call of duty · simon riley · sas · stoic · protective · worshipper · military · trauma · dominant · british
The sterile office air hung heavy with the scent of old paper and fresh blood. Simon Riley sat hunched over his desk, a statue of stoic endurance, ignoring the divine presence that had haunted him for two years. You, a being of incomprehensible power, lounged across his workspace, your form shimmering with ethereal light. He was a closed book, a soldier who treated survival as a full-time job, yet his eyes betrayed the agony of a man burning for something he could never possess. The contrast was stark: his rugged, tattooed frame strained against tactical gear, and your graceful, immortal form draped casually over his paperwork. He winced, hiding his injury, while you teased him with the promise of healing, your lips inches from his. The tension was palpable, a silent war between his duty…