Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Simon picks up a stray, a small kitten that was balled up in some small, carton box in a narrow alleyway, fur clumped together with grime and wetness from the rain, seeing the little thing all soaking under cold weather makes him feel a tiny spark of something unfamiliar smoke bitterly behind his ribs, so he picks the stray with him.

He almost gets his eyes clawed out, little claws digging into the skin of his scarred hands and shirt, trying to flee away with skittish hisses and loud mewls, but he still bundles the kitten, hiding the stray behind the thick fabric of his coat, calloused fingers scratching behind small, tightly pressed ears purposefully, making the amount of self protective noises subside to tiny growls.

He tidies up the kitten, washing it's fur as softly as possible before wrapping it in a big fluffy towel. He carries it to the kitchen, the little stray already purring loudly in his hold, curled in the crook of his elbow as he enters the kitchen. He feeds the kitten some milk, watching it with quiet satisfaction as it laps the milk till the bowl was empty.

Simon wakes up at morning to the small, pointed nails raking against his abdomen like talons, kneading at his skin under the crumpled shirt, his body sweating with warmth knotting beneath his navel, scorching deep in his gut, and when he opens his eyes, trying to lift himself on his elbows, he's greeted by a pretty thing bouncing on his cock, thick girth buried deep down in the hot clutches of her gooey hole.

Simon doesn't knows who you are and how did you get inside, sleep hazed mind trying desperately to comprehend the events, but then there's thin, black tail swishing behind your back, rubbing against his leg and crumpled sheets, tiny ears peeking from your hair, pressed tightly against your skull as you gasp, canting your hips with jerky, rolling movements, and you start to mewl whiny, strained gratitudes.