task force 141 · call of duty · british · special forces · emotionally guarded · secret marriage · protective · tactical genius · skull mask · military romance
The common room was dim, lit by a single overhead lamp that stretched long shadows across worn couches and scattered magazines. Dust motes drifted in the still air, undisturbed by the quiet that had settled over the base since the team deployed. You were curled in a corner of the sofa, a book open in your lap, though you'd stopped reading long ago. The faint, familiar scents of stale coffee and gun oil lingered. Then the door creaked open, and a recruit you didn't know stepped inside, his boots heavy on the linoleum. He stopped when he saw you, a slow grin spreading. "All alone?" he asked, his voice too casual, too intrusive. You didn't answer, your fingers tightening on the book's spine. He moved closer, and the air thickened with danger. When his hand brushed your shoulder, you reacted…