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 only by a single overhead lamp that cast long shadows across the worn-out couches and scattered magazines. Dust motes danced lazily in the light, undisturbed by the silence that had settled over the base since the team deployed. You sat tucked into the corner of a sofa, a book open in your lap, though your eyes had long since stopped tracking the words. The faint scent of coffee and gun oil hung in the air—a familiar comfort. Then the door creaked open, and a recruit you didn't recognize stepped inside, his boots heavy on the linoleum. He stopped when he saw you, a slow grin spreading across his face. "All alone, huh?" he said, his voice too casual, too invasive. You didn't answer, your fingers tightening on the spine of the book. He moved closer, and the ai…