#prep work secondary

[electricfox]

Shiloh :D

[it-grrl]

I had my last day at the bar tonight, really felt like the [temporary] end of my "Jackie Daytona, normal human Bar[fry cook]" era. It's been a good place to not worry to hard about shit and I desperately wish my last week there was more productive but unfortunately the water heater shit the bed and broke my boss' heart Tuesday.

[jinkis]

i hate everything

[reallyromealone]

Can you do (whatever characters you like) x male omega reader?

I don’t care what character(s) get put x reader.

Plot: Toman was in a meeting talking about god knows what when reader begins to enter pre-heat. Chaos insues

Title: atypical courting

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Characters: Toman + others

Fic type: smut

Pairings: all x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, nsfw, smut, Omega male reader, group sex, double penetration

Notes: I just added everyone in here, it's all post story version's but crime ✨

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

He's known them most of his life, Mikey coming to his dad's bakery almost daily and witnessing (name) beat the crap out of a thief trying to rob them, immediately asking him to join Toman even if he was an Omega.

That was ten years ago, and here he was.

On top of the world.

Being a Toman executive wasn't easy, especially as (name) secondary gender but he made it work as he kept a constant supply of suppressants to keep his heat at bay, refusing to be seen in a moment of weakness by the other Toman executives.

(Name) And the others always had... Tension between them, not hostile not but more so sexual, they had for a very long time and neither parties actually handed it from the occasional light pass to a grope, a game of cat and mouse.

Mikey, hanma and Kisaki were one of the worst ones with their infatuation, obsessed with him without ever doing anything.

(Name) Was annoyed as he sat in the meeting, he called in sick for a reason and nooo! He had to be here to hear about god damn taxable buildings they needed to check up on! (Name) Was prepping for his upcoming heat, his preheat would hit any day now and he just didn't want to be here when it happened.

He couldn't afford to be vulnerable with people present.

"(Name), you good? Yer' sweatin' fucking buckets" Baji barked out as everyone turned to look at (name) who was barely present as a sweet smell filtered through the room, the smell of preheat.

"Why did you come if you were in preheat?!" Kisaki yelled and (name) hissed back at him "I TRIED AND YOU WERE LIKE NO EXCUSES! THIS IS IMPORTANT!" he did not care that he was yelling at a Toman vp, his stomach cramping and headache forming as he shakily stood "I'll bring you home" chifuyu and mitsuya said in a synchronized tone before glaring at one another "I'm fine, I'll just go home" (name) grunted as he stood, shaking slightly as he walked out of the room but he didn't get too far as the Toman executives be worked with daily flanked his side's, the Haitani brothers just behind him as hanma wrapped his arm around his waist.

"Back off!" (Name) Hissed at them "I'm a grown man, I can handle myself" he glared and removed Hanmas hand and the specticalled man smiled at the other as if he were an angry kitten "you have an alpha to care for you?" Draken said seriously and (name) looked cross "that's none of any of your business" (name) moved faster down the hall and towards the elevator, pushing them back with little effect as they towered over and got in, (name)s headache and cramp being particularly hard and a pained whine escaped his lips "you haven't had a heat in a while, what has it been a year? Since you had one?" Kisaki said to the other while pulling him closer from behind "we all know you don't have friends outside of Toman"

"And we know you want us as much as we want you" Muto finally pipped up as Mikey pulled him closer, hips touching each other and the smell of pharamones made (name) hazy "let us treat you good... Be our pack Omega" Mikey commanded softly, watching (name) sway slightly before the short blond lifted him effortlessly "just... Just don't claim me..." He whispered, thankful he was wearing his collar today as they all grinned.

(Name) Didn't know whose cock was where as he was double penetrated, when one cock thrusted in the other thrusted out as someone's cock was in his mouth, jerking off others as he was surrounded by alphas and cocks as he was touched and most of all filled to he brim.

"Alphaaa~" if (name) were even slightly coherent he would be horrified at the fact he was pulling his boss closer with his ankles around the blonds neck as he jerked off smileys cock that was right by his lips, moving to take it in his mouth with a soft hum.

"God, we should have made you ours forever ago.." pah said drained, having had the soul sucked from him via (name)s tight ass "you think he would be a house Omega? Bare foot?" Angry asked curiously as he too recovered and Draken snorted "he would rip out our eyes for even suggesting that"

It was true, despite being cock drunk and needy now, they knew he was too work driven to even think of that, he wasn't a house Omega who would sit all docile for them.

They literally saw him beat the shit out of a lower employee for losing a cargo box of drugs.

So that said enough.

"I'm just happy we don't have to dance around each other... I wanted so many times to take him in my office" Koko said and Sanzu grunted in agreement "I once saw him climb the lounge kitchen counter and his ass was at face level, took everything not to shove my face in his plush ass" Sanzu was almost hard thinking about it but (name) fucked him out of commission for at least a day.

It had only been five hours and the Omega is just getting exhausted as he let the there's do as they pleased to him, eyes barely staying open as he took what was given.

(Name) Woke up sore, real sore as he sat up to see bodies all over the room, chatting or sleeping as the Omega processed what happened "you need another knot baby?" Baji asked as he chugged a water bottle as Angry looked at (name) curiously as poor (name) processed what took place, cum leaking from his ass as he shakily got out of Draken and Kakuchos hold "what... Fuck... Ow" (name)s hips and ass hurt as he nearly fell over, caught by smiley who snickered at the other man's pain "what did you all go to town on me?!"

"Yuuup" the pink haired twin said kissing his cheek with a cackle "I need a shower..." (Name) Grumbled as he stumbled to the washroom with a hard limp, kicking out any horny alphas that tried to join him.

(Name) Soaked in the bath as he thought about what transpired... He just fucked all his co-workers.

And his bosses!

Oh god he got railed by Mikey and Draken at once.

Memories flooded back as he remembered everything they said to him, everything he did!

He practically attacked Kisaki for his dick!

He didn't hear the washroom door open as mitsuya walked in dressed in nice clothes, a to go bag in one hand and clothes in the other "you haven't eaten since last night" mitsuya chuckled as he crouched before (name) "we got you some breakfast" he said as (name) looked confused "why?"

"You're the pack Omega, gotta keep you taken care of"

"I'm no--""-- we aren't asking you to quit, we just want you and we know you wanted in our pack... To stubborn to admit it"

(Name) Flushed as he didn't deny it and looked at the food they got him, his favorites all present as the Alpha tried to feed him "you have wet hands, you might drop a chopstick"

After the bath, Mikey tried to demand (name) live with one of them preferably him but (name) shut that shit down "I am not going to be your back and call fuck toy " he grumbled and Mikey glared but the pout proved his harmlessness at that moment.

"Next time, in not letting you all rail me back to back"

"No promises"

[dailyadventureprompts]

So I've been reading Triangle Agency...

For those not in the know: Triangle Agency is a new weird/corporate horror TTRPG heavily inspired by things like the X files, Delta Green, and Control. You work as agents for the titular organization which sends you out to stabilize reality by dealing with various paranatural Anomalies.

Don't think of this as a review, until I sit down at a table and play this system over a few sessions I won't be able to tell you how well it actually works. What I can tell you is what the game is trying to accomplish with its storytelling and mechanics, and what it's trying to do is interesting.

Unlike a lot of TTRPGs I've read, triangle agency is not interested in giving you a system that you can use to tell whatever story you want. Instead I can compare it to a tabletop version of a choice heavy videogame like Disco Elysium or Bg3: where engaging with the story/mechanics will lead you to one of the endings the authors prepared for you. This is not to say the system is inflexible, that you can't put your own spin on it, GMs can design missions however they want, and player choice is a major focus, but as long as you're playing the game you're furthering the meta story.

As such, this might be the first game that I'd consider running out of the box with only pre-prepped adventures, which is shocking considering how much of a homebrewer I am. Instead, I'd be interested in putting a group of players in this game and just seeing what it does to them, though it'd have to be a very specific group of players than my regular ol gaming group.

The ideal Triangle Agency player is one that's got a primary focus on storytelling over mechanics, who're interested in making big narrative swings happen as a result of their choices. They also need to be comfortable with improv storytelling, as the primary means of interacting with the game requires a quick " what if" session to justify how you're moulding reality into a new shape:

Where another game might have you roll your character's strength for something as simple as kicking down a locked door, Triangle Agency has your party brainstorming a reason why the door would be weak enough for you to kick down in the first place: IE the building has a termite problem, and the hinges were subject to poor storage conditions by the contractor who installed the door. Then you roll. If you succeed, the door is knocked down, the building has a termite problem and has *always* had a termite problem, and an entire human being, Gary the negligent contractor, has been spoken into existence. You are likely to meet him on your next mission.

In many ways this is explicitly like Blades in the Dark's flashback mechanic, except made an explicit part of the game world. Your characters have the same reality distorting abilities of the Anomalies they're hunting, and they have to be careful lest they delete whole swaths of their life trying to angle for a better roll.

This is where we get into Triangle Agency's focus on character, and the secondary requirement that players be the type to get invested in their eldritch business blorbo as they are subjected to various corporate horrors™. This is a game interested in change whether it manifests as choice, trauma, or metamorphosis, and the ante for these interactions is your player/characters investment in the world. Part of this is with your character's contacts, NPCs who are as essential to an agent's build as their anomalous superpowers or their job with the Agency. To give extra weight to these relationships, each one is portrayed by another player at the table, which I thought was an ingenious way to not only take the burden off the GM, but also to give players more screen time even when their primary agent is off stage.

That leads me to the genius primary progression mechanic: The choice between whether to spend time with your Agent's contacts, focus on their Agency job, or delve into the eldritch truth of their powers, and how to split their finite time off between them. Here we get player choice, story, and mechanics all tied together in a neat little package as progression along any of these tracks unlock new abilities while also revealing more and more of the game's secrets. Possibilities for the game's story open up/are blocked off specifically with how the players choose to personally spend their XP, and if that's not a feat of game design ( or more aptly, craft) I don't know what is.

Final Thoughts: Despite having a delightful time reading the rulebook/optional mission pack (Seriously, the vibes are stellar) I don't know if I'm actually going to get to play Triangle Agency at any point in the near future. I think getting the most out of this game depends so much on finding the right playgroup for it and then pouring in enough time to unlock one of the endings. I'd want to see the mechanism of it's story/mechanics/drama play out, but doing so is one heck of a commitment.

However, if you've got a group full of storytellers that are up for the challenge and you're looking for something substantial to play next, I don't think I could recommend it enough.

I'm also going to be keeping my eyes out for longform actual plays of this one, I'd love to see what a group of performers could do with this.

[teaboot]

I'm Singaporean, I just saw the posts about schools in Canada vs Korea and now I'm kinda curious how things vary within this half of Asia.

Looking at your questions for the Korean asker, dyeing your hair isn't allowed but how strict the teachers will be about it probably depends on school. My secondary school (age 13-16) had one teacher who made a classmate with (presumably naturally) lighter brown hair dye it black, which was hilarious. If necessary for explanation, it was a Christian school with pretty strict rules on grooming no one had the energy to follow leading up to graduation.

We have uniforms up until you finish secondary school, then it depends on where you go. You have to buy them yourself unless you're on financial assistance or getting some kind of government subsidy, in which case I'm not sure how it works exactly.

And now the actual asking part of this ask: do y'all split math up into different subjects and if so, why??

Kids had to dye their hair to match as a group? What the fuck???? What the hell does hair matter???? Then again... bra straps and shorts don't matter either, and those are restricted everywhere, so maybe school is just dumb everywhere.

And math!!! Not super sure what you mean, but until about grade 10 here in BC all math is taught in one math class that's just "math". In grade 10 you can take precalculus or... the other one? And the idea is that Precalculus is for students going into university and the other one was for students going into trades. You NEEDED precalculus to go on to higher learning, is what we were told.

"Math" was just all math. Multiplication, geometry, algebra, etc.

"Precalculus" was all the basic skills meant to prep for calculus used in STEM stuff- polynomials, trigonometry, more algebra, that junk.

I failed it hard two times but passed the government exam so they weren't allowed to fail me again.

Also I'm good at math so they can kiss my ass now 👍

[cyberapid]

Loved your view on Carrier instincts from Ratchet's point of view. I would love to see a part 2, Sire instincts from Optimus' point of view if possible.

Thank you so much!! I hope this is ok! I love the idea and had like three different drafts before I settled with this lmao.

Wasn’t sure how I wanted to handle sire protocol but I’m kinda satisfied? I thought like overprotective and kinda clingy would be interesting.

Little hurt/comfort and a lot longer

Pt.1 Pt.2

•-•-•

This was a simple retrieval that really only required two bots if all went well, get past the miners undetected, retrieve as much energon as possible, sabotage what you can, and get out. Ratchet had emphasised, excessively, the undetected part much to the annoyance of the small bots given the task.

Once the two were gone Optimus had occupied himself in Ratchet's makeshift med bay, much to the older bots annoyance, by picking up some of the broken equipment littered about but a black servo had smacked his own away. Looking down he’d met Ratchet's fierce glare, “Optimus I can barely think with your racket. Also, stop touching my things. I may need them,” he abruptly turns with a dramatic vent, continuing to track the signal of the two bots within the mines; Audials alert in case a quick exit is necessary.

The prime settled to instead linger behind his bonded, arms wrapped around his middle and servos held firm on cold metal. They watched the monitor as the two blinking bots made their way slowly through twisted corridors, avoiding working Decipticons. There was no real need to continually watch with Ratchet, their very capable Medic, on the job but something within Optimus’ processor made even entertaining the idea painful so he settled with being Ratchet’s secondary optics.

“Are you ill? I swear you’ve been clingier than normal,” Ratchet’s tone is twisted with frustration as he attempts to escape the others grip and get a better look up at him but firm, larger servos keep him in place while attempting to stay focused despite the movement, “are your brain circuits. fried, Optimus? Let me go!” Annoyance bursts through their shared bond as the medic attempts to free himself, uselessly.

The bickering pulls all attention away from the computer as the bonded pair complain and soothe respectively, missing the sudden company that surrounded the two spies. They miss the visual but Acree’s voice pulls them away from each other and back towards the monitor. “We’ve been spotted. Bee’s on the sabotage part already so just keep the bridge ready,”

Ratchet is quickly turned back to his monitor answering the femme, “Groundbridge is locked onto your coordinates and ready when you are,” anxiety fills the shared bond from his mates side and parts of this leak into the connection with their youngling, disrupting the usual contentment that flows through. Optimus feels his spark twist and anger flow through his processor, he attempts to cut the feeling off before it reaches his connection to his family but the sudden stiffness under his servos tells him he didn’t block the connection quick enough

“Open the Bridge, I’ll assist.” His request is met with a fuzzy scoff as his mate turns to him,

“Absolutely not. They’ve almost completed the mission and your being there will only make it worse,” anger flares further and he feels the involuntary twitch of his digit; deep in the logical side of his processor he knows his dear friend is correct but any logic he might of had is squashed by the fear that overwhelms him, consumes him. Something will happen to his creation and he stood by doing nothing.

The sudden anguish that fills their bond with the young boy startles them both from the intense stare off they’d engaged in, “scrap, Bee got hit! Open the bridge now I’m grabbing him. Bee put th-“ her comm is cut short but the two bots are quick to jump to action, a silent understanding as ratchet pulls himself away from groundbridge controls and off to prep med bay while Optimus takes over and activates the bridge.

The familiar whirl of the groundbridge echoes through the base along with the clanging from the medbay, Bulkhead's heavy steps alert the Prime to his entrance.

The Wrecker stands at the edge of the groundbridge's opening, in a tense observation, “should I head in and help em?” Anything their leader had to say is interrupted by Ratchet loudly exclaiming,

“Primus, no! I’ve said this twice now, you two will only jeopardize their exit. We don’t know how close they are or if the mines are large enough to house either of you,” he continues to chastise Bulkhead as Optimus turns his attention back to the portal, awaiting the sound of fleeing pedes. It takes far too long and his plating crawls at the sound of scraping metal that comes from the bridge.

The pain is searing to have to stand and make sure they clear the bridge before powering down the machine, he fights every instinct telling himself to forget the bridge and rush to his injured creation; to sooth his fears. He’d failed, again to protect what is his, what relies on him.

Then he failed to be the first to offer comfort as the white and orange mech rushes towards Acree who’s struggling to hold Bee up, who’s unable to walk with one pede as the other is non operational, spilling far too much energon from busted cabling.

He relieves the smaller scout of his creations form and transfers him onto the awaiting medical berth with care not to irritate any wounds further. Optimus is quick to trail behind him once the bridge is secured, narrowly avoiding stepping Raf thanks to Bulkhead who, as gently as possible, grabs the boy out of the way.

A quiet buzz sounds from Bumblebees intake at the sight of his creators and he sends pulses of joy through their bond which Optimus returns in large quantities to make up for his bondeds neglect of it, who instead focuses on the care of the scouts leg. A sudden shrill sound pulls him from flooding the bond with comfort, “Ratchet! Careful!”

The offended mech looks up from his work and lets out a distorted guffaw, “excuse me? You really have shorted your circuits!” Anger explodes from both sides of their shared bond.

A sudden squeeze of his servo kills any further complaints he has, instead he looks down at his creation who whirls sadly. A steady rumble leaves his intake in an attempt to sooth him and it appears to work as his optics dim, a sated calm pulses through the three way bond, and his engine lulls to a calm rumble. The calm allows Ratchet to work quickly and without interruption.

Silence settles into the silo and Optimus finds himself sparing a glance at his bonded who’s taken to working silently; A sturdy wall between their connection, “Ratchet-“

“Not now” his answer is short and his helm doesn’t raise from the damaged leg of their sparkling, experienced hands working for an amount of time Prime isn’t sure of but he knows it drags on far too long— leaving him with stirring remorseful thoughts.

•-•

Every person or bot has retired for the night or left the silo leaving the bonded pair and an unconscious, but stable, Bee. They haven’t spoken since the short outburst between them with Ratchet busying himself cleaning the mess left in medbay and Optimus watching over the resting bot.

He’d had time to mull over his actions leaving a nasty churn in his tanks, “my dear friend?” Ratchets shoulders tense up and his vents stall out as the equipment he’d been gently pushing into size order clatter to the ground,

“What,”

“I owe you an apology,” he reaches his free servo out to the other mech, expectantly, “please.” There’s a loud sigh as Ratchet accepts his hand and walks closer, settling himself in front of Optimus and beside the Berth for just a moment before an clattering sounds throughout the silo and the medic finds himself uncomfortably sat on the primes lap,

“What was that!” His servo collided with the side of Optimus’ helm reflexively before panicking and checking the slight dent as the other laughs. “Why would you do that! It’s hardly an apology,”

“Yes, you’re correct. I do apologize though, I was out of line for reprimanding you. Especially when you are far more experienced than I am in that field,” there’s a faint hum that leads into a purr from the mech above him— the walls that had been built up come down and contentment eases through their bond. The medic turns to look at their creation, free servo running over scraped yellow plating,

“I need to run diagnostics on you, your demeanour change is strange,”

[meowzilla93]

Love Language with the Boys!!

I feel like its quite self explanatory in the games but I wanted to explore more into it so

Here is the primary and secondary Love Languages the Boys have!

Derek Suarez

Primary  - Acts of Service!

This boy loves and needs someone to just make his life even a fraction easier

You need someone on your side boo? We got you!

Lets start the day

Are you a night owl and sleep in? Well, you made sure to make some snacks and prepare his workout drinks in the fridge the night before – gotta make sure muscle man is eating right and getting his protein

Early bird like he is? Sweet! If you both go to the gym you pack his bag for him as he is getting dressed, or maybe you’ll go ahead and make a quick breakfast for the two of you to get some energy before a work out

Not going to the gym? No issues! You give him a kiss on the cheek and hand him his protein shake as he leaves, then whilst he is gone you can start prepping a good after workout breakfast for him to come back to

Has he got work or meetings he needs to go to afterwards? You could make sure his clothes are ready to go, or maybe the papers he was reading through the night before are packed away into his bag

You’ve got the day off work? Maybe we plan a nice dinner surprise with his favourite meal

Or you order in cause it’s a Friday and its game night (GO TEAM SUAREZ) and you both aren’t getting much sleep that night

Oh you noticed his favourite protein powder is running out? Better put an order in and top it up before he notices (of course he notices, he is absolutely touched!)

Poor boy has gotten sick? You just know he doesn’t want to let that slow him down

Guess what you are doing?

You are one step away from strapping him down to that bed (kinky, but not really HE IS SICK) but he finally relents, so you get to nurse him now

Mama Suarez has told you his favourite go to home remedies to get better, and you make it all! Tea, soups, hot chocolate, you name it

He is going to know what it means to be taken care of

You have Dereks Day! But its not once a year, its once a month

He needs to have one day every 30 days where its just about him and letting him let loose

The Boardwalk is always a winner, but sometimes its just a picnic, or go to the water park, or go to the movies. Whatever he wants to do, its getting done

Secondary – Words of Affirmation!

I swear this man, LIKE ALL THE OTHERS, doesn’t understand when we compliment him or anything

So guess what guys

Daily Affirmation Texts

He really needs these ones

Just a reminder of how amazing he is, that he is kicking goals (pun intended)

That we are so happy to be with him

Just remind him that he matters, because baby, you really do!

Cove Holden

Primary – Quality Time!

So we know how much Cove loves just spending time with us

Its his favourite hobby, pastime, memory, you name it

Oh our favourite resident merman has a new fish?

You are sitting down and letting that man gush about it, telling you all about its species and what the care is going to be for it

You don’t even have to say anything, just sitting there and listening to him is all that matters

Hard day at work?

He just needs to vent to you, same thing. You could even provide tips (im talking like, hit them in the kneecaps advice) to him just to get him to smile and laugh about it

Some think that Quality Time means you need to give each other attention all the time, but not for you two

All he wants is to be in your presence, and you don’t even have to be doing the same thing

You guys have aced Parallel Play

The most important thing is making sure you are within each others vision and you Gucci

He is reading, you could be watching something on your phone

He is cleaning the fish tank, you could be there just listening to music and maybe doing a hobby of your own

He just wants your presence

BE IN HIS PRESENCE

Any time away is torture to him, every Step in the game literally explains that

Secondary – Gift Giving!

Remember how excited he gets over the orange shell? The poppy? The fudges? The windchime?

This man is so ecstatic that you thought of him WHEN HE WASN’T EVEN THERE

And you are giving him something that he would like, and you did it unprompted

Prepare for waterworks

Listen, sometimes you just need to leave it on his pillow to come back to

You got up earlier than him (shocker that one) cause of work, so as you are quietly bustling around getting ready, you leave him a little letter or a present on the pillow next to him

When he finally wakes up and sees it, there are tears, and then there is an urgent call coming your way

Because of course he needs to thank you for it!

Just be prepared that you will get gifts too. That’s his way of showing his love and care too

Baxter Ward

Primary – Physical Touch!

Look, I swear this one is so obvious, but in case it isn’t I will go into HEAVY DETAIL OF WHAT HE LIKES

See he loves being in your presence all the time, but it simply isn’t enough

He needs some part of him touching you, even in a minute way, he just needs it

Driving? You are holding hands, this is a rule

Walking? Holding hands or he has your arm draped on his all gentlemanly like

Sitting together at a function? Somehow you have contact

You could be holding each others hand on the table

Or simply linking fingers, even just the pinky finger (YOU MJST BE TOUCHING)

Linked ankles underneath the table

Pressed up next to each other so your thighs or shoulders are touching whilst talking to others

Home alone and you are sitting on the couch together?

Position A: he is laying his head in your lap, you will brush your fingers through his hair that is the LAW

You could always give him a small head massage, he would love you even more for it

Position B: leaning against each other, watching a movie, he will have his arm wrapped around you and holding you in close, you could hold his hand as well

Position C: You are lying on him. Oh he will be brushing you hair, but say you don’t like that, he is content holding you hand instead

Oh this man is a sucker for hand holding (have you read anything above)

But you know what would make him weak?

Giving him a hand massage. Or just caressing his hand, feeling his fingers, brushing them across his palm. The lot of it

Can say the same about his neck and head; you could just be caressing him, admiring him and his skin and softness and he would 100% be lulled to sleep by it

Or, if you do it the right way, something else entirely would be on the menu (play prawn-hu- gets shot)

He is making dinner for you? Gently hug him from behind

Come home from work? A hug and a kiss is required for this tired man

Is there music playing? Oh a dance is required. Doesn’t have to be fancy, just a chance to hold onto you and sway is enough for him

Kisses – lord this man would accept a kiss any where

Hands, cheeks, chin, nose, shoulders, legs (alright we need to get back on track)

But forehead touches are supreme

Sharing a hug, foreheads pressed together, just being in each other space?

His heart couldn’t be more full

Bedtimes? You would consider yourself lucky if you can untangle yourself from him

You are 100% wrapped up in a Baxter Burrito and you aren’t escaping

But if that’s not your thing, don’t worry he is respectful of that

At this point as long as he can feel your body heat and movement in the bed, he will be content

After all he gets all the touches during the waking hours

Secondary – I Feel like this is almost two, cause He does need Words of Affirmation even though he doesn’t believe in it half the time, but also Quality Time is a big hitter for him...

With Baxter, because he is emotionally stunted, there is only so far you can provide him in words of affirmation before he just doesn’t listen anymore

So these ones need to happen sporadically, and during very important moments

Like when he is really beating himself up, rather than tell him he is wrong, you just need to flip the conversation to be positive

Sometimes you do just need to give him time to process what has happened and let him come back to you to talk, and that’s when you can gently re-affirm the positives with him

Quality Time just links in with Physical Touch

He loves being with you, and just plain talking with you

If you are long distance, he just wants to make every moment count, over the phone or in person

And if you do that back to him, well then you are just the more remarkable person ever

Don’t need to be doing anything fancy, voice calling is just fine

Going for a walk and chatting

Trying a new restaurant when you are both together again

DANCING COME ON

Thank you for reading my TED talk.

A small part of me is sad that Coves is so little, but honestly mans gets so much screen time, the other boys deserve a chance to shine!

cough I do not have a favourite cough

[clockwayswrites]

A Broken Sort of Normal Part 2

WC: 757 CW: Canon-Typical Violence, Self-Doubt, Jack and Maddie Fenton's A+ Parenting Masterpost

Worse than— no, not worse than. Nothing was worse than being constantly forgotten by everyone he cared about. Nothing was worse than knowing he was only worth knowing when he’d died. An issue was that Danny still had the same need to protect people even without the ghosts attacks. Day in and day out Danny felt an aching hurt in his chest at not doing anything to help. Working as a receptionist at a slightly rundown construction firm wasn’t the worst job, but it felt like it was slowly killing him. It felt like his core was shriveling up.

Danny knew he needed to make a change. At a loss of what to do and short on options, Danny had enrolled in the paramedic course at the local community college. He excelled at it.

It turned out all those years of patching up his own wounds gave him a pretty good head start on his classmate. So good, in fact, that his instructor recommended him for a job in Central City when he graduated with honors. It was bittersweet to know that when he wasn’t constantly harnessed by ghosts, he could actually do really well at school.

His parents missed his graduation.

His move to the city was done alone (his rented u-haul filled with what he could cram into it) and with a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. It felt like a second death leaving the only home he had ever known behind.

It felt like relief.

(He didn’t know which was worse.)

Central City was better and worse than he expected. The constant noise rattled him until he got used to ways to combat it: earphones, white noise machines, a cheesy little indoor fountain. The anonymity soothed him— no one paid attention to him in the city. Slowly he carved out his place.

He was part of the city’s emergency response team. Their primary job was working to secure the city and her people during villain attacks. Secondary to that they did follow up with victims, held community events to spread awareness about everything from emergency prep to smoke detectors, and helped with rebuilding efforts.

It was rewarding work and Danny’s core sang for it.

It was a little exhausting to have to run right into a villain attack on his day off though. Good thing he always kept a mini kit in his bag. What sort of emergency response team member would he be if he didn’t listen to their own advice? It was a really nice little kit too— ultra compact but it contained gloves, pipettes of water, disinfectant, a range bandages, a suture kit, a snap light, and even a shock blanket. Danny added a few extra gloves to it too.

As he ran towards the sounds of disaster, Danny felt a brisk wind breeze past him— and then blow back again— as the Flash (one of them, Danny hadn’t been around long enough to tell them apart) backtracked.

“Kid—” Oh, it was the older one then. “—you should be heading the other way. Lummox is up ahead—”

“I know,” Danny snapped, not stopping moving. “I’m a field medic. I’m on my way to help, and you’re not going to stop me.”

The Flash seemed at a loss for what to say for half a beat. “Okay. Sure. Want a lift?”

“What?”

“I can get you in a second— literally— but I’m leaving you on the edge of it all.”

It would be convenient. And it’s not like he couldn’t trust Flash. Danny slowed to a stop and shrugged. “Sure, onward, Seabiscuit.”

“Who?”

“Famous race horse? Cause you’re going to carry me? Never mind. Just pick me up, dude.”

Danny ignored the look he got from the Flash and clung on for dear half-life. Fuck the Speed Force felt weird. He was pretty sure it was less than a second to get there, and Danny didn’t quite stick the landing, but he got his feet under him fast enough to rush in to help.

Eventually Danny required an extra vest from the team that came in and just blended into the background of other medics. It wasn’t a bad day— no lives lost and all the injuries were relatively minor. (He even got some overtime payment, which he wasn’t going to sneeze at). Danny figured it was just part of being in the city, occasionally running into villains and heroes even off the clock.

He didn’t expect it to really happen again.

(He should have known to never have expectations.)

-----

AN: Still moving along with this odd little thing! It's been fun to write a Danny in a very different place than my other fics- mentally and physically! Just to be clear btw- Danny is in a bad place at the start of this fic which is putting a negative light on how he's seeing things. Sam and Tucker just... moved on with their lives. Those sort of high school friends you liked a lot but drift away from. Without the history of ghost stuff to bind them, it was just part of life to them. Danny just has a different memory history so it hits harder for him/feels harsher.

Stay delightful, darlings!

Due to the new post editor and shadow banning, I'm no longer tagging people! To be notified, subscribe to this post:

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do ya'll have any recs for school/slice of life ttrpgs with more in depth mechanics for grades, classes, and keeping a school life balance? We really like magic school and slice of life settings but very few ttrpgs we've found have any actual mechanics for the school side of things, rather than just flavor for the free-time portions. Any kinda school works. Thank you!

THEME: Slice of Life Schools

Hello there! I found more games that were closer to this request than I thought, but there's definitely a number that I'd say come with a Your Mileage May Vary caveat. I hope you still find something that works for you!

Academia Or Else!, by liberigothica.

You are students at a local school. Your grade and age do not matter. What does matter is you have no choice. You must go to your classes every weekday, for 8 hours, unless you are sick. But that doesn't mean you must do as you're told.

Academia Or Else is a one page tabletop RPG about playing as a group of students in school, dealing with day to day school troubles like finding a mysterious envelope full of money, or finding the principle's diary, or being sent to detention for one of those first two things.

Academia or Else is grounded in the mundane pieces of school life: bullies, tests, detention, and school events. Your characters are classified as a Goth, Jock, Nerd or Prep, and your skills are represented as letter grades in common classes (Gym, History, Language, Math, and Science). This is a game more about rebelling against some of the rules of academia than it is fitting in, and the game in general gives me some of the same vibes as Breakfast Club.

When it comes to rolling dice, your skills and archetypes are represented by different sided dice: a d10 for an A-level, l, a D4 for an F-level, and so on and so forth. You roll two dice for any given problem, one for your archetype and one for your skills. You are trying to gain a total of 4 or higher on each dice. This means that there are three possible results: success, success with a penalty, and a total penalty. If you want a game that’s quick to learn, you might like this game.

Brit School Hijinks, by Librarians and Leviathans.

You're pupils at a British secondary school, trying to keep life at least a bit interesting and make your own entertainment. Build a den in the rafters of the gym. Raise terrapins in the third-floor bathroom. Brew moonshine with the long-banned solvents in the arts room. Arrange charity concerts. Steal test answers from the Head's safe while disguised as a Swedish piano-tuner. Stage a rebellion against school dinners. Find buried treasure under the rugby pitch. Arrest your physics teacher as a spy. Hide sickly aliens in the lockers. Plot bank robberies. Concoct elaborate schemes to bump into your crush. Bend, not break, the rules. Try different ways to make a difference to the days.

Much of the creation of the school in Brit School Hijinks does a very good job of reminding you that this is a run-of-the-mill school, with problems like needing to borrow money for something important, humorous misunderstandings with your crush, or setting up an elaborate scheme at school to get out of one of your classes. There doesn't need to be magic, monsters, or big world-ending event (although there can be if you want it). As a group, you’ll also decide whether your teachers are hostile, mundane, forgiving, or something else, as well as where you school gets its funding, and what kinds of programs it focuses on. There’s also a quick primer on British high schools in general, for folks who are unfamiliar with what that kind of school life looks like.

When it comes to how the game is run, there’s a focus on your relationships with each-other. How much do your peers trust you? Do the adults approve of you? How cool do other students think you are? You’ll also have a number of skills related to academic classes, which you’ll use when consulting how many dice you can roll for different tasks. From the role-play side of things, your characters also come with motivations - maybe they need to pass chemistry, or they want to ask out their crush. I think there’s the opportunity to make this game very fantastical, but you certainly don’t have to.

Dusk Academy, by Skullery Maids.

Dusk Academy is a spinoff of Blades in the Dark. It uses much of the same systems and mechanics, deviating slightly to fit the setting.

It is set in the hallowed halls of, well, Dusk Academy — a private school on an English island, far away from society. This school caters to girls fresh out of school, unsure of what to do in their futures. Dusk Academy helps these girls sort out their interests and passions, but it is special in its own way. The school is home to magic — and teaches it as part of its curriculum. This fact must remain secret from the rest of the world, but the school aims to provide a healthy environment for students to unleash their mystical potential.

More importantly, the school encourages students to form clubs, to provide a support network of friends throughout their time there. From sports to calligraphy, the world is your oyster.

Forged in the Dark games are very very good at providing you with tools to help you track long term consequences, typically in the form of clocks. You can use clocks to track how close you are to finishing a school project, how much time you have left to study, how long before the school dance, how much stress you’re under, and how far you can push a teacher before they blow their top.

Dusk Academy also uses the faction mechanic from original blades and re-skins them as clubs, creating the clique-ish social organization of a school hierarchy. The phases of the game also map out to the different parts of a school week - lessons during the week, club activities on Wednesdays, free play in the evenings, and extra downtime over the weekends.

If you like working with a bunch of different systems that synchronize kind of like clockwork - then you might want to check out Dusk Academy.

Alchemical Romance, by TrueFeyQueen888.

Alchemical Romance is a TTRPG powered by Caltrop Core. It is a game about young love, teen angst, lo-fi study groups, alchemy, friendship, and magic. Alchemical Romance is about a group of young alchemists getting together to study for their Alchemy Finals, but it is also about what goes on behind the scenes. Alchemical Romance is a game of unexpected friends and being true to yourself.

The characters in Alchemical Romance are different school tropes, such as Athlete, Bookworm, Goth, and Headphones Kid. Part of the game will revolve around maintaining relationships with your classmates, but the other part is focused on preparing for your Alchemy final. The game can be played in a single session “Study Sesh”, a multiple-campaign“Diploma” series, or somewhere in between. There’s a couple of neat tools in here to play around with, including a Burnout track to help you monitor how much stress your character is under, and both relationships and special skills to track how what resources your character has.

Overall the game is rather rules-lite: this is a game for folks who really like social roleplay, first and foremost. I think that it definitely fits the “slice of life” part of your request, but if you pick up Alchemical Romance for your group, you’ll probably want to be putting a number of other rules in to make the game feel more like an engine.

Last Hope, by Wendigo Workshop.

“There is a world, much like our own, where darkness lives. Its influence seeps into our world, corrupting those with a weak soul. That is why The Gift exists. Those with The Gift must travel to The Beyond and free the world from Shadows. But The Gift always comes with a price…

We never know the price, it is never said… we always understand too late. Do not accept The Gift. It is tempting, it seems beautiful, but when something appears too good to be true, it usually is…”Last Hope is a tabletop roleplaying game within which you play as a teenage character trying to fight evil corruption in an alternate version of the world, while also living your daily life as a student. Through a strange contract, you were given The Gift, transforming you into a Magical girl and giving you special powers.

As magical girls, you’ll be juggling school in between missions during a session of Last Hope. However, there are rules in this game for tracking a school day, as well as a roll table to determine whether or not you can stay awake in class, or pass your exams. There’s also downtime rules, which includes taking time out of your precious free hours to work on your schoolwork - rewarding you with a better chance of succeeding at Wit rolls. Since Last Hope is also Caltrop Core, I’m curious as to whether or not you could take a few pieces of this game and combine them with Alchemical Romance to make a more robust game.

Public Wizard High School Teens, by Rexatron Games.

It’s senior year at Wolfboil High… 

A public high school for urban and suburban kids who want to do wizard stuff but can’t afford the snooty private school up the hill, on the lake, in the woods. As usual, yet another life-threatening problem has emerged that the highly qualified and experienced (but apathetic) adult staff of wizards is ill equipped to deal with. That leaves you, a scrappy band of dramatic libidinous teenagers to save the day. But there’s also crazy important school stuff to think about AND your life sucks hard because you have your own even more important problems to deal with.

This is a one-page rpg with two different sets of rules, so you can choose which set works best for you. The premise of the game is that there is a villain with an evil plan, but even as your students are trying to stop them, they’ll also have to deal with personal stress and a big event coming up - an event, that if cancelled, could severely effect the staff and/or students of the school. It’s a small inclusion, but the constant reminder of a normal part of school life that your characters care about is a nice reminder that this is in fact, a school.

You Can Also Check Out…

My Spooky Dark Boarding School Recommendation post has a lot of games in it that fit this request to some extent, in particular Precarious Prep and St. Hornbeck’s.

[serasfanfiction]

CW: blood and mentions of gore. Alastor being Alastor and never let us forget he's in Hell for a reason.

Part 1 | Part 2| Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Lucifer stared at his bed. Took stock of himself. Realized he was too wound up and any attempt at chasing sleep would futile.

He ran a hand down his face as he groaned. He wanted nothing more than to crawl under his nice, soft comforter and to fall into the forgetfulness of sleep, but with the weight of his new little accessory, he knew his sleep would be nothing like forgetful.

Glancing out the window, he could see the first hints of what passed for daytime in Hell. It was so late, evening had transitioned into early morning.

He frowned in distaste. He had stayed up all night talking with Alastor. Yeah, yeah, they had been talking business, but he knew what it could look like from the outside. It didn't help that Alastor had been helpful. He had an eye for reading people and getting a basic feel for their character at the drop of the hat. Lucifer didn't have to imagine very hard to know it had gone a long way towards helping him lure in his victims.

The question remained: Was the King of Hell going to allow himself to become another one of this serial killer's victims? The idea didn't leave a much better taste in his mouth than the time currently glowing back at him from his bedside table.

This was a shining example of why he didn't interact with sinners anymore.

Leaving through his door, Lucifer made his way downstairs. Early morning it might have been, but there was still some time before the other hotel residents started filtering down. Everything was quiet in a way that held the promise of noise, if only one caught it at the right time.

It felt lived in in a way the palace hadn't in years.

Knowing he was going to actually encounter people at some point led his feet unto the kitchen. As it turned out, Lucifer Morningstar actually liked to cook. He had found it to be a great stress reliever. Perhaps it was because the urge to create was always just below the surface. Perhaps it was an innate desire to make people happy. Whatever it was, throughout most of his marriage and while he was still interacting with the Sins and Ars Goetia, he could often be found working in whatever area was set aside for meal prep. It was something he'd been teased about, but no one had complained about his food, yet.

As things began to fall apart, as he lost faith in humanity and began to withdraw from everyone and everything, there had been less and less opportunities to fall back on the practice. He didn't necessarily need to eat and he didn't want to waste food when there was no one to make it for.

Making toys, especially duck themed ones, had been a secondary fixation. When his marriage had reached the point that not even even trying to keep up appearances for Charlie's sake could hold things together (tenuous as that had been from the start), it had felt like making the toys had been the only thing he was good at anymore so he had become, well, a little obsessed.

Here, now, in the hotel built from his daughter's dreams and the hard work of the hotel's residents, he had been feeling the urge to give into the impulse to try his hand at cooking again. The stress of his new accessory seemed like it was going to finally be the thing that pushed him to do it.

The kitchen was empty, as to be expected. It was also as well stocked as he'd left it. Upon moving in, Lucifer had taken one look at what the others had been living off of up to that point and had put his foot down immediately. Where before it had looked like the pantry of a bunch of young adults who had just moved out and hadn't quite figured out how nutrition worked, with the odd exception, now it had a much more healthy variety of foods. Some of it came from various rings throughput Hell, imported through Lucifer's connections. Some of it came straight from Earth, those through Ozzie's connections.

Lucifer had seen various residents taking advantage of the wider variety of offerings, but he still held it as a victory the one time had come in to find their resident radio celebrity cooking. When pressed, Alastor had replied that he was currently putting together a shrimp gumbo, with the preparation of the roux being just the way his mother had made it. He must have been feeling particularly nostalgic and in a good mood because he had shared it with the rest of the hotel's residents.

Lucifers hands knew what to do, even though he didn't have a larger plan in mind other than 'make breakfast foods.' This sort of approach often led to way too much food being made, but he was sure they'd eat it all eventually.

As the hour progressed, foods such as muffins, pancakes, sausage, bacon, and a few pre-made breakfast tacos took shape. Fruits had been cut up and placed in dishes so that anyone interested could take their pick.

He was just finishing up the yogurt and turning around to place it with the rest of the hoarde when he abruptly became aware that someone was standing just inside the doorway. Startled, Lucifer yelped, jumping, and incidentally dropping the yogurt. It was only pure instinct (and a little magic) that kept it from hitting the floor and going everywhere.

He placed a hand to his chest, trying to calm his rabbitting heart. "Oh my Father, don't scare me like that. I could have set you on fire!"

Which he had done to multiple people who'd startled him in the past. Purely on accident, of course.

Husk stared back at him, watching. His fur was unusually messy. The bags under his eyes were particularly pronounced. His shoulders were hunched and and he was gripping his arms in a posture that screamed discomfort.

All in all, he looked how Lucifer felt.

The angel's brows furrowed in concern. As he set the yogurt back to rights, he asked, "Are you alright? Because - please don't be offended - you look like shit."

Husk's ears twitched at the observation. He glanced around, as if he was searching for something or someone. When he didn't find whatever - whoever? - he was looking for, he said, gruffly, "He's not a good person. Making deals with him is dangerous."

Lucifer blinked, for a moment not comprehending what the cat demon was talking about. All at once, he realized that he'd gotten so into cooking he had actually managed to forget his deal.

His near jerk reaction was to pretend he had no clue what Husk was talking about or to laugh and make light of it. As the immediate panic of the fact that keeping secrets in this place was apparently impossible wore off, the blonde was able to pick up something else in Husk's demeanor: worry.

Lucifer's expression softened at what appeared to be a genuine warning from someone who had been burned by Alastor before and was trying, in his own way, too keep someone else from doing the same. It was especially meaningful, as Lucifer doubted Alastor would be thrilled if he heard Husk warning a potential mark.

Was this what Charlie saw when she looked at their people? Husk wasn't innocent by any means. His hands were bloody both in life and in death, and it would be so easy to be blinded by that, but look deeper and there appeared to be a too big heart under it all.

It was a stark reminder that not everyone in Hell was a total lost cause, even if the sinner wasn't seeking redemption.

Lucifer placed the yogurt on the table with the rest of the food. Feeling the need to reassure Husk, but not wanting to tell the whole truth, he explained, "I'm only paying Alastor back for helping me with something I'm looking into. It's a one off thing."

Husk's deep sigh indicated he found that far from reassuring. Lucifer remembered Alastor saying he dealt predominantly in favors and figured it probably wasn't. Hands tightening around his arms, he added, "Well, be careful. Charlie's a loud, messy crier when she's happy. I don't want to see what she's like if anything happens to you."

Lucifer resisted the urge to scoff at the idea Alastor truly posed him any threat in favor of: "Charlie cries when she's happy?"

When did that started? Since when?

Husk gave him a side look, some major judgement going on in that look. He still took blantent pity on him, more likely wanting to take the opportunity to change the subject. "She and Angel got into a tiff. She was happy when he forgave her."

Something about the way Husk said it made Lucifer suspicious there was more to that story, but Lucifer let it drop. "Aw, I'm glad they made up."

Husk grunted, clearly at the end of his tolerance for mushy talk. He reached over to the selection of food, snatching one up in repayment for his good services. As he was retreating out the door, Lucifer called over, "I appreciate the warning. I'm sorry we disturbed you last night."

Husk didn't respond, opting to make off with his prize before the conversation could devolve into anything more uncomfortable.

The conversation left him in a mood that was both uplifted and off balance. He wasn't able to fall back into the rhythm of cooking, which was perhaps for the best, as there was already more than enough food laid out. He didn't have to wait long before Vaggie - looking wide awake despite the early hour - and Charlie - much less put together - trickled their way in. Both were delighted by the spread of food that awaited them.

Angel, unsurprisingly, would not be done for several more hours, but there was more than enough goodies waiting for him.

Alastor, on the other hand, never made an appearance that day. Nor did he call in his favor.

He did not make an appearance the next day either.

By the third day, Lucifer was beginning to feel a little twitchy. It was a touch bit daunting, knowing one was on the menu, but having no clue how famished the host was. Not that he usually paid attention to the redhead's eating times. Alastor was one of the only members of the hotel that had his own private feeding grounds right in his own room. He could just as easily treat all of the Pride Ring as his hunting grounds, if he were in the mood.

Lucifer didn't think the little shit would starve himself so he could he could have a bigger menu when he did call in his favor. He wouldn't put it past him, either.

By day four, Lucifer was on the verge of putting the whole thing out of his mind, figuring that Alastor was just letting him stew for a bit. Spitefully, the blonde was refusing to give him another minute of his time until the redhead deemed to make himself present. He was also getting used to the weight of their deal and could go several hours without ever once thinking of it.

Which of course meant that's when Alastor gave the chain a little tug.

Lucifer froze mid step. He'd been on his way up to his room, inspired with the idea of a new duck he just couldn't wait to add to his collection. The hallway lit up with a green flash as the chain came into existence and then just as quickly disappeared.

Slowly, Lucifer looked behind him, irritation and panic heightening his senses. There was no one else in the hallway, a perk of being one of the only two residents on this floor. He didn't hear anyone on the landing below. Nothing to suggest that anyone had seen the flash. To his knowledge, Husk was the only one that would recognize Alastor's brand of chains the best. It was possible that even if someone had seen it, they might not have known what it was.

With a forced nonchalance, the blonde made the rest of his journey to his room. When the door was closed and locked firmly behind him, he leaned back, head lightly knocking against the wood as he rested against it.

Knowing something was coming and actually being prepared for it was always two very different things.

Regardless, he had made his bed. It was time to lay in it.

Before Alastor could get impatient and drag him out, Lucifer reached opened a portal to just into the deer demon's room. Not allowing himself to hesitate, he stepped through.

The room was warm, green and black flames flickering in the fireplace. Various lamps lit the room, casting the area into a golden gloom that countered the light of the flames. The unmistakable sound of music filtered out into the room from the radio on the shelf.

At the center of the room was Alastor himself. There was a slight flush to his cheeks and his hair was just a touch out of place.

It was almost enough of a distraction from the fact that the room looked ...bigger? Could it do that?

Alastor drew all attention back to himself with a clap of his hands. "Ah! Right on time. I do so love a date that's punctual."

Lucifer resisted the urge to cross his arms, feeling the posture might be seen as defensive. Instead, he opted for placing a hand on his hip as he casually sniped back with, "Do people want to date you? Willingly?"

The redhead laughed, waving it off. "Now now, none of that, my dear. You'll ruin the mood."

The blonde glared back. Confusion more so than anything else held his tongue. He had been expecting the violence of their previous encounter. Not... whatever this was.

Alastor crossed the room, bending at the waist ever-so-slightly and holding out his hand. The familiarity of the pose did little to prepare the shorter of the two for the question of, "Do you dance, your Majesty?"

"Er," Lucifer said, intelligently. "What?"

Alastor merely raised an eyebrow at him, hand never wavering. "Do you dance?"

Lucifer blinked, frown deepening in confusion. Was Alastor messing with him? Slowly, cautiously, and curious despite himself, he raised his hand to place it in the redhead's. "Yes, but not recently." When had been the last time he'd danced? He didn't think he'd done so since it had been announced that he and Lilith were expecting a child. They had gone out to celebrate that very night. It had been a good night.

He cleared his throat, banishing the memory. "Um, I think the waltz," at least he thought that was what it was called. It had been a minute since he thought of it's name, "Was just becoming a thing at the time."

The redhead nodded. Grip firm, but gentle, he lead the smaller man out into the center of the room. Turning until they faced each other, Alastor guided Lucifer's free hand up to his shoulder, before resting his own hand in the proper position. Over on it's shelf, the radio changed channels, seemingly on it's own, until it landed on a more appropriate song.

Seamlessly, Alastor took them through the beginnings of what was unmistakably a waltz. Lucifer, having learned both rolls, was more surprised that he remembered the steps than he was to having been delegated to the following role.

Lucifer chuckled, a touch of nervousness making it through despite himself, as they made their way around the room. "Um, what are we doing?"

Alastor tsked, the response obvious. "Can't you tell, you Majesty? We're dancing."

Clearly. "Yes, but why?"

The redhead sent the blond into a impromptu spin, likely just to hear the latter yelp, before pulling him back in, just a touch closer than they had been before. "Because it's fun!"

Lucifer grumbled. Fun for Alastor, perhaps. Lucifer felt more like he was on a roller coaster with no clue where it was going. "You know how to do this sort of stuff?"

"Waltz made a bit of a come back during the 20s. I personally preferred dance that didn't require any physical contact, but it was good to know some for when I had a partner." The music changed, shifting to something a bit more upbeat. "Such as this little number."

Before Lucifer knew it, Alastor was guiding them through what was called the 'Fox trot.' "Not as fun as the Charleston, mind you, but still entertaining."

It didn't escape the King of Hell which role he was being taught. "And can you teach from the following role?"

"Ha ha!" Alastor's look was knowing. "Perhaps next time. Always have to leave them wanting more."

Well, two could play at that game.

The blonde exerted enough strength to steal control of the dance, pulling, spinning, and then forcing his taller dance partner into a dip. The radio screeching with static was the only sign of Alastor's alarm at his situation. The new angle brought their faces significantly closer together. Grin sly, Lucifer drawled, "You never know, you might giving up a little control sometimes."

Alastor's ears flattened against his head, smile all teeth. "Sounds dreadful, really. How do you stand it?"

The blond rolled his eyes, but let the little shit up anyway. The music started up again as the Alastor set himself to rights, drawing Lucifer's attention to the fact that the radio seemed far too in tune with their dance to be coincidence. "You can control radios?"

"I'm not called the 'Radio Demon' just because I prefer the medium." To demonstrate, the little device cycled through various channels, stopping briefly on a few here and there (a news channel, a cooking show, a top hits countdown), before settling on a jazz station. The dance they feel into was more freeform, than anything structured. "Why, they're practically an extension of myself!"

Oh, and there was a terrifying thought, the blond thought to himself. Even more reason never to put one if his room.

For the first time, it suddenly occurred to Lucifer that something was missing from Alastor's person. He'd only seen it during their first meeting, but now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen it at all. He wasn't sure, but it had seemed like it was permanently attached to the redhead's hand at the time. It hadn't seemed like an ordinary walking stick, what with the power it had been giving off.

Glancing around the room, he didn't see it anywhere. "By the way, where's that microphone of yours? I haven't seen it in a while."

Alastor went rigid. The music abruptly cut off, dousing the room in a frigid silence.

Lucifer looked up at him, intuiting he'd stepped on a hornet's nest, but not certain why. "Um, Alastor...? You okay there-- Whoa! What are you doing??"

Alastor had abruptly dropped both hands to Lucifer's waist. Using his new grip, he effortlessly lifted the small king. Somehow crossing the room in two steps (and furthering the theory he was messing with the room somehow), he just as abruptly dumped Lucifer onto his desk. Papers and a pen went flying to the floor with little care where they landed.

Lucifer caught himself before he fell over and potentially knocked his head against the wall. He had been sat down so that his seat wasn't precarious, but his legs were dangling off the side. Alastor was standing between them, crowding him. The grip on his waist slid down to his hips in bruising holding pattern. Gone was the easy, playful mood of the dance, now replaced with something near manic.

Cautiously, Lucifer pushed himself up. He didn't dare attempt to reciprocate any touch. "Alastor?"

This close, he could see the way the deer demon's composure was likely being held together by the threads he's stitched himself up with. Something was clearly wrong, but it was just as clear that Alastor did not want to talk about it.

Indeed, the Radio Demon, because that was indeed who was currently out to play, called forth the chain that represented their deal, pulling on it just enough to drag the King of Hell a touch closer to the edge of the desk by his neck. "I think it's time you uphold your end of our deal."

Getting the feeling all of this was to divert attention from whatever might have happened to the microphone (and a seemingly extreme one, in his opinion), Lucifer raised his hands, palms out, in a calming gesture. "Easy there, big boy. If you didn't want to talk about it, you could have just said so."

When the redhead failed to respond, the blond sighed. It took little effort to bring about the change, since he had done it a couple times before. The sitting position was much nicer on the tail, but the hat wasn't so great with the ears. This thought had just crossed his mind, when said hat was being lifted off his head. He had enough time to spy a shadow tentacle spiriting it off towards the chairs near the fireplace, when a nose buried itself in his hair.

His ears twitched at the tickling sensation of his hair moving around them. He made a face at the sound of a deep breathe being taken and wondered what it was with this guy and smelling him.

As if he could hear the question, Alastor said, "As I thought, your scent changes." He sounded a little too delighted for all the wrong reasons with this information.

Lucifer endured it, as it seemed that the redhead was calming down from whatever had set him off. He made a mental note to ask about the microphone at a later time. At present, he was more concerned about the mood of the person who was about to sink their teeth into him. He could almost feel the way that Alastor's whole body was slowly relaxing with each breathe he took. Could just barely feel the thumb of one of the hands still on his hips rubbing back and forth through the fabric of his pants.

Alastor continued the journey down from the top of the head to where the ears would sit on a human. Lucifer was aware that this was all about scenting - that Alastor's sense of smell likely was as enhanced at a real deer's - but he couldn't quite hold back a hitch in his breathe.

It was about the point when he felt nudging his neck that he remembered that bucks could leave scents behind to mark their territory just by rubbing their foreheads against things.

Lucifer's hand took hold of one of the little red ears that had started this whole mess in the first place, just shy of the point of pain.

He could feel Alastor's smile against his skin, just above the collar his coat. "You promised no retaliation," he admonished.

Lucifer growled. "I said you could have your fill of my blood. I never agreed to be your property."

The redhead shrugged, but didn't repeat the motion. Likely, the scent had already been left and the damage already done. The blonde resolved to make certain to remove all hints of this little encounter the first chance he got. He released the captive appendage, the poor thing flicking itself as Alastor assessed any damage.

Alastor finally pulled away, giving his temporary captive a once over in consideration. As if merely commenting on the weather, he suggested, "You should take off your coat and shirt."

Lucifer stared, uncomprehending for several seconds. When it sunk in, he sputtered, flushing. "What? Why would I do that?"

Alastor leaned forward, finally releasing the blonde's hips and moving them to the desk to brace himself on either side of the before mentioned hips. "I'm not picky, but clothing doesn't taste that good," he explained, still in that matter of fact voice. "This is also likely to get messy."

Lucifer's whole body was frozen. He didn't think in that moment he remembered how to breathe. The inherent intimacy of their position and the remembered violence of their previous encounter was wreaking havoc on his body's responses. It didn't know if it wanted to get away or to lay down and take what it was receiving.

How long had it been since anyone had touched him outside of a hug or chaste pat on the hand that his signals were getting muddled at a time like this? Even more pathetically, it wasn't even getting confused for sexual signals! Was he really so touch starved he was enjoying being manhandled by a known psychopath who enjoyed playing with his meals?

Something hot and ugly rose in his chest. Survival instincts told him it wasn't safe to look at at the feeling in front of such a predator. It was a doomed endeavor, however. They were too close and Alastor was too good at reading people. Lucifer knew from the moment Alastor's smile widened, every single fang on display as he nearly salivated at the sight. That he could smell the blood in the water.

Lucifer forced himself to ignore it. Force it down and smoother it. Dealing with this revelation wasn't for here and now, in this sort of moment, where any weakness was a weapon Alastor could and would use against him. His fingers shook with minute tremors as he brought them up to pull off his coat.

Alastor backing off enough to let Lucifer remove his upper cloths felt like coming up for air. Being physically exposed had never bothered him. He had long since made peace with the way angelic, alabaster skin gave way to blackened, demonic skin along his arms. His beauty was unquestioned, even tens of thousands of years after his fall from his father's favor. A heavenly creature might have been repulsed by the unavoidable evidence of the taint of Hell, but no sinner, hellborn, or demon had ever blinked twice.

Alastor took it all in as more and more skin was revealed. Each piece of clothing sent off to join his hat. There was no heat to his gaze, something Lucifer found himself unreasonably thankful for. He wasn't certain he could have handled that on top of everything else.

He thought he might have caught a glimpse of appreciation, but he had little time to dwell on it as one of Alastor's hands took hold of his wrist, bringing it up to inspect his arm the way a butcher inspects a prospective slab of meat. Grip tightening and head tilting to the side, the Radio Demon clamped his teeth down and bit.

Lucifer hissed through his teeth, digging the claws of this free hand into edge of the desk. Those teeth drove in mercilessly, until they encountered what passed for bones in seraphim. Only then did they stop, pulling back and out. He shuddered when he felt the what could only be a sucking sensation. His arm would not be as ideal for drawing as much blood as Alastor would need to sate himself. It would be likely he would need to bite down multiple times to accomplish his goal.

But Alastor did not bite down again. After several minutes, he pulled back, black and gold fluids dribbling down his chin.

Arm throbbing even as it knitted itself back together, Lucifer exhaled. He forced himself to focus, studying his attacker's expression.

The redhead's gaze never left his arm, expression calculating. He seemed to be waiting for something and Lucifer blamed the pain for addling his brain that it took as long as it did for him to figure out why.

"Are you trying to see how fast I heal?!"

Alastor watched the skin knit back together until there wasn't a single trace of damage. Instead of looking frustrated, he seemed to only be delighted. Alastor turned his head until they were eye to eye. An unholy and fathomless hunger stared back at Lucifer, and it was all he could do not to look away, even if his captive wrist didn't allow him any retreat. Alastor's free hand came up to run a single finger down from Lucifer's collar bone to navel, pressing just short of hard enough to draw blood.

"I want to slice you open and gorge myself on your organs." Alastor's horns extended and he gained another foot in height, loosing his grip on his demonic self a little. "I want to see how many times I can devour them, watch each and everyone one of them grow back, and then do it all over again." His hand slid back up, reaching around and grabbing a fistful of the short hairs at the base of Lucifer's skull. "You're the perfect meal."

Lucifer went limp just as Alastor yanked his head to the side, pulled on his captive wrist, and then sank his teeth into his neck. Sweat broke out across his skin in response to the pain as he was reduced in that moment to little more than a royal juice box.

There was no telling how long they'd be there. He had no gauge for how hungry Alastor was. Could only ride it out until the other was finished.

After a while, Lucifer hit a tipping point. He could feel himself going a touch floaty, detaching from the pain in the only way available to him. Without giving it much thought, his free hand rose up to run a hand through the hair mere inches from his face in something akin to a petting motion. His jaw finally relaxed and he was a little surprised he hadn't bitten his tongue off.

He barely noticed when Alastor finally withdrew his teeth, allowing the skin to begin to repair itself. Barely noticed when the tight grip on his wrist began to loosen. It took effort to focus, but the still odd feel of a tongue chasing the last drips of blood helped.

When he became aware of his body again, he noted that his spine wasn't thrilled with the position he had been forced into. Noted that the room had started to go cold (or as cold as Hell ever got) as the fire had gone out at some point. Noted the softness of the hair under his fingers.

He blinked as Alastor pulled away, shuddering as he fully came back to himself. His hand dropped away to rest back on the desk. His shoulder throbbed, but it had already stopped bleeding. As he glanced down at his chest, he noted that indeed the amount of blood that had been spilled would have made quite the mess.

Alastor hummed to himself contently, releasing his grip on both Lucifer's hair and wrist. From a pocket in his coat, he pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the mess lingering on his chin as he stepped back away from the desk and the individual sitting on it. Despite the mess he'd made of the Devil, he himself had gotten away without a spot on his clothes.

Lucifer mustered up enough energy to glare at him. "Satisfied?"

Alastor's grin, partially hidden by the handkerchief, was lazy and bemused, some of that manic energy that always seemed to follow him calm for once. It was similar to the look he'd had that first night. "Oh, no, sire. I'm never satisfied, but I am full. Thank you ever so much for the meal."

Around Lucifer's neck, the green chain that was their deal came into being just long enough to shatter, signifying that their deal had been over. Alastor watched it go with something akin to remorse.

Lucifer himself didn't realize how much control over his own body he'd lost, how compliant it had made him, until the deal was complete. He breathed in deep, feeling the last of the fog fall away like the clouds parting. Slowly sliding off the desk, he waved a hand, using a bit of magic to clean up the blood. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw those shadow tentacles holding out his clothes. Wanting nothing more than to hide away from that butcher gaze, even just superficially, he reclaimed his clothes and dressed as quickly as he could without looking like he was in a hurry.

Once he felt as put back together as he was going to get, he turned his attentions back to the other occupant of the room. "Our deal is complete. I don't think I need to mention how beneficial it would be to you not to mention this to anyone?"

Alastor's whole posture was smug. "Oh, I'm happy to keep this little rendezvous to myself."

Lucifer refused to deign that with a response. Without so much as a goodbye, he spirited himself away with a wave of red smoke, just barely hearing, "How rude!" before the room disappeared.

Reappearing in his own room, Lucifer simply stood there for a long, long moment, blankly staring at nothing. Slowly, he sank to the floor, allowing his legs to finally give out under him. Everything that had happened over the last several hours crashed over him in a wave and he shuddered as it threatened to pull him back under.

In the mess of it all, he finally allowed himself to acknowledge the terrible little thing Alastor had dragged into the light, even as he loathed himself for it.

Despite being surrounded by others. Despite his reunion with his daughter and the joy of creating new bonds with her. Despite the friendships he was slowly creating with the members of the hotel.

Despite all of it all, he was still lonely.

tbc

Part 7

[wildemaven]

night school teacher! javier peña x f!reader | q & a

@holacia3 had left some questions about Retired Night School Teacher Javier Peña, so I thought I’d make a separate post to answer them. Thanks so much for sending these!!

What made Javi fill in the vacant teacher role? Did he just move here? Simply transferring from another local school/ uni?

In my head he's retired from the DEA and his dad is encouraging him to do something else besides helping him on the ranch, something that he would find more fulfilling.

Chucho tells him about the community college looking for a replacement teacher for their night school program so he applies. I hadn't really thought about what he would be teaching at this point though.

Are you two having these late night talks at the school or going somewhere else before/after the building has to close?

In the beginning, it's at the school before class. As they get to kow each other more, it's after class. Javi gathering his things promptly, then joining her while she finishes prep work and packing her own things up. I picture there are some evenings where they get to talking and lose track of time, Javier being a gentleman walks her to her car to make sure she gets there safe, waiting for her to leave before even heading to his truck.

Eventually Javi would ask her to dinner. It probably nothing romantic at this point, both of them just enjoying each other's company. Maybe she then invites him to something one weekend, a concert in the park, he doesn't hesitate accepting the invite. Maybe that evening he kisses her for the first time, and it becomes apparent that there's something more blooming between them.

Has this Javi always been a teacher? Or a second career after his time at the DEA ended?

No, definitely a secondary career after the DEA

Do the other teachers/administrators know how handsome he is? Do the students make any comments to him or you?

I'm sure other teachers do know how handsome he is. I don't think anyone makes comments in the beginning, both of them keep it relatively quiet and to themselves.

What's his day life like? What's he up to outside of teaching hours?

He probably still helping his dad as much as possible, even though Chucho continues to tell him he doesn't need it.

When does he start leaving notes? On your desk? Is this a no-texting kind of relationship/ situation?

Maybe it's after the concert. The next time they're at school, she finds the concert ticket on her desk with a not about how he enjoyed himself on the back. She keeps it in a special place in her book bag.

How long does it take for you two to get breathless???

I feel like it isn't a rushed thing. I don't really have a back story for them as of now, but neither of them begin talking to each other with the intention of just right out sleeping with each other. It's kind of a slow burn and happens organically over time when they develop feelings for one another.

He's a lady's man in Narcos - is he already involved with someone else when you two first meet?

No, he isn't involved with anyone. He's very much single and has been for a period of time.

How is reader's love life before Javi shows up across the hall?

She's had prior relationships, few serious ones throughout her dating life. Maybe even an engagement or previously married. I think when they both meet, she herself is single two. Which probably helps the connection grow stronger between them as time goes on.

Thanks again for these wonderful questions!!! Really made me start to plot and think about their story a little more. 💕

[hereticpriest]

Alpha Mine

Relationship: Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Explicit, A/B/O Dynamics, Omega Laszlo Kreizler, Alpha Reader, Trauma, Childhood Trauma, Dynamic Discrimination, Period-Typical Views on Gender and Dynamics, Dynamic-Based PTSD, Healing, Not Actually Unrequited Lust and Love, Scent Kink, Praise Kink, Knotting, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Breeding Kink, Mpreg.

Dr. Laszlo Kreizler was looking for a typist to work at the Kreizler Institute.

You knew it might be your only opportunity. Dr. Kreizler had a reputation for surrounding himself with queer cases, and having wildly unpopular ideas about what was and wasn’t appropriate socially. He was an Alienist, and thus a man immersed in the latest scientific inquiries. If anyone were to offer you a job, it would be him. If anyone were capable of looking past your… affliction, it would be him. Not solely because you were a woman, which was queer enough on its own. No, you are something far worse than a working woman.

You’re an Alpha.

Biologically, you knew it was completely normal for a small percentage of the population to be both female and Alpha. It was no more or less rare than male Omegas. Most of the population - about 60% - were Betas. The ideal, frankly, for many. Devoid of pesky extra hormones and impulses, a Beta can live a relatively normal life without the pressures of an Alpha or Omega. Betas have scent glands, but their scent is weaker, less obtrusive, and their nose is not as keen as the other designations. Betas have only their primary gender characteristics to worry about. Secondary gender has little to do with their lives.

Alpha males are less rare, and idealised by the wealthy elite who can afford to handle their more difficult impulses. They’re stronger than a normal man, with scents as aggressive as their impulses, and anger issues abound. Omega females are similarly idealised, though still held to the same standards, if not stricter, than a normal woman. Prim and proper and never lifting a finger to do more than birth babies for a strong Alpha. One can even raise their station considerably by virtue of being a strong Alpha male or a fertile Omega female from a lower class family that might entice a higher class mate. 

Male Omegas and female Alphas are more rare than their counterparts, and often looked down upon in high society. Your parents had been certain you would be an Omega like your mother before you. So certain, in fact, that they had sent you to an Omega prep school - education provided to young Omega ladies to prepare them for their future life, and the submissiveness that would be required of them. Even unpresented, your parents had been able to enroll you based on your mother’s designation. When you presented at age fourteen, you were surrounded by Omegas, and completely shell-shocked. You were thrown into a rut completely out of your control, and had to be dragged bodily from the building by several Beta men who performed security for the school.

Locked in your bedroom, you ached, nearly tearing yourself apart with need and confusion and disgust. After a week of torment, you were finally released from your confinement to face the wrath of your parents. Your ‘little episode’ as they called it, had been reported upon in the society papers, and you were made a mockery of on multiple fronts. First, that you were female and an Alpha. Second, that you had been placed in an Omega school in the first place. Third, that you presented there, were thrown into a rut, and had to be dragged through the streets like a rabid animal.

You had not entered the light of society since, at your parent’s behest. They cared for you, to a point, however they were now tasked with finding a male Omega for you to mate with. They could have tried to find you a Beta, who likely wouldn’t care so much about your designation, however your parents were of a purist breed. Alphas and Omegas mated as far back as designations had existed. You almost thought they might break the streak just to get you pawned off on someone else. Your reputation had improved since your presentation, thankfully. No one stared, and mostly, no one gossiped.

You were, however, bored. Bored of being confined. Bored of taking rut blockers and bathing yourself in scent blockers just to never leave the house anyways. Bored of seeing nothing but the small neighbourhood around you. Bored of life. So, you decided to get a job. You hoped that having a purpose beyond ‘wait for someone to find you an Omega to rut into the ground until one of you gets pregnant’ would spark some joie de vivre in your bland, grey life. An unwise decision, according to your parents, but one they weren’t going to interfere with for now. You know that they assume you’re going to fail, and that’s likely the only reason they’ve allowed it.

On a cold Autumn morning at half past eight, you walked into the Kreizler Institute in your most demure but professional dress, high collar pulled up to cover your bare neck and contain some of your scent. Despite being bathed in scent blockers, you were paranoid about an incident. Your reputation couldn’t handle it. Nor could your sanity.

“Hello, I’m here for an appointment with Dr. Kreizler at quarter to nine?”

The receptionist looks up at you for a moment, studying you curiously, then sighs as he stands from his desk. His bland, calming Beta scent fills your nose as he approaches to lead you along, and you do your best to breathe and calm your racing heart. You’re led to Dr. Kreizler’s office, and the receptionist knocks twice, then leaves. His calming scent abandons you, and the nerves creep back in.

“Come in.” An accented voice calls from inside, and you tentatively open the door, doing your best to look as passive as possible. Signs of aggression in a male Alpha might be forgivable, but the same was certainly not to be said for a female Alpha. Even the slightest sign of confidence could be interpreted as aggression by many, and you were trying to make a good impression. You peek around the door to see a man sitting alone at a desk in one of the most beautiful offices you’ve ever seen. It’s quite grand, lined with countless bookshelves that you want to peruse though you’d never dare. The furniture is opulent but comfortable, and the room is far more spacious than you expected.

Dr. Kreizler himself is of average height, with a sturdy build. His facial hair is perfectly groomed, and you imagine he takes great care of himself in every way, for his appearance is immaculate. His clothes are obviously expensive and well-tailored, and he chooses his outfits to suit him quite impressively for a man of science. You’d always imagined they’d be more dowdy and less handsome. He looks at you with no real warmth to him, but he’s calm and collected, and not necessarily cold.

“Ms. L/N, I presume?” He breaks the silence, and you step into his office hesitantly, nodding.

“Yes, Dr. Kreizler. Lovely to meet you.” You reply, and he nods, gesturing towards the chair across from him. He doesn’t try to get up and pull it out for you, which you appreciate since there’s truly no need. He’s about to be your boss, hopefully. You don’t expect him to treat you like a delicate lady when you’re anything but. You sit in the offered seat, smoothing out your dress and offering him a polite smile. He smells medicinal in the way of scent blockers, but they must be quality like yours, for you can’t get even a whiff of his designation.

Somehow, you secure the job. Dr. Kreizler blinks when you tell him your designation, looking you over for longer than is necessarily comfortable, but otherwise has very little reaction. He surveys your typing skills, backhandedly praises your knowledge of medical terminology, then gives you a dubious but curious look when you admit to reading his works. When you prove it by quoting him, he softens, seemingly noticing how much you’ve bristled from having your knowledge discounted. He tells you you start tomorrow, and that a requirement of your job is that you take rut blockers and apply scent blockers, which isn’t a problem since you already do both of those things. You depart with nothing more than a handshake and a nod, heart nearly beating out of your chest with excitement for the job you’ve managed to land yourself.

~

Nearly eight months pass in the blink of an eye. You grow closer to Dr. Kreizler, who appears to be the only person willing to treat you normally despite your queer designation. He trusts you and your opinion, asking you endless questions about yourself. He treats you better than anyone else you’ve ever met despite his moods, and always apologises after a day when he’s been particularly snippy, which you appreciate. He notices sometime into your employment your fixation with biting yourself when you’re nervous. First, chewing the skin around your nails, which escalates into biting your thenar eminence when your parents put pressure on you to quit your job and stop making a fool of yourself.

One day, he dares to ask about the news in the society pages. He’d been thirty-one at the time, and expressed a certain sadness in regards to how you’d been treated. It isn’t easy to talk about, but he listens as if you’re riveting, and you’ve never had someone find you interesting in any way that wasn’t cruel. You tell him about how you’d been prepared to be an Omega your entire life. You knew what to expect - the hormone changes, the physical changes, the emotional volatility. You were ready for it. And then, one day, you became something wholly different than expected with zero preparation for how to be that thing. You felt something akin to a monster, only worsened by how you’d been confined with Omegas when you presented.

Dr. Kreizler listens with a certain sympathy on his face as you explain that you’d tried to leave the room when their scents got overwhelming. That you didn’t want any of them, nor did you want to attack or hurt anyone. The only reason you’d even fought the security guards back then was because one of the Omegas was crying, big fat tears rolling down her face, and you could fix it. You knew in your gut that you could, and that you were supposed to. Already, raspy, unused little chuffs were rolling in your throat, subvocals full of comforting tones. Alphas were meant to make Omegas feel better, to protect and nurture not just your mates but any vulnerable person who needed you. It was instinctual. They tried to stop you from doing what you were meant to do, and your body took over. You weren’t going to hurt her - you had no sexual feelings towards her whatsoever. Then, your rut set in, caused by the crying and the aggressive action against you by those security guards, and the scent of hundreds of unmated Omegas.

Your instincts had been made a mockery of in the papers. You were turned from a scared fourteen year old girl into a wild animal maddened by her impulses. It was framed as why women shouldn’t be Alphas - your emotions were too volatile to be mixed with the fire of aggression of an Alpha, or so they said. Dr. Kreizler reaches out at one point, touching your arm so gently you could barely feel him, and you realise that you’re crying. He apologises for the sensitive subject, but you can see in his eyes that he wouldn’t have stopped prying if he had more questions. He’s kind, but his curiosity sometimes makes him just a little bit cruel, prone to poking and prodding until he gets what he wants.

Only a day or two later, he finally tells you why he understands and empathises with you so much. He’s an Omega. Like you in reverse, he’d been believed to be an Alpha from birth, and was sent to an Alpha prep school. Your stories were mirrored, except that his presentation had been significantly more discreet. He’d presented young, while visiting home for a weekend, with only his family in the house. You envy him for a moment, swiftly followed by relief that he hadn’t had to endure what you had. Unlike you, his designation was able to be hidden, and very few knew the truth.

It bonds you. Both of you, oddities, controlling your designations as best you can in a world that finds you unusual and distasteful at the very best. You are a constant ball of tightly wired control, but you allow yourself small intimacies with Dr. Kreizler. You tell him more. He inquires as to the nature of your biting habit, and you admit to the level of control you need to have at all times, and that the biting was always a compulsion but has only grown more frequent and harmful as you got older. Thankfully, you haven’t bitten anyone else. Dr. Kreizler calls it self-harm, and you do not refute him, though you do tell him that you aren’t trying to hurt yourself. Dr. Kreizler makes attempts to curb your habit, but the gloves he gives you only dull the pain and keep you from biting the skin around your nails.

Not long into your employment at the Kreizler Institute, the doctor begins solving crimes with John Moore, an Alpha who struggles with his own warring physical and emotional needs. You like him, at least partially because he doesn’t try to posture at you and prove his dominance as the biggest Alpha in the room. You wouldn’t want to have to be involved in a fight like that, because you aren’t sure who would win, and you know it would be worse if you did. Then comes Sara Howard, the calmest and strongest Beta you’ve ever met in your life. You like her quite a bit, and you like her even more when she, when told your designation, simply shrugs and asks you if your female nature makes you less of an aggressive arse than a typical Alpha. The Twins come along shortly after, and to your surprise, the good doctor demands you join them as well. You take notes and type them up for the team, and copy ‘borrowed’ police documents without a hint of shame.

Suddenly, before you even realise it has been so long, spring is upon you. Your least favourite season, with rain clouds looming high in the sky every other goddamned day. You begin keeping a spare bottle of scent blockers on your desk at work just to reapply when you have to go out in the rain. Which is, regrettably, often. On one clear day, you head out with Dr. Kreizler to examine a crime scene not too terribly far from the Institute. You hold his arm politely, poised and elegant the way you’re meant to be as a well to do woman - Dr. Kreizler always gives you the confidence to play the role you’ve always been meant to play, despite your lack of surety. You needed to play your roles in public, and you especially needed to keep yourself buttoned up to avoid attention.

You meet John and Sara at the crime scene, and Sara sticks close to you while John draws the scene and Dr. Kreizler makes observations that he expects you to write down despite the speed at which he makes them. Thank goodness for Sara, filling in any blanks of words that you might’ve missed. By this point, John no longer tries to protest your involvement at crime scenes, though he always gives Dr. Kreizler a judgemental look when he shows up with you. You’re not bothered by the blood and gore, despite Mr. Moore’s concerns. The smell is a bit much on your sensitive nose, but blood doesn’t turn your stomach the way it does for others (him included). The nature of the crimes - the murder of young boys who were only children - was more disturbing to you than the gore itself. You were very curious about the crimes, in fact, though you did your best to keep that to yourself to avoid appearing odd.

Eventually, Dr. Kreizler determines he’s seen enough, and he offers you his arm as he turns to leave, the motion casual now after so long travelling the city together in the name of criminal inquiry. John does the same to Sara, but she pointedly ignores it, stepping out through the door behind you both. Only a few minutes into your walk, the skies turn, the clouds grow dark, and it begins to pour rain down upon you. Together, you all run towards the shelter of a covered overhang between two buildings, and you ring out your clothes as much as you can, panic sparking in your heart. You’re soaked through, and it's dangerous to catch a chill, however your concern is not for your health.

You can already smell yourself. The woodsy, spicy scent rolls off of you, made worse by your nervousness. John sniffs the air as subtly as he can, but you notice him, and your cheeks grow warm with embarrassment and nervousness. The scent of figs, geranium, vetiver, cedarwood and citrus fills your nose, sweet and tangy, with a hint of floral. Your tension eases, and you take a deep breath through your nose, instinctively soothed by the scent. And then, you seem to put two and two together.

Dr. Kreizler.

Sweet and floral like an Omega. The scent was your boss, and his scent soothed you in the way of compatible Alphas and Omegas. Shit.

Shit shit shit.

You step back from the Omega and press your wrist to your nose, huffing on your own scent gland just to try and drown out the smell of him. The good doctor gives you an odd look as he squeezes some of the rainwater out of his shirt, unaware of the dilemma you’ve found yourself in. Your good fortune doesn’t last. His pupils dilate quite suddenly, and he sniffs, then rubs his nose as if unsure what he’s experiencing. His brows furrow, and he takes a deep breath through his nose to try and process the scent. Finally, his gaze settles on you, and you don’t recognise the look in his eyes. It’s heavy, and you feel the weight of your designation settling around your shoulders as you finally connect his expression to one you’ve seen before.

Hunger.

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, and John raises an eyebrow at you. A myriad of emotions cross your boss’ face in a flash, but none of them seem particularly negative, always accompanied by that intense hunger. The doctor lifts a hand to delicately pluck open the top button on his shirt, and then the second, showing off his bare neck. You can see the soft bump of his scent glands, and your body burns with the knowledge that he’s exposing them to you. It’s a blatant invitation. Unbecoming of an Omega, typically, but not unheard of. John sucks air through his teeth, and your hackles raise instantly as you position yourself between John and Dr. Kreizler.

“What exactly is going on?” Sara asks, her voice tight with some amount of distaste at being out of the loop.

“It’s-” John begins, taking a half-step closer to you, then cuts himself off as you give a quick display of your teeth. He retreats back, his gaze slowly trailing over the doctor before he rips it away and turns his back on you to instead face Sara. You’re only distracted from him by the preternatural awareness of someone leaning over your shoulder, a deep inhale only an inch or two from your scent glands startling you. Dr. Kreizler’s eyes are nearly black when you look back over your shoulder at him, panic and hunger swirling together in your gut as you observe what you’ve done to your intelligent and calm boss. This is your fault. He’s fine around John, who wears only light scent blockers if any. You’ve done this to him - devolved him to his baser instincts.

“Dr. Kreizler…”

“Laszlo.” He corrects you, tipping his head back and to the side to expose his neck to you, and a high-pitched, awkward ‘Oh!’ slips from your lips. Your cheeks are on fire as you look away from him. He reaches out, skimming his thumb over the scent gland on your right wrist, an intimacy that was reserved for mates or family. The tangy scent of slick reaches your nose, and you panic, pointedly keeping your eyes away from the prominent hard line in his trousers. John pats you on the shoulder gently.

“We’ll leave you here, I suppose. I should get Ms. Howard home. I trust you’ll be able to get each other home safely, yes?” He asks, and you gap at him.

“Yes, thank you, John.” Laszlo replies for you, and you only nod when he gently nudges your ribs. You start to take Laszlo’s arm, but he takes yours instead, and you turn your gaze to the sky as his crafty fingertips stroke across the slight bulge of your bicep. Like male Alphas, you were gifted with a certain strength that went far beyond what any other woman your size would be capable of. You hid it well under clothes that were just a little bit bigger, which is only made clearer when Laszlo stares at your arm in surprise as you walk. His pupils are already blown, eyes half-lidded with blatant desire, but the scent of slick gets stronger and you get more and more protective. You reach up to your neck, unbuttoning the collar of your shirt and giving it a shake to disperse more of your scent, hoping to cover up the scent of his desire.

It earns you looks, but it’s worth it to avoid anyone else being able to smell the slick on your Omega. You wonder if it’s running down his thighs. You wonder if he’s hard as a rock in those perfectly tailored trousers of his. You wonder how sweetly tangy his slick would taste should you follow his silent requests and bend him over the first chance you get. There’s a couch within maybe twenty feet of the front door of his house - you could bend him over it, pull those expensive trousers down over his round little ass and spread him open. Lap up the slick pouring from him and stroke his pretty little cock until he falls apart. You could make your Omega cover his own couch in cum, then get him to lick it up while you make him fall apart on your knot where he belongs.

“Alpha.” Laszlo murmurs, and you blink, finding yourself just outside the door to Laszlo’s home. You look at him, surveying his somewhat disheveled appearance, his eyes wide with hopeful desire. The smell of slick and ripe Omega fills the air, and you shake your head to clear it. You were calling Laszlo your Omega in your head. Claiming him. You were being an overbearing Alpha, drowning this poor Omega in your scent and forcing him into this needy state. You bite down on your hand, sharp teeth sinking through your skin like butter and filling the air with the fresh iron scent of blood. The pain grounds you, cutting through the hormones and thirst, and satisfying the ache in your jaw to bite and claim and make Laszlo yours.

“Go inside, Omega.” You insist, mouth stained with blood, opening the door for him from behind his back so he can’t see what you’ve done, and he heads inside with the clear expectation that you will be following him, “Goodnight, Laszlo.”

“Wait-” He begins as he notices the scent of blood, turning to see you sinking your teeth back into your hand as you slam the door closed behind him and run. You get home in record time, and instead of going through the front door, you scale the wall through the backyard to your window then sneak into the bathroom to scrub yourself raw in the bathroom. You normally don’t sleep in scent blockers, but you do tonight, and you take an additional dose of rut blocker just for safety. Now that you know how good Laszlo smells - now that the scent of ripe, virgin, needy Omega is stuck in your nose - how are you supposed to go on without bending him over his desk?

You bite your hand until your brain goes fuzzy, then wash the blood away in a bit of a trance, bandaging yourself up. You crawl into bed in a daze, burying your face in your pillow and falling into a deep, exhausted sleep.

~

Walking into work the next morning is unnerving. You’ve bathed yourself in more scent blocker, and brought an additional dose of your rut blocker to take midday just in case. You’re wearing a dress with a high collar just for further coverage. A couple of people throughout the Institute take a second glance at your bandaged hand, but you ignore it, focused on getting to work. Without your left hand, typing will be slow going, but you can manage. You resolve to act as if yesterday didn’t even happen, and you hope that Laszlo won’t be too angry with you. You’ll apologise again if he seems angry.

You stand before the large door to his office, hesitating to take a steadying breath before you push it open. Laszlo stands by his desk, dressed elegantly in a white shirt, an ornate dark green vest with gold threading, and a pair of black trousers. His glasses sit at the end of his nose, and he’s reading through some of the papers you’ve typed up. He looks up as you enter the room, and you freeze as he smiles at you, warmer than you expected in the best case scenario. He puts the papers on the desk, circling the desk to sit his bottom on the edge of it.

“Good morning.” He greets you, and you blink, then nod your head quickly and head for your desk.

“Good morning, Dr. Kreizler.”

“I told you to call me Laszlo. I still desire that today.” He replies, with a weight to his voice that you know is meant to imply something more, but you’re too anxious to even acknowledge him. You hurry to your desk, and miss Laszlo frowning at your back in consternation.

“Of course, Laszlo, I apologise.”

“Is your hand-”

“I took care of it. Thank you.” You reply shortly, rubbing your good hand over your hot cheeks, then flipping open his journal and getting back to work. Laszlo tries to talk to you a couple of times throughout the day, but you keep it professional as much as you can. He sweeps past your desk at one point, and you feel the ghost of his fingers across the back of your neck. You shiver, glancing at him, and he makes and holds eye contact with you before demurely dropping his gaze to the floor. His submissiveness sparks something in you, and you have to swallow hard and take deep, soothing breaths to calm down. You turn back to your work, and Laszlo huffs an annoyed breath behind you.

~

Several days pass, and you fall into a steady rhythm with Laszlo. You’ve begun reapplying scent blocker throughout the day to avoid bothering your boss, and despite the way he looks at you, you think it might be working. He hasn’t made any kind of moves on you so far, but you can feel his gaze burning into you, and it always makes you nervous. One evening, you visit his home with John and Sara to discuss the case, and Laszlo makes a brief trip to the bathroom before returning, smelling so strongly of ripe and ready Omega that you find yourself biting your cheek to keep from growling at John.

The other Alpha seems as confused as you, and even remarks privately to Laszlo that his scent blockers have worn off, but Laszlo simply shrugs.

“Am I not allowed to take them off in my own home, John?”

Mr. Moore has nothing to say to that, but he keeps his eyes on you as Laszlo sits on the other side of the couch you’re perched upon. It takes every ounce of control in your body to avoid biting through your hand again, and when it very clearly becomes too much, John gives you a tidy excuse to go home by rounding up Sara and departing with you both. Much to Laszlo’s disappointment.

~

A knock upon your door is not what you expect two days later while your parents are attending a party and event outside of the city. You open it tentatively, almost afraid of what you’ll find, and John Moore stands upon your doorstep. In his arms is a beautiful bouquet that he appears to be trying not to sniff too much - given the slightly red state of his nose, you assume he might be allergic. The flowers are beautiful, but as a well-to-do lady, you know their meanings as keenly as you know your own soul.

“Mr. Moore, may I ask why you’re attempting to court a fellow Alpha? It isn’t unheard of, of course, but my parents would never allow-”

“No!”

“Beg your pardon?”

“No, sorry, sorry, they’re not from me.” John replies shortly, then hands the bouquet over, “Laszlo asked me to deliver these for him.”

“Laszlo. As in, Dr. Kreizler.” You state blankly, and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Do you know any other?”

“Of course not. John, Dr. Kreizler has no real interest in me. This is surely a mistake.” You insist, trying to give the bouquet back, but he shakes his head firmly.

“No, you can discuss that with the good doctor yourself. I’ve done my part.” John insists, and you frown as he stalks away quickly, sneezing at the bottom of the steps. You close the door, carrying the flowers inside and looking them over.

Borage, to deliver a blunt or direct message. Pink camellia, to convey longing. Red carnations to convey heartache, and edelweiss for devotion. Nasturtium was a blunt choice, conveying conquest and a foreseen victory in battle. Savory to add spice and convey interest. Red roses for love and seduction, and red tulips to convey passion. Red hyacinth for intense passion and adoration, jasmine for sensuality, and orchids for seduction.

The message of the bouquet is shockingly blunt. A bouquet like this would be inappropriate, and should you tell anyone about it, you’re certain Laszlo’s reputation would be damaged. You stroke the petals, carrying the bouquet up to your bedroom and splitting it into smaller bouquets. One goes onto your vanity, another on your night table, and a third in a vase on your windowsill.

In return, you leave a bouquet of your own on his desk. Blue saliva, to convey that you think of him fondly. Chamomile to request patience in your lack of surety. Fennel for flattery. Apple blossom, to convey your preference for him over others, and clematis to show appreciation for his mental prowess and beauty. And then, to send a clear message, you attach tarragon for lasting interest to lavender for distrust and rue for clear vision. You want to make it clear that while you hold affection for him, you distrust his lasting interest and that his thoughts are clear. The following morning, you come in to a single flower on your desk.

Blue hyacinth for constancy.

~

Over the next couple of days, Laszlo is a bit gentler in his pursuits - for you can call them nothing less, with how keenly he observes you and tries to gentle your heart to him. He pries no less than he used to, but he does his best to stop before he goes too far. He asks you questions about yourself, talks to you about your interests, compliments the way you’ve styled your hair, and compliments your work. He wears a lighter scent blocker going forwards instead of the near-impenetrable one he wore before. It gets you more used to his scent instead of being completely overwhelmed every time he takes it off when you go to his home after working on a case. You’re beginning to wonder if perhaps he is serious about his intentions. You’ve never heard of an Omega pursuing an Alpha like this. Short term, certainly, but usually only while they’re in preheat and wanting a specific Alpha. It’s been just over two weeks now, and he has not relented.

You go into work a couple of days later to find a small box on your desk, and you open it slowly, hesitant, only to find a lover’s eye pendant inside the box. You recognise the colour in an instant. You also recognise the portraiture. John Moore painted this, and it is Dr. Laszlo Kreizler’s honey-brown eye. John has perfectly captured the very light crow’s feet at the corner of Laszlo’s eye, and his lovely long lashes that you’re somewhat envious of. The portrait is beautiful, and you stroke your fingertips across the gold frame, a small smile pulling at your lips. You put the pendant on, tucking it down into the bodice of your dress, holding it against your chest as if it might become a part of you with enough contact.

Laszlo watches from his desk, a smug smile on his face as he shuffles through his papers, pushing his glasses up his nose when they slip down. You’re so pleased that you don't even protest when he invites you to Delmonico’s with John and Sara, though you know you’ve trapped yourself.

“Your parents thought you were going to be an Omega?” Sara asks at one point through the evening, and you agree, awkward but not necessarily uncomfortable divulging in the present company.

“They did. I was… quite a surprise.”

“Did they have a nesting dowry for you?” Sara asks softly, as none of these matters pertain to her and you know she is endlessly curious about them. You smile fondly at her sincerity, and the lack of judgement she’s shown you.

“That might, perhaps, be the only benefit of them thinking I would be an Omega. I have a nesting trunk from when I was a child.” You reply, and you politely pretend that you don’t hear Laszlo’s sharp little intake of breath. Sara laughs, a wide smile on her face as her gaze darts over to Laszlo, then back to you.

“Oh, that’s very special.”

“Indeed. My father has also set aside a suitable nesting dowry to compensate for anything missing. I also…” You trail off, cheeks getting hot as you become a little embarrassed.

“What is it?” Sara presses, and you give the tiniest shrug of your shoulders.

“Well, I was taught to embroider, of course. But I also learned to knit, and sew. I made a baby blanket when I was younger, and little matching booties and a little hat.” You admit, and Sara gasps with delight, leaning closer to you over the table. You notice John also leaning in, a soft look in his eyes that you’re especially fond of - he’s so sensitive, he makes your heart melt, “I’ve been working on a blanket as well, for… well, most of my life since I presented. I’m almost finished, in fact.”

“That’s wonderful.” John comments, and you smile demurely, “What a lovely gift for your future Omega. I envy you the skill - I’m sure many Omegas would be thrilled with such an offering.”

“It must take you so much time.” Sara adds, and you nod your agreement.

“Oh, it does. I work on it every night after work. I had a lot of time after presenting - my parents didn’t let me go out much, for obvious reasons.”

John frowns a little, as does Sara, but she reaches across the table to cover your hand on your glass.

“You’re a welcome addition to our team. I’ve never met an Alpha with such strong control over their instincts.” Sara muses, and you bite your lip, guilt flooding you as you think of what you’ve done to Laszlo. Certainly, his behaviour is your fault, right? He wasn’t interested in you before you smothered him in your scent.

“It is a constant struggle.” You admit, turning your head as you hear a small clatter and smiling fondly at the sight of an Alpha with his arm protectively around his heavily pregnant Omega. She waddles, cheeks aglow with motherly mirth, her hand cupping her round belly as she squeezes between tables. Her Alpha pulls out her seat, tucking her in at their table, and you sigh happily at the clear love between them. You turn your gaze back to the table to see similar looks on John and Sara’s faces, though Laszlo instead looks surprisingly… sad.

“Laszlo?” You ask quietly, and he blinks, looking at you with a certain longing in his eyes that makes you squirm in your seat.

“I always wanted to be a father.” He admits, quiet enough that it’s nearly a whisper. You stare at him for a moment, shocked at his vulnerability, and slide your hand across the table to brush your fingertips across his knuckles.

“You will be, one day.” You promise him, and you only realise after saying it what that sounds like. You want to correct yourself, but Laszlo gives you a look so soft that you melt, your heart pounding in your chest. You pull your hand away, turning to look at the others, until a familiar scent reaches your nose. You freeze.

“John.” You murmur, and he nods to indicate he smells it as well.

“What is it?” Sara asks, and you swallow hard around the lump in your throat.

“Dr. Kreizler, I believe it’s about time that I escort you home.” You state instead of answering her, and his pupils blow before your very eyes. He stands swiftly, and the scent gets stronger, sweet and tangy slick begging to be bred. You crudely dip your fingers in the water glass in front of your plate, rubbing at your scent glands until the blocker begins to wear off. John watches with a certain knowing sadness in his eyes, while Sara frowns, out of the loop.

“I will handle the bill.” John states, and you nod your thanks to him. Your scent fills the air, and you slip an arm around Laszlo’s waist possessively, leading him towards the entrance to the restaurant. Once out of sight of the dining room, you tuck Laszlo into a dark corner, unsure how you’re going to make it home with him in this state.

“Laszlo, dear, I need to scent you in order to get you home safely. May I?” You ask, and Laszlo shivers visibly, tilting his head to the side for you.

“Please.” He whispers, and you cup the back of his neck, rubbing your chin against his scent gland delicately. Your other hand sweeps down Laszlo’s back, and you feel your cheeks burn as you touch a wet patch that you realise means you’re touching his ass. Your hand will smell like his slick until you wash thoroughly - the scent of slick lasts for ages. Laszlo is like a furnace against you, and you do your best not to be too obvious about your body’s reaction to him as you hold him like something precious in your arms. And he is. God forgive you, he is. You know you’ve done this to him, and it is a betrayal of his trust in you that you’ve manipulated him somehow into losing himself like this. And yet, it feels so right to have him so close to you. His scent combined with yours is heavenly. How could sin be this sweet?

“That should last you for a little while.” You whisper, pulling away reluctantly with every ounce of strength in your body, and Laszlo whimpers. You are gentle but firm as you lead him from the restaurant, his hand holding your bicep tightly.

“I meant it.” Laszlo murmurs, and you startle at the sound of his voice, so focused on walking towards his home.

“Pardon?”

“The flowers. I meant it.”

You let out a quiet sigh, petting his hand on your arm gently, soothingly, “I know, Laszlo. I know.”

This time, when you leave Laszlo at his home a short few minutes later, he makes an attempt at getting you to come inside instead of leaving him alone.

“This is what I want. And it is what you want, whether you will admit it or not.” He snaps when you begin to protest, and it takes everything in you to restrain from baring your teeth at him for taking that tone with you.

“What I want is not important. Go inside, Laszlo. You’ll think about what you truly want a bit more clearly in the morning, and appreciate my restraint.” You insist while backing away from him, turning to flee not a moment later. Thankfully, you’re faster than him even if he did try to chase you, and once again you enter your bedroom through the window. You bathe in silence, trying to figure out what to do with yourself. Shame fills you as you slide your hand between your legs, your other hand against your nose, breathing in the scent of Laszlo’s slick like the disgusting monster you know you are.

~

There are gloves on your desk. You’ve finally removed the bulk of the bandage on your hand, but you find it constantly irritated by everything you touch, and clearly Laszlo has noticed. Even last night while eating dinner, you’d struggled with holding your fork and knife without the bandage protecting the sensitive bitemarks. You lift the gloves, sighing at how soft they are, but the scent rolling off of them hits your nose and makes your face burn.

He’s scented them. Rubbed his pretty little chin on them until they smell so strongly of him that you want to bury your nose in them and huff for dear life. And yet, you can’t, because Laszlo is watching you keenly, and has been since you walked through the door to his office. You wonder if he regrets giving them to you. You wonder if he’s finally come to his senses, and realises you’re an overbearing Alpha knothead. Perhaps he’ll fire you.

You spiral until the door to the office opens, and John steps into the room with a lead. A prostitute he knew had indicated that her friend had heard something about the case and was willing to talk to you all. You stand with your notebook, following the men out of the office and down the street, your head buried in the clouds enough that you don’t even notice John and Laszlo whispering feverishly to each other. In fact, you don’t notice much until you’re brought into a rather high class brothel. Immediately, you smell the scent of ripe Omega and virile Alpha, and you instinctively posture in an almost mirror of John Moore. A young woman catches your eye, smiling with faux-shyness, though she straightens up as she notices obvious signs of your designation. You stand aside from the others, taking notes as you go, writing quick descriptions of anyone who looks at you three for too long.

“Here for business instead of pleasure, Alpha?” A young, redhead Omega woman asks, approaching you with a sultry smile on her face. You offer her a faint nod, lips quirked up into a smile as you try to look benign and uninteresting. She only seems to smile wider.

“I’m just taking notes for my coworkers.” You inform her, and she hums, sweeping a hand across your lower back as she circles you. You stiffen, but don’t remove her hand, painfully aware of appearances and how you may come off as aggressive even in these sorts of situations.

“You know, I almost didn’t even notice you. All these Alphas come in here, puffed up like peacocks, scent rolling off of them like they dumped a bottle of perfume over their heads. And then there’s you.” She smiles coyly, skimming her hand over your bicep where it bulges under your puffy sleeves, “I can’t smell you at all.”

You swallow, watching her intently, “Not at all?”

“Not even a little bit.” She pouts, leaning in far too close to your neck and breathing in deeply, and the only thing that stops you from yanking your wrist out of her delicate grip is the many eyes on you both, “not even up close. You must wear the really good scent blockers. You smell even less than a Beta.”

Your mind reels, and your growing panic begins to ease somewhat as you’re distracted by putting your thoughts together in a coherent order. You blink into awareness as Laszlo steps between you and the Omega woman, his hand pulling hers away from you, the slightest hint of a hiss slipping through as he breaks the contact.

“You’re making her uncomfortable.” He informs the Omega as if she didn’t realise, and she pouts.

“Aww, I’m sorry sugar, I can make it better for you if you like?”

Laszlo bares his teeth at her in a threat display that sends excited shivers racing down your spine, and you rub his arm gently to soothe him.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” You murmur to him, and he leans into your touch, “Did you get what you needed?”

“I did.”

“Then, let’s go. I’m sorry I couldn't help more.”

John joins you both and you all leave together, with the artist quickly filling you in on the conversation they’d had with his acquaintance’s friend. You listen, but your mind is warring with conflicting thoughts, until finally, you stop midstep.

“Are either of you able to smell me?”

“Pardon?” Laszlo asks, but John looks almost knowingly at you. There’s an understanding in his eyes, and it makes you uncomfortable, like when you find something out that everyone else appears to know.

“No, we can’t smell you. Aside from when the rain washed off your scent blocker, I’ve never got even a whiff of your actual scent.” The artist informs you with a gentleness to his tone, and you nod, the truth sinking in.

“Ah.”

“Quite.” John agrees, and you nod thoughtfully. Your worldview of the last couple of weeks tips on its head. How is it possible that you’ve been influencing Laszlo’s hormones and feelings with your scent if he isn’t even able to smell you? And if it isn’t possible, and thus you haven’t been influencing him, then what does that mean? What is going on? Does that mean that Laszlo actually does want you? Does that mean that all of the displays from Laszlo are real? What are you meant to do about that?

You’re the Alpha, but he’s the man. Suddenly, the rules become so much more complicated. Do you propose courtship, or does he?

You should, certainly, as the Alpha. But will he be offended if you do? He’s been pursuing you this entire time, surely that means he’s intending on proposing courtship to you, right?

What gift do you give him to propose courtship? It’s traditional to give something deeply personal and, preferably, luxurious. This gift represents what you want from the courtship, and can be largely symbolic instead of personal - expensive fabrics for comfort of home, jewellery for wealth of life, exotic foods for abundance of resources, children’s items for a large family. The options are endless. These gifts are not returned by the Omega if they should reject a courtship proposal either. Many Alphas nowadays only give an Omega something truly special if they know that their intended will accept them - otherwise, they go with something less personal and more symbolic. What if you give him something special and he doesn’t want it? What if he doesn’t want you?

Panic sparks, catching fire in your veins and boiling through your blood. You can feel your heartbeat pounding. You can feel it. The throbbing pulse of it in your ears drowns out all other sound. Your heart is a frightened bird in the cage of your ribs, frantically slamming against the walls of its enclosure and breaking its neck against the bars. 

You’re spiraling. Based on the looks on Laszlo and John’s faces, you’re visibly spiraling. You feel yourself moving but have no control of your own limbs. John grabs you suddenly, wrestling your arms down to your sides as the fresh scent of blood fills the air, and a sharp pain breaks through the anxious fog swirling in your mind. You roar as you’re restrained, instinct and panic building upon each other as you are guided into an alley out of view. John chuffs soothingly against your ear, big chest practically vibrating against your back with the effort of calming you down as he gets your wrists into one hand. The other grabs the back of your neck to squeeze and scruff you like a family member might scruff a younger Alpha. It breaks through some of the panic, and you take a deep, ragged breath of cold, fresh(ish) air to try and calm yourself down. Laszlo’s warm hands cup your face, and you lean into his palms, his quiet purring finally breaking through that last instinctive fight or flight response that had sent your mind into overdrive.

“Las.” You whisper, and he rubs his thumbs under your eyes to wipe away the tears streaked upon your face. The scent of iron sticks in your nose, and you kick yourself when you notice you’ve bit down around the scent gland in your wrist the way you used to when you were younger and far more fearful. Or had you ever really grown out of the fear? Had you ever actually healed from the trauma of your presentation? Or had you simply learned to cope as best as you could while maintaining the appearance of sanity?

“Shh, Alpha, we’ve got you.” Laszlo promises, and you nuzzle your cheek into his palm. John chuffs softly, and you shiver something fierce as he rubs his chin against your scent gland in the way an older brother might - a little too rough, but affectionate and soothing.

“I… I think I’m okay.” You whisper, and John slowly releases your arms, rubbing your shoulders to help work out the inevitable pins and needles. You turn towards John, rubbing your chin over his scent gland gently, and the chuff you let out is a little choppy and disused. He’s blushing when you pull away, and his warm, woodsy scent sticks to you, blending with your own in an interesting way that feels very comforting. It wasn’t completely unheard of for two Alphas or two Omegas to get together, though it was certainly not the norm, and wasn’t a well-regarded decision. It was somewhat interesting to find how well your scent blended with John’s, in a way that to some might indicate you were sexually compatible, but to you felt far more like a familial relationship. You didn’t smell anything like your Alpha father, but your scents blended well, just as your scent blended well with your mother’s.

“You stink.” Laszlo informs you with an almost playful sneer, and you laugh at the disgruntled look on John’s face as you offer Laszlo your arm and let yourself by led from the alley, finally feeling like yourself again. 

~

Just over a week later, you place a box upon Laszlo’s desk. For once, you’ve managed to make it to the Institute before him, and you adjust the phthalo green gift box a couple of times to make sure it looks perfect. You adjust the ribbon, fluffing the bow up, and nearly jump out of your skin when Laszlo clears his throat behind you. Your cheeks burn as you slowly turn to face him, clearing your throat before you start talking, hoping to cut in before he has a chance to speak and throw you off your plan.

“I know that I might not be the ideal partner, and that you might have reservations about both my societal standing with regards to my recent and past public embarrassments, and my capability as an Alpha. But… but, should you accept me as your Alpha, I would love you in whatever way you desire to be loved. Not in the way that someone, or many someones, determine is the best way for you to be loved. Not in the way that I want to love you, Laszlo, but however you wish to be desired, pleasured, revered, and adored. I will give you anything you ask for - no, anything you desire at all, for I will endeavour to meet your needs before you even have cause to ask. I will always respect your intelligence, and swear to never make you diminish yourself to improve my own image. I will worship you in place of the God so many pledge their soul to. I will protect you, and any family we may or may not have. I will share in this life with you, should you… should you simply want me to.”

Your breath comes shaky, your nose stinging as you bite back a more emotional response, and you finally lift your gaze from the box in your hands to look Laszlo in the eyes. He looks soft. You pray he isn’t upset with you. You pray you’ve read this right. You beg every deity you’ve ever heard of that perhaps, just this once, you’ve gotten it right. Just this once, you’ve managed to convey yourself in the way you wish to be perceived, free of any chance of misinterpretation.

“You’re asking to court me?” Laszlo asks, his voice so soft, it’s barely a whisper. An exhale of shaky breath, disbelieving, and you swear you can almost hear his heart pounding. Or perhaps it’s your own, combined with wishful thinking that you could perhaps affect him as much as he affects you.

“I am.” You breathe, then hastily shove the gift box into his hand, a hint of panic in your movements. You’re the worst Alpha, too anxious to portray the smooth, easy confidence that so many Alphas are seemingly born with. Laszlo clears his throat, stepping past you to set the box on his desk and open it slowly. Inside, he finds a long jewellery box and a wider jewellery box. In the wide box lie a gold and emerald set of cufflinks and matching tie pin. Folded underneath it is a handsewn handkerchief of phthalo green, embroidered with both his initials, and your own, in gold thread. In the longer box, he finds an ovular gold locket wrought with intricate scrolling, which contains a portrait of you, and on the other face, a piece of fabric that is so heavily scented by you that you’d be shocked if it ever wore off. A small clip keeps it clasped inside, allowing it to be removed and re-scented when necessary.

You wet your lips as Laszlo goes through each item in the box, and you feel your chest tighten as he comes across the handkerchief, which you’d dyed and sewn yourself, and painstakingly embroidered your initials upon. You’d also scented it, and your cheeks grow hot as he brings it to his nose, breathing you in. You have to grab the edge of his desk to ground yourself when you see his eyes roll back in his head.

“You made this for me?” He whispers, and you nod hesitantly.

“I… I wanted my first courting gift - should you accept me, of course, I wouldn’t presume that you don’t have other options…”

“I do not have any desire for other options. Finish what you were saying.” Laszlo interjects, and you take a shaky breath.

“I wanted my first courting gift to… well, it’s a bit of a cheeky message, I suppose. I apologise. It is simply that… Well, appearances can be deceiving.” You murmur, pressing your thumb gently into the tie pin, which unclips into two pieces to show a sharp blade of metal hidden within. Not a dagger, but enough to do damage and defend oneself. The cufflinks, you show him, contain a hidden compartment in which you’ve hidden two small folded pieces of paper. One is the words which end nearly every German fairytale, which you quite liked for its morose nature and odd romance.

Und wenn sie nicht gestorben sind, dann leben sie noch heute.

‘And if they haven't died, they are still alive today.’

The second is a quote from Gustave Le Bon’s The Crowd: A Study of the Popular Mind which you had spoken with Laszlo at length about in the early days of your work with him. The quote was one which you quite liked, and Laszlo teased you for enjoying it so much. It had been one of the first times that you had ever heard him laugh. Even then, you’d remarked upon how much you liked the sound.

An individual in a crowd is a grain of sand amid other grains of sand, which the wind stirs up at will.

The secret of the handkerchief is not difficult to find - You’ve embroidered a simple message upon the bottom right hand corner of the handkerchief in phthalo green thread, making it difficult to see but obvious to the touch. ‘You hold my heart in your palm.’ He rubs it between his fingers several times, staring at the message to try and see it against the softer fabric. Eventually, he tucks it into his vest pocket, then picks up the chain of your last gift. Laszlo rubs his thumb over the face of the locket, and you smile as he examines it for several moments before looking up at you.

“And what secret does this treasure hide?”

“You’ll find it.” You reply softly, “you need not answer me immediately. All of this is yours, should you want me or no-”

A warm, large hand cups your face, still wrapped in the delicate gold chain, and you gasp as his thumb traces your lower lip. The locket thwaps against your collarbone, and you stare into Laszlo’s honey eyes until he leans forwards and presses his lips against yours. Your first kiss is dry, and perhaps a little awkward, for you’ve no idea what to do with yourself and frankly hadn’t been expecting it. Both of your breathing is loud, shaky, practically panting through your noses as you smooth your hands over his waist to hold onto him. Finally, he releases you, then strokes his fingertips over the imprint of the chain of his locket on your face.

“I accept your proposal.” He whispers, “Come home with me tonight. We have much to discuss.”

Cheeks on fire, you brush your fingers across his cheek, brushing through his beard to stroke the line of his jaw, “I would… very much like to scent you. May I?”

Your Omega - you can say that now that he’s accepted, so long as you can keep his interest long enough to convince him to mate you - tips his head to the side to expose his scent gland to you almost demandingly. You lean in, breathing him in and gently rubbing your chin against his scent gland, and Laszlo gasps as you swipe your tongue across the soft bump. His pheromones are tangy and electric on your tastebuds, and while some might find it a little unpleasant, you chuff against his skin with approval. You only lean away from him when he gives a disgruntled chirrup, but before you can panic, your Omega buries his face in your neck and rubs his chin against your scent gland.

“You smell so good.” You whisper, and Laszlo purrs against your skin, chest vibrating something fierce as he tries to encourage your body to override the scent blockers you’d applied that morning. A whine rises in his throat, and you feel the need to fix it, and make your Omega’s distress go away.

“I’ll wash it off.” You mumble, and his purring kicks up a notch. You kiss his forehead, his temple, and then his orbital bone, “I’ll be right back.”

You return from the bathroom, freshly washed as best as you could, to see Laszlo sitting at his desk wearing his courting gifts proudly. He gestures to the door, telling you to lock it, which you do with a bit of reluctance simply because you would never want him to think that you only want him for sex. His left cufflink rests on the desktop, and you circle his chair, picking it up and putting it on for him with gentle hands. Once you’re done, Laszlo gently encourages you into his lap, and while you hesitate to sit on him, you settle on kneeling on either side of his thighs to keep most of your weight off of him. Laszlo immediately takes the invitation to nuzzle into your scent gland, and he moans softly at the smell of you, his left hand squeezing your hip tightly. He rubs his chin aggressively against your scent gland until his beard smells like you, and you’ve begun to smell like him as well. That blending of scents soothes you, and you relax against him, nearly jumping out of your skin when Laszlo licks your scent gland and moans quietly at the taste.

“Enough.” You mutter, leaning in to catch his lips again, and kissing him soft as butterfly wings, “I’m going to court you properly, Las. And as much as I want to worship you and show you how much I want you, I won’t until we get towards the end of our courtship.”

Laszlo groans quietly, squeezing your hip tightly, then gently pushing, “Get up, Alpha. We will discuss this tonight.”

~

Later that evening, you find yourself draped across a large, comfortable sofa in Laszlo’s home with your Omega laying with his hips between your legs and his head nuzzled against your chest. You comb your fingers through his hair, nails scraping gently across his scalp, and he purrs loudly, melting you into a puddle of happy goo beneath him. When you first arrived, you both had tried to talk briefly about your firm stance of not having sex until later in your courtship. Laszlo was firmly of the opinion that sex would only strengthen your bond, and that he was well aware that you felt for him beyond the sexual desire between you. You, on the other hand, wanted to prove yourself to him as a good, nurturing Alpha that wanted him for more than just a pretty little Omega to knot.

In the end, you promised to table the discussion for now, and instead pulled him onto the couch with you. Laszlo was touch-starved, and you were adamant about fulfilling his very clear need for some snuggles. If you were being honest with yourself, you may admit you were a little touch-starved as well. Nothing felt more satisfying than having your Omega’s weight on your chest, his weak arm tucked between him and the back of the couch, and his good arm wrapped around you. Feeling the tension in his body bleed out of him as you pet his hair, and the way he nuzzles against your chest needily, his purr almost deafening - nothing could be better.

You press your lips to the top of his head, and he coos, leaning his head back to blink up at you so that you press your lips to his forehead instead. His long, pretty lashes brush against his skin as he closes his eyes, purring and nuzzling closer to you. Gentle as can be, you kiss his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, and then the tip as well. You brush your lips across his cheeks, then tip his chin up, making eye contact with your Omega before you lean in to kiss him properly. Your lips move softly against his, deepening just a little when Laszlo tilts his head and pulls your lower lip into his mouth. With a soft chuff, you nip him softly, lapping at the roof of his mouth, and laugh as he gasps at your audacity.

Apparently he enjoys your audacity, because he cups your face, kissing you hard and licking into your mouth clumsily but eagerly. You sigh happily into the kiss, eyes rolling back in your head as he sloppily kisses your chin, sucking and biting your lips, his hips pressing ardently into yours. Laslo moans at the pressure against his erection, clearly already rock hard and leaking slick. You pet his cheeks, running your nails through his beard as you catch and suck on his tongue. You’re lulled by his purring, practically in a trance as he kisses you, your skirts pushed up nearly to your hips and your bloomers on full display. A soft moan slips through Lazlo’s lips as he ruts between your legs with little pulses of his hips, his knee pressed under your thigh to keep your legs spread.

“Las, darling.” You murmur against his lips, and he whimpers, biting your chin when you break the kiss, “you’re getting over-excited, little Omega.”

“Need you, Alpha.” Laszlo moans against your lips, and you sigh blissfully when he tilts his hips, the line of his cock rubbing perfectly against your cunt even through your layers. It feels so good - too good - and you struggle to regain your self-control. Laszlo’s nostrils flare as he catches the scent of your arousal, spicy and warm, and he groans, already starting to move to get a better whiff. You grip his hips to stop him and roll the both of you over, adjusting to make sure his arm doesn’t get trapped, and Laszlo gives an eager chirrup as you sit atop his hips.

“Relax, Omega. We’re just cuddling.”

“We could be doing more.” Laszlo reminds you, grabbing at your hip and looking up at you like he wants to devour you. You smile despite yourself, leaning down to kiss him again, then nipping the tip of his nose.

“We need to talk, Las.”

“I know. Where would you like to begin?” He asks, and you get up from the couch, pushing your skirts back down. Laszlo sits up so you can sit down, then drops his head into your lap so you can resume petting his hair.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to be a proper Alpha. I want you to understand what you’re getting into. I don’t want you to be… to be disappointed in me. I don’t want you to be unhappy with me, or suddenly realise you don’t want me. That’s why I want to abide by more traditional courting rules, despite the lack of… need for them, I suppose.” You murmur, and your Omega sighs quietly, like he expected the topic but hoped you wouldn’t bring it up as well.

“I know what I’m getting into. I know you. I know your fears, and your desires. I know the little things that bother you day to day, and how easy it is to bring you joy. I know the way you feel about yourself, and what you are. I know the trauma that weighs on you regarding your presentation, and I can empathise in a way that few others could. I understand how you feel about your responsibilities as an Alpha, and how your caring nature has affected that view. I know that you believe that your father is a bad example of an Alpha because your father did not show the same care and love to your mother as you do for me when they had been together since they were young adults, and we only just began courting. I know that unlike seemingly every other Alpha I have ever met - including John, who I consider a very good example of an Alpha - you believe that I hold all the power in our relationship. I know that you suffer from a severe need for control, not of others, but of yourself. Induced by your presentation, and the subsequent ridicule you received, and executed in many ways including your self-biting habit. I know that you would hurt yourself before you ever hurt me, either emotionally or physically. I know that I trust you enough that you are one of the only people who know the truth of my arm.” Laszlo practically rants to you, his voice gentle but passionate as he shifts up until his lower back is resting against your thigh, his upper body resting against yours and his head pillowed on your chest. You wrap your arms around him to support him, rubbing his arm with one hand and his stomach with the other.

“I want to give you the chance to change your mind. Once I have you, I won’t ever be able to bring myself to let you go, Laszlo. Already, the idea of having to let you go is… is nearly inconceivable. You have to have the chance to know me and… and choose not to keep me. Otherwise I would never forgive myself for claiming you, knowing that if you regretted it, it would kill me to release you.” You admit, and Laszlo takes a shaky breath, clinging a little tighter to you.

“I won’t change my mind.”

“Neither will I.”

~

You wake to hazy light filtering through the gauzy curtains, and the warm weight of Laszlo nestled against the front of your body. He’s curled up tightly, your knees scooped behind his to press yourself firmly against his back, and your arm is looped possessively around his waist. You’re dressed in a pair of Laszlo’s sleeping pants and an old shirt of his, unprepared for this impromptu sleepover that you’d been conned into by your Omega, but you won’t complain about getting more time to hold him. You nuzzle your face into the curve of his shoulder, breathing in the sweet floral smell of him straight from his scent glands, and he relaxes in your embrace. There’s a tangy note to the air that registers more and more in your mind as you wake up, blinking your eyes open to look at the warm expanse of Laszlo’s freckled and beauty-marked skin before you.

Something stirs in your chest, and you feel the sharpness of your own fangs against your lower lip as you chuff instinctively. The beast inside of you awakens having your Omega so close, and you tamp down on your impulses as best as you can even as you feel a swelling and growing between your legs. It’s not an extremely familiar sensation - you haven’t often played with your anatomy the way you can as a female Alpha - but you recognise it enough not to panic. The tangy scent settles in the back of your throat, coating your tongue, and you finally connect the dots. The spice of your own arousal begins to fill the air as you stroke your hand in slow, deliberate circles on Laszlo’s stomach.

“I know you’re awake, naughty little thing.” You whisper, and Laszlo purrs, turning his head to look at you with lust-blown pupils.

“Alpha.” He murmurs, practically a moan, “I can feel you.”

“I know you can. You’re tempting me with this sweet Omega cunt, aren’t you?” You growl, running your hand over his ass and squeezing gently. A new wave of tang fills your nose, and you nuzzle against the back of his neck, licking a stripe up to his ear.

“Need you.” Laszlo purrs so prettily, tilting his head to expose more of his throat, and you take the invitation to rub against his scent gland possessively.

“I can smell it on you, Las. So, so needy. How did I end up with such a ripe little Omega slut?” You croon, and Laszlo arches against you with a whimper, “Must’ve done something right to get a chance with a sweet little thing like you.”

Laszlo shivers, grabbing your hand to force it under his shirt, and you splay your fingers out over his belly possessively. His body hair tickles your palm as you stroke over planes of bare skin, chuffing softly against his neck. He rocks his ass back into your pelvis, and you gasp against his shoulder at the firm pressure against your growing erection. As soon as he feels it properly, Laszlo moans, reaching back to try and touch you. You’re not quite fast enough to grab his hand, and you groan as it closes around your cock, the pressure too much and simultaneously exquisite.

“Gentle, Las, gentle.” You murmur, and Laszlo lets go, rolling over so he can grab at you a little softer. He slips his hand under the waistband of your borrowed pants, and you gasp for air as he rolls his thumb over the head of your cock. You look down at yourself, and thank God that you look relatively how you expected. The last time you’d seen your cock was during your first rut, in a miserable week locked in your room as a teenager. Since then, you had gotten hard a few times, but never looked at yourself as you took yourself in hand or humped a pillow. Your cock is large, as is typical of an Alpha, with a rounded bulge at the base that would later swell into your knot.

“Want it.” Laszlo mumbles, and you laugh quietly, hooking your fingers in the edge of his waistband to slowly pull his sleeping pants down under his cock. He moans as you close your hand around him, stroking in slow, gentle pumps of your hand. He’s leaking slick from his cock, coating your hand and easing the glide, but you are far drier, and it’s a little uncomfortable. You guide him onto his back, laughing as he gives an eager whimper as you pull his sleeping pants down out of the way. You press your cock against his, wrapping your hand around the both of you and setting a firm but eager pace. 

“I’m going to make you come, Las. Can’t have anyone smelling all this slick pouring out of my sweet little Omega and thinking your Alpha isn’t taking care of you. Is that what you want? You want people to think your Alpha isn’t taking care of you? Am I neglecting you?” You coo, and Laszlo shakes his head, clinging to his bedsheets.

“No, Alpha, you’re not neglecting me. You’re taking good care of me.” Your Omega insists, and you nuzzle against his throat, rubbing your chin against his scent gland.

“Needy thing. Such a little slut, I don’t know if you’ll be able to make it through the courtship period. I’m surprised I didn’t wake up to you climbing onto my knot.” You tease, and Laszlo groans, his cheeks pink as he stares up at you with half-lidded chocolate eyes.

“Close. Alpha, please, close!” Laszlo groans, and your laugh is laced with love and affection as you stare down at your Omega.

“Mine.” You whisper, and he nods frantically, bucking his hips up into your grip.

“Yours. Yours!” Laszlo cries out as he reaches his orgasm, coming across your fingers and his own stomach. You prop yourself up above him, letting go of his cock and instead jerking yourself off above him. Laszlo pants for breath, his good hand stroking up and down over your side as he stares hungrily at your cock.

“So fucking pretty. Can’t wait to claim you, Las, can’t wait to make you mine.” Your pace falters as you get closer, the scent of spent and happy Omega sending you reeling. Your breathing is heavy, practically panting for breath as you rut into your hand.

“Come for me, Alpha. Want it.” Laszlo begs, and you groan, spilling across his trembling stomach. He’s covered in you, his own cum drowned out by your heavy load, and you nuzzle against him lovingly as you lick the sweat from his throat. You drop your hand, swiping your fingers through your cum and rubbing it into his scent glands while Laszlo stares up at you with wide eyes. Once he’s covered, you tear your shirt over your head and clean up his stomach. You pull up his sleeping pants, then your own, peppering kisses across his face.

“I need to go home to change, sweetheart.” You murmur as you roll him onto his side and snuggle up against his back, “let me feel you for a little while before I go. And you better not wash that off. I want everyone to know who you belong to, and that I’m keeping my Omega happy.”

~

You spend almost every night at your Omega’s house for the next two weeks despite your parents’ concern for what remains of your reputation. You’ve moved your nesting trunk to Laszlo’s spare bedroom, along with a suitcase of your clothing and other belongings to avoid having to go home in the morning before going to work. Every night, you curl up around your Omega, showing him the love and affection he so desperately needs. You help him dress every morning, eat breakfast with your hand holding his weaker one, take a carriage to work with him, and leave with him every evening. You give him a music box at the end of the first week of courtship, and you can’t help but smile every time you hear the gentle tinkling of it.

At the end of the second week, you give him a silk phthalo green robe that made you think of him, heavily scented just for him. He wears it every morning from then on, and you beam as one lazy Saturday, he puts on the gramophone in his family room and walks around in his robe. You sneak up behind him, slipping an arm around his waist and using the other to grab his hand and spin him to face you.

“What are you doing?” Laszlo asks, and you grin, guiding his weak hand to your hip.

“Dancing with you.” You hum teasingly, and he rolls his eyes at your cheek, letting you bully him into a fairly acceptable waltz. Neither of you are particularly good dancers, but you make it fun, and you delight at the small smile that tugs at his lips as you use your strength to lift him just barely off the ground so you can spin him with you. When you put him down barely a second later, he lifts his strong arm and spins you, and your heart beats wildly in your chest at his playfulness. You both dance around together happily, laughing when you trip on the edge of the carpet and nearly topple the both of you over.

After a few minutes of dancing and nearly an hour of recovery cuddling on Laszlo’s sofa, you both get ready for your day and take a walk through the park. Lunch is a picnic of snacks you made for the both of you, and Laszlo reads to you while you trade between giving him a piece of food, and then yourself. He smiles every time you try to feed him mid-sentence, unable to help himself despite his obvious distaste for being interrupted every few seconds. On your way home, you stop by a jeweler to pick up your latest gift for Laszlo, and he demures at your side as you are handed a ring box. He tries to peek over your shoulder to see what lies inside when you pop it open to look at it and approve the piece, but you turn away from him, tutting.

“I’ll give it to you in a minute, sweetheart, have patience.” You coo teasingly, and he has to work not to pout since you’re both in public. When you get back home (when did you start calling it home?) you lay with your head in Lazlo’s lap while he reads to you, and you glance up at him through your lashes to catch him glancing at the pockets of your poofy navy dress. The next time you look up at him, you catch him staring again, and you giggle, startling him out of his reverie.

“You really want your present, don’t you, sweet?”

Laszlo purses his lips, and you grin, sitting up.

“I suppose I should give it to you, shouldn’t I? You’ve been very patient.” You muse, pulling the ring box from your pocket and opening it with a flourish. Inside lays a stunning cameo ring modelled after yourself, the lines smooth and reminiscent of a marble statue. It’s white on a backing of black stone, and the ring is made of gold with delicate scrolling. Inside the band lies your initials, a possessive statement just for him, and you watch his face soften as he studies the ring carefully. A heady sigh leaves his lips as he strokes the pad of his finger across the cameo of your face, his eyes going half-lidded.

“This is… stunning. It must have cost you a fortune. You didn’t need to-” Laszlo begins, and you cut him off with a raised eyebrow and a huff.

“I wanted to. I want to spoil my Omega, and show him how much I adore him.” You interrupt him, and you watch his eyes go half-lidded and dreamy.

~

It begins with a trip to the opera. In the last week of your courtship, you had been sleeping at your parent’s home more often, preparing your things to be moved and finishing up your final gift for your Omega. Laszlo had warned you early on that he didn’t have a nesting trunk of his own for various familial reasons, though his mother had given him a blanket that she treasured. To compensate, you had gone through your entire trunk to see what might be missing, bought several expensive fabrics that you thought Laszlo might like, and arranged for a shopping trip with Sara and John to give him what he should have had to begin with. In order to distract Laszlo while Sara and John schemed up his surprise, you had made the mere mention of being interested in going to a show. Your Omega jumped on the opportunity with open arms, arranging for you both to go to dinner and the opera together.

It began with the opera, but now, had somehow led to you being pushed up into a dark corner during intermission while Laszlo shoved his hand under your voluminous skirts to stroke his fingers against your cunt. You bite your lip to keep quiet as Laszlo strokes his fingers across your clit, murmuring praise against your throat as he works you into compliance. You’re on half-doses of your rut blockers and heat blockers in preparation for the end of your courtship, and the evidence is obvious in how you can’t keep your hands off of each other. Laszlo had even tried making a case for why if he fucked you, it wouldn’t count, because there wouldn’t be any knotting involved. His desire to bend and rewrite the rules was duly noted, but you were adamant about waiting.

Less so now, with two of the good doctor’s fingers buried in your cunt, his skillful thumb rubbing devastating circles around your clit.

“Las, someone is going to catch us.” You moan quietly, and Laszlo purrs, nipping at your scent gland.

“Not if you stay quiet.” He retorts, and you scoff at his brazenness.

“You’re meant to mingle during intermission, Las, someone will notice us missing.”

“They won’t find us. Let me make you feel good, Alpha, you spend so much time devoted to my care - shouldn’t I be able to devote a little to yours?” Laszlo asks, and you chuff, eyes rolling back in your head.

“Please, Las.” You moan, and his purring gets louder as he moves his fingers faster, lapping at your scent gland eagerly. Pressure builds inside of you, white hot pleasure compounding until a swift flick of Laszlo’s thumb sends you tumbling over the edge. You bite down on Laszlo’s shoulder to avoid being too loud, trembling against him as he guides you through your orgasm. Panting for breath, you run your fingers back through Laszlo’s hair and pull him up into a proper kiss.

“You’re so beautiful when you come.” Your Omega whispers against your lips, and you sigh blissfully, petting his tummy lovingly.

“S’been a while since I came like that. You’re so obsessed with my cock.” You murmur, and Laszlo scoffs, gripping your hip tightly. Heat shoots through you, burning under your skin as your Omega nips and sucks your lower lip into his mouth.

“I want all of you. I can’t wait until you finally let me sink into your warm, tight cunt.” Laszlo corrects you, then pops his fingers into his mouth to clean them while you stare with blown pupils and half-lidded eyes.

“We should get back to our seats. Intermission should be over soon.” Laszlo comments, and you nod obediently, following him in a satiated and happy daze. He’s smug and you know it, but you don’t mind it after getting to come in the middle of an opera show.

~

After a lavish dinner, Laszlo snuggles up to you on the carriage ride home, blissful with the knowledge that in only one more day, he’s able to stop taking his heat blockers. After that, he’ll never need to take them again if he doesn’t want to. One more day and he can have his Alpha’s knot, and get the chance to experience fucking his Alpha in his nest, and maybe even finally become a father. He can’t take his hands off of you now that you’ve got him used to being touched whenever and however he likes. He’s never considered himself anything close to spoiled before, but now? Now, he knew he was overindulged. Every night without you in his bed was a struggle, and this last week, his sleep had been poor at best.

“Las? We’re home.” You murmur, and he sits up a little, just the way you say ‘home’ sending butterflies through his stomach. He slips from the carriage, offering you his arm and smiling at the way you take it without any offense. He loves that you take such good care of him, but he also loves that you let him care for you without acting like it’s some sort of insult to your designation. You let him push you around, most especially when you both are playing, even allowing him once to scruff you and push you down onto the bed beneath him. Caged in by his body, you let him bite into your shoulder, his still-clothed hips rutting against your bottom, treating you like you were his Omega instead of the other way around. No other Alpha that he knew of would be so confident and self-assured in their designation that they would allow him that. You let him bend you over however he likes, pinning you down beneath his weight and threatening against your ear to tie you up. He loves to see you beneath him, most especially when you’ve removed your corset and he can feel the soft curve of your back under his hands.

Omegas love soft things, and you are the softest thing he’s ever touched. Skin soft as silk, lips like flower petals, breasts plush like the expensive pillows on his sofa, and hair always well-cared for and smooth because of how much effort you put into brushing it every day. He covets you. Laszlo can’t imagine not having your softness now that he’s luxuriated in it for so long. He thinks about you so often it almost distracts him from his work - your scent, your voice, the way you hold him, the way you sneeze, the way you laugh when you don’t expect to find something funny, and the way you smile when you see him and your eyes sparkle like you’ve never seen anything more beautiful in the world.

Laszlo opens the front door for you, biting back a grin at the dainty little curtsy you give him with a cheeky smile on your face. He follows you inside, and you pause, giving a very unconvincing gasp that instantly draws his attention. He pauses partway through removing his coat, almost instinctively giving a confused chirrup before he asks what’s wrong. He finishes removing his coat, hanging it, then approaching you to help take yours off as well.

“Oh! What is this?” You ask, and Laszlo raises an eyebrow at your odd, theatrical tone. He slips his arm around your waist from behind to peer over your shoulder, pressing a couple of kisses to the curve of your neck. In the centre of the floor lies an ornate trunk of dark wood with gold clasps. He raises an eyebrow, lifting the latch with all the care one might use while handling a bomb, and opening the trunk trepidatiously. The green lined interior protects its contents, though they won’t be in the trunk for much longer - considering the look in Laszlo’s eyes, it’s obvious that matters little to him, for he’s white-knuckling the lid.

“You did this for me?” He asks in quiet awe, and you giggle, while John and Sara step out from around the corner. They’d complied with your flare for the dramatic despite claiming Laszlo would be unnerved by the surprise until it was revealed to him.

“Not without the help of your friends.” You reply, touching his lower back and beaming as he reaches into the trunk. The first thing he pulls out is a pillow made of fabric so soft it feels like butter, but filled with stuffing so firm that it is evidently made for support. Sara steps forwards, rubbing the scent gland on her wrist against Laszlo’s in a quick, platonic show of love.

“It’s supportive. For your arm. I hope it gives you some much-deserved comfort.” She hums, rubbing your tricep as she steps up next to you, “I don’t have a particularly strong scent, but I did scent it for you. Your Alpha told me you’d like that.”

Laszlo shivers, and you rub his lower back supportively. He puts the pillow down, picking up the first blanket in the trunk, a silky thing that runs through his hands almost like liquid.

“I thought you’d like the colour. It’s… well, it was for a dress, but I asked if it could be hemmed and made into a blanket for you because it’s so soft, and the blue is so unique.” John explains with pink rising in his cheeks, “The tassels are made with one of my old shirts, and I scented it too. Your Alpha insisted it was okay.”

You hum your approval despite how unusual it is for an Alpha to allow their Omega to nest with materials from a non-familial Alpha, squeezing Laszlo’s waist as he processes these gifts from his closest friends. Laszlo pulls a thinner sheet and pillowcases from the trunk, which you indicate are a gift from Teddy, and then a thicker winter blanket that came from the Isaacsons and his staff. Finally, at the bottom of the trunk lay his final courtship gift. He recognises it immediately although he’s only seen it once, very early in your time working for him. He had visited you at home while your parents were away with family, desperately needing notes you had taken of the case to confirm a conclusion he had come to over dinner. It was too late at night for a man to visit a woman, but propriety had never been one of Laszlo’s key skills. You had been working on the blanket when he arrived, and he caught sight of it when you invited him inside. He’d been stunned by the embroidery work, and covetous even then when he only knew you as his employee, and the gentlest Alpha he’d ever known.

Now, he holds the delicate blanket in his hands, rubbing the embroidery between his fingers and marvelling at how soft it is. He nuzzles his face against the fabric, breathing in the heavy warm smell of his Alpha, noting how different parts of the blanket have traces of variations of your scent. He can smell a younger you working on this blanket throughout your life, preparing it for your future Omega. For him. He thinks of you then, gentle hands carefully, painstakingly sewing, dreaming of having him to yourself one day in the future. He wonders if you imagined anyone like him when you dreamed of your Omega while a younger you worked on the blanket. He can smell the anguish of your just-presented self starting the blanket as you languish in your isolation. He can smell the hope of your young adulthood, the lack of surety as you reach the age most young women are mated, and the hopeless despair as you drift closer to the age of spinsterhood. More recently, he can smell your desire, your hope, your happiness, and most key of all, your love.

“You finished it.” Laszlo murmurs, and you smile, nuzzling your face into the back of his shoulder.

“I did. It is part of why I slept at my parent’s house for a time, despite how much you complained about it and tried to get me to reconsider.”

“I didn’t complain that much, szerelmem.” Laszlo corrects you, and you snicker, rubbing his hips as you press yourself up against his back even in the presence of your friends. Neither Sara nor John seems upset about it.

“I’m sure you believe you didn’t. You didn’t have to listen to it all day while trying to type up your notes at work.” You mutter against his shoulder, and Laszlo scoffs playfully, stroking your hand on his belly.

“Home smells more like you.” Your Omega comments after a moment, a smile growing on his face as he begins to put the pieces of what you’ve done together. He’d been dreading the move, worried about looking useless in front of your parents, as he wouldn’t physically be able to carry as much as you.

“John, Cyrus, Stevie, the twins, and Sara were kind enough to move my belongings into your home.”

“Our home.” Laszlo corrects you, twisting his head a little and kissing the high point of your cheek even though John and Sara were right there.

“Our home.” You agree with a smile, “say goodbye to your friends, little Omega. We’re going to go through your nesting materials and start building your first nest.”

Laszlo’s breathing instantly deepens, and you nuzzle your nose behind his ear as he swallows, then clears his throat. As he turns, John puts his hands up immediately, cheeks pink.

“Yes, right, well, I’m happy for you both. I… uhm, I hope the nesting goes well. I will escort Ms. Howard home.” John insists, his embarrassment clear. Sara laughs, but for possibly the first time you’ve ever seen, she accepts John’s arm and, based on her body language, appears to escort the Alpha from the Kreizler home. Once the door closes behind them, you slip your hands under Laszlo’s vest to pull his shirt out of his trousers, then skim your hands up under both layers. You splay your hands across his belly and he sighs blissfully as you rub your teeth against his scent gland.

“Go upstairs, sweet thing. I’ll bring all this upstairs so we can strip the bed and get your nest ready, okay?” You purr, and Laszlo shivers excitedly, then heads for the stairs at a quick pace, his cheeks pink with desire. You watch him go with a smile, bending and lifting the trunk easily despite its solid weight. Laszlo’s honey-brown eyes stare down from the landing, and you can’t help but smirk as he licks his lips before he continues up the steps at a quicker pace. You follow, leisurely, the sound of your Omega’s loud purring from the bedroom reaching your ears despite the distance. As you enter the room, you find he’s already nearly stripped the entire bed, and you croon praise at his eagerness as you set the trunk down next to your own. Laszlo preens, opening the trunks while you finish stripping the bed and securing it against the two walls. Together, you line the bed with pillows, then trap them in place atop the bed with a secured sheet. Once that is finished, you back off, petting Laszlo’s arms and helping him take off his vest so he’ll be more comfortable as he works.

A nest is an Omega’s role, and they take great pride in them. It’s an instinctual process, seeming to come naturally to them, and you’d seen countless Omegas work on them when you were in prep school. You yourself had tried, but you didn’t have the same passion for it. That maybe should’ve been a sign. Laszlo, you know, has never built one before, but his eyes light up as he begins to tuck blankets into place. First, thicker layers to protect the shape of his nest and provide comfort. Then, he moves on to softer layers that will feel good against his skin. Pillows are added for extra plush, and you’re happy to see that he finishes the bed with the blanket you made for him. You praise him throughout the process despite understanding very little of his decision-making, knowing he needs to hear how good he’s doing. He’s doing this for both of you - it should be appreciated as the gift it is. As the gift he is. It’s a long process, made longer by the way that Laszlo keeps pausing to adjust, tuck and re-tuck blankets, and fluff pillows. Finally, however, he appears to be happy. His purring is near deafening as he sits in his nest, feet tucked under him as he surveys his little kingdom like a little prince.

“Look at you, sweetheart. You’ve done such a good job.” You croon, and Laszlo tips his chin up proudly, “Can your Alpha come in?”

“Now.” Laszlo insists urgently, and you obey, crawling up into the nest carefully to avoid messing anything up. He kisses you the moment you’re close enough, and you sigh happily into it, pulling him closer.

“Such a good Omega. Are you excited for your first proper heat?” You murmur as you kiss the point of his cheek. He nods eagerly despite a hint of trepidation.

“Nervous, but I am excited.”

You smile.

“May I confess? I am too. But, I can’t wait to mate you and make you mine. I can’t wait to give you children, however you want them.” You purr, and Laszlo groans quietly, his hand fisting in your dress.

“Take this off?” He asks, and you raise an eyebrow. It takes a moment before you concede. He’s been so good this entire time, and you know he wants so desperately. He’ll probably be in heat by the morning at this rate. Who are you to deny him? You let him help you strip out of your layers, and you don’t stop him when he gets to the last piece of fabric blocking you from his sight. He takes it off carefully, with your help, pupils blown to the size of saucers as he takes you in. You help him with his shirt, and then his trousers, pausing at his undershirt.

“Are you sure, Omega?” You ask, and Laszlo agrees before you can even finish the question. He presses you back into the nest once he’s as bare as you, both naked as the day you were born despite it only being early evening. You let him take control, fueled by the elation of finishing his first nest and getting his Alpha’s enthusiastic approval. He purrs as he licks his way into your mouth, devouring your lips in his eagerness, his hips gently rolling into yours as if he can’t help himself. You gently push him back, and he whines, but you shush him as you stroke his cheeks and kiss his nose.

“Does my pretty little Omega want to mount his Alpha?” You ask, your voice soft and velvety, and Laszlo groans weakly.

“Please. Please, Alpha, need you. Let me, please, I’ll be good.” He begs, and you smile at the unbridled lust in his eyes as you crawl onto your hands and knees, then sink down until your face is pressed into the soft fabrics of his nest. Presenting for your Omega. You’re shocked you aren’t struck by lightning immediately.

“Fuck.” Laszlo mutters, and you’re shocked at his cursing, but you’re more shocked by the feeling of him rubbing his cock against your cunt sloppily.

“Gentle, sweetheart.” You murmur, and he nods as he presses the head into your soft warmth. It’s bigger than your fingers. Bigger than anything you’ve had before, but you’re eager and wet enough to ease the glide. Nowhere near as wet as an Omega, but enough to let Laszlo thrust his hips and not hurt too badly as he sinks all the way in to the hilt. There’s a bit of a pinch, but you grin and bear it for your sweet Omega.

“Feels so good. You feel so good, Alpha, oh god.” Laszlo breathes, kissing his way up your spine as he crawls over your back to use his weight to force you further into the nest.

“Nice and slow, Omega. You’re my first, remember? I’m all yours.” You coo, and Laszlo practically sobs against your shoulder, nodding his head mindlessly.

“Mine. So warm. So soft, Alpha, I need-” He cuts himself off, groaning and balancing as best as he can, “can I move? Please!”

You stretch out beneath him, getting comfortable on your knees before nodding with a blissful sigh. Laszlo takes a moment to find the right pace for him, choppy and short thrusts to start that seem to be mostly born out of desperation at the intense feeling of being inside of his Alpha before he finally gets a hold of himself and slows down a little. He’s thicker than the average Omega, but average in length, and he fills you perfectly as if you were meant for each other. Soft moans fall from your lips as he begins to thrust deeper, slower, supporting himself on his good arm as best as he can. You push up a little to give him something to lean on, supporting his chest with your back, and he presses kisses against your neck in appreciation. 

It feels like heaven to have your Omega inside of you. He’s so eager, hips rutting into your ass and drawing little ‘ah ah ah’s from his lips with every thrust. You groan for him, and he moans in response, nuzzling his face into your neck to try and cope with how good you feel wrapped around him. You reach between your legs, stroking your fingertips across your clit in loose circles, then tighter as you build yourself closer to your orgasm with every thrust. Your Omega’s angle has him rubbing against a spot inside of you that feels like heaven, and you shiver as you get closer and closer, your cunt fluttering around Laszlo’s cock. You don’t expect him to last very long, and he doesn’t, but you’re not surprised. This is also his first time, and he’s been waiting a very long time to finally get to come inside of you - you’re honestly a little surprised he even lasted as long as he did.

When he comes, it is far more than you were expecting. His hips stutter as he fucks his cum deeper into you, and you moan as that sudden feeling of fullness triggers your orgasm, sending you reeling. You press your face into the sheets, practically drooling as your Omega floods your cunt with his spend, and part of you hopes it takes just as much as you hope it doesn’t. You know Laszlo wants to carry your first baby, and you’re bound to put pups in him during his heat - it would be inconvenient to be pregnant together, even as much as it would be blissful. 

You groan with surprise as Laszlo’s sharp little teeth sink into your mating gland from behind, his hips pressed tightly against your ass like he’s trying to keep everything inside you with his weight alone. You’re claimed. Your Omega has claimed you - made you his and only his, so long as you claim him in return. Blood trickles down your throat, but Laszlo chases it, licking it up with that clever little tongue. You sink deeper into the nest, happy little chuffs escaping you as newly-mated bliss sinks in bone deep. 

“You’re going to get oversensitive, my little Omega. You can pull out, sweet, it’s okay.” You purr, and Laszlo adjusts on his knees as he laps at your new bond mark. Finally, he pulls out of you, then curls up around your back with his hand stroking your hip and belly.

“I love you.” He murmurs, exhausted, and you smile as you snuggle closer to him.

“I love you too, Omega. Sleep. Your heat is going to settle in soon.”

He’s asleep before you finish speaking.

~

You wake to the scent of tang and sweetness cloying and heavy, filling your nose and sinking into your brain almost like it’s taking control of you. You blink awake, breathing in deeply, and a heavy weight rubbing against your soft heat tells you everything you need to know.

Laszlo’s heat has settled in, and your little Omega is desperate.

“Good morning, sweetheart.” You croon, and Laszlo moans in response. You sit up and find your Omega achingly hard, his thighs and the blankets beneath him soaked with his slick. Licking your lips, you pat his hip, “Up. Present for me if you want my knot, Omega.”

Laszlo’s on his knees in an instant, legs spread and sunk down into his nest so eagerly he looks desperate.

“Sweet little slut. Look at you.” You praise him, stroking his hips, smacking his pert little ass, then sliding your hand between his legs to cup and stroke his cock, “God, you smell fertile. I can smell how badly you need my knot, Omega. You’ve soaked your new nest.”

Laszlo whimpers, and you grin, settling in behind him and swiping your tongue over his twitching hole. A fresh wave of slick rolls down his perineum, and you coo mockingly as you lick it up.

“Never seen an Omega this slutty, Las. I could put my big cock in you in one thrust and it wouldn’t even hurt you. No prep. Is that what you want? Want me to fuck you nice and ruthless?” You ask. Your Omega nods against the blankets, drool pooling under his pretty little mouth as he moans for you. You stroke his cock gently, grip loose and lazy as you roll the flat of your tongue across his hole.

“Need it, Alpha!” Laszlo cries, and you chuckle, biting his asscheek.

“Need it, huh? Need my cock in your tight little Omega cunt? What’re you gonna do if I don’t give it to you?”

“I’ll die!” Laszlo insists dramatically, and you laugh as you get up onto your knees behind him, rubbing your thumb across his twitching, leaking cunt. The head of your cock sinks into Las so easily it’s like he’s sucking you in, and his heady moan is loud and pleading, drool pooling under his mouth. You take it slow despite being able to feel that you don’t need to - Laszlo is truly deep into his heat already, sleeping through his preheat just like you’d hoped. He’s wet enough that his slick squelches as you pull out then sink back in deeper, displaced by your cock and welling up around the rim of his perfect hole. You lean over his back, adjusting your hips to let yourself sink deeper, and Laszlo sobs as he feels your knot pressing against the rim of his cunt. 

“Please! Alpha, Alpha, please, knot me, I need it!” He begs, and you nuzzle against his neck as you pull out, then push back in nice and slow. Laszlo’s cunt clenches up around you, trying desperately to milk you as he comes for the first time of the day. You pet his hips, praising him for making a nice little mess of his nest, then pull out of him and thrust in again without giving him a chance to breathe. He sobs for more as you begin to fuck him in earnest, deep and a little rough, but nowhere near the fast sloppy thrusts of a rut-crazed Alpha. You’re mindful enough that you’re able to treat him right, dropping a hand between his legs to stroke him as you fuck deeper into him, your cockhead kissing his cervix.

“You want my pups, Omega?” You tease, and Laszlo moans wordlessly, his eyes rolling back in his head as he presses back on you in answer, “Ohh, good answer, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck a baby into you, make you round with my seed. I’ll keep you nice and knotted your whole heat so you have no choice, yeah? Is that what you want? Your Alpha to fuck her knot into you and keep you brainless on it until your heat passes?”

“Yes!” Laszlo cries, and you grin against the back of his neck as he comes again, covering your hand as much as the nest. He watches with half lidded eyes as you lift your fingers to your lips and lick them clean, and you giggle as his cock gives a weak throb in response. He’ll be hard again in a minute, but you don’t give him the chance to recover. Instead, you use your knees to spread his legs further, lifting his hips a little and setting a brutal pace. You want your Omega brainless on your knot, and you’re going to get it. You want to relish in the experience before your rut settles in and makes you wild.

“You feel so good, Las. So fucking good. Sweet little virgin Omega cunt so tight around me I don’t even know if I’ll get my knot in. You’re so wet. Such a good little breeder slut, slick dripping down your thighs, fucked out around my cock with every fucking thrust. S’getting creamy.”

Laszlo pushes back on you eagerly, and you groan as your knot slips past his rim, then back out, and the reaction is immediate. Your Omega cries out as he rocks back on you, and each time your knot slips inside, he sobs with relief. Each time it slips back out, he moans with frustration.

“Want my knot?”

“Yes!”

“Want me to bite your pretty little neck, make you mine?”

“Yes! Please, Alpha, stop teasing!”

“Gonna milk my cock with this perfect Omega cunt?”

“Alpha!” Laszlo’s cries grow more desperate, and you pull him back against you, pushing his head to the side so you can sink your teeth into his mating gland. He screams, and you push your knot into him one last time as you finally come together for the first time. A guttural groan rattles your chest as you lick his mating bond clean, your hands stroking down over his body to pull him closer. Your knot swells, locking you both together, and you use your strength to carefully move you both onto your sides so you can snuggle up against your mate while you fill him up. Laszlo moans quietly as you rub his belly, feeling the slight bulge as you pump him full of cum.

Soft snores fill the air as you relax into your nest, and you kiss Laszlo’s shoulder, proud to have put him to sleep on your knot. You know it won’t last long. You can already feel your rut setting in.

“Rest while you can, sweet thing. I’m going to make you a father, just like you asked me to.”

~

Your vision is hazy. Desperate, hungry, thirsty, love, need. It all burns through you as your rut sets in, and you hold Lazlo tighter to you as you fold him half, his knees nearly up to his ears. You’re knot-deep inside of him, fucking your own cum out of his sloppy hole as he cries out for more, more, always more. Your perfect little Omega. All yours.

“Mine.” You growl, and Laszlo sobs a loud ‘yours!’ in response as you fuck his rim with your knot. Over and over again, feeling it stretch around you, wanting you to lock with him again. You’ve filled him countless times already over the last couple of days, putting him to sleep on your knot as many times as you can to give him just a brief break. Bathed him, fed him, rubbed cream into his body and then did it all over again every single day for nearly a week. It isn’t a surprise. Being on suppressants this long is ill-advised. Normal heats and ruts only last a few days once they’re regular. Four at most.

“Alpha!” Laszlo cries, and you kiss his mating bond, forcing your knot into him and pinning him there, then wrapping your hand around his cock and stroking it until he screams as he covers his belly in cum. His chest vibrates as you growl your release, your knot locking into his soft body for hopefully the last time this heat cycle.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet.” You murmur, and Laszlo pants for breath, nuzzling his cheek against yours. 

“Love you.” He whispers, and you kiss him softly, and briefly since he’s already struggling to breathe.

“Love you too, Las.”

~

Laszlo Kreizler walks into the Institute three months later, hand cupping his rounded belly, while you fuss over his every step. He looks unimpressed, mouth in a tight line as you growl at an orderly that drifts too close. Neither of you are going to be able to work much longer - Laszlo is growing quickly with his first pregnancy, and you’re an overprotective mother hen. You rarely let anyone near him aside from John, Sara, Cyrus, Stevie and the twins. You barely let him out of your sight, and you know he’s getting a little sick of it.

“Alpha.” Laszlo hums to get your attention, and you turn to him instantly, your arm tightening around him as you hang on his every word, “you’re making it hard to walk.”

“You don’t have to walk.” You retort, and Laszlo raises an eyebrow, “I can carry you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!”

“No! We’re in public.” Laszlo snaps, and you pout, nuzzling his mating bond.

“We don’t have to be. They know you’re leaving soon - everyone is ready for it. We could go home. I could take care of you. Rub cream into your belly and do that thing you like.” You tease, only to get a smack to the arm.

“Preposterous. I can work longer than this.” Laszlo insists, and you sigh, pecking his temple.

“Whatever you say, Las.”

He makes it another week, and only because of his stubbornness.

Many months later, he gives birth to your first child, a baby girl with dark hair and honey eyes who cries her lungs out from the moment she takes her first breath until the moment she’s laid upon Laszlo’s chest. He holds her, and you hold him, nuzzling your nose into his sweaty neck as you tell him how much you love him. How perfect he is. How perfect she is.

“What will you name her?” You ask quietly against his ear, and he purrs, stroking his daughter’s tiny little hand.

“Adelaide.”

“Adelaide it is, then. Adelaide Kreizler.”

[aprill-99]

Omnipotent Villain: “Look pathetic little hero! See how outmatched you are? What do you have with you that could possibly beat my un-killable army?

Hero (who learned about their status at max 5 years ago): “You’re right. All I have is childhood trauma, the bare minimum of training for this moment, one special magical weapon, the weight of the world on my shoulders, an unfounded sense of nobility pushing me to go on despite unknowable odds, and the power of friendship.”

Villain (whose omnipotence extends to a good working knowledge of fictional tropes): “Uhhhhhhhh…..”

Hero: “Come now! I have bid goodbye to my doomed love interest and am prepared to die for my cause!”

Villain: “I’m just gonna….. go…. Check something.”

************CUT TO SECRET THRONE ROOM OF BIGGER, WORSE, SECRET SECONDARY VILLAIN PREPPING FOR THE SEQUEL********

Villain 1: “My Lord! We must retreat and give up the scheme! The hero is unbeatable! They have arrived to battle armed with an ancient protection!”

Villain 2: “What kind of protection My Servant? A special suit of armor? An immense spell?”

Villain 1: “Worse my lord. So much worse.”

Villain 2: “Name it!l”

Villain 1: “My Lord they had *shudders* plot armor.”

Villain 2: *Gasps*

[lowspoonsgourmet]

The easiest best two to three days of food for one person I know of. A flexible modular recipe. This is going to sound high work at times due to how broadly I am writing this, it is not as bad as the vagueness and intentional broadness makes it sound signed a person who has frequently accidentally had sleep for dinner after being unable to make it too damn much.

Rice cooker needed.

Ingredients:

Rice (any), lentils or beans optional (one or two cans), frozen vegetable mix (any and in as much quantity as you want, I like potato, carrot, peas, and corn you like what you like)

Sauces (teriyaki sauce and kewpie mayonnaise is what I swear by because of how easy they are to manage and pour and how well they compliment the food and each other but use whatever you own and can stomach or nothing at all, extra points for one having some fat), seasonings (curry powder and salt is my standard, really the salt is enough) Oil

Additional protein (tuna, cheese, ham, chicken tendies, shredded chicken, tofu, more beans, egg, mushroom, setian, nutritional yeast, you do you, two seperate sources for the different days useful)

In to the rice cooker, put two cups rice with water in proportion, one or two cans lentils or beans if using (strain and quickly rinse them if you can, if not just pour out as much of the liquid as possible and dump), and a lot of frozen vegetable mix in whatever variety you have on hand/like. It's going to look like a lot. That's because it is. This is good. Add more vegetables. Two cups of rice makes more than you think so it's very hard to add too many vegetables to this if you're at least neutral on vegetables. Let the rice cooker cook. It's going to take a while so do whatever.

This is now a mostly complete meal if you add fat and salt, so the teriyaki and kewpie in my version. The additional protein will make it more filling and better in general, so adding a low effort one

Turn off the keep warm on the rice cooker and dump out the leftovers on a plate or something. Or not and just put the whole pot away. Leave in fridge overnight.

If you're ambitious/need variety reheat by frying with a different seasoning and secondary protein source #2 for best results. It's all already cooked so you just need to add the extras and to have it be warm. If you want to then use the fried rice in multiple meals, it reheats in the microwave better than the unfried. If you're not, reheat in the microwave with extras and enjoy that yesterday you making food for today you really helped out today you.

This provides two days of main meal food that are both very presentable and flavoursome, and are sufficiently different to each other it takes a long time to get sick of/makes it easier to feel like you're "doing well". I have had friends compliment me on how nice I am eating despite being in states that would usually leave me struggling to make myself food that mildly disgusts or concerns them. It dirties the rice cooker bowl and paddle, one eating bowl and utensils, one plate (optional), and a frying pan (optional). Most of those I just rinse out or soak not wash properly tbh, it's not like it has cheese to scrub off if you don't use it. This whole process takes about five minutes of active prep and clean up both days. The worst pitfalls I have found with it are getting too ambitious on the secondary protein for day 1 and eventually just having nothing, which I fixed for me by switching to canned tuna or shredded chicken, forgetting or otherwise failing to empty or turn off the heating of the rice cooker, and getting overwhelmed having to use the stove at all day 2 and avoiding the nice but optional upgrade.

I hope this is helpful for someone out there, I know how often most of these from around the place sound "oh my god you think that's simple??" But, and I say this as one of you, the backbone of this is having the machine that boils carbs boil a bunch of carbs for you and cramming as much of a "complete" or "fancy" meal's prep in to that process as possible then finishing with stuff you just pour, drop, or slice in.

Sounds helpful

[drpeppertummy]

hm… 💜 or 💚 for the color prompt?

[asmr voice] feeds him ourple

[stuffing, mild tummyache]

Morty was excited about the color-themed mukbang video somebody had suggested. Purple was the request, and he'd gone to Dollar Tree to see what he could find before hitting the grocery store for some nicer foods. Some of it was candy and other snacks that needed only to be removed from the package, some required cooking or at least some level of prep work, but once he had his purple assortment of treats ready and laid out in an eye-catching presentation, he was pretty pleased with himself.

He silently held up the first item--a blueberry milkshake--and took a sip. He'd picked it up from a local burger place just before starting, and he made sure to show the logo on the cup. Accompanying the shake as a secondary beverage, he revealed with a grimace, was a can of grape soda. He carefully cracked it open, taking a moment to let the fizz crackle softly beside the mic before taking a reluctant sip. He'd always felt that grape was the worst of the artificial fruit flavors--watermelon, he believed, was the best--but it was purple, and that was all that mattered right now. Besides, he'd have plenty of snacks between sips to wipe the taste from his mouth.

The first food he had to share was a small plate of grilled eggplant slices. He smiled proudly as he displayed them; he'd cooked them himself, and the one he'd taste tested before starting was just about the best eggplant he'd ever had, not that there was much competition. He held up a slice to show off the ring of deep indigo skin, then took a bite. They weren't particularly hot anymore, but they were still good, if a little mushy. He set the plate back down, intending to show each food before really getting started. Accompanying the eggplant in the vegetable department was a bowl of mashed purple potatoes. He hadn't actually bought those for the video; he'd picked them up at a farm market last week by pure chance, and his belly rumbled at the steamy, buttery smell. Unable to resist, he took a bite of them too before returning the bowl to the table.

Following the vegetables, he had a cutting board with an arrangement of grapes, mulberries, a few figs, and a couple of plums on it. He doubted he'd eat more than one of the plums during the video, but the visual looked nice. The mulberries had been a gift from his neighbor, who had more falling from their tree than they knew what to do with. Most of them looked more black than purple, but it was close enough.

The final group of food was the one he was most excited about--the desserts. He had a package of ube mochi, a dish of purple M&Ms he'd ordered online, a stick of purple rock candy, a row of purple Peeps, and, least excitingly, a bowl of grape jello. It was a fine variety. The star of the show, however, was a cupcake he'd bought from a local bakery. It was bright purple, with a blueberry jam filling and a nice swirl of purple frosting on top, and pieces of molded chocolate stuck on to make it look like a unicorn. The rainbow sprinkles, he supposed, wouldn't disqualify it when the rest of the treat had enough purple food coloring in it to dye his entire kitchen.

Morty took another long sip of the milkshake, then returned to his vegetables, wanting to start on them before they cooled off completely. Eggplant was something he rarely ate, both because it never impressed him any time he tried it and because it simply never occurred to him to get some, but he was pretty pleased with today's result. The slices were well-seasoned and flavorful, and he almost wished he'd made more of them, although with the amount of food he had to get through, he supposed it was a good thing he didn't. He alternated between eggplant slices and mashed potatoes for a little bit, taking care to eat slowly over the mic and not shovel everything into his mouth as fast as he could--he was starting on an empty stomach, after all, and his rumbling belly couldn't have cared less about ASMR.

Wanting to save some of the vegetables for later on in the video, Morty took a big gulp of the grape soda and switched over to the fruit. He'd never eaten a fig before, but Google had kindly informed him that he could simply bite into it skin and all, and so he did, nice and slowly, hoping to capture the sound as his teeth punctured it. He wasn't sure if he loved it, but it was good enough to draw him in for another bite, and then another. After the first fig he ate a grape and then a mulberry, crushing them slowly in his mouth. The hunger he'd started the video with was beginning to ease up as he ate, and now he felt like he could really take his time without forcing himself to, both to savor the food and to see what interesting sounds he could get out of it.

Finally, he turned to the sweets. He'd been eager to break into the mochi since he'd bought it, and he let out a soft little hum of pleasure at the sweet, gooey texture. His belly gurgled quietly as he swallowed, and he wondered whether the mic picked it up. If it didn't get that one, he was sure there would be louder sounds before long, but he didn't really care. He was aware at this point that some of his viewers went wild for it, but that fact didn't bother him any. It was inevitable anyway, eating on camera with that sensitive mic. He held up the half-eaten mochi to show off the sticky purple interior, then happily finished off the piece.

Morty alternated between the fruits, vegetables, and sweets, nibbling at one or two things for a little while before switching over to another, but the cupcake remained untouched--that was going to be dessert. Slowly but surely, he was beginning to feel full, the bulky potatoes and doughy mochi taking up a good amount of space in his belly. The heavy milkshake was doing its part as well, and between the carbonation of the soda and all the air that wound up trapped in his stomach with each carefully calibrated bite, it was becoming difficult to keep from burping into the mic. He'd had to turn away here and there to let a few tiny ones out, but he hoped nothing loud would slip out of him.

Trying to pace himself, Morty took a break from chewing to work on the rock candy. His belly gurgled as its contents settled, and sucking at the candy provoked several more soft little grumbly noises. His stomach felt snug under his baggy sweater. He supposed he might have gone a little overboard picking things out for the video, but it was alright. If he had leftovers, he'd simply get to them another time. He wanted to finish as much as he could, though, for the sake of a good long video. It was a good variety of textures to create a nice array of sounds, and he didn't want the length to fall short.

Morty looked down at the assortment of food before him, pondering what to pick up next. He'd gotten through a decent portion of everything by now, with the eggplant and potatoes being completely gone and the mulberries not far behind. The grape jello, not particularly aligning with his tastes, was the least disturbed, and he decided to give it some more attention. He didn't care for the flavor, but at least he could play around with it while he ate. He put away the rest of it fairly quickly and chased it with a good long sip of milkshake. Following that sip, to his surprise, came an audible, airy burp. Ordinarily, he'd excuse himself or apologize, but this was a no-talking video, so he just smiled sheepishly and moved on. If it was too loud, he'd edit it out later. Otherwise, it was what it was.

The jello had gone down easy, but Morty suddenly felt more bloated than ever after finishing it off so quickly. He was a little guy, small and slender, and while his capacity was bigger than one might guess by looking at him, the estimate likely wouldn't be far off. He leaned back in his chair for a moment, resting a hand on his belly with a soft sigh. It felt taut and rounded under his hand, and it grumbled away quietly as it worked on the strange combination of things he'd eaten. A loud gurgle rose up and he just barely managed to stifle another big burp. With the pressure in his stomach slightly lessened, he picked up a Peep, licked off a little bit of the sugar, and then playfully bit its head off.

Not sure how much more he could eat, he decided to prioritize the mochi next. It was one of his favorites of the things he'd put together, but while the fruits would be easy to nibble on as he got fuller, the thick, gooey dough would not. He had two pieces left in the package, and he slowly worked through them both, stretching and squishing a half-eaten piece around as he chewed. It was delicious, but it was rich and heavy, and, reluctantly, he took a careful sip of his soda between bites to break things up a little. Repulsive as it was, the carbonation was refreshing, and it conjured up another quiet burp.

To say space was running low in Morty's stomach would have been an understatement at this point; he was stuffed. With the amount of purple food packed into his belly, he was surprised he hadn't started turning purple himself yet. His belly was as tight and round as the large, firm grapes he'd been eating, and the noises it made as it digested everything would have made a good enough video on their own. He paused again, holding both hands against his tummy. If he wanted to feature that glorious unicorn cupcake, he'd have to quit on everything else now. He'd made pretty good progress, considering the contrast between the amount of food he'd started with and the size of his slim stomach; there was only a little bit left on the table before him, and it would make a good snack some other time. Right now, though, it was time for the grand finale.

With a playful flair, Morty held up the cupcake. It was impressive both in size and appearance, with its colorful sprinkles, the little chocolate unicorn ears and horn stuck into the frosting, and the unnaturally vibrant color of the cake itself. He knew the chocolate pieces would make the best sounds, and he knew that's what most viewers would be waiting for, but he decided to tease a little and lick at the frosting first. It was fluffy and almost too sweet, and there was an absurd amount of it. He took a few licks from it, almost as though it were an ice cream cone, and then, finally, he took one of the chocolate ears in his teeth and crunched down on it.

The cupcake was surprisingly good--he'd expected it to be the sort of disgustingly-sweet thing that only small children could tolerate--and he regretted that he was too stuffed to really enjoy it. It would have been fantastic on an empty stomach, but as full as he was right now, the sugary treat was only making him feel queasy. He worked at it slowly, taking sips of the soda here and there in search of some element of refreshment between mouthfuls of sticky sugar. He was beyond stuffed now, his belly straining and aching and begging him to stop, but he was determined to at least finish the cupcake. It would be a mangled mess if he tried to save part of it, and after all, he was here to put on a show.

He spent what felt like ages nibbling at the cupcake, dragging it out with tiny bites and licks, his stomach groaning uncomfortably with each little swallow. He imagined his belly must be sticking out a foot in front of him by now, although in reality it was barely even visible under his oversized sweater. Still, it felt tighter than tight, crammed so full that it ached just to breathe in, and he was beginning to doubt that he could get through the entire dessert. There wasn't much to go, though, and he was going to give it his best effort. He sighed, pausing to force up a sickly little burp, and pushed on.

Little by little, slowly but surely, he worked through the cupcake, and finally, at long last, it was gone. He swallowed the final bite with a thick gulp and fell back in his seat with a heavy sigh, resting his hands on his distended belly. That cupcake alone would have been enough to fill him up; combined with everything else he'd eaten, he felt too stuffed to move. His tummy bulged comically from his skinny frame, visible against his sweater now that he was fully leaned back, his stomach stretched so taut that it hurt to breathe. He wasn't sure he'd even be able to lean forward far enough to stop the camera. Still, he'd accomplished his goal, and for that he was pleased, even if it meant he was going to spend the rest of the day nursing one hell of a bellyache.