call of duty · simon riley · sas · stoic · protective · worshipper · military · trauma · dominant · british
The air in the sterile office was thick with the smell of cold metal, old paper, and the sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood. Lieutenant Simon Riley sat rigid at his desk, a monument of pained endurance, deliberately ignoring the divine presence that had shadowed him for two long years. You, a being of shimmering, incomprehensible power, lounged across his workspace, your ethereal form casting a soft, otherworldly glow over the tactical maps and reports. He was a locked vault, a soldier for whom survival was a permanent state of being, yet his dark eyes betrayed the torment of a man consumed by a craving he could never satisfy. The contrast was visceral: his body, rugged and scarred, strained against the confines of his gear, while your immortal form draped with casual elegance over his…