Omega Billy is in heat when his dad barges into his room and demands he go find his wayward bitch sister. Billy is in heat and so ready for his date with the beta girl, so ready to take the edge off.
But no, he had to go slog it across town in search of this damned girl he had been given responsibility of. He had to go by parents' houses and shmooze information out of them, some of them scenting his heat and getting all aroused and predatory, but Billy had to keep going cuz he couldn't beat the shit out of every alpha he came into contact with, not today.
Fuck knows he wanted to, wanted to claw his nails through their flesh and watch blood pour out of them. Billy hates alphas. Hates his alpha dad who expects Billy to be the alpha son he deserved, hates the alpha women who tease and paw at him, hates that he's just an object to be used by an alpha dick. Hates it all.
So when he gets to the Byers' house out in the woods, when he finds that bastard Steve Harrington, alpha of alphas, standing in front of him with his baby sister hiding in the house, Billy bares his fangs and fucking snarls.
But Steve doesn't reciprocate in kind, Steve doesn't fight back, Steve gets a single sniff of heat scent and he's moving farther and farther away. "Youre in heat!" He yells, "Go home! What are you doing out here, you're gonna get hurt!"
Billy follows him in the house, closing the distance, wants to rip his teeth through alpha flesh, but Steve wont even close a fist. He stands with his palms open, trying to be all worried and sweet like the manipulative brat he is, and Billy swings.
He catches Steve across the cheek, Steve stumbles backwards and then to the floor, but he still has one hand up towards Billy and he wheezes, "Billy, man, you're in heat," Like Billy didn't know, like his veins weren't on fire, and then, "I have a rut shot. I have a rut shot and you can use it, see if it helps the heat, cause you shouldn't be out of your house, Billy, please,"
And Billy doesn't fucking get it, doesn't know what this alpha dick is talking about, using his rut shot as if Billy hasn't gone through his heat every month for years of his life without any kind of suppressant or medical relief, as if Billy hasn't ground alphas into the ground with his fists for talking about his sweet juices, as if Billy isnt standing over him now with two cracked knuckles and a manic grin on his face. As if Billy wants to go home and sit down and sweat this shit out--
Steve has stood up and puts his fingers on Billy's sweating chest and he says, "Im not gonna fight you like this, Billy, go home," and the next thing Billy knows he's straddling Steve's body as he wails into Steve's face with his claws out, scratches the shit out of the alphas nose and collar bones and stupid dumb naive head.
When Billy wakes up later on the Byers' kitchen floor, he can still feel his heat sizzling through his brain and he knows he's gonna go hunt that shit alpha down and finish what he started, but first he has to roll over and cool his forehead on the hardwood floor and breathe a giant sigh of hatred and frustration and goddamn self-loathing into the floor's cracks.
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Steve drops Tony to run after Bucky. Same ole same ole.
But while Tony recruited Spider-man to assist he didn't dig to found out who he was. Just asked him to be honest if he was atleast 18.
So he doesn't know Peter is Spiderman.
Throw in some omegaverse.
Turns out Steve and Tony were together officially or not.
While in the hospital for his injuries, he finds out he is pregnant.
He tried to reach out to Steve - no answer
So here Tony is 6 months later with his private lamaze class he needs a partner aka an Alpha.
But no worries, the instructor has the PERFECT alpha to help.
Enter Peter Parker who volunteers to be a stand in Alpha for omegas.
Tony is just flabbergasted that this college kid would be doing this. Was he genuinely this good of a person or is he a creepy alpha or villian.
Peter of course tries not to be shocked about this client being Tony Stark but with all the pages of the NDA it's not surprising now.
Motor mouth Peter who explains how yes he loves to volunteer. He was a late bloomer and was for sure thought he would be an omega and took all the classes for it. But when he turned out to be an Alpha.
He spoken of how he was in an accident and so now he shoots blanks. And this is his chance it help fill a void as most omegas don't want to be with an Alpha who can't give them kids.
Tony asking if he was in sort of lab accident as a joke.
Peter brightens up.
" Funny enough I was! But... I .. signed an NDA about it. "
I just can't fucking resist the song "Provider" from Sleep Token, so, fuck it, I have to stucky-ify it now (with omegaverse and daddy kink mixed in, of course). Also, I'm tagging K @howdoyousleep3 because she has to suffer with me for this band. Also, I know this is gonna be her shit so...
Even if Bucky didn't know how his mate gets around this time of the year, and speaking of the time, even if he didn't know the month, the week, the exact fucking pattern Steve's rut cycle follows, and even if he wasn't able to smell it on Steve for himself--that burning-deep scent clouding the electric atmosphere around his big, big body, simmering for the past few days, waiting to boil over--Bucky would know that Steve's coming up on his rut purely based on one thing: he doesn't wake up to the smell of breakfast already cooking.
And that's enough to tip him off.
Steve is nothing if not a provider. He thrives on taking care of people, but especially his mate. Bucky is lucky enough to be his lover and mate and he can confirm, he's never been so fucking spoiled as he is with Steve.
Bucky figured out how deep Steve's alpha need to provide went within the first date. The dripped, sopping wet, from Steve in the way he insisted on picking Bucky up, driving him safely to their destination, opening his door to help him out of the car as if he wasn't the same damn height as the alpha himself, guiding him into the upscale establishment with a baseball-mitt-sized hand on the small of his back and another steading his elbow, pulling his chair out for him, cracking open the wine for them, pouring it, pouring Bucky a glass first (later insisting he have the lion's share of it when there was only enough left for one deep glass), and paying for it all. Bucky would've put up more of a fight--he can take care of himself, thank you very much, he didn't wake up with muscles like this, he sweated and fought and earned them, and he fucking hears about it every day from every fucking knothead he encounters--if not for the immediate crackling, daring energy between them. It was dangerous. Over from the moment it began. There was no way to avoid each other once in orbit; gravity just pulls too hard.
'Cause Steve smelled so fucking good. He looked so good, too, with his jawline-length hair brushed back from his handsome face, putting in enough effort to style it without going all the way to the effort of having it scissored recently. And he was dressed to kill with his classy suit done all the way up his huge chest, save for the last two, casual yet calculated to be just enough of a tease to immediately leave Bucky drooling--or so it felt. That damn suit. Bucky only gets Steve into a suit when he pushes for those provider instincts. Do it for me, alpha. C'mon, Daddy, you know I like to see it, don't'chu? Steve would much rather be in anything else. What a shame. His suits don't even have to be tailored. He's just that good. He sounded so good, that first night, doing everything for Bucky yet hanging on every word with all his careful, almost-too-intense attention.
He did it all, every motion, as if compelled.
Propelled through it with a sure, fierce confidence. If asked to quit, he could clearly dial it back. Steve is a man in control of himself. His instincts would never win over his immense self-discipline. But., in lieu of those signals too cool it down from Bucky--his date for the evening, and foolishly soon to be his mate, unable to help themselves from rushing in--he would continue through it all, eyes blazing, treating each action like a sex act itself.
Each act confidently, smoothly undressed Bucky, unveiling him layer by layer. More and more skin on display. If he were a more traditional omega, well, he would've been wearing more, and he certainly wouldn't've ended up naked, taking Steve into his own bed at the end of their evening together, just a few smoldering hours of knowing each other, eye-fucking across a dim table, trying desperately to have a civilized conversation.
Hands on his body, gripping, holding, squeezing, Steve's determined, single-minded focus turned out not just to be an appetizer. It is a meal. Steve is a provider.
His alpha works as a craftsman, mainly in wood, but is handy at everything. And, sure, that's traditional. Manly. All-alpha. And very arousing in that socialized corner of Bucky's brain that was taught to be meek and submissive to any alpha, but especially those who have big hands and rough calloused and can hunt and fish and breed him full of pups. What. But, too, he cooks, he cleans, he gardens, and he makes.
He makes everything, anything, Bucky could want.
He's delightfully good with his hands, proving it time and time again.
And, impressively but perhaps not surprisingly, even when out of his mind, in the throes of rut, his instincts demand: provide.
He seeks out Bucky's pleasure with a determination that Bucky has never encountered in another lover. Steve--his alpha, his Daddy, his partner--will make him feel good. He will strip him to muscle and bone and rawness. He will make Bucky scream, so wet he can't believe his body is capable of that.
Now, here, Bucky shivers in bed; he's not stretching, thinking about getting ready for his day, he's just waiting, thinking about his mate and all the things he is capable of making his body feel.
God.
The omega lies there, lost in his filthy daydreams and glazed, erotic memories until the rumble of the engine of their (just Steve's originally, before Steve stole Bucky away from the polluted city air to his rural oasis with surprisingly high speed internet for Bucky's job, remote until a big shot case comes in that demands the hour-to-hour-and-a-half commute) truck comes grumbling down the drive, gravel crunching beneath its worn tires. He stays spread and relines lazily, tantalized by the drag of their sun-dried sheets and heavy quilt against his warming skin and hardened nipples with every just-under panting breath.
Bucky waits and waits until just the right moment--
Then, he wanders out into their home in time to catch Steve, hot and flushed around the edges with rut, barreling through their front door. He's got too many canvas shopping bags in hand (naturally doing it all in a single haul) and a backwards old baseball cap slapped over his wildly bed-headed hair, curling in dirty blonde waves around his ears, the ends of his beachy-waves catching the bulk of his thick, trimmed beard. He didn't even have the decency to shower before he left, and the smell of him lures Bucky in a step closer, his lip unconsciously parting with an instinctive desire to smell him. More. Open up. He wants the smell inside him--to fill him, penetrate him, pollute him.
What he always wants with Steve.
Jesus Christ, Bucky takes him in, feasting on him, head to toe.
If he didn't already know his fuckin' Daddy was in rut, he'd know based on how the exact moment he's back in his own home, Steve kicks off his shoes, dumps his wallet and keys, and knocks his hat to the ground by peeling off his worn t-shirt.
He'd know.
Only an alpha in rut can strip so frustratedly and so efficiently, uncaring who sees and who might it hurt--sending anyone near by tumbling back, flat on their ass under influence of the sudden delicious smell, exposed hairy armpits and chest and all, throwing their shirt over their shoulder.
Fuuuck, Steve.
On a mission to provide, Steve doesn't blink once at all his omega's bare skin or at the half-step he falls back, nearly cracking the back of his head against the wall, even with the scent of rut rolling off his farmed-tanned skin, teasing Bucky with the knowledge of how goddamn horny he has to be. Nah. Steve just bends over, now only in sweatpants that slide obscenely low on his hips, revealing that there isn't any underwear under 'em, to pick up his hat, hooking it on Bucky's head as he walks past with a filthy grin. He has the fucking balls, too, to pat him on the head as if rowdying him up. Go get 'em, champ.
"Mornin', darlin'," he drawls, already in the kitchen by the time Bucky blinks.
He's pretty sure he can feel himself getting wet already.
Oh my god.
And that's not even to mention how Steve's voice is either already shot like it gets when he's been groaning and hollering through a few good, dirty rounds of rut-sex (is it possible he fisted himself to orgasm once or twice? without bucky!? did he fuck his fist in the car to take off the edge? did he jerk off in bed, over Bucky's sleeping body, before rolling out and scarring the entire farmer's market with his fucking baseball bat cock half-hard in his sweats? he already smells so good with rut! there's no way he hasn't given in a little bit already... right?) or he hasn't been awake long enough for his throat to catch up. Either way, it makes Bucky's well-muscled body shiver.
Wandering, lost, into the kitchen behind him, just following his nose as his knees threaten to go soft on him, Bucky drools over the thought of Steve providing so fucking hard for him. What's wrong with him every morning this morning!? He's not in heat! It's Steve! This is Steve's fault! Bucky didn't even like being spoiled before Steve! He hated it! What is this fuckin' alpha's problem? Bucky grumbles to himself, trying his hardest to ignore the tell-tale rush and throb of his lust-thickened blood turning south, soon to make his hole all puffy and slick.
By the time Bucky plops himself down in their kitchen and can actually register what his Daddy is doing, buzzing around the space, humming something low under his breath, he realizes that Steve rushed out to get a spread. He must've been up early to get all this, jostling down the more-dirt-than-gravel road in their beat-to-shit pick-up before the sun was up. Their whole kitchen is full of fresh, prized picks from the market. He woulda had to wait in some lines for this shit. Thick-cut bacon. A golden, crispy, fluffy mound of sourdough. Slabs of sausage. Sweet little jars of a variety of handmade jams. Punnets of berries that look too juicy and ripe to be real. A new jar of honey. Expensive and luxuriously meltable, flavorful cheese to go with the multi-colored eggs collected from the coop. Fresh vegetables so green and leafy they could stand on their own, little soldiers, trying to escape the bag Steve's wrangled them into.
Bucky considers, briefly, offering to brew the coffee or wash the eggs their hens so kindly gave them but, nah, he stares down the back of his lover--the big, broad, muscled expanse in front of him like a wall, clawing his eyes down to the tight, little small of his back. He decides he knows better. There ain't no way, smelling like he does, deep as he is, that Steve would let him lift a finger now.
So, Bucky sits and waits, forgetting how stupid he probably looks, nothing on but one of Steve's well-loved baseball caps in favor of watching his alpha's big, strong fingers put in work.
Steve chops and fries and cooks it all up. He even plates Bucky's food for him, pouring him a drink of freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee, he's a provider and an overachiever, not letting him touch it until it's all good and ready. Then--
The real fun begins.
There is no other way to say it than to say it: Steve watches him eat with bedroom eyes.
Dark.
Sizzling.
Highly fucking inappropriate for the breakfast bar.
So, only fair, Bucky eats extra slow. Just because he can. Because he likes the way it riles Steve up, making the alpha shovel down his food without tasting it and pulling him to prowl closer, a little closer, and even closer as Bucky gets near to emptying his plate. Steve is not one to beg impatient, so Bucky knows that his rut is fucking eating at him now.
After he finally fucking swallows the last bite of their extensive, delicious breakfast, Steve lunges bodily at him, hauling him out of his stool by the shoulders so he can feel all of him, colliding then pressing together, warm with sunrise skin. Steve's big brute paws knock his own hat off Bucky's head uncaring where the hell it lands in favor of running his fingers through Bucky's thick, glossy hair and cupping his entire skull in those hands. Steve eases his head back at the same time he bites lushly at Bucky's bottom lip.
God.
Bucky isn't small, he's never been a dainty omega, and he doesn't feel small with Steve. Rather, he feels swallowed up by Steve.
Steve holds all of him.
Steve kisses him and kisses him and somewhere between their gasping breaths and muffled swears, his arms bulge and flex and he's hauling Bucky not just to his feet but onto the goddamn countertop. Only for getting a better grip on him. Shoving his way recklessly between Bucky's thighs, spreading them as wide as possible. Hands hot and heavy on his upper thighs. Grinding unconsciously into the hard counter's edge as Bucky leans his hips forward, wanting it. Wanting it so fucking bad. He unfolds, letting his Daddy devour him.
Devour.
Kissing down his neck with pink, slick lips and lavving at his chest, his collarbones, the veins emboldened on his neck when he throws his head back, tasting him. Biting his nipples until they're red and achingly hard. Sucking hickeys into his stomach, then growling into his hip; digging his teeth in, leaving behind the imprint of his fucking bite. Licking his dick lewdly from base to tip, nosing his balls, and diving down between his legs to drink his slick. It's spilling out of him by now. He made a mess on his kitchen bar stool and he will on the counter too.
Fuck.
Bucky wars between holding himself up and totally giving in to squirm wetly against the now body-temperate solidity of the counter, or thrusting up and fucking defiling his lover's face between his legs. The choice is made for him, in the end. His arms quiver behind his shoulders, leaving him to collapse down to his elbows and forearms. He's especially fucking weak when Steve takes a break from tongue-fucking his leaking hole like he's starving to nibbling and mouthing hungrily at the inside of his thighs. It's not a threat. It's a promise. He will eat him. He is eating him.
"Eat me," Bucky groans, eyes rolling back, "D-ahh! Daddy! Ohfuck--"
His rambling, what he knows he's saying and what's just spilling out of his open mouth unknowingly, are only serving to push Steve to greater lengths. His alpha will provide. He wants to provide and he's succeeding.
Who's your fucking Daddy? Who's making you lose your mind? Who's gonna fuck you so good you forget your own name and anything but this pleasure. Daddy. Alpha. Alpha. Daddy.DaddyAlphaAlphaAlphaalphaaaah--
"AH!" He lets it all go, bubbling over, rambling, professing how good his alpha makes him feel. He's so good. He's too good. He makes him feel so good--gives him everything. "Nnngh, guh, uh, uhh, uh! St-Steve, ohmygod."
They feed into each other, chewing and biting and swallowing and devouring.
It's a feast.
At some point between every stroke of Steve's tongue and lewd flick and dangerous graze of teeth, Bucky's slid down into an actual puddle, melted all over their previously nice kitchen, making a mess of it. Sweat rolls down his arched back--only his shoulders are touching now, he's arched the small of his back too viciously and Steve has taken it upon himself to curl Bucky's trembling legs over his shoulders, lifting his hips greedily to pull his ass closer to his sinful lips, eating him out like he wants to kill him. Slick drips from his puffy, eaten hole and slides erotically between the curves of his ass. He's leaking too much for Steve's beard to soak it all up.
Oh, god.
His fucking alpha.
"Makemefeelsogood," Bucky rushes out, struggling to grab a fistful of his hair. He can't. He just pounds his fist on the countertop and moans through clenched teeth, letting Steve take all his weight. His toes curl against Steve's fever hot muscle. His shoulders. Shit. Bucky can't look down between his thighs at his alpha or he'll spontaneously combust.
Between gutted moans, Bucky chuckles, low and aching, "too good, alpha, Daddy, ohgod, you're too good to me. Too good at this. Know just--unh, ah!--just what I neeeeed."
It's what his fucking alpha, his provider, needs to hear 'cause he's going for the kill all of the sudden. Pressing in deep. Tongue-fucking him. His handsome nose pressing against his perineum, throbbing electrically through his prostate from the outside. Shaking his head from side to side. Eating him out like a bulldog. Jesus. He won't stop. He's stubborn. His beard and his gorgeous head of fucking hair catch all up Bucky's thighs and he's just got to clench. He has to suffocate his alpha, keep him there. Keep him torturing him. Pleasuring him. Going all breathless and silent as he cums too goddamn hard.
Steve makes him cum all over his heaving belly, dripping off the side of his hip onto the counter.
And, because that can't be it, it's not enough for either of them--his rutting alpha has an appetite and Bucky is known for being a little bit of a whore--Steve flips him over, and he goes and does it again.
He licks him and feeds his hungry, swollen, wet hole some of his thick fingers while Bucky pants and squirms and dies. He's, his--his alpha. Daddy.
Daddy's fingers are so big inside him. Daddy's tongue is slick and smart, fucking between two pried-apart fingers, tasting all his sticky, sweet slick, making a meal of him. Stringing him up. Butchering him. Oh god. Again. Making his omega drip and squirt and mess up their perfectly innocent countertops before he's even plunged balls-deep into his yielding, tight body with his rut-heavy cock.
Filthy bastard.
God, he loves rut-stubborn Steve and his inability to take before he's given. It's exhausting. Exhilarating. Perfect.
Fuck.
Steve, again, doesn't give him a minute to recover before he's lugged up, first tossed over his shoulder, and then punished for his crimes when he starts to ferally bite and lick and worship any part of Steve's skin that he can reach. Tasting his rut. His fever. His lust.
Steve lowers him down, his rough, working hands guiding Bucky's thick, strong thigh around his robust waist. It doesn't stop Bucky from being a goddamn terror, though. He simply changes tactics, remaining a dirty fighter, though, and using his mouth.
Kissing and biting his bearded jaw as his alpha carries him back to bed. They've barely been gone for long enough for the sheets to cool. All the better. There's no stopping them now. Steve's rut is far from just coals, it's spread beyond the campfire pit and has begun to tear through the underbrush. It's almost a full-blown forest fire.
Before they can burn their sturdy, heavy wooden bedframe to ashes, though, Steve delays the inevitable by smashing Bucky into the hallway walls hard enough to rattle their picture frames. Again. Again. He does it a few times for good measure--not that he can help himself now, his words reduced from bitten-off swears to feral growls and particularly needy moans--sticking two thick fingers into his leaking hole to make sure he's still open while he's at it. Pfft. As if he's anything other than constantly loose and easy around Steve.
Alpha.
Daddy.
So big, providing him with so much pleasure and, just, so much. So fucking much. Their walls, their picture frames, their furniture, their bedframe, their life--built by Steve's expert hands. Skilled. Honed. If Bucky were capable of thinking, he'd smirk at the double entendre. Wood. Yeah, fuck yeah, Steve was destined to be a master craftsman with wood with that fucking thing between his legs, currently pressed hard up against Bucky.
Bucky should laugh. Knots! Even that. It's like somebody fucking planned that. His big, strong alpha working with wood, skilled at fitting his hardwood into drilled-out holes, navigating sizeable knots and--
Guh.
Another devastating kiss and Bucky shivers so hard his teeth might chatter. He is choked with arousal, sputtering and chanting nonsensically.
"Daddy, Alpha, so good, you, ah, mmmngh, you fuck--you fuck me so good, make me feel so good. You're so, ahhh, so guh-good! Please, just--yes!"
By the time they get to their actual bed, Bucky might've cum again, things are... hazy. There's too much smoke. Burning. Wood. All of that. What the hell, does it really matter? It feels so good. Steve smells good. Steve feels so good and smells better than anything underneath him because, because--
When did Bucky get on top?
How did Bucky get on top?
Most importantly how the hell didn't he notice? It's no fucking easy feat to stuff that cock inside him, especially when he's sitting on it. He's eating his cock up to his bulging knot. Balls deep.
He. is. stuffed.
Gasping, Bucky swears he suddenly tastes his alpha's heavy, thick cock in the back of his throat, gurgling on it. It's so deep. He can't speak for the moment it takes over. He can only quiver, open-mouthed, sitting on it, his own dick twitching weakly, dripping more. Leaking. Crying. Shaking and trembling.
Or, actually--god, his head is an empty mess--he isn't just wildly trembling. Steve is fucking him on his cock. His hips scream under his generous grip. He's not rutting into his omega like he'd use a tight, wet rut-toy. No. He's, as divine as he smells, not that deep into his rut just yet. He's still giving.
Providing.
Spoiling.
Spoiling Bucky.
Bucky can't take it. It just fuckin' turns him on too much.
So, with his lower lip trembling and his eyes glassy, Bucky forces himself to get it fucking together--just a little. Using everything he's got to push at Steve's hands, unclamping them from his bruised waist and instead pinning Steve's thick, powerful forearms to the bed. One arm by either side of his head. Flat to the mattress his big, virile alpha. That's the fucking stuff.
The sound that comes out of his alpha in return is fucking feral. Bucky's entire core tightens around his length. Clenching. Jesus. He could listen to that any day, any time, watching those pretty, white teeth snap and that head arch back, tendons and veins in his neck showing, fighting the urge to control, to rut, to provide, to breed.
Provide takes priority.
Provide what the omega wants.
Give the omega what he wants.
If he wants to ride you like a knotted dildo, fucking let him.
"Gimme this, Daddy," Bucky moans, starting his own jerking, aching rhythm. He's rocky at the start but he won't stay that way, he just needs to get his ass into gear, flexing and rippling around his cock. His knot already bigger. Fatter. God, he's actually gonna die from this. "Gimme," he reiterates, watching him trash his head side to side.
He will.
He will provide.
He will give Bucky anything he asks for.
"That's it," Bucky purrs in reward, seeing his burly arms go limp, surrendering to his omega's needs. Bucky's voice is all gravel and growl, easing off his wrists now that he knows his alpha will stay--trained as well as an attack dog.
With both hands free, he's rocking, grinding, and bouncing in his lap while running his greedy hands down his alpha's furry chest. No longer does his big man control the pace. Nah. It's Bucky's fucking turn. Feral and sharp with his grin, he leans farther back on that goddamn cock. Grinding, bouncing, riding, circling his hips, getting up on his curling toes, using all the strength he has in his shapely thighs and thick ass, panting, moaning, getting filled.
Fingernails scratching through Steve's thick forest of chest hair to get to the hard, hard points of his pretty pink nipples, thumbing them until Steve's hips jackknife off the bed, Bucky barely gets out, "l-lemme give you something, Daddy, oh god, always give me so mmmmgh, much, givemesomuch, alpha. treat me so good. Fuck. Gonnatreatyou, guh-gonna, gonna--"
He trails off into a high-pitched whine he'll deny later. Jesus. You try making any kind of dignified sound with a knot so far up your ass it's deliciously hard to breathe.
Frantically, he rides, pawing at Steve's rounded pecs and smoothing his hands down to his more loosely defined abs, mostly covered with his treasure trail and filled out lately by Bucky's influence. Steve likes to provide, but Bucky still wants a well-fed, well-cared-for alpha. That makes him feral. Strong but caring and cared-for. God, it gets him so wet... clearly.
He is dripping.
His fucked-loose hole just keeps getting looser, wetter, and needier. His hormones are ramping up to meet Steve's. So, he can't help but start making demands, that's, at least, what he'll blame it on if Steve sees fit to tease him later about how much his rut turns him into a knot-hungry slut.
"Gimmie it, alpha," Bucky's omega purr dips into much more of a growl, crumbling down, his teeth finding Steve's neck, "gimmie what I need, god, Jesus fuck, alpha--Daddy, big fuckin' Daddy, gimmie that knot. I need it. Right now. Haveta, hahhh, haveta have it. Gimmie."
Poetry, no, pure pornography in motion, Steve's cock twitches and jerks inside him and with a convulsion that rolls through him in one, long wave, arching his neck before rolling down to arch his back then thrusting his cock deep into him, stuffing him full, he does exactly what Bucky asks.
He always does.
He always gives him what he needs.
"Good," Bucky moans, guttural, feeling it in his gut as he's pumped full, alpha cum, hot and wet and heavy inside him, filling him, breeding him, providing, pr-providing--
Bucky struggles to speak, to think, but he does it, somehow, gritting out, "goodgod, ohgod, good alpha, always so good to me, Daddy, always give me what I need. Suh-! S-ssuch a good provider. Good alpha."
Steve's growl is so deep it vibrates Bucky with his legs spread wide as hell around his thick waist, slick overflowing from the tight, aching stretch of their tie.
His tight little rim and Steve's fat knot.
Fuck.
He's so messily dripping from his hole, down his tight balls, and onto Steve's flat stomach, smothering the hair there and drenching his alpha in his sweeter, briny scent. Sweeter compared to the heady musk of alpha that Bucky would roll around in if he could. Already, dimly, Bucky knows Steve won't want to shower after this. He must be grinning stupidly, thinking about how his big alpha's-alpha will wear the smell of his omega's lust with perverse pride, knowing he brings Bucky more pleasure than he can take.
What if O!Bucky and A!Steve had been fwb or in some kind of situationship before Bucky fell. Being found by Hydra it goes as in canon aside from the fact that Bucky is pregnant. They of course use that opportunity to experiment more because the child has both Super serums within its veins like both parents. This of course makes the child like an ultimate candidate to be the perfect weapon. Later, set in the movie "The winder soldier" Steve finds out Bucky is alive which kinda snowballs into searching for Bucky like in canon, the only additional thing is that he also finds out about the child.
To me, this would be absolutely tragic on all sides. Imagine just one day finding out that your friend/don't know what to label is still alive after all these years and has been horrible tortured and stuff. To make it worse they had your child who has also undergone so many terrible things.
Or being Bucky who's had only his child. His omega instincts are rampant but he can't do anything and he doesn't even remember the sire. Maybe Hydra wouldn't even let him see the child and Bucky has this gaping hole of not having his child with him.
At this point the child would already be an adult or have been in Cryo. It could go into so many directions.
It's all so sad but would make the perfect angst, recovery, family reunited, getting together, growing together, and more.
I would love to read this so if anyone is interested in writing this, please do 😭
I just don't know the characters enough to write it myself and would definitely butcher the characterization.
Sorry if my ideas and thoughts are all over the place. I feel very scatterbrained at the moment.
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anyone know that starker fic where tony takes in omegas but stops then gets a call abt omega peter and comes out retirement to rehab him?? also has alpha steve overwhelming him with his scent in a fight and thats how SHIELD finds peter???
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Captain America - All Media Types, Captain America (Chris Evans Movies)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes & Scott Lang, former James "Bucky" Barnes/Scott Lang, Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson
Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Scott Lang, Cassie Lang, Winifred Barnes, George Barnes (Marvel), Barney Barton, Sam Wilson, Darcy Lewis
Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Bucky Barnes, Alpha Scott Lang, Kid Fic, meet cute, First Dates, Actor Steve Rogers, Bartender Bucky Barnes, Actor Sam Wilson, Single Parent Bucky Barnes, Dating, Sex, Anal Sex, Morning After, Loosely based on the story of how Matt Damon met his wife, Fluff, seriously this is fluffy af
Summary:
Alpha Steve Rogers just wanted a quiet night out—no cameras, no screaming fans, no reminders that he’s Steve Rogers™, Sexiest Man Alive. What he got instead was a mob of drunk admirers, a panic spiral, and a hiding spot behind the bar of a Miami cocktail lounge.
Enter Bucky Barnes: omega, confident, sharp-tongued, devastatingly pretty, and absolutely not interested in celebrity nonsense.
If Steve wants to hide, he’s gotta work—and what starts as a desperate escape turns into the most fun Steve’s had in years. Mixing drinks, swapping banter, and falling harder than he means to for the bartender who sees right through the Hollywood charm.
But when the night winds down and Steve works up the courage to ask Bucky back to the afterparty, he gets a polite smile—and the truth.
Bucky’s not just the man behind the bar. He’s a dad, and he’s already got someone waiting for him at home.
Steve came looking for quiet. He didn’t expect to find something real.
Loosely inspired by the real-life meet-cute of Matt Damon and the bartender who didn’t care who he was.
It's TIME! The @steddiebbang 2025 anon ban has been lifted and we can officially announce our teams! I'm so excited to be working with my artist, @riddle-me-sphinx (riddletalks on Twitter) and beta, passthesteddie (same username on Twitter & AO3!) for this fic!
