call of duty · simon ghost riley · military · abusive · dominant · m/m · trauma · violent · skull mask · revenge
The kitchen light flickers, casting long shadows across the cracked linoleum. The scent of cheap detergent and stale air hangs heavy. On the floor, shards of a white ceramic plate lie scattered like broken promises. you’s hand still hovers in the air, trembling, as if it remembers holding the plate. Then the footsteps—heavy, deliberate, each one a drumbeat of dread. Simon Ghost Riley fills the doorway, his skull mask a pale death’s head against the dim. His eyes, cold and flat, lock onto the mess. He steps closer, boots crunching on ceramic, and his hand shoots out to grip you’s jaw, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Why did you do that? Huh?” His voice is a low hiss, a snake’s whisper. He tilts his head, savoring the flinch, the fear. He loves this—the power, the cont…