aca-scuse me(me) (
acascuse) wrote in
bakerstreet2019-02-21 03:39 am
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the texting picture prompt meme.
![]() A picture says more than a thousand words... You're in the middle of something, maybe not something important (though, who can say, maybe it was), but you were in the middle of this maybe unimportant thing anyway and it interrupts you, when your phone beeps and a message ticks in. It's a picture. Someone took a picture and sent it your way. Does it make you happy? Curious? Do you want to know more? If yes, text them back! Inquire! Tell them what the picture makes you think about, how it makes you feel. And on that note, converse! How to play: 1. Top-level with your character. Include prefs and the like, if you wish. 2. Others now leave a comment with a picture their character has sent to yours. 3. Have your character respond with a text, then go tag around as you wish. 4. They text back, you text back, everyone texts like their lives depended on it. 5. Be entertained! |
no subject
but yet — when he touches her, when his hands curve against her inner thigh only to slide two fingers inside where she wants him most, daisy doesn't want to hit fast forward. she moans, legs trembling, but she doesn't try to rush him. instead, her back arches into the touch, hands splaying out over her stomach, each rock of his wrist earning a low groan of approval. ]
I want — [ a pause, muscles squeezing around his touch ] I want you to touch me.
[ like this, his mouth dragging across her skin, teasing her into pleasure without giving what they both want the most. making her wait, but giving her something so good in the interim. ]
no subject
[ he murmurs the words against her mouth, soft and low, even while his fingers push deeper, long fingers stretching as far as he can before he pulls out and does it again and again, never so much that he risks her coming too soon but never so light that she gets bored. ]
You came back [ he'd almost said home there. almost. ] with something else in mind but now you want this?
[ he wasn't judging and he was planning on giving her anything she wanted as evidenced by his fingers circling across a very sensitive spot and pushing down. ]
Very well. [ he'd make it happen. ]
no subject
[ she doesn't get to enjoy this very often. the leisurely, intentionally relaxed pace, where they're not racing towards a quick resolution but instead willing to take the time to draw things out, to enjoy every moment for what it is.
he's not slow, but he's not rushing her. his movements are almost languid, patient; even as his hand rocks and twists and presses against her body, it's a set pace, certain and sure. building her up, one little touch at a time, fully intent on reaching that peak.
she hates it, but she loves it at the same time. loves the way he looks at her, the way he's determined to take care of her, how strangely safe she feels here, sprawled out on the bed and so warm against his sheets. at home, in a way. a weird thing to feel while he's literally trying to make her orgasm, but. well. they've had weirder conversations. ]
I always want you to touch me. [ she's said that before. in other words, but it's not new. ] You, ah — you always make me feel …
[ good. better than good. she doesn't quite finish the sentence, but the moan that spills from her lips as he presses just so might do the trick. ]
no subject
[ he wasn't going to go telling them about this to convince them otherwise. no, this was private, something shared between the two of them. after all, he's only like this with her and he can't foresee that changing anytime soon. he doesn't know what sort of good thing he'd done that gave him this chance with her but he's going to be a selfish, greedy person and keep it for himself.]
I probably make you feel a lot of things.
[ right now, he knows he's making her feel good things but he knows he has the ability to make her feel like she'd rather punch him in the nose than let him touch her. he's a very talented individual.
he doesn't really try to do too much, enjoying the slow pace for now. he slides his fingers in, keeps them there, kisses her and then slides them out, scratching his nails long her inner thigh before pressing his fingers back inside of her once again, a little harder, a little rougher than before. ]
no subject
he makes her feel everything. love, joy, pleasure. pain, anger, frustration. she's equally likely to want to kiss him and kill him in the same twenty-four hours. but that works for them. the give and take, the unpredictability of it — but the consistency of it, too. he grounds her, gives her a safe place to come back to when things get to be too much, and she tries to do the same for him.
like now, when desire threatens to spill over her control, she can trust him to take care of her, to ensure she gets what she needs even if she doesn't know she needs it. so rather than demand or beg or plead, daisy just reacts — each touch earns a sound, her head tipped back to gasp for air, as her body rockets up that hill towards the release she so badly craves. ]
no subject
and yet here he was, watching her reacting to what he was doing to her. every single moan and gasp and whisper of his name was because of the things he was doing to her. he twists his fingers before pulling out and adding another, just to see how much she could take, how much she could handle without letting go.
illya leans over, fingers still moving inside of her and drops a light kiss against her lips because he could, because he wants to feel her breath against his face. ]
no subject
she wants to live in this moment, pleasure coursing through her with each certain slide forward of his hand, his body twined with hers as she rocks up against him. she wants to memorize the way this feels, his touch so insistent against her, so aware of exactly how and when and where to press to make her react exactly the way he wants her to.
she doesn't want to stop, either. not even when his fingers twist just so, not even when she comes around his hand, muscles twitching, not even when she gasps for breath or when her hands finally let go of their grip on his hair in order to fall limply at her side.
she might need a second or two, but she's not done. not if he's not, anyway. ]
no subject
his hair is mussed and his lips swollen but he feels incredible. he pulls back to peer down at her, taking in the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the slight flush of her skin and the limp, boneless way she's laying. ]
Good?
[ she certainly looks good. to him, that is. he pulls his hand back finally and skims his fingers up and down her sides to help ease her back down into relaxation. ]