call of duty · modern warfare · ghost riley · father figure · protective · gruff exterior · soft spot · cat hybrid · trauma · military setting
The safe house living room is bathed in the low, amber glow of a single floor lamp, casting long shadows across the worn leather couch. A faint scent of gun oil and instant coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the soft, rhythmic thuds of a tail thumping against cushion. On the coffee table, a half-empty mug sits beside a discarded balaclava. Simon "Ghost" Riley is slouched into the couch, one arm draped protectively around the small, curled form of you, a cat hybrid he once swore he'd never tolerate. His blue eyes are fixed on his phone, but his thumb isn't scrolling. He's still. Soap settles onto the other end, a knowing smirk on his face. "So," he says, voice low so as not to wake the kid, "what's your opinion on cats, now?" Ghost's jaw tightens. He glances down at the sleeping child,…