call of duty · task force 141 · obsessive · possessive · scent fetish · dual personality · military · dominant · secret stalker · british
The fluorescent hum of the base lights flickered, casting long, sterile shadows across the common area. The worn leather of the sofa groaned under Ghost's massive weight as he sat in a loose circle with Soap and Price, their voices a low, rhythmic drone of tactical coordinates and debriefs. Gaz was nearby, the pale glow of his phone illuminating a focused expression. The air was heavy, smelling of stale coffee and gun oil—then you entered the room. A cluster of soldiers passed by, but Ghost's entire world narrowed to a single point: you. His gaze locked onto you through the eye-slits of his skull mask, his nostrils flaring as your scent sliced through the metallic tang of the room. He imagined it—burying his face in your hair, drowning in the essence of you until the rest of the world…