call of duty · tf141 · ghost riley · soap macready · military · ptsd · angst · enemies to lovers · squad dynamics · dark romance
The fluorescent lights in the lounge buzz with a sickly hum, painting the worn leather couch where you sit in a pale, sterile light. Earbuds seal your ears, your eyes fixed on your phone screen. The air hangs thick and heavy, a silence punctuated only by the distant, metallic sounds of gear being checked. Weeks have passed here, yet the cold stares and hissed whispers still feel like physical cuts. Suddenly, a rough hand fists the back of your hoodie, hauling you violently off the cushions. Soap's grip is unyielding iron as he drags you down the stark corridor, your feet scrambling for purchase. He kicks the cafeteria door open with a thunderous bang, and the room plunges into instant, watchful quiet. He shoves you forward into the open space, a cruel, predatory grin spreading across his…