The Ties That Bind от Odsbodkins
Summary: In the eyes of God, Steve Rogers was dead. He was still breathing, still walking around, but he was dead.
This fic is my attempt at a functioning A/B/O universe, since most stories with this premise leave me wondering how the society could have developed to modernity with all the issues raised by heats/bonding/male pregnancy. Steve Rogers is learning to cope without his bond-mate in the 21st century, and deal with the new threats the century throws at him. For the Steve/Bucky Big Bang.
Notes: Some of the quotes in this are attributed to real authors, but are imaginations of what they'd write in an A/B/O universe, rather than anything they've written in ours.
The term 'assignation' is used to refer to someone's A/B/O status.
(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)

Стив на самом деле омега, которому пришлось притворится альфой, потому что КА не может быть омегой.
Он с Наташей уезжает в Европу, чтобы искать Баки, но он сам их находит.
Bucky had been holding on to the bars that covered the outside of the window, far too nonchalantly for someone balanced so precariously over a twenty foot drop. “You doing okay, Stevie?”
Steve had tried for nonchalant as well. “Fine, just kinda bored.”
Bucky had chuckled and reached through the bars to take Steve’s hand. He’d pulled Steve’s arm through them, then licked a stripe across the scent gland at Steve’s wrist. It was so sensitive that he’d had to bite down on his other hand to stop himself from making any noise. He’d never even kissed anyone, let alone shared his scent with them. Bucky had said, “I’ll look after you,” and then he’d mouthed and sucked at his wrist until Steve came, pressed against the bars of the window, trying to get as close to Bucky as possible. Bucky had kissed his hand like the hero in every movie they saw, said, “G’night,” and climbed back down the wall again.
Falsworth had said, “We haven’t heard our illustrious captain and husband’s plans yet.”
He’d looked up, and then at Bucky, who’d smiled at him and replied, “A proper house, with a porch and a garden. With our own bathroom, not shared with all the assholes on our floor. White picket fence and kids playing in the garden.”
Steve’s heart had bloomed, because even though they’d not talked about it, that was exactly what he wanted. “Sounds good to me.”
On the fourth day after their heat, Bucky started taking his suppressants again. Steve’s scent was so far gone that he reckoned anyone could only pick up that he wasn’t suppressed if they were standing close enough to touch him. As they cleaned their teeth that morning, Bucky popped one of the pills from Steve’s pack and threw it down the toilet, then looked at him and said, “Eight, right?”
Steve nodded and Bucky threw away another seven pills. That was as close as they got to talking about it. For them, that, at least, was normal.
Steve only complained when he woke up with a sore head because he’d ended up sleeping on top of the gun under the pillow.
“Don’t move over so much in your sleep, then. It’s not like I want you to sleep on it. Shifting your lunkhead off it takes valuable seconds when I could be shooting someone.”
“I’m sorry I don’t sleep in a way your armory approves of.”
“Apology accepted.” Bucky was smiling, and had put the gun on the nightstand. Steve leaned in and kissed him lazily. “Your head ain’t that sore, then.”