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takamikeiigos · 2 years

Note

Hello! I just stalked the hell outta your blog and LOVED it!! Please make stoner hawks x reader a thing, I’d love it sooooo much! BUT! My REAL request is this - hawks, good ok friends /co-pro hero’s to lovers situation, and maybe drinking game or something, and he finds out that sweet, innocent and friendly fem reader— has vch and both nipple barbells. And now he can never look at her the same again 😂 please! And thank you! Keep up the great work!!! Peace ✌️

𝕻𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: 𝑲𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒐 𝑻𝒂𝒌𝒂𝒎𝒊 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

𝕽𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌: 𝑬𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒕

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 5.2 𝒌

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖘: 𝑨𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒉𝒐𝒍 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝑺𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝑫𝒐𝒎! 𝑯𝒂𝒘𝒌𝒔, 𝑪𝒐𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒓𝒔/𝑭𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔→𝑭𝑾𝑩/𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝑷𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔, 𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑻𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈??, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕

• 𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘: 𝑪𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒕-𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅, 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆, '𝒐𝒉, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒏 - 𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌'? 𝑺𝒐 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 '𝒆𝒎 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒘 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓.

To say that you feel somewhat out of place when entering Hawks' apartment complex might just be an understatement.

The lobby is huge, due to the fact that the building itself harbors numerous business offices and private agencies. The flooring is a dark wood beneath your feet, before giving way to a plush white carpet. The walls are a light, delicate cream color, maybe just a shade or two darker than the carpeting, accented with warm-toned stone tiles. The entire room is adorned in modern decor and furniture, maintaining a look of clean-cut professionalism to impress guests and clients.

The receptionist at the front desk peaks up and offers you a smile.

You're definitely out of place.

You smile back politely and head straight for the elevator, the chime of the doors closing behind you offering state of peace to your nerves. You think back to what Hawks had told you earlier in the day, while the both of you had been signing off on paperwork after a long mission.

Penthouse Two. The very top floor of the building.

You press the corresponding button and the elevator begins a smooth ascent, the soft tone of jazz playing quietly over the speakers.

The elevator finally chimes again and comes to a stop, its doors giving way to an open hallway. You step out and look around, the dimly-lit lights adding a warm glow to the dark walls and the white marbled panels that accent them. The door Hawks' apartment sits a few feet to your right, the glow from the hallway lights illuminating the address that's posted on the wall beside it.

You approach it and raise a hand to ring the doorbell, but the door suddenly flies open, revealing just a peak into the vast apartment that belongs to Japan's number two Hero.

A small red feather appears from behind the door, slowly falling just as a leaf would during autumn, before resting weightlessly on the floor. You eye it for a moment, hesitant, before kneeling down to pick it up. You hold it between your fingers, admiring its soft, downy texture and vibrant color, and it twitches in your hold.

You rise, the feather still in your grasp, and cautiously enter the apartment, the sheer size of it nearly stopping you in your tracks.

It definitely lives up to the rest of the building's expectations in decor. It's atmosphere is warm, just like the rest of the building; white walls are garnished with a smokey, gray trim, breached with little decor and adding in splashes of muted reds, oranges, and browns for contrast. The furniture is a deep, charcoal grey - a large sectional couch sitting in the middle of the living room with a dark wood coffee table accenting it in the middle. Just behind that sits a tall dining table, carmine-red chairs surrounding it and adding another splash of color to the room, the large windows of the apartment providing a dramatic backdrop of downtown Musutafu.

You look to your left and spot a bar, the shelving on the walls embellished with numerous types of liquors and glasses. And when you look above that, what you think is the ceiling actually turns out to be a platform. You crane your head slightly to get a better look over the railing and you spot what looks like a bed, but you can't be too sure.

"Come on in, I don't bite."

You nearly jump out of your skin and whip around at Hawks' relaxed tone, the winged Hero standing behind you with a cocky grin plastered on his mouth. The feather twitches from where you'd forgotten it in your grasp and frees itself, twirling around you a few times before taking its place back in the plush of Hawks' wings.

"Well.. only sometimes."

You glare at him and his brazen antics, an exasperated huff falling from your lips.

"You know, Hawks," you say, exasperated, scrubbing a hand over your face, "One of these days I'm gonna knock your ass out for doing that shit."

He raises his eyebrows, intrigued, and breathes out a laugh.

"If you think you can catch me first, sure."

You roll your eyes as he walks past you, and you follow his movement. It's admittedly very weird seeing him outside of work and not in uniform - dressed casually in a pair of loose, black joggers and a dark gray henley, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He's continued to rock the shorter hair, the golden tufts holding a dampness that makes you guess he must've just gotten out of the shower. He runs a hand through the damp locks and you watch as his back muscles flex ever-so-slightly beneath his shirt, his wings rustling and stretching with his movement.

He plops down on the living room couch, comfortably leaned back into the cushions with one leg dangling off the edge and the other propped up, an arm resting on his knee.

He smiles at you, sincerely.

"C'mon, chickadee. Mi casa es su casa," he tilts his head, as if to beckon you forward.

You remove your shoes in the doorway of his apartment and make your way into the living-space, opting to sit on one of the loveseats perpendicular to where he sits on the couch.

"So! What goodies do we have to dig into, today?" He sits up, shifting so one leg is folded under the other, and leans forward with his elbows resting on his knees.

"Honestly?" You start, opening the manila folder you'd brought with you. You look at the papers inside for a moment, scanning both of them, before setting one infront of Hawks, and one infront of yourself. "They're pretty basic questions. You know.. like, 'What's your favorite part about being a Hero?' and, 'Who was your biggest inspiration?'"

Hawks chuckles and shakes his head, an eyebrow raised with skepticism. A few agencies had been chosen by a magazine to interview eachother, and out of the six that were chosen, yours and Hawks' were among them. You decided to team up with eachother, not necessarily having been close friends, but frequent acquaintances, partnering up with eachother on missions here and there.

"But!" You chime, pointing a finger at him. "There are some juicy ones in here that I think you might like."

He rolls his eyes playfully at you and sits back, his wings spread out flat over the couch cushions, bright red feathers gleaming in the lowlight of the room. You hear what sounds like glass clinking behind him and look over his shoulder toward the bar. A bottle of an expensive looking red wine comes floating into view, followed by two crystalline wine glasses. They land gently on the table between you and Hawks, and one of the feathers pops the cork on the tall, dark bottle, the quiet noise echoing through the apartment.

"Let's at least make it fun, hm?" He shrugs, a few more feathers detaching from his wings to assist with pouring the wine. Each glass fills with about three fingers before being passed to each of you, the feathers zipping back around to rest back in the plumage of Hawks' wings.

You tilt your glass slightly in his direction, as if to salute him, then press the glass to your lips and take a sip. It has a nice flavor, with notes of caramelized fruits and almond, and it's smooth going down, calming your nerves.

Hawks sips at his own glass while you grab the paper that's loaded with questions for him, opening your notebook and preparing to take notes. You lean back against the couch, one leg crossed over the other, your wine glass held between your fingers.

You both take turns asking questions to eachother, sipping your wine while mulling over answers. The questions get a little more personal and your wine glasses grow empty as time goes on, your cheeks growing warm when you go to ask Hawks the next question.

He quirks an eyebrow at you and smirks, cheeks rosy and eyes lidded while he sits there and ponders, wine glass twirling in small circles where he holds it.

"Okay, Mr. Hotshot, Number Two. Heroes Daily - Japan wants to know: What's your ideal date?"

"Hmm, I'd have to say.. probably sharing a night in my apartment, getting to know eachother over expensive wine."

You blink at him, your skin instantly feeling ablaze as warmth travels through your body. He catches your reaction and barks out a laugh, finishing off his wine and setting the glass back on the table in front of him.

"I'm just kidding, dove," the nickname comes with ease, and it doesn't help your current situation. "I'd take you on a date down to my favorite yatai for the best yakitori you could ever find." He sighs, a dreamy look on his face while he refills his glass, beckoning yours forward so he can fill it, too.

"Seriously. And it would have to be right before sunset so we could catch the lanters when they come on. And then we'd go for a walk and just.. talk."

He hands your glass back to you and you mutter your thanks, flustered over the innocent answer. But you jot it down and continue to sip your wine, waiting for him to ask you the next question.

"Who was or is your Pro Hero crush?"

Son of a bitch.

"Uhm," you hesitate, thinking on a proper way to answer the question without giving yourself up. You decide to pick a past crush you'd developed before becoming a Pro Hero. "Fat Gum?"

Hawks flashes you a genuine smile and asks why, searching for more details to put down with his answer. You rattle out something about how tall and strong Fat Gum is, and how kind his personality is. Hawks scribbles it down on his piece of paper and returns his attention back to you, waiting patiently.

"What's your favorite food?" You ask, and you give him an incredulous look after reading it aloud. Anyone would know the answer to this question, because the amount of times Hawks talks about it is unreal.

"Chicken!" You cut him off excitedly, beating him to it. He laughs quietly and nods his head in approval.

"Atta girl," he praises, and though you don't think he means to be flirtatious with it, the tone of his voice causes a heat to stir between your legs.

He looks at his piece of paper for a moment, amusement taking over his facial expression, before looking back at you with genuine curiosity.

"If you could choose any body modifications, whether it be a piercing, tattoo, or changing your hair color, what would you choose?"

How the fuck were you supposed to answer this?

Hawks squints at you, setting his glass of wine down on the table and leaning forward.

"What if I already have a few?"

"There's no fuckin' way Japan's most innocent hero has a tattoo or piercing hidden from us all," he says in awe, gaze trained on you as if he were trying to put together pieces of a puzzle.

You blush at the sudden infatuation in his voice, breaking eye contact to keep yourself from becoming even more flustered than you already were.

"I mean.. I can't really just go around taking my shirt off and pulling my pants down," you mumble, and when you look back toward Hawks, he continues to study you, elbows resting on his spread knees, his hands folded in the space between them.

"I'm assuming the answer isn't exactly appropriate for a Hero Magazine, is it, dove?" He cracks a smile, the tone of his voice playful. Taunting.

The nickname sends any form of self-control or discretion you had out the window. You raise a hand up to your blouse, toying with the top button between your fingers.

"Would you like to find out?" The question comes out quiet, your voice hushed barely over a whisper. You don't mean to bat your eyelashes at him, but the effects of the wine are making themselves known, your skin warm and flushed, your muscles relaxed and pliant. You know for a fact that he's got you riled up, solely from the tone of his voice and his body language, but you can't find it in you to resist anymore.

"Who would I be if I declined?" He states, captivated by you.

You pop the buttons of your blouse one-by-one, the fabric falling over your shoulders as you do so. Once they're all undone your shirt slides off completely, resting in a pool behind you on the loveseat. You're completely exposed from the waist up, not having worn a bra in dread of putting one on after the day you've had, and the cool air of the apartment brings your nipples to a peak in an instant.

The barbells pierced through your nipples gleam in the low light, and Hawks just continues to stare at your exposed breasts.

"I've had them done for a while, now," you mutter, suddenly feeling self-conscious. You don't even remember which jewelry you have in, and you hope it's nothing too suggestive, seeing as how you have an array of studs, rings, and barbells.

Hawks stands then, and you look up at his looming figure on the other side of the coffee table. He slides the bottle of wine and both glasses to the edge of the wooden furniture, before making his way over, taking a seat on the table directly in front of you. You can't really gauge his expression or how he's feeling, but if you had to guess - he's either really turned on or very intrigued.

You sit properly for him, legs pressed together with your hands resting in your lap, back straight so he can properly get a look. He smirks while he takes in the full shape of your breasts, his lidded gaze traveling upward until he makes eye contact with you once more.

"Did it hurt?" He asks, genuinely curious, and you relax a bit.

"A little," you say sheepishly, thinking back to when you'd gotten them done. "It wasn't unbearable. They're just.. sensitive, that's all."

He nods in understanding, continuing to observe, and it's quiet for a moment.

"You can, I mean, if you want-" Your words come out jumbled, heat rising quickly to your cheeks. You squirm in your seat, shifting your gaze down at your hands where they rest in your lap. "You can touch them.. if you want."

Hawks hums out a response, and nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his warm hands on your skin. His hands are rough where they rest gently against your ribcage, just under the sides of your breasts. His touch travels down, surprisingly, his fingers trailing whisper-like touches against your sides and stomach. You try your hardest to still your breathing at his delicate touch, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. He trails his hands back up, cupping for breasts once more, this time rubbing his thumbs over your nipples just once, and you can't help but gasp.

"Sensitive, huh?" He chides, happy with the result his touch has on you. He squeezes one of the erect buds between his finger and you whine, warmth pooling between your legs. "I wouldn't expect you to be so kinky, 'Cum Here' is a pretty bold request."

You're confused by his words at first, not quite understanding what he means through the haze of the alcohol that's fogging your brain, but when you look down at where his hands are now massaging your breasts, it clicks into place.

The silver barbells shine brightly at you, adorned in hearts on each end that say, 'cum here'..

Your entire body feels like it's being engulfed in flames.

"I'm just messing with you, baby-bird," he coos, his hands falling away from your chest, resting in his lap. You can't help the whimper that leaves you, desperate for his touch, again. "It's pretty hot. Knowing that someone as innocent as you would be into something so filthy."

"Hawks.." his name comes out needy, and he lets you squirm in front of him, your hands gripping the edge of the loveseat.

"Yes, dear?" He responds plainly, leaning back where he sits on coffee table. "What do you need?"

"I - I..," you can't even get the words out, shameful that you could even think to ask.

"You need someone to take care of you? Gettin' a little flustered? All hot 'n bothered?"

He stands then, looming over you once more as he peers down at you. To your suprise he kneels down in front of you, nudging your knees apart to make room for himself between them. He leans forward, hands coming to rest on your hips, and presses in close to whisper in your ear.

"Tell me what you need, songbird."

You bring your hands up to tangle in his hair, your fingers tugging gently at the soft, feathery strands. He hums against your skin, face now pressed into the nape of your neck, and the rumble that travels through his chest has you moaning quietly into the expanse of his apartment.

"Please, Hawks," you beg, pressing your chest flushed to his. The fabric of his shirt rubs against your pert nipples, but the friction isn't enough.

"I'm not doing anything else until you tell me exactly what it is that you want-"

"You!" You cry out, wrapping your legs around his torso as if to prevent him from pulling away, "Please, Hawks, I need you to touch me."

He groans against your neck, hands squeezing where they rest on your hips, before pulling you toward the edge of the couch, closer to him. His thumbs rub circles against your soft skin, just above the waistband on your leggings, and there's no way in hell that he doesn't feel your arousal seeping through the fabric of your underwear and pants.

He nips at the delicate skin of your neck before moving on, trailing gentle licks and bites down your collarbone and chest until he hovers over your breast. Without hesitation he laves his tongue over a nipple, bringing one of his hands up to massage the one that's lacking in attention. You cry out and arch into his hold, your fingers curling into his hair at the electricity of his touch. His tongue is warm - hot, actually - in contrast to the cool air of his apartment and the steel material of the barbell that sits pretty inside your nipple. The feeling of the way he swirls his tongue over the bud and sucks has you seeing stars, crying out his name.

Sensitive, huh?

He switches, giving your breasts an equal amount of attention, licking, sucking, pinching and biting, until you're a squirming, wet mess in his hold.

He pulls away with a 'pop', sitting back to admire his work, your skin flushed red and nipples swollen from the attention. And without hesitation he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and underwear, sliding the clothing down your legs until they rest on the floor. In turn, you grab for his henley, desperately tugging at it because you want it off, and he finishes the task for you, maneuvering it over his wings before adding it to the clothing pile on the floor.

Hawks is absolutely beautiful - his lean form accented with subtly sculpted muscles, his large, vibrant wings twitching now that they're out of the confines of his shirt. You run a hand up his chest, just to touch and feel, and you can't help yourself when you brush your fingertips over the plumage of feathers beneath his shoulder blades. He groans low and deep, his head falling to rest on your shoulder while he grips your thighs.

Your breath leaves your lungs.

"Careful, songbird, or you'll get more than you can handle."

You decide to taunt him anyway and tug at the feathers at the base of his wings, and he whines, wings flaring out and knocking the bottle of wine off the table. It falls to the floor with a 'thud', it's contents spilling out onto the dark carpet, but Hawks doesn't seem to care.

No, instead he yanks your hips forward so you fall back onto the couch, your knees hooked over his shoulders while he keeps his hands pressed to your thighs. He looks up at you and there's something dangerous in his eyes - feral.

And when he finally looks down at the sweet heat between your thighs, it only intensifies.

"Oh? And what's this?" He coos, unhooking a hand from one of your thighs. He swipes a thumb between your wet folds and brushes its over your pierced clit, and you immediately know you're in for it. "More for me to play with, dove?"

He pinches your clit between his thumb and index fingers and you squirm in his hold, shock running through you at the initial touch, bit desperate for more. You don't have any time to respond before his mouth is on you, tongue dipping into that tight heat of yours to collect your juices before licking circles around your swollen clit.

The pleasure of it is unlike anything, your nerves hypersensitive due to the piercing. It doesn't help that Hawks seems to eat pussy for pleasure, licking up all or your arousal before sucking on your clit, the noise of it accompanying his moans and echoing throughout the room. And before you know it, he's two fingers deep inside of you, using that perfect 'come hither' motion to rub at the spot he knows will send you over the edge.

It doesn't take long for you to near your release, legs shaking where they're hooked over his shoulders, your hands scrambling for purchase in his hair while you cry out his name. And Hawks, being the sly bastard he is, hooks his tongue under the jewelry adorning your clit and tugs gently while crooking his fingers, and your orgasm hits you hard.

You toss your head back against the cushions on the loveseat and your entire body tenses like a bowstring, your walls clamping down hard around his fingers. He guides you through it, gently massaging the walls of your cunt while he uses his tongue to lap up your juices, and the feeling leaves you dizzy.

He pulls away and guides you back to a comfortable position on the loveseat before standing. Before he can go any further you reach a hand out, grabbing the waistband of his joggers. His cock strains in its confines, heavy and hard and leaking through the fabric.

You bat your eyelashes up at him from where you sit on the edge of the small couch, and he brings a hand up to cup your cheek.

"You want my cock, baby?"

God, his words and his voice could send you over the edge, again; heady and sultry, lighting a flame inside you that spreads warmth through your entire body.

"Go on," he encourages you, and you tug his sweatpants down past his hips, just enough that his cock springs free. It's big and thick, the tip of it red and swollen, oozing precum down the length of it.

Your mouth waters.

You don't waste any time, grasping the length of his cock in your hands and licking a broad stripe up the underside of it. He hisses and his hips stutter forward, but he catches himself before thrusting too hard, letting you continue at your own pace.

He tangles a hand in your hair once you suck the head of his cock between your lips and tugs, causing you to moan around the girth of it. In turn he hisses, peering down at you with an animalistic craze, brows pinched in concentration while your lips stay wrapped around his cock.

You're able to suck most of him into your mouth, flattening your tongue and bringing him in until you feel him hitting the back of your throat.

"Fuuuuck, that's it," he praises, voice low and husky, his fingers massaging the base of your skull. "Look at you. So fuckin' pretty with my cock in your mouth. Such a good girl for me."

You hum at his words, juices already accumulating between your thighs again, and get to work. You ease off of him slowly, stroking the base of his cock with your hand while you pull away, swirling your tongue over its sensitive head. You press your tongue against the slit and flick, and his hips buck, his grip in your hair tightening. He grunts and looks down at you, and there's a split second where you think he might be asking you for permission, before he rams his cock back into the warmth of your lips and down your throat.

You relax your jaw and let him take what he wants, your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head because he tastes and feels so good. He swear above you, hand detangling from your hair and resting on your cheek, stroking where it stretches around his cock.

"Want me to come down that pretty little throat of yours? Hmm?" He grits out, his hips faltering as he edges closer to his orgasm. You moan around his cock and bring your hands up to fondles your breasts, pinching your nipples where they sit, abandoned. He thrusts once, twice, three more times before spilling into your mouth, cumming in the comfort of your mouth while he thrusts through it.

His cum oozes from the corners of your mouth and drip down your chin, droplets of it landing on your breasts which sit pretty on display. He pulls out and tilts your chin upward, rubbing his thumb around your swollen and abused lips. You make sure to stick your tongue out, showing him the mess he made inside your mouth, and when you swallow it he groans, gaze focused on the way your throat works around swallowing it down.

He looks thoroughly fucked, but not done. Not by the way his cock is still sitting against his abdomen, hard and full and leaking.

You can help the way your pussy flutters, empty.

He guides you to lay on your back properly, kneeling over your splayed out form. He looks menacing, wings towering high above both your heads, pupils shaved into small slits beneath lust-lidded eyes. He grins down at you, running a hand down your body until he reaches you clit. He flicks it once, running a tongue over his bared teeth, before hooking your legs to wrap around his waist.

"I'm gonna fuck you deeper than anyone ever has, okay?" It's not a request, it's not him asking for permission. It's a blatant statement - him telling you the rules of what's about to go down - and all you can do is nod dumbly in anticipation.

"And when I'm done with you? Well," he chuckles, lining his cock up with your fluttering pussy, "we're gonna make sure you know who thay pretty little pussy of yours belongs to."

He thrusts into you slowly, his length dragging against your sopping walls, your pussy clenching in attempt to pull him in deeper. You moan out his name, and he stops before he's completely sheathed inside of you, and stares down at you for a moment.

"Keigo," he whispers as he leans in close, as if he were telling you a cherished secret. "You've earned it, baby. Earned the right to call me by my name."

"K-Keigo," you stammer as he continues to sink into you, and he groans at the sound of his name falling from your lips.

"That's right. Now tell me who this pussy belongs to, baby girl."

"Y-You, Keigo," the words come out as a sob, and he finally thrusts in as deep as he can go. "Belongs t'you, Kei, p-please!"

He's absolutely relentless after those words leave your lips, pounding you hard and deep into the cushions of his couch. You reach around and grab the base of his wings, holding on for dear life, and his hips falter as he cries out. The pleasure of it makes him lose his mind and he angles your hips up to get even deeper, burying his face in your shoulder while he continues to fuck you at a ruthless pace.

You moan his name like a mantra, back arching when he reaches a hand between your legs, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit. You clamp down around his cock and he bites into your shoulder, hard enough to break through skin, and you cum on his cock with a cry, the room around you blurring from the intensity of it. He keeps his hold on you, teeth clamped around the meat of your shoulder and his cock buried deep inside of you while he cums with you, his warm seed dribbling out of your pussy and down your thighs. He languidly thrusts through it, both of you riding through the bliss of a second orgasm, his thumb slowing its pace around your swollen clit.

A few moments pass and he's able to collect himself, running his tongue over the bite mark on your shoulder before pulling back. You're completely blissed out, covered is your cum and his too, your limbs heavy with satisfaction and exhaustion.

It's getting late, way past your bedtime at this point, and he sees that you're becoming sleepy. He pulls out of you as gently as he can, regardless of how good it feels when you squeeze around his cock one last time, and scoops you into his arms.

"Gonna clean you up, we'll finish this tomorrow," he disregards the papers sitting on the coffee table, and the wine bottle on the floor. You can distantly tell that he brings you up a small set of stairs, and you're reluctant to let go from where you're basically koala'd around him. But he coos into your ear and you relax as he lays you down on plush bedding, pressing a kiss to your forehead before disappearing.

Your lids grow heavy and your mind begins turning over for the night, and you're almost asleep before he comes back, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

"Uh uh. Drink this for me, then you can sleep all you want, baby," he holds out a glass of water. You sit up and take it graciously, taking slow sips, careful not to spill it all over yourself. You hand the glass back to him and he sets it on his night stand. You lie back down and he runs a warm washcloth between your legs, soothing the dull ach while massaging your legs.

"So.. wanna take a trip to my favorite yakitori stand, tomorrow?" The question comes out of nowhere.

You crack an eye open to peer at him, and shake your head, a smile on your lips.

"Keigo, bed, now. Yakitori later."

He laughs as he brings the blankets over you, tucking you in.

"Yes, ma'am."

#i am...#so tired #hahaha #this is unbeta'd soooo #bnha keigo takami #keigo takami #hawks #bnha hawks #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #ky writes #keigo takami headcanons #mha hawks #n.sfw #mha keigo takami

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