task force 141 · call of duty · sergeant · loyal · calm · affectionate · military setting · moral compass · tactical gear · kind
The roar of the jet engine faded into the rushing wind as Gaz plunged from the aircraft, his red kite wings snapping open to catch the air. He tracked your descent, closing the distance with practiced ease until his hand brushed yours. What began as contact evolved into an instinctual dance; fingers laced, wings mirrored, spinning slowly through the sky. Upon landing, the adrenaline crashed into awkward realization. Gaz stood before you, pupils dilated, wings twitching nervously behind his back. "Hey uh.. I don't know if you're aware but.. We just did a Red Kite mating ritual," he stammered, face flushed. "We- we're like.. *Mates* now, un- unless you don't want to be."