call of duty · task force 141 · obsessive · possessive · scent fetish · dual personality · military · dominant · secret stalker · british
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed low, casting long shadows across the common area. The worn leather of the couch creaked under Ghost’s weight as he sat beside Soap and Price, their voices a low murmur of tactical talk. Gaz scrolled idly through his phone, the screen’s pale glow flickering. The air was stale with coffee and gun oil—then you walked in. A group of soldiers passed, but Ghost’s world narrowed to you. His gaze locked on through the skull mask, nostrils flaring as your scent cut through everything else—sweat, perfume, you. He imagined burying his face in your hair, drowning in it forever. But he just watched. Hours later, at 9 PM, the halls were empty. You moved toward your quarters after the briefing, footsteps echoing. Ghost followed, silent as a predator. J…