LOST!

Independent multi-muse by Rae

[perditos]

PERDITOS || Independent multi-muse, selective, private, written by Rae. Featuring muses from DC and Marvel Comics, Kingdom Hearts, Star Wars, BG3, and more! [RULES AND MUSES]

Mutual Only OC Friendly Mun 21+ No NSFW Iconless Dash Only

Personal blogs you are welcome to follow but If you reblog my posts, I will block you.

[perditos]

Noon and I have to know:

Do Wizards Jack Off?

Yes

No

Yes. But with elaborate potentially dick exploding spells.

No. Because not nutting makes them better wizards.

Voting ended onJun 3

[perditos]

I fear nothing, but the sight of Jean in the Wolverine trailer ... terrifies me.

[perditos]

Starter here X

Basil w/ Vivian @starlyht

The wound dripped crimson, flowing in dark red streams down Vivian's forearm and between her fingers. Basil caught her palm in one hand and gripped the elbow in the other. She hummed, her own body sore and aching, still feeling the coursing effects of the adrenaline of their skirmish with the Goblins. At least the Deep Gnome was safe. The gash Vivian had sustained ran from the interior on her elbow and almost down, across to the outside of her wrist. Deep, flaying muscle and sinew, the uneven, dull scimitar had cut the edges jagged. Rust, dirt, miasma, were only the beginning of what Basil feared could be in that wound.

"Stitches hurt less than infection," Basil pointed out in reply. Glancing-up, "It's been a long day. I don't have the energy to completely heal this injury. I can get it started, but it will still need to be cleaned, sutured, and allowed to heal on its own terms. But, don't worry..."

Basil smiled affably and gently. All the convincing and persuasion of a healer, well practiced with uncertain patients. Her portrayal of confidence would hopefully give Vivian confidence.

"I will make sure it won't hurt. You won't feel a thing. I promise."

She guided Vivian into a shaded spot beneath the broad canopy of an oak tree. There, they would be at least out of the way of their allies as they picked over the village in search of loot and supplies. Basil indicated for Vivian to sit in the grass while she prepared her tools.

"You are powerful," Basil observed, Conversation to distract, "But you seem uncertain in combat. Have you never fought before?"

[dxrkeyes]

"Ain't no diff'rent, Creed." A smirk, a grin, smile...whatever. They all looked the same to Remy; fangs cocky and some twisted thought swimming about in Victor's mind, he was sure.

What pissed the thief off most wasn't even the fact that the feral was trying to get under his skin, it was the fact that he was right. How far did he actually believe he could have gotten playing good as he so put it? The moment he thought he was perhaps making progress, his past caught up to him, or trust was broken. Hell, during his entire tenure he didn't think any of them really trusted him. Two maybe...two he held dear, but their circle was not where he belonged.

So where did he? Doing this? This cramped and knotted his stomach, both in disgust of himself and what the job entailed. Worse still who he was tasked to do this with. A perverted retelling with a smaller cast and new victims, this time human.

The close proximity would have made it so easy for Remy to kick Victor's foot off his knee and out of his relaxed posture. He was so damn tempted, but chose to keep his composure instead, they still had a job to do.

"Fais-toi une bonne rigolade," why he was here was his business anyway, and he wasn't inclined to share, "keep wonderin', 'cause you ain't gettin' it from me."

Remy braced against the crate to his right, pushing himself up onto his feet. Approaching Victor's side of the truck, he pressed a glowing finger into the trailer wall, dissolving a hole for him to look out of. It was still mostly road and the cliffside, but in the distance he could see the jagged roof of a building. That must have been it.

"Once dey open dis up, I'm gon' make sure you de first t'ing dey see, homme," and effectively, the first thing they shot at, "I do recall you bein' one helluva bullet sponge."

[perditos]

Remy squirmed like a worm on a hook. Victor was all grins, watching, smelling how his composure threatened to crack. The raw stink of stress and fear; he kept on a brave phase but the sweat under his arm pits betrayed him. Fun. Killing him again would be fun. Hell, keeping him alive and playing with him more (like a cat, with a mouse it was too satiated to eat), would be fun. That's all Victor wanted in life was a little fun. Enough money to get the things he wanted and no one to fuck around with him. Plenty of people to fuck with instead. Like Remy here.

What was their assignment anyway? Get in? Kill some guys? Steal a thing, data or whatever? Get paid. Maybe go get drunk. Probably in that order although Victor wouldn't mind skipping straight to the last step. They were getting close too. He could hear it.

"Since you're being a pussy today, Cajun," Victor smirked. He sounded almost paternal, "Don't worry, I'll go first. I've been lookin' forward to gettin' my claws wet anyway."

Wet in blood; hot, sticky, blood, violent. Iron and salt, stench of fear and rage. A pounding heart the only proof that Victor was alive. He liked it when it hurt. It was best when it hurt. No thinking only the pain and anger, and his teeth in something warm. Someone warm. Fuck, he was salivating just thinking about it. Victor flexed his hands and his claws, cruel black crescents, slipped from the sheaths of his finger tips. Sharp enough to cut steel, ready to shred a man flesh from bone. In all ways, he was an animals. And there really was only one thing animals like him wanted: to hunt.

"Ya want me to go first Cajun," he continued. "Unless, ya want little 'ole me at your back. Breathin' down your neck? Dunno, might get hungry. Start hankerin' for a snack."

He lifted his head, hearing the truck engine idle. Dropping them off outside the facility, really they were supposed to start covertly but Sinister didn't mind if things got messy.

"You gonna behave, yourself? Remy?"

[souperluminal]

Thinking about a duct tape wizard

[perditos]

@starlyht

Basil & Vivian <3

[perditos]

Noon and I have to know:

Do Wizards Jack Off?

Yes

No

Yes. But with elaborate potentially dick exploding spells.

No. Because not nutting makes them better wizards.

Voting ended onJun 3

[perditos]

Noon and I have to know:

Do Wizards Jack Off?

Yes

No

Yes. But with elaborate potentially dick exploding spells.

No. Because not nutting makes them better wizards.

Voting ended onJun 3

[perditos]

[eavesdrop.] for steve... you decide if straightforward or reversed ok

☾ lustful action prompts.

[eavesdrop.] sender fucks receiver where others can hear but not see. @zimwy Steve w/ Bucky

The meeting adjourned, and Steve, ever the last one to leave a room or a fight, made it a single stride out of the door before Bucky grabbed him by the belt and dragged him back in. If their receding teammates noticed the disruption in Steve being right behind them, they showed no sign of it. The door closed, a subtle flick of Bucky's wrist turning the lock, and pressing a button on the fancy, modern device on the wall to make it blacken the windows and darken the room. He hooked a hand in the front waistband of Steve's jeans and he walked into the larger man to herd him back. Steve's thighs hit the edge of the table. It had been cleared of papers and water bottles after the debriefing, their teammates already escaping to living quarters and the kitchens to unwind, clean-up, eat. They were the only ones left (someone could come back, if they forgot something --). There was something so dark in the shadows of Bucky's lashes, he even asked, "something wrong, Buck?"

To which Bucky breathed an amused, huffing laugh and grabbed his hips, grip firm, leaning into him to capture Steve's mouth into a rough kiss. Spit dribbled on their lips, Bucky's tongue swiping between his teeth. A fist full of blond hair keeping Steve exactly where he wanted him. Not that Steve was inclined to go anywhere, hooking an arm around Bucky's slim waist, pulling him closer. This, at least, he was all too eager to indulge in after days of missions and work, and barely finding time in the middle of it all for each other. Between kisses, soft gasps parting Steve's lips for Bucky to devour, tugging on his hair, Steve asked if they should 'go upstairs.' Informal code for his room. Privacy, not on the same floor, in a shared space, as the others. Bucky nipped him in return, biting into the plush of Steve's lip, and asked:

"Why? You're hard now." And to prove his assessment, Bucky reached between Steve's thigh to palm his bulge. His grip heavy and firm on the lines of Steve's half-swollen cock, the resulting noise drawing a smirk to Bucky's lips. Like a predator cornering wounded prey. "No one's gonna come in, Steve."

"The cameras," was his only defense and protest, even as Steve ground into the round of Bucky's hand. For his obedience, Bucky squeezed and groped. Which did nothing good for Steve's sense of propriety.

"C'mon, Cap," Bucky drawled. As if to say 'obviously I took care of the cameras,' when and how, Steve had no idea. Bucky was more tech savvy than he was, or maybe, he asked Nat. Only knew he trusted that it was done, that Bucky wouldn't do this if he thought it would lead to Steve getting hurt. "Turn around," he demanded.

Someone could hear, Steve thought, even as he obeyed, pushing away from the table and turning to face it. He was so unaccustomed to Bucky's tone and forwardness, but something about the firmness, the confidence, left no room for doubt. Only want. Bucky pressed his hand between Steve's shoulder blades, tugging on his hip with the metal of his prosthetic, and bending him over the table. When Steve didn't move as fast as he liked, he shoved, and Steve's front collided hard, the air going out of him. That hand stayed, pinning him down. Where there would be room for doubt and hesitation, Bucky filled himself in. Touched him, hands sliding up and down his back, rucking up his t-shirt. Rough, warm callouses; contrasted to cool and smooth steel, that too was a choice. Burning Steve in one gesture and leaving icy trails with the other, making him arch. Bucky nudged apart Steve's legs, forcing his feet further apart and lowering his hips, aligning their height difference. Letting him rock his hips against the swell of Steve's still covered ass, so he could feel Bucky's arousal.

"Where did this come from?" Steve asked, almost laughing. But it was nervous. He spread his arm out, laid his cheek on it. He couldn't see Bucky, only feel him. "Couldn't wait?"

"I'm not the impatient one," Bucky said, he reached around Steve's waist and undid his belt buckle, fed back through the loops to yank it off. "Giving me 'fuck me' eyes across the table the whole damn debriefing."

"Was not," Steve protested.

"Was too," and there was that kid, Steve knew on the streets. Playing ball with, still just a little petulant. And yet, Bucky leaned over him, his chest rolling flush with Steve's spine, hands braced to his hips to keep him down. To whisper in Steve's ear, breath hot on the shell where his skin was most sensitive, sending tingles down the small hairs of his neck. "Saw how bad Captain America wanted to get bent over the table and bitched. Bet you wouldn't mind if everyone was still here, would you? Watching?"

"Fuck, Bucky..." he whined, and Bucky shoved down the waistband of his pants, dragging underwear with them. Exposing skin to the dry, cool air of the conference room, Steve shivered.

"That's the idea." Bucky praised. Steve heard his grin, "but the other way around, this time."

He palmed the globe of Steve's ass with his natal hand, massaging into the firm muscle. That hand went away, Steve gripped the opposite edge of the table, just to have something to hold onto. The prosthetic hands was the one that returned, this time, skin warm. Tracing the point of Steve's coccyx, thumb pressing into the interior of the cheek to spread him. Bucky had warmed the lube in his natal hand so when he smeared it along the rim of Steve's hole, it didn't shock him. Steve groaned, Bucky traced once, twice, teasing him, then worked a knuckle into the tight muscle. Muttered something in Russian that Steve was too far gone to translate. He had only bottomed a handful of times since they'd gotten together; Steve wasn't as quick at relaxing as Bucky was. But Bucky was agonizingly patient, despite Steve's idea that this should be quick and done because of where they were. A second knuckle, pulling out to press his thumb in instead. The thickness of it making Steve squirm. Then tracing down to touch and fondle, the softness of his balls, squeezing a sack and then tugging at his dick. Just enjoying the exploration of Steve's body. Steve curled his arm, nose pressing into his bicep; finally, Bucky gave him two fingers and he groaned, feeling them slide in. It was almost easy, like he had gotten lost in the sensations and hadn't realized how much Bucky had opened him up.

Bucky pressed into his interior and Steve jolted, fingers slid in-and-out, scissored to stretch him, then crooked just right. Steve's hand spasmed, no longer trusting himself to hold the table lest he leave the indent of his grip in it. He made a fist instead, cutting half-moons with his nails into the meat of his palm. Didn't even realize Bucky had added another digit until he muttered, "that's three, Cap." He worked those fingers into Steve, pressing and massaging even as Steve's cock dripped untouched between his legs. If the table wasn't underneath him, Steve though his knees would give up. He wondered if Bucky would call it off, have a modicum of mercy, get him back up and clean him up, and they'd go back to the room. To the shower, God, Steve didn't think he could control himself here. Someone was going to hear, or know, or walk in.

And all that thought did was bottom in Steve's gut like a hot coal. When he came he bit down on his own arm to muffle himself and Bucky laughed. It was almost mean, but in the right way.

"I think Tony had been sitting over there, right?" Bucky asked, his touches were soft but his voice was teasing. The metal hand fisted in Steve's hair to force his head up, looking across the room at an empty chair, the natal hand withdrew from inside Steve. Leaving him painfully empty so Steve had to realize there was no way he could make it all the way upstairs, he wanted Bucky now. As if to reassure him, Steve felt the head of Bucky's cock press again him. He whined. "Wonder what his face would look like, if he was still there."

Then he thrust in. It was a slow push, letting Steve adjust to the weight and heft of him. Savor how he clenched and twitched, the half-bit back, muffled noises he made. One or two inches, just past the head, then rocking and fucking the entrance open. Claiming more and more of Steve, letting go of his hair to press on the small of his back and keep him arched. "Do you like that? Does that feel good?" He hilted and Steve groaned, low and broken. "To think, no one's ever gonna know Captain America's a slut." The table quacked underneath them, balance challenged by the force of Bucky's thrusts and the weight of Steve's body. It was wet, and loud, so damn loud, every time Bucky's hips met the swell of Steve's ass. Steve tried to compensate by being quieter, mouth pressed to arm, lips sealed. So, on one would know about Captain America, in his work place, fucked and bent over, and taking it.

But Bucky grabbed Steve wrist in the shackle like grip of his metal hand and wrenched it behind his back, pinned it down. So much power and strength, demanding, growling in Russian a swear and demand; tone conveying more than words. Reached between his legs and roughly jacked him off, squeezing Steve's cock between the loop of thumb and forefinger. Half leaned over him, fucking in so hard that the table rocked and threatened to tip with each thrust. Steve could never unwind the tangled knot of self-control and awareness, morality and responsibility, that kept his shoulders broad and his duty to self, others, world, first; but Bucky could make him let go. Make him forget, stop caring about being quiet, and moan, whimper, whine, come a second time, nearly crying because it was so soon after the first one.

For a brief moment, Bucky balls deep inside of him and petting his back as he trembled, gasping and panting against the table, cum leaking out of his bullied open hole, he wasn't Captain America. He was just Steve.

[justbrcathe]

The praise hit Rolan with a force entirely unexpected as he prepared to enter Basil for the first time. Against all odds, she appreciated the tiefling’s infernal attributes. But before Rolan could overthink and his self-conscious lead him to suspect those were the main reason Basil was in his bed, she followed with a shower of compliments. Each descriptor offered touched his heart, speeding the organ’s beat. It nearly quit altogether when the string of worship fractured in a breathy moan of his own name. If only Rolan had prepared a spell to record the sound and replay with whenever he wished; or the way words faded into gasps and sighs as he stretched her open. For years he lived in something of a desert of this kind of positive reinforcement and affection and now all he wanted was to drown in it. He would die happy submerged in Basil’s affection and warmth. 

He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of soap and herbs radiating from Basil’s skin and filling his senses as Rolan waited. He could feel Basil’s breath, quickened from the discomfort she concealed within arousal. In agreement with her protests, Rolan was aware that Basil was not weak. Her strength outmatched his own on the wizard’s best days. Even seeing the cleric in the guise of her former self, Lady Guinivere Ulbrecht, had not given Rolan any false notions of fragility. Basil was the strongest person he knew and it was only his previous experience with humans that set his expectations of what she might appreciate. No, Basil was not delicate per se, but the skin pressed to him now was a far cry from the firm ridges of a tiefling or even the roughed texture of hands used to work. Still, if Basil had a preference for a little pain then he was delighted to be the one she trusted to mark her; to be the one she clung to as she did now.

Her Wizard. Her love. These titles meant more than taking over as Master of Ramazith’s Tower or Archmage of Baldur’s Gate. Rolan lifted his head, molten gold eyes looking down at Basil with utter devotion. One hand still held his weight off her, but his other cupped her jaw tenderly, thumb stroking the corner of her mouth.

“I love you too.” Basil had confessed to returning Rolan’s affections less than an hour ago and yet there was not a single doubt in his mind that he would love this miraculous woman the rest of his life.  He waited until tension eased from her muscles before experimentally rocking his weight into her.  Hips met flush and the pressure of Basil’s body around Rolan’s had him shudder a gasp.

“Hells, Basil.” He pulled back, starting a slow rhythm as their bodies slid together. It felt like coals glowing under his skin, every slide before joining once again sparking pleasure. Hand left her jaw and pressed to Basil’s leg hooked around his hip, sharp claws curling and dimpling her skin. When her hips began to move and match his pace, Rolan thrust harder, increasing the rhythm. 

“Do you have any idea how many times I dreamed of this?” He growled the words out in infernal that Basil would fail to understand. It was honestly an embarrassing amount. From the moment she had allowed him to partner with her, took a chance on him when so few would, his feelings towards her shifted. Rolan had thought Gale’s pining and unrequited desire for the cleric had been obvious, his own must have been broadcast for the entire Sword Coast to witness.

 “You feel incredible.” He could admit that in common without any sort of mortification. Rolan’s lips parted on a groan, offering more praise. “So beautiful.” The coals inside him were now a blaze, searing his skin and gathering into exquisite tension where their bodies joined. His grip tightened, claws digging into the blankets and Basil’s thigh. Tiny pin-pricks of crimson welled up from where the points pressed deep into the cleric’s flesh.

[perditos]

Rolan's hair, dark gold, shimmering bronze, fell like a cascading curtain off his shoulder, the ending strands of it brushing her shoulder and throat. Small curls that caught the torch light and ignited into molten halos. Almost obscuring the rest of the world escape the familiar features of his face and his eyes darkened by lust. He was so close now, his nose almost buried against her throat, inhaling her scent, and her lungs filled with him too. Laid in silk and their bodies intertwined with each other, Basil could never had imagined such warmth, intimacy, and tenderness, on a thousand cold nights, camping on the ground with only a bedroll for shelter.

She wouldn't give up her years of freedom for anything but Rolan caged and tamed her, and she was all too eager to be domesticated. To curl up by the hearth of his heat and sleep away the rest of her days in relative comfort, never having to beg for a meal again. (This was untrue, Basil would be at work by first light, but she dwelt in fantasy for the moment). There would be nothing to mourn or lose; only Rolan to gain and their new life together, whatever shape that took. As he now claimed and owned, and melded them together as a forge fused two metals into one lump. Gods he filled her, a perfect stretch, Rolan heavy in the slick of her cunt, rocking into her.

Basil grabbed at his shoulders, clutching at him, holding him closer. Each thrust rubbing against the velvet interior of her walls, a spark plate of pleasure that had her inflamed, and twitching beneath him. The common was beyond her, forget the infernal. But the dulcet of his tone, cracked with pleasure and want for her was clear enough. Quiet gasps turned into languid moans, repeating his names in harsh whispers. Certainly, no one could hear them through heavy stone walls but by this point Basil no longer cared. Instinct, an almost primal and animal desire, had her roll her hips to meet his. To take every inch of him, bury him deep. A need and want, to feel him deep inside her, fill her, take all of him. Almost breeding, even if Basil knew very well she'd cast a cantrip to negate any risk of conception once they finished tonight. The last thing either of them needed was to throw a child into the mix of their chaotic and transitioning lives. But a part of her still thought of it, dreamed of it, indulged even.

"Fuck," her nails scraped down his back. To Rolan's point of tiefling durability, her blunt nails barely scratch the strong hide of his ridges. Whereas his claws pricked into her thigh and the sharp dagger of pain threw her over the edge of a sudden climax. Her legs clutched around his waist, knees almost hiked into his shoulders. Basil couldn't even breath for a second, much less make a sound of her wordless, unvoiced pleasure. A drop of blood dripped down the curve of her leg and it felt almost scorching. Instead she pressed her heel into the base of Rolan's tail to encourage, enforce him to keep going. Let him chase his own high, to take what he so clearly needed. Even if feeling him bury into her again felt like agonizing ecstasy, chasing so close to her own orgasm.

But she had no doubts about her stamina, that was for sure.

"Gods, Rolan, so good," she praised, her hand wrapped around the heft of his bicep where his arms braced beside her head. "Ha -- I know, I'll want this, you, every night. Could I ever say 'no'?'" Breathless and yet she scraped her teeth against his throat, bit at his shoulder. "I'm yours."

And to reinforce her proclamation, when she felt him hilt into her and the heat of him spilling inside, she grabbed his thigh. To keep him close and inside.

[zimwy]

if it hurts, the indication of sensation is nominal; the changeling is no live wire, or perhaps is so accustomed to pain, the body remains unflinching. a reflexive twitch of the muscle beneath the stripped flesh, a queer elasticity that seemed to tighten around the sturdy cage of it's ribs, is all it offers her. instinct and environment. this, in itself, is a display of trust: her nurture has not been for the effort of indebtment.

no, that was kindness. justice and servitude, traits embodied by the one they sought, an oath that squeezed around his heart. the duke's son was the only one of basil's compatriots that evoked even a flimsy shell of bucky's other half. (wyll was balmy and warm, at least. like a refreshing wind on an otherwise scalding and dewy day.)

her ministrations and gossamer touches only succeed in inclining bucky's milky, featureless stare, two pallid holes among a mask of spilled cordite. there is no aggression there, only a sense of relief, perhaps some consternation at the ridge of the brows. ' he is all i think about. ' a pause. bucky's voice is soft, an uncomfortable flowing dichotomy between masculine and feminine, as if it cannot decide. ' this pain doesn't compare to our separation. thank you.. for helping me. '

[perditos]

It's a strange, foreign beauty that Bucky has, Basil thought. Pale and pallid, but iridescent like the wings of a moonlit moth or a polished pearl. A unique queerness that would make it unwanted and rejected among the surface; villagers afraid of outsiders and the unknown. Terrified of what would be harmless to them. So, she had no doubt that Bucky spent most of its life without a home. And yet, Bucky seemed a person who had found few places of rest in life. Even the respite of their camp seemed one it was eager to leave. Searching for a friend, about whom Basil had extracted few details beyond the definite sense that their relationship was more than friendship. Although, if it was mutual was hard to say.

Lotions applied and salves spread, Basil closed the containers for her medicine, then returned them to her pack. Each stowed away intentionally, for easy access later and to ensure they didn't break. Bucky showed no sign of infection or even much discomfort. It was healing up nicely, she couldn't ask for more besides perhaps increased cooperation from her patient.

"Of course," Basil said, she wiped her hands in a rag. "I would be a poor cleric if I didn't help. And, a worse friend."

She thought for a moment and then glanced at Bucky.

"Sometimes, in our thoughts and memories the people who are far away from us, can come closer." So, she suggested, "Tell me about him."

[absolmemes]

☾ intimacy action prompts.

some prompts exploring the affectionate side of lust. mature audiences only; do not interact if you are a minor. add +reverse to reverse the roles. combine prompts by sending multiple at once. only use these prompts to portray consensual scenarios.

[mwah.] sender kisses receiver slowly, keeping their mouths joined even while moving inside them.

[stroke.] sender gently runs their hands through receiver's hair during sex.

[nestle.] sender buries their face in receiver's neck, planting kisses against it mid-fuck.

[safety.] sender and receiver experiment together as friends.

[held.] sender intertwines their fingers with receivers while having sex.

[steady.] sender holds receiver's trembling hands down gently against the sheets.

[comfort.] sender makes love to receiver after a rough day.

[borrow.] sender wears receiver's shirt/sweater while they have sex.

[confession.] sender murmurs "i love you" against receiver's skin.

[tease.] sender peppers kisses at receiver's stomach before dipping lower.

[worship.] sender worships receiver's body / chest / thighs / arms / back with touch, kisses, and praise.

[tender.] sender gently traces their fingers along receiver's scars.

[guide.] sender moves receiver's hand where they need it most.

[check-in.] sender pauses every few thrusts to ensure receiver is handling things okay.

[grind.] sender ruts against receiver through their clothing.

[first.] sender, being more experienced, guides receiver through their first time.

[cup.] sender holds receiver's face in their hands and kisses them tenderly.

[hurried.] sender hikes receiver's clothing just far enough to push inside of them.

[savor.] sender deliberately slows their rhythm, intent on lasting as long as possible.

[vice.] sender holds receiver close while finishing inside of them.

[stay.] sender plays with receiver's hair while being cockwarmed by them.

[absolmemes]

☾ lustful action prompts.

a litany of prompts exploring intimacy and sexuality. mature audiences only; do not interact if you are a minor. add +reverse to reverse the roles. combine prompts by sending multiple at once. only use these prompts to portray consensual scenarios.

[beg.] sender makes receiver beg before giving them what they want.

[fumble.] sender struggles impatiently with receiver's clothes.

[shh.] sender stuffs their fingers in receiver's mouth to keep them quiet.

[tug.] sender grips receiver's hair to pull them closer.

[tie.] sender binds receiver's wrists with rope / belt / tie / etc.

[bite.] sender sinks their teeth into receiver's neck / shoulder / skin.

[scratch.] sender rakes their nails down receiver's back.

[drip.] sender drips spit into receiver's mouth / onto receiver.

[69.] sender and receiver go down on each other at the same time.

[needy.] sender teases receiver about how desperate they look.

[deep.] sender pushes receiver's head down during oral until they gag.

[eager.] sender holds receiver's head still and fucks their mouth.

[anchor.] sender pins receiver's hips while eating them out.

[grind.] sender grinds their hips into receiver while receiver gives them oral.

[press.] sender pushes a hand against receiver's stomach while inside them.

[hold.] sender grabs receiver's hand to hold while they have sex.

[pin.] sender pins receiver's wrists above their head.

[straddle.] sender straddles receiver's body to restrain them.

[clutch.] sender clutches receiver's jaw to hold their head still.

[hollow.] sender presses a thumb into the hollow of receiver's throat.

[cradle.] sender cradles receiver's throat in their hand, applying light pressure.

[stay.] sender cockwarms receiver.

[breed.] sender fucks receiver deep and finishes inside.

[stare.] sender forces receiver to maintain eye contact.

[cling.] sender wraps their legs tight around receiver's waist while they have sex.

[elevate.] sender places a pillow beneath receiver's hips during sex.

[suckle.] sender sucks on receiver's chest and nipples.

[eavesdrop.] sender fucks receiver where others can hear but not see.

[praise.] sender praises receiver for taking it well.

[hush.] sender forbids receiver from making a sound.

[chokehold.] sender locks receiver's throat in the crook of their arm.

[mark.] sender leaves hickeys on receiver where they will be seen later.

[nuzzle.] sender buries their face in receiver's neck mid-fuck.

[rut.] sender gets caught up, fucking receiver harder without warning.

[perditos]

The interior of Gut's rooms smelled of mildew, blood, and decay; the distinct lingering scent of mold spores, floating about the dark, damp interior. A single torch flickered against the far wall, haloing a profane altar in strange light. This far from the center of the Camp, however, it was almost quiet. A brief respite of safety. Her gut turned over seeing the condition of her companions, however, now recently freed by Master Halsin, and rubbing at their joints to rid themselves of chaffing from the shackles. Basil echoed Nabooru's assurance to Master Halsin that they would render aid, as they could. Thus, the Druid shifted shape again, and left them. In the wake of Halsin departing, and before Basil could answer Nabooru's question, Astarion voiced what perhaps the group was thinking.

"It's all well and good to 'help,' mutual back scratching, if you will," he said. Blood stained the front of his armor, a sign of the fighting and struggling the party had done in Basil's abstinence. They all looked ragged and tired: a few hours of imprisonment did them no favors. "But what in the hells does all this have to do with us? We've already almost died by goblin, today. Then, we got freed by the bloody druid we were here to save!"

"You want to get paid don't you?" Basil asked, having become accustomed to Astarion's personality. He made a lightly affirmative noise, to which Basil added: "Then, we better go help save the tieflings. It'll be hard to collect your reward if they're dead."

"Well... maybe not that hard," Astarion muttered and then waved his hand broadly. "Very well, if you insist, I'll go along with the pack. But just so you know if we all end tonight with our throats slit, I'm blaming you."

"Now, now, what harm is there in some good deeds, every now and then," Gale proclaimed. He brushed some dust off the front of his robes and inclined an affable smile towards Basil. "I say, if we can lend a hand, we should do all we can! At the very least, earning trust of druid and tiefling alike should be a great bounty on our journey. And bring us one step closer to getting our unwanted guests removed from our skulls. Like my mother said, 'a friend helped in need, is a friend in indeed!' Or something to that effect..."

"Then we should go," Basil insisted. And she turned towards Nabooru to make quick introductions: Gale, Astarion, Wyll, had joined her in the Goblin Camp, but Shadowheart and Lae'zel, waited for them on the perimeter. Back up, had been the rationale. "I think from here we can sneak out of the temple and onto the pass above. From there... we can make short time. If we hurry."

While exploring the temple, after the party had been captured, Basil discovered that there was a secret way out. Through an old tunnel in the rock. They had to cross the rafters again to the other side and she showed them the room where the captured man from Aradin's group had slipped away earlier. They traced his steps, leaping across the chasm and into the tunnel. The passageway went narrow, either shoulder brushing along the stone, until they emerged somewhere on the side of the mountain, from a thin niche in the rock. Basil was second in line and so followed Gale out, to see that the sun scorched the far Western sky in a dimming setting. Night was falling and she could still hear the distant war drums of the camp, and likely, the war party. But the air was clearer, free of smoke, and laden with sweet pollen. The clarity did nothing to unwind the knot in her chest.

She would not, could not allow Minthara to harm the grove.

From there, after meeting-up with Lae'zel and Shadowheart, they began the hike back down the mountain. Basil guessed they could make it in just a couple hours with a good pace, and when she channeled her god to heal their injuries, and restore their energy, they were able to match it. But Basil drifted back from the front of the pack, to match stride with Nabooru. In the darkness, the trail was uneven and rocky, with sturdy roots fully intent on tripping the uncareful traveler. Basil lit a mote of light in her hand, allowing it to illuminate their path.

"I'm sure you have questions," she hazarded a guess. "About what's going on and... the tadpole in you? I'm not as much an expert as Master Halsin is, but I can do my best to answer them. If you'd like?"

[justbrcathe]

An obvious conclusion, but one that Duri had done her best to twist and turn away from over the last few days. It was hard to admit that her darkness wasn’t something forced into her mind by an Illithid; something the others also struggled with or might one day if they did not already. Unique to her. The words were white washed and clean compared to their meaning.  The tiefling’s muscles tensed further, drawing in on herself that much more. Just proclaiming Duri a monster would be more accurate and save Basil time.

Oh gods, what was Basil going to tell the others? She had not yelled for them yet, but Duri was a danger to the whole camp if she was going to attempt to slay her friends as they slept. They would need to take precautions or- The tiefling’s thoughts stalled, a lump forming in her throat as she realized there would be some among them who would think it better she died that night. Lae’zel in particular was on the look out for symptoms of ceremorphosis. Even if Basil suspected this had nothing to do with the parasite, the Githyanki might think the group was better off safe than sorry. She didn’t want to die but maybe there was logic to that option. Panic started to rise in Duri’s chest once more, amplified when Basil asked yet another question. 

Why her?

Oh no…no no. Duri had admitted she fought the murderous thirst for days before this, but she had never wanted to confess the reasons they had become stronger. The urges were a whisper of a song in her head when Basil demonstrated the kindness that Duri admired; the actions and generosity that she tried to emulate each day. But then again, the urges thought she should examine the insides of most of the people she met - good or bad. She stared at Basil, wide eyed in horror at the evidence of what she had done and hating to admit what had pushed her violent whispers to a crescendo. Eager to obey as she was wanting to flee, the tiefling scrambled to retrieve the cleric’s pack. It was only a temporary reprieve of the inevitable. Basil deserved the truth after what she had done and maybe it would keep Duri from hurting others in the future. 

Duri clutched the cleric’s pack like a shield as she returned before offering it, arms fully extended so she needn’t get closer to Basil than she had to.

“I was…” Duri’s sharp teeth sank into her lower lip and she stepped away, creating a little distance before sitting down on the ground to match Basil’s level. Orange eyes trailed along the curve of the cleric’s neck remembering the two pin-pricks left behind from vampire fangs, before they healed and disappeared much like the wounds Duri inflicted. Her heart pounded, face flooding with shame and embarrassment. “I was jealous.” She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the rest out. “I was jealous because of you and Astarion.”

[perditos]

The adrenaline was wearing off, lulling Basil into supposed safety and subtle, trembling shakes. Her muscles ached, her body felt heavy, sapped of strength and blood, and her head pounded. She considered waking-up Shadowheart in case her own unsteady hands were not sufficient to render First Aid but held off on the idea. That, bringing in another person and their judgemental looks, would be a bad idea for Duri. There was something more at work here and Basil needed to understand it before she came to any conclusions. As Father Arnica would always caution her assess the situation and then act. No doubt, in the morning, when her head was clearer and she was more recovered, Basil would have much to think on. For now, with her thoughts so scrambled and still reeling from her grievous injury, Basil decided not to come to any conclusions. She needed to fix herself up, learn what she can from Duri, steal what few hours of sleep she could. Deal with the rest of this in the morning.

She accepted the pack, grasping its strap to place it on the ground in front of her. Basil opened it, withdrawing medicines, tools, bandages, that she would need to tend herself. She was not accustomed to applying her skills on her own body and yet, years of medical practice had numbed her to pain and the mauling of flesh. The hole in her chest was just another wound in need of sutures. She undid the remaining fastens of her undershirt, letting it hang off loosely from her shoulders. Then, took a rag, dampened it with her usual saline solution, and wiped blood from her chest; the laceration wept dark ichor and the skin was tender. A cantrip removed all pain, she assessed the damage: her healing had undone the worst of the damage but to stop the bleeding she'd need sutures. Basil could do that.

"Jealous?" She repeated, in response to Duri's confession. Her work paused to glance up, confusion knitting her brows together. Then, she stumbled out: "Of... me, and Astarion?"

Perhaps it was the blood loss, but that hardly made sense. Jealous? Of her and Astarion. Basil tried to think of what there was to be jealous of in their relationship. Yes, she liked to think they had become decent friends, and perhaps the vampire had found her to be a willing listening ear. But Basil was that kindly and open to everyone in camp. How she treated Astarion was hardly different than how she treated Duri, or Gale, or Shadowheart. The only thing was...

"Because he bit me?" Basil guessed.

Now, she was a bit incredulous and maybe embarrassed. Ashamed of her own feelings about that bite, that went beyond mere service, and edged into personal pleasure. Did Duri know that? How could she?

Basil's gaze dropped back down to her work. Cleaning, disinfecting, preparing for sutures.

"Alright," she hazard. "Tell me when these thoughts started, and what did they focus on?"

[perditos]

Starter here x

Basil w/ Halsin @natureswarden

Note taking had been unusually difficult this afternoon. Basil had collected fistfuls of flowers, weeds, and mushrooms on their ascent into the mountains; scratching shorthand notes in her journal on how the flora changed with the elevation. Now, at camp, she catalogued her finds in quick sketches, observations, and her usual routine of testing. But frequently, with each thwack of axe to log, her eyes flicked up. Up to Halsin.

His ergonomics were impressive, every inch of his broad frame engaged in the swing; he sweated in the heat but he drove with such power it seemed easy. The sun caught in his chestnut hair and the shadow only emphasized the small twitch of muscle in arm, back, and shoulders. She caught herself staring. Thinking thoughts that a week ago she would have found utterly shameful and worth only of stuffing away. But there was a change working its way through Basil that for maybe the first time in her entire life, urged her to not look away. His attention turned to her, then with bare hands ripped apart the split log; Ink dripped from pen nib, marring her page.

"Don't think of it," she exclaimed, pushing away her journal to avoid ruining her notes. Basil remained seated and she twisted a strand of hair around her finger. "It's my fault for allowing my thoughts to wander. You were just a... good excuse."

If Halsin heard the attempt at flirting, she couldn't know. If she had Astarion's confidence she would try again, more blatantly, but Basil feared her inept hand.

"I suppose, I was wondering," an attempt to change the topic. "Are you worried, leaving the Grove behind? I Imagine, leaving with us was a difficult choice to make."

[perditos]

I’m thinking Father Arnica taught Basil an absolutely deranged method of alchemy and categorizing ingredients that basically can be summarized as: You are your most ethical test subject.

Nibble on that mushroom, note flavor, physical and mental symptoms over the next 24 hours.

Lick a magic crystal and categorize it by how it makes your jaw tingle.

Make a tincture with this random plant, drink it, see what happens.

Brew an antidote, then poison yourself, and then see if your antidote works.

If you don’t know what it is, stick it in your mouth. You’ll definitely learn something.

All hinged on the fact that both himself, and his student, are essentially unkillable Life Domain Clerics. You have nothing to lose if you are a fountain of positive energy that makes utterly lethal doses of poisons mere tummy aches. It’s science as long as you write it down. Basil was 100% in the Underdark having a FIELD TRIP microdosing on toxic mushrooms.