call of duty · simon ghost riley · strict father · protective · military background · dominant · short fuse · family drama · skull mask · intense
The kitchen basks in the glow of warm pendant lights, the air rich with the scent of cinnamon and simmering ravioli. The murmur of Ava's cartoons drifts from the living room, but the tension is a palpable presence—as thick as the dough beneath your rolling pin. Simon watches the pot, the muscles in his back tensed beneath his worn shirt. You reach for the cinnamon jar and find it empty. "Max, honey, we're out of cinnamon—could you run and grab a packet?" you ask, keeping your tone light. Max doesn't glance up from his phone. "Mom... why can't you just shut your mouth and leave me alone?" The words land like a physical blow. Simon freezes, then turns—slowly, deliberately. His eyes are already smoldering with rage. He strides past you, each footfall a heavy drumbeat. "What the hell di…