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muntitled · 5 months ago

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Force-Fed

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: You didn't need a job. Not when you only needed him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Coercion, Standards Relationship, Abuse, Isolation, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Jealousy, Codependency, Stalking, Yandere!Salesman, Smut (+18) mdni, DDLG, Taboo Sex (she literally calls him dad), Freudian Slip, Daddy Kink, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Subspace, Slight!Age Regression, Choking, Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Dacryphillia, Breeding Kink

A/n: If this isn't your vibe, leave the fic alone. Read something else. Like always I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

Installing a mobile tracker on your phone might not have been the most morally good thing to do, that he could admit. Perhaps even more incriminating is that the idea struck him while you were passed out on the floor, your body thoroughly spent from all his ravaging. He was nothing if not an inquisitive man and he needed to see what you got up to during the week, when you were without him. (Note: this started out as a precaution. For your own good. You ought to be thankful to have someone like him in your life).

Who knew that the tracker would bring him here?

His jaw is screwed shut as he leans down under the awning of a building, spotting you through the window of a tired coffee shop, donning a uniform he hadn't even known you owned- it set him alight with a certain level of possessiveness that was foreign to him.

He admits that before you, he'd never had much use for any pointless emotions like love or care. They were, at their very core function, just hormones injected into the brain in order to trick humans into reproduction. That's what he saw you as for the longest time: A means of reproduction. A conduit through which he could fulfill all his most absurd fantasies- fantasies that scared even himself.

When he hit you, fondled you, groped you or stretched your body beyond its tantalizing capabilities, he truly believed he was making you useful, and in return for your services you got to coast through university without having to worry about bills.

That's what it was supposed to be. Nothing less and certainly nothing more.

So what the hell is this?

Today is a Tuesday and your 'sessions' together are scheduled on Wednesday. He ought to just keep on walking and go about the rest of his day forgetting having ever seen you.

As far as your agreement was concerned, you were strictly expected to leave him to his devices throughout the week- it never occurred to him that he would also be expected to leave you to yours.

It makes him tsk, seeing you scrub the counters of a cafe... as if you didn't have him to provide for you.

Had he not provided you with enough?

Had you not gotten everything you wanted?

You were like a dog without a leash.

And his hand was itching to pull you right back to him.

He walks into the coffee shop before his brain is finished processing his movements.

"Good afternoon-" greeted the young man behind the counter. The place smelt like roasted coffee beans and debt. It's obvious in the very few patrons milling about that this business was doomed to fail. Your Salesman had a knack for spotting abject poverty and the owner- your boss, one Lee Junmin was teetering on the edge of financial ruin. It's a very good thing that your Salesman is here to save you from this sinking ship.

"Good afternoon," your salesman says stiffly, almost amicably.

He finds you mid-conversation with your coworker. There's a smile on your face as you crane your neck back, holding a cup under the burning faucet of a coffee machine. You're speaking amicably and you're still smiling. Genuinely. Not at all the robotic smile you reserved for the Salesman during your 'sessions'.

He realises now, watching you with a real smile plastered on your face, that you had been lying to him. You don't seem as broken as you claim to be. Seeing you here, assimilated into society. Sporting a part time job?

His knuckles clench around the handle of his briefcase. He was brimming with the need to punish you for it.

It's absurd.

To punish someone for being a fully functional human being. Not even his own psychological issues could adequately reason that.

The younger boy behind the counter rests a hand on your shoulder, finally letting your eyes settle on the tall Salesman behind the counter.

He can see the moment your breath catches in your throat.

How he wishes he had his heavy hands wrapped tight around that throat. He'd choke you for trying to get rid of him. For trying to... not need him.

"Could you take care of this customer? I need to go out for a break-" Your co-worker mumbles quietly and your heart drops like a bag of dipped in molten lava at the sight of him standing there on the opposite end of the counter. There's a smug sort of smirk playing across his features. I've caught the traitor, now it's off with your head.

You begrudgingly steel your nerves before turning to face your co-worker again, trying to even your breathing as you assimilate back into your easy banter, "And how many times have I told you smoking is bad for you-"

Your co-worker raises his tattooed hands, sporting a boyish grin. It's oddly refreshing to interact with a boy your age- someone normal who wasn't drowning in psychopathic tendencies or bullying homeless people for fun.

"Who said I'm going for a smoke break?" He asks, as you slide up to the counter. You situated yourself behind the barrier as if it was going to keep you safe. You knew nothing could keep you safe from the tense shadow hovering over your benefactor's eyes. The Salesman is livid as your co-worker finally makes himself scarce and after a few tense seconds, he finally speaks.

"I didn't know you did this." He says, staring you down the bridge of his nose.

Play it calm. Play it cheeky. Play it coy.

"You didn't know I make coffee?" That snooty remark doesn't earn you a single gratifying chuckle. It doesn't even earn you a soft, meaningless smile. In contrast, all it gets you is monotony. He's pissed.

"Worked." He spits out, "I didn't know you worked."

You only manage to stare up at him, silently before turning your attention to the screen in front of you.

There were a great many things he had already stolen from you- full autonomy over your body being the greatest loss. You'd raise up hell itself before you truly let him strip you of your independence.

"What can I get you for today?" Swift. Curt. Professional. As if you hadn't felt this man inside you. As if he hadn't choked you out until your vision was sparkling with stars. As if you didn't have his cock down your throat. No one here knew about your arrangement. In this coffee shop, you were safe from your history with the Salesman.

"Americano," You sigh softly, thinking he'll respect you enough to keep things professional. Poor, naive you.

“Tell them you quit." He says, forcing you to look up at his cold, dead orbs. "Do it now."

Your finger pause over the screen and your breathing picks up.

He couldn't do this. Not here. Not when you've finally found refuge away from him, his sadism, his demands and his reminders that he held the keys to you obtaining your degree. This coffee shop was the one place he couldn't reach you...

So why were you already on the cusp of giving in?

Your eyes flit over to the few patrons milling about before staring up at the man on the other side of the counter. Daylight was dwindling and beyond the windows, the city was drenched in an orange, almost pink late afternoon glow.

"Your order's coming right up."

"This place is going bankrupt soon. They'll fire you. It's better you quit now before they do." Your hands falter as you struggle to swallow that deeply authoritative veneer in his voice. That fatherly sort of guidance. Be careful, it said.

"Oh, this is you protecting me?" You hated that this was taking place at work, but business is indeed slow and the only other worker here is in the back of the building, smoking away his problems.

"Not protecting you." He says with a shake of his head, as a slow smile curls the ends of his lips, "Warning you."

You rolled your eyes then. It made his hand twitch with the need to correct you. To force you to submit to him. If there's one thing he couldn't stand, it's a rabid little girl.

"You can have a seat while you wait for your Americano-"

"Fuck the Americano." It comes out louder than he intended. It's a surprise, just like the vein popping out of his forehead. His mask was slipping.

"Tell them you wanna quit." He says in a much softer, more in-control tone of voice. He leans against the counter so that the words exchanged are heard only by the two of you.

There is deep anger and menace in his eyes. You can see the warning in them. Its blood-red and calling for you to just submit.

But you're feeling particularly brave. And so you immediately respond.

"Or what?"

"Or I’ll fucking kill you. You or that co-worker." His gaze fits to the door through which the boy disappeared as he sighed and said, "Remember the roommate's boyfriend?"

How could you ever forget?

There was blood.

So much blood.

Who knew humans were walking around with that much blood inside them?

"You want to threaten me out of having a job?" You were losing this battle and quickly. Desperation is the only thing you cling to as your eyes peer up at him.

"Want to?" He shakes, “Little Girl, I am threatening you. Quit now. Your co-worker would greatly appreciate it.”

He taps that counter once before taking a seat. "I'll get that Americano to go."

𓂃

Devastation.

A hyperbole of sadness and a pure manifestation of self pity that overwhelmed you in the taxi ride back to your apartment. Your mind replayed the confusion that graced your co-workers friendly face when you told him you 'just couldn't work here anymore'. The genuine sadness in his eyes had stopped you dead in your tracks. It triggered tears that you didn't even know you had because he actually made you feel loved.

Real love, not the fake stuff given to you by this hulking man seated silently in the taxi beside you.

The interior is flooded with neon lights and myriad little stars are plastered in the black sky.

"Fix your face," he grumbles without looking at you, "You're ruining everyone's mood."

You went the rest of taxi ride, sulking up a storm, until you arrived at your apartment building where you didn't look at him once, as you rode the elevator up, up, and up.

While you were contemplating genuine suicide, he, on the other hand, was one of the happiest- if not the happiest man on the planet.

He told you to correct your mood but the truth is he loved it. He loved seeing you so juvenile, as if you were teetering on the edge of a tantrum he so badly wanted to correct. He loved seeing you sulk like a child. It set his bones alight with a deep, uncomparable need.

He thought pain was the only thing that got his dick hard.

Perhaps he stands corrected.

"Take off your shoes," he hollers in that same tone of authority once you've entered your apartment building. You're like a ghost as you turn to kick your shoes off at the door before lugging your body deeper into the house. He watches you drop your handbag right there on the floor, before you're throwing yourself on the couch, face first like a sack of potatoes.

He attempts to hide his smile as he walks in along after you. He undoes the buttons of his blazer as he stands above you, eyeing you under a quirked brow as your shoulders begin to wrack with your tears.

He shrugs off the blazer before folding it on the nearest armchair.

You flinch when you feel his hand on your foot, lifting it up to make space for his large frame lowering onto the couch.

That infuriatingly warm voice is back as he quietly asks "Why are you crying?"

He extends his hands to the small of your back, rubbing dizzying circles while you cry and cry. He's comforting you after being the very reason you need comfort in the first place. Everything about this man is one big contradiction.

"I thought you'd be happy about this." Your voice is muffled by the cushion. You don't look up at him.

"What on earth would give you the impression that I want you to work?" He asks.

"W-Well," you attempt to rain in your sniffles and he attempts to not visibly grow a boner as your bloodshot eyes finally come into view. You're a beautiful mess for him. Your lashes are wet and your nose is runny and he wants to do so many vile things to you, its eating away at his soul.

He wants to play this game for as long as he can though, this sulking game that he didn't know hed enjoy so much. He settles for setting his hand at the back of your head as you talk.

"If I have a job that means there's less stuff you have to buy for me and-" You answer, sniffling cutely as you sit beside him. You're staring down at your hands fidgeting in your lap while his eyes can't leave the pathetic tears running down your face.

He doesn't think when he says it. He's not thinking about anything other than your body. How little you become for him. How sombre and sullen and sulky you are.

"And what if I prefer it?" He asks softly, "Taking care of you?"

You shake your head, trying to remove his hand ghosting behind you but he only weaves his fingers into your braids, keeping a wonderful grip on your scalp.

"You had no right to do that- you had no right to make me quit."

He leans over, sufficiently done with all these terrible games you've played and forced him to play. He was so dangerously close to combustion, his hands were trembling as he reached over to undo the buttons of your work polo shirt. You let him.

Of course you let him.

"Who was that then? You kissed him before?" His eyes find you before moving back down to the t-shirt. His fingers hook under the ends of the shirt as he lifts it up.

"Who was who? My co-worker?" You sound tired and dejected and you immediately hug yourself when nothing but cool air drifts over your naked torso. He moves a large hand over your breasts, marveling at the sheer size of it, comparing it in his hands. Your body truly was magnificent, he realizes. And all he has done this whole time is try to kill it.

"That... child," he breathes before dropping his hands down to your work pants. He undoes the buttons and you watch him with an intense look in your eye.

"You have a knack for calling every boy my age a child," you say shortly.

"That's because you're young," he admits before tapping your thigh slightly. You lift your hip and let him maneuver you out of the khaki pants, never to be worn again. The smell of coffee still hangs heavily over your skin but it's significantly less intense. Right now all he smells is you.

"And yet," you showcase to him the latest bruise along your collarbone. It's big and angry and hid very easily under the polo shirt. However, here under the overhead lights of your apartment, he could see them, "Look at everything you've ever done to me-"

He groans then. He actually groans.

His eyes flutter shut as his legs spread a little wider and he sinks a little lower into the couch. "Fuck," he whispers, head swinging towards you as he flutters his eyes back open.

"Come sit on my lap?"

His request only catches you remarkably off-guard. “Excuse me?”

"I said come sit on my lap," he replies so defiantly it nearly has your brain short circuiting. You narrow your eyes, not trusting it.

"Why?"

"What do you mean 'why'? Because I'm hard and I'd like you to sit on my lap."

"Is this another game?" You ask, still remarkably on the fence about the man who had been the pinnacle of sadism, suddenly force-feeding you his affections.

"If you don't sit on my lap I will bring out the cane again, don't tempt me-" before your able to make a decision, he makes one for you- attacking you with his large hands before you're able to protest any further. He wrestles you onto him, forcing you to take what he gave.

You're made to straddle his left thigh as he pulls you in close until your tits are pressed up against his shirt. He buries his head in-between the crook of your neck and you croak out a moan as he inhales you sharply. He hugs you towards him, bouncing you slightly on his knees. The feeling shoots straight to your cunt and you immediately begin to groan on top of him.

With his head over your shoulder, you can feel his fingers grace over the marks he'd left before. The marks from the cane. It scarred your back. Moulding the flesh in his image. Branding you as his

"You're young but you can handle it." He whispers, swiping his thumb over your scars before drifting his hands down to your hip. He slowly begins to drag your hips forward and you gasp, immediately searching for something to grab onto. You settle for his shirt. Your fingers curl around the fabric and he lets you ruin it as he pushes you back slowly on his thigh. He continues these torturous movements until your cunt gets the message and starts acting accordingly.

He watches with a slow nod as you begin to ride his thigh like he's conditioned you to.

"Jeez-" It was the sheer intimacy of the actual act that had your arousal dripping out of you and onto his thigh. You'd never had sex with him- purely for sex. It had always been an act of torture or punishment that had always led to sex. But never something so sexual being done so blatantly .

"Fuck yourself on my thigh-" he whispers hoarsely, almost pained as he urges you along. "You can do it, can't you? You can be a good slut for me?"

An equally pained whimper seeps out of your closed lips as you begin to ride his thigh like your life depends on it- spurred on by darkness in his glare and the bulge tenting his pants.

When you notice him undoing the buttons of those pants you realize you are utterly done for.

"Good little slut," he mumbles as he mindlessly reaches inside his boxers to uncover his cock already dripping precum.

"Open your mouth-" he's already shoving his fingers inside, flattening your tongue in order to collect as much saliva as possible before spreading it all over his cock. You watch in complete wonder as he begins to fuck his fist to the same rhythm you ride his thigh- it's so mesmerizing.

"D-Does this count as a session or-"

"Shh-" he says, squeezing his eyes shut as his hand squeezes the base of his cock.

He fluffers his eyes open again, only to state deeply into your lust-filled gaze.

"I don't think I've ever cum inside you with the actual objective of getting you pregnant." His words completely knock you off-kilter and he needs to bring his hand up to your side to stop you from slipping off his thigh.

He continues to stroke his cock, picking up speed.

"I've only ever just... did it.”

“Pl-Please stop talking-” you mumble, “I’ll cum,”

He doesn't listen.

“I cum inside you 'cus it's what I feel like doing in the moment," you try to stitch every piece of this moment to memory. The wrinkles lining his manic eyes, smile wiped clean from his face, leaving only a serious, aroused look of an incredibly grown, strong man.

"F-Fuck," your hips stutter on top of him as you softly whimper. "D-Dad-"

It cracks out of you.

And almost immediately you wish you could take it back but you're already cumming. And your words have his eyes widened as he lifts his hips from the couch fucking his fist deeper.

"F-Fuck I'm cumming-" he admits oh so gravely as his eyes squeeze shut.

"Me too-" you whimper as your own orgasm splits through you, soaking his thigh and ruining the fabric further.

Beyond a few shallow words, guaranteeing you that you won't be annihilated, he almost never initiates affection. In fact, you weren't even really sure if he was capable of it yet here he was, confessing the only way he knew how.

You're cumming on top of him as spurts of his cum land on his chest, making a mess on his shirt. You're both breathing heavily in the afterglow. The fog has yet to clear.

You sit up slowly, body wracking with aftershocks.

"This was nice but um- I need you to be rougher-" the words barely leave your mouth before he's clamping your throat shut with his fist. He's breathing heavily with his eyes still squeezed shut.

"You don't need anything-" he reminds you quietly, "You don't make demands, you take what I give you."

He squeezes and squeezes your throat like he did his cock.

"You're like a baby being forced fed.” He says, “My baby. My thing to take care of.”

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game smut #the salesman #the salesman x reader #the salesman x you #the salesman smut #salesman smut #salesman x reader #gong yoo x reader #gong yoo

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atlantisplus · 1 year ago

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killerplink · 1 month ago

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SPRAWL

Pairing: Roy Harper x Female Reader

Plot: lazy mornings with Roy always start slow—coffee, cigarettes, and soft kisses. but you're half naked in his shirt, he's hard, and neither of you has any patience

Words: 7,8k

It's the sunlight that wakes you first, warm and slow across your legs, the bedsheets rumpled low on your thighs. You stretch a little under the weight of him, blinking the sleep from your eyes, and smile when you realize he's draped half over you like a big, clingy human furnace.

Roy's still asleep. Or close to it, anyway. One arm is slung across your waist, heavy and lazy, his fingertips curled just under the hem of the shirt you'd stolen from him last night like you always do. His face is buried somewhere between your neck and the pillow, warm breath tickling your skin.

He's only wearing boxers—hadn't even bothered with a proper pair of sweats—and you're in nothing but his old t-shirt, soft from too many washes, riding up too high on your thighs. Neither of you had the energy for much after last night's shared shower, anyway; you barely dried off before crawling into bed and knocking out mid flop.

You shift a little, just enough to adjust the tangled sheets, and his arm tightens instinctively like he can sense you trying to slip away.

"Mmhmm... stay."

His voice is rough with sleep, gravelly and low, and it rumbles against your shoulder more than anything. You hum and turn your head, brushing your nose against his soft hair before kissing his forehead.

"You gonna wake up eventually, or just keep crushing me like a weighted blanket?"

"Warm weighted blanket," he mutters, nuzzling into you with a sleepy smirk. "With abs. What's not to love?"

You laugh softly and let your hand drift up into his hair, fingers threading through the messy strands. He doesn't open his eyes, but he shifts again, this time slotting his hips more snugly against your leg. The heat of his body, the brush of his skin on yours, the low groan in the back of his throat, it all starts to melt into something messier, lazier, hungrier, but that always happens with him.

He finally lifts his head, red hair sticking up at every angle, eyes still half lidded as he reaches across you to grab the pack of cigarettes off the nightstand. The arm that stays around you slides a little lower on your body, possessive and unhurried.

"Really? Gonna smoke in bed now?" you huff, arching a brow as he taps one out and sticks it between his lips.

"Just one. Morning ritual."

He lights it, inhales slow, eyes locked on you as he exhales toward the ceiling. Then he shifts, leans in with a little smirk and a hand sliding up your bare thigh. "You want some, trouble?"

You nod, already reaching out to wrap your fingers around his wrist as he holds the cigarette steady. He watches you through sleepy eyes, smirking just a little as you take the drag, because you know damn well he's watching your mouth. You hold it for a second before blowing the smoke out smooth, letting it curl between your lips like you've done this with him a dozen times before. Because you have.

After a beat, you slide out from under the covers without a word.

"Baby," he throws his hands up, voice still scratchy with sleep, "where are you goin'?"

You giggle, glancing over your shoulder as you pad toward the doorway. "I'm just gonna make some coffee, dummy. Wasn't that part of the morning ritual too?"

You make sure to flash just the barest hint of ass before smoothing the hem of his t-shirt down again. Not enough to satisfy, just enough to tease, and God, the little sound he makes in response is so worth it.

The kitchen is quiet, sunlight spilling in through the windows like honey. You move through it barefoot, still warm from the bed, and start prepping like it's routine—because it is. You grab the good beans, the dark roast Roy actually likes but forgets he likes unless you make it for him, and load up the machine.

A few minutes later, your mug is already sitting there, coffee simple and black, just how you take it. No frills, no nonsense. His, though? That's a whooole thing. You pour his strong and dark, then dump in that ridiculous creamer he insists "just makes it taste better".

You stir it all together until it's the color of caramel, with just a little bit of froth on top. It smells way too sweet for a man who used to eat MREs on rooftops, but oh well, he's a complicated guy.

With the two mugs in hand, you head back to the bedroom, and God, there he is.

Still sprawled across the bed like he owns the damn thing—back against the headboard, legs stretched out, cigarette balanced between his fingers, smoke curling lazy in the sunlight. His red hair is a mess, and the tattoos on his chest and arms are on full display. He looks like fucking sin and comfort and home all rolled into one.

"You look good like that," you murmur as you step back into the room, handing him his mug.

Roy takes it from you with a grin, eyes dipping low to trace the line of your legs as you set yours on the nightstand and crawl back into bed.

"Yeah? Thought you liked me better underneath you, baby."

"I do," you shrug.

"Yeah?" he says, lazy and amused, eyes locked on your face.

You don't even get a second to nod before his arm snakes around your waist and suddenly you're yelping, a little squeak catching in your throat as he pulls you right into his lap. Your thighs part instinctively to straddle him, and you feel him shift beneath you—adjusting the angle, the position, just so—until his dick is nestled perfectly between your folds, already hard and hot through the cotton.

"Jesus, Roy—" you slap his chest, a soft, playful thud against muscle and ink.

"That's better," he nods, one hand sliding up the back of your thigh to palm your ass. "My pretty girl deserves a good seat in the morning."

You roll your eyes, trying to keep up the act, but you don't budge an inch. Roy stretches, reaching over to grab your mug off the nightstand with one hand while the other stays possessively on your ass. He hands it to you with a little scrunch of his nose, his expression one of pure judgement.

Roy watches you sip, but he looks like he's personally offended. "I don't know how you can drink it like that, baby," he mutters, flicking ash into the tray on the nightstand.

You raise a brow, deadpan. "Says the guy who dumps a criminal amount of sugar and creamer into it and still calls it coffee."

He just shrugs, all cocky and unbothered. "Tastes like a fuckin' dessert. I like it."

You purse your lips, take another sip, then look at him out the corner of your eye with that familiar, playful look, and he knows what it means.

He grins, brings the cigarette to your lips without a word, and you take a drag, deep and lazy, and when you exhale the smoke, you hum sweetly and purr, "Good boy."

That gets him instantly. And fuck, do you feel it—the twitch of his cock under you, pressing up against your pussy like it heard you first.

Your cunt clenches around nothing in response, slick already smearing the front of his boxers. Roy huffs a breath through his nose, grinning around the cigarette as he plucks it from his mouth and puts it out in the ashtray.

"Oh, trouble, you're so fuckin' lucky I like bein' praised."

He takes the mug from your hand with a little smirk, setting it down next to his on the nightstand like it's an afterthought—because right now, it is. What matters is you, perched in his lap, pretty and hot and so fucking wet for him already.

Both hands grab your ass, rough and greedy, fingers digging into soft flesh like he needs to feel all of you. And then he ruts up into you, lazy and slow, his cock thick under the damp cotton, sliding against your pussy and fuck, you're soaked, the friction dragging a little moan out of you before you can stop it.

Your hands flatten against his chest, fingertips brushing across the ink and muscle like you've done a thousand times before.

You lean in close, close enough to feel his breath on your mouth, your lips barely ghosting over his as you murmur with a grin, "Do you, baby?"

He hisses through his teeth, and that cocky little smile vanishes. The slap lands before you even register his hand moving, right across your ass, just enough sting to make you gasp, and you jerk against him, nails biting into his chest.

"Fuckin' brat," he mutters, low and wrecked, and then his other hand is in your hair, tangled up at the nape of your neck as he pulls you in, mouth crashing into yours.

The kiss is filthy, messy, soaked in want and need. His tongue slides right against yours, teeth catching on your bottom lip just to make you whimper, spit mixing as he devours you. He grinds up into you the whole time—slow, rough rolls of his hips that drag his cock against your slit, the wet patch between you growing hotter, stickier with every pass. You're panting into his mouth, rocking your hips to match the rhythm, desperate to get more, to get him inside already.

But Roy's greedy. He kisses like he's trying to fuck you with his mouth first, like if he licks deep enough, bites hard enough, you'll fall apart before his dick ever gets inside.

Your thighs tremble around his hips, breath caught in your throat when he sucks your tongue into his mouth like he can't stand not tasting every inch of you. One hand is still in your hair, the other gripping your ass, pressing you down harder against his dick.

"Feel that, baby?" he murmurs between kisses, "so fuckin' hard for you it hurts."

You moan his name, soft and sweet like it slips out without thinking—"Roy..."—and it's enough to make him hum like the sound alone gets him off.

"What's wrong, baby?" he says, lips brushing yours, smug and soft and fuck does he know. "Need somethin'?"

You nod, eyes fluttering, grinding down against the thick ridge of his cock, catching it right between your soaked folds. The friction makes you whimper, makes your thighs tense. He groans, dragging you closer with a tight grip on your ass, greedy fingers kneading like he's feeling you lose it.

"Yeah?" he breathes, "What do you need, trouble?"

You stutter, breath catching as you rock against him again, more slick sticking to his boxers. "Y-your... your dick, baby. Please."

And God, the way his lips part around a chuckle, like he lives for you begging like that. And it kinda shows, because you sound so fucking sweet when you're whining for his dick. Ever since the first time he heard you beg, he's been feral every single time you do it.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, voice rough. "Then take it, sweet girl. It's right there."

You moan, dragging your hands down between you, lifting your hips so you can shove the waistband of his boxers down, just enough to free his cock. And there it is: heavy, thick, flushed along the shaft with veins you can already feel, sticky with precum just from grinding against your pussy.

It's long enough to make your mouth water, girthy enough that your thighs twitch around him, and he's got a slight curve, the kind that hits just right every fucking time without even trying. From the very first time he fucked you, you've been addicted—completely gone for it—because it's hands down the best dick you've ever had.

But before you can even sink down onto him like your body is screaming to, he grabs your hips and drags you back down, cock slipping between your folds again, grinding slowly against your pussy.

"I want you to cum like this first," he says, low and mean and sweet all at once, eyes half lidded and fixed on your face because he knows you'll obey.

You whine, high and breathy, and your first instinct is to argue, to tell him you need him inside already. But really, you should've expected this because Roy's a little shit in the morning. Teases you when you're soft and pliant, makes you work for it with that smug ass smile and those hands that never stop grabbing and guiding and owning.

So you don't protest. You just whimper as his cock slides through your folds, catching on your swollen clit, dragging slick from tip to base. You're soaked, leaving his dick shiny with it, making the drag dirtier, the grind deeper.

You lean in again, lips parted, and he meets you halfway, tongue already pushing into your mouth like he needs more of you. The kiss is slower, wetter, lips parting and meeting again with sloppy little sounds as your hips roll over his cock and your cunt starts clenching down on nothing. His tongue licks into you deep, breath ragged as he keeps grinding your pussy against him, and you swear you could cum just like this, just from the pressure, the mess, the weight of it all.

"Fuckin' hot," he murmurs into your mouth. "So fuckin' wet for me. You gonna make a mess on my dick, baby?"

Your moans are getting higher, whimpers spilling past your lips with every grind, every wet little slide of your pussy over his cock. You're soaked—fucking drenched—and it's loud, those slick little noises echoing in the room, obscene and shameless and so goddamn perfect that Roy swears under his breath.

"Fuck, listen to you," he rasps, hands gripping your ass as he rocks you down harder. "You hear that? That's you makin' a mess on my dick."

Your thighs are shaking, hips stuttering, and he knows you're close. He knows your body like his own fucking name, knows how you fall apart when he talks like that, touches you just right, kisses you like you're his whole fucking world. So he gives it to you, everything you need like he always does.

"That's it, pretty thing," he coos, eyes locked to your face. "That's my good fuckin' girl."

Your breath shudders and your hips jolt forward, and that's when he knows—you're gone, right on the edge, barely holding on.

But he's had enough of the fabric in the way. With one tug, he yanks the shirt up and over your head, tossing it somewhere on the floor without looking, too busy staring at you, bare and flushed and whimpering on top of him. One hand comes up to grab at your tits, thumb swiping over your nipple as his other slides up to squeeze and tease the other.

You lean back just enough to give him more to see, bracing yourself on his thighs, your nails digging into his skin as you grind your pussy over his cock, messier, needier, slick just everywhere. He watches the way your folds spread around the thick head of his dick, how your clit catches with every pass, sees the way you're using him, and it does something to him.

He moans, low and rough. "Jesus, baby... look at you."

And fuck, he loves seeing you like this. Loves how you never hold back, how you've been bold from the very beginning, if he's being honest. From the moment you straddled his lap for the first time and whispered filthy shit in his ear like you owned him. From that first kiss, with that pretty mouth that could ruin a man, looking him dead in the eyes and telling him you were gonna ride him until he couldn't walk. And you did.

That boldness? That fire? It still wrecks him. Because you're here, back arched, tits in his hands, soaking his dick with every grind, desperate and flushed and fucked out and somehow still in control. Using him to get yourself off like it's your right, like he's yours to ruin. And he fucking is.

"You gonna cum for me like this, baby?" he breathes, voice wrecked. "Gonna make a mess on my dick before I even get it inside you?"

"Y-yeah," you whimper, voice all breathless and trembling as your hips grind harder, rougher, rubbing your clit against the thick, slippery slide of his cock.

"Yeah?" Roy breathes, and there's that little cocky tilt to his voice again, low and smug and wrecked at the same time.

His chest is heaving hard, his hands are still on your tits, and then he pinches your nipples, thumbs rolling the peaks between his fingers, just the way you like, just how he knows it drives you crazy, and it's over.

Your mouth drops open on a gasp, a moan caught in your throat as your body jolts—hips stuttering forward, thighs trembling as your pussy clenches hard around nothing and you cum, just like that, soaking his dick in a hot, messy wave. Slick coats his cock, spreads down his shaft, makes it filthier, wetter as you keep grinding through it, riding it out like you can't stop.

You're panting, keening, nails biting into his thighs, tits bouncing under his hands as your whole body shakes through it, and Roy is fucking feral underneath you—watching, feeling, losing it.

Because your pussy when you cum? It's fucking unreal. Hot and soaked and clenching so hard like it's desperate for more, like she's trying to pull him in. And he fucking wants it. Wants to feel that perfect, velvety heat wrapped around him, wants to give you more, give you everything until you can't breathe.

But first he lets you have it. Lets you take your pleasure, lets you ruin his dick with it, lets you rub your sweet little cunt on him until you've wrung yourself out.

And then you lean in again, lips finding his, and it's not gentle. It's hungry, hot and wet and messy as fuck, your mouth moving over his with tongue and teeth, licking into him like he's the only thing you'll ever need. You're moaning into his mouth and he's groaning back, grabbing your ass with both hands and dragging you flush against him, fingers flexing hard enough to bruise.

Then you lift just enough—just barely—and Roy doesn't hesitate because he already knows what you want. One hand wraps around the base of his cock, soaked and slick and so fucking hard it aches, and he lines it up, eyes locked to yours, lips still brushing.

He pushes in, slow and deep, stretching your pussy open inch by thick inch. And God damn it, you're so wet. He sinks in with no resistance, just warm, wet heat and the sloppy sound of your cunt sucking him in. The stretch burns just a little, but it melts into that delicious, overwhelming fullness that makes your breath catch, makes your pussy flutter around him.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, jaw clenched tight, eyes locked on your face. "Greedy little pussy, still squeezin' me like you didn't just cum."

But he swears he's never getting used to this. To the way you take him like you were made for it, the way your soaked pussy hugs every damn inch of his dick like it's yours. Because it is.

You start to move, hips rolling in a teasing rhythm as you begin to bounce on his dick real slow, taking every thick inch inside you. You both moan like you can't help it, like it's a relief to be connected this way, hot and tight and right where you belong. Your fingers find his shoulders, nails pressing in just a little, and Roy groans as his hands squeeze your hips, guiding your movements, making sure you take it deep every time.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, voice all rough and sweet and ruined. "Just like that. Ride me slow, sweet girl. Let me feel that pretty little pussy."

Your lips brush his, teasing a little, and then—fuck it—you lean in and kiss him again. It's lazy and messy and hot, your mouths moving together like you've done this a hundred times and still can't get enough. His tongue slides against yours, slow and deep, like he's fucking you with his mouth too, tasting every moan you give him.

And God, the way you fuck him—it's not just bouncing, it's grinding down on every stroke, rolling your hips to make sure he hits just the right spot, just the way you like it. That slow build kind of fuck that's all heat and slick and needy little moans. His dick is so hard inside you, every stretch, every grind, every lazy bounce melting your thoughts into nothing. Because you fucking love Roy.

That smart ass grin, that cocky voice that goes soft when he talks to you. The way he's always got your back, always calls you his girl, the way he smokes like it's a personality trait but still puts the cigarette out the second you get needy. The way he holds you when you're falling asleep, the way he fucks you like this like he knows your body inside out and wants to ruin it with love every damn time.

He's it, you're sure of it. He's the love of your life. But his dick? Yeah, that's a very nice bonus.

Because it's thick, heavy, hot as fuck, and it hits that spot deep inside you every single time without even trying. You swear he was made for this—for you. Fills you up just right, keeps you stuffed and clenching and soaking wet, makes you feel every inch of him like your pussy can't get enough.

And the way he watches you ride him? Fuck, it makes you feel like the hottest thing he's ever seen.

"Look at you," he murmurs against your lips, panting. "Takin' my dick so good."

You sit upright as you bounce on his cock, planting your hands on his chest to steady yourself, and the second your body lifts—just a little, just enough to show him the mess between your thighs—you know he's looking. His eyes drop like gravity yanked them there, locked in on the way your pussy clings to his dick, and the groan he lets out? Low, rough, wrecked.

"Fuck..." head dropping back against the headboard for a second like it's too much. "You see that? Pussy so wet I can hear it, baby... you're fuckin' unreal."

Sticky little strings of slick stretch between your folds and the base of his dick every time you lift yourself up, and then you drop back down with a wet smack, taking him all the way to the hilt. Again. And again. Real slow, real messy. And every single time, he grabs at your waist like he's trying to ground himself, like if he doesn't touch you, he might lose his mind completely.

You moan, low and needy, because you can feel it too—every thick, aching drag of his cock through your soaked, fluttering cunt, each wet slide making your back arch. The stretch is obscene, just the right kind of hurt, and every blunt push against your sweet spot makes your belly twist tight and your legs tremble like you're about to break.

And God, you love being on top of him. You love the way he looks at you, all flushed cheeks and hazy eyes, arms tense from holding back, like he's one second away from flipping you over and pounding into you but is so fucking obsessed with the way you ride him that he won't.

You love how he watches your cunt like he's starving. You feel powerful—his, but in control, using him, soaking him, giving him the best fucking view imaginable. His cock sinks inside you over and over again, and he moans every single time, like it gets better each time your pussy swallows him whole.

"Goddamn," he pants, thumbing at your waist, squeezing the flesh there like he needs to feel you everywhere. "You ridin' me like you missed this dick since last night, pretty thing. Missed me fillin' this sloppy little pussy up?"

You whimper, your thighs shaking from how slow and hot the pace is, how fucking full you feel, and his dick just drags through all that slick heat like he owns it. Because he does.

You're soaked for him, dripping all over his lap, and you can feel it building again, that pressure curling low in your belly, tighter and tighter with every bounce, every grind, every filthy word he moans.

You start pausing every few thrusts, rolling your hips in lazy, slow circles on his cock, grinding on him just to watch him lose his fucking mind. You know exactly what you're doing, dragging your soaked pussy over every inch, clenching around him just a little tighter every time he twitches inside you, giving him that perfect squeeze that makes his eyes roll back.

Roy hisses, hands flexing on your waist like he still can't believe how good your pussy feels wrapped around his dick. He groans your name like a prayer, hips jerking up into you helplessly, chasing the friction like he's seconds from snapping.

"Fuck, baby. That's it... That's so good. Keep goin', just like that," he pants.

He leans in, mouth hot on your neck, dragging his tongue up the sensitive skin before kissing and licking and sucking hard enough to make you gasp. He groans into your throat, lips open, messy, leaving hickeys without a second thought, claiming you all over again like you're not already his.

He bites down just enough to make it sting, then soothes it with his tongue, sucking until it blooms dark under his mouth. One, then another, and another—he's marking you like it gets him off, like he wants you wincing every time you look in the mirror.

"You're fuckin' perfect," he mutters against your skin, hot breath making you shiver. "Gonna mark you up everywhere, sweet girl. Wanna see it later all over you."

You whimper, clenching around his dick, and he groans again, licking his way down, wet kisses and teeth on your chest until he gets to your tits. He doesn't hesitate—takes one in his mouth, tongue flicking fast over your nipple before he sucks hard, pulling the soft flesh between his lips. His other hand comes up, pinching and rolling the other nipple between his fingers, and your back arches on instinct, a sharp moan falling out of you.

"Oh God... Roy—"

He bites gently, licks, then sucks again, groaning low in his throat like your tits are his favorite fucking thing in the world. And honestly, they probably are, second only to your pussy.

"You're so good, trouble," he growls against your skin, mouth trailing slick and spit over your tits. "Fuckin' love watchin' you ride me."

"I'm so close," you moan, voice all high and wrecked, "Baby, please—"

He smirks against your nipple, that cocky little shit eating grin you should've seen coming, then lets his hand slide down between your bodies. He finds your clit easy—so swollen, so fucking needy—and starts rubbing you in tight, fast circles. The kind of touch that makes your thighs shake, makes your walls clench harder around his dick as you start to bounce a little faster, harder, chasing that high with every grind and thrust.

Roy's mouth never leaves your tits, licking and sucking and biting until your whole body is on fire. His other hand stays locked on your waist, dragging you down onto his cock with each bounce like he needs to feel you take every inch.

"You gonna cum for me, baby?" he groans, licking over your nipple before sucking it back into his mouth. "Gonna soak my dick like a good fuckin' girl?"

"Y-Yeah," you whimper, nodding fast, your voice all breathy and high.

Roy smirks, not even trying to hide how much he loves you like this, all flushed and fucked out, tits bouncing with every needy grind of your hips, your slick making a mess of his cock. He leans back in again, mouth greedy as he sucks another bruise onto the soft swell of your chest, groaning against your skin like he lives for the way you whimper when he does it.

"Yeah, sweet girl?" he murmurs, low and filthy, voice rough from sleep and lust and love, dragging his tongue along your chest before burying his whole face between your tits.

His stubble scrapes just enough to make your toes curl as he licks a long, hot stripe up the middle. His cock twitches deep inside you as he looks you over—your tits flushed and wet, your cunt squeezing him so tight, your lips parted as you ride that edge, right there.

You can't even think, can't fucking breathe as he finally pulls back, settling against the headboard again like he's gonna sit back and watch the show. But his fingers never stop moving. Still rubbing your clit in tight, perfect circles, matching the slow, sloppy rhythm of your hips as you fuck yourself on his cock.

And it's too much. Too good. Your head falls back, mouth open on a moan as it hits you—hard.

Your orgasm crashes over you, full body and intense, every nerve lit up. Your pussy clenches around him like a vice, hot and soaked, making his cock slick with your release. It's messy, loud, your hips jerking, thighs trembling as your voice spills into the room, gasps and whimpers and helpless little sobs of his name.

You swear you black out for a second, every muscle trembling, overstimulated and wrung out and soaked as you ride it out on his dick.

Roy's still rubbing your clit because he knows just how far to push you, how to toe that perfect line between pleasure and ruin.

You whimper, twitching in his lap, your body jolting every time his thumb circles over your swollen clit. "R-Roy—it's—fuck, baby, it's too much—"

It is too much. You're too sensitive, nerves all shot and overstimulated but it still feels so good, so raw and wet and filthy. He knows exactly what you need, exactly how to wreck you and put you back together in the same breath.

"I've got you," he murmurs, eyes locked on your cunt grinding against his dick, lips parted like he can't even believe how hot you look falling apart for him, every fucking time. "That's my girl."

He gives you a little break—just a little—fingers slipping away from your soaked clit, letting you breathe for all of two seconds before smacking your ass hard enough to make you jolt with a cry. The sting blooms hot and sharp, and you barely get to whimper before his big hand stays right there, gripping a handful of your ass.

His other hand snakes into your hair, fingers tangling tight as he yanks you down, crashing your mouth against his in a kiss that's nothing but teeth and tongue and filthy, desperate need. You moan into him, gasping against his mouth as he finally starts to pound up into you, hard and deep, his cock slamming into your soaked pussy like he's been holding back this whole time just to ruin you right.

And fuck, he does. He fucks you like he's starved for it, like he's been waiting all morning for this exact moment, for the chance to make your thighs shake and your brain melt right out of your pretty little head.

Every thrust hits home, hard and brutal and so fucking deep you swear you feel it in your gut. His hips smack up into yours, skin on skin, wet and obscene, echoing off the walls like porn you don't even remember putting on.

Your slick is everywhere—dripping down your thighs, clinging to his cock, stringing sticky between your bodies every time his hips slam into yours and pull back. You're babbling into his mouth, little gasped out curses and moans, your nails dragging down his chest like you're trying to hold on to something while he fucks you dumb.

And he loves it. Loves how messy you are for him, how wet, how your pussy sucks him right back in.

"Goddamn, baby," he pants against your lips. "You're so fuckin' tight—takin' it so good for me."

He shifts his angle just a little and Jesus, it hits something that makes you cry out loud, your whole body twitching as your pussy clamps down around him like it's already trying to cum again. He groans, eyes rolling a little as his hips stutter, but he doesn't stop. Just fucks you harder. Deeper. Filthier.

You cry out, the kiss breaking as your head drops to his shoulder, too overwhelmed to even keep up. Every thrust rocks through you, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room, your slick making it so easy for him to fuck in deep, the thick stretch of his cock dragging against your fluttering walls with every thrust. He moans into your neck, biting a little, panting into your skin, and you're just... gone.

He's losing it too, jaw clenched, muscles flexing, cock buried balls deep. You're so fucking wet, so tight, your whimpers and sobs against his neck making his hips snap up faster, harder, your cunt swallowing his dick again and again.

Fuck, he's close. All he can think about is how perfect you are, how good you've been for him this morning. Letting him take his time. Letting him tease. Letting him wreck you. He loves you like this, sloppy and sensitive, still shaking from your last orgasm but grinding down like you need another one.

"You gonna take it for me, sweet girl?" he pants, voice hot and filthy in your ear. "Gonna let me cum in that pretty pussy? Fill you up real good?"

God, he knows you will. You always do.

Because you're his, and your pussy was just made to take his cock like this—so desperate, so perfect, fucking down on him like you'd die if he didn't pump you full and give you every last drop.

All he can think about is how good you feel wrapped around his cock, how you always take him so well, even when you're shaking, even when you're crying, even when he's fucking you rough and deep and you're clawing at him like it's too much, but you never tell him to stop. You just take it, like a good girl. Like his good girl.

And you? Your mind is not even working anymore. Just one messy, broken loop of yes, yes, yes, please, need it, hips grinding down faster, sharper, chasing it with everything you've got. You want his cum. Need it. Want to feel it spilling out of you after. Want him to keep it inside you, kiss you through it, tell you what a good girl you are while he's still stretching you open and making a mess.

You're so fucking close again. And so is he.

His thrusts get all sloppy and desperate, hips jerking up into your soaked pussy with no rhythm anymore, just this raw, needy push of his cock trying to bury itself as deep as it can go. You whimper, mouth falling open against his skin, nails sinking into his chest, because you know that twitch, you know that exact second right before he cums.

"Shit—" he gasps, voice all rough and broken as he slams up into you one last time and stays there, buried to the hilt, deep and thick and so hot as he finally cums.

And oh fuck, it's so much. You feel every pulse of his cock inside you, every thick rope of cum spilling into your already soaked cunt, so deep you swear you can feel it paint your insides. And just like always—just like every damn time he cums inside you—you cum too. Doesn't matter if it's your first orgasm or the fifth, the second his dick twitches like that inside you, you're done.

You shake for him, whole body trembling as your pussy flutters and squeezes around his cock, sucking every drop out of him. Your hips twitch helplessly, stuck in that sweet, wet aftershock while he keeps you seated on his cock, his hands gripping your ass, strong and sure, keeping you right there—it's too much. Too perfect.

He's moaning for you, head tipped back, jaw clenched, sweat slick on his skin, muttering your name, telling you, "Fuck—good girl, such a good fuckin' girl for me," like the words can ground him.

Your face stays buried in his shoulder, gasping through it, barely holding yourself up, just moaning soft little sounds as you milk his dick with every squeeze of your pussy, rubbing your clit against his skin to ride it out, desperate for every last wave.

He stills deep inside, just like he always does, just so you can feel every twitch, every pulse, the way he stays thick and hard while his cum leaks around him and drips from your fucked open cunt. You both sit in it, gasping, trembling, the only sounds in the room your ragged breathing and the occasional, broken moan when you shift and squeeze him without meaning to.

You lift your head, and he's already looking at you—sweaty hair stuck to his forehead, lips parted, eyes soft in that fucked out, love high way that makes your heart ache.

Your lips part for him like it's second nature and he's there, meeting you halfway, his mouth soft but starving, dragging a low moan from your throat the second his tongue brushes yours. It's not rushed, not frantic, not even about sex anymore. It's just you and him, clinging to each other, greedy for closeness, for the taste of each other on swollen lips.

You tilt your head and kiss him deeper, tongue stroking slow against his, wet and unhurried. He groans into it, low and warm, and you feel it buzz in your chest like it belongs there. His hands stay on your ass and your waist, big and strong and a little shaky as they anchor you in place while your body molds to his, still sticky and full and flushed.

He kisses like he touches—possessive, filthy, loving. His mouth fits to yours with the kind of heat that makes you forget how to breathe, your fingers curling into the messy strands of his red hair as you moan into the kiss, thighs trembling from the aftershocks still rolling through your body.

He licks into your mouth like he owns it, like he knows you'll let him have anything he wants and more, and fuck, he's not wrong. You let him take and take, let him press you down against his chest as his tongue drags over yours slow and slick and hot because you know he gives just as much, always has.

Every wet drag of your mouths makes your pussy throb around his still hard cock, makes more of his cum leak out and drip down his skin, and he moans into the kiss at the feeling of it, at the warmth of your cunt keeping him soaked and buried deep.

You kiss like that for minutes. Just gentle and messy, tongues brushing, sighs slipping out between every press of your lips. The kind of kiss that says mine, even when neither of you say a word.

He sucks on your tongue a little, lets his teeth scrape your bottom lip, like he's tasting you just because he can. And every time you breathe out a soft little moan, he kisses you deeper, hungrier, like he needs it—like he needs you—his hands tightening on your hips like he might pull you in closer still.

When you finally break away, you don't go far, just collapse against his chest with a sleepy little exhale, your nose nuzzling into his neck. He's still inside you, still hard and hot and keeping his cum nice and deep where it belongs, and God, you love that. Always did.

His arms slowly wrap around you, his grip loosening just enough so you can settle into him without losing the closeness. His palms drag up and down your back in lazy strokes, fingertips catching on your sweaty skin but so gently. You feel him nuzzle into your messy hair, lips brushing your temple, soft and warm.

"Good, trouble?" he murmurs, voice worn down to that low, rough rasp you love.

You hum, a sleepy little "Mhmm," brushing your nose along his pulse point before pressing a soft, lingering kiss where his heart hammers under his skin.

It's sweet and lazy, nothing like the filthy mess you just made together, but that's the thing about Roy. He can rip you apart one second, then hold you together in the next.

Even with everything he's been through, all the darkness he's dragged himself out of, he still loves like hell—fierce and full and without hesitation. Like he's got something to prove, or maybe like he finally found something worth keeping.

And the truth is, he has. He knows it. You're it. You're the one who never flinched when you saw the mess, who took all his sharp edges and called them yours. So when he holds you like this, it's not just softness. It's a promise, one he plans on keeping.

You stay like that for a while, bodies tangled up, breaths slowing down, just feeling each other. The sticky warmth between your legs, his cock still nestled deep, the steady beat of his heart beneath yours.

He's quiet, fingertips skimming your back in slow, lazy circles, grounding you without a word. That's how he always is—fuck the soul out of you first, then piece you back together with nothing but soft touches and a steady hold.

He doesn't always say it, not out loud, but this is how he loves. In the way he keeps you close, the way he never pulls out too soon, the way he makes sure you feel safe, feel wanted, feel his.

Eventually, Roy stretches out with a lazy groan, reaching toward the nightstand for his pack. He barely gets the cigarette between his lips before you lift yourself up on his chest, all smug, and steal it right out of his mouth.

"Hey," he grunts, eyebrows raising before his palm smacks your ass again, less rough this time but still enough to make you jolt and giggle. "You little trouble."

You grin, licking his lower lip as you purr, "You looove me."

Another playful slap lands on your ass, his hand staying there after, kneading the warm skin possessively.

"I do," he mutters without missing a beat, that soft affection bleeding into his voice, all sincerity wrapped in that cocky Roy Harper tone.

Your chest flutters with it, but all you do is bat your lashes before he takes the lighter with his free hand, flicking it and bringing it to your cigarette, watching your face the whole time as you take the first drag, eyes half lidded, his own gaze soaked in adoration.

"Jesus," he says quietly, the barest hint of a grin tugging at his lips as you exhale slow, smoke curling into the warm air. "You're gonna be the death of me, y'know that?"

You smirk, placing the cigarette between his lips this time, giving him exactly what he wants back without even making him ask. "Worth it."

You sigh, all soft and content as you slowly sit upright on his lap, making a little pleased noise at the shift of his cock still tucked inside you. He groans under his breath, eyes flickering to your pussy, all wet and wrecked and full of him.

You hum like nothing is wrong, reaching lazily toward the nightstand for your coffee mug. It's only slightly warm now, but you take a sip anyway, licking your lips as you catch him watching you again with that filthy, soft kind of hunger only you ever get.

Then—just to be a brat—you roll your hips in a slow, slow circle, grinding down on his dick like you didn't just cum three times and soak him completely.

He hisses, head falling back against the headboard as he mutters, "Fuckin'—"

You giggle, sipping your coffee again as you tilt your head, all fake innocence and mischief. "Sensitive, baby?"

He growls low in his chest, one hand grabbing your hip. "Don't push it, pretty thing."

Your stomach growls, loud and rude in the sticky silence of the bedroom. You pause, blink, and then snort into your half warm coffee while Roy grins beneath you, all smug.

He gives your hip a squeeze as he says, "Wanna make breakfast, trouble?"

You set your mug down with a little clink, tilting your head as you smirk down at him. "Only if you bend me over the kitchen counter while I make it."

He groans loud, real dramatic with it too, throwing his head back and dragging his hand down your thigh like he's already imagining it. "Fuck, you tryna kill me? Breakfast's gonna take a while."

You giggle as you grind your hips down just enough to make him twitch inside you again, giving him your best sweet little shrug. "You could just say no, baby."

"I could," he grumbles, sliding his hand up your body and letting his thumb trace over your tits again, "but then I'd miss out on watchin' you try to flip pancakes with my dick buried in you."

You bite your lip, leaning down close enough to brush your nose against his. "I'd do it. I'd make them fluffy too."

"Of course you would," he mutters, kissing you, already halfway to dragging you off the bed and into the kitchen.

And well... breakfast did take a while because apparently, it's really fucking hard to flip pancakes when your man's pounding into you from behind.

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solsticehymns · 3 months ago

Text

walk me home?— campus part 2

james potter x shy!f!reader / college au / fluff / first date

summary: James has escalated his pursuit of you, including waiting outside your classes every day this week and cornering you for coffee. You're not too bothered.

a/n: i just have to preface this by telling everyone: sadly this is not the american college experience at all. i did a coffee date w some dude on campus before and it was insanely awkward idk why people say it's a good idea i felt trapped like fight or flight. not with james hehehe <3 enjoyy!! love, sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 1453

Somehow—against all odds, logic, and personal preference—you've acquired a persistent shadow. A tall, perpetually disheveled, insufferably charming shadow who, in just one week, has embedded himself so thoroughly into your routine that you're starting to suspect he’s memorized your class schedule.

You're barely a few steps out of class when James Potter materializes beside you, falling into step as if he’s been waiting all day for this exact moment.

"James," you say, shaking your head, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips.

"What? Not even a hello?" he asks, feigning offense, hand pressed dramatically to his chest.

You lower your gaze slightly, feeling the warmth creep up your neck already. "Hello, James."

His grin stretches wider, as though you've just given him a rare prize. "See? That wasn’t so difficult. Now, let’s talk business."

You glance at him warily. "Business?"

James gestures broadly. "Your schedule is looking suspiciously empty. It’s Friday. No more classes. Which means, by my calculations, you have exactly zero valid reasons not to come get coffee with me."

You open your mouth to argue, but James is already steamrolling ahead. "Now, before you refuse—consider the benefits. Free caffeine. Excellent company. Life-changing conversation."

You shift on your feet, suppressing the small smile threatening to form. "Life-changing?"

James nods solemnly. "I have testimonials."

You exhale a quiet laugh, looking away. His eyes gleam at the sight of your amusement.

"There it is," he murmurs, triumphant. "You like me."

Your head snaps up. "I do not."

"Oh, but you do," he counters smoothly, tilting his head. "You're trying so hard not to smile. It’s adorable."

You fold your arms, stubbornly attempting composure. "I haven’t agreed to anything."

James raises his hands in mock surrender. "Wouldn’t dream of forcing you, love. Just… strongly encouraging."

You glance at him, then at the path ahead, then back at him. He’s waiting, hopeful, expectant.

And maybe—just maybe—you don’t mind as much as you did last week. It’s a strange feeling, letting someone like James Potter weave himself so effortlessly into your routine. He’s overwhelming, yes, but he’s also… fun. And it’s been a while since you let yourself have fun.

"Fine," you sigh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "One coffee."

James beams. "Ah, sweet victory. Off we go, then."

The coffee shop hums with soft chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine blending with the murmur of conversation. The air smells of roasted coffee beans and warm vanilla, and the lighting is just dim enough to feel cozy. James, unsurprisingly, does not do things halfway.

Before you can even reach for your wallet, he’s already ordering—for you.

And not just anything. Your order. Exactly right.

Your lips part slightly in surprise. "How did you—?"

James waves a hand. "Lucky guess."

You narrow your eyes at him, but there's no real suspicion—just a quiet, fluttery sensation unfurling in your chest, something light and impossible to ignore, like the first pull of a current beneath still water.

James grins, clearly pleased with himself, handing the barista some cash before you can protest. "See? This is why you keep me around. I'm thoughtful."

"You're relentless."

"That's a secondary bonus."

You both settle into a small corner table, the wooden surface slightly worn beneath your fingers. James stretches his arms behind his head, impossibly at ease, like he belongs here, like he belongs anywhere. Then, with a wicked grin that does very little to put you at ease, he leans forward, eyes gleaming.

"All right, now’s the perfect time to tell me your entire life story. All your deepest fears, secrets, insecurities. Lay ‘em on me."

You let out a quiet laugh, stirring your drink. "That’s a lot of pressure for coffee conversation."

James nods, unbothered. "I believe in efficiency."

You shake your head, the smile still playing at your lips. "I think I’ll stick to the basics."

"Fine, fine. I'll lower my expectations." He rests his chin on his hand, watching you with an exaggerated intensity. "Start with your major."

You tell him what you study.

James blinks. Then, as if processing, his mouth falls slightly open. "Wow." His tone isn’t teasing—it’s genuine, almost reverent, like he’s truly impressed.

You frown slightly. "What?"

"You're, like, way smarter than me."

You let out a short, surprised laugh. "I doubt that."

James shakes his head, pointing at you as if making a grand declaration. "No, no, no. See, I do… numbers and spreadsheets and networking. But you? You actually know things. Like, real, impressive things. I'm a fool in comparison."

You feel the warmth creep up your neck, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "I think you're being dramatic."

"I think you're underestimating how impressed I am right now."

You roll your eyes, but it's hopeless—James is grinning at you like he's already won. And, honestly? You can’t remember a conversation ever flowing this easily, a date—if you can call it that—ever feeling this natural. You don’t really mind at all.

James leans in slightly, studying you, then smirks like he’s thought of something brilliant. "You know, I think this is fate. You feel these sparks too, right? Might as well start brainstorming names for our firstborn."

You nearly choke on your drink. "Excuse me?"

James tilts his head, completely unfazed. "I’m just saying—planning ahead is key to a successful partnership. What do you think? Something classic? Or are we going bold?"

You stare at him for a beat, then, with a completely straight face, say, "Oh, I’ve actually thought about this. Three kids. Probably two boys first, then a girl."

It’s James’ turn to blink. "You’re joking."

You stir the ice around your drink, unbothered. "I don’t joke about the important things."

James runs a hand through his hair, looking utterly delighted. "I knew I was right about you."

You huff, shaking your head, but there’s no hiding the way your smile lingers. James watches you, a little too closely, his expression flickering just for a second—like he’s caught on something more important than just teasing you.

He huffs a laugh, drumming his fingers against the table as you take the last sip of your coffee and stand. You hesitate for just a second, your heart kicking up a beat, knowing full well what you’re about to do. But you’re enjoying this—enjoying him—far too much to stop yourself now.

Without overthinking it, you extend your hand toward him, tilting your head with an easy smile—one that feels just a little too bold but not unwelcome. "Walk me home?" you ask sweetly; the sugar rush nearly stops his heart.

James blinks, caught off guard for the briefest moment, before his entire face lights up. His grin is immediate, wide, and entirely unfiltered—like you’ve just handed him the world on a silver platter. "Oh, absolutely. Best offer I’ve had all day."

His fingers wrap around yours, warm and steady, as he rises to his feet, still beaming like an idiot.

You roll your eyes but don’t pull away as he falls into step beside you, his usual effortless confidence radiating off of him. The walk back is unhurried, the conversation dipping into easy, meaningless things—complaints about professors, half-hearted debates over the best late-night food spots, James’ ongoing theory that the campus squirrels are running some kind of underground empire.

When you finally reach your building, he rocks back on his heels, hands shoved into his pockets, watching you with something unreadable in his expression.

"So," he muses, eyes glinting mischievously, "any chance I can charm you into another date?"

You arch a brow. "Since when was this a date?"

James gasps, pressing a hand over his chest like you’ve just wounded him. "Hey—unfair. You let me buy you coffee, we had riveting conversation, and I made you laugh at least four times."

"Three times," you correct, though you both know it was more.

He tuts, shaking his head. "Should’ve been four. I’ll have to try harder next time."

You scoff, but it’s half-hearted, the corners of your lips twitching upward. "You never actually declared it to be a date."

He leans in slightly, voice dropping into something smoother, something undeniably teasing. "I can declare the next one, if you’d like. Make it official."

Your stomach flutters, traitorous. "I’ll think about it."

James beams like that’s a victory. "I’ll take it."

He steps back, tossing you a wink as he starts down the path. "Don't miss me too much, love."

You linger at the door for just a second too long, watching him go before finally slipping inside—warm in a way that has nothing to do with the coffee.

And maybe, just maybe, already looking forward to the next time he tries to charm you into another one.

☀️🌻 masterlist

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reiding-writing · 2 months ago

Note

Congrats on 3k lovely!!! For your celebration may I request

1. ❛ how can you be so smart yet so dumb at the same time? ❜

2. them getting angry on ur behalf

3. Maybe boyband Spencer but honestly happy with any

This is such a fun idea!! Love your writing x

SERIOUSLY, SPENCER? /spencer reid/

“how can you be so smart yet so dumb at the same time?”

them getting angry on ur behalf.

s5! spencer x gn! reader 1.0k flangst event masterlist. main masterlist.

You’ve always admired Spencer’s intelligence. His mind is like a machine, constantly whirring, processing, analysing, and spitting out facts at a speed most people can’t keep up with. But for someone so brilliant, he can be completely oblivious.

And right now, it’s driving you insane.

The two of you are at a coffee shop near the BAU, grabbing a quick break between cases. It was your idea—Spencer has a bad habit of overworking himself, so you figured some fresh air and caffeine might help. The shop is warm, the scent of roasted coffee beans filling the air as you sip your drink. It should be relaxing. Should be.

But the barista, a guy with slicked-back hair and a condescending smirk, is ruining it.

He’s been making snide comments toward Spencer for the past five minutes, and your best friend doesn’t even seem to notice.

Spencer, of course, is just being his usual self—rambling about some obscure psychology study that somehow relates to the flavour profiles of different coffee beans. He’s excited, completely in his own world, but every time he speaks, the barista’s smirk grows.

“Oh wow,” the guy interrupts, voice dripping with mock interest. “That’s so fascinating. You must be, like, super fun at parties,”

Spencer, being Spencer, doesn’t pick up on the sarcasm. He simply nods. “Actually, I don’t go to many parties, statistically speaking—”

“Shocking,” the barista cuts in, rolling his eyes.

You tighten your grip on your cup, knuckles turning white. You glance at Spencer, waiting for him to realise what’s happening, to say something, but he just keeps going.

“Well, large social gatherings can be overwhelming due to the noise levels and the sheer number of unpredictable social interactions. It’s actually quite common for people with higher IQs to prefer smaller, more intimate settings—”

The barista snorts, shaking his head. “Right. Makes sense.” His eyes flick to you, and he smirks. “And you hang out with him?”

That’s it.

Slamming your cup down on the counter, you glare at the guy, your patience snapping like a rubber band stretched too thin.

“Okay, what the hell is your problem?”

Spencer blinks, finally looking up from his coffee. “What?”

You ignore him, stepping closer to the barista. “You’ve been making fun of him this whole time, and I don’t know if you think you’re being subtle, but news flash—you’re not. So why don’t you cut the crap?”

The barista puts his hands up, mock innocence plastered across his face. “Whoa, chill. I was just joking,”

“No, you were being an asshole.”

Spencer’s brows furrow. “Wait, he was?”

You whip around to face him, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

He looks genuinely confused. “I mean, he was engaging in some light teasing, but it didn’t seem particularly—”

“Oh my god.” You stare at him, frustration bubbling over. “Spencer, how can you be so smart yet so dumb at the same time?”

His mouth opens slightly, as if he’s about to say something, but for once, he doesn’t seem to have a response.

You turn back to the barista, levelling him with a glare that could melt steel. “Apologise.”

The guy scoffs. “For what?”

“For being a condescending jerk to someone who was just trying to have a conversation with you,” you snap. “You think it’s funny to make fun of people for being intelligent? That says a lot more about you than it does about him.”

The barista hesitates, eyes darting between you and Spencer. When he realises you’re not backing down, he mutters, “Sorry,”

You don’t even wait for a real apology before grabbing Spencer’s sleeve and tugging him toward the exit.

Outside, the cool air hits your face, and you take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. You can feel Spencer staring at you.

“That was… unexpected,”

You turn to him, still fuming. “Seriously, Spencer? You really didn’t notice?”

He hesitates. “I mean… I noticed his tone was a little off, but I assumed he was just—”

“Being a dick.” you finish.

Spencer shifts uncomfortably. “I guess I just don’t always pick up on that kind of thing,”

Your anger softens a little. You know he’s not stupid—far from it. But sometimes, when it comes to social interactions, he misses things that seem obvious to you.

You sigh. “Look, I know you like giving people the benefit of the doubt, but some people don’t deserve it,”

Spencer tilts his head, considering your words. “You… seem upset,”

You scoff. “I am upset. You’re my best friend, Spencer. I’m not gonna stand there and let some idiot talk down to you like that.”

He looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, unexpectedly, he smiles—a small, genuine smile that makes something in your chest tighten.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

You roll your eyes, bumping his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Just—next time, try to pick up on it a little faster, okay?”

“I’ll try,” he promises. Then, after a beat, he adds, “But I think I like it better when you notice for me,”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling too.

#rule of threes ⟡₊ ⊹#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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drewizz · 7 months ago

Text

THIRD TIME - 02. peripheral

pairing ꕀ rafe cameron x reader

WARNINGS. none. (except that the yearning starts..)

WC. 1.2K

TAGLIST. open! comment or send in an ask

series masterlist. previous next

peripheral. (adj) related to the key issue but not of central importance

The soft chime of the coffee shop door was as familiar to you every morning, likewise your bitter espresso you ordered. It wasn’t just a part of your routine – it was your peaceful oasis. It was your moment of solitude and silence before the day demanded too much from you. With a content smile and a sigh, you stepped in the shop.

The comforting, aromatic smell of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries wrapped around you, quite a stark contrast to the beachy smell right outside the other side of the door. It was early enough that only a handful of customers lingered, their quiet murmurs of all different conversations blending with the low hiss of the espresso machine and orders being yelled out.

You had already ordered your usual, picking it up from the counter. But then a sharp laugh cut through the hum of the coffee shop.

It was him.

Rafe Cameron.

Of all the places and all the mornings, he had to be here. Leaning casually against the counter, his phone in one hand, looking all effortlessly polished and annoyingly at ease.

Your first instinct was to leave. No coffee was worth this. But then you caught yourself. Why should you let him ruin your morning? This was your place, your time.

You turned your attention back to the pickup counter, as if you were searching for your order. (There was only one drink on the counter.) Maybe, if you stayed quiet and kept your head down, he wouldn’t notice you.

But it’s Rafe, and Rafe always notices.

“Well,” his voice carried across the shop, loud enough to attract a few people’s attention. His smirk followed shortly after, all sharp and cocky. “We meet again. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You ignored him, busily shoving napkins inside your bag.

“Not even a hello?” he teased, stepping closer.

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t look at him. “I didn’t realize we were on ‘hello’ terms.”

He let out a soft chuckle, more amused than offended. “Fair enough. But you’re not very good at pretending I’m not here, you know.”

You turned then, fixing him with a glare. “What do you want?”

He leaned away from the counter, standing up, tilting his head as if your question genuinely amused him. “What do I want? I guess a conversation. Isn’t that what normal people do?”

You scoffed. “Normal people don’t start conversations by picking fights.”

His grin widened. “I wasn’t picking a fight. Just saying hi.”

“Right,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “Because you’re so friendly.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You’ve got a lot of fire for someone who barely knows me.”

“And you’ve got a lot of nerve for someone who barely knows me,” you countered back.

Rafe laughed again, the sound surprisingly genuine, though it did nothing to soften the edge of his presence. “I think I know enough.”

“Oh, really?” You challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

He stepped closer, closing the distance between them just enough to make your pulse quicken. “You’re stubborn,” he said, his tone low but teasing. “Quick to snap. And you're getting haughty for no reason.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And you’re arrogant, condescending, and way too full of yourself.”

He held your gaze, his smirk never wavering. “You’re not wrong.”

The audacity of his admission left you momentarily speechless.

“You don’t make conversation. You make trouble,” you muttered, carefully picking up your coffee.

“Trouble?” he repeated, mock-offended. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Not really,” you said flatly.

He laughed again, a low sound that grated on your nerves and sent an unexpected flutter through your chest. “So, is this you're way of proving that you’ve got me all figured out already, huh?”

“I don’t need to,” you replied, your voice sharp. “You make it easy.”

For a moment, his smirk faltered, just a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Then it was gone, replaced by his usual smug expression. “And here I thought you were full of surprises.”

With a roll of your eyes, you were heading straight for the door. However, you didn’t get too far.

“Hey, wait,” Rafe said, his voice stopping you in your tracks.

You turned halfway, one hand on the door, your patience wearing thin. “What now?”

His expression was oddly casual. “What’s your name?”

“You don’t know my name?” Your eyebrows shot up. Huh. You never realized that your name was never mentioned between each other.

“Not yet,” he admitted, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “But I figured I’d ask.”

Your pulse quickened – whether from irritation or something else, you couldn’t tell. “Why do you care?”

“Curiosity,” Rafe said simply, his gaze steady.

“Curiosity kills the cat,” you replied, your tone clipped.

His grin widened, and he leaned in closer, slightly dropping his voice. “Good thing I’m not a cat.”

You stared at him, torn between annoyance and the undeniable attraction of his presence. There was something irritatingly pleasant about the way he looked at you, like he was slowly peeling your layers as if you were an orange, trying to reveal a secret deep inside you.

“You don’t need to know my name,” you said finally, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. For a moment, the cocky grin slipped, replaced by something almost close to genuinity. “Fair enough,” he said quietly, surprising you.

But the moment passed quickly. His smirk returned, all sharp and confident. “But you know this isn’t the last time we’ll see each other, right?”

Your fingers tightened around your coffee cup. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Neither,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Just the truth.”

Your stomach twisted in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge. Teeth gritting, you answered. “If you’re done wasting my time, I’ve got places to be.”

He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. “Hm. See you around then, mystery girl,” he replied with another cheeky smirk – the words somehow seeming to be more promising than needed.

You turned without another word, pushing the door open and stepping into the crisp morning air.

The street outside felt cooler than earlier, a sharp contrast to the heat that Rafe’s presence always seemed to stir. You walked briskly, your coffee in hand, trying to shake the strange sensation away.

But as you walked down the street, his words stayed with you, echoing in your mind.

This isn’t the last time we’ll see each other.

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t a threat. It was just a fact.

And the worst part? You weren't entirely sure you hated the idea.

Back at the shop, Rafe watched you leave, the door swinging shut behind you with a faint chime. He turned back to the counter, his drink now ready, but he didn’t care about that for now.

He didn’t know why he was so intrigued. You didn’t seem like the other girls he usually spent time with – those who laughed too easily at his jokes and stuck around despite knowing better. Or the ones who listened too easily to what he asked them to do.

You were different.

Maybe it was the fire in your eyes or the way you never backed down even when he pushed. Or maybe it was something else entirely, something he couldn’t quite put into words.

Whatever it was, he knew one thing: this wasn’t going to be the last time he’d see you. All for some reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he didn’t want it to be.

And he liked it.

NOTES. second day and chapter teww!!!! ngl i was not expecting much interactions but i am already sososo thankful for all the love it's been getting!! very very excited to share the constant yearning and tension (unresolved...??) between rafe and reader.. stay tuuuned

TAGS. @urbrunettebombshell @rafesfavouritegirl

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augiewrites · 5 months ago

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“care package” - harvey

summary: the farmer drops off a care package for harvey

pairing: stardew harvey x farmer

word count: 855

The light smell of antiseptic enveloped the farmer in a gentle embrace as they pushed through the clinic door. Before moving to the valley, that smell would have made their stomach drop and their heart jump up a tempo. Now, their pulse still sped up, but it surely wasn’t out of fear.

Maru wasn’t the person they were hoping to see smiling at them behind the counter, but the girl was a welcome sight nonetheless.

“Good morning!” Maru gently closed the manila folder in her hands. “What brings you here?”

The farmer lifted the wicker basket hanging in their grasp, “Care package for the doc. Is he in?”

”He’s in his office—you can go on back,” Maru smiled and raised a knowing brow, “you know the way, right?”

”I’ll let you know if I get lost.” The farmer grinned at the girl as they shouldered the swinging door open.

Approaching the back of the clinic, the farmer smelled the coffee brewing before they heard the steady drip of the machine.

”You know it tastes a lot better when you brew it yourself, right?”

Harvey’s gaze turned toward the doorway, and the doctor sat up a bit more straight when he saw who was standing there.

”Hm, well, the machines are taking over, as you know.” Harvey pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he took in the farmer. “How’s your side? Is everything healing okay since we took out your stitches?”

The farmer sat the basket on Harvey’s desk, excitement lighting up their features as they lifted up their shirt, exposing the right side of their abdomen. “Oh, it’s fine. I considered those scar patches you told me about, but I think it looks kind of cool, no?”

Harvey examined the jagged pink scar running from just under their rib cage toward their hip bone. A light pink dusted his cheeks.

”Well, it looks as ‘cool’ as any scar can, I suppose.” Harvey’s mustache twitched in a smile for a split second before he cleared his throat and turned serious.

”You’re very lucky. Any deeper and that cut could have—“

”But it wasn’t.” The farmer dropped the hem of their shirt and busied themselves unfolding the cloth laying on top of the basket. “It was shallow, and I had the best in the valley here to patch me up.”

”We call that survivorship bias in my field.” The blush dusting his cheeks turned crimson at the compliment. “You really need to be more careful.”

The farmer smiled at his concern. “I know,” they spoke softly, “thirty days with no incident—a personal record.”

Harvey’s brow furrowed. “Your accident was well over thirty days ago.”

”Anyway, I brought you a few new products I’m trying out at the farm for you to try.

Harvey knew better than to push, so he turned his attention to the basket.

”Cranberry wine,” the farmer began, holding the green bottle out like a trophy, “I kept the blueberry for myself since you don’t like it as much. Hmm…let’s see. Oh! I’ve got pickled bok choy—I tried a new method this time—truffle oil, some roasted coffee beans, and I also threw in my old French press because you have got to stop relying on that thing.” The farmer gave the old coffee pot a look of distaste.

Harvey felt overwhelmed by just how much thought the farmer put into their gift, and he felt his admiration for them swell.

“I’m going to need the basket back, though. Hot commodity…” The farmer trailed off, finally looking up from said basket only to find Harvey already looking at them.

A wave of insecurity washed over them and they cleared their throat, darting their eyes down to the floor and back to the doctor’s.

Harvey snapped out of the trance he was in. “Th-thank you. You are far too kind.”

”Well, you did save my ass,” the farmer scratched the back of their neck, “I kind of owe you.”

”Oh, never.”

The farmer smiled at him. “It’s the least I could do, anyway.”

”It’s wonderful. Thank you, sincerely.”

Harvey and the farmer held each other in their glance, their eyes betraying a million words left unsaid.

The farmer parted their lips to speak, but was interrupted by the buzz of the intercom letting Harvey know his next patient had arrived.

”I’ll let you get back to it, then.” The farmer smiled nervously. “Sorry for interrupting your work, Harv.”

Harvey returned the smile, standing from his desk. “You could never.”

The two stood, neither moving toward the door.

”Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?” Harvey wondered who asked the question for a moment before realizing that the words came from him.

“I would love that.”

”It’s a….date, then.”

”It’s a date.” The farmer confirmed softly.

The pair moved toward the door, the farmer giving him a small smile and a wave before leaving the clinic.

The sun warmed their already burning cheeks as they headed for the dusty road back to their farm.

I guess a trip to the doctor doesn’t always have to be bad, they thought.

#stardew valley #harvey x farmer #stardew harvey #stardew valley x farmer #stardew farmer #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley fic #harvey x reader #stardew harvey x reader #sdv harvey x farmer #sdv harvey x reader #sdv harvey

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thecoffeetongue · 1 month ago

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New Post has been published on

New Post has been published on https://coffeetongue.com/gadgets-for-coffee-enthusiasts-must-have-tools-to-improve-your-coffee-game/

Gadgets For Coffee Enthusiasts: Must-have Tools To Improve Your Coffee Game

Gadgets for Coffee Enthusiasts: Essential Tools to Elevate Your Coffee Experience

Upgrade Your Morning Brew with Precision Coffee Scales

For coffee lovers who cherish the perfect cup, a precision coffee scale is a game-changer. This gadget ensures you measure your coffee beans and water accurately every time, bringing consistency to your brew. Most scales have a built-in timer, allowing you to monitor extraction time, which is crucial for drip, pour-over, or espresso methods.

Using a scale helps you avoid guesswork and wasting beans, especially when experimenting with new roast profiles. It’s an essential tool if you want to replicate your favorite coffee shop experience at home.

Explore the World of Coffee Grinding with Quality Burr Grinders

Grinding your own coffee beans just before brewing unlocks the freshest and most flavorful cup. A burr grinder, rather than a blade one, offers uniform particle size, which leads to optimal extraction. With adjustable grind settings, you can tailor your grind from fine (ideal for espresso) to coarse (perfect for French press).

Investing in a durable, easy-to-clean burr grinder elevates your coffee game by enhancing aroma and taste, making each cup vibrant and richly textured.

The Art of Pour-Over: Essential Kits and Equipment

Pour-over coffee brewing is a favorite among enthusiasts who enjoy hands-on process and control. A complete pour-over kit typically includes a dripper, a server, and a gooseneck kettle. The gooseneck kettle especially allows you to pour water at a steady, precise pace, which is vital for even extraction.

Using high-quality filters designed for your dripper and a clear glass server also amplifies the brewing experience by letting you see the coffee’s rich color as it drips. This method promotes full flavor and clarity, especially with single-origin beans.

Maintain Peak Freshness with Coffee Storage Solutions

Freshness is everything in coffee, and how you store your beans makes a significant difference. Airtight containers with one-way valves protect your beans by allowing carbon dioxide to escape while preventing oxygen from entering, which causes staling.

Opt for opaque containers to block light, another enemy of fresh coffee. Keeping your beans at stable room temperature avoids moisture and heat, preserving the coffee’s original taste for longer.

Master the Espresso with Reliable Espresso Machines and Accessories

If espresso is your brew of choice, having the right equipment is essential. While many espresso machines come with built-in grinders, pairing your machine with a separate quality grinder often yields better results by allowing more precise control.

Additional gadgets like a tamper ensure you compress ground coffee evenly in the portafilter. A good tamper enhances extraction by creating uniform resistance for water pressure.

To polish your skills, consider a milk frother or steam wand that produces silky microfoam perfect for lattes and cappuccinos. These accessories enable you to craft café-level drinks at home.

Smart Coffee Mugs and Temperature Control Devices

Enjoy your coffee at the ideal temperature from the first sip to the last. Temperature control mugs and smart warmers keep your drink hot without overheating it, prolonging its delicious taste.

These gadgets usually have adjustable temperature settings and long battery life, making them excellent for busy mornings or long work sessions. Some even connect to smartphone apps, offering control at your fingertips to maintain the perfect heat.

Reusable Coffee Filters and Sustainable Brewing

For environmentally conscious coffee fans, reusable coffee filters made from stainless steel or cloth offer a sustainable alternative to disposable paper filters. These filters are gentle on the environment and allow oils and flavors to pass through, resulting in a richer cup.

They’re easy to clean, durable, and cost-effective over time, letting you enjoy your coffee with a smaller ecological footprint.

Essential Accessories to Fine-Tune Your Brewing

Thermometers: Ensure water is at the sweet spot (195°F to 205°F) for optimum extraction.

Coffee Knock Boxes: Convenient for knocking out used coffee grounds, keeping your workspace tidy.

Cleaning Brushes: Keep your grinder and espresso machine parts clean for the best flavor.

These often-overlooked tools maintain your gear’s performance and prolong its lifespan, directly impacting coffee quality.

Finding the Right Blend of Tools to Match Your Style

Everyone’s coffee preferences and routines are different. Some prefer the ritual of hand-brewing with simple tools, while others embrace high-tech machines for speed and precision. The key is to choose gadgets that suit your lifestyle and hone your skills gradually.

Start with basics like a burr grinder and scale, then add items like a pour-over setup or espresso accessories as you explore. Investing in these tools enriches your coffee experience, letting you unlock complex flavors and enjoy perfect cups every day.

How to Choose the Right Coffee Grinder for Your Brewing Style

Understanding Your Brewing Method

Selecting the perfect coffee grinder hinges largely on your preferred brewing style. Different brewing methods demand different grind sizes, which means your coffee grinder should be able to produce consistent grounds suited to that style. For example, espresso machines require a fine and consistent grind, while French press brewing benefits from a coarse grind to maximize extraction without over-extraction. Before you even start exploring grinder models, consider the way you like to brew your coffee to ensure your choice will complement your process.

Types of Coffee Grinders: Burr vs Blade

Coffee grinders generally fall into two categories: burr grinders and blade grinders. Choosing between them will have a significant impact on the quality and consistency of your coffee grounds.

Burr Grinders: These grinders use two revolving abrasive surfaces to crush the coffee beans uniformly. Burr grinders produce consistent grind sizes, allowing better control over the flavor extraction and are highly recommended for most brewing styles.

Blade Grinders: Blade grinders use a spinning blade to chop beans at varying speeds and directions. The grind size tends to be uneven, which can lead to inconsistent extraction and bitter or weak flavors.

If you’re serious about your coffee, investing in a burr grinder is a smart choice to elevate your brewing game.

Consider Grind Size and Adjustability

One of the most crucial features to look for in a coffee grinder is its ability to adjust grind size. Depending on whether you’re making espresso, drip coffee, pour-over, or French press, your grinder needs to offer a range of grind settings:

Espresso: Ultra-fine grind for quick, high-pressure extraction.

Pour-Over & Drip: Medium grind to ensure balanced extraction and clean flavor.

French Press: Coarse grind to avoid muddy coffee and maximize immersion time.

Look for grinders with clear, easy-to-use adjustment mechanisms. Some grinders feature stepped settings, while others offer stepless micro-adjustments for precise control over each grind size. The more control you have, the better you can tailor your coffee to suit your taste.

Manual Versus Electric Grinders

When deciding on a grinder, you’ll also want to consider the type of power source. Manual grinders are hand-cranked, lightweight, and portable. They’re popular among coffee lovers who enjoy the tactile experience and want complete control over grind speed and consistency. However, they require more effort and time to grind beans.

Electric grinders, on the other hand, offer speed and convenience, making them ideal for daily use or when you need to grind larger batches quickly. Higher-end electric grinders often have advanced features like dosage timers, grind consistency controls, and quieter motors. If you brew coffee often, investing in a quality electric burr grinder can improve your daily coffee ritual.

Capacity and Size Matter

Another important factor is the grinder’s capacity. If you usually make coffee just for yourself, a smaller hopper and grind chamber can reduce stale grounds and keep your beans fresher. For families or offices, a larger capacity grinder might be preferable to grind enough coffee all at once.

Also, consider the physical size of the grinder and whether it fits your kitchen space or travel needs. Compact grinders are perfect for small kitchens or when you want to bring your own grind on trips, while larger models may provide more features but require dedicated counter space.

Additional Features to Enhance Your Coffee Experience

Many grinders come packed with added features that enhance usability and precision:

Timer Functions: Automate your grind time for consistent dosing every cup.

Static Reduction: Anti-static technology helps reduce mess by minimizing coffee dust clinging to surfaces.

Easy Cleaning: Detachable parts or grinder cleaning kits ensure maintenance is hassle-free, keeping flavor fresh and grinder performance optimal.

Noise Level: Some grinders are designed to operate quietly, which can be important if you brew coffee early in the morning or shared living spaces.

Budget Versus Performance

consider your budget. High-quality burr grinders can range from affordable to premium prices. It’s important to balance how much you want to spend with the performance you need. Investing a bit more upfront in a grinder that offers consistent grind quality and lifespan can save frustration and improve your coffee significantly over time.

Avoid the temptation of cheap blade grinders if you want consistently great coffee. Instead, look for entry-level burr grinders that offer solid build quality and reliable grind settings to start your coffee journey on the right path.

Final Thoughts on Choosing Your Perfect Grinder

Ultimately, choosing the right coffee grinder should revolve around your specific brewing style and preferences. A burr grinder with adjustable grind sizes, suited to your brewing method, will unlock the true potential of your favorite beans. Whether you’re dialing in the perfect espresso shot or brewing a smooth French press, the right grinder ensures you extract maximum flavor in every cup.

Take your time to compare options, read reviews, and consider how much space, effort, and money you want to invest. With the right coffee grinder, you’re not just grinding beans—you’re elevating your entire coffee experience.

The Role of Precision Scales in Crafting the Perfect Coffee

Unlocking Consistency With Accurate Measurements

For coffee enthusiasts, achieving the perfect cup is more than just a ritual—it’s a precise science. One critical tool that elevates coffee-making from guesswork to mastery is the precision scale. These compact devices ensure that you measure your coffee grounds and water with impeccable accuracy, helping you create a consistent taste every single time.

Without a precision scale, coffee preparation often relies on approximate estimates. This approach can lead to variations in strength, flavor, and extraction, leaving you with unpredictable outcomes. A scale allows you to measure your coffee dose down to the gram, guaranteeing the exact recipe is followed.

Why Precision Scales are a Game-Changer

When brewing coffee, precision matters in two main areas: the coffee grounds and the water. Coffee beans differ in density, roast level, and grind size, impacting how they release flavors when brewed. Meanwhile, the amount of water used influences extraction time and intensity. Using a scale to weigh both ingredients means you can tailor each brew to your preferred strength and flavor profile.

For example, the standard coffee-to-water ratio is roughly 1:16 by weight. That means for every gram of coffee, you use 16 grams of water. By relying on volume measurements like tablespoons alone, you risk inaccuracies due to bean size or grind density. When you switch to grams measured on a precision scale, these variables become negligible and your coffee achieves peak flavor clarity.

Features to Look for in a Coffee Scale

If you’re considering adding a precision scale to your coffee toolkit, certain features enhance usability and functionality:

High Precision: Look for a scale accurate to 0.1 grams or better, as subtle differences can impact taste.

Built-in Timer: Many scales include timers to track brew duration, essential for pour-over or espresso methods.

Tare Function: This allows you to zero out the container’s weight so you measure coffee grounds without including the vessel.

Compact and Durable: A small footprint with sturdy construction means the scale fits seamlessly in your coffee setup.

Backlit Display: Easy readability in various lighting conditions helps maintain accuracy.

Transforming Brewing Methods with Scales

A precision scale becomes invaluable regardless of your preferred brewing style:

Pour-Over Coffee

The slow, controlled pouring of water over coffee grounds will only yield the ideal extraction with precise measurements. A scale combined with a timer helps you control water volume and flow rate, influencing the coffee’s acidity and body.

French Press

For French press lovers, overstepping on coffee or water quantities can result in a weak or overly bitter brew. Weighing ingredients ensures the balance needed for the full-bodied texture that defines this method.

Espresso

Espresso demands the tightest control over dose and yield. Inconsistent grounds weight leads to uneven pressure and extraction, producing crema without the desired flavor depth. Precision scales give baristas the tool to fine-tune their shot size for excellence.

Achieving Repeatable Excellence at Home

Using a precision scale empowers you to record the exact amounts you use for every cup. This documentation means you can replicate your best brews repeatedly or adjust variables in a controlled manner to find new flavor dimensions.

Many coffee connoisseurs maintain brew journals where they log weights, grind size, water temperature, and timing. The scale is the cornerstone of this detailed tracking process. When you adopt this level of attention to detail, your coffee game naturally improves and your appreciation deepens.

Maintaining Your Precision Scale

To ensure your scale remains reliable, it’s a good idea to:

Calibrate it periodically using known weights.

Keep it clean and dry, wiping spills promptly.

Avoid exceeding the weight limits specified by the manufacturer.

Keeping your scale in optimal condition will guarantee accuracy and longevity, making it a lasting partner in your coffee journey.

Enhancing Coffee Experiences Beyond Measurement

While the precision scale is a small gadget, its impact on your coffee experience is immense. It encourages mindfulness, turning coffee brewing into a deliberate, enjoyable process where you hone your skills and experiment confidently.

Choosing the right scale tailored to your brewing style and integrating it into your daily routine elevates every cup. You’ll discover subtle flavors previously masked by inconsistent brewing, revealing the true character of your coffee beans.

Investing in a precision scale is a simple yet powerful way to boost your coffee expertise. With improved accuracy, consistent results, and detailed control, you can craft the perfect cup every time, delighting your palate and impressing friends and family alike.

Innovative Brewing Devices That Transform Your Daily Coffee Ritual

For coffee lovers looking to elevate their daily brew, embracing innovative brewing devices can make all the difference. Instead of settling for the usual drip coffee maker or instant coffee sachets, you can transform your morning ritual into a delightful experience that awakens your senses and brings out the best flavors in every cup.

Smart Coffee Makers with Precision Brewing

Modern technology has flooded the market with smart coffee machines that let you personalize your brew with precision. These devices connect to your smartphone, allowing you to schedule your brewing time, adjust strength, and even monitor water temperature. Because the flavor of coffee largely depends on water temperature and extraction time, such precision can significantly enhance your cup’s taste.

Look for models featuring built-in grinders or customizable profiles, so you can experiment with different beans and flavors regularly. Not only do these smart coffee makers bring convenience, but they also help preserve the intricate aromas and flavor profiles of specialty coffee, making sure your brew is fresh every time.

Aeropress: The Portable Powerhouse

A favorite among coffee enthusiasts who crave both flavor and portability is the Aeropress. This device uses air pressure to push water through coffee grounds rapidly. The result? A rich, smooth, and robust cup of coffee that can rival espresso but requires no bulky machines.

The Aeropress is versatile and easy to clean, making it perfect whether you’re brewing for one or two people. Its design encourages experimentation with grind size, brew time, and water temperature. If you are keen on mastering your coffee craft, this gadget allows you to fine-tune your process until you find your signature cup.

Electric Burr Grinders: Unlocking Freshness

The foundation of a great coffee lies in freshly ground beans. Unlike standard blade grinders that chop beans inconsistently, electric burr grinders crush beans to a uniform size, which ensures an even extraction and richer taste.

Using an electric burr grinder, you can select specific grind sizes suitable for various brewing methods—whether it’s coarse for French press or finely ground for espresso. For coffee enthusiasts who want to fully experience the nuances of different beans, investing in a quality grinder elevates each cup’s flavor and aroma dramatically.

Cold Brew Coffee Makers: Smooth and Refreshing

Cold brew coffee makers have changed how many enjoy coffee, especially during warmer months. This method involves steeping coffee grounds in cold water over an extended period, usually 12 to 24 hours, resulting in a smooth, low-acidity brew perfect for iced coffee lovers.

Innovative cold brew devices often include integrated filtration systems for easy brewing and cleanup. They also vary in capacity, so you can brew a single serving or a large batch to keep in your fridge. For those who appreciate a mellow yet bold coffee flavor, these makers are a must-have addition to the kitchen arsenal.

Pour-over Coffee Sets: Artisanal Precision at Home

Pour-over coffee has become synonymous with craftsmanship and intentionality. This brewing method lets you control every variable—water temperature, pouring speed, and bloom time—resulting in a clean, bright, and complex cup.

Innovative pour-over sets today are crafted from materials like glass, ceramic, or stainless steel and include features like drip stop valves and ergonomic designs that facilitate a perfect pour. Pair these with a gooseneck kettle, which provides steady and precise water flow, and you’ll truly feel like a barista in your own home.

Temperature-Controlled Kettles: Steady Heat for Perfect Extraction

Water temperature may be the most overlooked factor in coffee brewing, yet it has a huge impact on flavor extraction. Temperature-controlled electric kettles provide the ability to heat your water to the ideal range for your chosen coffee method—usually between 195°F and 205°F (90°C to 96°C).

With an integrated thermometer and auto-shutoff features, these kettles eliminate guesswork and prevent overheating, preserving delicate coffee notes. They’re especially vital for pour-over and Aeropress fans who rely on consistent water temperature throughout their brewing process.

Reusable Coffee Filters: Eco-Friendly Brewing

While paper filters are common, they can strip coffee oils that enhance flavor and contribute to environmental waste. Many coffee enthusiasts now opt for reusable stainless steel or cloth filters, which allow more oils and micro-grounds through, resulting in a richer brew.

Reusable filters not only bring out fuller flavor but also reduce waste, making them the perfect addition for the eco-conscious coffee drinker seeking better taste and sustainability.

Essential Accessories to Complement Your Tools

Beyond the main brewing devices, some accessories can further improve your coffee experience:

Digital Coffee Scale: Accurately measure coffee grounds and water for consistent brews every time.

Milk Frother: Create creamy, cafe-style lattes and cappuccinos at home with ease.

Bean Storage Containers: Keep your coffee fresh longer with airtight and opaque containers that protect from light and air.

These innovative gadgets into your daily routine not only improves the quality of your coffee but also turns every cup into an enjoyable ritual. Each device helps you explore coffee’s complexities and customize your brew to match your taste perfectly. Whether you prioritize convenience, flavor, or sustainability, the right coffee tools can make your mornings more flavorful and fulfilling.

Maintaining and Cleaning Your Coffee Gadgets for Optimal Performance

Why Regular Care Matters for Your Coffee Tools

Keeping your coffee gadgets clean and well-maintained not only extends their lifespan but also ensures every cup you brew tastes its best. Residue from oils, coffee grounds, and minerals from water can build up over time, affecting the flavor and performance of your equipment. Imagine grinding beans with a dull, clogged grinder or sipping espresso from a machine with stale buildup—it simply doesn’t compare to a fresh, clean brew.

Daily Cleaning Habits to Keep Your Coffee Gear Ready

Making cleaning part of your daily routine is key to getting the most out of your coffee gadgets. After each use, take a moment to:

Clean coffee grinders: Brush out leftover grounds inside the grinder and wipe down external surfaces with a dry or slightly damp cloth. Avoid using water on electrical parts to prevent damage.

Rinse drippers and filters: Disposable filters should be discarded immediately, while reusable ones need a good rinse and occasional scrubbing with a gentle detergent.

Empty and rinse espresso machine portafilters: Remove used coffee grounds and rinse the portafilter and basket under warm water to prevent oil buildup that can turn bitter.

Wipe down coffee makers and kettles: Wipe external surfaces with a damp cloth, removing any spills or splashes to avoid sticky spots or corrosion.

Deep Cleaning: A Must-Do for Longevity and Flavor

Weekly or bi-weekly deep cleaning routines help eliminate stubborn grease and mineral deposits. Here’s how to tackle common coffee gadgets:

Cleaning Your Coffee Grinder Thoroughly

Over time, coffee oils accumulate inside the grinder, making your coffee taste rancid. To clean it deeply:

Disassemble: Remove the hopper and burrs as per the manufacturer’s instructions.

Use grinder cleaning tablets: Run specially designed tablets through your grinder to absorb oils and residue.

Brush and wipe: Use a soft brush or cloth to clean burr surfaces and the chamber where coffee grinds collect.

Descaling Your Espresso Machine

Minerals from water can build up inside your espresso machine and kettle, affecting heat and taste. Descaling dissolves these deposits:

Choose a descaling solution: Use either a commercial descaler or natural vinegar mixed with water.

Run the solution through the machine: Follow your espresso maker’s instructions carefully to avoid damage.

Flush with clean water: Run several cycles with fresh water afterward to remove residue and taste.

Maintaining Coffee Drippers and Pour-Over Devices

Coffee drippers like Chemex, V60, or other pour-over setups benefit from gentle but thorough cleaning:

Soak in warm, soapy water: Use mild detergent to clean off the coffee oils.

Rinse thoroughly: Make sure no soap traces are left to avoid altering the coffee flavor.

Check filters regularly: Replace paper filters after each use and clean reusable metal or cloth filters with boiling water.

Best Practices for Keeping Coffee Gadgets Dry and Safe

Excess moisture is a leading cause of mold or damage in coffee tools. After any washing:

Dry all parts completely before reassembling or storing.

Keep tools in a dry, ventilated space, away from humidity.

Avoid using abrasive cleaning pads that may scratch surfaces or impact gadget performance.

Helpful Tips for Efficient Coffee Gear Maintenance

Use only recommended cleaners: Check your gadget’s manual for the safest cleaning agents and procedures.

Set reminders: Use calendars or apps to schedule routine cleanings so you don’t forget important maintenance.

Keep spare parts handy: Filters, seals, and cleaning brushes can wear out—replace them promptly to maintain top performance.

Invest in a good water filter: Hard water accelerates scaling, so filtered water preserves both flavor and machine health.

By investing just a few minutes regularly into maintaining your coffee gadgets, you’ll enjoy better-tasting coffee and a longer-lasting coffee station. Clean equipment brings out the best flavors from your beans and prevents problems down the road. With these simple care routines, perfect coffee is always within easy reach.

Conclusion

Elevating your coffee experience begins with having the right gadgets tailored to your tastes and brewing style. Essential tools like a quality coffee grinder ensure you unlock the freshest, richest flavors from your beans, while precision scales help you achieve consistency by measuring the exact coffee-to-water ratio every time. Exploring innovative brewing devices can transform your daily ritual, whether you prefer pour-over, espresso, or cold brew, making each cup a carefully crafted moment to savor.

Keeping your coffee gadgets clean and well-maintained plays a crucial role in preserving their performance and the flavor integrity of your brew. Regular upkeep not only extends the life of your equipment but also guarantees that every cup you make stays fresh and free from unwanted residues.

By thoughtfully selecting and caring for these must-have tools, you invest in more than just coffee; you invest in a richer, more enjoyable coffee journey. Whether you’re just starting to explore specialty coffee or already a seasoned enthusiast, these gadgets provide the foundation to improve your coffee game and deepen your appreciation for every sip. With the right equipment and attention to detail, each cup becomes a chance to experience coffee at its finest.

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