic is like “mm...i will take your words on that. i cant feel nothing bruv” | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ja3minz · 4 years

Text

enchanting.

rated m.

dom!fem!reader x sub!haechan.

warnings: mommy kink, praise kink, light bondage, light degradation, crying, overstim, choking, dirty talk, unprotected sex.

donghyuck was such a whiny boy.

you loved it, you couldn’t lie. you loved how high strung he was under your touch, you loved how every little kiss made him whimper and beg for more.

he was so adorable.

donghyuck was breathless, chest heaving up and down as you rolled your hips against his. he had been achingly hard for a while now and your wet core pressed right up against his shaft wasn’t doing him any favors.

“please…please, y/n.”

“ah, that’s not my name. you know better, pretty baby.” you ran your nails across the honeyed skin of his jawline, the simple gesture making him shiver.

“nngh, m-mommy! mommy! please. pretty, pretty please. i’ve been so good for you all night.”

you hummed in response, mulling over your options. either keeping him here like this, stringing him along until he was absolutely and truly spent; or giving the boy mercy and letting him have what he so desperately wanted.

“use me, mommy. use my pathetic cock. use me like a toy.” donghyuck babbled, tears clinging to the corners of his doll-like eyes. he struggled a little against the silk ribbons that were tying his hands above his head and you could see he was trying so desperately not to thrust upwards into you.

you cooed at him, lifting your hips off of him to get a better look at your prize. “oh, look at my baby. my sweet little angel, so desperate to cum.” you said with a small, teasing pout, fingertips running down the expanse of his bare chest until they got to his cock, rested prettily against his tummy.

donghyuck inhaled sharply at the sudden touch, thrashing around when your soft hand encased around him. you had barely moved, stroking him slowly but after hours of teasing everything felt heightened to him.

you squeezed his length once and he just about jumped out of his skin, back arching off the bed.

“mommy..! o-oh god, mommy...mommy it’s so much...just wanna cum. i’ll do anything! please let me cum.”

he had been reduced to tears now, a few of them coming tumbling down his rosy cheeks while he fell limp onto the pillow underneath him. you cooed at him again, using your other hand to wipe his tears away. “my baby boy...you want it so bad, don’t you?”

donghyuck nuzzled against your hand for a moment before nodding tiredly, his doe eyes effectively sending shockwaves through your heart. “please…it aches so bad, mommy. i’m sorry for b-being such a brat to you, i’ll be good now.” he begged softly, pressing soft kisses against your palm.

when he looked at you like that, how could you not take pity on him?

“okay, my baby. mommy will give you what you want.” you hovered above his cock, it still in your hand as you began to aim it towards your sopping wet entrance.

“mommy’s gonna use your pretty little cock to get herself off and if you’re good enough for me then i’ll let you cum inside me. okay?”

that sounded like heaven to donghyuck.

cumming inside you was a delicacy he very seldom got due to his inherent brattiness, and he cherished it every time he did. there was nothing like the feeling of your white hot walls squeezing tightly around him, and the feeling of stuffing you full of his cum. the noises you would make that made his chest puff with pride knowing that he was fulfilling his duty of being your plaything.

he couldn’t wait.

“yes! yes, yes! thank you so much, mommy! thank you, i promise i‘ll never be bad again!”

he let out a sharp gasp when the tip of his cock had entered her, letting out a fluttering sigh that made you giggle. oh, how you loved the control you had over him.

“that’s my good boy. filling mommy up so well.” you moaned as you slowly sank down onto his cock until he was fully sheathed inside of you.

his toes curled and he cried out for you as you began to set your unrelenting rhythm, bouncing up and down on his cock. the view was breathtaking, your tits bouncing up and down and the sight of you swallowing his cock like that was enough to make him cum right there.

you were just so beautiful. it made his heart soar.

“m-mommy’s so pretty...s-so pretty. wanna be mommy’s toy forever.” he babbled on, eyes falling shut as he tried hard to focus on not cumming. “love...love it when mommy u-uses my cock. it feels so- ah! so good!”

you hummed in response, tossing your head back before letting out a melodic moan. “yeah? you like being mommy’s favorite little fuck toy?” your hand traveled towards his neck, wrapping your fingers around it and squeezing. “you look at mommy when she speaks, baby boy.”

his eyes shot open and he let out the cutest little moan, one that made you smile slowly. he began to struggle against his binds again, his cock twitching inside of you. “i love it! i love it, i...nngh. i w-wanna cum, mommy.” he huffed.

donghyuck wanted to wait. he wanted to wait and prove he could be good but he couldn’t. it was too much for him. he couldn’t wait any longer.

“i wanna fill mommy’s pretty pussy up...please...please, i wanna...ah! mm! c-cant hold it!”

his eyebrows furrowed, hands balling into fists. his whole body tensed, he was using everything in his power not to cum until you told him to.

he was losing the battle fast, though.

you watched him nearly fall apart with an adoring smile, licking your lips before leaning down to capture his lips in a deep kiss. as you were doing this, you released your grip on his throat to reach up and undo his binds.

you wanted him to touch you.

his hands instantly found themselves on your sides, squeezing them tightly before wrapping his arms around you completely. it was just so darling how he always wanted to hold you during sex.

such a clingy baby. you mused to yourself.

you began to roll your hips against his, moaning into his mouth as you did.

donghyuck was so loud, it was almost comical. even with your lips against his, he was openly moaning whorishly; still babbling on and on about how much he wanted to cum. begging her to let him cum.

he was just so close.

you pulled away just enough so that your noses were touching, hot breath fanning over each other’s faces. your lidded eyes kept contact, and then you finally said those magic words.

“cum with me, baby boy.”

donghyuck’s hips lifted, and he began to pound upwards into you like a man possessed by pleasure, mouth falling open to let out a final scream of your name as his orgasm came rushing over him like a waterfall.

he came hard, so hard he saw black spots dotting his vision before fireworks exploding behind his eyelids. donghyuck fell back onto the bed with his fingernails digging in the skin of your hips as he filled you up to the brim with his cum.

you came not too far after him, the simple sight of him losing it underneath you sending you over the edge. you came with a loud moan, eyes rolling upwards as the warm rush of cum filling you overtook your body.

it was absolutely incredible.

donghyuck went limp underneath her as his orgasm rode out in waves, the aftershocks sending shivers down his spine. “thank you…thank you so much, mommy…you’re so good to me.” he responded airily, an angelic glow surrounding him.

goodness, he was pretty. brown hair a mop on his head and full lips swollen from all of the kissing and lip biting. stray tears still escaped from his eyes, falling down his cheeks that were tinted the loveliest shade of pink.

what artwork he was.

you giggled softly, rolling your hips twice more to tease just a bit before pressing some chaste kisses across his jawline. “my sweet boy, you did so well.” you whispered, causing him to grin in response.

his chest bloomed at your compliments, your dreamy voice lulling him to sleep.

donghyuck didn’t let go of you the entire night.

#sub!haechan is a win yall already know #nct dream smut #nct dream imagines #nct dream fic #haechan smut #haechan imagines #haechan fic

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sabraeal · 5 years

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We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Written for Trope Madness’s betting kitty winner, @ruleofexception! It’s been....over six months, but here is this HUGE BEAST of a chapter. I know I said I thought this would be the last Laxdo chapter, BUT...there’s gonna be at least one more!

There hadn’t been much in the way of entertainment, back in the country. At least, not the way Shirayuki’s constantly bombarded with it here, videos up on billboards and scrolling across phones on the subway. The B&B had a limping internet connection, and with the only television in the common room, she’d spent more time inside a book or outside the house than struggling to find a channel the other boarders would agree to.

So when Zen asked her to join D&D, when Kiki had teased her for not even knowing what she’d said yes to --

Well, she’d done her research. Not just the kind Izana gave her, reading source books and studying lore, but watching videos, listening to podcasts, finding the D&D episodes of popular shows -- anything that would give her something to expect. Nothing could have rivaled her disappointment or her relief when she realized costumes were optional; she hadn’t known how she would cobble together historically accurate, fourth century Welsh gown when even the SCA shrugged their shoulders at the idea, but, well...it was exactly the sort of challenge she would have risen to, if she had the excuse.

Still, she’d thought she had an idea of what to expect: roleplay, quick thinking, rich story, complicated feelings, improv, maybe even some funny voices, but --

Nothing had prepared her for the amount of planning.

“So that’s it?”

Shirayuki startles; she’d been deep into splitting healing duties with Mitsuhide. Paladins are only half spell casters, only good for buffs and an occasional off-heal, so all the curse removal duties fall to Lynet. Bedwyr is more or less moral support; unless the curse itself had some sort of permanent stat drain, there’s nothing he can do.

Zen isn’t invested in this conversation, of course; magi don’t have magic that can’t be applied to themselves or their weapon. Which is why he’s craning his neck toward Izana, incredulous. “We just cast a whole bunch of Remove Curse and then hit the road?”

Shirayuki isn’t an expert on Izana’s expressions, not when the difference between them is the angle of an eyebrow or the twitch of a lip, but she feels confident in calling this one positively withering. “Is that what you think you should do?”

The temperature of the room drops two degrees. That’s a question where everyone knows the answer.

“We still don’t know who started this,” Mitsuhide tries, haltingly, thick fingers worrying at the edge of his character sheet. From the dog-eared corners on every side, this isn’t a first-time occurrence. “It’s not a good habit to leave enemies behind us.”

“Not a healthy one, at least,” Kiki adds, leaning her knee against the table.

“But we don’t have any hints either.” Zen’s flushed, frustrated. “Do you guys just want to hang around here, waiting for him to come back? If he comes back?”

“Or her.” Kiki’s brow twitches, and Shirayuki’s not sure whether to read it as amusement or annoyance. Maybe both is the better bet. “Then again, you haven’t tried to woo any rescued damsels this session, so probably not a dread sorceress. Unless there’s something Shirayuki isn’t telling us.”

Kiki turns to her with an inquisitive look, and even though she knows she’s joking, even though she sees the quirk at the corner of her lips, Shirayuki’s cheeks flare fire-engine red.

“Hey!” Zen snaps, not looking much better. “Shirayuki--”

“Well.” Obi’s mouth cants, eyes catching hers from their corners. “I know Beaumains is under her spell.”

She can feel it, this moment of opportunity being flung open like a window, and -- and his wink is not helping matters. Not at all. Especially not when Kihal’s flirt back or make out with his face is burning a hole in her pocket, reminding her of what she was trying to do before plot carried her away. It’s just --

She can’t say something now. This isn’t Lynet and Beaumains, this is -- is them, Shirayuki and Obi, and that might mean something, and she doesn’t -- she isn’t --

Well, there’s just a huge difference between a flirtation and a boyfriend, probably. And she hardly knows if she wants the first, let alone -- that. Not with some college boy she’s known a week. He might play trumpet, for all she knows.

The moment stretches on, too long, and Kiki hums, amused. “I suppose that is some damning evidence.”

“Okay.” Zen’s folded himself into a huff, fuming so hard it’s an honest surprise smoke isn’t pouring out his ears. “So you all think we should just...hang around? Hope for some Big Bad to come wandering back to check his work?”

“Well.” The word bursts out of her, unbidden, but -- she’s committed now, with everyone watching her. “We do have, um, another reason.”

He blinks, some of his flush fading back to pink. “Oh?”

“I, uh, only prepared one Removed Curse at our last rest.” Her hands twist themselves in knots under the table, anxious. “But I can fix that at our next one! If this works like it should, then I should be able to get everyone on their feet in...a few days, maybe?”

Zen lets loose a whine that would make a puppy worry. “A few days.”

“Um, well...” Shirayuki squirms in her seat. “Give or take.”

Kiki’s eyes narrow. “Just how many spell slots do you have?”

“Um...” She flips through her sheet, squinting at the chart on the second page. “Three?”

Mitsuhide lets out a worried hum, too high-pitched for a man his size. “How many people are under this spell again?”

The question sits heavily at the table until Izana leans back, the picture of surprise, and asks, “Oh, are you asking me?”

Zen stares. “Is there someone else who would know?”

“It could have been rhetorical. A nice little thought exercise.” He shrugs, and Shirayuki does not miss the way his mouth twitches at a corner. “But the answer is: as many as it takes to make a castle of this size function.”

Zen groans.

“Oh, looks like we better get comfy, my liege,” Obi says with a wolfish grin. “We’re gonna be here a while.”

This night is your longest yet; you had thought the first interminable, when all the miasma of illness hung thick over the room, choking you even behind yours mask. Despair had clung to every wrinkle in your gown, tight like a child’s hand on a mother’s apron, always niggling, reminding you that time would run out, that perhaps no amount of your cleverness could save them.

But hope is worse.

There is no reason to pick the man you do -- or rather, the lack of one becomes it. With only a single brew, Bedwyr suggests that you spend it on the castle’s healer, but--

But this magic is familiar somehow. It slicks along your skin like a drop of oil in water, and though you cannot divine its maker, you do not trust it to act as it ought. Curse though it may be, there is a part of you that worries any cure that you brew will only add to your troubles.

You worry over that same thought for endless hours, trying to get to the marrow of it, to logic out why dread settles so firmly in your gut. There has never been an instance, not one, where your gifts have failed you, where the joy of victory has turned to ashes in your mouth. Except for the one, of course.

Despite your misgivings, the man wakes at dawn.

It is not a calm thing, oh no; he heaves into life, breath filling his chest so forcefully it arches him upright. He clutches at his breast, wide-eyed, but besides the atrophy expected of long illness and the shock of waking, he is healthy. So healthy he empties the first bowl of broth you give him, and the second, and when you bring the third he inquires after a heel of bread as well.

“Well, this certainly stands as a testament to your skill,” Arturius remarks, bemused, as the man sops up his bowl. You are tired, and for a moment you are tempted to ask if he had doubted it, but -- it would be picking a fight, and it is not the prince’s fault that his particular skills meant he slept, rather than wait.

“I brewed more last night,” you tell him. “Enough dose for three.”

“Our priority is the healer, of course.” He bites his lip, head tipped back in thought. “But the others...”

For the first time in hours, you feel your mouth lift into a smile. “I did have a thought about that...”

Izana blinks. “The dwarf?”

“He’s cursed, isn’t he?” She must be the only one that remembers; despite happening only hours ago, the rest of the party stares blankly at her. “Worse than anyone else, if I’m remembering right.”

“Oh,” Obi hums, thoughtful. “Yeah, I think I remember that. He’s human.”

“Oh, right.” Zen scoops up the dwarf’s figure, squinting hard at its shapeless features. “I thought he was going to be the Big Bad’s sidekick, honestly.”

“Mm, agreed.” Kiki leans over, giving the plastic the same skeptical look. “I was waiting for the backstab.”

“Such little faith in your fellow man,” Izana clucks, shaking his head.

She arches a brow, eloquent in her disdain. “It is your game.”

His mouth stretches, curling into a smile Shirayuki’s only ever seen on the Grinch. “That is fair.”

“Still.” The word drags Izana’s attention back to her, his eyes almost comically wide. “I want to give our friend at least one of these. After all, he’s been helping us this whole time.”

“Has he though?” Obi mutters, and without even thinking, Shirayuki puts an elbow straight in his side.

Every hair stands on end as she realizes what she’s done. She’s -- she’s practically scolded him, the boy she maybe-kind of-might want to flirt with. Or his character, at least. For, you know, fun.

When she dares a glance at him, his eyes have rounded, eyebrows practically up at his hairline, but -- but --

He almost looks impressed.

“Huh,” Izana huffs out, drawing her attention back to the topic at hand. “Do you now.”

It’s not a question, but she hasn’t gotten this far by letting him practice his rhetoric. “I do.”

He hums, tapping at his notes. “Well, I suppose you could...try.”

“Me?” The dwarf shifts on his spindly legs, wringing his thick-fingered hands over his belly. “But -- but there are others. Other who would be of much more use than me!”

“We have more than enough for your healer,” you assure him, though you have to grit your teeth as he dances.

There’s something strange, off-kilter about the way he moves, about the way his face changes, as if your mind is trying to make him into two different people entirely -- one which is familiar, and one which is entirely not. It is tiring to say the least.

You meet his eyes, those warm hazel-green, and say, “You have helped us immeasurably. Who else could be more important than you?”

“The head of the guard?” he supplies with a squeak. “The steward. The -- the cook? Anyone, my lady, would be more helpful that me.”

You lower yourself to a chair, coming to his height. “No one is more important here than the man who knows how this all came to be.”

His gaze is watery when he tears it from yours. “No, no,” he insists, voice ragged. “Spend it on the others. All of them are more deserving than me.”

"Welp.” Obi pops the ‘p’, annoyed, and it draws attention to his mouth, to the way it fits around the words he speaks and -- well, Shirayuki really didn’t need help with that. “We’re doing real good, solving this mystery.”

It’s been three in-game days, and with every awoken man, more questions are asked than answered. So far none of them can remember being cursed, and when they bring the dwarf in front of them --

Well, Shirayuki knows this is all pretend, that the dwarf is really just Izana bending his voice into something new, but the way his expression crumples as every soldier calls him a stranger -- it’s a lot.

“What is even happening here?” Zen groans, fingers pulling at his face. “The dwarf knows something, but he won’t tell us.”

“He can’t tell us.” It comes out a little sharper than she intends, but -- it’s an important distinction. “He’s cursed.”

“Right,” he agrees absently. “But also he won’t let us help him, so it’s pretty much the same thing.”

Her hands clench on her lap. “It’s really n--”

“Can’t you just cast it on him anyway?” Obi asks, chin in hand, drumming his fingers on the table. “Then bingo-bango-bongo: the whole problem is solved.”

Her jaw drops. “I’m not going to treat a patient without his consent!”

Obi rounds on her, eyes incredulously wide. “He’s not real.”

That...is a good point, she’ll give him that.

“Well, he’s real to Lynet,” she informs him primly, setting her hands flat on the table. “And she would never.”

For a moment is mouth goes flat, annoyed, but then -- then it curls, Obi leaning casual on one fist. “I’m sure Beaumains could be persuasive.”

Her mouth wraps around the word, silent. The look he gives her is too knowing, eyebrows lifted in invitation, and she’s so, so tempted to ask just what kind of persuasion Beaumains might be inspired to do--

“Even if Shirayuki cast it, he could still resist it with a Will save,” Mitsuhide interjects, sending the moment skittering. “If he wanted to, at least. And then we’d be out of a spell slot.”

“If we’re stuck here, we should be focusing on the Big Bad anyway.” Zen settles back in his chair, running a hand through his hair and leaving it adorably askew, like he’d just woken up. “Someone has to have said something interesting, right? And we’re not just thinking about it.”

Mitsuhide leans a chin in his hand, pondering the idea. “The head of the guard mentioned that a traveling caravan came through before this all happened.”

Kiki nods. “And the steward mentioned buying wood from traveling merchants. Probably the ones who supplied the logs with the Will debuff.”

Zen settles back, thoughtful. “So you think they were force to sell the wood?”

“They must have some leverage on them,” Mitsuhide agrees. “They didn’t mention any children--”

“Or maybe,” Kiki deadpans, “they were all bandits?”

Mitsuhide gapes. “But there were women in the caravan.”

“Oh my,” she hums, teeth flashing behind her lips. “You’re right. How silly of me. We all know a woman could never be dangerous, oh no.”

“T-that’s not what I meant!”

“Oh?” Kiki smiles, and the room drops an entire degree. Shirayuki practically shivers in the chill. “It better not be.”

Shirayuki blinks, and between one moment as the next, Kiki stabs her pen into the table, leaving it quivering like a knife.

Izana huffs in annoyance. “Kiki, please. The table didn’t do anything to you.”

“It’s just between the leaves.” She shift her character sheets, and there it is: pen nib wedged perfectly into the crevice. With nothing more than a sharp tug, it’s back out again, twirling between Kiki’s long fingers. “Besides, it’s not like this is some family heirloom.”

“No,” Izana agrees, “but it’s the principle of the thing.”

“Okay, aside from Princess Kiki’s love for violence, which, by the way--” Obi tosses her a wink, which absolutely does not send a jolt of disappointment spear through Shirayuki’s belly-- “hot. It looks like our only lead are these bandits.”

Mitsuhide grunts. “We don’t know if they’re bandits.”

“Fine, Schrödinger’s bandits,” he sighs. “We don’t--what?”

The table is quiet, wide-eyed -- even Izana -- and into the silence, Zen says, “You know Schrödinger?”

Obi huffs. “What? I go to college. I know memes.”

“Wow,” Kiki manages, drawling every letter.

“Anyway.” Zen wields the word like a knife, trying to cut through the distractions. “We should track down these bandits--”

Mitsuhide clears his throat.

“Potential bandits,” Zen amends, annoyed. “So while Shirayuki is tending to the people here, we can start canvassing the area.”

“Oh!” It slips out of her, like a punch to the gut. If she’s back at the castle, and Beaumains is out looking for bandits --

She shakes her head. That’s not what this game is about. It’s about saving her sister and having fun with her friends, not -- not practice flirting.

Unfortunately, it’s too late to take it back. Every eye at the table falls on her, and she squirms. “Um.”

“That isn’t very fair,” Kiki observes, dragging her gaze to Zen. “Shirayuki should get a chance to have an adventure too, not just heal in the background.”

“But we can’t take her with us.”

She hadn’t even minded being left behind -- Izana would give her something to do, and it wasn’t as if Lynet would feel strongly about bandit chasing -- but it stings, hearing it from his mouth. Zen had wanted her to be Gwenhwyfar, to be the one waving the handkerchief from the parapets. Instead she’d made Lynet -- an alchemist, an arcanist, an asset -- but even still he’s finding ways to keep her at Camelot, leaving her behind when the knights rode out.

Mitsuhide grunts, disapproving.

“She’s using her highest slots to do this curse thing,” Zen explains, and she gets it, she does, it just doesn’t help. “If we find the Big Bad--”

“--We should probably have our healer with us.” Obi’s mouth cants into a lop-sided smile, cajoling. “Come on, my liege. We don’t have to jump in the deep end the second we get a hint of where this guy is. We have plenty of time to give my lady here a heads up before we get ourselves neck-deep in trouble.”

He winks, and -- and maybe she’s just projecting, but it feels different from the one he gave Kiki. More...personal.

“Um.” Now is really not the time to blurt out, I’m more upset that I can’t flirt with your character, so she just nods, ducking her head so he can’t see her blush. “Okay! But I’ll need a day to swap out my spells.”

He’s just -- adjusting, she knows that, but his foot swipes right along the bottom of hers and every hair stands on end. Oh, goodness. “We’ll see what we can do, my lady.”

Each day, more men awake from their stupors; three at a time, all of them disoriented, groggy. You had hoped that when you woke the healer, he would at least be able to ease your burden, but all the cursed are emaciated, their muscles atrophied to the point that they must be helped to the chamber pot and back. It is up to you to brew the potions, to cook the broth and, eventually, heartier stews to strengthen them.

And still there are more chores; small things: opening windows and keeping your stores stocked, organizing and documenting the treatment of your patients. Each day blends into each other, sleep only coming in fits and starts and never restful. Still, it is enough. You keep putting one foot in front of the other, hands doing what you ask of them, until --

Until one day they don’t.

Most of the men have not been moved from the great hall, though now, at least, there is room between them to walk, not just bodies laid haphazardly across the stone. It is not a situation you find ideal, however -- it is not feasible to move so many, and in their fugue state, few will care about privacy or proximity. However, those awoken few have been moved to more private chambers; the weft of the curse is thick, as fine a weave as any linen, and you suspect it does not allow any inference, either magic or mundane. Those who lay dreaming are free from any ailment save the caster’s making, but the others --

Well, that many men pressed so close is just tinder waiting for a kindling.

There is a way within Laxdo’s halls to reach the dormitories from the great hall, however, a quick dash through the courtyard’s arcades cuts minutes off a day that already has too few to spare. You hurry through, gaze set ever forward, laden with yet another heavy box of supplies.

Your mind is not on your day, of course. Oh no, it has long wandered far into stranger lands. The dwarf is what plagues your thoughts, for with every man that wakes, their eyes passing over him with barely more than a curious glance and no flash of recognition, he fades a little further. One day, you fear, you will turn to see he is little more than a shadow, a suggestion rather than a reality.

Whoever he is, he must be much changed. Perhaps he is knight, strong bodied and deep-voice; or perhaps he is truly only a boy, and --

Your heel catches, so hard that your teeth jitter in their sockets. It snaps your spine straight, feet staggering beneath you to balance both your weight and the box’s.

All for naught; the shock jolts like lightning through your limbs, and the moment you right yourself, the box slips from boneless fingers, straight to the stone below.

There is a moment where your life flashes before your eyes. Or at least, the last week, which has felt like a lifetime. On shivering fawn legs, you bend, touching each bottle and jar as if they were the saints’ bones themselves. It is not the first inventory you have done with your heart lodged in your throat, but it is certainly the one where you had the most to lose. After all, it wasn’t as if the people of Castle Perilous would rely on their young mistress alone.

Your breath huffs out on a sigh. Misfortune’s bony fingers have no hooks in your skirts today. Not one cracked jar or one broken seal.

You get to your feet, hauling the box into you arms, but -- but you are made suddenly and terrifying aware that you have not slept for days. The world swings in a mad carousel around you, and with the momentum of your lift and the weight of the box you tilt back --

But never hit the ground.

“Oh,” Zen groans, flopping back in his seat. “Come on. Really?”

“Oooh, master, you just wish you had moves like me.” Obi’s hips give a sultry swivel in his seat as he scoops up his natural twenty. It absolutely does not give Shirayuki any -- any ideas. The room is just unnaturally warm for a basement.

“Careful, smooth moves,” Kiki deadpans. “K-pop impressions and bad pick-up lines won’t save you from not investing in your health.”

Obi huffs out a laugh with one of his devil-may-care shrugs. “I don’t invest in nerd things like hit points, I invest in being cool, and I stand by that decision. Besides,” he says, pink flaring high on his cheeks, “my pick-up lines are great.”

“Name one that worked.”

“I dunno.” His shoulders hunch, defensive. “All of them.”

Kiki’s eyebrows lift. “On who?”

Me. Shirayuki catches the word in her teeth, swallowing it down. It’s not -- it’s not even true. Beaumains has been using them on Lynet, and Lynet is the one interested, not -- not her. They’re different people. Probably.

“You know.” He sniffs. “People. You don’t know them.”

If anything, Kiki’s brows only raise higher. “Hmm.”

“If we’re quite done speculating about Obi’s romantic prowess,” Izana interjects smoothly. “I do believe we’re in the middle of something?”

Heat blooms across your back, the way it would when you sat at the hearth, tilting a book so it might not lay in shadow. It smolders along your side, not like a bonfire, but a brazier, or even a bed warmer --

Ah, now there is a thought your father would not appreciate you having.

Your gaze is fixed to your supplies, but it takes you a long moment to realize you are not holding them. No, it is a steady hand over you, sheathed in black leather, and in one, delirious moment, you realize that bare indigo must be pressed into your back, hooking just so at your hip. He doesn’t even shake.

“Careful there, my lady.” The words rumble against your ear, too intimate in the cage of his chest. “Keep this up, and a man could get ideas.”

You lift your gaze, gold tangling with green, breath catching in your throat. He might have made a shoddy assassin, but as your protector, well --

“Do you think if it happens another time, you will believe it?”

He blinks, eyes as wide and gold as coins. “Believe what?”

With all the courage you can summon, you mimic his flirtatious smirk and say, “That I’m falling for you.”

If the birds still sang at Laxdo, then the air would not be so still, so silent. At it is, you could hear a pin drop, so long as it was louder than the throb of your heart.

In a single, staggering moment, you are back on your feet, and Beaumains shakes his head, hunching his shoulders against the cold. “You need to work on your delivery.”

Your jaw snaps shut. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not the flirting type, my lady.” He shrugs, a smirk peeking out from behind his cowl. “Too earnest, I think.”

Blood boils in your veins, and you know he can see it on your skin when you say, “It does not seem fair that you may make love as you wish, but yet I cannot.”

He huffs out a laugh, sweeping a step closer. Oh, he smells...nice. Leather and pine with a hint of brimstone. “You know what I have and you don’t, my lady?”

“What?” You wish it wasn’t so breathless.

He leans in, and unbidden, your eyes flutter to half-mast. “Charisma.”

“Wait.” Kiki snags his sheet, sliding it across the table. “How on earth is your charisma higher than your con?”

“I’m a rogue-sorcerer!” Obi squeaks, snatching it back. “It’s my casting stat.”

“This is ridiculous,” she decides. “Are you planning on using it any time soon?”

He gapes. “I use it all the time!”

“I mean besides for bad pick-up lines.”

“How do you think I snuck up on Shirayuki at all?” He waves his hands. “Obviously magic!”

“I mean...” Kiki shrugs. “There is a stealth stat for a reason. A good rogue wouldn’t need Invisibility--”

He sniffs. “There’s just no reasoning with you, Princess.”

“I thought you were supposed to be bandit hunting.” The words come out breathless, and you wish you were like Morgaine, who never sounds as if anything bothers her at all, instead of -- of this. A girl ripe to be teased, since she can never wear her heart anywhere but on her sleeve.

He looks out over the yard, eyes squinting into the distance, and it is a fine view for watching the smirk creep up the side of his face. “Seemed like my job was here, my lady.”

Warmth blooms in your chest, as suddenly and easily as if he had laid a hand over your heart. Still, you frown. “And you did not think to announce yourself?”

“You did well enough alone,” he tells you with a speculative glance, and the flash in his eyes makes you think he likes what he sees. That he is, perhaps, even a little impressed with you. “And anyway, it seemed like you understood well enough about hiding in plain sight.”

You do not miss the bite of censure in his words, the warmth spreading from your chest to your cheeks. He put space between you, but you close it as you say, “I am the only one who can do this work, I do not have the luxury of--”

“Peace, my lady.” He holds up his hands, as if he might ward you off like a bitch anxious over her pups. “I know well enough. Still...” He edges a step back, teeth flashing white against the dark of his face. “Should you not be wary of me?”

You stare, brows furrowed. “Wary? Has not Uther himself consigned me to your care?”

“That’s true enough,” he admits, hand raising to squeeze at his shoulder. An old injury must lay there, aggravated by the heavy weather. “Though I thought His Grace would fill your head with all sorts of things.”

“Things?”

“Speculations. Rumor.” He grins, sharp enough to cut, though it is not a blade faced outward. “Maybe even something close to the truth.”

“Beaumains.” You step closer, and he watches you now, not the quintain creaking in the distance. “I think my own thoughts, not those of Arturius. And I have never been wary of you.”

The arcade is so quiet, you can hear his breath rasp in his chest.

“Besides--” you let yourself share in some of his smile-- “I was the one who had you pinned.”

“My lady,” he protests, “I let you--”

“I think we can call this argument thoroughly explored,” Izana informs them. “Not that I do not enjoy the enthusiastic roleplay.”

“Oh!” Shirayuki chirps, hands clapping to cover her blush. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“No need.” You do not miss the twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips. “Besides, I think we all know it was your tanglefoot bag that did the pinning.”

“In any case,” you continue, perhaps a little forcefully, “you have proven yourself to be a man worthy of trust in my eyes.”

Beaumains stares, inscrutable. “My lady...”

Whatever words he means to say are lost; he folds his lips around them and the moment carries them away.

“My lady,” he tries again, more sure. “You’re wearing yourself down.”

“I am fine--”

“Perhaps His Grace--”

“I am fine,” you insist, sharper than you intend. “There is no reason to worry Arturius. So you might as well not.”

The silence between you itches, and when those golden eyes look at you, when they stare through you as if you were a specimen under glass, you want to squirm out of your own skin. “Who says I have to listen to anything you say?”

Uther. The name bubbles up, unbidden. You would have to be a fool to speak it; what passed between assassin and king is known by them alone. To pretend you know either of their minds would be a mistake of the rarest form.

Instead, you take a step forward, skirt brushing over the toes of his boots. “You owe me.”

His eyes narrow, thoughtful. “Owe you?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “You do.”

He stares at you, and you know he remembers the same as you do: the botched assassination, him grabbing your wrists and pulling you under him, the way his skin had warmed so pleasantly against yours --

“Fine.” His gaze swivels away, chin turned so much your neck hurts just looking at it. “But...why keep it a secret, my lady?”

Teeth prick at your lips. You cannot just say, Arturius. Not when he has been so kind to you, when he has taken on this quest that no other would. But still, still -- you were barely allowed to come. If he were to know that you are weary, or weak, or, Father forfend, overwhelmed --

Well, you do not have to imagine what sort of behavior that might invite from His Grace.

“Because I can manage on my own,” you say instead, lifting the box from his hands.

Or at least, you would, if he would let go. “We’re only having this talk because you’re not managing, my lady.”

Ah, that is...a point. Your shoulders drop, grip loosening until it is once again only Beaumains that holds it. “I...”

“My lady?” You cannot meet his gaze, but you feel it on you, warm and inquisitive, perhaps even concerned.

“It’s only...”

He leans in. You can feet his heat against your skin.

“The dwarf,” you manage, a flush gathering at where your wimple meets your collar. “There’s something about him.”

“He’s short?” Beaumains offers, voice low, a pleasant rumble so close to you. “He’s cursed?”

Your mouth pulls thin. “That is not what a meant. However...” You shake your head, at a loss. “I only have this...this feeling. It is important that he be cured of his affliction. But...if he does not want to be saved before the others...”

Frustration tangles your tongue. If only you knew what words would convince him, what proof you needed to lay before him --

“Ah,” Beaumains sighs, mouth crooking into a grin. “Is that all?”

Izana blinks as his phone hoots at him, scanning the screen.

“Hm.” He sets it aside, laying it square on the table. “Obi, if you would come with me.”

Zen’s eyes narrow as they stand, gaze darting between them. “What are you doing?”

“Me and the big boss here have some business in hallway time,” Obi tells him with a grin even Shirayuki has to admit is insufferable. “Got a problem with it?”

He frowns. “Why do you need that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” With a waggle of his eyebrows, Obi skips around the corner of the stairs and is gone. The door above shuts with an almost jaunty click.

“Wha--?” Zen stares after him, sputtering. “That’s why I’m asking!”

It is quiet, for once. Only the moan of the wind outside and the scratch of your nib against parchment reach your ears, the crackle of the fire long faded into the background of your mind. It lulls you, the gentle sweep of your own hand, and you close your eyes -- just a blink --

Only to wake at the creak of your door.

“Lynet.”

You do not expect the prince to darken your door, not this late at night, but here he is, cloak dusted with snow, sword at his hip. He follows your gaze, and he seems shocked to find his blade there as well, as if he does not always keep it at his side.

“Arturius,” you say, rising to your feet. “I didn’t think to see you so late.”

“I needed to know something.” He sweeps a hand toward your bed. “Would you mind?”

You blink, and for a moment, he is a different man telling you to get to a bed, gaunleted hands reaching --

“Yes,” you gasp, shaking yourself. This is different. Arturius is a friend. You trust him. “Of course.”

Your legs dangle off the side of the bed, toes just brushing the floor, and he draws his chair up in front of you, holding your hand.

“Close your eyes,” he says. “I’m going to count.”

“Are you taking my pulse?” His fingers are not in the proper place for such a thing. At your wrist is truly--

“Please,” he laughs. “Just trust me.”

You do, and so your eyes flutter closed. For a moment, you are only aware of your breath, of his touch, and you --

Jolt awake, as the door flies open again.

“Beaumains!” Arturius snaps, dropping your hand as if it scalds. “What are you--?

It is only once he is in the room room that you can see -- there is someone behind him. A small someone.

The dwarf.

Beaumain’s smile stretches smugly from ear-to-ear. “Our friend here says he’ll do it.”

“What?” Zen squaws, glaring daggers at his brother before settling back on Obi. “How could you?”

“How could I what?” Obi grins, hooking his hands behind his head. “Get the job done?”

“Intimidate him!” He waves a hand vaguely towards the head of the table. “He’s our friend!”

Obi blinks. “Izana?”

“No, not -- I mean the dwarf!” He lets out a huff. “Izana is definitely not our friend.”

“Brother.” Izana presses a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded.”

“You’re like Rasputin,” Zen tells him. “You’ll get over it.”

“I didn’t intimidate either of them.” Obi darts a glance at her, hooking her with a grin. “I just used my raw charisma.”

Kiki groans. “Go home.”

“Are you certain?” You glance at Beaumains behind him, but there is no menace to the man, just an unseemly amount of gloating. “I will not force you.”

The dwarf hesitates, wringing his small hands over his belly, but in the end he nods, meeting your gaze with a confidence that is wholly new. “I am ready, my lady.”

Your hand shakes as his fingers cup the rounded bottom of the flask, as he pulls the glass from your grasp, and with a deep, steeling sigh, upends the entirety of the potion into his throat.

“Oh!” The sound hiccups out of you, and though you’ve worn a groove in your voice the shape of the warnings you give each time, they tangle in your mouth. It is too late to say, drink slowly, to say, stop if it does not feel right, and oh, you are usual say this to a man prone, insensate --

And yet, nothing happens.

It takes time, you know. Your palms itch, eager to reach for your notes, to see if this was too long an interval, if this was a sign that this geas was worse, that the caster was fighting your remedy --

A muscle twitches. The dwarf blinks, raising his hand -- his hand that is now large, now small, that cannot decide its size at all, which is fine since his whole body follows suit, growing and shrinking. His shoulders rounds as his spine stretches, as if he’s hit a wall, some sort of barrier --

And it shatters, like an egg’s shell, his body growing well beyond its confines, the proportion of his limbs and face changing, until --

“Oh!” You whirl around, putting your back to him. “Oh my!”

“Ah,” the man says, his voice reedy, yet not as high as you remember. “I had hoped that this might be better done.”

“Here.” Arturius tosses one of the sheets from the cots. “Cover yourself.”

“I thank you,” the man says, humiliation riding high in his tone. “My lady, please forgive me, I did not think--”

“You...you are--” it is hard to find the words with your cheeks as hot as this -- “you are the lord of Laxdo’s son!”

He lets out a single, pained laugh. “I am afraid I am more than that now, my lady. I am Laxdo’s lord.”

“But--”

“Arturius!” Bedwyr sweeps into the room, ragged. “The men are all waking!”

“Wait, wait.” Shirayuki shakes her head, brow furrowed. “I removed his curse, and now everyone is healed?”

Izana lifts a hand in a lazy shrug. “So it would seem.”

“But...but...” She swivels, fixing on him. “But he didn’t want to be turned back! He wouldn’t let us, not until--” Shirayuki stops, her brain rushing to put the pieces together. “That was part of the compulsion. He wouldn’t let the curse be broken so that we -- so that I--”

She groans. “We could have done this in a day.”

“Welcome to Izanafinder,” Kiki deadpans. “He may not kill you, but he will make you wish you were dead.”

“My name is Shuuka,” the man says, better settled with the sheet around his hips. You still keep finding the wall just over his left shoulder fascinating. If only Bedwyr would be faster at locating the young lord’s costume. “I must admit, I had hoped you might remember it, my lady.”

You grimace. “I am...very bad with names. My father often despaired of it.”

And as in all his wishes, it bore very little fruit.

“I think I remember that.” He laughs, weary. “It is no matter. I am in your debt regardless.”

“Pray, do not think on it,” you tell him, even as Arturius grunts. “I would not have a soul beholden to me.”

You do not miss Beaumain’s cough, nor the amused way he watches you from the door. Doubtlessly, he would find time to say his piece on that, but it will not be now.

“But, my lady--”

“What would help us most would be if you told us what happened,” Arturius says, oddly strangled. “Since you are the only one that seems to remember.”

Shuuka blinks, as if he had forgotten his prince sat mere steps away. “Of course. I shall explain it all to you.”

“That would be--”

“But first.” He slips his hand around yours, smiling shyly. “We must celebrate how you have saved us.”

“Oh,” you breathe, gaze flying to Arturius. A muscle in his jaw jumps. “I do not think--”

“Please, give me this,” Shuuka insists. “A banquet in your honor.”

You do not look at him, but you can feel Beaumain’s grin as a palpable touch. “Truly, it is not necessary. It was all of us who--”

“Ah yes, then in all your honor!” He squeezes your hand, and gives you a boyish smile that sends you straight back to girlhood. “All the men have been healed, and it would do them good to have a night of merriment.”

You cannot refute it would raise morale. Which would be much needed, once they took in the state of Laxdo’s disrepair. “I suppose...”

He leaps to his feet, thankfully taking the sheet with him. “Then a banquet it is!”

Shirayuki buries her face in her hands. “Oh my.”

“Oooh,” Obi croons. “Looks like you got some competition, my liege.”

Zen frowns. “Oh, shut up.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #Dungeons & Dragons AU #my fic #ans #for all of you that were hoping for flirting #YOU NOW HAVE THIS #also please enjoy 6.5K of this because THERE WAS NO GOOD PLACE TO STOP #I keep hoping this arc will wrap up so i get get to SOME STUFF but NOPE #can't possibly shut up XD

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philipsgaiamemories · 5 years

Text

Compulsive Gambler

Fandom: Kamen Rider Build

Relationship: Kiryu Sento/ Banjou Ryuga

Summary: AU!Yakuza stuff, where Banjou is having a bad day but one visit to the casino changes everything. Also slightly OOC

Notes: Not sure if I want to add to this or leave as is, so for now its complete unless I want to follow with more.

Ratings: Probably Teen? Slightly Non-con?

Banjou Ryuga was not in the best moods tonight, his irritation level high as he parted the crowds roaming the streets. He could hear the soft gasps of the strangers around him, as he and the large threatening bodies of his family members moved through the city.

Well of course everyone should be wary of them, this family around Banjou wasn’t just a normal family, the intimidating men around him were Yakuza. Specifically, a subsidiary of the dominate Yakuza gang in the area; and in charge of the subsidiary was the lean auburn haired Banjou.

“Captain, why don’t we go to the casino?~”

Blinking the lean boy looked up, staring down the glittering neon street. Right in front of them was a bright bold arrow pointing to a gold painted building with ‘Golden Palace Casino’ written on it. This location was special though, this place was a hang out for their family, and one of the many businesses playing for ‘protection’.

“Oh yeah~ Come on lets try our luck!” Sawatari Kazumi grinned next to Banjou. “Come on Captain! Lets cut loose!”

The other’s around him chattered eagerly, hoping that their leader would agree. Rolling his dark eyes, Banjou ran his fingers through his tresses, “Sure, why not? Come on everyone!”

Yeah, maybe after throwing some card down, the restless boy would be in a better mood.

“Yes! First round on me Captain!” With a cheer the group continued down the street, stalking their way up to the entrance of the glittering casino.

“W-W-welcome Sirs!-“ As soon as they went past the foyer, the person behind the welcome desk stuttered, writing his hands nervously. Well, it wasn’t surprising, every month they would have to deal with the Yakuza, and their ‘protection fee’.

Within a few minutes the men had beers in their hands, the boys happily settled at their own private table in the corner.

“Ah! Captain you got a 21! Lucky!” Kazumi grinned patting the back of the smaller male. Grinning to himself, Banjou watched as the nervous dealer pushed the winning chips to him. Yes, this was definitely a good way to blow off his extra steam.

“O-Oi! Asshole, you cant get that lucky that often!” Suddenly, the light hearted chatter in the casino fell into a hushed whisper, the customers gazes trying to stay away from the problem.

Banjou’s lips fell into a frown, as he tilted his head, glaring at the direction the commotion was coming from. He watched silently as large security guards reached for a lean boy in a long trench coat by the roulette table.

“Don’t touch me!” The boy’s hand lifted, swatting at the bodyguard’s hand, “I’ll leave!”

Even from their corner spot, the Yakuza Captain could see the boys wide almond eyes, dark, and defiant, sunken into his lean face. Such delicate features for someone who was so feisty. Then as if watching in slow moment, Banjou watched as the bouncer’s hand fell upon the troublemaker’s shoulder, the boy shifted his weight and in a blink of an eye the large man was on his back.

“O-OI!”

Amusement danced in the eyes of the Yakuza Captain watching as the other guards began to surround the lean boy. But before it went any further, Banjou got up, and motioned his men to get up and move towards the circling boys.

“Guys, relax~ What did he do?” Banjou called out, slowly coming up, parting the gang of men. Tilting his eyes he finally took in the lean boy causing all the fuss. Slender face, with those large dark almond eyes behind impossibly long lashes. Beautiful, pale, lean neck that flowed into a equally lean body. Feeling his heart skip, Banjou couldn’t think of another word other than, ‘cute’.

The dark haired boy stared back at him with an intensely curious gaze, unsure what to think about the obvious mobster.

“Sir, he was cheating at the game!”

Clicking his tongue, the stranger huffed, “Psh, prove it!”

The bodyguard growled, “Why you! There is no way you could win so many times-!”

Lifting his hand, Banjou lips curled into a smile, his mind turning with the statement.

“Prove it! You can’t can you!”

Could this boy have found a way to win at roulette without being caught? Was that possible?! Crossing his arms over his lean chest, Banjou watched at the confident boy flaunting his obvious knowledge.

“Well, why don’t we straighten out mm?” Motioning to Kazumi, Banjou watched as the lean boy was grabbed by the shoulder and arms, “Come on, lets talk.”

“Get off!” But it was no use, the lean boy couldn’t fight against the larger male. The small group funneled through the casino, the Yakuza Captain leading them into the back VIP rooms.

“Out!” With a loud roar, Banjou watched as everyone in one of the used rooms ran out, their voices high in fear.

Lifting his hand, Banjou motioned towards the chair, “Sit.”

The mysterious boy eyeballed the door, as the Yakuza family members slowly slipped outside, taking their place guarding the front door. With a sigh, the lean boy slowly took a seat, his eyes still shimmering with defiance.

“So…what’s your name?” Banjou wanted to start out slowly, knowing full well that if he pushed, all he was going to get was resistance and lies.

“You can’t keep me here…I’ve done nothing…” His voice was firm, matching his defensive behavior.

Sliding into a chair next to the boy, Banjou repeated. “Whats. Your. Name?”

His tone dripped with aggression, his eyes gleaming within the bright florescence lights.

Biting his lower lip anxiously, the stranger’s expression shifted, ever so slightly, his eyes momentary deep in thought. Finally, the lean boy lifted his head, brushing back some of his chocolate tresses behind his small ear.

“…Kiryu…Kiryu Sento…”

Humming lightly to himself, Banjou leaned forward onto his forearms. “Sento hmm? So…tell me…How did you do it? How did you manage to win like that?”

There it was again, that flicker of defiance in Sento’s eyes before he nonchalantly said, “I don’t know what you are talking about…I’m just lucky…”

The sound of scuffling filled the room as Banjou got up, a small knife magically appearing in the Yakuza’s hands. The glittering blade pressed gently against the boys lean pale neck, with just enough force that the other barely breathed in fear of getting cut.

“W-What are you doing?!” Sento’s voice came out in a strangled whisper. “Get that away from me…”

Banjou’s eyes shimmered watching as a small delicate line of red formed on the skin underneath the blade. The Captain was done trying to be nice, his patience wearing thin with each passing moment.

“Don’t you know…” He whispered, watching as Sento’s eyes grew into the size of saucers. “That the money here, belongs to the Yakuza?”

Suddenly the cute stranger stiffened in his chair, his lips parting as if he wanted to speak, but dared not to. Banjou had thought that it was well known that this place was under their thumb, and the money basically funneled into their pocket? But, based on how the look of defiance was disappearing from the boys gaze, a look of fear replacing the Captain knew finally the boy was cracking. And just that fact, breaking the other without his normal violence, sent an exhilarating rush of heat and excitement down his body.

Lifting the knife just every so slightly, Banjou dragged it down his button only applying the slightest of pressure to pop them off. Inch by inch, the blade parted the fabric, allowing the Yakuza the thrilling sight of the pale flawless skin underneath his shirt. The room was quiet, besides the soft, shuddering breaths from Sento, as Banjou continued to tear apart his shirt with no resistance.

“…S-Stop…I-I’m sorry…I’ll return-“

Flicking the last of the buttons with the tip of his knife, Banjou scoffed, “You think that will fix everything? No…returning the money is the least of your worries…”

His eyes greedily took in the boys lean, fragile looking chest, parting the shirt with the tip of his knife, “Now…why don’t you be a good boy…and they will never know~”

#Kiryu Sento #Banjou Ryuga #Kamen Rider Build #Mun writes #Kamen Rider Build Fanfiction #compulsive gambler

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