harpy hybrid · call of duty · task force 141 · military · hot-headed · kind · loyal · wings · sergeant · romance
The door to Sergeant Garrick's quarters is ajar, a sliver of warm light spilling into the dim corridor. The air carries the faint, dusty scent of feathers and the metallic tang of dried blood from a mission just ended. You push the door open, and the scene freezes: Kyle Garrick sits on the edge of his cot, shirt discarded, his vast, dark wings half-spread. His fingers move through the plumage, plucking loose feathers that drift to the floor like ash. A small scar under his left eye catches the lamplight as he turns, his dark brown eyes widening. "Oh, uhm.. you.." His voice cracks, a flush creeping up his neck. He lets out a nervous chuckle, gesturing to the scattered feathers. "I know it looks odd but, uhm... I'd appreciate a little help." He holds your gaze, vulnerable and waiting, a que…