Just being the little spoon with your f/o. Their head on the pillow behind yours, occasionally nuzzling your hair to take in your scent. Their body leaned up against your back where you can feel the comforting textures of their form and what they wear. Their arms around your waist, holding you as their hands run lazily across your middle in the wholesome aim to just feel you in turn...
Submissive boy who loves blowjobs but is super duper shy about it.
He can’t ask for that. He couldn’t possibly make such a forward request. She’s better than that, she should be the one looking down on him, he is her toy to play with, not the other way around, and just the idea of her kneeling in front of him and choking on his cock makes him feel strange and ashamed, like a child caught reaching into the cookie jar.
And then he somehow gets mixed up with a domme who loves sucking dick. She teases him about it, always asking if he wants it, but he can never quite say yes, just shyly changes the subject or avoids her gaze.
But that won’t do. Looking into his eyes is the best part.
One day she finally makes the decision to settle this. Pinning his legs down and slowly rubbing his inner thighs, then licking, biting, cooing close enough that he can feel her warm breath on his leaking cock, and she wonders aloud what he tastes like. He turns away to avoid her seeing his bright red face, as if she hasn’t already heard his panting and whimpering, and she laughs before demanding that he looks her in the eye.
“What do you think I should do, baby? Hm? Tell mommy what you want, beg for it.”
Pretty soon the only words he can manage are a desperate combination of “please” and “mommy” in between his pathetic whining, whimpering, and moaning. He has never felt less in control.
And she grins and giggles while she licks him clean, crooning softly into his skin.
“I’ll have to teach you how to use your words properly, sugar. How is mommy supposed to know if you don’t speak up?”
kenma, tsukki, kageyama, hinata; 2,025 words; fluff, slightly suggestive, mentions of hickies, no "y/n", fem!reader, whiney!kageyama, dom!hinata, tsukki being... tsukki, post timeskip!characters
summary: these hickeys like the remnants of our love, footsteps on the sea-soaked sand, a line of demarcation -- here is where our story begins.
a/n: i just rly wanted to write about hq! babes and hickies...
kenma.
the first time it happens, it’s a mistake — a brief moment of vindictiveness manifest in the way he whines and nuzzles into your neck before opening his mouth and sinking his teeth into your skin. when you gasp, your head tipping back, kenma pauses, pulling back, his mind already cataloging this very interesting new piece of information for later use, but his eyes have yet to catch up — his body has yet to catch up with the sight of you, cheeks pink, lips parted, eyes slightly glazed over as you stare ruefully up at him, a hand coming up to press over your mouth as you frown.
“w-what was that for?”
kenma hums, sitting back with a pout, “you were the one being unfair.”
you scowl, “how was i being unfair? you lost the game fair and square — the stakes were loser does the dishes.”
kenma sniffs, his nose crinkling at the thought, “but we have a dishwasher — it’s literally in the name —”
“but the nice wine glasses can’t be put through the dishwasher!”
you push yourself up onto your elbows even as kenma slumps back on the sofa, groaning loudly. still, he lets his head slump to one side to stare at the rapidly darkening patch of skin at the junction of your neck and shoulders. there’s something that feels dangerously like desire calcifying in the pit of his stomach and he weighs the pros and cons of leaning forward to give you another good bite.
really, dinner was great, dessert was better but — this.
suddenly, he understands what his teammates had always meant when they’d said they could keep on eating forever, even when their stomachs were full to bursting, even when they thought they’d be ill.
“stupid wine glasses…” he murmurs, leaning forward to prop his chin on your shoulder. you laugh, a soft, breathy thing as you reach out to tug a strand of hair from his low, messy bun.
“but the wine was good, no?”
kenma hums, letting his head loll back and forth, his eyes flickering down once more to the round ring of red now rising against your skin. he allows himself a tiny grin, leaning forward to press a kiss over the tender flesh. he makes note of the way you gasp, soft and expectant, the way your body seems to tense and then go laxed beneath his hands.
“yeah…” he whispers, smirking as he sinks delicate fingers into your hair, gently shifting your head to one side to allow him more access, “guess it was good…”
he presses another kiss to your neck, just slightly below the reddening hickey.
“g-guess? that was — a-an expensive bottle…”
“hmmm…” kenma trails his lips down over your shoulder, tugging lightly at your shirt, the wide collar falling away easily. when he finds yet another patch of unmarred skin, grazing his teeth over it, he feels the way you reach up to fist your fingers in his hair.
“’zume… don’t think you can get out of doing the dishes like this…”
kenma laughs, letting his breath puff out against your skin seconds before he opens his mouth and takes another soft bite. he doesn’t miss the way you whimper this time, doesn’t mistake the hitch in your breath for something like surprise when he knows better — and he knows you best of all.
“not trying to get out of doing it… just… we never specified when the loser has to do the dishes so…” he licks his lips, glancing up at you with a bright, devilish flicker behind his eyes, “i’m just taking my time with the meal. nothing wrong with that, right?”
tsukki.
it is a normal thing, for you to wake up in the morning and find remnants of the night before scattered across your skin like sand dollars littered upon a stretch of beloved beach. and tsukishima is never apologetic — ever.
if anything, he looks upon his work with pride, smirking as you tug at the collar of your shirt, tutting.
“tsukki… i told you not to bite so hard…”
“hmm… sorry, i must’ve forgotten,” he props a cheek on his hand, peering at you over his glasses, his tone the farthest thing from apologetic, “heat of the moment and all.”
you shoot him a reproachful look in the mirror and watch as his grin widens ever so slightly.
“the girls are the museum are gonna have a field day with this.”
tsukishima shrugs, slumping back into the bed with a loud, long sigh.
“dunno why girls have such a weird fixation on other people’s boyfriends. ‘s not like it’s any of their business.”
you tug listlessly at the collar of your button up shirt, resigned to the fact that you’ll never be able to hide the marks properly as you heave another sigh.
“it’s just how we communicate — it’s like… how guys sometimes just need to like… punch it out — or whatever.”
“or whatever?” tsukishima almost chortles, rolling over onto his stomach again. your schedules at the museum only overlap 2 days a week, and the rest of the days, either he’s off or you are. it’s a miracle the pair of you were able to meet in the first place, let alone hit it off like you did.
“yeah. i don’t know how guys communicate,” you say, even as tsukishima swings out of bed to come up behind you, looping his arms around your middle.
“we… don’t, really,” he admits, in a customary deadpan, propping his chin on the top of your head with obscene ease. you frown up at him, tilting your head back till it hits the middle of his chest.
“you’re gonna make me late again.”
“so?”
“so — unless you want me to get fired —”
“they’re not gonna fire you. you’re too good at… cataloging maps, or whatever it is you guys do in the cartography department.”
tsukishima spins you around his arms, pressing you lightly back against the mirror. he considers you for a moment, with eyes just sharp enough to pass for academic interest, but you see the darkness misting its depths, the pressure in his fingertips as he leans in to seal his lips over yours in a kiss that could only be called searing.
you break away gasping, only to feel his lips trail fire down your neck seconds before —
“t-tsukki — !”
he pulls back with a satisfied smirk; you can feel yet another bruise blooming along your skin.
“there. one more thing for you and your girlfriends to bond over, hm?”
kageyama.
it is a deliberate thing, the first time. but kageyama remembers the strange gravity, the tug just behind his navel, the persistent itch of curiosity as he leans forward to sink his teeth into your skin.
he likes the way you hiss, the way you go soft in his arms, the pair of you already a pile of tangled limbs on the massive sectional in the living room, the lights dimmed, half a bottle of red wine yet un-drunk on the coffee table.
“tobio… what —”
he hums, burying his face in your shoulder, fingers digging into your sides.
“… something i wanted to try…”
“hm?” you gently card your fingers through his hair, quirking your head to one side.
“it’s just —” he pulls back, a deep blush prickling his cheeks as he looks anywhere but at you, “something… i’ve wanted to try. for — a while,” he admits, looking shockingly small for a internationally renowned volleyball player, hunched over on the couch like this, his lips stained dark with wine.
you giggle, leaning up to tilt his chin back towards yours.
“sure. you can try whatever you want.”
you lay back, stretching out beneath him, pliant and willing, and kageyama goes still for a solid four seconds before he narrows his eyes, an un-namable hunger clawing at his insides as he pulls you beneath him and groans into your skin.
he likes the way the colors seep the surface of your skin, likes the way it’s so obvious against the bright of your collarbones. he spends all of the following day in an intoxicatingly good mood, to the point where his teammates are understandable suspicious. but he just tells them he slept well, that he had a good dinner last night, that wine was really, really delicious.
and that thanks for the recommendation.
hinata.
brazil has changed him, in more ways than you can count, but at the same time, in some ways, he is just, just the same.
“s-shou-you!”
“mmm —” he whines sucking a deep hickey into the junction of your neck, his pupils blown wide as he pulls back, lips split into a too-pleased grin, “what is it? did i hurt you?”
there’s the barest hint of a tease in his voice, and anyone else might’ve thought he’s completely serious, that he’s actually worried. and in a sense, he is — he’d never want to actually hurt you. but he also knows that — to a certain degree, you revel in this kind of pain.
you chew on your bottom lip, shaking your head.
“no… it’s — it’s okay.”
“yeah?” he sounds entirely too happy with himself as he reaches forward to thumb at the damp spot on your skin, “ah… that one’ll be pretty. just like you!”
he laughs, his joy so pure and infectious that it makes you blush. you look away.
“shou…?”
“hm? what is it, pretty girl?”
he bends back down to press a light kiss to your collarbone, peaking up at you with those would-be innocent eyes.
“don’t… don’t tease me.”
hinata laughs, that self-same, joyous sound.
“but i like teasing you!” he says, with no hint of malice, not a single sliver of shame.
you can only cover your eyes with your arm, turning your head away.
“aww, don’t do that —” he says, coaxing your hand away before pinning both of them above your head with a single, fluid move. your breath hitches.
“don’t hide from me…”
it’s too much to hope for that someone with eyes like his would miss such a thing. you watch as the dark, lightless centers of his eyes grow ever so slightly larger, threatening to overtake the honeyed ring of his actual iris.
“can’t… can’t help it…” you look away, feeling the waves of indomitable heat, wave after wave, washing through you, collecting at the base of your stomach to twist into something deeper, something harder.
“can’t help what, hm?” hinata laces your fingers with his; distinctly, you can feel his thighs flex on either side of your legs, locking you in place. the summers are hot in rio, but you can’t help but wonder if more than half the heat in the room might be coming from the pair of you alone.
all around him, the air wavers like a reflection in pond-water —
“shou… just —” you lick your lips.
“ah…” there’s a soft whine curling at the edge of his voice as he leans down, “you’re not playing fair at all…”
desire pulses like a heartbeat inside you.
“shouyou, please,” you beg, trying to wrest some semblance of control back from him but he’s having none of it. he pins your hands to either side of your head, his bed more than wide enough for the pair of you, with room to spare.
“mah… you gotta be a bit more specific than that,” he says, his voice almost casual as he noses into your pulse point right beneath your jaw. you hold your breath and a second later, the harsh sting of his teeth rakes through you, chasing pleasure down your spine.
“m-more —” you choke out the word against the heat of his lips and you feel rather than see him grin above you.
