#mcu fandom

His scent drifted over you in the stairwell: warm pine, clean steel, something comforting and strong that settled deep in your lungs.

Your reaction was immediate and mortifying. Heat flared low in your belly, slick rushing hot and sudden between your thighs until you had to press your legs together to hide the way your panties were already soaked through. You ducked your head, cheeks burning, praying he hadn’t noticed.

But Bucky had.

His breath caught for the briefest second, blue eyes softening as they met yours. He didn’t say a word about it just murmured, “Anytime you need help I’m right here,” voice tender enough to make your heart stutter. Then he stepped back, giving you space, hands loose at his sides like he was proving he’d never take more than you offered.

Since then, you’d turned into someone you barely recognized, shy on the outside, filthy-minded on the inside, desperate for any scrap of closeness he’d allow.

In the laundry room you started timing your visits to his, wearing soft little shorts that rode up when you bent over, pretending you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. You’d brush past him too close on purpose, letting your vanilla-honey scent bloom thick and sweet in the humid air. He’d go still every time, folding a towel with careful movements but you could see the way his throat worked when he breathed you in.

You weren’t bold, you blushed just thinking about it but the ache between your legs made you reckless. You’d linger by the dryer, bending slow, thighs slick and trembling because you knew he could smell how wet you were. Once, a helpless little moan slipped out when another pulse of slick soaked through your shorts, leaving a damp spot you couldn’t hide.

Bucky’s soft inhale was the only warning before his quiet voice reached you. “Sweetheart… you okay?” So gentle, so concerned, like he thought you might be hurting. His eyes were dark but his expression was all worried kindness, metal hand curled loosely at his side so he wouldn’t scare you. You wanted to drop to your knees and beg him to do something about the mess you’d made of yourself.

The elevator rides were torture you inflicted on both of you. You’d stand just close enough that your shoulder almost brushed his chest, breathing him in until you were dizzy. Your body didn’t care that you were shy, it reacted anyway, nipples tight against your shirt, fresh slick coating your thighs every time the car jerked. You’d bite your lip to keep quiet but sometimes a tiny, needy sound escaped anyway.

He never crowded you. Always stood with his hands behind his back or gripping the rail, giving you every inch of space. But once, after a particularly desperate whimper left your throat, he leaned in just enough to murmur against your hair, “I’ve got you. Whatever you need, I’m right here.” The words were so soft, so patient, they made you throb harder, made you want to turn around and rub yourself against him like a cat in heat.

Nights were when your restraint cracked completely. Through the thin wall you could hear him, quiet at first then the soft rustle of sheets, the low, helpless groan he tried to muffle in his pillow. The slow, slick sound of his hand moving over his cock, careful even when he was alone, like he was afraid of waking you. You’d press your ear to the wall, legs spread wide, fingers plunging deep into your dripping cunt because you couldn’t stop yourself.

You’d fuck yourself hard and fast, chasing the rhythm of his strokes, imagining his gentle hands instead, how careful he’d be, how he’d whisper sweet things while he split you open. Sometimes you heard him say your name, so soft and reverent it sounded like a prayer.

“God baby… wanna take care of you… wanna be good for you…” It sent you over every time, thighs shaking as you came messily around your fingers, biting the pillow to stay quiet while slick soaked the sheets beneath you.

You were the one burning up with filthy, desperate need.

He was the one holding back with endless patience and sweetness, waiting for you to ask.

And every night you came listening to him fall apart so gently on the other side of the wall, you wondered how much longer you could stand not begging him to finally give you what you both wanted.

Until tonight.

Your heat had crested into something unbearable, a vicious, clawing thing that left you stripped bare on the living-room floor, legs splayed wide, thighs glazed with hours of slick. Fingers weren’t enough anymore, three buried to the knuckles, thrusting frantically, chasing a relief that wouldn’t come.

The vibrator buzzed uselessly beside you; even the pillow you’d humped raw couldn’t soothe the hollow, aching throb deep in your cunt. You were sobbing openly now, broken pleas spilling into the empty apartment.

“Bucky… please… need you inside me… need your knot… need your pups…”

The words tore out of you without shame, loud enough to carry through the thin wall.

On the other side, Bucky broke.

He’d been fighting it for weeks, every gentle, devoted inch of himself locked down tight. Every time your scent thickened in the hallway, every time you bent over in the laundry room and he caught the shine of slick on your thighs, every muffled whimper he heard at night, he’d gone back to his apartment and stroked himself slow, almost reverent, whispering your name while he imagined sliding into you gentle and deep, imagined filling you so carefully you’d feel safe and cherished while he put his pups in you.

He was obsessed with it. Couldn’t think of anything else. The thought of your belly rounding soft with his child, of your body changing because of him, because he’d taken care of you so perfectly, it lived behind his eyes every second of every day. He wanted to be gentle. Wanted to be good. Wanted to earn the right to breed you by proving he’d never hurt you.

But tonight your scent flooded the hallway like a wave of pure, desperate heat and your broken cries punched straight through his chest.

Three soft, urgent knocks sounded at your door, too controlled to be anything but him.

“Doll?” His voice came through the wood, low and trembling, thick with worry and rut. “Sweetheart, I- I heard you cryin’. You okay? Can I… can I come in? Just to check on you, I swear I’ll be good-”

You scrambled up on shaky legs, slick pouring down your thighs in fresh rivulets, and flung the door open.

He looked wrecked in the most heartbreaking way: hair falling into dark, pleading eyes, chest heaving under a damp T-shirt, sweats tented obscenely with the thick line of his cock, a wet patch spreading at the tip. His scent rolled over you, warm pine, clean steel, and the heavy, drugging musk of an alpha deep in rut, but his hands were open at his sides, fingers flexing like he was terrified to reach for you.

“Oh baby,” he whispered, voice cracking as he took in the sight of you, naked, trembling, drenched. “You’re hurtin’ so bad… I’m sorry I waited so long. I didn’t wanna scare you…”

You lunged at him with a desperate whine, wrapping your arms around his neck, grinding your soaked cunt against the ridge of his cock through the fabric. “Bucky please- need you now. Need you to fuck me, need you to breed me, please-”

He caught you easily, lifting you against his chest like you weighed nothing, metal arm cradling your back, flesh hand cupping your ass with reverent care but the rut roaring through him finally snapped the last thread of patience.

He couldn’t wait another second, couldn’t make it the few extra steps to the couch.

With a low, trembling growl he sank to his knees right there in the entryway and lowered you gently to the floor, laying you down like you were still the most precious thing in the world, even as his hands shook with the need to claim you now.

“I’ve got you omega,” he murmured, voice shaking as he peeled off his shirt, revealing miles of scarred muscle. “Gonna take such good care of you, I promise. Wanna make you feel safe while I… while I give you everything.”

He settled between your thighs, eyes locked on yours and slid into you slow, so achingly slow, inch by thick inch, groaning soft and reverent as your slick walls fluttered around him.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, hips rolling gentle and deep. “So warm… so tight… been dreamin’ about this pussy every night doll. Dreamin’ about putting my pups right here-” His flesh hand slid to your lower belly, pressing lightly, possessively. “Wanna fill you up so gentle you feel every drop… wanna watch you grow round with me…”

The sweetness of it, the devotion in his voice, only made you wilder. You clawed at his back, heels digging into his ass, trying to pull him deeper, faster.

“Harder,” you begged, voice raw. “Bucky please- need it rough, need you to ruin me, need you to breed me like you mean it-”

He froze, hips stuttering, eyes wide with sudden fear. “No baby- no, I can’t.” His voice cracked, raw and vulnerable.

“I… I haven’t been with anyone since the forties doll. Back then I was just a man- had a few sweet omegas, even knotted and bred a couple before the war took me. But after I fell, after Hydra… nothing. Not a single person in seventy years. They stole every chance, turned me into a weapon instead of a mate. I’ve never knotted anyone since, never bred anyone since and now my rut’s hittin’ harder than it ever has. You’re so small, so perfect, and I’m terrified I’ll lose control and hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself if I ever hurt you sweetheart.”

The confession spilled out of him like it had been locked behind his teeth for weeks, his blue eyes glassy with fear and longing. He rested his forehead against yours, trembling. “I want to give you pups more than I want to breathe, sweetheart. But I need to be gentle. Need to keep you safe.”

You sobbed, clenching hard around his cock, grinding up against him in filthy desperation. “You won’t hurt me. I trust you. I need it alpha- need you to lose control, need you to fuck me full of your pups, please-”

His breath hitched, a low, helpless sound tearing out of him. You felt his restraint crack, felt the tremor in his thighs as he fought it.

“Please,” you whispered again, nipping his jaw, licking the sweat from his throat. “Be rough with me. I’m begging you.”

Something shattered behind his eyes.

With a broken groan he pulled back and slammed home, hard, deep, perfect. Your back arched off the floor as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping, metal arm braced beside your head so he wouldn’t crush you, flesh hand gripping your thigh to spread you wider.

“That what you need, sweet girl?” he rasped, voice ragged with filth. “Need your alpha to fuck you raw after all these years? Need me to breed this pretty pussy till it’s dripping with me?”

“Yes- yes- harder!”

He gave it to you. Pounded into you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin, cock dragging over every sensitive spot, balls slapping wet against your ass. Every thrust shoved a filthy squelch from your soaked cunt, slick splashing onto his thighs.

“Gonna knot you so deep,” he panted, eyes fixed on where you were joined, watching himself disappear into you over and over. “First knot in almost a century baby, all for you. Gonna lock you to me and pump you so full of cum you’ll be carrying my pups by morning- fuck, I can’t wait to see you swollen doll, can’t wait to take care of you while you grow ‘em-”

You shattered around him with a scream, pussy clamping viciously, milking him as you came in messy, squirting waves.

He followed with a hoarse cry, hips grinding deep as his knot swelled huge and sudden, popping past your pussy and locking tight. The stretch burned white-hot, perfect, and then he was coming, endless thick ropes flooding your womb, spilling hot and heavy, overflowing around the knot in creamy rivulets that soaked you both.

He collapsed carefully, rolling so you were draped over his chest, still impaled, knot throbbing with every aftershock. His arms wrapped around you gentle again, metal fingers stroking your spine, flesh hand cradling the back of your head.

“Good girl,” he whispered, voice soft and wrecked, kissing your temple, your cheeks, the tears on your lashes. “Took me so perfect… my first knot in seventy years and you made it feel like heaven. Gonna keep you knotted all night, baby. Gonna breed you again as soon as it goes down. Wanna put so many pups in you… wanna love you through every single heat.”

You nuzzled into his neck, breathing him in, your body finally, blissfully full.

And somewhere in the haze, you felt his knot pulse once more, another gentle, possessive spurt deep inside as he murmured against your skin, reverent and obsessed:

“Mine now, sweetheart. After all this time waiting… gonna spend the rest of my life keeping this belly round.”

You wake slow, aching in every possible way, sweet, filthy, perfect.

The hardwood is cool against your cheek, but Bucky’s body is a furnace curled around you from behind, heavy and protective. His flesh arm is draped over your waist like an anchor, metal hand resting low on your belly, fingers splayed wide and gentle, as if he’s already cradling something precious that isn’t there yet. The air is thick with the two of you: warm pine, steel, vanilla-honey, and the unmistakable proof of last night, hours of knotting, breeding, claiming, coating your skin, the floor, everything.

His cock is still inside you, half-hard and nestled deep, plugging the slow trickle of his own spend so nothing escapes. Every tiny shift of his hips makes a soft, wet sound and sends a lazy throb through your overworked walls. You’re sore, swollen, utterly wrecked… and your heat purrs at the feel of him anyway, slick already gathering fresh and helpless.

He stirs with a low, sleepy hum, nose burying in your hair to breathe you in like you’re oxygen.

“Mornin’ pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice gravel-soft and shamelessly adoring. His metal thumb strokes slow circles over your lower belly, reverent. “Sleep okay with my cock keepin’ you full all night?”

You whimper, half-embarrassed, half-desperate and rock back against him on instinct. The motion drags his thickening length through your messy heat and he groans like it hurts, so good it hurts.

“God, doll,” he whispers against your bond mark, lips brushing the tender, crusted bite with heartbreaking gentleness. “You’re still drippin’ me. Kept every drop right where it belongs, didn’t you? Good omega… best omega.”

His flesh hand slides up to cup one heavy, aching breast, thumb brushing your nipple so tenderly you shiver. “These are gonna get so full for me,” he says, quiet and certain, like he’s picturing it already.

“Gonna swell up sweet and heavy, leak milk down your pretty belly while I keep you knotted and happy. Can’t wait to taste you, gonna suck you soft and slow every night, keep you feelin’ safe and spoiled while our pups grow.”

The words are pure filth but his tone is pure devotion, soft, shameless, utterly obsessed. He rocks into you lazy and deep, stirring last night’s loads with slow, churning thrusts that make obscene, wet sounds in the quiet morning.

“Feel that little swell already?” he asks, metal palm pressing gently, possessively over your abdomen.

“That’s me, baby. All that cum I gave you, sittin’ deep, takin’ root. Been dreamin’ about this since the day you moved in, puttin’ my pups in you, watchin’ you bloom. Never thought I’d get the chance again… not after everything. But you-”

His voice cracks just a little, raw with wonder. “You let me in. Let me love you like this.”

You clench around him involuntarily, fresh slick coating his cock and he moans your name like a prayer.

“Still so greedy for me,” he chuckles, warm and fond, hips rolling a little faster now.

“My sweet, perfect girl, heat all burned out yet still beggin’ for more. Don’t worry, doll. I’m gonna give you everything. Gonna knot you soft and slow this morning, pump you full again till you’re overflowin’. Then I’ll carry you to bed, clean you up gentle, feed you breakfast with you in my lap… and knot you again after.”

He nips your ear, voice dropping to that shameless, loving growl. “Gonna keep this belly round for years, sweetheart. One litter after another, till you’re sick of bein’ spoiled and pregnant and mine. But I don’t think you ever will be.”

You come with a broken little cry, fluttering weakly around him and he follows right after, knot swelling slow and careful, locking you together as he spills deep with soft, reverent groans. His arms tighten around you, metal hand still cradling your belly like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“There we go,” he whispers, lips dragging slow and hot over the fresh bond mark, then your shoulder, your damp temple. His voice is a low, filthy-sweet rasp right against your ear.

“One more thick, hot load pumped straight into your perfect little womb for our pups, pretty baby. Fuck… feel how full you are? This gorgeous, greedy pussy still milkin’ every drop outta me, drippin’ my cum down your thighs like the beautiful mess you are. Best thing I’ve ever felt- this tight, silky heaven wrapped around my knot, takin’ everything I give you, lettin’ me love you deep and dirty and so fuckin’ proper.”

He stays buried deep, knot pulsing gently, and holds you like he’ll never let go.

You’re both still filthy, crusted, sticky, gloriously wrecked, sprawled together on the living-room floor where you passed out knotted and spent. The hardwood is cool beneath you, scattered blankets and discarded clothes forming a makeshift nest, the air thick with the heavy scent of rut, slick and alpha cum.

Every time you shift in his arms, trying to get comfortable against his chest, flakes of his dried spend drift off your inner thighs like snow and the sight makes him growl low and possessive against your neck, metal hand tightening gently over your lower belly while his flesh hand slides down to cup your swollen pussy, thumb tracing the sticky mess still leaking slow from you.

“Can’t have my seed wastin’ on the floor, pretty girl,” he rasps, voice rough with leftover rut and pure hunger. “Every drop belongs right back inside this perfect little cunt.”

The shower’s already steaming when he steps in. His cock swings heavy between his thighs, thick, flushed, half-hard again like it never learned the meaning of enough. He steps in behind you, metal arm locking gentle around your waist to keep you steady while hot water pours over you both, rinsing away the crusted mess but doing nothing to ease the raw, throbbing ache deep in your pussy.

“Spread those pretty legs for me doll,” he rasps against your neck, voice rough with leftover rut and pure adoration.

You obey instantly, always instantly for him, thighs falling open under the spray. His flesh hand slides down your belly, cups your swollen, puffy pussy like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever touched. Two fingers part your folds slow and reverent, letting the water flush out the thick, creamy ropes of his spend still plugged inside you. They drip slow and obscene, swirling down the drain in filthy strands, and he watches like a man possessed.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groans, voice shaking with awe. “Bred you so deep it’s still pourin’ out hours later. My good girl, kept me locked in all night, didn’t let a single drop escape till now.” His metal thumb spreads you wider, cool plates against your fever-hot skin, letting more cum leak free. “Don’t worry, baby. Gonna stuff you full again soon as we’re clean. Can’t stand seein’ this perfect pussy empty.”

He soaps his big hands until they’re foamy, then washes you slow, almost worshipful, palms gliding over your heavy tits, down the curve of your belly, between your trembling thighs. But the gentleness only lasts so long. Two thick, soapy fingers push inside you without warning, scissoring deep to clean every inch of your used walls, thumb circling your swollen clit until your knees buckle and you sob his name.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispers, metal arm banding tight across your chest to hold you up. “Just cleanin’ my mess outta you… so I can make a brand-new one. Gonna keep this greedy cunt drippin’ me forever.”

You come hard and sudden, pussy fluttering weakly around his fingers, squirting slick and water down his wrist in messy pulses. The sound you make is broken, desperate and it rips a filthy-sweet groan from his throat. His cock is rock-hard now, grinding slow against the curve of your ass like it’s begging.

He rinses you thoroughly, really thoroughly, then wraps you in the fluffiest towel he found, carries you back to the kitchen still dripping. Sets you on the counter, spreads your thighs wide just to look, eyes blown black with that same breeding obsession.

“Stay right there, pretty girl. Don’t move an inch.”

He disappears for a second, rummaging through the scattered clothes on the floor, then comes back with his shirt, the same one he’d worn last night, still carrying the warm scent of pine, steel and him.

He stands in front of you, eyes dark and hungry as he slides it over your head himself, guiding your arms through the sleeves with careful hands. The fabric falls soft and loose, brushing your thighs as he tugs it down until it barely skims the curve of your ass.

No panties, of course not. He smooths the hem with possessive palms, fingers lingering on your bare skin underneath, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Never again, pretty girl,” he murmurs, voice rough and reverent. “Don’t want anything between me and this perfect little pussy. Wanna be able to touch you, taste you, slide inside you whenever I need. And I’m gonna need you a lot.”

Then he makes breakfast, shirtless, sweats slung low, metal arm flexing every time he flips bacon or pours coffee. You sit on the stool, legs swinging, feeling the slow, steady seep of leftover cum still leaking out of you onto the wood beneath your bare pussy. Every shift makes you clench, makes more drip out and the knowledge that he can smell it, that he knows, has you squirming, thighs rubbing together, heat already simmering again.

He plates pancakes drowning in syrup, crispy bacon, fluffy eggs and sits right beside you, metal arm draped possessive over the back of your chair. You’re halfway through a bite when the question slips out soft and curious.

“So… you really hadn’t fucked anyone since the 40’s?” you ask, fork hovering. “Like… not once? What about your ruts? How did you survive them alone?”

He freezes, coffee mug halfway to his mouth. Then he sets it down slow, turns to you with raw, unguarded eyes.

“Dead serious, doll,” he says, voice low and rough with memory. “Not a single pussy since 1943. Hydra kept me frozen most of the time, when they woke me, I was nothin’ but a weapon. No relief, no omega, no softness. Just blood and missions and ice.”

His metal hand slides up your bare thigh under the counter, cool fingers tracing the fresh trail of slick already coating your skin.

“After I got free… ruts hit harder than anything I’ve ever felt. Worst pain I’ve ever known, worse than fallin’ off that train, worse than losin’ the arm. I’d lock myself away, chain my ankles if I had to. Jerked off till my cock bled, till I passed out in a puddle of my own spend. Bit through my own lip, dented concrete with this hand tryin’ not to break out and hurt someone.”

His flesh hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your lower lip with heartbreaking tenderness.

“Then you moved in across the hall,” he rasps, eyes darkening with devotion. “First whiff of your heat and I nearly tore the building down to get to you. Spent weeks strokin’ myself raw every time you walked past, smellin’ like warm vanilla and needy, dripping cunt. Thought I’d lose my mind if I didn’t bury myself in you soon.”

He leans closer, metal fingers slipping between your legs again, finding you soaked and open and aching. Two slide in easy, slow, possessive pumps that make you gasp and drop your fork.

“Last night was the first time in seventy goddamn years I got to sink into a real omega pussy,” he growls against your mouth, voice thick with love and filth. “First knot. First breeding. First time comin’ inside somethin’ so warm and wet and beggin’ for my pups. You took every drop baby-milked me dry, let me flood this perfect little womb till it overflowed.”

His thumb finds your clit, circling slow and relentless while his fingers fuck you lazy and deep right there at the breakfast table.

“Now I got this sloppy, greedy cunt leakin’ for me again before the plates are even empty,” he whispers, reverent and shameless. “Gonna spend the rest of my life makin’ up for every lonely rut- gonna knot you every heat, every day, every time you look at me like that. Gonna keep you stuffed full, belly swollen, tits heavy and leakin’ milk down this pretty body while I pump another litter into you.”

You moan, loud, broken, desperate, clenching hard around his fingers, hips rocking shamelessly into his hand. Breakfast is forgotten. You’re already dripping down his wrist again, thighs trembling, heat flaring hot and hungry because it’s him because it’s Bucky looking at you like you’re his whole world and talking like he’s going to spend forever proving it.

He kisses you deep and dirty, tasting like coffee and bacon and pure alpha love.

“You gave me everything, omega,” he whispers against your swollen lips, voice rough with awe and possession. “Ended a hundred-year drought with the wettest, neediest, most perfect pussy I’ve ever dreamed of. And I’m gonna keep it soaked, bred, and happy for the rest of my life.”

It’s a few weeks later, New Year’s Eve. The little drugstore test is still on the bathroom counter, two pink lines glowing like a promise. You’re barely four weeks along but your body already knows. Your breasts are heavier, tender and swollen, nipples darker and so sensitive that even the brush of Bucky’s dog tags against them makes you shiver. A soft, constant warmth hums low in your belly, a permanent simmer of need that has you wet almost all the time now.

Bucky hasn’t let you more than ten feet away from him since you showed him the test. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, shirtless, sweats slung low, metal arm catching the low light. You stand between his thighs wearing nothing but his old dog tags and a pair of his boxers rolled at the waist. Your belly is still flat but the way he looks at it, like he can already see the curve, already feel his pups moving, makes heat pool between your legs.

“God, doll,” he whispers, voice thick with wonder and something deeper, softer. Both hands, warm flesh and cool metal, slide up your thighs, over your hips, until they settle gently over your lower abdomen. His thumbs trace slow, reverent circles right where everything is changing. “You’re really carryin’ my baby. My seed took… first night I ever knotted anyone in seventy years, and it took.”

He leans forward, presses his lips to your belly in a kiss so tender it makes your eyes burn. Inhales deep, nose brushing your skin. “Smell so sweet already,” he murmurs against you. “Like warm vanilla and milk and mine. Fuck, baby… you’re perfect.”

His flesh hand slips lower, under the waistband of the boxers, finding you soaked, slick coating your thighs in a constant, helpless trickle. He groans softly when his fingers glide through it, metal arm tightening gently around your waist to steady you as two thick fingers sink inside slow and careful.

“Still so wet for me,” he breathes, pumping gentle, curling just enough to make your breath hitch. “This pretty pussy’s already flutterin’ around my fingers… and you’re only a month along. Gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart.”

He eases his fingers free, brings them to his lips and licks them clean with a quiet, reverent hum, eyes never leaving yours. Then he stands, towering over you for a moment before guiding you gently down onto the bed, onto your back, pillows propped behind you so you’re comfortable.

“Gonna love you slow tonight,” he promises, voice low and rough with adoration. He peels the boxers off your legs, settles between your thighs with infinite care, like you’re made of glass and gold. His cock is heavy, flushed, leaking at the tip, but he doesn’t rush. Just drags the head through your slick folds once, twice, coating himself, before pressing in, slow, steady, watching your face the entire time.

You both sigh when he bottoms out. He stills, lets you adjust, forehead pressed to yours.

“Feel okay, pretty girl?” he whispers, brushing a kiss to your lips, your cheek, the corner of your eye. “Tell me if it’s too much. You’re carryin’ my pups now- I’ll be so gentle, I swear.”

You nod, threading fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. “Feels perfect, alpha.”

The word makes him shudder. He starts moving, long, deep, unhurried strokes that drag over every sensitive spot inside you, slow enough that every ridge and vein of his cock feels like a caress. His metal hand cradles the back of your head; his flesh hand slides up your side to cup one swollen breast, thumb stroking over the dark, aching nipple with heartbreaking tenderness.

“These are gettin’ so full already,” he murmurs, voice raw with awe. He lowers his head, lips brushing the curve of your breast, tongue flicking gentle over the peak. Then he closes his mouth around it, soft, warm suction that makes you arch and whimper. He suckles slow and careful, like he’s already coaxing milk that isn’t there yet, like he’s memorizing the weight and feel of you changing for him.

You moan his name, hips rocking up to meet his gentle thrusts, slick dripping down your thighs, soaking the sheets. He switches to the other breast, giving it the same reverent attention, sucking softly, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp but never enough to hurt.

“Gonna do this every day,” he whispers against your skin, lips shiny, eyes dark and devoted. “Suck these pretty tits till they’re leakin’ for me. Then I’ll lick every drop off your belly before I kiss my way lower and taste how wet you get because of me.”

His rhythm stays slow, deep, loving, every thrust a promise, every pull of his mouth on your nipple a vow. Outside, fireworks start popping as midnight nears but inside it’s just the soft, wet sounds of him loving you, your quiet moans, his whispered praise.

“Come for me when the new year starts baby,” he breathes, thumb finding your clit to circle gentle and steady. “Come on your alpha’s cock while I’m suckin’ these gorgeous tits and buried deep in the pussy that’s growin’ my baby.”

The first big fireworks boom over Brooklyn just as you fall apart, pussy fluttering soft and sweet around him, a gentle, rolling orgasm that leaves you trembling and breathless. He groans your name like a prayer, hips grinding deep as his knot swells slow and careful, locking you together without a hint of pain. Warm pulses of cum spill into you, gentle and endless, his body curled protectively over yours.

He stays on his elbows so his weight never presses your belly, lips returning to your breasts, suckling softly through the aftershocks, kissing every inch of tender skin like he’s worshipping the changes already happening.

“Happy New Year pretty mama,” he whispers, voice thick with love, metal hand splayed gentle over your abdomen, flesh hand stroking your hair. “Best year of my life starts tonight, with you pregnant, tits heavy in my mouth, pussy soft and full of me. Gonna love you like this every single day. Gentle and slow and mine.”

— yours truly, ѕℓυtdιεr.

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