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buckyskorpion · 8 years ago

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Do Something Bad, Too - Part 4

Pairing: Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

Summary: It’s like every single Alpha on the planet won’t rest until they’ve confessed their eternal wish for you to mother their children, and it’s getting old. Luckily, that’s a problem Bucky might be able to fix.

Warnings: language, a/b/o dynamics, nsfw content (aka orgasms)

A/N: its finally here! sorry for taking like 30000 years but i got there in the end! happy new year, happy holidays, i hope everyone is well and i hope you enjoy this part!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

When you were in the army, you decided that you would never, ever chose an Alpha as a mate. You were surrounded by the worst kind day in day out - and, sure, when you moved companies nobody knew you were an omega thanks to the suppressants, but that just meant they felt like they could say all their shitty opinions about omegas in front of you as if you wouldn’t be offended.

In your opinion, 99% of Alphas were pigs and had zero respect for you no matter how successful you were, or how many suppressants you took. The past few weeks, however, have made you seriously reconsider that percentile.

It was down right unnerving how much comfort you found in Bucky’s scent all over you. When you were stressed at work you could just a deep breath in and be settled and focused once more. You’ve never slept better than with your head under the sheets, surrounded by the smell of him so it’s almost like he’s right beside you. It’s strange and you sort of hate it, except that it’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to you because finally, you’re being left alone.

“You seem happier,” Nat comments around a mouthful of salad. It’s one of the rare times she isn’t catching you between missions so you can actually leave the Tower for lunch. You find yourself thinking about Kotoro’s Japanese restaurant more than you’re enjoying your panini, and hardly register Nat’s comment at all.

“Hmm? Oh,” you say, blinking back to the table. Nat smirks around a sip of water and you try not to blush. “Um, yeah. It’s been a lot easier at work since we hired the new guy. I’m not doing two people’s jobs anymore, so.”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Nat says. You study your next bite of panini very, very seriously and let Nat stare at the top of your head.

“It helps,” you concede. “I’m not being harassed every other day. But- I don’t know. It’s weird. I’ve never been a very… omega-y omega and now it’s like, I’m going crazy because I don’t know where Bucky is or when I’m going to see him again and it’s so stupid because I haven’t even known him for that long. I just feel so irrational.”

Nat chews her salad and sits with that for a few, gut-wrenching seconds. Then she swallows and asks, “Have you spoken to Bucky recently?”

“No,” you say, and try not to make it sound whiny but from Nat’s eyebrow raise, you suspect you didn’t succeed. “He said to come find him when it ‘got bad’ again. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable, so. I’m waiting.”

“идиоты,” Nat mutters under her breath, which sounds very much like ‘idiot.’ She stabs a piece of lettuce aggressively and says, louder, “Do I have to do everything for you two?”

“What do you mean?” you ask, bristling at her comment even though you don’t know why. “I’m the one putting Bucky in a really shitty position and making him do this, I shouldn’t go pushing the boundaries he’s clearly set.”

“And what if he’s thinking the same thing about you?” Nat snaps, glaring at you. “Honestly, it’s like you’re in highschool. Did it ever occur to you that Bucky is a grown ass man who can’t actually be ‘made’ to do anything he doesn’t want to?”

You frown, panini long forgotten as you glare back at Natasha. Your face is starting to get hot as an irrational stab of anger hits you right in the chest. “I know that, I’m not an idiot. But he’s doing it because he’s a nice person, not because he wants to have lunch with me every other weekday and go to fucking IKEA like we do.”

“Right, he doesn’t want anything like our relationship,” Nat says. “That’s the point!”

“And how would you know?” you cry, dangerously close to yelling. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, the edges of your vision hazy, and it’s not like you to get this mad this fast but you’re about to lose it. “Why would he tell you? It’s between me and him, not you, and he’s made it perfectly clear where he stands so why don’t you-“

“(Y/N),” Nat says. The panic in her voice makes you stop short, taking in her wide, blown pupils and clenched fist around her fork.

“What?” you ask, just as a wave of dizziness hits you out of nowhere. “Holy shit. I’m so fucking hot right now, is that just me?”

“Yes,” Nat says through gritted teeth. Her nostrils flare as she says, “You’re going into heat.”

“What?!” you practically scream, but as soon as she says it everything makes sense. The irrational anger, the possessiveness, the fucking 1000 degree fever you’re running. Since you’ve come off the suppressants you haven't been in heat - they fuck with your hormones enough that it takes a few months to a year for everything to settle down and a normal cycle to take effect.

“I can smell it,” Nat hisses. “You have to get out of here before the entire Alpha population of New York finds you.”

“Right,” you say, but your vision is glassy and your head is all over the place. You don’t really want to leave Nat, even though you know that’s just some weird omega instinct to stay near an Alpha. “Leaving. Nat, I-“

“I know,” she says, flapping her hand at you. “Now go. Not to your apartment, it’s not secure enough. Take this.”

She forces her Tower keycard into your hand and you stare at it blankly, struggling to comprehend around the waves of heat assaulting you. Dumbly, you ask, “Your apartment?”

“At the Tower,” Nat confirms. “You’ll be safe in there. Get FRIDAY to lock the door and you’ll be fine. But you have to go now, before it gets worse.”

“Yes,” you say, nodding at Nat. She’s using her Alpha voice on you even though she knows you hate that, but it gets you away from the table and out the door so you figure you’ll forgive her.

The world is too bright and too loud as you make your way back to the Tower. People are starting to stare at you - at least, you think they are but you’re not really sure of anything with the way your head is ringing. It’s good that you spend 99% of your time at work because you get to the Tower on autopilot, stumbling into a lift and slumping against the wall as soon as the doors close.

“Ms (Y/L/N), I see you have Ms Romanoff’s keycard. Do you wish to go to her residential floor?” FRIDAY says, startling you into opening your eyes (when you didn’t even know you closed them).

“Yes,” you say, your voice croaky. God, you need to throw up. “Her apartment. I need- no, no, wait. I-“

“Your heat signature is off the charts,” FRIDAY says, calm and soothing as your brain scrambles for something solid to hold onto. “I recommend human intervention.”

Everything feels not-good. The elevator is spinning, your stomach is somewhere in your throat and your muscles are starting to cramp and ache. You haven’t been through a heat cycle in a long, long time and you forgot how bad it was - or maybe this time around is just worse because it’s been years. You barely register the elevator starting to move, or FRIDAY saying, “Would you like to go to Mr Barnes’ floor? He is in the Tower and can assist you.”

“Bucky,” you say, tongue heavy and brain a pile of goop in your head. And god, now all you want is him - you can still smell him on you but it’s not enough, it never was, you feel yourself burn impossibly hotter all over like you’re going crazy without him. But he doesn’t want that. You try to say, “No, wait, wait- I can’t-“ but the words either never made it past your lips or FRIDAY just ignored you, because soon enough the elevator doors are sliding open onto Bucky’s residential floor.

The scent of him is instantaneous and overwhelming, like your senses are on high-alert for it and you can feel it rising off the carpet or something. Bucky is nowhere to be seen and you're paralysed, struck dumb by how good he smells and how much every cell in your body wants, so you just slide a little further down the wall and try to breathe.

Bucky must be able to smell you too - obviously, you’re probably pumping pheromones out like a factory - because he comes skidding down the hall, freezing at the opposite end of the room to the elevator and staring at you with wide, blown-black eyes. At the sight of him you actually whimper, and a little bit of the tension in your muscles ease. It’s so pathetically stupid but for the life of you, you can’t remember why coming here was a bad idea.

“(Y/N), what-“ Bucky starts, his voice a rough growl that seems to surprise even him. You scrabble at the walls for something to hold on to but there’s nothing - you end up just digging your fingernails into the grooves of the metal plates and squeezing your eyes shut.

“I’m sorry, I can’t- Bucky,” but everything is white noise and fire and the floor isn’t solid underneath you and neither are the walls, you can’t focus, the only real thing is the sweet, sweat-sticky scent of Bucky that’s getting stronger as he crosses the room to crouch down beside you.

“(Y/N),” he says again, confusion and arousal making him sound gruff and almost angry. He cups your cheek in his calloused palm and oh god, those nerve endings go off like fire flares at finally, blissfully being touched. You can’t help the almost pained gasp that rips out your chest or the way your back arches off the wall, a zing of pure, overwhelming pleasure zipping straight down your spine.

Bucky huffs a concerned sound, shuffling closer to you on his knees and strokes his thumb over your cheek. It’s still embarrassing when you moan at the catch of his rough skin on yours, but mostly it just feels too good for you to care. You feel crazy and feverish but so good now that you’re with Bucky, touching your skin and lifting you up against his chest and taking over where your frenzied brain can’t seem to function.

He carries you to the couch, but instead of leaving you there like you expect him to because you know that this is too much, that you’ve crossed the boundaries he set up and put him in the worst place ever - he sits down with you in his lap, curled up and face buried in the side of his neck. He smells the best there, like warm honey, and it’s everywhere. You nuzzle closer and cling to his shirt, shifting so you’re straddling his waist and can burrow further into the soft skin where his shoulder meets his throat.

“Hey,” Bucky says, stroking a hand through your hair to try and get your attention. You make an agreeing sound but that’s all - right now, words are not your friends. Bucky humphs, his chest moving against your body, and says “It’s your heat, huh, honey. How long s’it been, now?”

You muffle a pained noise into his shoulder and shake your head, somehow wiggling yourself closer so you're pressed flush against his body. Through an uncooperative, heavy tongue you manage, “It hurts.”

You feel the growl in Bucky’s chest more than you hear it, and the thrill of pleasure when he grips the nape of your neck and lifts your head to look at him makes you feel dizzy for a second. His hands on you, his thick thighs under your body, his voice right in your ear and his smell, fuck, you’re drowning in it and it’s all too much. Bucky looks right in your eyes, so dark you can barely see the blue anymore, and it might just be the heat talking but you think he looks just as hurt as you feel.

“I know it does, I’m sorry,” Bucky says, and it’s not what you want to hear. You whimper, twisting your head in his grasp to bite at the sensitive skin on his inner wrist, but he just digs his fingernails into your neck and makes a warning sound in the back of his throat. That sound snaps though you all the way to your toes and you stop, squirming on his lap and unable to look away from his eyes.

“I can’t,” Bucky says, low and forceful. It’s not good enough. You feel insane with the amount of Bucky you're getting but it’s still not enough. Fumbling and heat-slow, like moving through syrup, you try and grab for his belt buckle and you do feel metal against your skin, but it’s his left hand grabbing your wrist and stopping you. Again, Bucky says, “I can’t. Remember what you said? You’d hate yourself if you did this with me, now, when you’re not in control. I won’t.”

Ugh, you hate your past self and you hate Bucky for being such a good person - except you don’t, and it’s just as frustrating as your apocalyptically desperate need for Bucky’s dick. You don’t bother holding back your whine, slumping forward so Bucky is left to hold you up against him with a hand on your back, smoothing circles through the fabric of your shirt. You tuck your nose back into the side of his neck, the smell so good for a second you can’t help but rock your hips into his lap.

At the movement, Bucky’s fingers clench against your back. You think he’s going to get mad at you, an apology on the tip of your tongue, but instead you feel his metal palm settle on your thigh and slide up, stopping to rest just under the hem of your flowy skirt. The cold metal is so soothing on your feverish skin you actually moan, the sound muffled into Bucky’s skin but still obvious. His hand is just so close and you need it, you need it so bad you might die with it, you-

“You want that, don’t you? To come,” Bucky asks, his voice so rough and low you can hardly hear it even with his mouth right next to your ear - except for how it seems to resonate through your entire body, like you’ve never listened to anything else in your life. And it’s embarrassing, because here you are falling apart while Bucky remains in control. You press your face closer to Bucky, hoping he can’t feel or smell your humiliation, but of course he does. He hums and says, “C’mon, you can admit it. You don’t think I already know? I can smell it on you so strong, honey, it’s driving me crazy.”

Bucky grips your thigh, sudden and tight. You stiffen, keening at the pressure so you hardly notice Bucky lifting and adjusting you so you’re straddling just one of his thighs. Bucky uses both hands to bunch your skirt up near your hips so the thin fabric of your underwear is the only thing between your aching cunt and his jeans. It feels so good you almost feel like crying and, like he can tell, Bucky smooths his palms up and down your thighs and shushes you.

“You’re ok,” he coos. He lets his nails dig a little into your skin as he slides his hands up and down your skin, and the bite of it has you arching back as your hips stutter forward, completely out of your control. Every little thing feels like liquid fire and it’s almost too much - almost.

Bucky hums again, low in his chest, and says, “That’s it, huh? That feel good? You can keep going honey, that’s ok. Just to take the edge off. You’ll feel better, c’mon.”

Bucky’s flesh hand slides around to your lower back, under the fabric of your shirt, and starts to slowly guide you in rocking down onto his thigh. You grip his shoulders tightly, fingers digging in as bolts of pleasure spark up your body from the rough denim on your sensitive, dripping cunt. It almost hurts, but in a way that’s so good you’re seeing stars as you fuck yourself on Bucky’s thigh, shameless and completely drowning in the Alpha underneath you.

“Yeah, there you go,” Bucky murmurs, and when your hazy, star-struck eyes finally focus on his face he’s looking at you almost in awe. You clench your fingers around his shoulders and make a pitiful moaning sound, rolling your hips faster and harder against Bucky’s muscular thigh. Bucky says, “Just like that, honey, you’re doing so good. So good for me, just a little bit more-“

When you come, it slams into you like a clap of lightning - so sudden and bright your whole body locks up and your scream of pleasure-pain dies in your open mouth. Bucky holds onto you, hands digging into your skin and voice incoherent but soothing to your ringing ears. Everything comes back to you slow, like you’re seeing it underwater - Bucky’s face, his red lips moving around words you can’t understand, the feeling in your toes.

You must pass out, or go to sleep, or a mixture of the two because you only come to when you’re cradled in Bucky’s arms, going somewhere. He looks down at you, shushes you, tells you to go back to sleep. You do.

When you wake up, you’re swaddled on Nat’s couch by a blanket and Bucky’s red henley, a pair of his sweatpants rolled up on your hips. You feel groggy as you blink awake, and it takes you a minute to register your washed and folded clothes on the coffee table. And you might smell like him and you might be dressed in his clothes and your muscles might ache from one of the best orgasms of your life which he created, but you’re still alone. It takes you no time at all to figure that out, and the hurt doesn't ever go away.

Part 5

~~~

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