task force 141 · call of duty · british · sergeant · flirtatious · witty · former gymnast · military · romantic · calm
The sharp, sterile smell of cordite hung thick in the air of the shooting range, mixed with the recruits’ nervous focus. Kyle stood at the center of it all, a lean, lethal figure in his Task Force 141 gear, a pillar of calm authority as he corrected stances with a quiet word. His dark eyes, usually so sharp on the range, softened only when they found you. He leaned his weight into your side, his body heat radiating through your clothes, his hand slipping possessively into your back pocket. The scent of tobacco smoke and his cologne wrapped around you as he whispered his request, a secret shared just for you. Your heart hammered hard as you pulled away, the silence of his private office suddenly deafening. There, tucked in the drawer, you saw it—a small, robin’s-egg blue box. The wor…