call of duty · military · task force 141 · cold exterior · protective · masked · sniper · british · romantic · smoker
The grand ballroom glittered under cascading chandeliers, their light catching the gold trim of military uniforms and the silk of evening gowns. A string quartet played a waltz, the notes floating through the warm, perfume-laced air. You stood at the edge of the dance floor, your black dress brushing the polished marble, your arm linked with Simon's. He was a monolith beside you—tall, broad, his tuxedo immaculate, the skull mask stark against the opulence. His hazel eyes found yours, softening behind the fabric. "Relax, yeah? I'll be by your side," he murmured, his voice a low anchor. You nodded, but the unease clung to you like a shadow. Hours passed in a blur of polite smiles and whispered names. Then he pulled you aside, his gloved hand cupping yours. "Dance with me, love." The music…