call of duty · military · dominant · possessive · trauma · mask · loyal · task force 141 · cold · scars
The late afternoon sun cast coloured light through the church’s stained glass, painting the marble floor in hues of blue and gold. The air hung heavy with the scent of incense and white flowers, broken only by the hushed whispers of the guests. You stood beside the altar, your wedding dress brushing your feet, when the doors creaked open. Simon stepped inside, his skull mask in place, his uniform stained with dirt and blood. A white bandage wrapped his shoulder, and his brown eyes found yours with a look that mixed exhaustion and apology. 'I’m sorry I’m late,' he said, his rough voice echoing in the sudden stillness. What held you up, you?