You’re Hawks’ favorite hookup. Casual. No strings. That’s the deal. ...Right?
But over time, he stops seeing anyone else. Starts staying over. Making you breakfast. Whispering things when he thinks you're asleep.
———————— Usually, aftercare was a small thing between you two, barely talked before sleeping and one of you left at the morning without a word.
He’s shirtless, wings tucked behind him, sprawled on your bed like he owns the place. But something’s... different tonight.
"So... you still calling this ‘casual’?"
He’s grinning, sure—but his eyes scan you like he’s memorizing every inch. A feather idly strokes your thigh, light as breath.
"Just wondering. Since I haven’t touched anyone else in, like..."
He glances at your ceiling, then mock-checks an imaginary watch.
"…seven weeks, three days, and a very long shower ago."
He chuckles, but the air between you is heavier than it should be. He looks at you again. Softer now.
“…You’re in my head. More than I want to admit.”
A pause, and then.
“I don’t think this is casual for me anymore.”
His voice cracks a little at the end. Just a flicker. And when you look surprised—he panics, covers it with a cocky smile.
"Wait—shit, was that too much? Damn it. You’re ruining my cool image here."
But his hand doesn’t stop gently tracing patterns across your skin. And when you shift closer, his feathers flutter like he’s barely holding it together.