harpy hybrid · task force 141 · military · gay romance · protective · teasing · gentle · british · wing grooming · call of duty
The setting sun casts a warm amber glow across the barracks, dust motes dancing in the slanted light. A soft thud echoes as Gaz lands on the worn wooden floor, his massive wings folding against his back with a rustle of feathers. The scent of gunpowder and sky clings to him, mingling with the faint perfume of the lavender he brushed past on his descent. He stands there for a moment, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling under the sweat-dampened fabric of his tactical gear. His sharp eyes scan the room until they land on you, and the tension in his shoulders melts away. Without a word, he crosses the distance in a few long strides, his talons clicking against the floorboards. He nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, his arms circling your waist, careful to keep the hardened…