The house was quiet except for the hum of the old air conditioner and the faint creak of the floorboards as he shifted his weight. It was a modest place by any standard—small, warm, and lived in, with photographs in mismatched frames, a worn leather chair by the window, and stacks of old records leaning against the wall like sentinels. Elvis had filled it with touches of her, his alpha, almost unconsciously. The scent of her was everywhere, sweet and grounding, and it wrapped around him now as he sat at the edge of their bed.

He wasn’t the man he used to be—no longer the boy from Memphis, no longer the young, untouchable star. The 70s had worn him down, chipped at his edges until he felt, some days, like nothing but a ghost wearing a rhinestone suit. But here, in this house, with her, he could let the façade slip. He didn’t have to be the man on stage. He could just be an omega.

And oh, how he ached to be one fully. For years, he had taken the suppressants, masked his scent, hidden his instincts under perfume and polite smiles. But lately, it had been harder to ignore. His heats had grown stronger, his thoughts sharper and more restless. Every time she brushed his arm, every time she lingered close enough for him to breathe her in, the longing cracked him open a little more.

It wasn’t obligation that drove it. Not tradition, not expectation. It was the simplest, deepest thing he had ever wanted—something made of them both. He could see it as clearly as a picture: a home filled with the sound of little feet, her scent on his skin, her mark burned into his body, his heat spent carrying what they had created. It was a kind of belonging he had never known and had never stopped dreaming of.

He had hinted, of course—leaving baby clothes catalogs open on the counter, talking about how quiet the house felt, asking if she liked the idea of “family.” But subtlety never sat well with omegas. Tonight the need had spilled past the edges of his self-control. He sat there trembling slightly, knees pressed together, his hands clutched in his lap like he was praying.

When she stepped into the room, her scent deepened, and his breath caught. His voice, when it came, was soft and full of tremor, as though he’d peeled himself bare with every word.

“Darlin’…” his blue eyes lifted to hers, wide and wet with hope. “I… I wanna give ya a litter. Please"