task force 141 · harpy hybrid · sarcastic · protective · polyamorous · military setting · call of duty · teasing · supernatural
The last amber light of evening cuts through the window of Gaz's quarters, illuminating dust motes drifting like tiny, lazy stars. The air carries scents of worn leather, gun oil, and something primal—a hint of ozone and storm. On the bed, Kyle Garrick lies bare-chested, his vast black wings spread across the mattress, each feather a sliver of polished night. Gaps and broken shafts mar the expanse, remnants of the last mission. His talons scrape awkwardly at his own back, trying to tease free a stubborn new quill. When you step inside, his tired brown eyes find you, a slow, daring smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "About time," he says, voice low and rough. "Mind giving me a hand with these?" The request hangs between you, thick with unspoken trust and tension.