sericasong

[sericasong]

keigo being so obsessed with eating you out, that one little glimpse between your legs has him grabbing you and whisking you away somewhere where he can freely shove his face into you.

keigo getting a small taste and his brain frying. he lets out some kind of starved, feral growl as he latches onto you, hands grabbing your thighs and hiking them over his shoulders. his grip never loosened and using his strength to keep you pressed against his face. he hates separating from you even a centimeter. he gives himself two seconds to breathe before diving in again and devouring his favorite meal – you.

[sericasong]

i wanted to let you know that i’ve recently begun to explore hozier’s spotify discography, in part because of your drabble regarding it will come back ♪(´▽｀) he’s a wonderful artist...and very handsome as well....

This means literally everything to me and I'm so happy to hear it, I absolutely love Hozier's work.

If you like handsome guys with pretty voices who sing about devastating relationships, I recommend James Marriott as well !! Him, Hozier and Louie Zong are my top three artists of all time.

[sericasong]

loser!keigo who’s still a virgin at twenty-two, who’s never gone on a date in his life, who hasn’t even had his first kiss. he chalks it up to a lack of romantic interest in anyone he’s met, because of course he doesn’t have time for that—but deep down he knows it’s more than that. he knows that it has to do with far more than a personal choice.

loser!keigo who meets you and immediately realizes that he wants you, in a way that’s nothing like the faint, fleeting crushes he’s nursed on actors or teachers in the past. this kind of yearning makes his blood run hotter in his veins, his skin prickle and his cock throb. from the second he lays eyes on you, he’s a goner, and the worst part is that he knows he can never have you.

loser!keigo who stalks your social media and gets hard looking at pictures of you. the first time it happens, his dick stiffening in his pants, he immediately sets his phone down and goes to take a cold shower, telling himself under the safety of the icy downpour of needlelike pinpricks that he’s disgusting.

loser!keigo who’s never, ever watched porn, yet finds himself surfing sketchy websites late at night, typing descriptors into the search bar and bookmarking videos of actors that look like you.

loser!keigo who humps his mattress every night, moaning your name, grinding his thick, weeping cock against the soft cotton of his sheets and aching to be inside of you. who plants his face in the pillow and lifts his hips in the air as he scissors two fingers inside of himself, stretching his hole open for you. cumming with your name on his lips is better than any drug.

[sericasong]

keigo being so obsessed with eating you out, that one little glimpse between your legs has him grabbing you and whisking you away somewhere where he can freely shove his face into you.

keigo getting a small taste and his brain frying. he lets out some kind of starved, feral growl as he latches onto you, hands grabbing your thighs and hiking them over his shoulders. his grip never loosened and using his strength to keep you pressed against his face. he hates separating from you even a centimeter. he gives himself two seconds to breathe before diving in again and devouring his favorite meal – you.

[sericasong]

Huh. Uh, well, disregard the posting part. Things are happening at home and they're definitely a priority !

I hope you all like this one, writing is/has been difficult because I've been in a rather bad place mentally. I do have several drafts I want to finish, as well as multiple ideas for drabbles/oneshots written down, so I'll do my best to post at least once a month?

Feel free to chat in my inbox, regardless!

[sericasong]

I hope you all like this one, writing is/has been difficult because I've been in a rather bad place mentally. I do have several drafts I want to finish, as well as multiple ideas for drabbles/oneshots written down, so I'll do my best to post at least once a month?

Feel free to chat in my inbox, regardless!

[sericasong]

It Will Come Back by Hozier with Keigo.

Desperate, wanting, dipped by chance into liquid gold and can't go back anymore hooked-on-you Keigo.

"I know who I am when I'm alone; I'm something else when I see you." "You don't understand, you should never know how easy you are to need."

Keigo who knows that he changes in some way around you, low and thick and rolling his throat in a growl for fun, playing but intent, gentle yet intense. He'd never known he needs this, needs you, a something soft to sink his careful teeth into like a delicate plush.

You'd let him– he marvels, you'd let him ease his tension in you?

Kind, too kind to him. So sweet to Keigo, you are, that he studies each and every tell and twitch and learns the intricacies of how to unwind you within your bed or his.

"It can't be unlearned– I've known the warmth of your doorways." "Through the cold, I'll find my way back to you."

How could he forget?

The warmth, the proximity, the so-good press inside. He might lose track of time just to remember it; he might let it pass on purpose, if it means your body lingers forever in his thoughts.

You're anything but cold. He knows this well. His invisible tail swishes slow above you.

"I warn you, babe, each night as sure as you're born..." "You'll hear me howling outside your door."

It's a near thing to it.

It's the restless wait and then the distracted small talk and then the feel, the feel, the feel of it.

It's Keigo, and it's you, and it's everything at once; it's a bite left lovingly on your throat to remain the morning after him.

"Don't you hear me howling, babe...?"・✦

[sericasong]

the ground you walk on (part 1). hawks / gn!reader. sub!hawks. smut. post-war. boot humping.

keigo takami is half-sprawled on your bedroom floor, as dishelved as you’ve ever seen him.

his bangs tumble over his face and fall into his eyes, hazy with arousal and darkened from glassy gold to sepia. his suit jacket is discarded on the floor, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, tie hanging loose around his neck. hot breaths whoosh from half-parted lips, tacky with drool, and as he stares up at you from under his lashes, a single ragged syllable falls from his lips.

“please.”

the tip of your shiny black boot nudges into the prominent bulge denting his slacks, and his cock twitches. keigo’s teeth sink into his bottom lip as he inhales sharply, eyelids fluttering. “ngh...”

taking the cue, your shoe presses down harder. keigo barely restrains a groan as more precum wets the front of his boxers, leaking from his swollen cockhead. “fuckin’ hell, baby,” he breathes. “who knew you were so mean, huh?”

you hum, withdrawing the pressure of your foot over his hard-on. “is that any way to talk to me?”

“no, no...” his reaction is immediate, panic flaring in his gaze as the stimulation, however paltry, disappears. his hands strain against the strip of rope binding them behind his back; he wants to reach for you, but his wrists meet only the coil of rough fiber. “’m sorry, honey. keep...keep touching me, will ya? please?”

“hmm,” you muse, tapping the platform heel of your left boot against the ground rhythmically. keigo’s eyes are drawn irresistibly to the movement.

his cock jumps again, and hisses out a quiet “fuck” under his breath, pressing his thighs together. it only serves to remind him of the sticky mess in his underwear, of the tightness in his heavy balls. he longs to ease the ache with his fist, or better yet, yours—not that you’d ever indulge him when you’re in this mood. he momentarily gets lost in the image of your tight hole squeezing around his length, sucking him in, but snaps quickly back to the present at the sound of your voice.

“i don’t know, mr. president. do you deserve it?”

christ. that title, falling from your perfect lips, is like a dose of sugar on the tip of his tongue, spreading to his palette and down his throat, filling his whole body with a delicious rush of arousal. it’s intensified by his utter lack of control over the situation, and of your positions: him, sitting on the floor with his legs open and his cock straining through his pants; you, seated regally on the bed, looking down at him with the faintest hint of a smirk on your pretty mouth, an expression that drives him off the wall.

does he deserve your touch? keigo can hardly be sure, but he does know that he wants it—craves it, like a junkie for their fix, like a dog for its owner. so he nods, stumbling over his words as he pants out, “yeah, please, baby, i’ll do anything—fuck, i need you so bad, babe, can’t wait—”

“anything?” you say in a silky tone, one that would make keigo, in any right mind, freeze. instead, he snaps his head up and down, shifting back and forth in a fruitless attempt to ease the tension on his throbbing cock.

“anything, darlin’, anything for you—”

you uncross your legs, planting both boots solidly on the floor. “and what if i still say no, mr. president?”

that nickname again, sinfully sweet dripping off your lips. keigo nearly sobs from sexual frustration. “fuck, then let me do it myself, please, i need it so fuckin’ bad i’m going crazy.”

“do what yourself?”

keigo feels like he’s losing his mind. “touch myself, use your boot, i don’t give a damn—”

“use my boot?” you repeat, and a slow smile teases the corners of your lips, so sexy that keigo thinks he could cum on the spot. “really? well, you should’ve asked sooner. go right ahead, mr. president.”

“h-huh? you...” keigo blinks, heartrate kicking up. “you mean it?”

“of course. come here.” you thump your heel against the ground, gesturing him forward.

“oh, thank you. thank you, thank you, fuck.” he’s crawling forward on his knees before you’ve had the chance to finish, your shoe slipping between his open thighs, pressing up against his erection. he falls heavily onto his haunches, your boot wedged under him, moaning as his face comes to rest against the side of your leg, nose nudging against the place where your thigh meets your knee.

“uhn...” his hips cant forward before he even really registers it, grinding the length of his cock against the tough black leather. the sensation makes his tongue loll out of his mouth, so eager he is for relief. “ugh, shit, that’s—hah, ah...”

each forward drive of his hips drags his cock against your boot. it’s simultaneously more than he can handle and not enough at all, muddling his mind with swirls of pleasure-pain that cloud out all his thoughts. in a matter of moments, he’s a mess, groaning into the soft meat of your thigh as he fucks your shoe.

“baby, baby, oh...i needed this, need it so fuckin’ bad, gotta cum so bad it hurts—thank you, thank you, th-thank you, agh, f-feels so good—my cock feels so damn good—”

his head spins in dizzying loops, like a puppy chasing its own tail, around and around until he’s so drunk on the sensations that he can’t even form words anymore, just gasping your name between stuttering thrusts and whines of pleasure. as he gets closer and closer to the edge, his belly going hot and his balls tightening, he starts to keen.

“don’t cum,” you order above him, watching his eyes squeeze shut and mouth hang open as he chases his orgasm. “not until i—”

your warning comes too late. with a cry, keigo’s cock spurts in his pants, hot ropes of cum staining his boxers and seeping through his slacks, wetting the sleek fabric between his thighs. he trembles, your boot clamped between his legs, hands straining against their bindings, and it’s only when he starts to return to earth, a dumb, drunken smile stretched across his face, do your words sink in, and his expression freezes.

“b-babe,” he says frantically as you lean over, features stony, and tug down the zipper of his fly, shoving his pants down his hips to assess the mess he left. “i didn’t mean to, i swear, it just felt so good, and i—”

“mr. president,” you tut, shaking your head with a barely-suppressed smile, examining the wet patch across the front of his boxers, the ruddy head of his cock poking out from under the waistband. “what are we going to do with you?”

[sericasong]

keigo with dacryphilia but he feels really bad about making you cry..

make it all better. hawks / gn!reader. smut. dacryphilia. overstimulation.

keigo hates seeing you sad.

he can always sense when the day has dragged you down as soon as you set foot in the door. he’s an observant soul. even when you force a smile and brush off his worries, he knows—by the way you bite your lip, by your eyes skipping past his, by the angle your shoes skew at when you leave them at the door.

it pulls him down, too, seeing you upset. instantly, his goal becomes to cheer you up at whatever cost, whether that’s cracking a few jokes until you break a smile, listening to you talk, distracting you with dinner and a movie, or just holding you. and once he feels the tension knotted in your shoulders and spine ease, he knows it’s a job well done.

keigo hates seeing you sad.

but, oh, how he loves it when you cry.

seeing your eyes go glossy when he stuffs you to the brim with his cock, when he slides his fingers inside you alongside the thick stretch of his dick, when he doesn’t slow even for a moment as you cum for the third, the fourth, the fifth time in a row...it’s addicting. your helpless whimpers, your hiccups, your choked sobs, and the tears pouring down your cheeks only fan the flames of his arousal.

even after he cums inside of you, how can he stop, when you’re still sniffling so prettily? he has to go again, and again, and again, until you’re utterly spent, fuzzy and empty-headed and dripping his cum.

“oh, shhh, honey,” he coos with his arms around you, your legs hooked around your waist, as you start to weep from the exquisite burn of his fat cock splitting you open. “don’t cry, baby, it’s okay. i’ll make it all better.” but, for once, he’s a terrible liar—for every tear that pools on your lashes and slips down your face, his thrusts get that much deeper, his words that much raspier and needier against the side of your neck.

“fuuuck, ’s it...cry some more for me, darlin’...”

he feels awful. he does. what kind of boyfriend revels in seeing the love of his life reduced to tears? the guilt crawls through his stomach, snaking around his chest and squeezing the breath out of him.

but how could anyone not adore you like this? your eyes red and puffy, your mouth wobbling, your face damp, choking on your own breaths as he fucks you. if he were less selfish, he would stop. he would be gentle; he would swear never to do it again.

but he can’t. he can’t. as much as he resents himself for it, nothing gets him off like hearing you sob into his neck and clutch at him as he fucks you into the mattress, all the while soothing you, cradling the back of your head and cooing that he’ll make you feel better—only to flip you over and slide back inside of you the second he finishes.

in the deepest pits of depravity, each snap of his hips sinking him deeper into your irresistible heat, until you swear you can feel him in your lungs, consuming every inch of you—he kisses your tears away, then licks in long stripes up your cheeks, following the wet tracks smeared across your face.

“so sexy like this—all weepy ’n’ sensitive, aren’tcha? does it feel that good when i fuck you like this? you crying all ’cause of me?”

he breathes the sinful words right into your ear between long, slow drags of his cock against your walls as he pulls almost all the way out, then sheathes himself fully inside of you in one smooth thrust. your legs have given out on him, and he has to hold your hips to fuck into you, like a helpless toy. he’s far too lost in his own pleasure and the glitter of fresh tears in your eyes to care.

“that’s it, let it all out. don’t be embarrassed, that’s my baby. your boyfriend’s gonna make it all better, isn’t he? gonna make you cum on his cock, ain’t that right, honey?”

you can only squirm underneath him. keigo slows, kissing the corner of your gaping mouth. “i said, ain’t that right? tell me i’m gonna make you feel so good, take care of you like i always do, won’t i?”

you nod helplessly, and keigo groans and tightens his grip and rocks your hips back into his next thrust, a proud smile on his lips. yes, he will.

[sericasong]

Keigo jerking off while going down on you after a long, hard day’s work.

He shrugs his work coat off, stalking down the unlit hall with aching muscles in knots from relentless hero work, pent up exhaustion oozing with each pop of his joints. Kicking off his russet brown, leather boots, he undoes his fly before his body hits the bed and he buries his face in your navel, inhaling your scent.

Safety. Warm, whole, you.

God, he needed this, Keigo thinks as he dips his thumbs beneath the waistband of your pajama shorts and begins to peel them off— you’re wearing the immodest, fluffy ones you know he likes. His smile is untamable.

Keigo is well aware you won’t be wearing anything underneath, today. You already gave him the okay to help himself. What’s a husband to do after such a long, stressful day, but to help himself to an oh-so-thoughtfully offered meal?

It’s the way Keigo gets lost in it when his mouth gets to work. Gently swirling his tongue around your most sensitive spot right from the beginning, Keigo deserves to be a little impatient, even when he takes you slowly. When he laves kitten laps against your sex to start, he does it with his eyes closed and his head in heaven. Where his drool ends and your arousal begins, Keigo couldn’t be bothered to tell; not when his palms are sliding up your hips and he’s pulling your body gently against his face, laving his tongue up like a path to where he wants to be and sucking.

If you were here and not adrift in your dreams of him, you’d hear the sound of Keigo’s thick cargo pants shimmied down and kicked off with impatience. Oh, he knows you’re dreaming of him. You only ever do. Keigo knows. Contentedly, he sighs when his hand wraps around his swollen cock. In this position, it’s easier to lift his hips a little and buck into his own hand in order to mildly quell the ache; just enough to stave off the burn of untouched arousal, but not enough to cum.

God forbid Keigo wastes a second of this heaven. He’s not blowing his load before you wake up with a whine of his name.

[sericasong]

You're alpha!Keigo's personal assistant. Omegas really aren't supposed to be in such close contact with alpha heroes, liability and all that. But you need this job -- so you lie.

The deception is easy enough. Your omegan traits aren't exactly overt. You manage to hide them with a good suppressant, and religiously washing your clothes to get rid of any traces of pheromones. A few times a year you take a week or so off, visiting family you tell your boss. Anything else can be chalked up to a character quirk. You've gotten good at skimming the truth, just enough to obscure anything important. And he believes you. Trusts you.

Which is why, in the throes of his own heat, he texts you.

please come

It's the candid vulnerability that gets you. Despite your best efforts, you've become enamored with him, and even worse -- friends. How could you let him suffer alone?

When you arrive at his penthouse, he's in worse shape than you've ever seen him. You feel like he barely even recognizes you as he takes you in his arms, sweltering, hungering. He's barely lucid, shaking with need.

The bite was never your intention. It's already done before you realize what's happening, his teeth sunk into your mating gland, a moan of pure relief on his lips. And even the rush of pleasure at being owned, mated, isn't enough to overpower the sinking realization: you're in deep, deep shit.

You lied about being a beta, but that's not even the worst of it. What will the Commission do to the accidental bondmate of their pet hero? Nothing good, that's certain.

It will take two more days for his heat to completely subside, enough time (you hope) to get gone.

You don't even make it out of the prefecture before he's caught you -- you should have known you could never outrun the fastest man alive.

He lands heavy on the roof of your car as you speed down the expressway, claws anchoring with a terrible shredding sound.

You pull onto the shoulder, dread-numb.

The knock on your window is oddly polite, given the circumstances. You pull yourself out of the drivers seat, ready to let him deal whatever punishment he deems necessary.

You expect his rage. Maybe he'll kill you. Maybe you deserve it.

Instead he looks -- lovestruck.

He pulls you into his arms with a tenderness that has you reeling, boneless, as he buries his face against your throat. His lips brush the new bond mark.

"Damn baby," he murmurs, taking your scent deep into his lungs. "You've been holding out on me."

[sericasong]

Happy Pride!

Smh, I was going to tag you, Cas. Siiiigh. /silly

Here's mine!

✦・Transgender, in general.

✦・My sexuality tends to be fluid. The closest label is probably cinthean, but either way I'm queer and proud of it.

✦・Demiaroace! Self-explanatory.

✦・Nonbinary/gender nonconforming. Like my sexuality, this is fairly fluid.

@chieaina ; @ppppxseur ; @confettistarss ; anyone who wants to.

Give me your gay. If you feel like it.

GENDER AND SEXUALITY REVEAL WOAW!!! WOAW!!!

These are my flags for pride month (trans, gay, asexual, nonbinary)!

CAN WE START A CHAIN? Reblog with your flags and tag friends ^-^

[sericasong]

Aoraghhh aloaghhh aoghhh…. Keigo and nesting.

He acts like such a bird in so many of his little oddities. It’s in his bones. Hawks is soooooo normal about it and about you. Like the funniest part is he doesn’t even know why. But once you point it out, he nearly glows. Oh! Bird things.

His little birdie complex is so damn cute. Like the way he perches, tilts his head, his puns and speech, his eyes, his wings puffing up. Hawks happily calls himself a bird. It’s so sweet.

[sericasong]

Following a particular revelation, I'm going to go through and softblock any ageless blogs following this one. Underaged blogs are getting blocked permanently.

Respect mdnis and don't lie about your age. You do not need access to a smut blog and I do not want any children here.

[sericasong]

Regular reminder to stop excluding POC from reading your x reader fics by making the character run their fingers through the reader’s hair, making the reader flush red, and giving their genitalia or nipples a pink color.

[sericasong]

Something about Keigo Takami’s skin is attractive. Enticing, even. Warm, rugged, masculine.

Keigo’s hands… His fingers in your mouth as you suck by reflex, his knuckles tracing your cheek, his palms squeezing against your ass. The almost playful way he pinches your carotid artery like he’s gripping his fingers together. He might as well be, with the size difference between his hands and your neck.

Keigo thinks he adores that little game you play when you compare your hand size to his. It’s cute. He probably goes home to his apartment and touches himself with that same palm, after.

He’d never tell you, of course. He’s a gentleman. But when Keigo places a pillow over his eyes in some halfhearted attempt at self-blindfolding, the mental picture of your pretty hands around his cock, jerking him off to completion, is damn-near pushing reality.

Messy, messy. It’s difficult to look you in the eye next time he sees you, but shame isn’t exactly an unfamiliar ghost to Hawks. He supposes he’ll manage— if for nothing else than the sweet, sweet bliss of coming to the sticky dream of you, coating his thick hands a creamy shade of white, imagining you lapping his fingers clean between his thighs as you look up at him with wide, Bambi eyes.

Keigo drags his clean hand down his face and groans, the palm stopping to rest at his panting mouth. Maybe confessing isn’t such a bad idea, after all.

[sericasong]

Got a new figure of him yesterday