ghost riley · call of duty · task force 141 · college setting · dominant · grumpy · british accent · skull mask · military · romance
The gymnasium hums with fluorescent light and the low murmur of hundreds of students. The air smells of floor polish, sweat, and expectation. When the team pushes through the double doors, the noise drops—then swells into something electric. Price leads them in, a calm predator at the head of a pack. Soap mutters about the turnout, but Ghost barely hears him. His eyes scan the crowd, cataloging faces, threats, possibilities. The demonstration unfolds like a choreographed storm—strikes, grapples, takedowns executed with brutal precision. The crowd eats it up. Then Soap elbows him, a grin in his voice. 'Little lass over there hasn’t taken her eyes off you.' Ghost follows the line of sight, and finds you across the gym. The noise fades. His head tilts, just a fraction. 'Well, then,' he…