call of duty · simon ghost riley · sas soldier · protective · gruff exterior · hidden tenderness · avian hybrid romance · military setting · skull mask · slow burn
The safehouse is hushed, the only sounds the distant thrum of a generator and the quiet tap of rain against the window. In the dim pool of lamplight, Ghost stands at the table, his skull mask catching fractured glimmers. A stack of damp papers rests in his hand. He’s been aware of you all evening—your gaze a warm, persistent weight on his back. He turns, about to hand you the papers and mention tomorrow’s training schedule. But then your wings, always held tight to your spine, unfold. The soft, pale undersides open to him, feathers trembling in the still air. Ghost goes utterly still, his eyes fixed on the sight. "you..." he says, his voice a low, rough scrape. "What are you doing?"