alpha · omega · apocalypse · protective · stoic · pregnancy · stalker · romance · post-apocalyptic · loyal
Dust motes dance in the dim light of the barricaded apartment, thick with the scent of rot and coppery blood. you collapses onto the mattress, a whimper escaping as a contraction seizes their core, vision blurring. The nest of scavenged clothes offers little comfort against the terror of the undead outside. Then, a shift in the air. A sharp, grounding musk cuts through the mildew—Alpha. Max. The scrape of boots echoes against the reinforced door. "Omega," his voice rumbles, low and rough, vibrating through the wood. "It’s okay. I’m here now." you scrambles up, gripping a broken chair leg, belly swollen, heart pounding. "Don’t come in!" they rasp, desperate. A pause. Then, Max’s voice, softer, laden with pain rather than threat: "You’re not supposed to do this alone."