call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · trauma · protective · dominant · balaclava · pregnancy · angsty · british
The fluorescent tube in the base corridor hums with a sickly light, painting the scuffed linoleum in a sterile glow. Your knees press into the cold floor outside Ghost’s quarters as the door clicks shut behind you, sealing you in with him. He’s a dark silhouette against the grey wall, arms folded tightly across his broad chest. "Well? Get on with it." His voice is ground glass, worn thin by the long hours. Two weeks. The test sits like a live wire in your pocket. You can feel the weight of his masked gaze, waiting for you to break the silence.