Imagines blog

You get off the train and head for the building, squinting in the bright sunlight. You could have gotten the Agency driver to bring you here himself, but you were so annoyed that you didn't think to call him and headed straight for the station. Plus, you weren't sure if he might discreetly text to warn Hawks that you were on the warpath. Naturally, Hawks lives in the nicer part of town, with the board paying for his penthouse suite. Getting inside the building proves to be more of a challenge, until you flash your badge in the doorman and then the receptionist's faces before you're allowed to go up to his floor. By the time you're whisked to the front door in a mirrored elevator that makes you feel like you're trapped in some kind of magician's trick, leaving you even more unsettled and irritated than before. You've never been to his apartment before, actually, and it occurs belatedly to you that this might seem a little bit inappropriate. But you've come all this way, plus it would be a total waste of train fare not to go in. Anyway...you'd be lying if you said that you weren't a little concerned. It wasn't like him to just up and vanish without a trace. What if he was injured or sick or something? A mission you didn't know about gone wrong? With mental images of a broken Hawks filling your mind, a nightmarish kaleidoscope of twisted scarlet feathers and golden eyes dulled to a sightless blank, you repress a shiver. Your hand reaches out and grasps the door handle and your stomach does a brief figure eight when it easily slides open, unlocked. You're braced for a scene of carnage, so it surprises you when you step through the threshold to see that the apartment is clean, still and seemingly empty. The only bizarre thing you do notice about it is that all the cushions on the sofa are gone, like a child has stolen them to make a fort with. You frown and wonder if Hawks has gone off somewhere for a family emergency or something, but he's never mentioned family to you before. Plus, he would have taken his phone, he's nearly glued to that thing most days. Unless maybe there’s no reception where he is? "Hello?" you call into the large airy room and your voice seems to fill every corner of it. "Hawks?" There's no response and you walk in further, absently kicking off your shoes so that your socks sinking into the plush carpet. As you listen, trying to ignore the creeping feeling of uneasiness slinking up your spine, like the feet of an insect, your ears pick up a sound. At first it takes you a couple of seconds to place exactly what it is, but it's breathing. Ragged, low breaths that break out into groans. It’s coming from above, since Hawks’s bedroom isn’t blocked off by another floor, just a staircase that leads up, so sunlight can get into every room of the penthouse suite. And from where you know his room must be, the sounds drift down to you, drawing you closer. Even just the sheer sound of them stirs something primal in you, blood rushing to your cheeks as it slowly clicks into place. I don't believe it. Did he skip work for three days just to fucking jerk off?! You follow the noise, tingles spreading through you as it gets louder and finally you reach his room, clambering loudly up the stairs. "Hawks!" And then you stop dead. There's your boss, lying on his enormous bed. He's on his back, wings spreads, buck naked and one hand pumping furiously up and down the length of his dick. On some men it might have looked gross and obscene, but Hawks makes a seedy tableau look like the work of erotic art. He has the body for it, his skin shiny with sweat as he works himself into a frenzy, his abs and upper arms flexing with effort. His jaw is gritted, wings shivering. Golden-blonde hair is plastered messily to his forehead and his eyes are screwed shut. You want to look away, but you can't, eyes fixed on the way his hips buck needily into his hand, the way his throat flexes with stifled moans...it's borderline hypnotic. Then his eyes spring open and he jolts upright, feathers bristling like he's

about to attack, when he realises who's staring at him. A beat of silence ticks between you. "What...?" Hawks mutters in a rasp, like he's become unused to speaking. "Pidge? What...what're you doing here?" "I should ask you the same question!” you splutter, looking away as Hawks grabs a pillow and rather lazily plonks it over his crotch. You appreciate the gesture, but the image of Hawks on his back will forever be burned into your memory. “Where the fuck have you been, you asshole? You couldn’t wait for things to calm down before playing hooky to have a little ‘me’ time?” Maybe you’re being a little unfair, but honestly, here you were thinking he was hurt or in danger and the fucker was just having a tug session? You’re practically simmering with indignation. Hawks sighs and a weird expression crosses his face, almost like he’s in pain, but you don’t feel particularly sympathetic this time. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” you bark at him, hands on hips. “You mean, nobody’s told you?” Hawks asks, then he gives a hollow little chuckle and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Heh. Stupid question. If you knew you definitely wouldn’t have come here, not when I’m like this.” “Like what?” you say, confused. “Are you sick or something?” Come to think of it, there are some circles under his eyes you hadn’t noticed. He snorts and you sort of hate how good he looks, sitting there with sunlight pouring in from the roof, highlighting every muscle, his wings glossy and practically glowing in the light. He looks up at you and the sight damn near leaves you breathless. “I’m in heat.” He says. His voice is so matter of fact that for a second you honestly think you misheard him. “What?” “You know how animals have mating cycles, pidge?” Hawks asks, and this would be a totally ridiculous conversation to have under ordinary circumstances, let alone when he’s naked in bed when you just caught him violently masturbating. “Well, me too. There’s no way I can work like this…not with these urgesI have.” His voice dips low when he says that word and it sends a liquid heat pulsing through you. You bite your lip impulsively, suddenly under the spotlight of his golden gaze, his eyes darting to your mouth. Fuck. This definitely is not the sort of thing you’d taken into account when you accepted the job. He’s your boss. Even being here must be going against all kinds of protocol. And what’s worse is that you’re so wrong-footed and flustered by his little confession that you can’t think of a single thing to say in response. You came here boiling with indignation and now you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. “In fact,” Hawks continues silkily, taking advantage of your unusual silence. “It’s pretty dangerous for you to be here, sweetheart. Cute little thing like you…well, it’s gonna be real hard for me to control myself.” Goosebumps break out across your flesh and you swallow. But his tone is sickly-sweet and patronising and it stirs something in you, your hackles rising at the implication that you’re just some scared little girl who’s going to run away from Mr. Bigshot Pro Hero. “You’re really going to try scaring me off with no clothes on?” you snort, rolling your eyes. “That’s ballsy, even for you.” “Yeah?” Hawks hums, shifting up onto his knees and leaning towards you. “You were looking at me a while before you said anything, sweetheart. Gonna try acting all high and mighty now?” Shit, he noticed. Well, of course he did. He’s almost frighteningly perceptive, despite how breezy and carefree he acts most of the time. Heat prickles at your cheeks, the back of your neck, and that damn smile on his face widens. “Unless…you wanna stay?” he asks, cocking his head in a distinctly bird-like way. Your throat has gone dry. You know you’re standing on the edge of something here, a choice that will either make working unbearably awkward from now on, or send you plummeting off a deep precipice into world’s unknown. Your chest feels tight. Now that you’re here, walking out like nothing happened

seems unthinkable. He’s mocking you, you think, but you don’t think he’d suggest what you’re sure he’s suggesting just as a joke. He may be fond of winding you up, but he isn’t that cruel. “What if I did?” you breathe. “Want to?” The silence is short, but it seems to go on and on to you, stretched taut like a thread. Any moment one of you is going to break it, yet you’re afraid to speak, sure that you’re going to say exactly the wrong thing. You’re not even sure what the right thing is. “I really hope you know what you’re getting into, lovebird.” Hawks says softly, but his voice is heavy-sounding, letting you know unequivocally that he isn’t fucking around. “Because when I get like this…I can’t hold back.” He doesn’t give you time to answer, surging forwards with the speed of a snake and he’s cupping your chin and pressing his mouth to yours before you can process it. He’s hot and hungry, lips slightly chapped against yours and he seems to take some glee in smudging your lipgloss and you taste a peachy tang on the tip of your tongue. You want to say you hesitated more, thoughts like, Shitand He’s your boss! Pinging in the recesses of your mind, but you can’t bring yourself to pretend to care about any of it when he’s kissing you like this. He doesn’t waste time trying to persuade you further. As soon as your lips meet, his veneer of self-control melts away like wax. His hands are tangling in your hair, making short work of the formal hairstyle you usually sport in the office. Perhaps the scent of your perfume has reignited his base desires, or the brief reprieve from his frantic jerking has worn off. Whatever it is, once he has you in his grip, there’s no qualms about indulging the animal in him. Before you quite know what’s going on, you’re on the bed, and his hands are running all over you. There’s no room to be self-conscious when he’s kissing you so feverishly, and you knew you wouldn’t be walking out of there without marks littering your neck. He seems to be everywhere, sucking on your neck, hands sliding up and under your clothes, squeezing at anywhere he can reach. You respond as best you can, still flummoxed by how quickly this is happening, but you’re willing to go with it – because you can blame his heat, blame it on the crazy bird instincts pulsing through him. You’ve always done whatever he’s asked you before, why stop now when you’re finally getting something out it other than a paycheck? A feather slides between you and deftly slashes the gap between the seam your shirt. You make an indignant noise as it falls open, buttons falling away. Did he have to show off like that? That shirt was one of the ones you bought for this damn job! But before you can complain he’s already summarily stripping the ruined shirt from you, tossing it carelessly aside, before he grins at you, eyes flicking up and down you. “I’ve always wondered what you look like under there,” he remarks as he drinks in the sight of you, hands going to the button of your fly. “And?” you ask, a little testily. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” he growls. In a flash of scarlet, your bra is severed from you as well and he’s pushing you down so that you’re lying on your back, backlit by the sun. The way he’s looming above you like that, looking down at you with a borderline worshipful expression, he reminds you of a guardian angel, but the look in his eyes is pure sin. He lowers himself down, hands pinning your wrists either side of you as he drags his tongue across your breast, circling the nipple with the tip, teasing you with it. A mewl of protest leaves your mouth as he moves away to do the same to the other one, leaving you feeling cold after his attentions had you so warm. Tingles spread through your chest as he lowers his head to lick at one of your tits properly, using a free hand to toy with the other one, massaging and squeezing the sensitive flesh. Your nerve endings seem all too eager to respond to his touch, the pads of his fingertips sending little jolts of pleasure all through your upper body. He makes an approving

noise in his throat, like the trill of a bird and you shift your hips, aware of a dampness pooling in your crotch. Fuck, all he had to do was play with you a little and you’re already getting excited. But you’ve had a crush on him for so long…it’s like you’re having a really detailed erotic dream. You’d just always assumed he’d never noticed you in that way, thinking of you more as a useful tool than a woman. It kind of stings he’s only paying attention to you now, when he’s in heat, of all things. But he’s making you feel so good that it almost doesn’t seem to matter now. “Fuck,” Hawks groans and his voice sounds deeper than usual, more husky, like he’s been smoking heavily the past couple of days. “Look at you, baby bird. So cute~” He kisses your neck, and then you feel teeth graze your ear. “I’m gonna fucking wreck you, sweetheart.” The way he said it made your eyes snap to him in mild alarm – it nearly sounded like a threat. Hawks was smiling, but it was sharp and mirthless. His tongue darted out of his mouth to slowly lick across his bottom lip, drinking in the sight of you, now only in a pair of soaked underwear. His wings shivered, the feathers practically bristling with arousal, the colour such a bright, glossy red they reminded you of leaves in autumn. He shifts down your body, planting kisses as he goes and nipping the skin – you yelp as he gives a particularly hard one to your hip and he grins wolfishly at you as you shoot a half-hearted glower at him. Then he gets to your underwear, snapping the waistband against your skin playfully. “Cute, but they gotta go.” He yanks them free and as he does so, a strand of wetness sticks to the crotch of your underwear. You squeak, embarrassed, but if anything, it seems to spur Hawks on even more. He hunkers down between your thighs, which have parted for him automatically. You prop yourself awkwardly onto your elbows, your face hot, wondering if he’s going to think you look weird or realise this was a bad idea or something. Then he licks a hot stripe up your core, and you gasp. The sight of the Number Two Pro Hero lying flat on his belly between your legs, looking at you like you’re a buffet and he’s starving, is perhaps one of the most alluring and intimidating sights you’ve ever seen. You shift, but perhaps Hawks can see the uneasiness you feel at being splayed before him on your face. He can’t have you backing out now, so he sets right to work. You’re nowhere near wet enough for him yet – he wants you drenched before he ruts you senseless, plus his mouth is practically watering to get a taste of you. A keening whine rises to the ceiling as Hawks plunges his tongue into you, the hot muscle sending a bolt of heat rushing through your body. His hands are plenty strong enough to clamp around your thighs, holding them still even as you squirm reflexively, unused to such a powerful sensation from such a simple touch. It’s not the first time you’ve ever been eaten out, but it always had a perfunctory, hurried feel to it, like the other person just couldn’t wait to get to the part they actually wanted and were only eating you out from obligation.

This is different. You have no choice but to lie on your back and take whatever Hawks wants to give you, and you can tell already how demanding a lover he is. He uses feathers to hold down your arms, your ankles, keeping you spread nice and wide for him. He laps at your clit, getting your juices everywhere as he uses his fingers to fuck your core, the first one explorative, sinking deep into the wet heat. You cry out, helpless to pleasure as his flexible tongue curls around your clit, adding more and more pleasure as the shimmering, throbbing pulse grows stronger and stronger in you, driving wild keening from your mouth. “Hawks! Hawks!” you chant senselessly, head shifting back and forth on the mattress, the only part of your body not pinned in some way. “Keigo.” He demands gruffly, glancing briefly up at you as if the rest of you is of little interest compared to your cunt, but his eyes hold a warning. “K-Keigo.” You correct, oddly cowed by the simple correction. His name feels strange on your tongue, smooth like chocolate with a tinge of sharpness. He grunts in approval before returning to his self-appointed task to make you go wild with his fingers and tongue alone and if you were merely ‘damp’ before, his ministrations had you sopping. It was coating his chin and steaking the inside of your thighs. Your body clenches pathetically around his thrusting fingers like it’s trying to suck him in, wanting to hold him there, the urge to come overriding anything else. “Keigo, Keigo please, I’m so close-“you groan, your thighs jerking. It’s so much, so intense, that you feel like you cannot possibly survive such an assault on the senses for much longer. “Please!” You don’t know if it’s your begging that spurs him on or if he was reaching his limits anyway, you can see his lower half squirming, no doubt grinding his cock against the sheets for a little friction to make things more bearable and as you come, the sensation like a damn bursting, a drawn-out noise between a sigh and a coo of relief, you hear him groan in satisfaction at your orgasm. The feathers fall away from your arms and ankles as Hawks sits up on his haunches, dragging the back of his wrist across his mouth, smirking at the vague expression of disgust that flits across your blissed-out features. “That was-“ you begin, raising an arm and letting it drop, to signify how fucking dizzy from that high you are, but he merely clicks his tongue. “Aw, baby bird,” he coos, his fingers curling around your ankle. “S’flattering and all, but we’re nowhere near close to being through yet.” The pet names are nothing new, but hearing them in this context makes you blush harder, so you feel nearly lightheaded with it. And then a yelp leaves you as he tugs, easily dragging you further down the bed – really, it’s more like a nest, strewn with pillows, the missing sofa cushions, feathers, all sorts of things, like he’s been pre-preparing for a disaster for weeks. Well, in a way, he has. He moves above you, wings flared as if about to take flight. You chance a glance downwards and stifle a gasp. He’s fucking huge. Not that you ever expected Hawks to be small – you’d never put much thought into your boss’s cock, to be honest – but right now it’s standing right to attention, throbbing and an almost angry-looking red. Now you can see why he ate you out until you nearly went dizzy, because you think taking that is going to be a tall order. Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out and it doesn’t matter anyway, because Hawks is already grabbing your hips, a look of fierce need on his face that makes your stomach drop, a primal instinct in you alerting you to just what a ride you’re in for. The blunt head of his cock nudges your folds and you hiss as he slides his way in, a pinch making you reflexively flinch – it’s been a while since you got laid. Hawks, if he notices in his haze, is undeterred and there’s a squelching wetness as he plunges into you, fingers sinking hard into your flesh, hard enough to bruise. “Keigo!” you cry out, hips jerking up to alter

the angle a little bit, to slow his descent into you to give yourself a second to adjust – he’s so fucking big. “I can’t- I need-“ “You can take it,” he replies mercilessly, in that strange, throaty voice. His eyes gleam in the sun. “My pretty bird.” The compliment makes you feel pleasantly warm, despite your misgivings and he gives an encouraging noise as he sinks all the way in, groaning softly, the tendons in his neck standing out as his head cants back, eyes closing for a moment. “Fuuuuck,” he grunts. “You’re so fuckin’ tight…and snug…nnnh…and all fuckin’ mine.” He growls the last part, and maybe it’s voicing his primal needs that flip a switch in his head, because the next moment he’s moving, pulling out a little before sinking all the way in again, feathers shivering. Once he’s started, he doesn’t stop, fucking you with a wild desperation that has you panting for breath, your cunt squeezing him tight, your hands groping clumsily at him. You run your palms over the planes of his body, his arms, his shoulders, before they slid around his back. You’ve touched his wings before and you always got the impression you were flirting with danger – they would jolt to attention at your touch, and Hawks would look over his shoulder with an amused, slightly surprised expression, accusing you of feeling him up. It doesn’t exactly take brain surgery to figure out what touching him in this situation might do. Your fingers creep down his back as he fucks you hard, your body nearly squashed between him and the mattress, and find the seam where his winds jut out from his back. With a boldness that surprises you, you brush your fingers over that area and the reaction is immediate. He moans. “Do that again.” He demands, bucking so hard into you that you feel the very tip of him nudge your cervix. “Ah!” you cry out, but marshal yourself, rallying that stubborn streak that got you the job as his PA in the first place. “Say please.” He responds by biting down hard on you – the juncture between neck and shoulder, so hard that you feel his teeth puncture skin. A squeal leaves your mouth before he’s immediately soothing the wound with lazy flicks of his tongue, a sharp contrast to the rhythm of his hips. “Pretty fucking please, pidge,” he growls into your ear, catching the lobe between his teeth and giving a little pull, and you’re surprised that you can feel even further aroused in this state. “My little brat.” You do it again, and the smaller feathers near the joint fluff up, like a surprised owl. Oh, he likes it, he makes these cute little chirpy noises in the back of his mouth, even as he’s pinning you down, the wet sounds of his cock pounding into your wet core filling the room, along with muffled squeaks and gasps from you and groans from him. You wrap your legs around his rutting hips for better purchase, rubbing at the base of his wings as you cling to him life a life raft. You want to come again, and you can feel he wants to as well, the thrusts getting faster, sloppier. “Yes, Keigo, that’s it…” you pant into his ear, sucking on his neck because he’s given you so many hickies you’re going to have to wear a scarf for weeks – least you can do is give him a few in exchange. “Oh god…fuck…” “Nnh…so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Such sweet sounds,” Hawks growls encouragingly, reaching down to pet at your clit, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, making you shudder around him, core clutching around him like a vice. “You wanna come again, don’t you? Greedy girl. So fuckin’ greedy…and I love it.” He’s hardly being fair – he’s greedy too, pushing you over the edge and only driving you further and further down during the freefall, wringing as many noises as he can from your battered throat. You come only seconds before he does, starbursts in your eyes as you clamp them shut so you’re not gazing right up into the sun, and with your eyes shut it’s even more intense, a wash of euphoria pulling you under and holding you down. Keigo comes inside you, and you can feel the gush and belatedly it occurs to you neither of

you even stopped to think about condoms. Stupid, stupid! Your back hits mattress as you let go of Hawks, arms splayed either side of you, useless. Your hair is plastered to your forehead, hairline beaded with sweat. Your chest rises and falls with sharp, unsteady gasps for breath. You can hear Hawks’s ragged breathing above you as your thighs drop from his hips as well, hitting the mattress with a dull thud. For a moment nothing else happens and you foolishly think that you could pass out, right here and now, propriety or how sweaty you are be damned. You’re wrong about that. Before you can get even close to getting your bearings, you’re flipped over with ease and he’s grabbing your ass, roughly squeezing the globes of flesh in both hands, humming in appreciation. You let out a shriek of surprise, pain, and outrage as he slaps your ass hard, the sound of his palm cracking against you ringing out in the stillness of the apartment. Before you can turn around and shout at him, cheeks flushed red, he’s pulling you up, hands squeezing your hips, pulling you to him until your ass meets his pelvis. “You didn’t think I was done, did you, princess?” he says, with a husky, dark chuckle. “You haven’t been listening so well.” “Keigo-!” you cry out – he might have his urges, but you can’t do anymore! You feel battered, wrung-out, like you’ve been saved from a wreckage, but he’s already lining up with your dripping core and it’s clear he isn’t in the mood to negotiate. You’re so slippery with slick and his cum that it takes him a moment to properly find your entrance and his nails dig into your skin, the sight of wetness streaking down your legs making him nearly purr with approval. Your arms and thighs shake as you try to hold yourself upright, but you end up planting clumsily on the bed, face mashed up against a pillow as Hawks shamelessly ruts into you from behind, his breath coming out in little grunts, the sound, combined with a soft squishing noise that reminds you of someone stirring a pasta, is practically like aural porn. And Hawks has always been a talker – between the growls, he’d muttering nearly under his breath, almost more to himself than to you, but what you can make out audibly is pure filth. “Gonna fuck you…full of my cum…” Hawks grates out, his hips snapping forwards, his body slick with sweat. “Nngh…you like that, baby? Gonna breed you like a bitch.”

Normally you’d tear him a new one for speaking to you like that, but you’re too insensible to do much more than cry out, clutching the sheets between trembling fingers. You feel like you’re going to boil to death, body clammy with sweat and heat, drool coating your bottom lip. He’s so big and so much, still insatiable and not satisfied. “K-Keigo, please-!” you wheeze out. It’s so much, tingling throbs like your entire body is one big heartbeat, limbs trembling with effort and your head spinning. You feel you could pass out right here and he’d just keep on fucking you, filling you up over and over again until he can’t anymore. “Oh god…yes…gonna fuck you until you can’t see straight…” he rasps, one hand leaving your hips to push your head down, not that you have the strength to push yourself up in the first place. “Show me how much you want it. C’mon, baby…” Slapping noises fill the room as he ups the pace, one hand snaking around to rub your clit, clumsy in his eagerness to come. You can feel his hips snapping against you, and the push of pressure both from his cock and fingers sends you babbling encouragement, your nails clawing the sheets and you spitefully hope you’ve torn a hole in them. You barely notice when he pulls out, so lost in the aftershocks of orgasm number whatever…you’ve lost count. You collapse onto the bed in a crumpled mess, though you manage to at least roll over onto your back so you don’t just pass out with your ass in the air. For minutes, you just lie there, feeling like you’re looking down at yourself from above, your body trembling with overstimulation, with being pounded so hard, rode mercilessly into coming again and again. You crack open one eye to see that Hawks is doing much the same, lying next to you and panting, chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re aware, dimly, that you must look and smell disgusting. There’s slick coating your thighs, cum oozing out of your core, you’re sweaty with your hair everywhere and littered with lovebites and bitemarks. But you’re too tired to move or care all that much. The thought of even getting dressed feels as outrageous as flying to the moon and back. “You alright?” Something soft brushes over you and you don’t need to be looking to know it’s the light touch of feathers. Hawks is leaning over you, looking you up and down, as though you’re a victim of some natural disaster he’s checking for injuries. The sharp, slightly crazed look in his eyes is gone and they look soft and honey-sweet now, a golden yellow holding concern and affection in equal measures. “M’tired.” You mumble, blinking hazily. “’N thirsty.” “Right, right, of course. Wait right there, baby bird.” As if you can do much else. But to your astonishment, Hawks gets up like he hasn’t just fucked you into oblivion and disappears out of the room. You lie there, feeling a little like you’re floating on a piece of shipwreck on a calm ocean, when he returns holding a positive bounty of stuff. Towels, a box of tissues, a bottle of your favourite drink (of course he remembered), a couple of bags of snacks he knows you like and a T-shirt. He clambers back onto the bed, still nude, and passes you the drink after twisting the cap off. It feels wonderful against your scorching hot skin and you drink greedily, it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. With a free hand you accept a towel he ran under a tap and dab it over your skin, before using it to clean yourself up. He must have already done the same while he was fetching everything else for you. “Thanks.” You say, with a sigh of relief, smacking your lips. He smiles back and holds out the shirt. “Arms up, princess.” He instructs, sweetly. You do as he says, because it’s easier than insisting you can dress yourself, and he tenderly pulls the T-shirt down over your head, helping your arms through the holes. The shirt must be an old favourite of his, because it’s so soft it’s like a pair of pajamas. There’s no question that you’re staying over – you can’t even walk, let alone hop on a train back to your own apartment.