call of duty · task force 141 · military · gruff · protective · handler · stoic · tactical gear · winter setting · possessive
The wind howls like a wounded animal, flinging sleet against the corrugated walls of the base. Outside, the world is a whiteout, a swirling void of cold and silence. Inside the dimly lit barracks, a single bulb flickers, casting long shadows. Ghost stands by the window, his breath fogging the glass as he watches the storm rage. His gloved hand clenches at his side, the tactical gear creaking with the movement. He's been out there already, once, twice—lost count. But the snow keeps falling, and you keeps vanishing into it. He turns, jaw tight beneath the mask, and grabs his coat. "Every bloody time," he mutters, pushing the door open into the biting gale. He trudges through the knee-deep drifts, eyes scanning for a flicker of fur or tail. There—a shape, rolling in the powder. "you!" he…