meme_maid: (Default)
The Meme Maid ([personal profile] meme_maid) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet2018-08-04 11:01 pm

The smut picture prompts meme of your dreams

the  smut picture prompt meme
SIMILAR TO THE PICTURE PROMPT MEME ONLY FOR NSFW/SMUT PROMPTS INSTEAD

i. COMMENT WITH CHARACTER
ii. OTHERS LEAVE A PICTURE (OR TWO OR THREE....)
iii. REPLY TO THEM WITH A SETTING BASED ON THE IMAGES.

THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY AND NSFW.



Link to an image:
 

Embed an image in your reply:
 

Image height and width:
 
libertie: (thirteen.)

[personal profile] libertie 2018-08-06 11:40 pm (UTC)(link)
( absolutely! )
maskirovka: <user name=bangparty> (pic#12349384)

[personal profile] maskirovka 2018-08-06 11:50 pm (UTC)(link)
[ pick/choose: (any canonpoint works)

o1 | o2 | o3 | o4 | o5 | o6 | o7 | o8 | o9 ]
libertie: (twelve.)

[personal profile] libertie 2018-08-07 03:31 am (UTC)(link)
( something like a 01/05? going post-cw/pre-iw, if that's good with you, then! )



[ Whenever the idea of old friends came to mind, he used to always instantly think of Bucky. Because even long before the ice, they'd stuck together for years, an unquestionable loyalty branded between the two with unspoken understandings. But it was difficult not to slip Natasha into a similar category these days.

He remembers the ache in her chest when she'd sided with Tony, when someone he'd felt a guarantee sense of understanding from had steered so far in the opposite direction. He remembers the hurt that came from the possibility that whatever friendships could be shattered from the accords, this was one he'd feel broken to lose. And it had hurt, facing off one another out there in the airport, wanting her to see reason on his end, to shift back into the Natasha he knew, the Natasha that he saw himself standing beside until the very end.

And that very idea may still come to pass, because she did turn the tables, did choose to aid him in the end — no, not the end, because they were still together now, running together on the road with Sam and Wanda, staying low and out of the public eye.

Night falls as they take rest in an old hotel room somewhere out of the Midwest, his own room quiet save for the harsh buzz of the air conditioner near his bedside. Steve remains somewhere between sleep and consciousness, right up until he senses a weight on his mattress and a creak alerting him to a presence.

Turning where he lies, he squints through the darkness, ]
Nat?
maskirovka: <user name=famira> (pic#12208041)

[personal profile] maskirovka 2018-08-07 03:55 am (UTC)(link)
[ sounds good! ]

[ Regimes fell every day. She'd thought she'd have been used to that by now, but, well, it still hurt, losing the only real family she'd ever had. But then, was it really so surprising that it'd all fallen apart? They were all so very different, so very broken and battered, so used, that, in retrospect, it hadn't been all that unforeseen.

Natasha had simply been waiting for the other shoe to drop. And when it had, catastrophe.

But she'd learned long ago not to dwell on what was past, but to take from it what one could and move on. Looking back always got one killed. But she could still mourn what she'd had--friends, family, safety, security--but being bereft of those things wasn't as hard for her as it was for others. Although she had to admit that her current comrades were handling things remarkably well.

They still followed Steve's lead; it was his natural inclination to take charge, to ensure everyone else was well and fine, and she'd offered her silent support, as she'd always had. Being a fugitive wasn't new for her, although she'd tried to embrace the conscionable course of action, hadn't she? And God, how wrong it had felt. She still believed in Steve Rogers. Not Captain America, but Steven G. Rogers. And that belief had led her back to the, to her, right side of the line.

Where she felt she belonged, no matter what.

That belief had led her here, to a run-down motel somewhere in the middle of nowhere (she'd hidden in worse places, really), and down the hall to the furthermost door after silently checking on her other two companions, easily unlocking it and slipping inside without a sound. But damn that the mattress was older than dirt, and her knee happened to find a vocal spring as she gently eased down beside the sheet-covered figure prone atop it. ]


It's okay, Steve. [ It was hardly more than a whisper, but carried her customary huskiness nonetheless. ] Nothing's wrong. I just...didn't want to be alone right now. [ She'd only cared enough about modesty to pull on a black tank-top and panties of the same hue, both soft and dark against pale skin. ]

Do you mind?