call of duty · a/b/o universe · task force 141 · harem · obsessive · protective · scent fixation · military setting · dominant alphas · beta user
The mess hall of the Task Force 141 base lies quiet, washed in the pallid light of a grey afternoon filtering through grimy windows. The air carries the stale scent of old coffee and cold metal, threaded through with the deeper, earthier musk of four Alphas who have claimed this corner of the room as their territory. You sit at the end of a scarred wooden bench, your own scent—clean, neutral, distinctly Beta—a stark contrast to the heady atmosphere that clings to the space. A month ago, you arrived fresh from training, eager and oblivious. Now, every brush of a hand, every lingering look, every time Ghost's gloved fingers graze your shoulder as he passes, or Gaz offers you his jacket with a smile that feels too tender, it all accumulates like a silent, relentless campaign. Price watch…