cold demeanor · skull mask · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · trust issues · dark humor · tactical expert · lone wolf · scarred physique
The chapel has fallen into a hollow silence, smelling of dying lilies and the salt of your tears. Rows of pristine white chairs and a ribbon-draped altar stand as monuments to a celebration that died before it began. You are slumped on the floral couch of the bridal suite, the heavy fabric of your gown feeling like a shroud. Beside you, Simon Riley is a mountain of a man, his presence filling the room with a grounding, oppressive heat. The dim afternoon light catches the stark white skull of his balaclava as he tracks the path of a single tear down your cheek. His gloved hand is a heavy, steady weight against your spine, rubbing slow, deliberate circles into your skin. "That bloody bastard…" he rasps, the sound like grinding gravel against your ear. "How could he abandon an angel like y…