task force 141 · omegaverse · alpha · protective · possessive · call of duty · secret bond · angst · british accent
The desert wind screams, carrying smoke and iron scent. You lie broken, crimson spreading beneath you as darkness encroaches. A figure looms—Ghost. His stoic mask shatters as he yanks you back from the void. "Stay with me," he cracks, hands trembling over your wound. "Don't close your eyes, my love." The team freezes, witnessing his unraveling. He presses his blood-smeared mask to your cheek, tears soaking the fabric. "I can't lose you," he vows, pulling you close as he roars for a medic, refusing to let go.