a/n : enjoy! If there's any more characters you guys want to see for this, send me a req <3 likes and blogs appriciated
summary : soft, domestic, mornings with some hq boys!
kei tsukishima :
When you finally sit up in bed, the sun filters softly through the sheer curtains. The space beside you is empty, your husband already gone. You catch the faint sound of sizzling and dishes clinking from the kitchen.
Slipping on a pair of slippers, you shuffle out of the room and find Tsukishima standing at the stove. His hair’s messy, pajama pants hanging low on his hips, and—of course—he’s wearing the ridiculous bunny slides you got him as a joke gift years ago. You can’t help yourself. You step behind him and wrap your arms around his waist.
He jumps slightly.
“Goodness gracious, can you give me a warning before you sneak up on me like that?” he says, but you can hear the smirk in his voice even without seeing his face. He glances back at you, eyes warm.
“Well yeah, I could, but where’s the fun in that?” you grin, shifting to peek over his shoulder. “What’cha cookin’?”
He nods toward the pan. “What’s it look like?”
You squint at the perfectly browned pancakes. “Sausages,” you say with a shrug.
“Sure it is, Sherlock.” He sets down the spatula and turns to face you fully, meeting your eyes below him. He places a kiss on your forehead.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he mutters, his hands resting on your hips.
daichi sawamura :
Daichi is always up before you, without fail, doing his morning routine before trailing back to your bedroom to gently wake you. The sheets are still warm when he climbs back in, and the air smells faintly of his cologne and fresh coffee. As you slowly blink open your eyes he's already slowly peppering kisses over your face and jaw. Each one is lazy, unhurried—like he’s been waiting for you to wake up.
Still in his pajamas, coffee already made on your nightstand just how you like it. The mug is warm when your fingers eventually wrap around it, steam curling up in thin wisps as you glance back at him.
“Morning baby,” he whispers, “how’d you sleep?” voice still slightly groggy, hinting it hasn't been long since he woke up as well.
“I slept good but I woke up even better.” you mutter, dragging your hands through his barely damp hair. It’s soft, and he leans into your touch just a little, eyes closing for a second.
“You hungry?” he asks, slowly bringing himself off of you. His hand lingers on your waist before he shifts.
“You know it,” you say as you sit up, ready to start the day. The sheets rustle around you, and the early light slips across the floor as you both move toward whatever comes next.
koshi sugawara :
When you open your eyes in the morning, you’re sure to take account of the weight draped over your midsection. You look down to see Sugawara sprawled across you as he sleeps, mouth slightly open, and you give a warm smile at the sight. You slowly slip out of bed, careful not to wake him.
You successfully make it out of bed without disturbing him and stroll your way into the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. Just as you’re about to plate the waffles, eggs, and sausages, you feel your husband’s arms slither around you from behind as he places a soft kiss on the top of your head.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” you purred.
“Good morning. Seems like I’m right on time,” he murmured.
asahi azumane :
You wake up and hear the bathroom sink running in the distance and find measuring tapes, fabrics, and scissors piled up into a corner.
“Asahi! What's all this?” you shout out with a sigh.
The bathroom door swings open and startles you. He comes out, fumbling with his towel in a hurry.
“Oh... oh! No, no, don’t worry about this. I'll get it up soon, I promise.”
He pads across the room barefoot, his towel loosely tucked around his waist, hair still damp and dripping slightly at the ends.
“I was just… trying to fix that shirt you like—the one with the little tear near the seam,” he says quietly, eyes avoiding yours as he crouches to tidy the scattered fabric. His fingers fumble with a measuring tape as he adds, “I didn’t think you’d be up yet.”
The sight makes you exhale, not quite a laugh, but something similar. His shoulders are tense, like he’s bracing for you to be upset—but all you feel is warmth. The mess isn’t really a mess. It’s just him, trying, in that quiet way he always does.
“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmur, stepping closer.
He looks up at you, a bit shy, but smiling now.
“I wanted to.”
keiji akaashi :
With Akaashi, neither of you are ever in a rush to get up out of bed, nor do you need to. Which leads to long, lazy mornings with tangled limbs, warm sheets, and the soft quiet of early light slipping in through the curtains.
When Akaashi wakes up, you’re still tucked in underneath the covers and snuggled close to his chest, your face buried against the fabric of his shirt, breathing slow and steady. He places a gentle kiss on your head and caresses your hair, fingertips moving in slow, soothing strokes.
Eventually, you start to stir, blinking sleepily and mumbling soft nonsense into his chest.
“Well, good morning to you too, love…” he mumbles, his voice sounding raspy and almost dry, thick with sleep.
“Are you ready to get up yet?” he questions, the words spoken quietly into your hair.
You shake your head with a soft, muffled, “Not yet.”
He lets out a low chuckle and nuzzles himself back into your head, arms tightening just slightly around your waist.
“Alright then, just a while longer,” he murmurs, already settling in like he doesn’t plan on moving anytime soon.
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cw: [nsfw] [slight dom tsukishima] [teasing] [brat taming] [fingering]
AN: likes and reblogs appreciated <3
You walk into your shared apartment after a long day at work to find Tsukishima at the kitchen counter with his laptop. The room is barely lit by the warm, dim glow from outside and the small lamp in the corner. You continue walking toward the island when he peers at you over the rim of his glasses.
“What’s wrong with you?” he questions.
“Long day,” you shoot back, glaring at him.
“You get so bratty when you’re tired,” he mocks in his usual dry tone.
You scowl at him as you continue making your food.
“Oh, I’m sorry… are you going to cry about it?” you snap while mixing your rice.
He smirks, closing his laptop with a deliberate slowness. “Keep glaring at me like that and see what happens.”
You roll your eyes, “What are you gonna do about it?”
He stands and leans against the island with both arms watching you cook with that unbearable smug look on his face that just makes you want to push his face into the ground. “God you are so insufferable...beautiful, but insufferable” he mutters just barely quiet enough for you to hear
You pause, spoon halfway to your mouth as you try to recall what you just heard. “Excuse me? Was that meant to be a compliment?” He shrugs mockingly, eyes glinting with a pinch of thirst “Depends on how you take it”
Despite his face reflecting some emotion beyond the usual enjoyment he gets from teasing you, his voice remains as dry and monotone as ever.
You smirk, setting the spoon down. “Careful. Flattery might get you nowhere.”
He shrugs, stepping closer just enough to close the gap but not too much. “I’m not exactly counting on flattery. More like your usual stubbornness getting in your way.”
Your heart skips, but you keep your tone steady. “So, you’re saying I’m a problem.”
“More like a pain,” he replies dryly, lips twitching into a small, rare smirk. “Looks like I’m stuck with it.”
You meet his gaze and flash him a sly grin. “Pain’s got nothing on how annoying you are.”
His eyebrow raises, amused by your quick wittedness, “was that supposed to be upsetting?” You step a little closer closing most of the distance between you two, “Well, that’s up for you to decide.”
His eyes narrow but there’s a hint of something unclear building in them, “You’re impossible.”
The air feels like its starting to suffocate you. The tension building with each word that comes out of his mouth. You can hear your heart beating through your ears and you’re almost positive he can hear it too for a moment it seems like the world stopped-- Neither of you moved until --
Without any warning he leans in just enough for his breath to graze of your ear, “don’t think im going to go easy on you just because youve had a long day..”
As if your heart already wasnt beating hard enough before, you’re sure its pounding now.
“Oh? Is that so..” you whisper, voice dripping with curiosity.
Before you can even think of a response, you're suddenly caged in between his arms, back to the island. He watches you through the lens of his glasses, and you can feel the blush creeping up your neck.
He leans down, breath ghosting over your lips. “Is that a challenge?” he asks, voice low and alluring.
Your eyes dart to his lips and back up — he noticed.
You lean in slowly, as if waiting for him to reciprocate. His hands find the curve of your waist as he pulls you in and closes the distance, his lips following suit. Gentle at first, until it seems like you aren’t getting enough — you need more. You wrap your hands around his neck and comb your fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. Small goosebumps dance down his back at the sensation.
He pulls back slightly, leaving you confused, until he lifts you onto the edge of the counter. The cold surface of the counter meets the backs of your thighs — a stark contrast to the heat starting to pool in your stomach. He settles himself between your legs.
“Still want to pretend you hate me?” he asks, one hand steadying your hip while the other removes his glasses and sets them on the counter next to you.
“Who said I hated you?”
His lips brush against yours again, slower this time — almost calculated, like he wants you to feel every second of it. You can feel the heat from his neck, and it feels like it might burn your hand.
His hands slowly creep up your shirt, leaving an intense sensation each time they pass over your midsection. He breaks the kiss and gazes at you, unreadable, until he pushes your hair out of the way and dips down to the side of your neck — earning a low whine from you.
“You’re bad at hiding what you want,” he murmurs, still basically attached to your neck.
“Then how about you stop teasing me?”
He retreats for a moment and glares at you, lips pressed tight. His silence is calculated, as if he’s waiting for you to ask for what you want.
“Tell me you want this.”
You can feel your core starting to heat up at the few words that just left his mouth.
“What?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Did I stutter? Tell me what you want.” He leans in, mere centimeters from your face.
You avoid eye contact slightly, and even though you haven’t said anything, that’s all the confirmation he needs.
He leans back down and nips at your neck — not hard, but just enough to tingle and pull another sound from you. He soothes the spot with his tongue, letting out a small chuckle into your skin.
His hands trail higher, brushing your midriff, barely grazing — just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. One hand grips your thigh while the other slides up your spine; fingers splayed out on your back — warm and possessive.
He pulls back from you. “Say it, or I stop right here.” He smirks, smug, anticipatory — like he knows exactly what gets under your skin.
You inhale, and a long, shaky breath escapes you. “Fine. I want you.”
He pauses, looking you dead in the eyes. “You’re sure you’re ready for this?” — as if he’s testing you.
“How many times are you going to make me say it?” You scowl.
“Until you're begging,” he asserts.
You glare at him.
His hands still wander. “Fine... no turning back now,” he purrs.
He leans in once more, more intense and sensual this time. No teasing. No hesitation. His mouth drags down to your collarbones, each kiss more powerful and passionate than the last. Your legs wrap around his waist, giving you a faint feel of the bulge pressing through his sweatpants. His grip on your thigh tightens.
You catch a glimpse of something darker in his eyes — not something soft, but fervent. His movements pause for half a second, like he’s holding himself back — until suddenly, he doesn’t.
He tugs at the hem of your shirt, hesitating just long enough to give you a chance to stop him — though he knows you won’t. His hand runs up your spine again, this time with more purpose, lips trailing back toward the front of your throat.
He lightly pushes you backward, signaling for you to lie down. His hand on your back guides you, keeping your arch exactly where he wants it. He pulls away again, just to watch you squirm underneath him. His hand trails beneath your chin.
“Eyes up here. I want you to watch what you got yourself into.”
Your thighs tighten around his waist. He notices, grabs you by the knees, and pushes your legs apart.
“Don’t get shy now.”
You roll your eyes. He leans in close — so close that you can feel the threat in the air before he even opens his mouth again. His thigh presses hard between your legs, restricting your movement.
“Well?” he murmurs. “Why so quiet now?”
He drops down and presses a kiss right below your bra line, causing you to squirm. He moves lower, slowly — until he pauses right before reaching your pants button.
“You want this so badly and you can’t even say please? How sad,” he teases, watching you from his spot between your legs.
You attempt to shift forward on the counter in desperation for some sort of sensation. You’re cut short by his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place.
“When did I say you could move?” he glares at you as you squirm. “Ask politely, or you get nothing.”
You scoff. “Just how arrogant can you get?” Dismissing him, you roll your eyes — his smug face boring into your skull.
Still unfazed, maybe even amused, he mutters, “Still running your mouth?”
He leans down, planting a soft kiss right above your waistband, taunting you. He unbuckles your pants and places another kiss just above your underwear — infuriatingly slow, letting it linger. He pulls your pants down with the same grueling pace.
“God, Tsukishima, just do it already!” you plead.
He pauses and stares. “Are you going to ask politely? If not, then you can forget about it.” He smirks and kisses you once more on the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to the apex.
“Fine. Please,” you mumble.
“What was that?” he mutters while marking your legs. “I couldn’t quite hear you...”
“Please, Tsukishima, please,” you let out with a breathy sigh.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he whispers, like it’s all part of a game.
He finally increases the urgency in his kisses and nibbles — but only by a smidge. You may be getting your reward, but only on his terms. He slides a finger slowly over the fabric of your underwear.
“This soaked already?”
In a feeble attempt to get some friction, you try to grind against his fingers — only for him to instantly pull away.
“Didn’t I just tell you to stay still?” he scoffs. “Almost pathetic.”
He places his hand back and slowly rubs at the pulsating heat between your thighs — just enough, not too much. You squirm once more beneath his touch.
“This whole time you’ve been acting like you can handle me, and you can’t even handle this,” he chuckles.
“How about I give you something to look at?” he smirks, pulling his shirt over his head in one swift motion, revealing his lean torso — which only worsens the ache in your core starting to build.
He catches you staring too long and tilts his head mockingly. “That look on your face,” he smirks, “don’t tell me you're already falling apart from this?”
He brings his thigh back to your core and applies a smidge of pressure, deciding to give it some attention.
“Still not saying thank you? Ungrateful and desperate. What an impressive combo,” he snickers.
“I can’t be grateful if you haven’t done anything yet,” you retort.
He responds by pulling away once again. “I guess you need another reminder of who’s in control.”
He lifts your chin with his fingers and glares his honey-brown eyes into your skull as he slowly puts his knee back between your legs, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “You keep saying you want it, right? So here it is.”
He lowers himself back down to your heat, hooking his fingers into the elastic of your underwear and sliding them down slowly until they fall to the floor.
He takes the same two fingers and drags them over the wetness of your opening. “Fuck...” he mutters. “You sure talk a big game for someone who's barely touched me,” you say, low and daring, with raised brows.
He bites your inner thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to shut you up. He freezes for a second — just long enough to make you regret opening your mouth. Then, without warning, he comes back up and his hand wraps around the back of your neck, not tight, but enough to tilt your head up and force your eyes to meet his.
“Say that again,” he says quietly — too quietly. His tone is flat, unreadable, but his grip and the slight twitch in his jaw say enough.
Your heart skips, but you keep your smugness, barely. “I mean... was I wrong?” you manage, though your voice is thinner now.
His lips curl into a tight smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You want rough, or just stupid?” he mutters, dragging his thigh back up between your legs, pushing into you hard enough to make you gasp. “Because I can promise you, you won’t be able to mouth off like that again if I’m actually touching you.”
His other hand moves to grip your jaw now, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he watches you start to squirm under the pressure. “You forget I’ve been going easy on you,” he continues. “And clearly that was a mistake,” he mutters as he lowers his other hand to rub at your aching core at a rapid pace while he glares at you, watching your expressions as closely as possible, face nearly blank.
You let out a tiny moan and his eyes glint. “That’s what I like to hear...” He slows his pace, careful not to push you over the edge too fast, keeping you in a steady place.
After working you open with his fingers and listening to every sound you make, he pulls them out suddenly. Without giving you time to react, he leans in and replaces them with his mouth. No teasing licks, no words, just blunt pressure, slow at first — his erection throbbing the more whines and moans you let out.
The sounds you’re making only provoke him more. He speeds up, tongue relentless, sucking and lapping up your wetness until your thighs begin to tremble. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping tightly, trying to ground yourself — but it only makes him groan against you.
When you finally cry out, shaking, he doesn’t stop — only slows, riding out every twitch and breathless moan you offer him. Only once your legs give out does he lift his head, lips wet and eyes smug.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans over you, one hand on your stomach as your chest heaves. “You said I hadn’t done anything before,” he murmurs, voice low. “Still think that?”
You don’t answer — you can’t.
He leans in, presses a slow kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself. Then he grabs a dish towel nearby and gently wipes the sweat from your brow, from your inner thighs — his touch still firm but no longer demanding.
“You alive?” he murmurs, smug but quieter now.
You nod weakly. He hums and helps pull your underwear back up, then hooks an arm around your waist and holds you against him. His lips brush your temple.
“You’re lucky I like you bratty,” he mutters.
You sigh into his neck. “Told you I could handle you.”
You walk into your shared apartment after a long day at work to find Tsukishima at the kitchen counter with his laptop. The room is barely lit by the warm, dim glow from outside and the small lamp in the corner. You continue walking toward the island when he peers at you over the rim of his glasses.
“What’s wrong with you?” he questions.
“Long day,” you shoot back, glaring at him.
“You get so bratty when you’re tired,” he mocks in his usual dry tone.
You scowl at him as you continue making your food.
“Oh, I’m sorry… are you going to cry about it?” you snap while mixing your rice.
He smirks, closing his laptop with a deliberate slowness. “Keep glaring at me like that and see what happens.”
You roll your eyes, “What are you gonna do about it?”
He stands and leans against the island with both arms watching you cook with that unbearable smug look on his face that just makes you want to push his face into the ground.
“God you are so insufferable...beautiful, but insufferable” he mutters just barely quiet enough for you to hear
You pause, spoon halfway to your mouth as you try to recall what you just heard. “Excuse me? Was that meant to be a compliment?”
He shrugs mockingly, eyes glinting with a pinch of thirst “Depends on how you take it”
Despite his face reflecting some emotion beyond the usual enjoyment he gets from teasing you, his voice remains as dry and monotone as ever.
You smirk, setting the spoon down. “Careful. Flattery might get you nowhere.”
He shrugs, stepping closer just enough to close the gap but not too much. “I’m not exactly counting on flattery. More like your usual stubbornness getting in your way.”
Your heart skips, but you keep your tone steady. “So, you’re saying I’m a problem.”
“More like a pain,” he replies dryly, lips twitching into a small, rare smirk. “Looks like I’m stuck with it.”
You meet his gaze and flash him a sly grin. “Pain’s got nothing on how annoying you are.”
His eyebrow raises, amused by your quick wittedness, “was that supposed to be upsetting?”
You step a little closer closing most of the distance between you two, “Well, that’s up for you to decide.”
His eyes narrow but there’s a hint of something unclear building in them, “You’re impossible.”
The air feels like its starting to suffocate you. The tension building with each word that comes out of his mouth. You can hear your heart beating through your ears and you’re almost positive he can hear it too for a moment it seems like the world stopped-- Neither of you moved until --
Without any warning he leans in just enough for his breath to graze of your ear, “don’t think im going to go easy on you just because youve had a long day..”
As if your heart already wasnt beating hard enough before, you’re sure its pounding now.
“Oh? Is that so..” you whisper, voice dripping with curiosity.
uh this is my first time writing so please let me know what you guys think 😇 also part two next
cw: [nsfw] [slight dom tsukishima] [teasing] [brat taming] [fingering]
AN: sorry if this is too long guys, likes and reblogs appreciated <3
Before you can even think of a response, you're suddenly caged in between his arms, back to the island. He watches you through the lens of his glasses, and you can feel the blush creeping up your neck.
He leans down, breath ghosting over your lips. “Is that a challenge?” he asks, voice low and alluring.
Your eyes dart to his lips and back up — he noticed.
You lean in slowly, as if waiting for him to reciprocate. His hands find the curve of your waist as he pulls you in and closes the distance, his lips following suit. Gentle at first, until it seems like you aren’t getting enough — you need more. You wrap your hands around his neck and comb your fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. Small goosebumps dance down his back at the sensation.
He pulls back slightly, leaving you confused, until he lifts you onto the edge of the counter. The cold surface of the counter meets the backs of your thighs — a stark contrast to the heat starting to pool in your stomach. He settles himself between your legs.
“Still want to pretend you hate me?” he asks, one hand steadying your hip while the other removes his glasses and sets them on the counter next to you.
“Who said I hated you?”
His lips brush against yours again, slower this time — almost calculated, like he wants you to feel every second of it. You can feel the heat from his neck, and it feels like it might burn your hand.
His hands slowly creep up your shirt, leaving an intense sensation each time they pass over your midsection. He breaks the kiss and gazes at you, unreadable, until he pushes your hair out of the way and dips down to the side of your neck — earning a low whine from you.
“You’re bad at hiding what you want,” he murmurs, still basically attached to your neck.
“Then how about you stop teasing me?”
He retreats for a moment and glares at you, lips pressed tight. His silence is calculated, as if he’s waiting for you to ask for what you want.
“Tell me you want this.”
You can feel your core starting to heat up at the few words that just left his mouth.
“What?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Did I stutter? Tell me what you want.” He leans in, mere centimeters from your face.
You avoid eye contact slightly, and even though you haven’t said anything, that’s all the confirmation he needs.
He leans back down and nips at your neck — not hard, but just enough to tingle and pull another sound from you. He soothes the spot with his tongue, letting out a small chuckle into your skin.
His hands trail higher, brushing your midriff, barely grazing — just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. One hand grips your thigh while the other slides up your spine; fingers splayed out on your back — warm and possessive.
He pulls back from you. “Say it, or I stop right here.” He smirks, smug, anticipatory — like he knows exactly what gets under your skin.
You inhale, and a long, shaky breath escapes you. “Fine. I want you.”
He pauses, looking you dead in the eyes. “You’re sure you’re ready for this?” — as if he’s testing you.
“How many times are you going to make me say it?” You scowl.
“Until you're begging,” he asserts.
You glare at him.
His hands still wander. “Fine... no turning back now,” he purrs.
He leans in once more, more intense and sensual this time. No teasing. No hesitation. His mouth drags down to your collarbones, each kiss more powerful and passionate than the last. Your legs wrap around his waist, giving you a faint feel of the bulge pressing through his sweatpants. His grip on your thigh tightens.
You catch a glimpse of something darker in his eyes — not something soft, but fervent. His movements pause for half a second, like he’s holding himself back — until suddenly, he doesn’t.
He tugs at the hem of your shirt, hesitating just long enough to give you a chance to stop him — though he knows you won’t. His hand runs up your spine again, this time with more purpose, lips trailing back toward the front of your throat.
He lightly pushes you backward, signaling for you to lie down. His hand on your back guides you, keeping your arch exactly where he wants it. He pulls away again, just to watch you squirm underneath him. His hand trails beneath your chin.
“Eyes up here. I want you to watch what you got yourself into.”
Your thighs tighten around his waist. He notices, grabs you by the knees, and pushes your legs apart.
“Don’t get shy now.”
You roll your eyes. He leans in close — so close that you can feel the threat in the air before he even opens his mouth again. His thigh presses hard between your legs, restricting your movement.
“Well?” he murmurs. “Why so quiet now?”
He drops down and presses a kiss right below your bra line, causing you to squirm. He moves lower, slowly — until he pauses right before reaching your pants button.
“You want this so badly and you can’t even say please? How sad,” he teases, watching you from his spot between your legs.
You attempt to shift forward on the counter in desperation for some sort of sensation. You’re cut short by his hands gripping your hips, holding you in place.
“When did I say you could move?” he glares at you as you squirm. “Ask politely, or you get nothing.”
You scoff. “Just how arrogant can you get?” Dismissing him, you roll your eyes — his smug face boring into your skull.
Still unfazed, maybe even amused, he mutters, “Still running your mouth?”
He leans down, planting a soft kiss right above your waistband, taunting you. He unbuckles your pants and places another kiss just above your underwear — infuriatingly slow, letting it linger. He pulls your pants down with the same grueling pace.
“God, Tsukishima, just do it already!” you plead.
He pauses and stares. “Are you going to ask politely? If not, then you can forget about it.” He smirks and kisses you once more on the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to the apex.
“Fine. Please,” you mumble.
“What was that?” he mutters while marking your legs. “I couldn’t quite hear you...”
“Please, Tsukishima, please,” you let out with a breathy sigh.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he whispers, like it’s all part of a game.
He finally increases the urgency in his kisses and nibbles — but only by a smidge. You may be getting your reward, but only on his terms. He slides a finger slowly over the fabric of your underwear.
“This soaked already?”
In a feeble attempt to get some friction, you try to grind against his fingers — only for him to instantly pull away.
“Didn’t I just tell you to stay still?” he scoffs. “Almost pathetic.”
He places his hand back and slowly rubs at the pulsating heat between your thighs — just enough, not too much. You squirm once more beneath his touch.
“This whole time you’ve been acting like you can handle me, and you can’t even handle this,” he chuckles.
“How about I give you something to look at?” he smirks, pulling his shirt over his head in one swift motion, revealing his lean torso — which only worsens the ache in your core starting to build.
He catches you staring too long and tilts his head mockingly. “That look on your face,” he smirks, “don’t tell me you're already falling apart from this?”
He brings his thigh back to your core and applies a smidge of pressure, deciding to give it some attention.
“Still not saying thank you? Ungrateful and desperate. What an impressive combo,” he snickers.
“I can’t be grateful if you haven’t done anything yet,” you retort.
He responds by pulling away once again. “I guess you need another reminder of who’s in control.”
He lifts your chin with his fingers and glares his honey-brown eyes into your skull as he slowly puts his knee back between your legs, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “You keep saying you want it, right? So here it is.”
He lowers himself back down to your heat, hooking his fingers into the elastic of your underwear and sliding them down slowly until they fall to the floor.
He takes the same two fingers and drags them over the wetness of your opening. “Fuck...” he mutters. “You sure talk a big game for someone who's barely touched me,” you say, low and daring, with raised brows.
He bites your inner thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to shut you up. He freezes for a second — just long enough to make you regret opening your mouth. Then, without warning, he comes back up and his hand wraps around the back of your neck, not tight, but enough to tilt your head up and force your eyes to meet his.
“Say that again,” he says quietly — too quietly. His tone is flat, unreadable, but his grip and the slight twitch in his jaw say enough.
Your heart skips, but you keep your smugness, barely. “I mean... was I wrong?” you manage, though your voice is thinner now.
His lips curl into a tight smile, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You want rough, or just stupid?” he mutters, dragging his thigh back up between your legs, pushing into you hard enough to make you gasp. “Because I can promise you, you won’t be able to mouth off like that again if I’m actually touching you.”
His other hand moves to grip your jaw now, thumb brushing your bottom lip as he watches you start to squirm under the pressure. “You forget I’ve been going easy on you,” he continues. “And clearly that was a mistake,” he mutters as he lowers his other hand to rub at your aching core at a rapid pace while he glares at you, watching your expressions as closely as possible, face nearly blank.
You let out a tiny moan and his eyes glint. “That’s what I like to hear...” He slows his pace, careful not to push you over the edge too fast, keeping you in a steady place.
After working you open with his fingers and listening to every sound you make, he pulls them out suddenly. Without giving you time to react, he leans in and replaces them with his mouth. No teasing licks, no words, just blunt pressure, slow at first — his erection throbbing the more whines and moans you let out.
The sounds you’re making only provoke him more. He speeds up, tongue relentless, sucking and lapping up your wetness until your thighs begin to tremble. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping tightly, trying to ground yourself — but it only makes him groan against you.
When you finally cry out, shaking, he doesn’t stop — only slows, riding out every twitch and breathless moan you offer him. Only once your legs give out does he lift his head, lips wet and eyes smug.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans over you, one hand on your stomach as your chest heaves. “You said I hadn’t done anything before,” he murmurs, voice low. “Still think that?”
You don’t answer — you can’t.
He leans in, presses a slow kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself. Then he grabs a dish towel nearby and gently wipes the sweat from your brow, from your inner thighs — his touch still firm but no longer demanding.
“You alive?” he murmurs, smug but quieter now.
You nod weakly. He hums and helps pull your underwear back up, then hooks an arm around your waist and holds you against him. His lips brush your temple.
“You’re lucky I like you bratty,” he mutters.
You sigh into his neck. “Told you I could handle you.”
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