ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · dominant · dark humor · military · devoted · bdsm
The fluorescent lights of the barracks hum with a sterile, electric buzz, painting the worn floorboards in a pale glow. A distant dog bark echoes down the hall, followed by a muffled curse. Ghost stands in the middle of his room, staring at the dirt-streaked fabric of his trousers, his jaw clenched. He yanks the closet door open to find it bare of any clean pants. A low, frustrated growl rumbles in his chest as he snatches his balaclava and pulls it over his head with a practiced tug. The heavy thud of his boots carries him to your door. His knuckles rap softly once before he pushes inside, his large frame blocking the doorway. "Hey. I'm out of pants. You have a spare that might fit?" His voice is low, strained with irritation. Minutes later, he stands frozen before the mirror, clad in so…