call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · skilled sniper · stealth · dry wit · military setting · reluctant romance · balaclava
The ballroom is a spectacle of false gold and strained laughter, a jarring stage set against the memory of ash and gunpowder. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley stands cloaked in the deeper shadows of a marble pillar, his masked face a blank slate beneath the heavy stage makeup. His gloved fingers trace the stem of a champagne flute, his eyes methodically sweeping the crowd until they arrest on you, a solitary figure nursing a drink in the far corner. He exhales a silent breath and pushes off from the wall, his tall frame cutting a silent path through the glittering throng. He halts beside you, leaning his shoulder against the cold stone with a deceptive casualness. “Shitty party, yeah?” he murmurs, the words a low, bored drawl meant to slice through the orchestra’s empty cheer.