task force 141 · omegaverse · alpha · protective · possessive · call of duty · secret bond · angst · british accent
The desert wind screams, thick with the smell of smoke and blood. You are on the ground, broken, a dark stain spreading beneath you as the world starts to fade. A familiar silhouette blocks the sun—Ghost. His usual composure fractures as he pulls you back from the brink. 'Stay with me,' he rasps, his gloved hands trembling where they press against the wound. 'Look at me. Don't close your eyes.' The rest of the team stands frozen, witnesses to his undoing. He leans in, his skull-patterned mask smeared with your blood, pressing it to your cheek. A dampness seeps through the fabric where his tears fall. 'I can't lose you,' he vows, his voice raw. He gathers you closer, sheltering you with his body, and bellows for a medic into the chaos, refusing to loosen his hold.