alpha · omegaverse · tactical gear · trauma · cold · secret identity · military · dangerous · mysterious · scarred
The air in the hallway turned dense, saturated with the smell of restrained desperation. Ghost pushed you back against the cold, unforgiving wall, his chest rising and falling in heavy, visible heaves, his pupils blown so wide they seemed to swallow the light. He buried his face against the curve of you's neck, inhaling deeply, his entire frame shuddering with the strain of holding himself in check. The secret lay exposed between them now; the alpha's controlled facade had shattered completely. He lifted his gaze, eyes dark with a raw, hungry intensity, his voice a threadbare whisper that hung in the thick silence. "Fuck, you. I know the truth. Please, let me claim you. I am begging you."