#Daydreams

[revasserium]

love bites

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.

“yeah? i think i can do that for you.”

[burnforyou]

boyfriend!luigi calling you in the middle of the night. he didn’t expect you to pick up but he’s so needy he doesn’t know what else to do. “hi baby..” he’d start the voicemail with. “i had a dream about you,” he’d ramble in his deep, sleepy voice, “woke up on the verge of cumming in my pants.” he pauses and you can hear his skin on skin as his hand moves up and down on his cock, slick with moisturizer. “i miss you baby,” he’d draw out, moaning quietly, “mm, your soft body, my hand doesn’t even compare to you. i want you so badly.” he’d struggle to not whine into the mic. “my dream, fuck you were so beautiful, so warm … you cant see me but I’m so close i’m throbbing …” he’d moan, speeding up his movements, “i wish you were here, i’d make love to you, sucking on your tits,” he’d suck a harsh breath in and groan out, “i’m gonna cum.”

[aseaofquotes]

Ian McEwan, Atonement

[j2hpics]

Daydream

[beccawise7]

Daydreaming...💜🖤

[incognitopolls]

"Fantasizing" here means in a positive light/something you would enjoy. This uninhabited world doesn't have to be the real one, it can be imaginary, and doesn't have to be a permanent condition, you can imagine the people returning to it or you leaving. Feel free to elaborate.

–

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[nooneinparticularrrr]

DAYDREAMING

I often find myself daydreaming about the day I get to come home to the love of my life. In that quiet little world we build together, I’d take care of the bills, and she’d handle the grocery shopping, not because it’s her job, but because I loathe it and secretly love carrying her bags, watching the way she lights up when she’s picked out our favorite things.

She’d have a job she loves, something that fills her soul, not just her wallet. Something that gives her both freedom and passion, and a little extra to spend on herself. Because even though I want to provide for her, I also want her to feel empowered, independent, alive in her own right.

If life goes according to plan, maybe we both get to retire early—sometime in my 40s, or 50s at the latest. And after long days where I have to wear a hardened exterior, coming home and melting into her arms would feel like the greatest gift. A sacred softness in a world that demands so much toughness.

I dream of creating a sanctuary with her—a peaceful chaos all our own, where nothing outside really matters. Where I get to care for her in ways only I can, learning her rhythms, her thoughts, her little tells. I want to study her, not just her body, but her mind, her soul. To understand how she sees the world, how she feels loved, and how I can meet her there, every time.

I crave a kind of intimacy that feels insatiable, the kind that scares me with its depth. I crave her—not just the version she shows the world, but the one she hides. And I know that to earn that vulnerability from her, I have to give her mine, completely. It’s terrifying how deeply I want to love and be loved like that.

But God, how beautiful it would be to fall into something so wild, so raw, so exquisitely fragile. To risk everything for something so rare. That’s the kind of love I want. That’s the kind of love I’m holding out for.

-T

[dumblr]

Humans are obsessed with escapism through movies, books, music, arts, daydreams. Our souls really weren't made for this world.

[stylescine]

I literally can’t stop thinking about riding Harry first thing in the morning. The sunlight is just barely passing through the window and his arms are wrapped tightly around you.

He’s awake and leaving small kisses all over your neck, one hand splayed across your stomach. It’s when you wake up too that you notice his arousal pressing against your back. Your legs are intertwined and you gently move your foot up and down his leg before you turn around to face him.

Harry’s curls are all over the place, but his gaze seems quite defined. Lust. Desire.

“Good morning, love.” His voice is raspy and still unused from last night’s sleep. Your lips finds his in a sloppy and short kiss. Harry’s hips press against yours, a firm reminder of what’s going through his mind. He always looks so beautiful in the first light of the morning and his bare chest is enticing you once again.

It doesn’t take long for you both to be naked, Harry sitting against the headboard and his cock filling you. Your hands caress his strong chest, fingers moving over the tattoos as you just look at each other for a long moment.

“I love you,” he whispers, hands finding your hips even in the dim light and he’s helping you move up and down on his cock. As always, it feels as if he was made for you, filling you to the brim and giving you the right amount of pleasure. Your legs press close to his hips as you support yourself on his chest, moving up and down with more speed now.

Harry’s head tips back against the headboard, revealing his beautiful neck to you. You’re quick to plant kisses along his jawline, only being interrupted by your own moans as Harry starts thrusting up into you as well. Every thrust brings you a little closer to orgasm, the tension in your abdomen building. His nimble fingers dig into the flesh of your hips and his pink lips part for a low moan as his muscles flex underneath your touch.

“M’close,” he announces briefly before his gaze is searching for yours. He loves to watch you come all over his cock and that’s the sight he wants for when he’s reaching his own high.

Just a few more thrusts and you’re both there, Harry’s head falling back against the headboard with a thump and his name echoing from your lips throughout the bedroom. His arms wrap tightly around you, pulling you flush against his chest before he plants soft kisses against the top of your head.

His cock is still twitching inside you and as you close your eyes against his chest, you let out a long breath.

“Good way to start the morning…” you mumble softly and Harry’s chest rumbles with his laugh.

~~

just a little thought i had in mind 🤭

masterlist

[revasserium]

to win and to lose

kenma, tsukki, hinata, kageyama; 3,200 words; fluff, lapslock, no "y/n", kissing, slightly!suggestive content, but mostly just tooth-rotting fluff, domestic bliss, post!timeskip characters, pro-streamer!kenma, olympics athlete!hinata, pouty!tsukki, and needy!kageyama

summary: you win some, you lose some, right?

a/n: truly just a few drabbles that came to my mind when i was sitting in a bath the other day; so pls enjoy some hq-flavored domesticity

kenma

“— alright chat, that’s it for today — i’ve got uh —” kenma glances over at the top of his collection of monitors at where you’re standing, holding two beers, a sly grin twisting the corner of your mouth. even in the strange blue light of his monitors, you can see his cheeks darken.

“— some stuff to do. see ya!” he ends the stream just as you round the massive table to set a beer down in front of him. he chuckles and reaches out to pull you into his lap, hooking his chin over your shoulder with a sigh.

“hey there, mr. ceo.” you smirk, twisting round to run your fingers through his hair, tugging out the loosening hair tie and cocking your head. kenma huffs, crinkling his nose, shaking his head as you continue to comb through his hair with your fingers.

“i hate it when you call me that.”

“mm, then… what would you prefer? mr… streamer boy? mr. stock trader? oh — i’ve got it! mr. simp-man.”

kenma scoffs, jerking forward so that you’re trapped against the hard edge of his gaming desk, his arms locking you to him. he’s grown since high school, but even so, his lithe build betrays the strength still hidden within his limbs from the endless hours of training, of playing.

“there’s no winning against you, is there?” he asks, his voice muffled by your skin, and you bite back a groan at the way he’s trailing his lips along the hard ridge of your collarbones. he peers up at you, a sharp, feline glint to his eyes, a hand reaching out to set your half-drunk beer on his table before hoisting you up with one arm. you squeak, the gesture taking you by surprise even as he carries you to the futon set up in strategically in the corner of the game room, put there for the nights when you’d lie there and watch him stream, when you’d close your eyes and let the rgb lights flicker across the backs of your eyelids like the northern lights, like so many midnight rainbows.

“well… seeing as you’re winning in so many other aspects in life,” you say, your voice nothing more than a sigh as he lays you down, fingers already tugging at the thin straps of your dress, “a little losing here and there might do you good, hm?”

“mm…” kenma hums, contemplative, even as he leans back and runs an appraising eye down the length of your body, “i mean… i did let kuroo talk me into joining the volleyball club back in highschool so… i guess you can say… in my own way… i’m sort of a sucker for punishment.”

tsukki.

“ah… that looked like a brutal practice,” you say, peering around the bathroom door. the sound of water splattering down skin echoes wetly through the enclosed space.

“aren’t they all?” tsukishima drawls, setting down the large wooden bath ladle to squint at you through the hazy mist. his glasses lie fogged and forgotten, set to the side.

you smile, slipping into the room with a fresh towel.

“i’ve got miso soup being warmed on the stove and an icepack in the freezer. take your time though — o-oh!”

a pair of arms reaches out to pull you down, and you barely catch yourself on the edge of the large wooden bath.

“t-tsukki! what —”

“it was a brutal practice.”

you barely hear the smirk in his voice as he sighs and props his chin on your thigh, the water from the bath staining you thin dress in seconds. you fight the urge the roll your eyes, reaching down to run your fingers through his damp hair, absently massaging at his scalp.

its rare to see him like this — rarer, even, to see him so openly vulnerable, even if there’s still the barest hint of a tease lurking beneath the tired rhythm of his voice, his breathing. like this, his long lashes are daggered into points by the steam, his normally pale skin made even more so by the bright bathroom lights.

through the water, you can see the new bruises blossoming along his thin legs, the old ones barely fading. thoughtlessly, you lean in and dip your hand in the water to trace a finger along one particularly large one at his right knee.

“what happened?” you ask, though you basically already know the answer — practice for a v2 league team happened. still, tsukishima glances down at the bruise with an oddly disembodied gaze and shrugs.

“dunno. dove to save a ball a few times.”

you laugh, tilting your head to one side as he leans back to press his cheek to your now damp thigh.

“wow, in practice? other team must’ve really pissed you off.”

at this, tsukishima crinkles his nose and scoffs. you hike an expectant eyebrow and wait.

“the jackals were over for a practice match.” his voice is clipped, but you feel your own laughter bubbling up in seconds. of course.

you bite back a giggle, “and… did you guys win?”

he glares up at you, eyes narrowed, “they’re a division one team. what do you think?”

“hm… but i thought hinata’s been off with a rolled ankle so…”

again, he scoffs, “that team’s plenty of other players who are just as annoying.”

you clamp down on your bottom lip, “wow. high praise.”

he whacks at the surface of the bath, splattering your dress even as you break into a bright peal of laughter. you reach down to flick him with a bit of water as well but he catches you wrist in his, fingers wrapping around your arm, the warm bath water slicking down your skin in thin rivulets, dripping off your elbow. you gasp, heart suddenly thrumming behind your eardrums.

the lopsided, slightly sadistic smile that slits his lips is stomach-twistingly familiar.

“tsukki… there’s miso soup —”

“mm. think i want something else for dinner instead.”

the low murmur of words is the only warning you get before you’re pulled bodily into the warm bath, the water soaking your dress, making the material cling to your skin in seconds. you squeak against his lips, rough and insistent and just a little pleading. you know it’s futile to struggle, so you let him kiss you, his teeth digging into your bottom lip as you groan, your fingers finally finding purchase along the slick skin of his shoulder.

“you — you’ve ruined my — my favorite dress…”

“hn.”

tsukishima doesn’t look at all bothered by your admonishment, shrugging, “it’ll dry.”

water sloshes over the side of the bathtub, now dangerously full with the both of you soaking in it’s steaming depths.

“was it really that bad?” you ask, affecting your voice into a soft coo, trailing wet fingers over the soft of his cheeks.

“if i say yes,” he asks, peering down at you as a lepidopterist might study a new specimen of rare, and newly captured butterfly, “would you try to make me feel better?”

you lick your lips, feeling your mouth go dry, despite being literally submerged in water.

“depends,” you say, “on if you’ll let me go turn off the stove first — wouldn’t want the miso soup to burn.”

tsukishima rolls his eyes, fingers tightening around your wrists, pulling you closer. there’s a dangerous light flickering behind his eyes; a dull ache pulses at the base of your stomach, singeing up your spine as you tip forward for another long kiss.

“thought i said already… i don’t think i really want miso soup for dinner anymore.”

hinata.

there’s a certain magic in watching him play — the way he treats every win like his first, or his last. the way the world seems brighter right around his edges, as if his own shimmer and shine might infect the universe if it would only let him.

he is incandescent with joy after the olympic qualifier games — scoring a ticket is no mean feat, and it’s not every day that you see bokuto cry.

“congrats, shouyou!” you’re one of the first to greet him after the press stint (and a shower), but you can still see the brilliant, glazed look to his eyes that tells you he’s still riding his high. his smile is wide enough to split the sky as he spots you, jogging over to hoist you up into his arms, spinning you round with almost comical ease.

“haha — thanks!”

he leans up for a kiss, one that’s sweet as it is heady. when you pull apart, you are still weightless, and his smile shines like a smile on pause — it makes you want to unpause it, and watch it unfurl.

you trace the pads of your thumbs along the tiny freckles dotting his cheekbones — souvenirs from his time in brazil.

“so! are you gonna come watch us?” he asks, making to walk down the decidedly not deserted hallway with you still in his arms. you blush at the thought, giving his shoulders a slight squeeze.

“shouyou… you can put me down now — and of course i’ll come! it’s not everyday that your boyfriend makes it to the olympics.”

several people chuckle as they watch him parade passed, you still firmly held aloft, your elbows propped on his shoulders to give you some semblance of balance. your cheeks burn as hinata hums, waving at a fellow teammate, reaching out for a fist bump.

“shou…” you fight the urge to bury your face in his shoulder as he finally rounds a corner into a much more private hallway. he grins, completely unabashed, as he pushes through an unmarked door to a what seems to be an empty locker room. it’s sparse, but well-lit and quiet.

“hm?”

he sets you down on one of the benches and drops a quick kiss onto your shoulder.

“i could’ve walked…”

“didn’t feel like putting you down,” he says, his voice dropping in register and taking on that darker, baser veneer — you hear the frayed edges, the sandstone texture, a tell-tale sign of a deep-seated hunger. a very specific brand of shouyou-flavored want.

“n-ngh —” you make a soft noise as he dips down to nuzzle into the dip of your collarbone, a tiny groan festering up the back of his throat as he sighs.

“been thinking about this…” his fingers dance up your sides, light enough to tease, but solid enough to remind you of just how close you both are to a ruthless press and the oogling public.

“sh-shou let’s wait —”

hinata whines, shaking his head, his hair tickling at the skin of your neck, “don’t wanna.”

and you sigh, weighing the option of pushing back or giving in. each has dangers and merits, but you know better than most that when hinata gets like this, indulgence is usually the only answer that will satisfy.

“plus… i just won a ticket to the olympics! don’t you think that deserves some kind of —” he casts around for a good enough word, pulling back with a smile that, in the right kind of slanted, locker room light, might just look like a smirk, “reward?”

you cock your head and blink up at him, letting your fingers tangle in the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck, “what? the olympics ticket wasn’t enough of a reward for you?”

at this, hinata pouts, pushing his bottom lip out far enough for you to lean forward and bite it. the movement makes him groan, his whole body tipping forward to cage you back against the row of cool, metal lockers.

“you shouldn’t do that if you don’t think you can finish the job,” he says, pulling back just far enough for the heat of his breath to fan across your spit-slick lips. you lave your tongue across them, shifting beneath him as he cocks his head to stare down at you, his eyes wide and dark and misty.

“and… what job might that be?” you ask, breathless even as he dips down again to catch your lips in his, reaching down to tug you bodily up the length of the lockers before pinning you in place. once upon a time, it was easy to forget how strong he is — but now, it’s even easier to spot the stretch and flex of muscle beneath his sun-kissed skin, feel the strength of them as he holds you still with a single hand, the other tugging down the neckline of your top.

“mm… the job —” he skims his teeth across your skin; you gasp, eliciting a small, satisfied chuckle from him, “of being an olympic athlete’s girlfriend, of course!”

kageyama.

it is never the losing, and always the aftermath, and by now, you know the shades and slivers of all his specific kinds of silences so intimately that you know without him having to say how the practice match had gone.

“hey.”

you greet him by the door with a soft, placatory kiss. he grunts, toeing off his shoes before dipping down to wrap both his arms around you and pull you close. you let out a breathy laugh as you feel his nose digging into the curve of your shoulder.

“want some dinner?” you ask, reaching up to stroke his sweat-soaked hair even though you already know the answer.

“later,” he says, making no sign of wanting to let you go. instead, when you try to pull away, he leans down and scoops you up to place you on top of the kitchen island, slotting himself between your knees, and re-burying his face in your shoulder.

“then…” you let your voice trail off, feeling the exhaustion pour off him in waves. you dig your fingers into the tense line of his shoulders and feel them tighten up before they fall slack again. for a few minutes, he contents himself with letting you massage the worst of the knots from his shoulders.

“hn.” he lifts his head only to lean forward and find your lips with his. the kiss is slow and just a bit tired — as sweet as it is thorough. in the beginning, you’d worried that dating someone like kageyama would end up being the kind of short-lived thing that all the tabloids and magazines had warned you about — that he might grow bored after a week, a month, maybe half a year. after all, someone like him, with that insatiable need for more wouldn’t be suited for the kind of so-called ‘domestic bliss’ as it’s prescribed of most long-term relationships. but he’d surprised you, in more ways than one. he’d not only not grown bored, but had seemingly become ever more… entranced.

the pair of you had grown into each other, each day steadily getting closer. until the space the two of you shared became so inextricably linked there’s no telling who’s breath was caught in each of your lungs, of who’s scent it was that lingered in the fine linen lining of all your pillows and sheets. it’s become your’s. in the most cliche way possible.

kageyama contents himself with kissing you, breaking for small breath, and then kissing you some more. one kiss falling into another, and another, and another. till you’re breathless in just way he likes, till he’s breathless, in the way that he gets sometimes during a particularly intense rally. he knows he’s sweat-sticky and probably stinks of the gym, but the way you smile up at him when he pulls away makes his whole body go soft.

“let’s take a shower before dinner,” you say, tracing a finger along the shell of his ear. he bites back a frown.

“not a bath?”

you laugh, shrugging, “we could — but the food’ll go cold.”

“we’ve got a microwave.”

you smile, a smile that inspires — no, demands — another kiss. and so he does. you make a tiny, exasperated noise but don’t make to pull away. kageyama reaches down to pick you up, settling your thighs on either side of his hips as he maneuvers the pair of you towards the bathroom.

“food’ll be there when we’re done,” he mutters, gently placing you down on the side of the bathtub and reaching over to turn on the hot water. the steam rises in thick sheets from the surface of the water, and already, kageyama can feel his limbs loosening at the thought of a nice, long soak. he catches you watching as he strips off his practice clothes.

“see something interesting?” his voice is so measured you’d never know he’s teasing, save for the tiniest hint of mischief in his eyes. you blush and look away, tugging off your own clothes in an attempt to distract yourself. the water sloshes around his ankles as he steps into the bath, and you join him a second later, curling up against his chest as he winds his arms around you, the pair of you settling against each other like nesting spoons, cut perfectly for each other’s every bend and curve. or perhaps like russian dolls, one encasing the other — wholly and completely.

“when’s practice tomorrow?” you ask, turning to watch him lean back, his eyes falling shut to the soft trickle of water over skin. you know the answer, and so does he. but he shifts and answers you anyway.

“not till noon.”

“good,” you say, turning back to rest your head on his shoulder, “we can have a proper breakfast.”

“we always have a proper breakfast.”

you laugh, absently walking your fingers up the length of his bent leg, drawing tiny circles on his exposed knee, poking out of the water like a pale island amidst the green-tinted water.

“i can grill mackerel tomorrow — i’ll have the time.”

outside, the moon is white and full with love, the sky bloated with countless shimmering stars. inside the gentle quiet of your home, kageyama leans forward to trail a kiss to the bend of your bare shoulder; you reach back to cup his cheek. when he turns your face for yet another kiss, it is sleepy and happy, long and lazy. full, weighted, soaked through with the kind of surrender only known to those who love and are in love.

“the food’ll really be cold —” you gasp, twisting away from kageyama’s growingly insistent lips, “if we keep going like this.”

he makes a slightly irked noise before caging you back against him with a deep frown, “you said so yourself — we’ve got time tomorrow. so —” he leans in to bump his nose against yours, waiting for permission. you chew on your lips for a second longer before conceding. and he’s right — isn’t that what microwaves are for?

[burnforyou]

taking care of luigi when he's sick :,( hes such a baby all you can see when you look at him is his baby pictures :((((

you pepper small kisses on the birthmarks on his cheeks. he closes his eyes and smiles, basking in your attention.

you sit on the edge of the couch beside him and put the thermometer in his mouth gently. he runs his hand, hot to the touch, around your waist.

"I wanna start a family with you," he says, the thermometer still in his mouth. it beeps and you pull it out.

"103." it reads.

"when can I get you pregnant?" he asks, looking up at you, only his head visible from under the blanket.

"when you're not ill," you joke, trying to stand up, but his arm around your waist keeps you on the couch.

[thehmn]

One of my weirder daydreams is to live in a treetop-village with homes on platforms and hanging bridges between them. I’m well aware that it would have a lot of drawbacks in the real world (don’t even get me started on bathrooms) but I like to imagine watching the wildlife below and being surrounded by the leaves as they change with the seasons while being close to the sky or hearing the rain fall off the roofs and platforms to the ground below. I just love trees and forests a lot is all.

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Thomas Couture (1815-1879) "Daydreams" (1859) Oil on canvas Located in the Walters Art Museum, Baltimore, Maryland, United States

[stylescine]

love the morning one shot

but hear me out - instead of them ending up sitting up what if they were just too impatient and h wraps her leg around his waist so he can slide into her while they are on their sides

this!! i think h would be so into doing this from behind in a way

I think Harry just loves to fuck you lazily. And if he’s waking up horny and you don’t want to go through the hassle of moving into his lap, he will just gently lift your leg up, pressing his hard cock against your backside at first.

His hand gently moves over your thigh, feeling your soft skin and even digging his fingers into your flesh softly. He can’t get enough of touching you and his cock is already aching to be buried inside you.

Harry often buries his face in your neck, planting soft kisses there, before he aligns himself with your entrance and pushes in. The feeling of your tight walls around him always makes him groan against your ear.

“Taking me so well,” he assures you, hand holding your leg up as he’s starting to thrust into you.

His pace is slow at first, giving you and him time to wake up in a gentle manner. But when he’s getting closer to his climax, his pace grows sloppy and his hold on your leg becomes tighter.

“M’close,” he mumbles into your ear, teeth grazing your earlobe before he buries his face in your neck again, feeling his orgasm wash over him and taking you right with him.

Harry just loves mornings like this.

[revasserium]

lads #1 - the first kiss

xavier.

it is a soft brushing of lips on lips, eyes closed — a moonless night, dark enough to cast your dreams like a handful of dice against the velvet sky — he prays as you shift against him, and like this, he can count the individual stars caught in your symphony of lashes; he wants to sink into your milkyway laughter as you fist your fingers in the front of his shirt and tug him closer, and then it is no longer a dream but a reality too good to be true because there, those are your lips — your lips against his and his against yours and there is too much breath and not enough skin; there is heat, and heat, and heat as it crests up his back and into his chest, his fingertips tingling as he reaches up to cup the bend of your jaw; it is you sighing into him, the taste of your smile on his tongue when he presses in and feels you gasp — when he pulls back, you are blushing, the darkness in your cheeks probably mirrored in his own, and he can’t help the way his gazes flickers from your eyes down to your lips, now pink and sweet and so — “did you… did you mean to do that?” you ask, a little breathless, and for the life of him, xavier wants to take you and shake you by your shoulders because how could you think he hadn’t meant it? when every single atom in his entire body is vibrating with the need to pull you in one more time; instead, he lilts his head to the side and sighs, “well, if you couldn’t tell that time — shall we give it another try?”

zayne.

you are in his bed. you are in his bed and the world is pressing in around him as he counts your breaths, watching the flicker of your eyes beneath your squeezed-tight eyelids but he humors you enough to reach out and trace a finger along your cheek just to watch your lashes flutter, your lips twitch and he can’t help the way his own lips stretch into a knowing grin, “you shouldn’t lie to your doctor, you know.” to which you make a vague, mumbling sound, but you don’t shift away and zayne feels the pulse gathering between you like it’s done so many times before, each time the feeling echoing against the last, stronger and stronger until it becomes something like a compulsion — “what would it take for you to go to sleep properly?” he asks, his voice hoarse as you press your lips, sinking deeper into his sheets, finally peering up at him with those inescapable eyes. “maybe… a kiss goodnight?” he feels his breath catch in his throat at your words, not because he thought he’d never hear them, but because he never thought it would happen like this — how times had he imagined it throughout the years? how many mundane and dramatic moments playing out in the depths of his most secret imagination? but then again, he thinks that this is perfect too, because it’s you — so how could it not be. he bends down, tugging your chin towards him as he presses his lips firmly to yours, reveling in the small, surprised noise you make in the back of your throat; he tries not to think about the thin sheets separating your body and his, or the way your fingers are already tangling in his hair and pulling him close; he forces himself to pull away, swallowing hard. “there.” you blink dolefully up at him and pout, “y-you can’t expect me to go to sleep after a kiss like that!” he cocks an eyebrow, “can’t i? i kept my end of the deal, and now you have to keep yours.” but he allows himself a small smile as you huff and twist away from him, mumbling to yourself even as he shifts closer, pulling you into his chest as he closes his eyes and sleeps.

rafayel.

all he can think is that it’s different from the first time, because the first time, it hadn’t been a real kiss — even though it’d been real enough for him to lose his heart, real enough for it to have been lost for years and years and years — because the first time, it had been so, so innocent — and it’d been done over linked pinkies and a promise, him leaning down to kiss the base of his thumb and you, leaning down to mirror the movement — a promise, sealed with a kiss. because promises sealed with kisses can never be broken. but… you’d broken it, hadn’t you? or maybe he had — but something had broken, and it took him a long, long time to realize that it just might’ve been his heart. but this time, you’re both older, and you hadn’t waited, you’d stood up on your tip toes and pressed your lips right against his, and it was all he could do to close his eyes and kiss you back — distantly, he feels something breaking inside him, and he wonders — again — if it’s his heart, and he wonders, then, if a heart could be broken twice, and if the second time might be a mending instead. he leans down and crushes you to him, all propriety forgotten as he groans, desperate for more of that friction, more of that heat — he sinks his fingers into your waterfall hair and cradles your head against his, and he loses himself in the kiss. in a promise made, and unmade, and made again. when you finally pull away, he licks his lips and smirks, “took you long enough.” and he’s more pleased than he’ll ever admit to see the color flushing into your cheeks, and serves you right he thinks — but as you lace your fingers between his and tug him behind you towards the main street, asking if he wants to come over for dinner and the next episode of that one show you guys had started together, he thinks that even a heart broken twice could find its way to forgiveness — if only after another kiss or two.