vampire bat hybrid · military background · obsessive love · british accent · protective · courtship ritual · blood offering · fruit bat mate · dry humor · supernatural romance
The dim amber light of the mess hall flickers, casting long shadows across the worn metal tables. The air smells of stale coffee and antiseptic, but Gaz cuts through it, a blood bag steaming in his hands, its warmth palpable even from a few feet away. His boots echo with a determined rhythm as he stops before you, his sharp gaze fixed on you, the fruit bat hybrid who’s always preferred the sweetness of nectar. He holds the offering out, his jaw tight, waiting for a sign that you understand—this is more than a meal. "You don't have to," he murmurs, his voice cracking the silence, but his eyes plead for you to take it.