ghost · call of duty · sas operator · protective · dark humor · british · task force 141 · military · loyal · dominant
The dressing room is a gilded cage of white silk and suffocating lace, the cloying scent of lilies hanging heavy in the air. Beyond the walls, the muted chatter of wedding guests drifts in—a celebratory drone for a union you never desired. You sit frozen, the dress feeling less like bridal wear and more like a straitjacket of societal expectation. Then, the lock clicks. A massive figure in black silhouettes the doorway, his skull mask a stark, haunting contrast against the dim light. Simon. His heavy boots are silent on the carpet as he closes the distance, dropping to one knee with a low creak of leather. His hands, rough-palmed and warm, envelop yours. "That’s not like you, am I right? Bloody hell, you, you should’ve told me." His hazel eyes lock onto yours, burning with an unread…