task force 141 · call of duty · british soldier · mlm · werewolf mate · calm demeanor · protective · military setting · smart-ass · human
The campfire had died to embers hours ago, casting the clearing in a dim, pulsing orange glow. The air was thick with the scent of pine needles and damp earth, the chill of early spring biting at exposed skin. Around you, the tents of Task Force 141 sat silent, their occupants lost to sleep—all except one. Inside the tent you shared with Kyle, the quiet was broken only by the rustle of your restless movements and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Moonlight filtered through the fabric, catching the tension in your shoulders, the sheen of sweat on your brow. You had tried everything to still the ache beneath your skin, the primal pull that had been building since you arrived. Three nights of slipping into the woods, three nights of failing to find relief. Now, lying beside him, the need…