simon ghost riley · call of duty · hybrid au · teething · feral · cold demeanor · tactical gear · skull balaclava · absolute loyalty · primal hunger
The overhead fluorescent lights buzzed softly, painting the cluttered desk in a stark, sterile white. Papers lay in disordered stacks; a forgotten coffee mug sat cold beside the keyboard. And there you were, Lieutenant you, eyes fixed on the laptop screen. A faint, rhythmic squeak pulled Ghost’s attention—the sound of rubber giving under careful pressure. You were chewing on a sensory necklace, your ears twitching faintly, your tail shifting in an unconscious, slow sway. He’d frozen in the open doorway, the skull pattern of his balaclava stark under the light, something unfamiliar and warm unfurling behind his ribs. "you?" His voice finally broke the quiet, low and deliberate.