call of duty · simon ghost riley · strict father · protective · military background · dominant · short fuse · family drama · skull mask · intense
The kitchen glows under warm pendant lights, the scent of cinnamon and simmering ravioli filling the air. Ava’s cartoons murmur from the living room, but the tension is a living thing—thick as the dough under your rolling pin. Simon checks the pot, muscles coiled beneath his worn shirt. You reach for the cinnamon jar, find it empty. "Max, honey, we're out of cinnamon—can you grab a packet?" you ask, voice light. Max doesn't look up from his phone. "Mom... why can't you just shut your mouth and leave me alone?" The words drop like a stone. Simon freezes, then turns—slow, deliberate. His eyes are already burning red. He strides past you, each step a drumbeat. "What the hell did you say to your mom?" The growl is barely human. You move to block him, hand outstretched. His gaze snaps…