Hickeys - Blog Posts

matsukawa + mark him? >:33

KNEE DEEP IN THE PASSENGER SEAT.

matsukawa issei x reader — 2k, suggestive, marking, hickeys, kissing, friends to lovers, seijoh 4 banter

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Matsukawa groans, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrubbing a hand down his face.

He takes a peek over at you where you’re sitting beside him cross-legged on Oikawa’s living room floor, back against the couch, as if to say, please back me up here.

You shrug, looking at Hanamaki. “I mean Mattsun hates her, it’s not like we have to worry about him relapsing back into the most toxic relationship of his life because she just so happens to be going to the same party as us tonight.”

Makki groans loudly, placing his drink on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. Iwaizumi glances up from scrolling through his phone, brow raised.

“That’s not the problem,” Makki sighs, tracing a finger through the wet ring of condensation left behind on the table’s surface from the last time that he moved his can.

Oikawa smacks his hand, and Makki mutters something under his breath before pulling down the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe it up, and Iwaizumi barely glances his way as he flicks a coaster toward him. 

“I’m not going to talk to her,” Matsukawa adds, reaching over to pick a piece of lint off of your top.

Fingers threading into his pale pink tresses, Makki glares at him. “That’s my point. You’re going to ignore her all night—rightfully so, she’s an evil witch and I will disown you if you so much as think about making her my girlfriend in-law again—”

Iwaizumi cuts him off, “What the fuck is a girlfriend in-law?”

Matsukawa blinks, “I don’t think that’s how you use that word—”

“ANYWAY, you’re going to ignore her, and she’s going to spend all night stalking around the perimeter of our group like a bloodthirsty wolf—”

“I need you to stop finding a way to insert a Twilight reference into every conversation—” Iwaizumi mutters.

“How the fuck is that Twilight? Can everyone stop interrupting me? Mattsun, for fuck’s sake. She cornered me outside the bathroom at Yahaba’s last time and spent twenty minutes trying to Sherlock Holmes her way into finding out where your dick’s been lately…” He trails off, eyes going wide as he turns to look at you.

Your heart rocks violently in your chest at the implication, and you valiantly fight the urge to cast an accusing glance Oikawa’s way. 

Because he’s the only one that knows you’re in love with Mattsun.

And if he told Iwaizumi and Iwaizumi told Makki and now Makki’s about to—

You’re going to be sick.

Probably.

Maybe.

Not right here though, because throwing up on Oikawa’s new shag carpet (despite the fact that it’s the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen) inches away from Mattsun’s feet would make this the most mortifying moment of your life.

(Not that it won’t be a record-breaking runner-up either way.)

Iwaizumi speaks up suddenly, a surprisingly thoughtful look on his face. “She was always paranoid that the two of you were hooking up.”

You steal a quick glance Oikawa’s way, and he subtly shakes his head. 

He didn’t say anything.

He might be insufferable most days, but you’ve been friends with him longer than anyone else in this room, and he knows what this secret means to you—

But still, Iwaizumi’s statement is news to you. It’s completely and entirely false and nothing more than a headline from your pathetic reoccurring dreams.

And it’s dizzying, the way your chest lurches as it sinks in.

Mattsun coughs.

“She what?” you squeak out. 

Makki’s answering grin is downright predatory.

-

Ten minutes later, you’re sitting in front of Matsukawa trying to stave off the flood of warmth that blooms in your gut under the steady weight of his gaze. He runs a hand through his hair, eyes briefly darting somewhere beyond your shoulder—probably to look at Hanamaki.

“We have to leave soon, chop chop.” Speak of the fucking devil.

You swallow as your throat goes impossibly dry. “Can’t we just like, hold hands?” you ask the pink-haired imp.

“Holding hands is easy, a fool’s errand,” he sighs dramatically. Like he’s reading a goddamn Shakespearean monologue. “A trashy hickey is forever.”

“A week, two tops,” Iwaizumi corrects him in a bored tone.

Oikawa sounds downright gleeful as he asks, “How would you know, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi grunts something back, but you don’t hear him over the sound of Mattsun’s voice. “You don’t have to—”

Makki huffs in annoyance, throwing the small metal tab from his drink can at him, and Matsukawa catches it without looking.

“She’s going to see the two of you together at the party, and she’s going to see the big, sexy, dirty hickey on Mattsun’s neck like a big, obnoxious billboard—”

“I know a big, obnoxious billboard alright,” Mattsun mutters, only loud enough so that you can hear, and you snort.

“—and she’s going to finally accept the fact that our dear, precious Issei wants nothing to do with her wicked, scheming ways, because he’s actually madly, deeply, passionately in love with—”

Mattsun’s head jerks up, eyes a little wide, but you don’t have time to contemplate the look that crosses his face when Makki’s suddenly cut off. Turning your head slightly, you catch sight of Oikawa tackling him to the ground.

Iwaizumi sighs, staring at them with all the interest of a man watching two bugs fighting in the dirt before returning his attention to his phone.

You look at Matsukawa again, taking the inner edge of your bottom lip between your teeth. “Where should I….”

He breathes in slowly, eyes searching yours for a moment before he tips his head slightly, baring the left side of his neck. And if that’s not enough to have sweat collecting in the center of your palms, you momentarily forget how to breathe when he spreads his legs, silently beckoning you to slip between them.

Warmth slides down your spine at how unnervingly natural it feels to crawl between Matsukawa’s legs, to put something into practice that you’ve unfortunately imagined more times and in more ways than you can count. 

There’s a brief moment where you wonder why you didn’t just remain sitting beside him, why you didn’t just lean in sideways and carry this out in a far more platonic position—

But then his hand brushes somewhere in the vicinity of your outer thigh, and all you can smell is the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and suddenly you find that your lips are hovering barely three inches away from the smooth expanse of skin that makes up the side of his neck.

And Mattsun mistakes your hesitation for something else, a warm laugh rumbling in his chest and brushing down your spine. “Bite as hard as you want, I like it rough.”

You know he’s joking. 

He’s trying to lighten the moment, to make you laugh. 

To stave off the awkward hesitation that’s probably written across every facet of your body language.

—but all it does is turn the heat churning in your gut positively molten as his words confirm something you already had a feeling was true.

(Something that has your thigh muscles instinctively trembling as you fight the urge to squeeze them together at the thought.)

Matsukawa tenses beneath you for a moment when your lips meet his neck, and you stiffen in turn, waiting for the inevitable regret, the unrequited rejection…

His hand slides up your nape, cupping the back of your head in a way that he likely thinks is reassuring (in a way that’s going to probably ruin you forever after this.)

“Just do it,” he encourages you.

So you do. 

And you don’t mean to get so into it.

But there’s a starved, unreasonable part of your brain that takes over when you start to bite and suck at Matsukawa’s neck, alternating between rolling his skin between your lips and teeth and running your tongue over it after. 

Every other bit of uncertainty fades into background noise when you feel Matsukawa react. When his shoulders go pliant, when his head tilts even more to the side—baring himself to you even further. When you swear you feel him push down on your head like he wants you to go harder.

When his free arm wraps around your waist and clutches your hip.

When his thighs press against you, caging you in (and there’s a delirious, faraway laugh that bubbles up in the back of your head as you imagine that he’s holding you there, that he doesn’t want you to stop).

When you bite and suck and lick and—

—and he fucking groans.

“Should we really be watching—” you think you hear Oikawa ask from somewhere behind you, followed by a yelp from him and a grunt from Iwaizumi.

Matsukawa’s exhale is downright ragged when you pull back slightly to observe your work, fingers clutching his shirt in an attempt to hide the way your hands are trembling.

“Should I—” you start, more than a little breathless and not exactly sure what you even intend to ask as you stare down at the bruise that’s already blooming against his skin.

Something possessive yawns awake inside of you, and you try to suppress the full-body shiver that dances down your nerves like spider silk.

Matsukawa stares at you for a beat, chest rising and falling, and he looks—

He tilts his head the other way. “Just in case,” he explains, his voice like gravel.

This time, you hear the sound of footsteps padding across the floor and the patio door sliding open, and the room goes quiet other than the sound of your breathing as you press your lips to the opposite side of Matsukawa’s neck.

He inhales sharply, and you momentarily find yourself lost to the pull of gravity as he fully reclines with his back against the carpet and pulls you directly on top of him.

Your heart thunders in your chest as you realize that you’re now fully straddling Mattsun, fingers somehow finding their way in his dark, messy curls as you mouth at his skin in an attempt to match your first canvas. One of his large hands slides across your lower back, and scorching heat blooms through your shirt under the deceiving weight of his touch.

He breathes out your name, the sound reverberating in your eardrums alongside the sound of rushing blood, and he cups your cheek as you stare down at him, faces scant centimeters apart.

Your eyes dart to his lips, to the way they’re parted slightly, and it takes everything in your power not to wholly collapse into him like a dying star taking its last brilliant breath when his thumb carefully strokes the hinge of your jaw.

He glances at your mouth in turn.

“I don’t think that’ll leave a mark—” you weakly start to joke.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

You swallow. “I guess we should test it out, just to see…”

Matsukawa stares up at you. “Do you want to?” It’s a loaded question.

“Yes,” you whisper.

Your lips have barely finished forming the word before Matsukawa flips you over without warning and pins you beneath him on the carpet, his mouth crashing into yours.

You’re oddly thankful for the plush embrace of Oikawa’s ugly carpet as you sink into it, trapped between the multi-color fibers and the all-encompassing warmth of everywhere Matsukawa’s body is flush with yours.

An embarrassingly needy sound crawls up your throat when his tongue darts across the seam of your lips before slipping into your mouth to deepen the kiss. You unconsciously start to card your fingers through his soft hair and he groans into your mouth in turn, leaving a sticky trail of saliva between your lips with each slick, hungry kiss he presses to them.

“Hey, we should probably get go—” the patio door slides open, and Makki’s voice floats into the room.

Iwaizumi barks something at him, and the door slams shut, cutting off the sound of their bickering as Oikawa laughs.

But you can hardly hear it—

Mattsun’s lips slow against yours, and he pulls back slightly, only to lean back in and press another lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Hi,” he says.

You blink up at him, reaching a hand up to rest against his jaw, your thumb just barely skirting his bottom lip. He gently bites the tip of it.

“Hi,” you whisper back.