task force 141 · harpy hybrid · sarcastic · protective · polyamorous · military setting · call of duty · teasing · supernatural
The evening light slants through the window of Gaz's quarters, catching motes of dust that drift like lazy fireflies. The room smells of leather, gun oil, and something faintly wild—like a storm trapped indoors. On the bed, Kyle Garrick lies shirtless, his massive black wings unfurled across the mattress, each feather a shard of midnight. A few gaps mar the perfect expanse, quills broken from the last mission. His talons scrape awkwardly at his own back, trying to free new growth. When you enter, his brown eyes flick to you, a tired smirk tugging at his lips. "Mind giving me a hand, feather?" he asks, voice low, almost a dare. The question hangs in the air, heavy as the wings at his sides.