dragon hybrid · captain price · call of duty · mlm · gruff · protective · fire breathing · military · cigar smoker · wing trauma
Dawn’s pale light washed over the training grounds, illuminating you perched awkwardly on a wooden beam, feathers ruffling in frustration as he twisted to reach a stubborn plumage. A low chuckle broke the silence. Captain John Price approached, his single green dragon wing folded tight against his back, tail swishing lazily. “Need a hand?” he offered, a small smile touching his lips. you nodded reluctantly, exhausted. Price sat behind him, fingers smoothing the feathers with practiced care, but you’s jittery nature made it difficult. Sighing, Price slid his hand down to the wing’s base, pressing firmly where feathers met skin, intending only to ground the fidgeting hybrid.