Drawing inspiration from another of my fav writers in here:
What does your Buckys hips and face look like during an orgasm?
I LOVE THIS PROMPT!
Though Bucky has pretty fair skin, it is hard to make the soldier flush. It is when he works himself to his end in the gym, that you will see him strain a little. Bucky has never attached too much worth to his physique, seeing his body more as a tool or a weapon, instead of something to be admired. But you admire it and love the fact that this has made Bucky grow icky with clothes most of the time.
He walks around half naked all of the time, his muscles rippling under his beautiful skin. And though he never let it show, he found out soon enough that you were ogling him most of the time. He loved it. He loved how it made him like himself more. It didn't make him blush, no, but his arrogance grew every day. Even Steve had to put a stop to Bucky's growing arrogance when he kept bragging how the ladies were checking him out, only responding to Steve's punch with a mischievous wink.
With ladies, he means you. Just you. He doesn't really care for other people looking. But your eyes make him feel warm. Hot even. Too hot. Like he has to blow off steam.
And of course, when the two of you finally -finally- found the perfect way to blow off that steam, you could only marvel at him more. My God, he looks perfect in bed. His muscles flex like they do in the gym, but not just from a strain. No, from your touch too. Every inch of him responds to every brush of your touches. Bucky is so sensitive all of a sudden, so driven and on fire. It's like you leave a trail of flames on his skin and he wants to burn alive.
But the first time he had an orgasm with you, he lost his mind, his body, his soul. He had never had that before. Fuck, it is so good with you. His face relaxes, instead of straining, like the biggest sigh he's ever let out. And his soul sighs with it. His body stiffens, his hips stuttering and tensing, veins popping to the surface of his skin, all leading to his marvelous cock. His lips so pink, his cheeks finally flushed (like he's been in the sun all day), his arms shaking until he collapses on top of you, burying his face into your neck. It's so good with you.
*grinning* hello! how are you?
if you could pretty please create something for How many times have we said good-bye? and/or/also This is the last good-bye from your prompt list I will probably cry but your writing is always so freaking gorgeous and I will love it
have the best day/night
so, i wrote this, decided i wasn't sure it was worth sharing. started writing something else, felt like that was the literal same thing as everything else i've written so that's just gonna never see the light of day. and now we're back to this...anyway.
have some pain in the form of a time travel au.
The Taste of Dawn
Everyone always says there is something about dawn. Where the day breaks and life begins anew. Where the sun slowly settles her way along the horizon and somewhere along that journey decides to warm the earth. Dawn is meant to be an awakening. A renewal. Everyone praises this time of day, insisting it is well worth wake-up calls and bleary eyes.
Aelin however waits for it with trepidation. Dawn isn’t a beginning. It isn’t a start. It is a cold and empty countdown that reminds her she has to look forward.
When she stretches out a hand she meets the solid warmth of another body. Desperately, she latches on and rolls closer. The familiar scent of pine wraps around her as she nestles into that broad chest. She is met with a low grumble before a large arm curves against her and holds her.
Smiling to herself, Aelin pressed a light kiss to her companion’s neck before trailing her lips along his skin.
“Fireheart.” Rowan’s low, raspy voice sent shivers down her spine. One of his hands goes to her waist, sliding up beneath her nightshirt.
“Buzzard,” she replies. She arches in his touch, relishing the scrape of calluses on her skin.
“You hate mornings,” Rowan says.
It’s true. She hates the early hours of dawn despite how rewarding it is to start your day right then. She likes being languid in the morning, taking her time to prepare for the day.
“Not when you’re here,” she replies. Aelin hums, eyes closed and soft smile on her mouth. She lets herself relish him a moment more. There is never enough time to be had with him. She wishes the night could stretch on and on. She wishes there were a way to stop the sun from rising just so she can have a little longer wrapped up against him.
The thought sends tears to her eyes and she blinks rapidly to dispel them.
“Fireheart.” Rowan whispers in her ear and lets his lips rest just in the hollow of her neck.
“Not yet,” she insists. “Not yet.”
He says nothing as he runs a hand along her side. Sometimes there is nothing to be said in this hush before the sunrise. Sometimes there are only kisses and touches and desperate gasps before they come undone together. And sometimes there are words. Sometimes they continue to whisper together right up until the last possible second. Sometimes they rise and stand out on the little balcony of her little apartment and wait. Sometimes she thinks they have all the time in the world.
Rowan tries to pull away but Aelin drags her fingers up his chest and into his hair. She even goes so far to wrap her leg around his hip.
Not yet. Not yet.
Forehead to forehead they lie there together. And she is almost convinced it’s going to be fine. Until those damn tears break free. They roll down her cheek, over her nose, and drop to the pillow.
His hand comes up to brush the tears away. When Aelin blinks her eyes open she sees him. Him and those vast green eyes that she gets lost in every time she sees them.
“Aelin,” Rowan says, his light accent rolls her name so perfectly across his tongue.
He continues dragging his thumb beneath her eyes to catch her tears. There is sorrow and longing in his eyes as he watches her and then a small smile tries to dance at the edge of his lips. It’s such a contrast to the usual scowl always in place there that it holds her attention for long enough that he uses their positioning to roll Aelin on her back.
She gasps at the movement, but he doesn’t go far. His lips capture hers and he kisses with such tenderness that Aelin could forget what this dawn will bring. Almost.
“How many times have we said good-bye?” he asks when he pulls away. He’s still close enough that she can still feel him pressed against her.
“Too many,” she says.
Another kiss where his tongue meets hers.
“But we always say hello again,” he murmurs, “don’t we?”
Another kiss that has fire kindling in her blood.
“Too long to wait,” she manages.
He laughs and that laugh moves through her and she lets that ground her in the moment. This moment that is already starting to fade.
When the kisses grow desperate and needy, she knows he isn’t as stoic or emotionless as he may appear to be.
Light crawls into her room and begins to drape the walls. It was only a matter of time before dawn would lay her claim.
“Rowan,” Aelin says, her fingers memorizing the planes of his chest. “Don’t let this be the last good-bye.”
Bowing, Rowan presses one last kiss to her forehead. “To whatever end, remember?”
And then dawn is unleashed in all her glory. Gold light slices through the thick curtains of the windows and splashes across the floor. And with that great awakening the poets all lay emblems of devotion to--Rowan disappears.
Aelin releases a breath. The morning chill wraps around her. She is alone.
Aelin waits for her heart to stop pounding and her breath to even out before she rises.
The studio apartment is small, just the right size for her, and has a window where you can just make out a piece of Union Park. On a clear day with no cloud coverage or fog. So, not very often.
But the rain has become a part of her. The rain, the fog, the coffee. It has carved out a piece of her soul and filled the space. She doesn’t mind it as much as she used to. Really. In fact, breathing in the salty air of the sea combined with the fresh rain each morning has invigorated her on more than one occasion. But not today.
Today she is alone. Today she is left to her own devices. And time will not be her friend. No, it will move slow and it will stretch and it will remind her of what she cannot have.
He never does tell her where he goes, nor why. She’s asked him a few times now but if there is One thing about Rowan, it is that he keeps his secrets.
What she does know is that he cannot stay long in one place. Sometimes it is only an hour, others it is a week. But always, always, he is moving and leaving and tumbling through time.
He says it doesn’t hurt.
He says it isn’t terrible.
He says it will not be forever.
But Aelin is not so sure.
She crosses to the mantelpiece above the small electric fireplace. On a small plate is a pile of her jewelry. Tangled chains and earrings make a mess of things but she eventually finds what she is looking for. A gold ring with an emerald surrounded by three rubies. She slips it on her left hand before pressing a kiss to the stones.
They are cursed, she and him. Cursed to never be. Cursed to walk through time. Cursed to remember everything. Cursed.
He wanders through adrift and listless where she is stalwart and steady.
Though, more often than not, the longer she goes without him, the more uncertain she is. The more out of sorts and broken and lonely and--
He is her rock. He always has been. And one day, he will return. And one day, he will remain.
@morganofthewildfire // @aelinchocolatelover // @sexy-dumpster-fire // @bamchickawowow // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @courtofjurdan // @sassys-world // @sleeping-and-books // @superspiritfestival // @chieflemming // @julemmaes // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @firestarsandseneschals // @rapunzel1523 // @booksofthemoon // @fangirlprincess09 // @highladysith // @tillyrubes10 // @bri-loves-sunflowers // @rowaelinismyotp // @sheharahu // @1islessthan3books // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @vanzetanze // @jlinez // @foughtconquered // @thenerdandfandoms // @acciowests // @cassianscool // @thegreyj // @acourtofsjmtrash // @story-scribbler // @hellasblessed // @rowaelin-cressworth // @jesstargaryenqueen // @amoretheiwa // @jorjy-jo // @danibutterr @live-the-fangirl-life // @foreverfallingforthestars // @strangevil321 // @pastasiren // @beanco8 // @whimsicallyreading // @infernoqueen19 // @mis-lil-red // @lemonade-coolattas // @themoonthestarsthesuriel // @scribbled-semantics // @realbookloverproblems // @ghostlyrose2 // @rainbowcheetah512 // @tanvee1231 // @bri-loves-sunflowers // @captain-swan-is-endgame // @mystic-bibliophile // @cretaceous-therapod // @swankii-art-teacher // @thisloveseternal // @gracie-rosee // @bananaanna23 // @goddess-aelin // @liars-lmao // @emily-gsh // @rowaelinrambling //