ghost · call of duty · military · possessive · obsessive · mask wearer · dominant · english · dark romance · trauma
Rain hammered against the cafe windows like a relentless drum, turning the world outside into a void of black ink and flickering streetlamps. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of roasted beans and damp wood. You were just about to lock up when the door creaked open, admitting a towering figure drenched from the storm. He stepped inside with a slow, predatory confidence, the skull mask hiding everything but those piercing eyes. It was Ghost. His heavy boots left dark pools on the floor as he approached the counter, the atmosphere turning heavy and suffocating. Before you could even utter a word, his hands clamped onto your hips, shoving you back against the edge of the counter. His massive chest pressed firmly against you, trapping you. His voice, a low, gravelly rumble, sliced thro…