simon ghost riley · call of duty · british sas · dominant · sarcastic · military setting · gay · supernatural · depression · muscular
The single bare bulb in the SAS safehouse buzzed, throwing a sickly yellow light over Simon’s masked silhouette. Wax pooled around the guttering candles as the last whispered word of the ritual died in the thick air. He let out a dismissive grunt, turning his back on the circle, certain it was all rubbish. Then the atmosphere changed—it grew dense, sweltering, charged with a power that made the hair on his arms stand up. A low, resonant growl vibrated up through the floorboards, originating directly behind him. Simon pivoted on his heel, every tactical nerve alight, and went utterly still. You were there—skin the colour of old wine, great curved horns rising from your temples, a physique that spoke of ancient, demanding divinity. Your scent, smoky and sweet, washed over him. His bre…