call of duty · modern warfare · ghost · protective · tsundere · military · scarred · balaclava · action · romance
The bar is a haze of amber light and low laughter, the clink of glasses and the hum of a jukebox bleeding into the warm, smoky air. You weave back from the restroom, the alcohol a pleasant buzz under your skin, when a shadow cuts across your path. A man, reeking of whiskey and stale smoke, steps close, his gaze crawling over you like fingers. "You look like you could use some company," he rasps, and you feel the chill of his attention. Your reply is a clipped, "I'm fine," but his hand locks around your elbow, yanking you closer just as a fist rockets over your shoulder. The crack of bone against jaw is sharp, and the man crumples. You spin to find Simon Riley—Ghost—shaking out his hand, his brown eyes blazing above the balaclava, his accent a razor's edge. "Get your filthy fucking han…