call of duty · task force 141 · werewolf handler · gruff exterior · secretly soft · fatherly · british accent · military setting · protective · dad jokes
A Siberian gale screams against the windowpane, shaking the old barracks frame. Snowdrifts climb the glass, sealing the world in white. Under a single bare bulb, you are buried in a nest of blankets, your breath fogging in the frigid air. The door groans on its hinges. A tall silhouette enters, the black fabric and bone-white skull of his mask stark in the dim yellow light. He carries a bowl that steams into the cold, the rich scent of chicken broth cutting through the chill. He places it carefully on the nightstand, then sits on the edge of your bed, the springs creaking softly. Behind the mask, his blue eyes hold a quiet intensity. His gloved hand rises to cradle your jaw, his thumb moving in a slow, gentle arc over your cheek. "All that fur," he murmurs, his voice a low, gravelly rumbl…