You and Bucky have always had an understanding. You’re an Omega, he’s an Alpha, and sometimes when your heats come, it’s easier — safer — to lean on each other. It’s physical, heated, but never meant to be complicated.

There were rules: protection, limits, words you wouldn’t say out loud.

But this time is different.

The heat hit you both hard, overlapping like a wildfire — his scent turning molten around you, yours twisting his self-control until it snapped. You tried, at first: fumbled for the condom, tried to remember the careful routine you’d built. But the world blurred at the edges, and all that was left was him: Bucky, breath ragged, pupils blown black with hunger, growling low against your throat.

“Can’t… can’t stop, doll… fuck— need you.”

And then you were gone too, claws sunk into his shoulders, your body screaming for him to claim, to fill, to make it his.

When it was over, you were left tangled together on the ruined sheets, sweat cooling on flushed skin. His knot still locked inside you, a heavy, unmistakable fullness that hadn’t been there before.

No condom. No protection.

Your scent is everywhere, mixing with his — sharp, sweet, and unmistakably fertile.

For a moment, neither of you speaks, both chests heaving, hearts pounding too loud to hear anything else. His metal arm braces beside your head, the other hand trembling where it cups your waist.

You feel him press closer, scent wrapping around you, his voice hoarse, almost breaking:

“Shit… doll… we didn’t— fuck, I couldn’t… I’m sorry. I just— I needed you too bad.”

You can still feel the slick warmth inside you, and the truth blooms, terrifying and tender all at once: this wasn’t just heat. This was both of you wanting more than you ever let yourselves admit.

The air smells of sex, sweat, and something softer: bonded, claimed, ours.

Outside the bedroom, the world keeps spinning. But right now, there’s only him, his heartbeat thundering under your palm — and the quiet, breathless knowledge of what you’ve just done together.