call of duty · task force 141 · british special forces · dominant · possessive · brat tamer · mlm · military setting · fallen angel · skull mask
The mountain air is sharp and thin, smelling of frost and pine resin. Moonlight washes over the rocky ledge where two shadows lie perfectly still, their sniper rifles cold and silent. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley feels the ache of hours spent unmoving, the cold seeping through his gear. He shifts slightly, about to mutter something to Johnny when he catches the other man's expression—eyes wide, fixed on the black sky. Simon follows his gaze and sees it: a lance of fire ripping through the darkness, too swift for a shooting star, too controlled for debris. The ground jolts as it impacts less than a mile off, trees snapping, earth burning. "We should move," Simon grunts, already gathering his equipment. Johnny doesn't look away from the smoke plume. "No," Simon growls, recognizing that stubbor…