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rome was a sight to behold. sweaty, a little fucked up, his bare chest was heaving, eyes locked on mok like a starved alpha who had forgotten how to blink. it was almost offensive how hot he was. exactly the man mok used to have wet dreams about back when they were just a bodyguard and a mafia boss with no labels. no rings. definitely not husbands.
rome’s usual puppy-eyed softness was gone, replaced with heavy lids and that slight tension between his brows that always made mok feel smug. if mok said the thought of rome breeding him didn’t make his knees weak, he’d be lying. he didn’t look like it—mok was all sharp edges, calm voice, professional to the bone but in the bedroom? yeah. this was where he shined. power bottom, through and through.
and yes, after almost two years of marriage, they had finally decided to try. one child. one. because rome was already enough trouble.
forcing himself to snap out of it, mok reached for the harness strapped over his shoulder. he wasn’t wearing anything else—just the harness from his uniform because rome had asked him to. and now that same rome was openly eyeing his chest, which only made the heat creep up his skin. feeling suddenly exposed, mok’s fingers moved to the buckle anyway. he had barely loosened it when a hand closed around his wrist, stopping him.“keep it on,” rome said, voice low and rough, like the words had slipped out before he could think better of it.
mok paused, eyebrow lifting slightly, more amused than surprised.
rome didn’t give him time to comment. his hands slid to mok’s hips, guiding him backward until mok’s legs bumped into the mattress. “you look so hot like this,” rome added, palms smoothing over mok’s ass with half admiration, half surrender, all very obvious.
in an instant, mok was forced back onto the bed. rome handled him like it took no effort at all, sending him flat against the mattress. the sound that slipped from mok was small and helpless before he could stop it—a whimper. his body betrayed him immediately, nerves sparking at the reminder of how easily his husband could move him, control him.
anticipation crawled hot and restless through his chest. the mattress dipped behind him, weight settling close, and then rome leaned in and closed his mouth around one of mok’s nipples. the sensation hit hard and fast. mok gasped and twisted, grabbing rome’s hair with both hands, fingers fisting tight like he needed the anchor.
slick was already there, too much of it, left behind from earlier. from rome’s mouth, his tongue, the way he had worked mok apart until thought stopped making sense back in his office. mok had caught him off guard then, standing there naked except for the harness, offering himself without a word, daring rome to act.
now rome groaned against his skin and pulled back just enough to look at him, satisfaction dark in his eyes when he saw how mok was already unraveling again. mok’s breath hitched, uneven and weak, like he hadn’t already been undone on rome’s tongue not long ago.
mok wanted this in a way that made his chest ache. it felt different. everything did. sex with his husband carried weight, history, intention. his husband. the word echoed loud in his head. the man who wanted to put a baby inside him. who wanted him full.
rome’s hands moved over his chest, rougher now, thumbs circling, fingers kneading. “mine,” he said, low and final, before pressing a kiss there and flipping mok onto his stomach.
cool air kissed mok’s skin, raising goosebumps that made him arch without thinking. he was already on his hands and knees when rome groaned at the sight of his omega, so open, so instinctively submissive.
rome slapped the head of his cock against mok’s hole, still tight, still stubborn despite everything done to it earlier. rome laughed softly, voice rough. “how are you still so tight?,” he asked. “how do you expect me to fit?”
mok shuddered. he always took him. he always had.
“shut up and fuck me,” mok said, voice breaking into a needy mewl as he turned his face into the pillow. he reached back, spreading himself open, hands shaking. “i’m already so wet,” he panted. “you can just slide inside.” slick trickled down, cooling as it reached his balls, making him gasp. “please.” he craned his neck, desperate to look back at him.
rome braced a hand beside on the omega's head, knees locking him in place as he hovered close, dominant, unyielding. he dragged his length slowly along mok’s crack, teasing, until mok made a broken sound. “that desperate?” rome asked. “you want to be knotted that bad?”
mok licked his lips, eyes dark, breath uneven. he arched deeper, shameless. “you want to knot me,” he corrected.
rome answered by letting just the tip catch at his rim.
mok sucked in a sharp breath, body jolting.
“fuck,” rome groaned as he pushed in all at once, no hesitation, sinking deep. his head dropped forward, brows pulled tight as he watched mok take him—heat clamping down greedily, tight and insistent, trying to pull him in even as it struggled around the stretch.
mok cried out, fingers digging into his own skin. the burn sang through him, overwhelming and perfect. “so good,” he breathed, wrecked. when rome finally settled fully inside, mok’s mouth fell open around a moan that shook. he bit his swollen lip and twisted to look back. “please,” he whispered. “move.”
rome’s hips twitched against him.
“leave me loose,” mok added, soft and filthy. “like you always do.”
then, quieter. dangerous. “alpha”
rome swore, grip snapping tight around mok’s hips. “fuck—don’t,” he growled. “don’t say that.” his breath came rough. “say it again and we won’t leave this room for a week.” he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to snap his control. he remembered when their cycles had synced after mating, how they’d disappeared for days while everyone worried. he wanted mok ready before he lost himself completely.
“want to get pregnant,” mok gasped, lifting himself halfway off rome’s cock before pushing back down, eyes locked on his husband. the sound of skin slapping filled the room. rome had always been like this—completely ruined for him. people didn’t see it, but mok owned him.
rome straightened, hands firm on mok’s hips so he could watch him take it again. “you were made to take me,” he said, voice wrecked. slick sounds filled the air, obscene and wet. “fuck.”
“harder,” mok begged, moving with him. he reached back blindly, caught rome’s wrist, pulled. when rome pressed fully against him, chest to back, arms caging him down, mok broke into breathless, fractured sounds, body melting under the weight.
rome’s thrusts turned punishing, relentless. hips snapping hard, over and over. his arms burned, sweat slicking his chest, jaw clenched as his groans tangled with the sounds mok made beneath him.
rome lowered his mouth to mok’s ear. “you’re gonna look beautiful pregnant,” he said, angling just right. mok sobbed, fingers clawing at the sheets. he dragged rome down into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, moaning straight into his mouth.
“everyone’s gonna know,” rome murmured between kisses. “how many times you let me come inside you.”
“yes,” mok whimpered, pushing back as much as he could. when rome hit that spot again, mok cried out, voice breaking. “don’t stop. don’t stop.”
“i love you,” rome gasped, control slipping. “you’re gonna make me lose it.”
“deeper,” mok begged, clenching around him on purpose.
the pressure inside him snapped without warning. mok screamed, burying his face into his arm, body shaking as pleasure tore through him. “please,” he sobbed. “come inside me.”
rome did. he came hard, knotted deep.
and then again.
and again.
every other day, they did it. sometimes more, sometimes less, but the rhythm stayed the same. it happened on the couch, where rome watched mok ride him, bouncing up and down on his cock while rome lay back, smirking, groaning, hands firm on mok’s hips as he admired the view like it was his own personal reward. mok loved that part—the way rome looked at him like he was something sacred and obscene all at once.
sometimes it happened by the bathtub. the sex itself wasn’t awkward, but the logistics were. cramped angles, slippery surfaces, knees pressed where they shouldn’t be. still, rome always made it work, adjusting, lifting, holding mok steady like it was nothing. mok trusted him completely there, even when his back ached and the edge of the tub dug into his skin.
other times, it was the kitchen counter. mok usually hated that one. the counter had to be clean. spotless. but desire overrode habit more often than not, and when he was horny— which was most of the time lately—he stopped caring. rome never complained.
breeding, trying to make a baby, never felt like work. not to rome. it felt like heaven. like purpose. like everything aligning just right.
mok used to deprive him of sex before, used it as leverage, as control. now it was the opposite. now mok was insatiable. a sex god, really. he didn’t always initiate outright, but he didn’t need to. the glances, the touches, the way he’d bend just a little too close, say something just soft enough to sound innocent—rome always snapped. and mok always smiled after, satisfied, pleased with himself.
because he’d won.
then, things started changing.
he hadn’t realized it at first but he just noticed. mok smelled different, sweeter, his brown sugar was warmer and had a mixed of lemon that made rome pause, inhale without thinking. it clung to his sandalwood scent, lingering in his hair, the sheets, the air around him. and then came the moods. small irritations set mok off. he’d snap at trivial things, then retreat into silence. he never lashed out. he folded inward, carried everything alone, and rome felt helpless every time.
rome noticed the quiet more than anything else. how mok stopped filling the penthouse with his usual presence. how conversations trailed off mid-sentence, leaving spaces that felt too big. it pressed on him, a weight he couldn’t ignore, until one afternoon, alone and uneasy, he had called a professional. quietly. asking for an opinion, trying not to let hope sound in his voice.
“could it be something serious?” he asked.
the answer was simple.
“it could be pregnancy,” the midwife said. “might be worth checking.”
rome laughed before he could stop himself. not because it was funny, but because it felt impossible, unreal—the word buzzing bright and dizzying through his chest. he drove home gripping the wheel, rehearsing how he’d tell mok, imagining his face—the soft incredulity, the laugh, the smile.
but the mansion was too quiet when he arrived.
mok was in the bathroom, barefoot on the cold marble, shoulders curled forward as if trying to disappear. his hand shook around a small white stick. his eyes were red, wet with tears that slid silently down his cheeks. rome’s chest tightened.
rome’s voice was quiet but insistent as he stepped closer. “mok… hey, look at me. what’s going on?”
mok hugged himself tightly, lips trembling. he wouldn’t meet rome’s eyes at first. when he finally did, his gaze was wet, fragile in a way rome had almost never seen.
“rome…” he whispered, voice breaking. “i… i don’t know how to feel.”
rome’s chest tightened. seeing mok like this was like watching the world tilt. he closed the distance slowly, his hand hovering near mok’s shoulder, ready to hold him, ready to protect him. “you can tell me. i’m right here.”
mok’s hands shook as he lifted the test. rome’s breath caught. he stared at it, then at mok, and for a second, disbelief and awe hit him all at once.
rome let out a shaky laugh. “mok… we… we're parents?” his voice was full of wonder.
but mok shook his head, tears spilling over. “i know,” he said quickly, “i know i should be happy… and i am. i really am… i just feel scared.”
rome’s heart clenched. mok rarely cried. seeing him break like this made rome feel something raw and protective rise up. “scared of what?” he asked gently, carefully, letting mok feel safe.
mok’s gaze drifted to the counter, cluttered with notes, charts, and pamphlets about all the changes coming his way. his voice trembled as he spoke, small and uncertain. “everything,” he said. “my body… it’s going to change so much. my belly… it’s going to get bigger, with marks… my toes will get bigger too… and i don’t know if i can handle it. i don’t know if i’ll still feel… like me. or if you'll look at me the same.”
rome reached for him and brushed a strand of hair from his face. “mok, look at me. you are still you. every part of you. i promise.”
rome’s chest ached. seeing his omega doubt himself made a low, protective growl rise from deep in him. he cupped mok’s face in his hands, holding him steady.
“mok,” he said softly, voice tight with something raw, “i look at you like you hung the moon. you are mine. being pregnant… it’s amazing. your bump? it keeps my hands full, and you’re going to get tired because i won’t stop wrapping my arms around it. if your toes swell, i’ll carry you. if you feel heavy, i’ll take the weight. i love every part of you, and every change that comes with this… i’ll love that too.”
mok’s lip quivered, body trembling, and rome could feel every second of it like it burned through him.
he sank to his knees instinctively, hands pressing gently on mok’s thighs. “i would love you swollen, exhausted, moody, crying… every version of you. and i will protect every version of you. always.”
he pressed his forehead softly to mok’s stomach, letting the warmth settle between them. “this doesn’t scare me.”
mok’s breath hitched. “it doesn’t?”
rome’s hands tightened slightly, thumbs brushing away the stray tears on mok’s cheeks. “it doesn’t. the only thing that scares me is imagining you facing this without me.”
then mok broke, letting sobs shake his chest. rome wrapped him close, holding him steady, murmuring into his hair, letting him feel safe, letting him feel loved.
“we’ll go at your pace,” rome whispered, “we’ll deal with what scares you and keep what helps. i will be there for every appointment. i'll buy you those ointment for your belly.. i'll do everything to make you feel you,”
mok clutched his shirt. “you promise?”
rome pressed a kiss to his temple. “i promise. i married you. i will always choose you.”
he rested a hand on mok’s stomach. “and our baby,” he said, voice full of awe, “our little one who already smells just like a lemon… they’re the luckiest. and me? i’m already their papa. i’ll be the best papa i can possibly be.”
mok finally nodded, leaning into him.
rome held him close, arms wrapped tight, completely devoted. he would move heaven and earth for his omega and their little one. nothing could ever change that. and since the baby smelled like a fresh lemon, they both started calling their tiny human “little lemon,” smiling every time they said it.
the next few days were a whirlwind. rome insisted on flying in the best doctor from the states—someone with credentials so long even mok struggled to remember half of them. he didn’t argue. rome never settled for less, and his parents had reinforced that instinct. mok had tried to tell him it was fine to just see a hospital doctor nearby, but rome’s jaw had set, his hand tight around mok’s, and suddenly hundreds of thousands of baht had vanished on plane tickets, hotel rooms, and consultation fees. mok had just watched, blinking, wondering if he should be impressed or horrified.
they were in the pristine, high-ceilinged consultation room when rome leaned forward, eyes sharp and bright. before the doctor could even greet them properly, rome asked, “can we still have sex?”
mok’s head snapped toward him, mouth half-open. the doctor froze, eyebrows rising in polite surprise. mok internally groaned, wishing the ceiling could open and swallow rome whole.
rome didn’t even flinch. “i mean… obviously, safely, at the right time, with support, right? but i want to know what’s recommended.”
the doctor chuckled softly, clearly used to high-powered clients. “well, you can be intimate, but we should avoid pressure on the abdomen in the first trimester. side positions, support pillows, nothing strenuous. mr mok, you should be careful with lifting.”
rome nodded solemnly. “pillows for support. no lifting.”
mok pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, “he really had to ask that first.” he watched rome pull out a small notebook, flipping pages like he was about to plan a military operation.
“what about food?” rome continued, ignoring mok entirely. “the best meals, vitamins, supplements. i want it delivered. weekly. daily if needed. i’ll coordinate with our chef. nothing missing.”
the doctor smiled patiently, jotting it down. “we’ll focus on iron, calcium, folic acid, balanced protein, hydration. mr mok, you’ll need to monitor intake, and yes, it’s fine to work with your nutritionist for detailed meal plans.”
rome’s gaze flicked to mok. “you hear that, baby? i will make sure you never lack anything.”
mok muttered under his breath, “i… i can’t believe i married you.”
rome didn’t hear him. “medications? anything prescribed, recommended, or to avoid. i want side effects, interactions, everything documented. weekly updates. our assistant can coordinate.”
mok groaned softly, resting his head back against the chair. he felt simultaneously helpless and in awe. rome was terrifyingly in love with him.
the doctor leaned back, chuckling. “you are a very thorough husband. i’ve seen this before, but rarely at this level.”
rome’s eyes flicked to mok, who was biting back a laugh. “he’s the best. he deserves only the best,” rome said, voice low and possessive, and mok felt warmth crawl through him despite his frustration.
rome continued, unbothered. “sleep, rest, exercise, mood… anything to help development or reduce stress. write it all down. and schedule us some classes,”
mok whispered to himself, “he will literally plan our lives down to the last heartbeat.”
rome glanced at him, expression unreadable but faintly amused. “i will plan everything so you don’t have to worry. you just… exist, love. i’ll take care of the rest.”
mok’s stomach fluttered. he leaned back and sighed. “i’m sorry about him,” he muttered to the doctor.
rome grinned faintly, tugging mok’s hand into his lap. “this is only the beginning. every doctor visit from now on will be like this.”
mok groaned again but couldn’t stop a small laugh. “is this normal?” he asked the doctor, ignoring rome’s frown.
the doctor chuckled, clearly entertained. “it is normal. he will hover more, probably get clingier twice as often. it’s an alpha instinct—he can smell the baby’s scent mixed with yours. it’s going to be more intense for mr arseni because it’s your first baby. and… well, because he is… um…” the doctor hesitated, and mok waited.
“because he is,” the doctor finally said, “mr arseni.”
mok rolled his eyes and laughed quietly, leaning into rome’s side. rome tightened his hand around mok’s, smirk tugging at his lips, entirely unfazed.
you’d think flying in the world’s most expensive doctor was the peak of rome’s protectiveness. you’d be wrong. security in the mansion doubled overnight. every sharp corner was padded, every hallway monitored, cctvs installed everywhere—including the bathroom.
rome’s reasoning was simple.
“what if you slip?”
mok stared at him. actually stared. “rome… you literally just carpeted all the floors.”
rome didn’t even hesitate. “someone could spill water.”
“rome.” mok’s voice dropped into that tone—the one that always stopped him cold. “seriously. enough.”
rome deflated like he’d just watched a fortune disappear. “fine,” he muttered, lifting a hand for his assistant to deal with it.
mok sighed and leaned in, pressing a kiss to rome’s cheek. rome froze on instinct, then softened immediately, like his body had been waiting for it. his eyes warmed, his mouth curving in that familiar way mok had learned to recognize long ago.
“thank you,” mok said quietly. “for everything. but you know i can take care of myself, right? i protected your brother for years. i protected you too. all of this…” he glanced around the mansion, padded corners and all, “it’s not really necessary.”
rome shook his head, voice low, urgent, full of unshakable devotion. “my alpha doesn’t care if you know karate, judo, or could shoot someone blindfolded. my alpha doesn’t care about skills, or training, or experience. all he cares about is you.”
mok blinked, caught off guard by how bare they sounded coming from him.
rome stepped closer, his hand brushing along mok’s cheek, gentler now but no less certain. “i don’t protect you because you’re weak,” he said. “i protect you because i want to. because i always will. because the thought of anything hurting you doesn’t sit right with me.”
mok let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “you’re really something else,” he murmured, tired and fond all at once. the corner of his mouth lifted despite himself.
rome’s fingers slipped into his, tightening just slightly. “you married me though,” he said, a quiet tease in his voice.
rome’s parents arrived two weeks later, right in the middle of rome and mok painting little lemons room.
they were using the best paint money could buy, imported, non‑toxic, completely scentless, nothing that could even remotely harm his pregnant husband. you’d think being a mafia heir came with endless responsibilities, and it did. but when rome had suggested hiring professionals to paint the nursery, mok had pouted so hard it bordered on emotional warfare.
he wanted them to do it together.
rome had lasted all of five seconds before canceling the painters and telling his assistant to handle literally everything else instead.
so there they were, paint rollers in hand, when rome’s parents walked in carrying baskets of fruit—fresh, carefully washed, and arranged like they were presenting an offering. they were visibly delighted, cooing over the space, pointing at the walls, suggesting soft colors and layouts, filtering every idea through rome like he was some kind of intermediary instead of their own son.
mok was quickly ushered into a chair.
“sit down, darling,” rome’s mother insisted gently. “you must be tired.”
mok tried to argue. it didn’t work. they adored him far too much.
rome glanced over, watching mok paint even while seated, brush moving with quiet focus. “how about a break, baby?” he asked.
mok shook his head. “you have work tomorrow,” he reasoned. “we should finish this earlier.”
rome’s father, who had been silently observing the scene, frowned slightly.
then, without another word, he rolled up the sleeves of his crisp dress shirt.
“I can help paint,” he said.
everyone froze.
he was still wearing his necktie. immaculate. expensive. completely out of place.
his wife burst into laughter. “with those clothes?”
he looked genuinely confused. “what about them, honey?”
rome stared at him for a second, then handed him a paint roller. “well,” rome said slowly, “more hands, i suppose.”
he narrowed his eyes at his father. “but if it turns ugly, dad, i swear—”
“rome,” mok whined immediately, eyes wide.
and just like that, the room filled with laughter.
minutes later, rome’s mother joined in too, abandoning dignity without hesitation. lavender paint slowly covered the walls, uneven in places, imperfect, but so beautiful.
rome watched them all for a moment, chest tight with something he didn’t bother naming.
tomorrow, he’d have someone come in to paint daisies along the walls because daisies meant devotion.
and it was exactly what he had felt, and kept feeling, for the omega in front of him...
year after year, without pause.
well, it had been two months and everything was… mostly fine. rome had been busy with meetings and deals he kept postponing because mok wanted him around all the time. and he wanted it too, desperately, but it left him restless, conflicted.
now mok was helping him with his tie, silent, giving nothing away. rome could smell it. something was off.
“there,” mok finally said, patting rome’s chest.
rome frowned and pointed at his lips.
“kiss?” he asked, soft, almost pleading, like always.
mok leaned in and gave a quick peck, but rome froze. his scent was tense. without a word, he wrapped his arms around mok, trapping him just as mok tried to pull back.
“kiss me properly,” rome whined, tilting mok’s chin up. “what’s gotten you so upset, my love?”
“i’m not upset,” mok said, voice small, looking away. “who said i’m upset?”
rome tilted his head, scanning mok’s face. “you didn’t eat properly this morning. you wouldn’t give me a real kiss. you wouldn’t let me shower with you. something’s off and i need to know.”
mok sighed, staring at the floor.
a knock interrupted them. “sir, the car is ready. the meeting’s been moved earlier,” his assistant announced.
“go,” mok said softly, trying to wiggle free.
rome shook his head. “i’m not leaving until i know what’s going on. if you think i’m going to leave you here to overthink, you’re wrong. the meeting can wait.”
mok’s chest tightened, tears pricking. “i hate that you have to go and i’m left alone,” he admitted, voice cracking.
rome’s eyes widened. he pulled mok against his chest, holding him tight. “baby… they’re all alphas there. some of them smell like smoke… you just can’t go. is this why you’ve been upset?”
mok shook his head. “i don’t understand what i’m feeling. it’s okay that you have to go, i know… but i can’t help being upset. i hate that i’m upset for missing you, but i also feel… too much. i’m being too much while you already have so much on your plate and i—”
rome pulled back and lifted mok carefully. “rome!” mok squeaked, but rome didn’t hear him. he carried him to the bed, laying him down gently and pulling the covers over him.
“my baby’s tired,” rome murmured, brushing mok’s hair back. “saying nonsense. who said you’re too much? because i’ll punish them.”
mok whined softly.
“who?” rome asked, leaning down, pressing soft kisses to his forehead and cheeks.
“me,” mok breathed, finally letting the tears fall.
rome pressed his lips to mok’s properly this time, holding him close. “i’ll punish you tonight,” he whispered. “but for now… let all those feelings out. you’re not overbearing. not even a little. i love everything about you. and this,” he pressed a hand to mok’s belly, “this little one? you are perfect together. and i will always be here. you don’t have to hide a thing from me.”
mok sniffled, relaxing against rome’s chest. “i just don’t want to be a burden,” he whispered.
“you’ll never be a burden,” rome said softly, brushing a gentle kiss across mok’s temple. “you’re my omega. my family. my everything. now rest. i’ve got you. i’m not going anywhere.”
mok exhaled, finally letting himself melt into rome’s warmth. “okay,” he whispered.
rome smiled, pressing one last kiss to mok’s lips and his belly. “that’s my baby,” he said softly. “sleep now. i’ll be right here. always.”
mok sniffled, still curled against him. “but your meeting…”
rome chuckled softly, “the meeting can wait. you think i’d rather be across a boardroom table while my omega’s crying because he feels alone? no. i’ll handle the meeting later. right now, you’re my priority.”
“rome…” mok’s voice was tiny, conflicted. “i don’t want you to miss work… i know it’s important.”
rome shook his head, tightening his hold. “my love, nothing is more important than you right now. you and our baby. i’ll make calls from here if i have to, move things around, reschedule. the world can wait. you don’t have to feel guilty for needing me. it’s my job to care for you.”
mok’s chest tightened, part relief, part guilt. “you always make it sound so easy…”
“because it is,” rome said, voice soft, brushing his thumb over mok’s hand. “see? i’m still doing my job… the most important one.”
mok managed a small laugh through his tears. “you really are impossible.”
rome grinned against his temple. “i know. but you love me for it, don’t you?”
mok just shook his head, letting himself finally rest, safe in the arms of his hovering alpha.
and night fell. it wasn’t a punishment. mok had decided he would take control tonight. rome was cuffed to the headboard, chest rising fast, eyes dark and needy, lips parted in that way that always made mok’s pulse race.
mok straddled him, tiny belly bump pressing against rome’s stomach, hips grinding down slowly, letting the slick heat between them coat rome’s length. “this is because you’re such a good alpha to me,” mok whispered, leaning down, lips brushing rome’s jaw, teeth grazing lightly. “you deserve me… every bit of me.”
rome’s hands fumbled uselessly at the cuffs, tugging, desperate. “fuck… baby… i’m so lucky…” his voice rough and ragged, trembling with want.
mok smirked, rocking harder, slow and deliberate, feeling the wet slick of himself gliding along rome. “i’m the lucky one,” he murmured, pressing their foreheads together, lips brushing rome’s ear.
rome arched beneath him, chest heaving, hips twitching uncontrollably as mok sank down fully, bump pressing deep against rome’s stomach, rocking, sliding, taking him in, “god… mok… don’t… stop…”
mok groaned low, leaning down to press their mouths together, teeth and tongue clashing, whispering filthy little praises against rome’s lips. “so big… feel how wet you got me?…” he moved faster, hips snapping down, loving the helpless whimpers, the way rome’s body strained against the cuffs, exposed and utterly his. the room sounded filthy, moans and slick, everything messy and wanting.
rome shuddered, lips parting, voice hoarse. “shit… you want to get knocked up again, don’t you…”
“inside… inside, come… knot me,” mok hissed, bouncing on his alpha's cock like a pro, letting the slick flow between them.
mok leaned back slightly, hands gripping rome’s forearms above the cuffs, holding himself steady, eyes locked on rome’s as he whispered, possessive, “you're mine, alpha…”
rome trembled under him, knot pressing tight after mok had lost his mind in pleasure and bounced on his cock faster that he came all over rome's chest.
and they didn’t stop. he rolled onto his side, pulling mok close, spooning him so the tiny bump wouldn’t get hurt. hips still grinding, knot buried, slick coating them both. he whispered dirty praises into mok’s ear, teeth grazing, hands holding him close. every shiver, every gasp, every slick slide drove them wild, rome careful but too horny to stop, lost in the need to have his omega
mok had food cravings. weird ones. like really weird. at first, they argued about it. peanut butter dipped in pickles? rome had stared at him like he was losing his mind. “baby what is this?” he asked, brows pinched, tone dangerously calm.
“i don’t know, i just… want it,” mok mumbled, arms crossed, sulking like the omega he was.
rome had practically stormed into the doctor’s office with mok trailing behind, holding the jar like it was a newborn. “doctor, what nonsense is this? peanut butter on pickles? how is that normal? he’s supposed to be eating real food, not… jar juice!”
the doctor just shrugged, hiding a smile behind his clipboard. “it’s normal. pregnancy cravings can be… creative. some omegas want the strangest combinations. it’s harmless.”
rome had blinked at him, incredulous. “harmless? you’re telling me i just… let him drink this pickle peanut butter… juice? are you insane?”
mok had glared at him the entire time, lips pursed, arms crossed tighter, and rome had lost the battle. he had sighed and muttered, “fine. fine, whatever. if you sulk, you win.”
fast forward a few days, mok had left their room in the morning, barefoot and slightly grumpy, heading towards the kitchen. the sight that greeted him made him pause and tilt his head. the entire counter—literally the entire fucking counter—was lined with jars. jars of pickles. and on each jar, in fancy, almost villainous calligraphy: for little lemon.
and then… rome’s face. a smug, painted-on rome face smiling from every jar.
“what the hell…” mok muttered, stepping closer, squinting.
rome had appeared behind him, arms crossed, smirking like a proud parent. “i… sponsored them,” he said, voice full of smugness. “thought you’d like it, baby. all the peanut butter pickles you could ever want. fresh batch, labeled for our little lemon.”
mok’s jaw dropped. “you are insane,” he whispered, looking at the jars like they were a threat.
rome shrugged. “i’m a good alpha, i spoil my omega. isn’t that what you wanted?”
mok opened one jar cautiously, sniffed it… and immediately, his face contorted. he gagged and almost vomited. right there. on the floor.
mok groaned, wiping his mouth, cheeks pink. “i’m sorry… the baby changed their mind…”
rome crouched down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “are you okay? do you need the doctor?,” he asked, giving mok a gentle squeeze.
mok shook his head, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “you had to do all this and the baby just—”
rome smiled, shaking his head. “it's okay. little one gets what they want though. but maybe next time… something healthy?”
mok snorted, resting his head against rome’s shoulder. "tell that to your little lemon,"