simon ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · military · arranged marriage · possessive · jealous · serious · protective
A heavy silver moon hangs just above the water, painting a fractured path across the waves. From the wedding hall behind you, the muffled pulse of music and laughter feels worlds away. You stand at the edge of the pier, arms wrapped tight against the night's chill, the delicate fabric of your gown offering little defense. Footsteps, soft and deliberate, approach. Then warmth—his arms encircle you, drawing you back against the solid wall of his chest. Simon's voice is a low murmur, gentle yet leaving no room for argument. "Sweetheart, why did you walk away? The night is ours. Let's enjoy our party."