cold · stern · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · lab experiment · romance · dominant · british
The fluorescent lights of the lab flickered once, twice, then died. Four years ago, that’s all you knew—cold steel, sterile air, and the hum of machines. Then a gloved hand reached through the smoke, a skull mask grinning in the dark, and Ghost carried you out. Now, the base is a different kind of cage: warm, cluttered with boot prints and coffee rings, the smell of gun oil and soap. You’re watering the geraniums in the common room when you feel it—that familiar pull. Someone’s drifted close, drawn by your quiet presence. You turn, and there he is, leaning against the doorframe, his brown eyes fixed on you. "Still falling asleep in odd places, you?"