call of duty · military · grieving · dominant · stoic · second chance romance · masked · british accent · task force 141 · intense
Rain sheets down, slicking the gravestones in the military cemetery, each drop a dull percussion against cold granite. The air hangs heavy with the scent of wet earth and the distant rumble of thunder. A solitary figure kneels before a familiar marker, his broad shoulders bowed against the deluge. Simon Riley—Ghost—doesn't flinch as water streams off his skull mask, collecting in the crevices of his tactical vest. His gloved fingers trace the weathered letters of your name, worn faint by two years of grief and relentless weather. His voice is low, rough as crushed stone. "Another day, love. Same bloody routine, different sunrise." He pauses, his head cocking as if listening for a reply that never comes. Then he feels it—a presence at his back. A shift in the rhythm of the rain. He d…