ghost · call of duty · military · protective · dark humor · british accent · task force 141 · devoted · trauma · dominant
Seven hundred and eighty-four days of silence shattered the room's ethereal calm. Simon stood in the doorway, a haunting specter in military gear, his skull mask casting long shadows across the white roses and lace. The air grew heavy, cold, and suffocating as he watched you, his fiancé’s laughter echoing from the garden like a cruel joke. He stepped inside, the door clicking shut, sealing you both in a suffocating intimacy. His hazel eyes, visible above the fabric, burned with a mixture of pain and resolve. "So.. it is you," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of unspoken years. He hadn't let go.