#gildedheir

@gildedheir​ sent " click " 

Send me "click" for your muse to put a collar on my muse

It’s unexpected - the collar around his neck. It happens much faster than he can process, faster than he can even begin to protest. The audible click is heard as the cool metal encompasses his neck.

“W-What the- ?!” He’s not naive - he knows what this means. SOME POWER PLAY. Some sick twisted game of Rufus’. Another attempt to CLAIM HIM as his, prove to him that Rufus is ended his Master and he’s some sort of PET. 

Hands clench at his side, curls into fists but he doesn’t dare strike Rufus. HE’S NOT STUPID. He knows striking him right now will only be bad for him. Whether he actually listens to his mind telling him not to in a few minutes depends entirely on what happens next.

@gildedheir​​  : "You belong to me." - gildedheir 

    Ifrit bared his fangs at the man who had him by the collar, tugging him to sit properly on his Summoner’s lap. He huffed, ignoring the red that lingered on his cheek. To belong to someone like this was both embarrassing and a turn on all at the same time. 

Brow knitted, Hien looked more concerned than he did pleased. It did not change the spike of warmth that crept up his arm, like the way ice could burn if you held it for too long–

He wore the mask of the diplomat, though he was really for all intents and purposes far more a hunter or a sellsword than any noble at least in his upbringng rather than his origin.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, your Radiance?” The title he had once spoken as a jab came now nearly as a term of endearment, and he dared to reach out with his free hand to pass it through the mess of Magnai’s wild hair, it like every part of him, seemingly kissed by the sun with threads of gold even in the dimest light.

Magnai wasn’t entirely sure why he took the prince’s hand and raised it to his lips. It wasn’t as if it was something he never did, but the tenderness was generally saved for women whom he suspected could be the Nhaama in which he sought for so long. 

“Take whatever pleasure you seek from it, Doman. Is this not how your people greet-- or say goodbye? You have returned to the Steppe-- to what do I owe the pleasure? Have we not fulfilled whatever use you had of us?”

When the hand passed through his hair, his stomach twisted in a way that was damn near painful. He swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes tighter before lifting himself and letting go of his hand. He stood tall, towering over the prince as a hand moved to smooth out whatever Hien had ruffled.

@gildedheir

Caleb wasn't going to totally break his routine even if he was in a magical demigod house full of hot guys he was technically related to. Well not all of them but he wasn't smart enough to trace a greek god family tree, he wasn't really built for things like that. He was however built for his morning work out and run. He had stuck to the block and just done a couple of laps after his gym session, coming back in the front door he b-lined it to the kitchen, setting down a sack of groceries he had picked up on his way back.

He hummed as he turned on the oven and began cracking eggs into a bowl, using his power to cause little gusts of wind to cool his sweaty self off, only too late to realize there was somebody in the room with him.

Touchy Tuesday :: @gildedheir

Magnai blinked dumbly when he felt the warmth of Hien’s hand across his cheek. His brow knit and his lips turned down in confusion as eyes lifted to meet the Doman’s face. He studied him, trying to figure out what he was trying to do-- what he had to gain from this, or if something was trying. Was it a cultural difference? Was this a Doman greeting or something? When he came to a blank conclusion, he broke the silence between them.

Judging you.