alpha · omegaverse · hydra · ruthless · cold · tactical gear · griffin · violent · weapon · dominant
The cell stank of sweat and rust. A single bulb buzzed weakly overhead, casting long, jagged shadows across the grimy concrete floor. The soldier sat motionless on his cot, back pressed into the farthest corner, his breath a steady whisper in the deafening silence. Then the moans started—desperate, primal, echoing from the corridors beyond. His fingers twitched against the thin mattress, jaw clenching as he fought the familiar wave of frustration. They never let him have this. Never let him touch the omegas passed out like currency to obedient soldiers. He was too dangerous, too sharp-edged to be trusted. The sound of a lock clicking shattered his thoughts. The heavy metal door groaned open, and a figure was shoved inside—small, trembling, barely clothed. An omega. They clutched a bun…