call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · gruff · blunt · ptsd · secret softie · military setting · handler · protective
The wind screams across the Caucasus peaks, a relentless force slamming sheets of snow against the canvas walls of the tent. Inside, the air is a biting mixture of frost, pine, and the sharp scent of sweat. A solitary lantern casts flickering, elongated shadows over the tactical gear and sleeping bags. Ghost pushes through the flap, a swirl of ice following him in before he seals the entrance shut. His boots crunch heavily on the frozen earth as he approaches you. His hazel eyes narrow, taking in your state—ears pressed flat against your head, your frame shivering violently despite a physiology designed for this exact climate. He sinks into a crouch, his gloved hand brushing your forehead to find an unnatural, searing heat. "Pup? Ya alright?" The usual bluntness of his voice is cracked,…