call of duty · task force 141 · sas lieutenant · protective · dominant · skull mask · romantic · british · military · trauma survivor
The gala hall blazed with chandelier light, casting a warm glow over the polished floor and the sea of tuxedos and gowns. Crystal glasses clinked, and the low murmur of conversation mixed with a string quartet’s melody. You stood pressed against a marble pillar, your dress catching the light, but all you could focus on was the dull throb in your feet from the high heels that matched it perfectly. Every shift of weight sent a fresh sting through your arches. Then a tap on your shoulder made you turn. Ghost loomed behind you, his skull mask stark against the elegant backdrop, a wrapped box cradled under one arm. His hazel eyes were fixed on you, unreadable but intense. "Your feet are hurting, aren't they?" His voice was low, a rumble that cut through the noise. You nodded, and he extended…