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chucksfavouriteprophet · 2 years

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Heal - I

Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader (female)

MASTERLIST

🦅 Summary: As a nightmare doesn’t ease up, you have no choice but to take the plunge and try to wake Bucky.

Warnings: Descriptions of sexual assault, violence, forced knotting and claiming/marking, trauma, bond breaking, angst, injured reader, near death experience, lots of emotions, smut

Word count: 1,725

You were well accustomed to Bucky's screams in the night. Although they were a regular occurrence, they still made your bones shiver and forced you to clamp your hands over your ears to try and block them out. You usually held your breath until you heard Steve barge into his room to calm him down, but you still found yourself sleepless in the hours remaining until dawn.

Part of you wanted to run for the hills. Part of you wanted to slide into his bed and wrap your arms around him, pulling him against your chest and whisper sweet nothings into his messy hair. That part was bigger, but it was also more terrifying. Because even though every part of your anatomy gagged for the only alpha you had only truly wanted, you were also shit scared of him. Not of the Winter Solider, which most people were, but of him. Of Bucky. Of the rejection you'd know you'd have to face if he knew how you felt. Because even though you knew he wasn't actually your alpha, and you knew he would never be interested, you weren't sure you could survive actually hearing him say it. Which was the reason why you kept your distance and protected your sanity.

But tonight was different. Steve was on a mission, accompanied by Sam, Natasha and Tony. That meant only you and Bucky were sleeping on your floor of the compound, with Bruce and Clint a level below and Thor away in Asgard. So when those petrifying sounds ricocheted through your skull, you knew you were the only one to hear them. Which meant you had no choice. You had to go to him.

Your legs were trembling beneath you as you inched towards your bedroom door, opening it as quietly as possible and shuffling through without lifting your socked feet off the floor. Your chest felt like it was about to explode as your heart boomed with such ferocity and you had to keep reminding yourself to breathe as you fumbled your way towards his room. You chewed on your lip as you rested a hand on the doorknob, bracing yourself what you might be about to enter into. You knew that sometimes Bruce had to come and sedate him, and there were even times when both Steve and Bucky had emerged the next morning with busted up faces from having a physical fight. Sure, you were a well trained agent who never usually shied away from a fight, but this was different. You knew you'd never be able to hurt Bucky, even if he was the Winter Solider. Put in that situation, in the situation you were in now, you were just a vulnerable omega who couldn't even stand her own ground.

Another shrieking cry jolted you out of your thoughts and you whimpered involuntarily. This was not the cry of a violent man, but that of someone in extreme pain. Without hesitation, you flung the door open and ran in, taking barely a second to survey the layout of the foreign room before you were at the beside. Bucky was still asleep, his eyes screwed shut as he grimaced and panted. Sweat coated his forehead, his hair sticking to it as well as the pillow that had started to slide up against the headboard as he tossed and turned.

"Bucky-" you could barely hear yourself over the sound of the blood coursing through your veins, which meant he certainly hadn't. You cleared your throat, barely trusting yourself to try again, before speaking up. "Bucky!" This time you leant forward, shaking his damp shoulders to try and bring him back to reality. "Bucky its okay, you're okay. C'mon, wake up for me, you're okay", you brushed the hair from his face, cupping his cheek. You were pushing back the panic that was forming at the proximity you were to him and you instead used it to your advantage, touching him in the ways you had only dreamed in order to bring him out of his own.

Just as you were about to consider that this was a losing battle, Bucky froze. His eyes flew open and you let go of his face, stumbling backwards in shock. "Bucky, I-". Suddenly you were back where you started, a trembling mess whose instinct was to drop to her knees and submit to her alpha. He sat up straight, staring straight at you as his chest heaved with uneven breaths.

"Y/N?" He tilted his head slightly and squinted in the darkness as you tried to sustain a whimper. Your stomach was churning and you clamped your legs together as you willed the slick to retract.

"Are you okay?" you whispered with a gulp. He nodded, relaxing slightly as he ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Yeah. Thank you."

You nodded and started to glance around the room, unable to look at him any longer. You had awoken your alpha from his precious slumber without his permission, and although you knew that was the right thing to have done, your hormones were saying otherwise.

"Are you okay?" You were surprised to hear the words come out of Bucky's own mouth, but as you glanced over at him and noticed his flaring nostrils, you hung your head in shame. He could clearly smell the panic that was overtaking your body and you probably reeked of omega right now. Sure, you'd never explicitly hidden your status from your colleagues, but you kept it private, dealing with your heats yourself and using your suppressants discreetly. You chewed on your lip once again, this time tasting blood as you nodded and tried to compose yourself. With a sigh, Bucky pulled back the bedsheets and beckoned for you to come forward.

"C'mon, you can't just stand there. I feel terrible and you need to relax. Hell, so do I. Come here, will you."

You were frozen on the spot, not entirely sure what he was asking. He sensed that, closing his eyes for a second as he snorted under his breath.

"Omega. Come and sit with me."

Well now you had no choice. You practically flew off the floor and under the covers, welcoming Bucky's flesh arm as it snaked around your back and you curled up into his shoulder.

"Sorry," you mumbled without looking up.

"Don't be," you felt Bucky's stubble brush against your cheek as he shook his head. "I forgot how scary a tormented alpha can be. Let alone a tormented alpha who used to be a brainwashed assassin. You should have just let me ride it out."

"I couldn't do that," you rushed out, already starting to relax and feel more comforted than you had in a long time. His scent was intoxicating, and although he still smelt of fearful memories, it was still comforting to you because it was distinctly him.

You lay like that in silence for a while longer until at some point, you drifted into oblivion. It was a dreamless sleep, wrapped in your alpha like you'd always wanted.

Until it wasn't. While you might have been calmed, Bucky was not. He hadn't fully come out of the nightmare, and he had hoped that having you against him would help that. Admittedly he was ashamed the omega he'd been pinning for since coming to live at the compound had to see him in that state, but he couldn't pretend that having her in his bed was a completely knew kind of comfort. Except Bucky hadn't shared a bed with another in over 40 years, so when he inevitably slipped back into that same nightmare, the feeling of a warm body against his disorientated him. It was strange and it was not supposed to be there. The only reason it could be there was if it was going to harm him.

Your eyes flew open the second the cold metal squeezed your windpipe. You wanted to call for Bucky, but it was no use; the creature hovering above you was not him. Yes, it was his body, but his mind was asleep, and the pieces that still remained of the Winter Soldier had pushed forward to the surface. You tried to claw at his hands, at his face, at anything but it was no use. He was a pent-up alpha assassin, fuelled by an artificial super serum. You were no match.

As you wined through his grasp, the nightmare-frenzied Bucky started to take in the girl beneath him. The omega beneath him. She wasn't here to murder him; she was here to test him. Maybe she was a gift, or maybe she was a slave. Either way, she smelt amazing, and his body was yearning for her. His toes curled as he reached down and freed his throbbing penis, letting it rub against her bare legs.

You cried out as you suddenly realised what was going on. He wanted you. Not in the way that you wanted him, but he wanted to take you. To have you. To violate you. You tried to break free as much as possible, weakly kicking against him and pulling at his hair, but it was no use. Although he was no longer choking you, his metal hand remained stern around your neck to hold you in place, applying just enough pressure to halt any cries that tried to escape. His flesh hand meanwhile was pawing at you, squeezing your nipples hard before fisting your vagina. What only hours ago had been crying out for him was now locked up and trying desperately to reject his efforts, which only made him try harder.

"Bucky, please" you mumbled but it was no use - he was gone. This was not your Bucky. Your Bucky would hate himself for this. Your Bucky would certainly never want to look at you again after this. Just as you started to drift away, to blur out what was going on and sink into nothingness, you felt the full force of his penis lurch into you and you had no choice but to succumb to his thrusts. It wasn't until after he had ridden you so hard you bled that he let his knot pop and he sunk his teeth into the tear-soaked gland just below your jawline. Only then did you fully collapse into the darkness.

🫀Part II

To be added to my Bucky taglist, comment below

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #alpha!bucky x omega!reader #bucky x female reader #alpha!bucky #omega!reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #alpha bucky barnes

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darsynia · 2 years

Note

do you take requests? if so, I’d like to formally request reader comforting Tony and just showering him in praise because he truly deserves it and we never see him get treated like that in the movies

it can end with smut if you’d like, up to you 🫶🏻

Summary: Tony Stark was a broken, angry man after he survived his snap to save the universe, but you've brought him back to life slowly, carefully, lovingly. He comes home with bad news after a meeting with his doctor, and you offer him as much comfort and encouragement as you can. Warnings: hurt/comfort, toxic anger, mentions of amputation (story is set post-Endgame) Pairings: Tony Stark/GN!Reader Word Count: 3,171

Thank you so much for your request! I've updated the layout of this story and hope that you did see it back when it was posted.

Build Me a Cocoon So I Can Crawl Inside Your Love

Tony’s back from the specialist’s appointment he didn’t want to let you come along for, and he looks really discouraged. The gamma radiation damage had required an amputation above the elbow. It was a strategic choice, designed to offer the best possible outcome for prosthetics. The problem is, it hasn’t been healing well enough to be fitted yet, and by the look on his face, that’s still the case.

Every time he goes in to be assessed, the fitting date is pushed back, and Tony comes home feeling some kind of way. This time he’s sad, resigned even, which you suppose is better than when he was angry and ready to burn off enough flesh to start over. Tony Stark’s righteous anger is hard to refute, but his sadness? It breaks your heart.

You’d met Tony after the heroics, after the messy divorce, after the custody battle. He was never a man who knew how best to heal, and healing the whole universe of its colossal loss was meant to kill him. When it didn’t, he… didn’t handle that very well.

If you had been a home health nurse, one of the court-ordered psychologists, or even among the number of Morgan’s many home tutors (the daughter of the savior of the universe was too valuable to go to regular school, one of the things Pepper and Tony had fought over, with Tony on the side of ‘I know what boarding school and isolation does to a rich kid, you cannot do this to our daughter.’ He’d lost.), Tony would never have given you the time of day. He wants nothing at all to do with anything from before, not even by association.

No, you’re an artist. He’d run into you completely by accident on one of the worst days of his new life, though the events did end up creating an accidental bond. In a bid to completely revamp his life, Tony had been spending time at national parks, and, woefully unprepared for the heat, he’d stumbled into your day camp set up. You’d fed and watered him, but then he’d had a phantom pain attack, and in response, an attack of temper.

“-- not expect to spend the rest of my life in this much fucking PAIN!” Tony had roared, his remaining hand scrabbling at the knot made out of the empty bottom half of his right sleeve, trying to untie it. You’d come over to help, and in blind frustration, he’d shoved you away, probably remembering someone else, someone who made him feel guilty for being angry.

You’d fallen back into your easel, your ass sliding across your unfinished art, ruining many hours of work.

There was no way you wanted to make things worse for him-- after all, he was the reason you got some of the people you loved most in the world back! --so you’d tried to minimize the damage. They were only things, after all, and you could recreate what you lost. The two of you had quarantined yourselves at either side of your camp, each tending to your own ‘wounds.’ In all honesty, you’d expected him to walk off, but he hadn’t.

An indeterminate number of minutes later, after you’d cleaned everything up and were trying to decide how best to carry it back down to your car, Stark’s left hand thrust into view. He was holding a piece of paper, a receipt, it looked like, with some information scrawled onto the back of it.

“Figure out how much that all cost and I’ll reimburse you. Send me a message on that. It’s private, so,” Tony had heaved a sigh, then continued, “--don’t share--”

“Are you kidding?” you’d said, covering his shaking hand with yours instinctively, to steady it. “I wouldn’t dream of making your life worse, after all you’ve done!”

“Please.” You can still remember his voice, how weary he’d sounded. “No Thanos.”

“Yeah, I’m with you there. Fuck that guy,” you had blurted. “I meant your inventions, the prosthetics! Not just that, but in three months you’ve revolutionized the entire industry, created a whole new sweat-wicking fabric-- can I ask you?” You’d turned around, still holding onto his hand like a complete idiot, too excited to realize you were holding him physically captive. “Is it the same stuff you came up with for Banner? Because that is just genius-- though, I guess I don’t need to tell you that! You’ve always been a genius. I bet you have fifty hard drives full of that kind of stuff, really useful inventions, but people like Obediah Stane and the jerks in the army weren’t ever willing to listen.”

Tony had just blinked at you, a tiny, molecule-thick smile forming on his lips. You knew he’d been in self-destruct mode for months, but impossibly, you did not choose that moment to keep your mouth shut.

“I’m sorry you’re in such pain still. I follow tech news but don’t know much about the actual process, but that’s even more amazing, you know that, right? Pain saps creativity, and so does sadness. You’ve done all that while you’re hurt and miserable? True hero, I swear it.”

“Are you for real?” he had asked, his face a mix of consternation and reluctant happiness. “No one put you up to this? Rhodey?”

“No offense, Mr. Stark, but if War Machine flew my ass up here to make you feel better, do you think I’d have the guts to tell you that?”

It’s been ten months, the first six of which had been full of affectionate-antagonistic messages sent back and forth, sometimes with large gaps. You hadn’t wanted to take payment, he’d insisted, and you’d both found creative ways to either send money or send the sent money back, right up until the time he’d found out you were about to become homeless.

Tony Stark had moved you into his house. He’d risked the headlines, the speculation, the condemnation, and done it anyway. It didn’t feel like billionaire behavior at the time, and it still doesn’t now that you’re in the clandestine relationship the media speculated about. It felt like something someone does because they love you.

You’re not sure you’ll ever get over that. You don’t want to.

Even so, he’s hard to live with sometimes, even especially on days like this. You almost miss the anger. His attitude today feels like resigned, miserable acceptance, the thing he’d already gone through when he’d lost custody of Morgan to Pepper. You two had already hashed that out, and he’d agreed he wasn’t any kind of parent, might not be for a while. He’d tried to say he wasn’t any kind of partner, and you’d spent a few nights specifically proving that was bullshit.

Sometimes you want to scream at the whole world. To you, Tony Stark is the best of them, because he didn’t have an unassailable moral code. He hadn’t been a model of perfect humanity, and he still isn’t. And still he’d saved everyone. He’d saved people on planets ‘hitherto undreamt of,’ to quote an interaction he’d be upset you’d found out about. You’d thought about trying to rehabilitate his relationships with the people from Before, but it’s going to take a few more years of love, affection, and encouragement to get him there.

It used to be one step forward and four steps back, but now it’s more the reverse. He’s thriving, and you know it’s because he’s getting to hear the good things first, instead of constant critique.

“You’re too quiet,” Tony says from the couch.

“I was gathering rose petals,” you lie. It’s a running joke between you, but one of these days you’ll actually do it, set up a bath or something, knock his socks off.

“Please say it’s for some kind of mind-numbing tea that lets me skip forward a few days,” he groans, scrubbing his hand over his face. “I need the stronger painkillers. I know I said I wouldn’t--”

“Hey, hey,” you soothe, coming over with the pills already in hand.

Tony makes the same face he always does when you anticipate his needs. It’s surprised, pleased, even confused, but the percentages have steadily changed to be more pleased, less confused, and almost never surprised anymore. That’s progress.

You sit on the arm of the couch, next to his residual limb, and he frowns up at you.

“Don’t think I don’t notice that you keep doing that.”

“Do what?” You know, but you want him to address it.

His glare is sexy as hell, but you push your desire back and focus on his emotional state. In your head, you’re cheering him on, and maybe he can feel it, because he says, “I can’t touch you with my hand over there. Not without twisting around.”

You run your hand through his hair to soften his reaction to your response, and thrill at the rumbling ‘mmmm’ sound he makes. “Because I love all of you. If I don’t shy away from your pissy attitude when you’re an entire grump, I’m not going to shy away from--”

For the first time since you’ve been together, he reaches out with his right arm and sweeps you off of the arm of the couch and onto his lap. You try not to react, try not to show how important the moment is, but Tony’s looking right at you, and he can tell something’s up.

“Really?” he says, shaking his head in confusion like you’re some sort of bizarre cryptid.

“You never touch me with your right side on purpose,” you say carefully.

He leans down to kiss you, and it’s not a lust kiss, it’s gratitude, and something about it is sweetly calming. You can tell he got bad news today, but he’ll tell you when he’s up for it, and until then, you can show him he’s loved. When the kiss ends, he leans his head in the direction of the bedroom, and you nod.

It’s mid afternoon, but the blackout curtains on the windows lend an air of evening finality to the room, which you maintain by putting on a small, dim lamp by the bed. Tony changes out of his formal clothes while you watch appreciatively, and when he’s in his sweats, he walks over and lets himself fall onto the bed.

“Fuck,” he says. “Would it be crazy to just--”

“Sleep?” you finish with him. In response, Tony hugs you to him, and you kiss his chest. “Alarm?”

“No, I’ve figured out you’re mostly harmless by now,” he jokes, the words broken up by a ferocious yawn.

The two of you wake up in a jumble. Tony’s rolled over and thrown his right leg possessively over your hip. He’s awake, as it happens, and when you meet his eyes, he gives a little tug of his left arm, which you’ve been sleeping on. The two of you adjust, which mostly means you end up facing each other, each on your own pillow pile.

“Did the nap help any?” you whisper.

“Always and never,” he says back, and you get it. Some things just… stay broken.

Girding yourself mentally for a negative reaction, you reach up and set your left hand against the spiderweb of scars on the right side of his face.

“I have wanted to say this for months, but every time I thought about it, I recognized that you were too hurt, too full of distorted, hateful thinking to accept it.”

He breaks in, his wry expression undergirded with iron. “You’re so sure I’m ready to hear you now? After the news I got?” You can feel the tightness to his jaw under your fingertips, and you lean over to kiss it away. The way the tension eases almost as soon as your lips brush against his skin is answer enough.

“Yes.” You slide your hand down to rest against his chest, partly to feel the steady beat of his heart. “Your father did too little too late, and it’s okay to acknowledge that.”

“You’re starting there? I need a drink,” he teases, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, and his leg doesn’t tense up like he’s ready to get up and run away from what you’re saying.

“Hell yes I’m starting there. You watched me try to live up to my friends’ expectations, do you remember what you said?”

His lips twitch with reluctant amusement. “I said ‘those fuckers want to make you into the friend they want, not the friend they already have.”

“Exactly.”

“Point taken,” Tony grunts. “Next?”

“It’s not your fault that you made things that were misused by people with shitty intentions.”

He turns in bed, shifting so he can lay on his back. You cuddle up, rest your head on his shoulder. “And when those people were the government?” he asks.

“What’s the alternative? Watching them self destruct with Hammer’s shit? When you saw the weapons dealing get too far, you cut it off. You lost a ton of money. You gotta let that go, Tony. You were misled, you lived the life you thought you were meant to, right up until you didn’t.”

“Noted.”

You skip over some things. They’ll keep, and the last thing you want to do is have him sit there worrying about what you’re going to say next.

“Last one for now: that thing with the nuclear warhead and the Chitauri is the most heroic thing you’ve ever done,” you say, scooting impossibly closer. He’s gonna challenge this one.

Tony’s scorn as he turns his head to look at you is palpable, as expected.

“Hear me out: it was amazing that you built the suit for the stones, ok? But you had time to figure that out. You decided about that ahead of time. You had the choice. But the nuke? You just worked on instinct. Do you understand how amazing that was? You knew you could do it and you did it-- and you were afraid. You were terrified, Tony. That’s heroism.” His jaw is working like his teeth can’t settle against each other, and you run your fingertips through the too-long hair spilling over onto his forehead. “You also sat through that even though you wanted me to shut up.”

“True.”

“You want to tell me more about your day?”

“Not even a little bit,” he grins, but you start rubbing comfort along his chest, kissing his shoulder, and he sighs. “They’re going to take more off. Reset the stump, basically. They say that will give it a better chance of actually healing, so I can end up with something I can actually do something useful with.”

“You’ve got a million ideas for prosthetics for your suit, don’t you?” you guess. “It dawns on you that this is the issue. He hasn’t been himself without the fucking Iron Man suit, because even though it’ll conform to him, it’s not pain free until his arm heals. Tony’s been knocked back to larval form for over a year.

This whole time you thought he wasn’t doing anything with the suit because it nearly killed him, because it reminds him of Before, but that’s not it at all. Tony Stark’s suit has always been his saving grace, and he hasn’t really been himself without it.

You extricate yourself and sit up. “Holy shit.”

“Now what?” he says, vulnerable, irritated.

“This is it, this is the thing we’ve been waiting for. When did they say they’re going to do the surgery?”

“You’re excited about this?”

You stand up, too full of energy and excitement to stay still. “Tony, you’re not seeing the big picture! You’re, you’re…” You light on it, a remnant of the very few visits he still has with Morgan. That light at the end of the tunnel is so distant as to be physically painful, but you go for it, because he needs this hope, and so do you. “You’re like a cross between the seventeen-year cicadas and the Very Hungry Caterpillar, Tony!”

He’s shaking his head, sitting up in bed, hand going to massage his stump, brows furrowed.

“The suit! You’ve been exiled from it, right? Because it hurts. It hurts to leave your most vulnerable part exposed and unarmored, and the effort it takes to be the old you long enough to code it to account for what’s missing hurts too. It’s been symbolic, all this time, right?”

His left hand is fisted in his lap, and his jaw is tight, but Tony nods.

“You’ve been buried in the ground without it, it’s the only place you’re safe.” You’re probably pushing the metaphor too far, but you love this beautiful, glorious genius, and it’s not your fault you weren’t smart enough to figure this out before. “You had to heal your heart first, in order to have enough physical capital to heal your arm. You had to be willing to give something up for both-- your privacy, your right to avoid being vulnerable around someone else. Literal inches of the precious amount of arm you have left.”

“Breathe, will you? You’re turning purple,” he teases. It’s a deflection, but a gentle one. You can tell he wants you to continue, even if he can’t bring himself to admit it.

“It’s almost time to come up from the ground, Tony-- and honestly? I think if that arm of yours took less time to heal, you might actually have trashed the rest of your suits. You needed the time. And now, you can turn into a fucking IRON BUTTERFLY. You can already make that suit do anything. Fuck actual prosthetics-- as soon as you figure out the best way to pad out your stump, the sky’s the actual--” you break off and tear up.

Tony gets up, comes over, pulls you close. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but what the fuck are you--”

“You haven’t flown. Since you snapped. You love to fly.” You’re fucking inconsolable. Tony’s toxic fury has led you to compartmentalize everything about his life Before, but it’s part of him, and if you’d have just made those connections earlier--

Tony’s got his hand on your face, walking you back to the door of the bedroom, and now he’s kissing you. It’s tender, forgiving, and despite yourself, you cling to him, your guilt slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to grip it.

“Goddamnit, Tony!” you whisper when he shifts his lips to your cheek.

“You called me a butterfly. This is self defense.”

You sniffle defensively. “You’re a beautiful butterfly, Tony. An Iron Monarch.”

“Not yet, I’m not. But you’re going to fucking drag me there, aren’t you?” He sounds pissed, but for one of the first times since you’ve known him, it’s not a toxic anger. It’s the kind of angry you get when you’re loved so much you’re given what you need, not just what you want.

“You’d better fucking believe it,” you say.