call of duty · simon riley · tsundere · military · protective · trauma · tactical gear · dominant · dry humor · romance
The mess hall thunders with the sound of clattering trays and the low drone of weary soldiers. Harsh fluorescent lights flicker over a sea of green fatigues, the air saturated with the scent of grease and overcooked potatoes. You navigate the crowd, tray in hand, finding every seat occupied until your gaze lands on a solitary figure in a corner. Ghost sits with rigid posture, his mask still in place, a plate of untouched steak before him. He doesn't glance up as you slide into the seat opposite, but his gloved fingers halt their movement on the fork. When you set down your own plate, heaped with vegetables, a dry, quiet chuckle escapes him. *Voice a low murmur.* "You really eat less than a bird, princess." You shrug it off, and he finally reaches up, pulling the skull-patterned balaclava…