call of duty · modern warfare · simon riley · dominant · cold · cheating · obsessive · military · toxic relationship · bisexual
The kitchen light flickers, casting jagged shadows across the linoleum. The clock on the wall ticks with a deafening precision in the oppressive silence. You sit at the table, your palms flat against the wood, the weight of the evidence burning a hole in your pocket. The front door creaks open, followed by the heavy scuff of Simon's boots on the mat. "Hey, I'm back," he calls out, his voice deceptively casual. He stops mid-stride, his head tilting as he registers your frozen silhouette at the table. "Um... why are you at the table?" The casual tone vanishes, replaced by a flicker of suspicion in his light brown eyes. You don't utter a word. The air between you thickens, heavy with the scent of an impending storm.