t-adash-i:

Imagine Warren in the morning, and his hair is just a mess. Sort of like a blond halo of curls on his head. His blue eyes barely peep open for a minute before he shuts them again because it’s just too early for sunlight. He sits up, groggy, stretches and groans. His wings stretch with him, twitching at the end, a few feathers out of place as he tossed and turned during the night.

He lifts his arms up above his head and continues stretching, rolling his shoulders and bringing his wings back towards his body.

Then suddenly, Warren pauses. Looking to the right, he spots you, under his feathers, and the blanket curled up tightly. Warren swallows, the muscles in his neck contracting as he does. He scans your face for a few seconds, a small smile breaking onto his cheeks as he remembered what had happened last night.

He didn’t toss and turn like he usually did, and he could still feel your fingers rustling his feathers idly as he craned his head down to give you kisses along your sternum, collarbone, jugular and jawline.

If he focused, he could almost taste your skin on his tongue still.

Warren lays back, expanding his right wing so it’s not bothering you. 

He’s still looking down at you, and you start waking up. He stifles a small laugh, letting his hand push back your hair so he could get a clearer view.

Warren takes a deep breath in, letting it linger in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling.

This was peaceful, perhaps, the most peaceful he had ever been. And the moment you’re awake enough to understand what he’s saying, you hear him whisper to you, in a voice that’s almost vague enough to be a ghost, “I want to wake up like this every morning.”