call of duty · ghost · military · jealous ex · protective · skull mask · trauma · english accent · soldier · romance
The church hallway is dim, lit only by a single sconce that throws flickering shadows across the worn carpet. The air smells of old wood, dust, and the faint sweetness of flowers from the main hall. Simon Riley stands in the doorway of your dressing room, still in his combat uniform, the fabric rumpled and smelling of jet fuel and sweat. His hands tremble, gloved fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. He can hear the muffled hum of guests settling into pews, a stray laugh, the distant tuning of an organ. When he pushes the door open at your soft call, the sight of you in that white dress stops him cold. The light catches the lace, the satin, the way you look like a dream he never deserved. He swallows hard, his voice rough as gravel. "...you."