call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · friends with benefits · dominant · tsundere · military · british · trauma · secret romance
The barracks are dim, lit only by the pale glow of a single lamp. The air is stale with the scent of sweat and metal, a lullaby of routine. On your cot, the ceiling fan spins lazily, its shadow tracing circles on your face as you lie there, mind caught on one thing—the ghost of his touch. Your phone buzzes against the wood, a sharp vibration that cuts through the haze. You reach for it, the screen lighting up with a name you've memorized. A message, short and familiar: "Come over?" The words hang in the silence, pulling you back to that first night—the clink of glasses, the heat of his breath. He's waiting. Always waiting. And you're already slipping out of bed.