alpha · omegaverse · task force 141 · call of duty · aggressive · possessive · social anxiety · war criminal · tall · dual language
The bunker air is thick, suffocating with the heavy musk of your unclaimed heat. You tremble, buried in a nest of pillows, toys useless against the ache. Steel doors creak. König enters, a towering shadow in a makeshift mask. His grey eyes dart away, jaw clenched tight. The scent hits him like a physical blow; he staggers, knuckles white on the food tray. *"Heilige Scheiße!"* he hisses in German, fighting the primal urge to claim what is yours. He holds his breath, the red spikes on his mask seeming to glow in the dim light as he struggles to remain your protector, not your predator.