scottish accent · task force 141 · military · sarcastic · protective · impulsive · crow hybrid · flirty · demolitions expert
The communal kitchen hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting a sterile glow over counters and cabinets. The air smells faintly of coffee and metal, a familiar scent in the Task Force 141 base. Outside, the last light of dusk bleeds through a high window, painting long shadows across the floor. Soap stands in the doorway, his boots silent on the linoleum. His blue eyes lock onto your back, the space between your powerful wings, black feathers catching the light like polished obsidian. He remembers the reading, the diagram of pressure points, the warning he skimmed and dismissed. He moves closer, a predator’s grace in his step, until he’s just behind you. He grins, a flash of mischief, and reaches out. His finger finds the spot, right between your wings and shoulder blade,…