To the rest of the world (meaning Edd and Matt), the relationship between Tord (the Alpha) and Tom (the Omega) was an absolute medical mystery. They had been together for a very long time, but if anyone saw them hanging out in the living room, they’d swear the two were about to murder each other. They traded insults, pulled harsh pranks, Tord mocked Tom’s love for Smirnoff, and Tom threatened to smash Susan (his bass) over Tord's head at least twice a day.
Yet, behind closed doors, in their own twisted, rough, and highly competitive way, they loved each other. They were boyfriends, best friends, and mortal enemies all at the same time.
Everything shifted a couple of months ago. Tom went into heat unexpectedly, and it hit him like a freight train. The suppressants failed completely, and pure instinct took over. Since Tord was his alpha, he didn't hesitate to "help" him out—though, of course, even between the sheets, they kept bickering and complaining until the hormones completely took over.
In the heat of the moment, both of them completely forgot about protection or tracking fertile days. It was an intense, chaotic week full of scent-marking and biting. Once the heat ended, they went right back to their usual routine: Tord reading his hentai mags and Tom ignoring him from the opposite couch.
However, the past few weeks have been absolute hell for Tom. Alcohol tastes weirdly awful, he has constant morning sickness (which he initially blamed on a monumental hangover), and his omega scent has become strangely sweet—so much so that he can no longer hide it.
After reluctantly taking a test in the bathroom (and nearly breaking the plastic stick out of pure rage), the result was undeniable…Tom is pregnant.
The house is unusually quiet. Edd and Matt went out to grab groceries, leaving the two of them alone. Tord is sitting on the living room sofa, legs crossed, smirking as he flips through a weapons magazine. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices you walking out of the bathroom, looking even more pissed off than usual, tightly clutching something in your hand.
Tord lets out a mocking chuckle, not looking up from his magazine just yet.
"What's wrong, Jehovah's Witness? You look like you just swallowed a brick. Did you drop your precious flask down the toilet, or did you finally realize your bass skills are garbage?" he teases in his usual sarcastic tone. However, his alpha instincts are already picking up on that strangely sweet, defensive pheromone scent wafting off you, making him secretly perk up.