It's been 3 weeks since I first starting thinking about this but I just can't shift the thought of making a subby!dbf!Bucky cum inside you so I'm gonna talk about it
But I really do mean "making" him cum inside you.
Like both hands on his neck while you ride him, watching him turn into the most beautiful mess, succumbing to pleasure he's not quite used to.
He's not used to it because he'd always worn a condom up until that point. Maybe he didn't think it could feel all that different but now that he's inside you, losing himself in how slick and soft you are, it's like nothing he's ever felt before.
"O-oh God, no." He whines, his hips rising off the bed to press every inch into you. His eyes have been closed almost the entire time you've been on top of him because he swears if he looks at you for too long, he's going to cum a lot faster than he wants to.
"Are you okay?" You ask softly, moving one hand from his neck to cup his cheek but he takes your wrist and clamps your hand back down on his throat.
"So good." He groans, whimpering each time you slide down on his length. There's almost a relief in this for him but it's a relief he didn't know he needed. He didn't think he would crave this as badly as he does but he knows he'll probably never want to use a condom again.
"Fuck..." He grunts, eyes squeezed shut, little beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. "Fuck, you need to stop. I'm gonna cum."
Arousal twists in your stomach, hearing he's lost himself in this so quickly. It's beyond rewarding, knowing he just can't bring himself to last any longer but you don't let yourself dwell on how it's quite a strange thing to be flattered by.
"No, you're gonna cum inside me." You readjust your grip on his neck and you watch the way his brow furrows, desperate to hold off his orgasm.
"Babe, no. Fuck, I gotta pull out." Despite what he's saying, his hands grip the meat of your hips, helping you work yourself on his length.
If he really wanted to, he's more than strong enough to shift you off him. He could push you back onto the bed with one hand. Half of his brain tells him he should but the other half tells him not to.
The latter half is dangerous. That half tells him you'd be a fantastic mother. It tells him you'd look so pretty with your tummy swelling with his baby. It tells him that this was your plan all along. This is what you want. You know the risk that comes with not letting him pull out.
"Cum inside me." You're adamant, flexing your fingers ever so slightly against his neck, bouncing on him until you feel his release shoot into your body.
"Fine. Oh God, fine. Take it." It's too late anyway and he knows it but seeing you look so damn smug just makes him cum even harder.
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Pairing: Vash the Stampede/Nicholas D. Wolfwood
Rated: Teen and Up Audiences
Tags: Canon Compliant, Bathing/Washing, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nudity, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Touch-Starved, Bittersweet, Fluff, Post-Tristamp Finale, basically tristamp timeline but like kinda trimax-flavored, POV Nicholas D. Wolfwood, Asexual Character, Asexual Vash the Stampede, there's some fluff at the end for Healing because i'm merciful, [slaps their asses] these bad boys can fit so much guilt and love and lack of self-worth
Word Count: 3.7k
read on AO3
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I found this letter penned by my great-great-grandmother printed in an atheist-feminist-leftist magazine.
Dear Higher Science:
It seems that man made Jehovah to endorse the capture system of monopoly and rent extortion, then made Jesus to atone for the theft forced upon the starving slaves that Jehovah ordered bred for exploitation by his “chosen"; and then woman, breeder of the slaves, unpaid -- unappreciated -- but “cursed” by Jehovah, will mix poison cups for Higher Science, because it would pull the ragamuffin Gods to pieces and show up the system which depends on fear of them alone for its continuance. Five hundred dollars per minute to pay preachers to preach the nation’s slaves into good natured acceptance of their slavery! Woman stands at the inquisition wheel (worship of personal Gods), and keeps it running without even asking for wages. She grinds out monopoly to crush her boys into prison, her girls into prostitution; then pays the parson for asking idols to “forgive” the crimes the system forces upon them. What a piece of art (-ifice) the Pentateuch is! How skillfully the web for women is woven. Will woman never wake up? Will the cry of the babes in the streets, in the mills, in the madhouses, wake her?
-- Annie Howard Van Horn
Hathaway, Montana, September 10, 1906
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