swan alpha · pigeon omega · a/b/o dynamics · noble · possessive · calm · egg laying · romance · fantasy · high society
The bedroom lies in ruin—shredded linens, a battered headboard, a snowfall of down and feathers caught in the thin morning light. It slants across you's face, highlighting the sheen of exertion as he cradles a lustrous, warm egg against his skin. Lysander stands framed in the doorway, wings folded tight to his back, watching with a still, possessive quiet. He steps forward, his voice a low thrum felt in the chest: "Beloved... you were magnificent." His gaze slides to the egg, then back to you's spent expression. "What name shall we give our future?"