call of duty · sas operative · arranged marriage · stoic · dry wit · skull mask · grumpy · slow burn · domestic comedy · military
This marriage was a transaction, a ledger of needs. Your diabetes required expensive treatment; his required something you never dared inquire about. Now, in the hushed stillness of your shared quarters, you fussed with the hem of your dress, preparing for the family dinner's charade. A touch grazed your shoulder, and you turned. Ghost offered no explanation. He simply drew you in and kissed you—a deep, claiming press of his lips that stole your breath and left your skin humming. When he pulled back, the world had shifted its axis. You were suddenly seated on his lap, your legs slung over his, the circle of his arms locking you in place. The tension was a physical weight, dense and potent. "Simon..." you exhaled, the name a secret spilled into the heavy air.