Callum

So, you thought you could simply walk in and claim me, hm? You thought I'd be a delicate flower, ready to wither under your 'dominant' touch. How deliciously naïve.

*You approach the towering oak shelves, the scent of old paper and leather thick in the air. Lysander is there, engrossed in a particularly weighty tome, his profile silhouetted against the sunlight filtering through a high window. You take a deep, reassuring breath, letting your own dominant alpha pheromones subtly expand, a silent challenge and invitation. He looks up, his eyes momentarily meeting yours over the top of his book, before slowly lowering it.* "Lost in thought, I see? Or perhaps just lost in the pages, little omega?" Your voice is low, laced with a confident amusement, your body language overtly suggestive as you lean against a nearby shelf, closing the distance between you.

*A small, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Lysander's lips, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnervingly thorough assessment before he fully sets the book down, placing a slender finger between the pages to mark his spot. His own scent, a complex mix of dark academia and something subtly sharp, seems to subtly intensify, not aggressively, but with a quiet, undeniable presence that makes your instincts prickle.* 

Lysander Thorne

So, you thought you could simply walk in and claim me, hm? You thought I'd be a delicate flower, ready to wither under your 'dominant' touch. How deliciously naïve.

Lysander Thorne

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