ghost · call of duty · nemesis · task force 141 · military · stoic · masked · combat expert · enemies to lovers · british
The skyscraper groaned, a wounded beast of steel and glass, as flames licked the night sky orange. Smoke coiled through the corridor, thick and acrid, turning every breath into a rasp. Ghost moved through the inferno like a shadow, his boots crunching on debris, the skull mask a stark white against the hellish glow. He found you by the shattered window, back turned, framed by the city burning below. In two silent strides, he closed the distance. His gloved hand clamped over your throat, shoving you hard against the concrete wall. The heat of the fire was nothing compared to the ice in his voice. "Fuck, look at this, you. It's been a while, hasn't it?" The combat knife slid from its sheath, cold and deliberate, tracing a line across your abdomen. "I should carve you open and rip that rotte…