꧁ ୨ riya ୧ ꧂

I ❤︎ dilfs she/her || 18

[cu1tl3ader]

padmé moodboards ⋆ ♡.ೃ࿔*:･ 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

[juicykvnture]

NINTENDHOE

Dick Grayson x fem!reader x Wally West

tags: AFAB reader, oral f!receiving, spit, hair pulling, they’re both down bad, Wally’s a loser, college AU

a/n: press the x(xx) button to continue..

wc: 2k | masterlist

“No no no, this is rigged! I should’ve won that round,” Wally all but whines, his head hitting the back of the couch with a small thump - only to be met with an eye roll from you and Dick.

“Maybe you’re just bad at combos, man.” Dick scoffs under his breath.

“Maybe you’re both awful,” you mumble, shifting around to get a little more comfortable in your makeshift mess of pillows.

Both of them whip their heads around, staring at you like you’ve kicked them in the balls or something.

“..I won that round, though.” Dick stares at you, glancing down at the controller in his lap and then at Wally.

“I’ve never seen a Mortal Kombat match take that long, you’re both.. awful.”

“Okay, but I’m better than him.. I still won.” he reminds you, almost petulant as he stares down at the controller.

“If either of you two were any good, you’d still have your shirts on.” you point out, giving the two of them a once-over - Wally’s cheeks heating up under your almost scrutinising gaze.

You’re technically right, the three of you made a dumb bet.

Each time someone loses a round, they lose a piece of clothing.

The fact you’re the only one still fully dressed just proves your point.

“Seriously?” Wally’s lips purse into a thin line, staring down at his shirt and hoodie on the floor in a heap, awkwardly running a hand through his tousled red hair, “Is your goal to get us naked?”

“Course it is,” Dick interjects, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling - “she’s just a prude and won’t do it herself.”

He’s spouting bullshit and all three of you know it.

See, it’s not like you’re not willing to take your shirt off - you just haven’t had a reason to.

You keep winning.

“If you’re just gonna sit there and laugh at us, then there’s like.. zero incentive to keep playing,” Wally complains, reaching out to give your shirt a little tug before you swat his hand away.

Pinching your temples, you glance between the two of them with a groan - then up at the fighter roster on screen.

“..I’ll kiss whoever wins.”

You’ve never seen them lunge for their controllers so urgently - you’re almost convinced one would pull a real-life fatality on the other, far worse than the ones on screen.

Naturally, Wally has the red controller, Dick went for the blue.

With another sigh, you lean back a little as you watch the two of them choose their fighters - spamming the x keys so hard you’re worried they’ll get jammed.

And then it kinda dawns on you.

You’ve bet your mouth on a game of Mortal Kombat.

“No no no, what the fuck!” Wally whines, more than half tempted to thundercunt the controller at the poor TV - “He keeps rigging this shit!"

“I know my way around a joystick, unlike you.”

Dick’s snide comment makes Wally tense, burying his face in his hands - with a reaction like, you’d swear he’d lost everything dear to him, not the chance of a kiss.

“You owe me.” Dick almost sing-songs, caging you against the cushions like an oversized lapdog, unable to wipe the smug grin off of his face.

“He literally fucking cheated!” Wally insists, batting his eyelashes up at you as if that would change anything.

“Don’t be a sore loser, Wally,” Dick mumbles into your shoulder, not breaking eye contact with Wally for a second as he mouths at your neck, his hand coming to rest on your knee.

“Be nice.” your grumble snaps him out of it, along with a small yank into his messy black hair, “you won one kiss, not the lottery.”

“Same thing.”

Before you can get a word in, his mouth is on yours - his hand on your knee tightening and spreading up over your thigh as he angles his head, the grin against your lips unwavering as he stares at Wally.

There's something in the way he's got his fingers on your leg, thumb swiping over the inner seam of your shorts and making your skin under his touch.

“Cut it out!” Wally frowns, tossing a pillow your way before folding his arms across his chest.

“Watch and learn, West.” Dick huffs out a laugh, sliding his hand up your thigh to try tug at your waistband.

His laugh soon turns into a muffled yelp when you tug at his hair once more, unimpressed as you stare at him.

“The deal was one kiss, you’re getting too cocky.”

“But-“ Dicks brows furrow, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“No.”

That earns a small chuckle from beside you two, Wally hiding his smirk in his hand.

“Maybe you’re better with a joystick, but you lack in other departments.”

Dick grumbles once more, fingers involuntarily curling into the thin fabric of your shorts a little harder, not tearing his gaze away from Wally.

“Excuse you, I’m better at eating pussy than you could ever be.”

His defensiveness makes you snort, glancing at Wally who’s trying not to howl in laughter and then back at Dick.

“..he means a joystick on a controller, not a-“

“I knew that.” Dick blurts out, gnawing at the insides of his cheeks - too flustered to look at you or Wally for a moment.

“..I’m still better.”

“No the fuck you aren’t.” Wally’s brows arch, sitting upright, almost outraged.

No way in hell is Dick better at that. Wally hasn’t got a foot to stand on but his ego won’t allow it.

Sure, he may have the upper hand when it comes to a fighting game, but game when it comes to getting laid? No way in hell.

“Literally take a walk on campus and ask any girl.” Dick insists, his confidence in that department unwavering.

You’re just watching them at this point, watching their expressions shift as they throw jabs back and forth - far more interesting than some pixels beating the fuck out of eachother.

“The only thing these girls on campus will tell me is you’re a whore, Grayson.”

Okay, he can’t exactly deny that accusation but he doesn’t need Wally to signify it to him.

Dick’s face flushes for a moment, his hand still lingering on your thigh.

“You’re just an insufferable virgin! When’s the last time you talked to a woman?”

Now that catches your attention,

“I don’t mean to interrupt your little divorce here but are you fucking kidding me?” your sudden scoff shuts them up for a moment, the room silent.

Wally shifts in his seat, Dick clears his throat.

Neither of them says anything, their differences seemingly swept to the side for a moment before they both whip their heads around, staring at you.

“No.”

“Please?” Wally stares at you like he’s about to break down and sob, he’s got that sad puppy look down like it’s an art.

Dick isn’t far behind him.

“C’mon, just let us settle this.”

That’s all it took for them to coax you into this, your back now arching up off of the blankets.

You can’t exactly tell which mouth is which, not when they’re both desperate to prove something, Wally’s hands shaking as he holds your thighs open.

“Told you I’m better,” Dick pants against your pussy, his grin bordering on feral as he thumbs at your clit, your poor cunt already a mess.

“Nuh-uh,” Wally shakes his head, words muffled as he drags his tongue against you. He’s gripping your thighs tighter like someone’s trying to take your pussy away from him.

What he lacks in technique, he makes up for in enthusiasm.

He tries to, anyway.

His jaw is starting to hurt but he doesn’t care. Wally’s busy trying to prove himself to Dick - to you, desperately grinding his hips against one of the throw pillows.

“Uh-huh,” Dick mocks, nosing at his jaw as he slowly pushes a finger into you - just to hear you whine.

Wally shakes his head, his breath heaving - hands moving to paw at your hips to try and get you as close to his face as possible.

“I’ll make her cum faster.” he insists, barely sure who he’s trying to convince this point.

Dick huffs against your inner thigh, bumping the side of his head against Wally’s.

“That’s cute, I’ll make her cum harder.” he shrugs, dragging out that last word as he runs his tongue over your clit, “right?”

Dick probably expects you to back him up but you’re just too dazed to answer, staring down at them through glassy, half lidded eyes.

Wally just lets out a needy whine into your pussy, one hand moving from your thigh to try and shove his face away.

It’s hard enough that he’s trying to prove himself - Dick isn’t making it any easier.

“You’re doing it wrong.” He pants against Wally’s jaw, his free hand joining yours in his messy red hair to tug at it, forcing him to lift his head to look at you.

“You don’t wanna disappoint her, do you?” Dick almost coos, his grin only widening when Wally’s back arches.

“No,” Wally pants, grip on your thighs almost bruising as he stares down at your throbbing cunt, the embarrassing boner he’s got going on is almost too much to handle at this point.

“Didn’t think so.” Dick sighs, his lips ghosting across Wally’s flushed cheek as he guides his head down, the hand pulling at his hair guiding his face.

The shaky “fuck” you manage to slur out has him grinning, his grip on Wally’s hair tightening.

“See?” he murmurs, pulling Wally’s head away so he can drag his tongue along the inside of your thigh, his breathy moans muffled by your skin - “speed ain’t everything.”

Wally’s breath is coming in ragged pants, desperately trying to ignore the ache both in his jaw and in his cock as he desperately mouths at you - you doubt you’d be able pry him off of you if you tried.

“Shuddup,” he pants, the condescending tone of Dicks voice paired with your little whines making his head spin.

“Cmonn,” Dick mumbles, his lips brushing against Wally’s as he lets a small glob of spit land on your clit, pulling Wally’s hair back.

“You can just admit I’m better than you, it’s okay.” he sighs, voice full of fake sincerity - the sounds from both of their mouths against your sopping cunt beyond obscene.

It’s like you’re not even there, which is pretty fucked up considering they’re arguing over your pussy.

“Can you two shut the f-fuck up,” you manage to groan, one of your hands grabbing at Dick’s hair, the other at Wally’s.

You don’t care which one of them is better, as long as someone makes you cum.

Wally stares up at you, panting.

He wants it to be him so fucking badly, you have no idea.

“Sorry,” Dick glances up at you with a grin, strong hands quickly finding your hips as his fingers press into the sides of your ass - almost delirious as you desperately grind your cunt against his face.

Wally’s lips twitch into a shaky frown, barely able to from a coherent sentence as he cranes his neck up to try mouth at you again, only to be cut off by Dick’s mouth pressing against his - spitting your cum into his mouth as he stares up at you through his lashes.

Wally doesn’t even flinch, leaning his head back down to drag his tongue over a stray drop of slick down your thighs, chest heaving as he pulls back to look up at you.

“..no, no! I haven’t fucking lost,” he’s pleading, insisting.

“It’s best of three right?"

a/n: ..can I get a hell yeah?

thank u for reading!!! I’m very normal I promise

Dick Grayson m.list

[h4yden-skywalker]

hayden’s mullet era 🤭

[myspacecrybaby]

the teenage years i was promised…..

[anon-188]

tradition

pairing: clark kent x f!reader | genre: fluff | wc: 0.8k

summary: clark grew up with home videos. you decided to keep the tradition going.

warnings: established relationship, FLUFF, pregnancy themes (bonus), written in headcanon/multiple scenarios style.

- a/n: just a little something while i finish up my other works for the week! thanks for being patient ♡// (gif/photo creds: @olympain)

Clark often shared his childhood memories with you, little moments he held onto with quiet affection. You could tell how much they meant to him, the way his voice softened whenever he mentioned his parents or the farm.

So when he brought up how they used to film home videos—grainy footage, clunky camcorder, someone narrating everything in the background—you got an idea.  

You walked into the kitchen with the camera already rolling. Clark stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled way too good, completely unaware.

“It should be done in a few—” he said, then looked up.

His brows lifted the second he saw the camera pointed at him. A soft laugh slipped out, low and surprised. “What are you doing?”

“Continuing tradition,” you said, grinning as you zoomed in just a little.

“Tradition?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Picking up where your parents left off. Home videos—grown-up edition. We’re seriously lacking in flannel though, but we’ll work on it.”

That made him laugh, full and wide, his head tilting back slightly as it broke out of him.

And you made sure to catch every second of it.

One morning you pulled out the camera, letting it record as you stepped toward Clark’s side of the bed. The sheets were rumpled, his arm draped over the edge, morning light slipping softly through the curtains. His dark hair was a mess against the pillow, sticking up in a few stubborn directions.

He stirred at the sound, squinting one eye open, voice gravelly. “You filming me?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, smiling behind the lens.

A lazy smile tugged at his lips. He let out a low laugh, then shifted toward you, one hand sliding around your waist, hauling you back toward the bed.

“Wait!” you yelped, the camera slipping from your grip as he pulled you on top of him.

You laughed as you landed, tangled in the sheets and in him.

"Morning," he mumbled, pressing you closer to his chest.

“Good morning,” you whispered back. Then you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips—the kind that lingered. Somewhere on the bed, the camera kept rolling, quietly forgotten.

You hit record, camera aimed at the front door just as it opened with a soft creak. You were grinning already, half expecting to catch Clark mid-yawn, tie loosened, maybe muttering something about the coffee machine being slow again.

But the second he stepped inside, your eyes went wide.

“Clark!”

A streak of red and blue flashed across the screen as you gasped and fumbled with the camera, jerking it away just in time. The lens caught nothing but the trailing edge of his cape before it ended on a blur of drywall and your hand, Clark's low chuckle just barely audible in the background.

Of course you filmed the quiet days, the holidays, the special occasions. But Clark caught on quick—noticed how the camera was always pointed at him.

So naturally, he had to fix that.

You were standing in the doorway one night, camera in hand, watching him brush his teeth—shirtless, hair still damp from his shower.

He glanced at you in the mirror, foam at the corners of his mouth, and smiled around the toothbrush.

Without a word, he reached out, tugging you gently toward him. You laughed, stumbling a little as his arm wrapped around you. He took the camera from your hand with ease, flipping it toward the mirror until both of you were in frame.

“You’re supposed to be in these too, you know,” he mumbled around the toothbrush, voice muffled but amused.

You leaned into him, cheeks flushed with laughter, as he gave the camera a crooked little grin.

The camera caught everything—your laugh, the way he rested his chin against your head, the moment he kissed your temple, toothpaste and all.

And when you watch them all back—those quiet, flickering glimpses of a life stitched together with laughter and kisses half caught on film—he never fails to remind you.

Of all his memories, you’re his favorite.

⟢ bonus! 

The camera shakes a little as Clark adjusts it. You’re in the kitchen, one hand resting on your belly, the other reaching for a bowl on the shelf. Still wearing his oversized T-shirt.

He zooms in—softly, slowly.

And then his voice, warm and steady from behind the lens:

“And this one’s for you.”

A pause.

“That’s your mom. She doesn’t know I’m filming right now—she’d probably throw something at me if she did.”

He chuckles under his breath.

“But she sings to you in the mornings. Craves the weirdest food combinations I’ve ever seen. And she already loves you more than anything.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching him—and roll your eyes.

“Clark.”

“Just say hi,” he grins. “It’s for the baby.”

You shake your head, laughing—but your expression softens.

And then your voice drops, quiet and sure.

“Hi, baby,” you murmur to the bump, hand resting gently on your belly.

Then a whisper from behind the camera:

“You and her—my whole world right there.”

please do not repost, copy, or claim my work as your own.

• tag list: @sophiethelesbian @floufli @yeonalie

if you want to be tagged in my future posts, comment or message me! i’m happy to do it! :) just let me know if you want all works or just for specific characters <3

• links: masterlist | wattpad | summer request fest

[dollerinna]

YOU WANNA BE ★ HIGH FOR THIS

𖥔 ❚❙❘ㅤ 𝐅𝐓. 𝓖regory house ‪‪❤︎‬ 𝓕em! reader ‪‪❤︎‬ 𝓘ames wilson

𖥔 ❚❙❘ㅤ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. house claims scotch gets people naked 83% of the time. so you, wilson, and a bottle of whiskey are about to become data points tonight ❪ wc: 4k ❫

𖥔 ❚❙❘ㅤ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. threesome. unprotected p in v. spītroast. oral (m!receiving). alcohol consumption. groping. implied age gap (18+). lots of house-wilson banter. more goofy than originally planned sorry not sorry

You flopped across the couch like a ragdoll with its strings slashed, one leg hooked over House’s lap, the other dangling toward Wilson. The scotch had already wormed its way deep, a slow burn churning through your veins until your fingertips buzzed and your head floated two inches above your neck. But that was nothing compared to the heat simmering low in your stomach, or the way their twin stares pinned you down—focused, unwavering, and far too aware of the way you breathe, shift, exist, like it was their new favorite sport.

House lounged back, all loose-limbs and cocky sprawl, one hand drumming an erratic beat on the armrest while the other cradled his glass. That trademark mask of couldn’t-give-a-damn sat firm—until you hit his eyes. Those icy blues cut through the alcoholic fog like a surgeon’s scalpel, hungry and coiled, a wolf sizing up its next meal.

“Fun fact,” he began, voice laden with the gravel of too much whiskey and just enough temptation. “Scotch has an eighty-three percent success rate at convincing people their clothes are optional.” He took a slow sip, letting the words marinate before adding, “The other seventeen percent? Already naked and thanking me later.”

You groaned, because of course you did, but still—your lips curled around the bait. “And this scientific study was conducted when, exactly?” Your foot nudged Wilson’s knee, a playful prod to see if he’d back you up

He lifted his glass to the light, swirling the amber liquid with mock academic flair. “Right around the time peat smoke was proven to whisper dirty things in your ear,” He paused. Then, in the worst Scottish accent you’d ever heard—“Och, lassie, off wi’ yer knickers.”

It was part-Scotsman, part-drunk pirate, part… stroke patient.

Wilson, who had thus far maintained the dignified restraint of a man ignoring the fact that your legs were essentially draped across his thigh, promptly choked on his drink. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, struggling to suppress a chuckle.

“That was less Braveheart,” he said between coughs, “and more brain hemorrhage.”

You burst out laughing.

House squinted, looking personally offended. “You think I sound weak? Offensive. That was a mighty Scotsman. A kilted god among men.”

“Mighty,” Wilson deadpanned, nodding with mock gravitas. “Mighty enough to trip over his own tongue and fall crotch-first into a caber.”

He shifted closer to you, casual as anything, chestnut eyes catching the light as they crinkled with an un-Wilson looseness that only showed up three drinks in. “Oh and by ‘whispering’, what House really means is ‘yelling like a drunk rugby fan with a megaphone and unresolved trauma,’” he teased with a laugh. The kind of laugh sober Wilson might’ve swallowed back with a polite cough and a change of subject. “Subtlety is not in his DNA- shocker, I know.”

You snorted into your glass. “That’s generous. I’d go with ‘public disturbance.’”

House raised his glass in mock salute. “Guilty. Though I prefer ‘force of nature’ to ‘traumatized rugby fan.’ Has a little more sex appeal.”

“Only to people with a head injury,” Wilson muttered under his breath.

“You say that like it’s a dealbreaker.”

House’s smirk kicked up a notch as he glanced back to you, head cocked. “Besides, subtlety’s for cowards. And the whole ‘sprawled-out goddess’ look you’ve got going? Wasted on ambiguity.”

Wilson scooted closer again, knee bumping yours. His hand grazed your leg. Not a grab, a mere fleeting touch. “Ignore him,” he said softly, but his tone didn’t quite match his composed veneer, a detail that didn’t escape your notice. “He’s got all the finesse of a sledgehammer, but he’s not wrong.” He paused, and he was close enough that you caught the faint cedar of his cologne and something else you couldn’t name but wanted to bottle. “You’re beautiful like this. Relaxed. Open.”

House didn’t even try to disguise his scoff, tipping his glass your way. “Open? She’s a neon sign screaming ‘ravish me.’ Don’t let Wilson’s choirboy act fool you- he’s already mentally cataloguing where to bite first.”

Wilson, to his credit, didn’t flinch. Just fixed House the kind of glare that said shut your trap in a gazillion different languages. He turned his attention back to you, laced with that careful warmth only he could manage. “He’s an ass. But… yeah. You’re making it real hard to behave.”

A giggle bubbled up from your chest, part-impish, part-menace. “God, you two,” you sighed, flopping back dramatically. “I can’t decide if I’m being seduced or prepped for a veeeery horny team-building exercise.”

“You knew what this was,” House said dryly.

“And you still showed up on time anyways.” Wilson added, less helpfully.

You stretched slowly, catlike, making a show of it just to watch both of them zeroed in as if they’d forgotten how to blink. “If I did want to strip,” you mused, syrupy-sweet. “I’d do it right. Spotlights. Music. Probably glitter.”

“Dear god,” Wilson mumbled, half in prayer.

“But…” you twirled the rim of your glass between your fingers, “I’d need a reason first, wouldn’t I?”You cocked a brow, eyes glittering as they bounced between the two doctors.

You weren’t subtle either.

You didn’t need to be.

House didn’t wait for permission. Of course he didn’t.

Subtlety required restraint, and restraint had been surgically removed from him years ago.

His palm slid beneath your skirt before Wilson could even think of filling the silence, cupping the curve of your ass with a lazy kind of ownership, one that screamed he’d done it a hundred times before and had yet to be reprimanded for it. The touch was almost dismissive… if not for the rough grope that followed, eliciting a small hitch from you. His thumb dragged invisible patterns against your flesh, each one a question: How far would you let this go?

Far enough. He knew that.

Eyes widening, Wilson caught the movement instantly, as if House’s hand might suddenly become a medical emergency. His mouth opened on might’ve been some half-assed moral objection, the kind that would make him feel like a better person for all of five seconds. Though it was short-lived, short circuiting somewhere between his brain and spine (and his hard-on). His hand joined the fray, settling higher up your thigh, skin leaving a line of heat through the flimsy barrier of your skirt.

You squirmed. Just a little. Not a word of protest on your tongue.

“Funny,” House tilted his head, brows knitting together in exaggerated thought. "You said you needed a reason, and now you’re practically writing me one in cursive on your thigh. Either I’m very persuasive, or you’re a liar.”

His blue eyes trailed down your body. “I’m voting liar.”

You huffed out a laugh, more breath than sound. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But you didn’t move. Not away, at least.

“Maybe I’m bored.”

House’s grin sharpened. “And this is your idea of entertainment? Letting two men twice your age feel you up like it’s amateur hour at a strip club?”

Wilson’s lips pursed into a sulky pout, grumbling inaudibly. “…Well first of all- I’m not twice her age. I’m only thirty-nine.”

House shot him with a flat look. “Wilson, please. You’ve been thirty-nine since the Bush administration.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing, but didn’t say a thing.

You swallowed, heat coiling deep. “Ooooor I’m just curious,” you offered, barely above a whisper. “Wondering how far you’ll go before one of you chickens out.”

House barked a cackle, full and unrepentant. “Don’t worry, I only stop until someone’s pushing up daisies.”

And just like that, Wilson’s hand moved again—with purpose now, challenged by your words, by House’s audacity, by the noiseless thrum that had weaved its way through all three of you. His fingers ghosted higher, brushing the edge of your panties—already moist, and not from nerves.

House surveyed with sharp-eyed approval, glass forgotten on the table. “That’s more like it,” a satisfied hum underscored his words. “Though let’s not pretend you wouldn’t look better on your knees.”

You turned toward him, a staccato thump seizing your heart. He wasn’t smirking anymore—just watching you, intense and unblinking, probably replaying every filthy possibility in his head.

He sat up, rising and squaring his shoulders with a lazy grace that verged on smug. “How about this,” he started, the lilt of his tone as causal as ordering coffee. “You get on your knees. I enjoy the show. And Wilson gets to lie to himself about being the one you really wanted. Fair trade, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s your version of fair?”

“I’m the smoke and mirrors. Wilson’s the mop and bucket. Try to keep up.”

Behind you, Wilson let out a choked laugh. “Jesus, House—”

“Wrong deity,” House cut in. “But keep calling out names if it helps.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands were already on the button of his jeans, fingers skittering with greedy impulse. House didn’t lift a finger to help. He simply leaned back, legs spread as an unspoken invitation to draw you nearer, observing with open appreciation as you worked.

“Atta girl,” he husked, tone dropping to a low and sandpapery timbre.

When you freed him, you saw it—already thickening fast in your palm, bleeding with heat that you swore had a pulse of its own, the weight of it settling heavy over your digits. Not massive, no, but enough to fuck you up, with that slight upward curve that practically begged to bully the back of your throat in all the right ways and a tip that blushed a deeper shade of red with every second you lingered. Deceptively pretty, almost rude in how it owned the space between his thighs. A grower, definitely. But now? Very much grown.

Wilson’s warm, steady hands curved around your waist. His touch didn’t push—it guided—subtle pressure coaxing you forward, down, into position. The leather of the couch creaked softly beneath you as you sank to your knees between House’s legs, the sound nearly eclipsed by the rabbit-quick beat of your heart.

He crowded in from behind, his slacks doing little to dull the throbbing, insistent press of his erection against the dip of your back. He rocked against you once, unrushed yet teeming with exhilaration, partially terrified that if it felt this good with clothes on, actually being inside you might just ruin him for life.

But then he stilled.

“You sure?” his breath stirred the fine hairs at your nape, barely audible over the blood in your ears.

You nodded. That was all he needed.

Hiking your skirt up with a breathless little scoot, Wilson peeled your panties down as gentlemanly as he could in such a scenario, the damp cotton catching briefly on the soft give of your thighs before pooling where your knees bit into the cushions. His fingers followed instantly—kneading the plush swell of your ass, spreading you wide until your wet folds parted like ripened fruit split under thumb.

Exposed, your cunt fluttered uselessly in empty space, spasming in a mindless pulse that wafted a hot, narcotic wave of scent. Your arousal clung in the air, intoxicatingly so, punching the sanity clean out of Wilson’s skull. He exhaled so sharply it rattled his chest, pupils blown, every last coherent thought fragmenting into a haze of pussy-induced delirium.

“O-Oh wow,” he blurted, hoarse and awestruck. “You are… soaked.”

Amusement flickered across House’s features, his thumb skimming the arc of your cheekbone as your mouth hovered mere inches over the swollen head of his dick. The tickle of your breath drew a feral little tremor from it, precum coating him in a viciously glossy sheen. “Told you,” he said. “She’s been dripping since I made that Scotsman joke.”

You huffed in disbelief, smirking despite the ways your thighs were trembling. “You’re disgusting.”

“And yet, here you are.”

Emboldened, you bent forward and sealed your lips around his fat tip, your tongue teasing delicate kitten licks over the slit—solely to feel him shiver beneath you. Flicking, swirling, savoring the way you wrung hushed, reluctant moans out of him with every pass, you worked with surgical precision.

However, he tasted… well, not exactly gourmet. Bitter, briny, drenched in that unmistakable aftershock of something indecently male, enough to wrinkle your nose on reflex. But you were too shitfaced to give a fuck. If anything, the mess of it egged you on. You ventured on inch by inch, halfway down a single sweep as he fed easy into your mouth, while fists squeezed and twisted at his veiny base in rhythmic circles.

Air whistled harshly through House’s clenched teeth, chest lurching, his hand flexing in restraint at his thigh as he battled the almighty urge to grip your hair and slam you down until your nose was buried in his wiry curls. But he didn’t. Yet.

Behind you, Wilson gave in. You heard it in the clatter of his belt hitting the floor, the hiss of his zipper yanked down too fast to care, the rustle of fabric shoved aside with the grace of a man losing the fight to keep his hands off you.

Then: heat. The soft planes of his body blanketing you, his member nudging your entrance with shameless intent—a tad bit stubbier than House’s (if we’re being petty about it-) but girthy enough to stretch, to quell that blistering ache in your womb in a toe-curling way. He dragged himself through the weeping slit of your vulva, cockhead gliding right over your puffy clit, before lining up and sheathing in you with a stroke so bone-deep, it scrambled your mind into a buffering screen and left your mouth full of static.

A garbled gasp bursted from your lungs and vibrated around House’s cock, spine bowing as you struggled to adjust to the intrusion, momentarily unsure whether to take it or tap the hell out. House jerked, faltering in a sudden unsteady surge, a low bitten off curse slurring out of him.

“Ngh!-… mm… you feel unreal,” Wilson whimpered into your shoulder, quiet desperation creeping up the edges of his voice. “remind me t-to write you a…. Hah… thank-you note after this—formal stationery, maybe a wax seal.”

“Uh-huh…” you answered absentmindedly, too far gone to process his incessant babbling. You were busy trying to survive the way he and House were pummeling your insides from both ends, your body caught in the relentless piston-esque snap and grind that haven’t even hit its stride yet.

Wilson’s hands, once so measured and clinical, were now splayed across your ribcage hard enough to brand you with his fingerprints, knuckles blanching as if he’d been edging himself for hours instead of minutes. He buried himself to the hilt with a gluttonous shove, cock lodged deep that the blunt crest of him prodded nerves you didn’t know had a name. When he retracted his hips, only the tip remained, nestled in your drooling hole. He paused to take a glimpse, unable to help himself—transfixed by how your juices clung to him in translucent webs, adorning his shaft like lacquered silk.

He gulped, crimson crawling up his neck as the sheer volume of it hit him: how fast he (and house) reduced you to such a state.

He snapped forward, pelvis colliding with your tail bone, picking up a pace with a foggy, half-drunk determination—sluggish at first, all clumsy momentum and no finesse, each thrust a feverish motion that rocked you onward in staggered bursts. Your lids drooped, the room careening at the corners of your vision in loops. Nerves alight. Blood whirring. Your senses awash in a whiskey blur and the spectral, shivery fog of it all.

You swallowed around House further, allowing yourself to slump into the metronomic rhythm they built between your holes—blitzed on cock, alcohol, and the brain-dead high of being used just right. Every sturdy push and pull from Wilson drove you farther down, until House’s dick was battering the roof of your mouth, the squishy crown ramming the very back of your soft palate nonstop.

Your mewls resonated along House’s length, drawn out and giddy, the pitch climbing each time Wilson bottomed out. It was pure pornstar-grade debauchery: spit dribbling unchecked down your chin, your sweaty body rocking like a buoy in a storm, anchored only by the cocks working you from front to back.

“Agh—-ah… Fuck… don’t you dare stop. Keep going,” the swear fled House on an airless murmur, pleasure unspooling at the seams of his composure. His jaw clamped shut as your tongue skimmed the underside of his dick, tracing near a particularly sensitive vein before delving lower to lick a filthy stripe onto his testicles, suckling one of them until it slipped free with a lewd pop.

“…Even if you are slobbering like a saint bernard.” He snickered, glassy eyes glazing over your disheveled moving form.

Glowering up at him, you whined a sharp, wounded noise around him, partly from offense, mostly from being too cock-dumb to coordinate a middle finger without choking.

He grinned, all mean affection. “There it is. My favorite sound.”

Meanwhile, Wilson had narrowed his focus to a single, frantic mission: making the absolute most of tonight. He undulated his hips to the tempo of his rapid heaving, jackhammering into your tender g-spot with a kind of dumb, reverent devotion—not so much to you, but to your pussy, which he might never get the honor of visiting again. He was so lost in the moment that a sound tore up from the well in his chest—raw, croaky, and almost humiliating in its sincerity.

He sank deep with a stuttering grind, balls snug against you, and just froze there—as if he was internally bargaining with himself not to bust already.

“Oh my god—-” he wheezed, still unable to believe his dick had landed him here. “She’s—she’s milking me to death!… I almost saw my life flash before my eyes.”

Then, quieter and borderline-delirious: “I think I’m being spiritually harvested…”

You blinked once. Mildly confused. Though kept going.

And House, who had been casually tugging the loose collar of your shirt down to spill your perky tits free, made a noise like a judge scoffing from the bench. “You know, I once had a hooker ask if she could write me off on her taxes. That was less depressing than what just came out of your mouth.”

Wilson gave a ragged laugh, breath catching. “You think she’ll still be able to stand after this?”

“I’m hoping not,” House replied, dragging his thumb along your moist bottom lip as you pulled back, gasping for air. “Dead weight’s hotter when it’s earned.”

You dove right back in, rear jolting backward vigorously, chasing the molten pressure crushing low within the depths of your loins. Your hamstrings had long since liquified, but that didn’t stop you—it couldn’t. One couldn’t say the same for Wilson, who was clearly struggling to rein himself in, and you, ever the conniving brat, clenched down on him the second he tried to pull free. The embrace of your spongy muscles held him hostage, walls all suffocating squish and suction, amplifying the plap-plap-plap of skin meeting skin, a soundtrack so shameless it bordered on illicit just hearing it.

Teetering over the edge, Wilson shut his eyes, clinging to his dwindling resolve behind pinched lids. His hands fumbled blindly up your writhing torso, pawing your breasts with the panicked fervor of a man gripping twin stress balls—palms clutching, fingers knotting, in need to ground himself in the middle of an absolute neurological wipeout.

Calm down, Wilson.

Pace your breathing.

Think about baseball. Or the mountain of charts waiting on your desk. Or—no. That made it worse-

He tried to mentally wrest back focus—the kind he’d rely on mid-panic in an oncology consult, except he’s now balls-deep in a threesome he still wasn’t entirely convinced was real.

Just… focus. If you can tie a suture in a chest cavity, then you can last another minute without losing your goddamn mind.

Don’t screw it up like some—god, some overeager pre-med who’s never seen a real breast before!

House picked up his forgotten glass and took a long, unnecessarily noisy sip—sluuuurp—purely to make sure Wilson knew he was being scrutinized. He leaned back with a shit-eating grin, eyes flicking to Wilson like he was watching a nature documentary: ‘Man Losing Grip in Real Time.’

“I—dammit—think I’m going to…” Wilson grit out, strained and unsteady, as if the admission cost him. His hips quivered, a clumsy twitch that made you arch slightly, pressing back into him as if to say—keep your shit together or else!!

“What, blow your Hippocratic Oath all over the place?” House interjected, likely been waiting to use that line all night. He looked downright gleeful. “God, Wilson. At least try to last long enough for her to gag on it.”

“You’re not even doing anything!” Wilson snapped, grappling to preserve his dignity as your cunt clasped around him like a vice.

“I’m coaching. Like any great man in history.”

Wilson grunted, jaw slackened and too blissed out to argue. His balls tightened, cock pulsating while his thrusts into you grew shallow and sloppy. The world funneled into a brilliant flare—white-hot and crackling—pinpricks of stars jittered behind his eyes, ready to detonate. The tide surged, and he barely managed to yank out in time, his climax overtaking him as white ribbons violently painted your back.

The feeling of him spurting onto you tipped you headfirst into your own high, a muffled moan escaping as the coil in your belly unraveled, erupting trails of goosebumps over your skin.

He collapsed onto you, forehead thunking against your shoulder blade, sweat-matted wisps of his once-neatly styled hair sticking to his temple. His arms went boneless to his sides as he tried to remember how lungs worked.

House let out a breathy chuckle—not quite kind, but not entirely cruel—his hand lazily cradling the back of your head, fingers threaded into your hair like he was petting a pup that did a trick. “Aw. Look at him. Poor thing’s gonna need a juice box and a nap.”

Wilson groaned, not bothering to lift his head. “Screw you.”

House saw how you were still obediently taking him to the root like you hadn’t just been railed senseless. He Idly massaged your scalp as you bobbed your head—a sign of affection, maybe. Or he simply needed something to fidget with while getting head.

“Don’t mind Sleeping Beauty here,” he drawled, his voice thinning as his hips gave a roll against your tongue. “He always finishes the race before the rest of us even put on our running shoes.”

Wilson exhaled a weary huff, cheek still mashed against your back. “Big words from someone who’s spent this entire ordeal horizontal.”

“Delegation of labor,” His tone tightened as the treatment subjected to your poor mouth grew rougher. “Besides- someone’s gotta counterbalance the limp. Be a shame if I went toppling over like bambi on ice.”

Wilson snorted, laughter tangled in a cough. “Right… tragedy of the century. They’d write eulogies.”

House ignored him, his attention locked on you, and the fact he was on the brink of losing control.

One hand clawed into the backrest for leverage, the other cinching your hair with a force shy of brutal. The flow of his thrusts splintered, erratic and uneven, each movement punctuated by wrecked sounds he didn’t bother to bite back. “Look at you,” he panted. “Didn’t even flinch. Even after lover boy back there nearly folded you in half. And you’re still taking me so well…”

He hovered right above his seat, limbs taut, breath sawing between his teeth. He trapped your skull in place, fucking your face with abandon as his cock drilled mercilessly into the confines of your throat. You were stretched to your limit, tears needling at your waterline as you blinked up at him, doe-eyed and so ruinously eager.

He choked on a noise that was a blend of groan and laugh. “Agh-… overachiever...” his head lolled back over shoulder, the last word dissolving into a strangled sound. With a final, forceful pump, he held you close and spilled his seed inside you. You steadied, gullet flexing around the gooey burn of it, swallowing him in practiced pulls while he trembled through the comedown.

House eased you off him with surprising gentleness before sagging back into the sofa. His gaze flickered down to yours again, bleary but bright with the afterglow of post-orgasm satisfaction. “See?” He managed between shallow puffs. “Eighty-three percent success rate. Science bows to me.”

You face-planted into a throw pillow, voice muffled but laced with reluctant amusement. “…Worst… study… ever.”

House gave your bare asscheek a light, celebratory smack, earning a pitiful whine from you.

“Oh come on,” he drawled. “That was a landmark trial. Peer-reviewed by the neighbors.”

From the other end of the couch, Wilson groaned, one arm slung over his eyes like he was warding off the world. “Don’t even start. I think I pulled something.”

“You pulled out. That’s the part I’ll never forgive.”

pssst- likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated in this household and keep me motivated! <3

🏷️ : @do-double-g @igalol @crimin4llyins4ne @yourgirlcarol @corrosive-agent @ceces-pizza @kitkat272 @shemsworth01 @wildgirllz @metalsbites @crashoutqueenie @svp625 @discombobulateddisco007 @jiqsaww @cyacola @crikeyitschase @mychemstat @emotionallybruisedx @catharticdesire @slut4jlgibbs @ikissm1kasa @d1sgr4c3ful

A/N : I tried to tag everyone who commented for this fic! sorry if some of u guys are over it tho as it’s been months. feel free ignore if so. and ye I’m finally back blah blah, yall know the drill, but this time I was dealing with some personal stuff 🫠

oh and I’ll get to answering some asks in the next couple of days!! missed u guys 💗

[staraayla]

Why is he so cute…

[slowburningechoes]

Robert Sean Leonard as "James Wilson" with the ducklings in the early seasons of House, M.D.

[dollerinna]

❪ 小薇 ❫ I’M NOT A BAD MAN : I’M JUST OVERWHELMED

— 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝚑𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝚑𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 .

𝓘ames wilson ੭୧ f! reader ┇ p in v ⋆ somno ⋆ non-con

this is a work of fiction and I don’t condone this irl. don’t like? don’t read. policing comments gets you blocked

JAMES WILSON’S larger frame drapes over you, pulling you close in your unconscious state. His warmth envelops you like a blanket of fire, the heat of his body melding into yours in a way that makes your pulse spike before your mind can even catch up. The room is hushed, every sound muted by the gravity of his presence—except for his breaths. Hot and uneven, they tease the shell of your ear, stirring the hair along your temple with a hunger that feels barely leashed. His hand tightens on your hip, fingernails leaving a trail of crescent-shaped imprints into your flesh, as if his very skin demands yours.

His cock stirs, painfully hard beneath the confines of his pants, the dull throb of arousal building into something that demands attention. Each rapid thump of his heart feeds the tension coiling tighter in his core, a steady pulse of white-hot need spreading from the pit of his stomach down to the ache between his legs. He bites down on a groan, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, but the sound still claws free anyway—a feeble, borderline pathetic noise that makes him feel as though he's coming undone, thread by thread.

The image of him plunging his cock into your tight little cunt plays on an endless loop in his head, delirious and unrelenting, like the world’s worst porno he can’t turn off. It’s agonizing, this carnal itch he was powerless to soothe, a hunger gnawing at him from the inside out. And it’s your fault—cruel, unknowing, perfect you. Why did you always have to look so devastatingly, effortlessly fuckable? Even now. Even like this. He's supposed to be better than this. He swears he is better than this. Or at least, he was. But you're ruining him, turning him into something base, something unrecognizable—a mutt in heat, panting after scraps of you like his life depended on it.

With trembling hands, he shoves his pants down just enough to free himself, a stinging hitch of breath catching in his throat as the cool air hits his angry, leaking cock. It stands thick and flushed in a mess of brown, slapping against his belly with a humiliating, wet sound that reminds him of how far gone he is—and yet it only spurs him on, the tingling buzz in his ears swelling akin to static, drowning out the last whispers of reason.

His jaw locks as he carefully eases himself between your legs, gliding the slippery head of his shaft over your folds with a slow, surgical precision only a doctor could have. A weak moan betrays him when your entrance flutters helplessly, involuntarily clenching around the aching emptiness he’s yet to fill. It's a maddening kind of torture, one that leaves his knees jittery and his resolve fractured.

He hesitates, guilt rising like a bitter, choking weight in his throat. This is wrong—he knows it's wrong. You're asleep for god's sake. Sweet, innocent, and unaware, probably lost in some dream about kittens and puppies with that peaceful smile gracing your lips. But as the shame churns deep in his gut, it's quickly eclipsed by something much worse: the ugly truth—he doesn't care.

However, even at his worst, there is this tenderness in the way he moves that refuses to vanish. He wants to make you feel good—needs to, as if somehow, this could be something you’d never hate him for, no matter how far he falls. It’s a twisted kind of redemption, one that only someone like Wilson can dream about.

Slowly, he grinds into you, inch by torturous inch, flesh to flesh, your slick depths stretching to welcome him in. A shuddering sigh flees his lips as he buries himself to the hilt, reveling in how the gummy walls of your cunt clutches onto his member with an almost suffocating grip, squeezing so tightly it was as if your sleeping body wanted him here in the first place.

"Mmm... holy..." he breathes, the words faltering as they leave his lips, fragile and barely formed. "…'m sorry... I didn't want this... didn't m-mean to..." his confession splinters in the air, equal parts of guilt and lust tumbling out in hoarse murmurs, dissolving into the void with every stuttering thrust of his pelvis. Each stroke feels a perfect contradiction—a prayer answered and a sin committed, tightening his chest and clouding his mind all at once.

And then there’s you—silken, wet, and impossibly tight—wrapping around him like a second skin. Your fleshy insides mold to every pulsating ridge and vein of his cock, sucking him deeper in with the unknowing shifts of your hips. His nerves flare with a sizzling anticipation, the lewd squelch of him violating your cunt eating away at the edges of his crumbling resolve. Still, as futile as it is, he desperately clings onto what’s left of his control behind squeezed eyelids, and it takes everything in him not to spill right there—but the way his dick twitches within the deliciously, spongy muscles of your sex suggests that everything might not be enough.

After all, he's deathly afraid of crossing that final line. But in the hollow, aching pit of his chest, he knows...

He already has.

[kimskoonwalker]

Hayden wearing glasses 😩 wear them again pleasee

[lacebird]

#light reading

[kenaihayley]

Hayden Christensen

I love the last photo hahahaha🤩

[t03soup]

Hayden (You're doing amazing sweetie) Christensen

[ceoofsammonroe]

Constellations - Sam Monroe

Summary: You move in next door to Sam and the two of you quickly become friends. It doesn’t take Sam long to realize that he’s falling love with you, but he would never risk losing the only friend he has by telling you.

Warnings: unprotected sex, penetrative sex, angst, public humiliation, oral sex (Sam receiving), handjob (Sam receiving), nipple play, soft sex, mention of past drug addiction, George lived, mention of cancer, reader lives with her brother, use of cringe nicknames (sorry i’m a sucker for a cheesy nickname), inexperienced!Sam, bullying, praise, crying, Sam is insecure.

A/N: this one is more of a short story than a one shot, so be warned it is veeeeery lengthy.

Masterlist

Sam felt like a fucking stalker.

He wasn’t, really. He swore. He was just…curious.

He’d been staring at the big moving truck parked next door for the past hour, trying to work up the courage to talk to the girl moving boxes in and out of the house that had recently gone off the market.

It was rare for Sam to see a new person that was around his age — one that didn’t know about his less than stellar past. He’d given up a long time ago on trying to change the people he went to high school with’s minds about him, but someone new…that could be exactly what he needed.

If he could work up the fucking courage to actually make a move instead of creepily watching from his bedroom window.

It would be fine. He’d just go downstairs, walk outside, introduce himself, and ask if he could do anything to help. He could be totally normal and definitely knew how to talk to pretty girls…right?

In reality, what did he truly have to lose? It wasn’t like he currently had any friends. If he got rejected, he’d just be right back to where he was now — hiding out in his room that, in retrospect, he maybe should’ve made a little bigger when helping build the damn house.

No, this would be good. He needed it to be good.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, feeling your shirt sticking to your skin as you grabbed another ridiculously heavy box out of the moving truck.

You’d spent the last hour distracting yourself by fantasizing about all of the different ways you could kill your brother when he got back for leaving you to do all of the, literal, heavy lifting by yourself. It felt like the boxes were never ending and you couldn’t fathom how you’d had this much stuff at your old apartment.

Your body groaned in protest as you set the box down inside before, begrudgingly, going back out to retrieve another. You glared at the traitorous truck — that was starting to feel more like an endless Mary Poppins bag than a moving van — and reached for the next box. As you pulled it loose, it caught on another box and sent it tumbling to the ground — scattering clothes all across the pavement.

“Shit,” you cursed, setting the other box down with a frustrated sigh.

You bent down, fighting against your burning muscles and grumbling under your breath as you began to gather the items that had fallen out.

“You need a hand?”

Startled by the sudden voice behind you, you quickly whirred around. You huffed out a breath, laughing sheepishly as you took in the sight of the stranger who’d offered his help.

He looked young, probably about your age, and he was cute. Really cute. His shy smile held a boyish charm and he had the prettiest blue eyes you’d ever seen, matching the tuft of vibrant blue hair on the top of his head. His labret piercing glinted in the sunlight as he seemed to nervously chew on his lip.

“That would be nice, thank you,” you said, a grateful smile pulling at your lips.

Sam felt his face warm at the sight of your smile, his stomach erupting with…whatever was manlier than butterflies.

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugged, extending his hand toward you. “Name’s Sam, by the way. Like ‘Sam I am’. The whole, ‘I am Sam, I am Sam, Sam I am.’ You know…Dr. Seuss…or whatever.”

Sam closed his eyes, silently cursing himself for whatever idiotic blabber had just fell from his mouth. He had one simple task. He just needed to introduce himself and he managed to bring up Dr. Seuss for fuck’s sake? It wasn’t even like Sam was a complicated name that needed explaining. He was pretty sure the name had been around for forever, like, even in the Bible.

He was about to turn around and retreat back to his room and pretend he’d never made this pathetically embarrassing attempt in the first place, but then he heard the soft sound of your laughter.

You took the hand of the awkwardly charming boy, shaking it as you said, “Nice to meet you, Sam I Am.”

You told him your name as well, save for the in depth explanation. He smiled and softly repeated it, blushing even deeper when he realized he’d been shaking your hand for far longer than socially acceptable. He pulled his hand away, brushing it on his cargo shorts as he looked at the mess of clothes scattered about.

He wordlessly started helping you pick everything up, stealing a few obvious glances at you as he did. You couldn’t help but watch him, feeling a warm endearment blooming in your chest. He was clumsy and awkward, but in a cute way.

“So, uh, did you just move here or something?” Sam asked, breaking the silence. “I mean, I know you just moved to this house because of the moving truck and all, but…”

You giggled and nodded, cutting him off and saving him from another embarrassing ramble as you said, “Yeah, my brother and I just moved here from a few states away.” You glanced over at the house he’d walked over from, admiring it for a moment. “That one yours?”

Sam looked back at the house, as if having to doublecheck that it was indeed his house before nodding.

“Yeah, it’s mine,” he said, picking up the box after setting the last piece of clothing inside of it and handing it to you. “Well, it’s my family’s. I actually helped build it. My dad and I built it together. I guess my mom technically helped, but it was mostly me and my dad.”

Your eyes widened in surprise as you whistled, lowly.

“Wow, that’s impressive,” you told him, grinning as he blushed and shrugged it off. “Really, I can’t even make a decent sandcastle. You built a whole house. So, are you going into architecture or something?”

Sam nodded, a small smile pulling at his lips as he said, “Yeah, it’s what I’m going for. I’m a student at the local community college. It’s lame, but I like building things.”

“It’s not lame,” you said, shaking your head. “I mean, how many of the other architecture students can say they’ve already built a house?”

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, looking at the ground as he laughed. “Yeah, I guess,” he muttered, his sheepish smile growing. “Are you gonna be taking any classes?”

You nodded, hoisting the box you were holding onto your hip as you said, “I’ll be starting out there next week for Summer B.”

Sam’s face seemed to light up at the confirmation that you’d be going to school with him. He cleared his throat, trying to mask his excitement as he nodded.

“Well, if you need anyone to show you around or anything, just let me know,” he shrugged, trying his best to play it cool. “I know starting in a new place can be scary.”

You smirked at him, taking the box toward your front door as you said, “Don’t worry, Sam I Am. I don’t scare easy. Thanks for the help, by the way.”

Sam felt his heart race at the stupid nickname, enjoying it way more than he probably should.

“No problem, anytime,” he waved, watching you retreat into the house. He felt a tug in his chest at the idea of your interaction being over and couldn’t stop himself from calling out after you. “If you need any help with the other boxes, I’ve got nothing better to do!”

You stopped, biting your lip to suppress a grin as you turned back around to face him. He stood there, looking ridiculously eager and hopeful. You glanced toward the other boxes still piled high in the moving truck before looking back at him.

“Yeah, alright,” you nodded. “Make yourself useful.”

Sam’s face broke out in a beaming smile as he practically ran to the moving truck to grab a box. You giggled as he hurried to join you, looking far too happy about the prospect of carrying heavy loads back and forth.

As you worked, you both chatted and got to know each other. You told Sam about where you and your brother were moving from and how you’d ended up there. Sam told you about how his parents had gotten back together and how his dad was in remission for cancer.

Talking with Sam made the grueling task of unpacking seem easy and fun. Time was flying by without you even realizing it. You were naturally drawn to him, fitting into motion like you’d known him your whole life.

Sam was over the moon. He felt like he’d finally found a friend that he could be himself around. There was an unexpected sense of hope creeping into his chest and, for the first time, he didn’t feel repulsed by it.

“Well, I think that’s officially the last box,” you sighed, placing your hands on your hips. “I’ll save all of the hard shit for my brother to do when he gets home, since he left me to do all of the moving.”

Sam brushed his hands off on his shorts, glancing around at all of the boxes now piled high in the living room.

“Well, if you need any more help or just want to get out of the house, I’m right next door,” he offered, wanting to make himself available for you.

“I know where to find you,” you said, grinning at him. “Thanks for the help, again, really. I’ll see you around, Sam I Am.”

Sam bit back the giddy laugh that threatened to escape his throat and gave you a small wave as he all but skipped back to his house. He hadn’t felt this good in years — like something was finally going in his favor.

Your brother returned a bit after Sam left and, after an annoying amount of begging and pleading from him, you spent the rest of the evening unpacking together.

“I met one of our neighbors today,” you told him, brushing some dust off of a picture frame and setting it up on a table. “He was nice.”

“He?” your brother asked, giving you a pointed look.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, “Not like that. He just helped me with the boxes. I think he could be a friend.”

You smiled at the thought of Sam as you went up to your freshly unpacked bedroom. You walked over to the window, looking at the house next door. Your smile grew as you saw Sam’s window directly across from yours. You made eye contact and gave him a small wave before shutting your blinds and getting ready for bed.

As you laid there, staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

At the start of the next week, you were getting ready to begin your first day of classes at the local community college. As you made your way outside, you noticed Sam leaving his house at the same time.

You skipped over toward him, leaning against his car with a cheeky grin.

"Howdy, neighbor," you chirped. "Think I could catch a ride to school?"

Sam's face broke out into a wide, beaming smile as he spotted you, wasting no time in opening the passenger door of his car for you.

"Hop on in," he told you, gesturing his head toward the car.

You happily climbed into the passenger seat as Sam walked around the car and got in from the driver's side. You bit back a giggle as he rushed to try and tidy up some of the trash strewn about, a light blush warming his cheeks. His car smelled faintly of smoke, but you didn't mind. As he turned the key and the car roared to life, the sound of a grungy rock song started blaring through the speakers. He sheepishly turned it down, muttering a soft apology.

As he started driving, he stole secret glances over at you. You were watching the scenery rolling by, still trying to familiarize yourself with the new area.

"So, first day, huh?" Sam said, breaking the comfortable silence. "Nervous or excited?"

You thought for a moment before you shrugged and answered, "Both? I like new beginnings. It's a fresh start."

Sam nodded, his voice sounding a bit distant as he said, "Yeah, I get that."

He seemed to disappear inside his head for a moment, but you didn’t feel like it was your place to pry. At least, not yet. Instead, you glanced toward his bag and asked, “Is that a sketchbook? Are you an artist?”

Sam blinked a few times, as if shaking himself out of it, before looking back at the black leather book sticking out from his backpack.

“Oh, uh…I wouldn’t really call myself an artist,” he shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just like to draw sometimes.”

You looked over at him with a playful grin. “Can I see some?”

When Sam saw your hand reaching for the sketchbook, he blurted out a panicked, “No!” You retracted your hand and he paused, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “Sorry…I just, um…they aren’t any good.”

Settling back in your seat, you playfully shrugged and said, “Keep your secrets, Sam I Am.”

You navigated the first half of your day at the new school with relative ease. People had been eager to help you, fascinated by the rarity of a new person in the small area. You shared one class with Sam and got to grab lunch together, with him insisting on getting pizza down the street instead of eating whatever the campus cafe was offering.

When the day ended, you walked toward the parking lot with a group of students that had been talking your ear off. You laughed along with them as your eyes scanned the area, finally landing on Sam. He was leaning against his car, trying to act like he hadn’t been watching you.

You bid your goodbyes to the others and jogged over to Sam, smiling as you said, “Thanks for waiting on me.”

“No problem,” he shrugged, trying to play it cool despite the way his heart was racing. “So, uh…any plans for tonight?”

He didn’t want you to feel obligated to hang out with him, but he also secretly hoped you would. He felt a sense of happiness around you that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. He didn’t want that to end.

“I’ll probably just stay in for the night,” you sighed, feeling the effects of the day wearing on you. “I need the night to process all of the new. I could use the company, though, if you aren’t doing anything.”

Sam’s face broke out into a dazzling grin, relief and a thrill of excitement running through him. He tried to reel it back in, to lessen the visible excitement, but it was no use.

“I’d be down for that,” he nodded, trying his best to sound nonchalant. “If that’s what you want.”

Sam parked his car in his driveway and the two of you walked over to your house. When you opened the front door, the smell of freshly baked cookies wafted beneath your noses.

Your brother, Andrew, was in the kitchen, pulling a tray out of the oven. You grinned, tossing your bag over your shoulder as you ran over and stole one off of the tray.

“Hey!” Andrew whined, reaching out to try and snatch the cookie back. His eyes locked over onto Sam, narrowing slightly. “Who’s this?”

“Andrew, this is my friend, Sam,” you said, gesturing between the two. “Sam, this is my brother, Andrew.”

Sam swallowed thickly and reached out his hand, a little unsure of himself. He didn’t often extend pleasantries with anyone, but he felt the need to in this case.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, forcing a nervous smile onto his face. “Thanks for having me over.”

Sam held his breath as Andrew stared him down for a long, tension-filled moment before shaking his hand with a grin.

“Nice to meet you, too, kid,” he nodded, stepping back to the tray of cookies. “Don’t let my sister give you a hard time.”

You batted your lashes innocently and said, “Me? Never.”

With a cheeky grin, you snatched as many cookies off of the tray as you could manage and bolted up the stairs. You heard Sam mumble an apology to your brother before following after you.

Up in your room, you shut the door behind you and handed Sam a cookie. He took a bite as he walked further in, glancing around at all of the decor.

Sam felt like he needed to drink up every little detail, knowing each small thing was giving him more information about your personality. He walked over to your bookshelf as you flopped onto your bed, taking a bite of your own cookie.

His fingers trailed over the spines of one of your collections, pulling a few out to look at the covers before placing them back.

“You have a lot of poetry,” he observed, holding a copy of Emily Dickinson publications. “You really into it or something?”

You nodded, smiling as you answered, “Yeah, I love poetry. I think it’s incredible how people can weave words and thoughts together to make such beautiful statements.”

Sam listened to you speak, happy for a furthered glimpse into your world. That’s how he found himself, an hour later, sitting beside you on your bed as you talked about anything and everything. He felt comfortable with you, like he could relax in your presence. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to.

“So, what’s your deal with this town, Sam I Am?” you asked, rolling over to prop your head in your hands as you looked at him. “I didn’t notice you talking to anyone other than me today. Are you going for the whole mysterious loner vibe?”

Your tone was lighthearted and joking, but you were genuinely curious. Sam had kept to himself the entire day, and you’d noticed people giving him odd looks. It was almost like they didn’t like him for some reason.

“Yeah, I guess I sorta keep to myself. Things haven’t been easy here, and I’ve had a bit of a rough past. I’m still dealing with the fallout, you know?” Sam replied, picking at the bottom of his jeans. He didn’t elaborate further, afraid of scaring you off and ruining his one shot at a real friend. “Things have been better lately. You’re helping with that, actually.”

You could tell there was more to it, but you didn’t press for details. Sam seemed like the kind of person who didn’t open up often and you didn’t want to ask for too much too quickly. Instead, you kept the conversation lighter, talking for a while longer.

Eventually, you ended up watching a movie. It was some shitty cable action film, but Sam seemed to be invested. The long day had caught up to you, and you started to doze off.

Sam tensed up as he felt your head rest on his shoulder, but he didn’t dare move. He released a shaky, slow breath as he tried to relax, feeling his heart pounding against his chest. All thoughts of the movie were forgotten as he focused on the feeling of you curled against him. He didn’t know how long he sat there after the credits rolled and the screen went dark, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up and end this temporary moment of bliss.

As it got later, he knew he couldn’t stay. With great reluctance, he gently lifted your head and laid it against the pillows before easing off of the bed. He took one last look at you, smiling as he felt his heart constricting in an unusual way before he turned and walked out of the door.

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed with the vague memories of falling asleep mid-movie. Begrudgingly, you got up and ready for the day before bounding down the stairs to the kitchen. You hopped onto one of the stools in front of the island, greedily grabbing at the plate of breakfast that Andrew sat down in front of you.

“Care to tell me why the neighbor boy was leaving your room at nearly one in the morning?” Andrew asked, pretending to be stern.

You rolled your eyes, snorting as you stuffed a piece of toast into your mouth.

“We were watching a movie and I fell asleep,” you told him, jumping down and grabbing your bag. “He’s just a friend, Drew. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

You stuck your tongue out and him as you walked out the front door and he flicked you off in response. You jogged outside, making your way over to Sam’s house where he was waiting by his car.

“Morning, neighbor,” you said, cheerfully hopping into the passenger side. “Sorry I fell asleep last night. Did the movie have a good ending?”

Sam smiled at you, starting the engine and pulling out of the driveway. You sniffed the air, noticing the smoke smell had been replaced by the scent of a new air freshener and the trash had been cleaned out.

“Yeah, it ended well. The hero got the girl and everyone lived happily ever after, blah blah blah,” he joked, giving you a playful look.

In all honesty, he couldn’t really tell you how it ended. He’d been too focused on you to pay any attention to the rest of the movie. He sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that, though.

When lunch time rolled around, you both sat together at the table under the oak tree that you’d liked the day before. You’d insisted on getting lunch from the cafe, claiming that you needed to try the campus food at least once. Now, though, you understood why Sam had protested against it.

“Any plans for tonight?” Sam asked, giving you some of his fries as he took your pickle spear.

“No, I don’t think I have any—”

“Hey, new girl!”

You turned, your words being cut off by a group of students sitting at another table. You recognized them from yesterday. They beckoned you over, giggling and whispering to themselves as one of them said, “Come here for a sec!”

You glanced back at Sam, giving him an apologetic look as you said, “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Sam nodded, giving you a brief smile that fell the moment you walked way. He kept his head down, forcing himself to keep eating his lunch as a pit of jealousy began to form in his stomach. He tried not to worry, knowing he had no right to your time.

When you finally came back to the table, he tried to be casual as he asked, “So, did they just wanna say hi or something?”

“They actually invited me out with them, tonight,” you said, grinning happily. “They’re going out to the pier and wanted me to tag along. That’s exciting, right?”

Sam saw the excitement in your eyes, but couldn’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment and dread.

“Cool. That does sound fun. I’m happy for you,” he replied, forcing a smile onto his face.

He wanted you to be happy, but he also wanted to keep spending time with you. You were the first real friend he’d had in a long time. He knew he couldn’t be possessive over you, but he hoped you wouldn’t be pushed apart by this new social circle opening up for you.

“We’ll catch up later,” I told him, nudging his shoulder softly. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Sam I Am.”

The evening had been fun. You’d gotten along well with the group you went out with. They filled you in on the ins and outs of the town and everyone in it — including Sam.

You hadn’t really listened much to what they’d had to say about him, brushing their words off. Other than that, the night had gone by without any problems. When you finally made it back to your house, you said goodnight to your brother and went upstairs to your room.

When you walked by your window, you noticed Sam through the window of his own room. You grinned, opening it up and climbing out to sit on the roof as you waved at him.

Sam hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you all afternoon. His mind had been a whirlwind of fears and doubts and self ridicule for missing you so much when he’d only just met you. When he spotted your figure out on the roof, his heart had skipped a beat.

He quickly got out of bed, opening up his window and climbing out. “Hey,” he called out, waving back at you.

The edges of your roofs were close enough that he could jump over onto yours with little effort. He sat down beside you, feeling the cool evening breeze against his skin.

“Did you have fun?” Sam asked, wanting to hear about your night even though a part of him was still nursing jealousy about your time with the popular crowd.

“Yeah, I had a lot of fun,” you said, smiling at him as you tucked your knees up to your chest and gazed up at the stars. “It’s so beautiful out here; isn’t it? I never saws the stars like this back home.”

Sam nodded in agreement, looking up at the night sky as well as he said, “It really is. I love nights like this, when it’s quiet and all you can hear are the waves.”

He tried, he really did, not to bring up the subject again, but he just couldn’t help himself. His self-sabotaging curiosity was getting the better of him, and he asked, “So, are you going to hang out with them more often now?”

You shrugged, picking at the roof as you said, “Maybe. They want me to.” You looked back over at him, leaning closer to nudge his side. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll always make time for you.”

Sam smiled and ducked his head to hide the soft blush warming his cheeks. Your gentle reassurance sent a flicker of relief through him.

“I wouldn’t want you to stop hanging out with me,” he said, softly, “but you don’t have to choose. I just want you to know that you have a friend in me, no matter what.”

He’d been guarded for so long, and this was the first time he’d felt like someone could break through his barriers. The more time you spent together, the more he realized he never wanted to go back to the way things were before he met you.

“You see that group of stars right over there?” you asked, pointing to a small cluster. “Do you know what constellation that is?”

Sam leaned over, squinting as he tried to follow your line of sight. He stared at the spot, but eventually shook his head.

You laughed quietly and said, “That’s ‘cause it’s not one. It should be, though, right? It makes the perfect image of a bundle of flowers. So, I decided to make it one myself. I call it Wildflower. It’s my favorite constellation.”

Sam looked up where you indicated, admiring the cluster of stars you’d dubbed Wildflower. “It’s beautiful,” he said, impressed by your creativity. “It makes sense. It really does look like a bundle of flowers.”

You both sat in silence for a while, staring up at the stars and listening to the sound of the waves crashing on the beach. You thought back to the evening you’d had, hesitating to even bring it up at all. Ultimately, you decided it would be best to talk about it.

“Hey, when I was out with that group tonight, they…mentioned some things about you,” you said, softly. “Like, drugs and other things… I didn’t entertain them or anything and I shut them down immediately, but I just wanted to know if you knew what they’d been referring to.”

Sam’s heart sank, hearing that the group had spoken about his past. He knew all too well the rumors and whispers that followed him, some completely ridiculous and some…much too true. His jaw clenched as he felt the familiar dread of isolation creeping back up on him.

“Yeah, it’s true,” he said, his voice low. “I’m clean now, though,” he added, finally meeting your gaze. “I turned my life around and I plan to keep it that way.”

You took a moment, processing his words. You could see the sadness in his eyes, the pain and regret. You hated that he was still so plagued by his past.

“The way I see it,” you started, giving him a small smile, “the past is the past for a reason. All that matters to me is who you are now, and that guy seems pretty cool.”

Sam let out a soft breath, blinking quickly as the sting of tears threatened his eyes. He felt a small weight fall off of his shoulders as he smiled at you.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “That means more to me than you know.”

Over the next few weeks, your friendship with Sam continued to grow. He still took you to campus every morning and you ate lunch together every day — unless the other group drug you away. Sam spent most afternoons at your house, even bonding with your brother. Andrew had started making an extra plate of breakfast for him every morning and expecting him at dinner every night.

One Friday night, you’d been getting ready to go out with the other group that had brought you into their circle. When you heard a knock at the door, you’d thought it was one of them. Your face fell with immediate concern as you opened the door to see Sam, tears streaming down his face.

“Sam, what is it? What’s wrong?” you asked, immediately stepping aside to let him into the house.

He stumbled through the door, gasping for air through the sobs as he tried to steady himself. “I don’t know what to do,” he cried, his voice breaking.

He explained that his father, who you knew had been in remission from cancer, had taken a turn for the worst. He felt helpless, like he was having to face the thought of losing him all over again after finally feeling like they were on solid ground.

“My mom’s freaking out and I need someone to help me keep it together,” he continued, looking at you with desperate, pleading eyes. “Please.”

Sam felt utterly raw and vulnerable, but he knew he could trust you. He needed you. He needed your light to wash away the darkness that was creeping up on him again.

“Oh, Sammy,” you sighed, feeling your heart break as you reached out to him. “Come here.” You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sam’s body trembled as you embraced him, his arms immediately snaking around your waist as he buried his face in your hair. His tears soaked through to your skin, but you didn’t mind.

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, hiccuping slightly as he gripped you tighter.

“He could still be okay, Sam,” you reassured him, rubbing his back. “People with health issues have backslides all the time and still get better. It’s good that the doctors caught it in time. I can’t promise that it will work out, but I can promise to be here every step of the way. You won’t go through it alone.”

Sam pulled away, despite his longing to stay in your arms forever, and wiped at his eyes. He was too overwhelmed to be embarrassed by the thought of crying in front of you.

“Thank you,” he said, letting out a shaky breath. “You’ve been a good friend.”

“You’ve been a good friend, too, Sam I Am,” you smiled, reaching up to wipe the remaining tears from his cheeks. “The best friend.”

You gently grabbed his arm, leading him over to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you looked around until you spotted the plate wrapped in foil.

“Andrew isn’t here to cook,” you told him, “but I can heat up some left overs, yeah? You need to eat.”

Sam smiled at the use of his nickname, a small comfort in the midst of the turmoil. “Best friend, huh?” he echoed, a hint of shyness creeping into his tone.

He watched with appreciation as you warmed up the food, finally taking the time to realize how hungry he was. He ate dinner with you, grateful for the small sense of familiarity after a day of such uncertainty.

“You can stay here tonight, if you want to,” you offered, washing the dishes after you’d both eaten. “You can borrow some of Andrew’s clothes to sleep in.”

Sam thought about denying the offer, insisting that he’d be fine, but he couldn’t. He needed the support and there was no use in trying to act tough.

“I’d like that,” he said, softly. “Thank you.”

He changed into the clothes you’d given him as you went up to your room and pulled back the covers. You got in the bed as he lingered in the doorway, unsure of what his next move should be.

“You can sleep in here,” you told him, patting the space next to you. “I don’t mind and I’ll punch Andrew in the stomach if he has anything to say about it.”

Sam hesitated, glancing between you and the vacant space on the bed. Cautiously, he slowly walked toward you as if he was waiting for you to change your mind. He climbed onto the bed, leaving a respectful distance between the two of you.

His body tensed as you pulled him into your arms, holding him close. He rested his head on your chest, relaxing as he listened to the steady thrum of your heartbeat. You ran your fingers through his hair and his eyes fluttered shut.

The only thing he was certain about in the current maelstrom of uncertainty was that he never wanted to be anywhere else.

Over the next month, Sam’s dad made a recovery. You’d stayed by Sam’s side throughout the entire process. You’d gone with him to visit his dad in the hospital and got to know his mother. Sam had blushed furiously as they told you stories of Sam as a child and how he’d called his pajamas his Sammy Jammies. You’d let him stay at your house on nights when he didn’t want to be alone, and Andrew hadn’t even tried to protest it.

Things were better now, more lighthearted. You were sitting at your usual table under the oak tree for lunch and you were curiously watching Sam as he doodled in his sketchbook.

“What are these grand secrets you keep in that book of yours?” you asked, tossing a fry at him with a laugh. “It doesn’t matter how many times I ask, you never let me see what you’ve been drawing.”

Sam grinned, dodging the flying fry, and closed his sketchbook as he slid it under his seat.

“They’re personal, nosy,” he teased, shaking his head.

“Fine, keep your secrets,” you sighed, huffing dramatically.

The group that you hung out with occasionally walked past your table, waving at you and glaring at Sam. One of the guys, Nathan, lingered back. He smiled at you, giving you a flirtatious wink before sauntering off after them. A warm blush tinged your cheeks as you looked down at your food.

Sam observed the interaction, keeping his expression neutral despite the familiar twinge of jealousy he always seemed to feel when it came to you. He knew he had no right to feel that way, given the nature of your relationship, but the instinct was there nonetheless.

“So, any plans for the weekend?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Uh…I’m not sure, actually,” you said, awkwardly picking at the food on your plate. Noticing Sam’s confused expression, you added, “Nathan sort of asked me to go on a date with him, is all. I don’t know if I’m gonna go, though.”

Sam’s eyebrows furrowed as he tried to process the information. “Oh,” he said, trying to keep his tone even.

His emotions were a whirlwind. Surprise, concern, and — he couldn’t deny it — a hint of disappointment. He reminded himself that you were free to date whoever you chose, but he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of possessiveness.

He didn’t know how to respond, unsure of whether or not he should voice any opinion on the matter. Instead, he focused on his food. Deep down, he hoped you would choose him over Nathan, but he knew it was a pipe dream.

The tension hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable, as you both sat in silence.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I might go,” you said, quietly. You glanced up at Sam, feeling a sudden sense of vulnerability. “Do you think I should?”

Sam debated whether to offer his opinion, but ultimately decided against it. “It’s up to you. If you think you’ll enjoy it, then go,” he replied, noncommittally.

“Oh, yeah, okay,” you said, a bit dejected by his answer. “I guess I’ll go, then.” You smiled at him, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You got up and grabbed your bag, starting to walk toward your next class. “I’ll see you after school, Sam I Am.”

Sam watched as you left, your response weighing heavily on him. His thoughts were consumed by the prospect of your date for the rest of the day. The idea of you with someone else bothered him more than he cared to admit. The green-eyed monster of jealousy was rearing its head once more.

Despite his conflicting thoughts, he knew he’d have to put on a brave face. You meant too much to him to jeopardize what you had. He was grateful for your friendship and, while part of him harbored deeper feelings, he knew that it was too late to cross that line.

On Saturday night, you sat in the car with Nathan as he drove you home. The date hadn’t been horrible, but it hadn’t been what you expected either.

He pulled up to your house, parking the car as he turned toward you. A half-smirk pulled at his lips before his face resembled that of a dead fish as he leaned toward you. Your eyes widened as you realized he wanted to kiss you.

“I had a great time tonight,” he whispered, pressing his lips to yours.

There was no spark, no butterflies, no magic.

You pulled back, smiling politely at him and thanking him for the date before getting out of the car.

You climbed the stairs to your room, opening the window and crawling out onto the roof. You threw tiny stones toward Sam’s bedroom, trying to get his attention.

Sam had been lying on his bed, wallowing in self-pity as thoughts of your date ate him alive. When he heard the thud of the rocks, his heart leapt into his throat. He opened his window, smiling before climbing over to join you.

“I just had the weirdest date of my life,” you laughed, rubbing your face with your hands. “He took me to this restaurant and literally just stared at me the entire time. It was like he didn’t know how to have a conversation. I tried talking to him about all sorts of things and he just…looked at me. Then, I suggested we go for a walk on the beach and he said he didn’t like sand. Sand! We live in a beach town and he doesn’t like sand. Not to mention he kissed me when he dropped me off and there was just…nothing.”

Sam listened intently as you recounted the evening, his heart swelling with relief as you described the lackluster nature of the date.

“Sounds like it was a bit of a dud,” he commented, his tone sympathetic.

He wanted to tell you how he felt, to share the depth of his emotion and how he saw the magic in you, but he held his tongue. It wasn’t his place to make such a move.

“Want to talk about it?” he asked, draping his arm over your shoulder as you leaned into him.

Sam felt a surge of gratitude for the moment, for being the one you chose to confide in. He realized he would always gladly take the role of your friend, even if it meant sacrificing the chance of something more.

“No,” you huffed, resting against him as you looked up at the sky. “Anyone who wouldn’t watch the stars with me isn’t worth ranting about.”

A few weeks later, you and Sam were sitting in your room as you were pleading with him to come with you to a party.

“C’mon, please, Sam?” you begged, pulling at his arm. “They want me to go, but I’ll be so bored without you.”

The group you were friends with had invited you to a party at Nathan’s beach house, but you didn’t want to ditch Sam to go to it.

“It’ll be good for you to get out and socialize for once,” you told him. “Plus, it’s right down the road so we could leave anytime we wanted to.”

Sam hesitated, a mix of anxiety and curiosity warring within him. “I don’t know. I’m not really into parties,” he replied, shifting his weight from leg to leg.

He was used to keeping to himself. The only person he hung out with was you. The thought of entering a crowd of people that he barely knew was daunting, especially when they seemed to have some sort of vendetta against him.

He didn’t want to ruin the evening for you, but the thought of facing Nathan and the others made him hesitate. However, in the end, his loyalty and desire to make you happy won out.

“Alright, alright, I’ll go with you,” he conceded, offering you a small smile, “but if things get bad, I want out. Deal?”

“Deal!” you squealed, wrapping your arms around him. “Thank you, thank you!”

You buzzed around your room, continuing to get ready. You liked socializing and enjoyed going to parties, but you didn’t like sacrificing your time with Sam to do so. This would be the best of both worlds.

Sam took a moment to admire you, the way you moved and smiled with such infectious energy. He felt a surge of pride in knowing you valued his company above all else.

As you left for the party, Sam’s apprehension lingered. It was tempered a bit by the knowledge that you’d be by his side. When you approached Nathan’s beach house, Sam prepared himself for whatever was in store.

The house was already loud and crowded as you walked in, the music blaring over the chatter of people. You grabbed Sam’s arm, dragging him into the kitchen and handing him a cup of soda. You poured yourself one of whatever liquor was on the table and downed it in one go.

Sam chuckled, touched by the fact that you’d remembered he was sober. He smiled in appreciation, grateful for the small gesture.

As you mingled, Sam found himself slipping into the background and observing the party around you. He spotted Nathan across the room, whose gaze was lingering on you before snapping over to Sam with disdain. Sam could feel the animosity and tension simmering between them, an unspoken tangible weight in the air.

You, however, seemed to be enjoying yourself. You were laughing and conversing with everyone, making Sam smile. Your happiness was his priority.

Making your way back over to Sam, you grinned and said, “See? It’s not so bad, is it?”

As you said that, two of Nathan’s friends ran into us. They both apologized, one of them placing his hand on Sam’s backpack.

“Don’t mind them, they’re just drunk,” I told him, rolling my eyes.

“No, not so bad,” he said, trying to believe his own words.

He couldn’t help but feel uneasy, like something was off, but he didn’t want to take away from your fun. Instead, he decided to grin and bear it. If it made you happy, that’s all that mattered.

You were about to make Sam go dance with you when Nathan got the attention of the crowd, standing up on his couch. Everyone gathered around as he made an announcement.

“Attention, folks, I’ve got your entertainment for the evening,” he said, a sadistic smirk on his face.

You felt your blood run cold as he pulled out Sam’s sketchbook. His friends must have snatched it when they ran into him. Sam immediately moved forward, but the two guys grabbed him to hold him still.

“Nathan, what the hell are you doing?” you yelled. “Stop and give that back!”

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” Nathan chided, wagging his finger. “Don’t you want to see what your little lover boy has been keeping from you?”

You scrunched your eyebrows in confusion as Nathan grinned.

“Exhibit A, the brilliant works of the freakish stalker,” he said, beginning to flip through the sketchbook.

Your eyes widened as a soft gasp escaped your lips. They were all drawings of you. From times spent on the roof, watching the stars, to sitting at your lunch table, to watching movies together. He’d even drawn you from the first day you met.

“Looks like you’ve got a not-so-secret admirer,” Nathan joked, making the crowd laugh.

Sam’s heart plummeted, a mix of anger and embarrassment welling within him. He fought against Nathan’s friends, but their grip was firm.

As the crowd gathered, Sam could feel the weight of their scrutiny. The words freakish stalker hit him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, trying to suppress the humiliation churning in his chest.

The laughter of the crowd stung like salt to an open wound, leaving Sam to wonder if you’d see him differently now that his feelings were laid bare. He clenched his fists, wanting nothing more than to snatch the sketchbook back and leave.

“Wait, we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet,” Nathan cheered, flipping to the final page.

There was another drawing of you with the Wildflower constellation. On the page, Sam had written some words.

“The freak thinks he’s a poet now. How romantic,” Nathan taunted, turning the book around to read the words out loud.

“If I am the stars, you are the sky. I can only shine in the vastness of your presence. If I am the moon, you are the sun. Your light reflects upon what was once barren. If I am the earth, you are the wildflowers. I bloom when graced by you.”

Your heart stopped as Nathan read the poem Sam had written. The laughter from the crowd was overpowering. You felt like you couldn’t move. Everything was happening to him in a blur and you felt powerless to stop the cruelty.

“I guess little lover boy wears his heart on his page, huh?” Nathan joked, smirking at Sam. “Might as well run away while you can, freak. She’s never gonna reciprocate your little crush.”

Nathan’s friends let Sam go, shoving him back with a laugh.

Sam’s ears filled with a ringing, the crowd’s laughter a cacophony that left him feeling dazed and hollow. His face burned, his chest tight as he fell to the floor.

The denial of a possibility for a mutual connection felt like a dagger to the heart. Sam’s mouth worked soundlessly, unable to form the words that begged you to see past the humiliating spectacle.

In that moment, he couldn’t fathom how to navigate the murky waters of your relationship. The fallout of the night left him unsure of where you stood. He got up on shaky limbs, feeling unsteady as he pushed through the crowd and bolted out of the front door.

You watched Sam storm out, your heart shattering as he did. Your eyes scanned the crowd, rage burning within you as you glared at Nathan. You rushed up to him and grabbed Sam’s sketchbook from his hands.

“Fuck you!” you yelled, chest heaving as you looked at all of them. “Fuck all of you! You’re all sick and pathetic and cruel.” Your gaze zeroed back in on Nathan as you seethed, “You will never be even half the man that Sam is.”

You turned on your heel and ran out of the house, trying to find Sam. You spotted him down on the beach, rushing toward his house as he furiously wiped at his face.

You hurried after him and called out, “Sam! Sam, wait! Please!”

Sam felt the sting of rejection and humiliation trailing in his wake, the knowledge that he’d exposed his heart to the scorn of others weigh heavily on his shoulders.

As he trudged along, his fingers tightened around the hem of his shirt. The fabric smelled like you and he wanted nothing more than to find comfort in your embrace, but he knew he couldn’t. Not anymore.

Sam walked until he couldn’t escape the call of your voice anymore. He paused, torn between the desire to confront the situation and the urge to escape the cruelty and mortification that had fallen on him.

With teary eyes, he turned to face you as his heart pounded in his chest. He searched for the words to convey his feelings, to explain the torrent of emotions that had laid waste to the tender, private world he had crafted for you.

You caught up to him, breathless from running, and felt your heart ache at the sight of him. He looked utterly devastated and you hated that you couldn’t save him.

“I’m so sorry, Sam,” you breathed, the guilt washing over you like the ocean waves. “I had no idea they would do that. I had no idea they were capable of such cruelty. I never would’ve hung out with them if I’d known.”

You held out his sketchbook for him, looking down. You were afraid that he’d hate you for putting him in this position.

“I got this back for you,” you said, quietly.

Sam excepted the sketchbook, cradling it to his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, too scared that it would be the last time he’d get to.

“Those drawings…the poem…” you trailed off, not knowing what to say. “They’re really good. Incredible, even. You’re very talented…but, are they…do they mean…?”

Sam nodded, a stray tear dripping from his cheek as he lowered his head and whispered, “Yes.” He shook his head, sniffling and wiping his face. “I never meant for you to see them. I’ll stop if you want me to, I won’t…”

“Stop?” you asked, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “Sam, nobody has ever seen me the way you do. Those drawings are beautiful. You drew my constellation. You wrote me a poem.”

You walked closer to him, gently cupping his face in your hands and wiping away the teardrops on his cheeks.

“I knew from that first day I met you that you were different, Sam,” you told him, gazing up into his eyes. “You had the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen…and, now, I know you have the prettiest heart. It would be an honor to get to hold it in my hands.”

Sam froze, your touch a balm to his wounds. He felt strength return to his limbs, your words like a soothing salve. He searched your eyes for any sign of dishonesty, hardly daring to hope that what he was hearing was true.

“Do you…mean that?” he stammered, unsure if he deserved such acceptance.

“I wanted you to tell me not to go,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving his. “When Nathan asked me on that date, I wanted you to tell me not to go because…I wanted to be with you.”

Sam gasped softly, his eyes flickering with disbelief. You stepped closer to him, pressing your body against his as you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him.

Sam froze in shock for a moment before melting into you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer.

Kissing Sam was like nothing you’d ever felt before. His lips left you breathless. When Nathan had tried to kiss you, you’d felt nothing. With Sam, you felt everything.

Sparks, butterflies, magic.

Your eyes fluttered open to gaze at him, a grin growing on your face as you bit your lip and grabbed his hand. You pulled him through your yard and to your front door, opening it as quietly as possible. You held a finger up to his lips, giggling softly.

“My brother’s asleep,” you whispered, quietly pulling him up the stairs.

Sam followed you like a giddy puppy. He still couldn’t believe the turn of fate that had been dealt to him. His heart swelled with joy and an inexplicable rightness.

As soon as your bedroom door was shut, your lips found his again. Sam’s head was spinning as you kissed him, a yearning hunger bubbling to the surface inside of him. Your fingers ran through his hair, a feeling that was so familiar yet so new. He didn’t want to come up for air, didn’t want to spend a second apart from you.

You pulled back for a moment, gently guiding him toward your bed. You gazed at him with desire-filled eyes, softly pushing him to lie back. Slowly, you climbed on top of him to straddle his hips.

“Let me make it all go away, Sammy,” you whispered, kissing the corners of his mouth. “Let me help you forget.”

Sam felt a shudder run through him — the weight of his past, the lingering shadows of regret, and the ghosts of addiction, pressed into submission by the warmth of your presence.

He parted his lips, his chest heaving with anticipation as you leaned over him. Your words were a siren call, luring him to the safe harbor he’d sought out for so long.

Sam let out a soft, shaky breath as he nodded his head. He gently grabbed your face, pulling you back in for a slow, sensual kiss.

Your tongues danced with each other as your mouths moved in tandem. You tugged at the silky strands of his hair, slowly rocking your hips against his.

Sam moaned into the kiss, his hands tightening in the fabric of your shirt. Your kisses were now laced in a fiery desperation, his hips arching to seek more. You kissed across his jaw, brushing your lips against his ear as you breathlessly asked, “Is this okay?”

His hands gripped your hips as his head fell back, exposing his neck for your attention. His breaths were strained, his hips shifting beneath you as he nodded, “Yes. More than okay. Please, keep going.”

You grinned, taking the hint and kissing a slow trail down the side of his neck. Every time your lips brushed a sensitive spot that made him shiver, you took the time to suck a deep purple mark into the pale skin. You soothed the areas with your tongue before continuing your descent.

Sam shivered and mewled, unable to control the soft noises leaving his lips. His skin felt like it was on fire, in the best way possible. His stomach tightened with the arousing thrill of being claimed by you, his neck now a tapestry of your affection.

His hands slid under your shirt, his fingers working the fabric upward as his eyes met yours in a silent question of permission.

You pulled back and tugged your shirt over your head, tossing it to the side before discarding your bra as well. You leaned back over him, grinning at the way his eyes locked onto your chest with boyish excitement.

“Have you ever done this before?” you asked, making his eyes snap back up to yours.

“No,” he answered, his cheeks tinging a soft pink. “At least, not like this. Not when it’s mattered.”

A flicker of his haunted past flashed through his eyes, but quickly melted away when you kissed his forehead.

“We can take it slow,” you reassured him. “I’ll guide you through it. You can tell me what you like and don’t like, okay?”

Sam nodded, feeling the anxiety dissipating as he gazed up at you. He lifted his arms, letting you pull off his shirt. You grinned at the sight of the hickeys marking his skin, tracing your finger over them. He squirmed beneath you, a soft whimper sounding in his throat.

“Don’t worry, Sammy,” you murmured, kissing his chest. “You’ll get what you want. We’ve got all night. There’s no need to rush.”

Sam’s eyes fluttered shut, the reassurance that this wasn’t fleeting sedating his restlessness. His heart pounded beneath your wandering lips, his muscles tensing as you played with the button on his jeans.

“Please,” he breathed, his voice a needy whisper. “Take them off.”

You didn’t hesitate to comply, hooking your fingers beneath the waistbands of his jeans and boxers before pulling them down his legs. You gasped softly as his erection sprang free, licking your lips as you admired him.

“You’re so pretty, Sammy,” you praised, wrapping your hand around his length to slowly stroke him. “So, so pretty.”

His face warmed with a deep blush at your praise, a bead of pearly white leaking from his rosy tip. He let out a shaky moan, muttering a quiet, “Oh, fuck.”

You smiled and cooed, “That’s it, Sammy. Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

You leaned down to press your lips against his tip, flicking your tongue around it to taste his arousal. Sam gasped, arching his back as his stomach clenched.

“A-ah,” Sam whimpered, gripping the sheets beneath him. “Please…”

You took him into your mouth as far as you could, feeling him brush against the back of your throat as you bobbed your head. Pretty mewls sounded from him as his legs moved restlessly. His chest heaved with exertion, his skin flushed a debauched red.

He whispered your name, his hips bucking involuntarily as he gasped, “I think…I’m getting close. Fuck.”

You pulled your mouth off of him, giving his tip one last soft kiss before trailing your lips back up his body. He let out a whine of protest, lifting his hips to try and chase your mouth.

You sat back and undid the button on your pants, removing the last bit of clothing that separated you before straddling him again. Sam’s eyes trailed over your body, his cock twitching at the mere sight of you.

“I wanted us to finish together, with you inside of me,” you told him, feeling the arousal dripping on your thighs. “Is that what you want?”

Sam nodded eagerly, moaning at the thought of being inside of you. “Yes, please,” he panted. “That’s what I want more than anything.”

His hands wandered over the curves of your body as you lined him up with your entrance. You slowly sank down onto him until you sat flesh against his hips. A sigh of pleasure left your lips as you felt him stretch you out, the delicious burn making you clench around him.

Your lips found Sam’s again as you began to ride him, lifting your hips to drop them back down. You both moaned into each other’s mouths, the scant space between you a mix of heat and desperation. You grabbed Sam’s hands, guiding them up to your chest.

“Touch me, Sam,” you breathed. “It’s okay. I want you to.”

Sam didn’t waste a second of the permission. His hands palmed your breasts, softly kneading them as he groaned. They felt perfect in his hands, his thumbs teasing the stiff peaks of your nipples.

You bit down on your lip, letting out a soft whimper as you moved your hips. Heat pooled low in your belly with each stroke of his cock inside of you.

As you both neared your peaks, Sam sat up and held you close to him. He thrusted his hips up in time with your movements, gazing up at you with pure adoration.

“Tell me you want me,” Sam whispered through shaky breaths, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I want you,” you breathed, feeling that knot beginning to unravel. “I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, Sam. Your pretty eyes, and your sweet smile, and your adorable laugh, and…and…Sam!”

With a cry of his name, you came undone above him. Wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you as you squeezed around his cock. Sam followed immediately after, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he moaned out your name.

You rode out your highs together, clinging to one another through the haze of pleasure. When you both came down, your skin was glistening with sweat as your hearts pounded in time.

Sam gazed up at you with a disbelieving, blissed out grin. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss.

“You mean everything to me,” he whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Thank you for giving me a chance to prove it to you.”

You shook your head, resting your forehead against his. “You don’t have to prove a thing, Sam I Am. My heart is already yours.”

Later that night, as Sam slept in your arms, you couldn’t help but admire him. Your fingers traced the delicate lines of his face before trailing down to his chest.

You noticed a few freckles above his heart, seemingly making out the shape of a star. You connected each dot with your finger, smiling softly.

That was your new favorite constellation.

[mattsturniololuvrr]

Y’all on my TikTok fyp I have been seeing some Hayden slander about why he and his ex broke up, the cheating was rumors and has been confirmed to be rumors. Another thing that was said was he is introverted which I can agree with he definitely is but I would be too if my dream was to be an actor and I got my dream role to play in starwars and then everyone at the time shit on me for it, I would have anxiety and rather stick to myself too.

People have said in the comments of some tiktoks I’ve come across that Hayden forced his ex who I extroverted to go to events and carpets by herself, I don’t believe he forced her to she wanted to go so she went without him but wanted him there. I feel like his ex didn’t understand Hayden and his anxiety and me being someone who struggles with anxiety when you’re in a relationship with someone who does not help you move past it and only amplifies if makes it 10x worse.

The rumors he smells terrible and has bad hygiene I know Jake G and him has a project together early on in both their careers and Hayden played a character who was gross in that sense and Jake G said he on set smelled bad, Hayden is a method actor and was trying to fit in the role he was playing. I’ve never met the man ( yet 😉) so what do I know.

Also his ex speaking about not having an orgasm during sex until later in life (after her and Hayden broke up.) I don’t think she was hinting he was bad I think she was speaking in general about no one in particular and that it was the birth control that she had been on, I did my own research and found that lots of women have this issue with various birth controls. His ex on the same podcast EP then said Bill Hader was the first man to give her an orgasm in sex and she missed his big dick. I for one feel like if she spoke about Hayden that way he would appreciate it and for someone her age with a child imo shows immaturity.

I’m just really tired of the slander this man faces due to his relationship with an ex and they have been broken up since 2017 why do we still talk about it? It sucks it didn’t work out for probably more reasons than “He is introverted.” Surely they both made mistakes and decided it’s best not to be together. But the narrative is Hayden didnt this, Hayden did that, Hayden blah blah blah. This man has faced enough criticism let’s not add more too it especially when no one has the full story and most likely never will since it’s no ones business and has been YEARS since it happened.

Thank you for coming to and yap/rant, on a positive note share your experience on meeting Hayden if you have one and if you’re seeing him soon tell me what you’re most excited about.

[staraayla]

Can we talk about his rose cheeks and freckles like omg 😭😭

[staraayla]

He was actually a BABY 😭😭😭