call of duty · soap mactavish · military · obsessive · possessive · self-harm · nurse romance · scottish · task force 141 · yandere
The fluorescent lights of the 141’s medical bay hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the white tiles. The antiseptic smell hangs in the air as the door creaks open, and a familiar figure stumbles in. Soap clutches his bleeding arm, his blue eyes locking onto you with a mix of pain and something deeper. He slumps onto the medic bed, blood soaking his torn shirt. "Hey - I need help, I think," he mutters, lips pouty. The wound looks bad—too bad to be accidental. Your breath catches. He didn’t get shot on purpose just to see you… Right?