Rynn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
chaneystarr) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
slytherynn2020-02-10 09:07 am
chaneystarr) wrote in slytherynn2020-02-10 09:07 am
Entry tags:
February PWP Kink Meme
Will you be mine?
| bondage | collars |
| possessiveness | marking |
| sexual slavery | claiming/ownership |
| pets | sex toys |
How to play
1. Mix and Match any of the above kinks
2. Pick a ship or pairing
3. Leave me a prompt
4. Kinks!
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But with each conquest, he came closer and closer to his goal. It was inevitable, that they would come face to face again. And there are times even he can't guess at who will be the victor. For all his carefully laid plans, he knows that the fates still guide her footsteps and it's not the first time she has accomplished the impossible. So it is when the time comes that he takes every care, every precaution, to come out of this as the victor - and with his prize.
She is dragged into the Temple's courtyard amid the rousing victory cries of his people. There is blood on her brow and the soot of the battle fires on her cheeks. He waits, standing on the raised dais that had once held an altar to Andruil but now marked his own place of honor as the only of his kind left standing among his people.
For now.
He waits as she is dragged before him and then forced to her knees, the assembled elves and others in his army falling silent at this fated meeting. he waits until it is all silent before coming to go down on one knee before her - not in deference, as he might have once - but to bring himself eye to eye with her. When he speaks, his voice is soft and melodic, full of the mysteries he's kept to himself all this time. Mysteries that she's been unraveling about him all along. But still, there's a note of fondness there. Bemusement, almost, as he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind one daintily-tipped ear. ]
Inquisitor.
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His voice is as she remembers, and yet he seems someone else entirely from the hedge mage she had met that fateful day in the Frostbacks, the friend who had kept her from succumbing to the mark in her sleep. He is not the Solas she once thought him to be— and yet even now, she cannot hate him as so many think she ought, even after all that has been done in his name. It would have been infinitely easier, she thinks, if she could.
Though forced to her knees and with her wrists bound, she exercises what autonomy remains to turn her head away, though only after meeting his gaze.]
Dread Wolf.
[A title she knows he has no real love for, just as she did not care for her own.]
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So he just smiles mildly, coolly, and slides a finger under her jaw, tipping her face back towards him so he can hold her gaze for himself. ]
Ironic, that this is how we meet now. I cautioned you, did I not? That things would end up this way. If only you had taken my warnings to heart.
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At the strike of nine bells, be kneeling at the center of your room. Wear only this.
And left with it is a simple collar of dark leather, a glint of silver at the buckle and the hooped ring that dangles from the front of it. It rests atop a swath of dark cloth, a blindfold, folded and ready to be donned with the collar. ]
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He smirks to himself as he reads the invitation, turning it over in one hand to ensure he hadn’t missed any further instructions.]
Well— who am I to argue?
[And when the appointed hour comes, the altus mage will do precisely as he’s told— he waits, admittedly impatiently, kneeling with his hands behind his back, eyes covered, collar fastened securely around his neck. He has always been one to rebel against rules and instruction, always had immense difficulty following orders, but this was another matter entirely— there were some ‘requests’ he was only too happy meet.
Brennan Trevelyan had that sort of effect on a man.]
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Brennan comes to stand before his mage, smile playing on his lips as he takes in the gorgeous sight waiting for him, just as he'd requested. For now, he doesn't say anything, wondering what Dorian will do, even as he slowly circles the kneeling mage and takes him in from every angle. ]
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Red Fallen Star (Dimitri/Yona)
Of course, he also needs to not die of blood loss or falling. That's the only reason he's camped in this cave at all; one of his victims had damaged his eye and even in this state he knew he needed to rest and recover. Scraps of his cloak make for a poor bandage, but what else did he have?
It's clear for the first night in a while, the snow finally stopping and giving the forest a break, and Dimitri is taking the chance to practice throwing things at a target to try and adjust to his lack of proper depth perception.
That's the only reason he sees the falling star, red as blood and calling to him, though everyone could have heard that crash. Without even thinking, the former prince grabs his lance and makes his way to where he saw it fall.]
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Now, though. She can feel the icy crispness of snow against her bare back, the scales of the magnificent dragon form having vanished entirely after her fall. She groans softly and shifts, trying to push herself up on her hands and knees, her scarlet hair falling down around her shoulders as she shivers from the cold. ]
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And then just sort of stares because that...that is not a star.]
A girl?
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Who are you? Where is this place?
[ Because she needs those answers. She needs an explanation as to how she'd come to be here and why. Because she's still feeling strange and unbalanced. And more than a little frightened. ]
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His Sylvain, Get Your Own (Felix/Sylvain)
What is new is how hard he's staring at Sylvain as the idiot tries to get with some lord's sister or daughter or maybe even his wife, Felix doesn't know. Nor does he care. He's been drinking, he's pining, and fuck it if Dorothea can be making out with the queen of Brigid behind the curtains he can down his wine like a shot and call out.]
Sylvain.
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Behind his back, he waves off Felix with an absent gesture, as if to say not now. ]
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Felix storms over, clearly planning to murder one ginger.
Except not really, as he stops just short, giving the girl time to flee if she's smart.
She probably isn't. Sylvain goes after the airheaded girls.]
Sylvain.
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Excise me, my lady. I'm afraid my companion must be amidst an emergency. I'll find you later?
[ Another titter of shy laughter as she offers them both a curtsy and then dashes off to giggle and gossip with her friends once more.
Sylvain just turns to Felix with a long-suffering look. ]
You have the worst timing. Do you have any idea how long it took me to get her away from that gaggle of hens in the first place?
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late here with a starbux
[ From time to time, he can't help but tug at his collar- it's weight, uncomfortable for reasons more than one. But his pride refuses to bow down, or admit a defeat, he remains defiant. Even if defiant in this situation means acting as if it was a casual meeting and not, well, funhouse
He taps the table and tilts his head ]
So what at are we now? Ah, yes, negotiations.
my fav
There are two figures across from Caster where he sits at the table, collar visible about his throat. The first - clearly the person in command, for all that she is veiled and has remained silent so far - sits demurely across from him, hands folded primly in her laps, her dress marking her as someone of distinction. There's a wide-brimmed hat perched atop her head, the veil that drapes from it effectively hiding the person beneath, although still allowing her to view him from the safety of the shadows. The other is the guardian at her left, tall and tense, hand resting on the hilt of his belt where a sword is clearly absent for the moment - house laws, after all, but he's clearly not happy about it.
When Caster speaks, the guard leans forward, blue eyes narrowing as he braces one hand on the table and meets his gaze challengingly. ]
Negotiations? I was under the impression that those are made with the proprietor of this establishment. You're just here for an inspection. From the sound of things, you don't get much say in what they sell your services here for.
[ A pointed look is directed at that collar then, but the veiled figure reaches out to lay a hand on his arm, shaking her head slightly in chiding. ]
That's enough. [ Her voice is quiet and reserved, but there's a note of steel behind it before she turns back in the direction of the man across from her. ] What is your name?
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Oh, I go by a variety of names, let's stick to Caster tonight, young lady. [ Not wavering under the guard's challenging gaze, he puts his chin on the palm of his hand. As if he wasn't just animal in the cage but truly equal in the conversation. Decorum is an important thing to keep. ] I take you wished for someone else? Know that I am obliged to fulfill your demands, regardless.
[ That he will be held accountable for whatever happens here, and her word means more than his, is a known fact. ]
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Number 9, Type Slut
The collar around 9S's neck beeps and he shakes the last of the post-boot up haze from his mind as he starts to look for Master, the golden chains between his ankles chiming prettily as he wanders.]
Master?
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Turning about with a bit of a start, he stares at the pale-haired figure that steps into sight, surprised for a moment before he remembers what this is. ]
Shit, today was the delivery day, wasn't it? It completely slipped my mind.
[ Discarding his tie, too, he moves to cross over and inspect his newest acquisition, the lithe little android with pale hair, his features almost dainty and delicate in their beauty. he reaches out to cup a hand against the boy's cheek, finding him a little cool to the touch, but not uncomfortably so.
His techs had really worked a miracle with this latest creation of theirs. He was giving them all raises.
Grinning, his thumb strokes briefly against the boy's soft lips, musing at the realism. ]
Sorry I'm late.
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[9S leans into that touch, tongue flicking out to lick at his master's thumb.]
I just woke up, so you're not late. Welcome home.
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If it hadn't been for Mikoto noticing, stepping in to intervene in his own way, Yata had no idea what he would have ended up doing.
Even now, it still felt strange sometimes. Belonging to someone - in every manner of the word. It was more than just the burn on his chest, symbolizing his pride, his place in the whole of HOMRA. It was the tattoos on his skin, the metal piercings that decorated his body. The collar about his throat with his owner's name etched into the leather. It grounds him, reminds him he belongs. Belongs to someone who looks after him, cherishes him, understands that bond in ways that words can never express. It fought back all those old insecurities, the fears of abandonment, the dread that he would never be enough.
Mikoto seemed to find him enough, at least. That was fulfilling in itself.
It late. he can hear the bar closing up downstairs. He's up in Mikoto's apartment, waiting for his King, his master. He kneels in the middle of the rug beside the bed, on his knees, hands folded in his lap and head bowed. He's naked, except for the piercings, except for the collar - except for the toys Mikoto had placed on him and in him earlier today, with instructions for him to wait. He'd waited, even if it felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin. ]
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He takes Yata in and begins to properly mold him. Fix him. Improve him. Saru was a weakling and didn't know what he was doing, where as Mikoto did. He decorated him, tattoos from head to toe, and piercings everywhere.
After the bar closes, he heads up to his apartment. Shutting and locking the door tightly, he looks at him.]
Come.
[His finger making a motion for him to come closer.]
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