Show & Tell
occasionally subtle
Kaledo Art
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
NASA
No title available
ojovivo
sheepfilms
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
ellievsbear
Stranger Things
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
blake kathryn
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
todays bird
Monterey Bay Aquarium
trying on a metaphor
Cosmic Funnies
@theartofmadeline
No title available
seen from Thailand
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seen from Canada
seen from Türkiye
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seen from United Kingdom
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@lilacwinexi
𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞, 𝐩𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠.
Lilac. She/her. Film and music lover. Beginner. Hayden Christensen fan girl. Jeff Buckley obsessed.
Masterlist
Im new to tumblr but I’ve been writing on wattpad for years.
I’ll be writing fanfics for Hayden Christensen and most of his characters.
- lilac :)
Wrong Door
Summary : Sam gets up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, accidentally stumbling in on you and your boyfriend having sex.
Contains : jealousy, unrequited love, slight smut.
He never should’ve stayed the night, Sam knew it the second he threw his sleeping bag down on the living room floor like it didn’t matter. It did. Everything mattered when it came to Y/n. Every second spent in the same room as her — and him. Mike.
The group hangout at Mike’s house had stretched late into the night, beer cans littered across the carpet, controllers on the couch, and a half-watched movie still playing in the background. Y/n sat in Mike’s lap for most of it, arms around his neck, her laugh soft against his jaw. Sam barely looked. But he heard.
He always heard.
Laughter. Kisses. Quiet conversations.
Sam sat across the room, chewing the inside of his cheek raw, pretending to be too stoned to care. But he did care. He cared too much, and it was starting to turn into something uglier than just a crush.
She was perfect.
Not in a cliche way, not in the way people said it without thinking. She was real and messy and sweet and complicated. She laughed at his sarcasm. She remembered his favorite bands. She always asked if he was okay — even when he lied and said he was.
And she was with him.
Mike. Golden boy. Captain of the swim team. The kind of guy who always got the girl without even trying.
It was past 2 a.m. now, the hallway was dark except for the faint orange glow leaking in from a streetlight outside the window.
Sam rubbed at his eyes, groggy and annoyed, dragging himself off the living room floor. The floorboards creaked under his weight as he stepped over a tangle of limbs — someone half-asleep on the couch, and another snoring with a controller in their lap.
He just needed to piss and then crash again. Simple.
Mike’s house was always a maze in the dark. All the damn doors looked the same. Sam blinked hard, trying to remember which one was the bathroom. He reached out and pushed open the second door on the left — the one he thought was the guest bathroom.
It wasn’t.
His eyes adjusted in an instant.
And then they widened.
Y/n was in the middle of the bed, head tilted back, back arched. Mike held her hips, thrusting into her slowly. Soft moans escaped her parted lips—she looked like a goddess.
Sam felt his heart clench at the sight, he reached for the door and slammed it shut. His heart slammed against his ribcage, blood rushing to his ears. He stood frozen in the hallway, jaw clenched, unable to move.
He’d seen her.
Her flushed face. Her fingers fisting the blanket. And suddenly it was all too real. Not just a crush. Not just wondering what they did behind closed doors. He’d seen what they were, what they had. And it felt like swallowing glass.
He backed away from the door, every muscle in his body tense like he might break something if he let himself feel too much.
A few seconds later, he heard hushed voices through the door.
Then silence.
Of course, Mike didn’t come after him.
But Y/n did.
The door creaked open and soft steps followed him into the hall.
“Sam?”
He didn’t turn around.
“Sam, wait—”
“I didn’t mean to—” His voice cracked. “I thought it was the bathroom.”
“I know. I just—”
He turned then, finally facing her. She’d pulled on Mike’s hoodie, way too big for her, falling off one shoulder. Her hair was a mess. Her cheeks were still pink. And even in the low light, she looked like the version of her that wrecked him.
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “You don’t have to explain.”
“I… I didn’t know anyone was awake.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“You’re upset.”
“No shit.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. And she looked sorry. That’s what killed him the most. Like she knew what she meant to him, even if she’d never said it. Even if he hadn’t.
“It’s just…” she started, then stopped.
Sam shook his head. “Don’t do that. Don’t make it worse.”
“Sam—”
“I liked you before Mike,” he said suddenly, voice low. “You know that, right?”
She swallowed, lips parting like she wanted to speak, but no words came.
“I liked you when you were single, and I never said anything because I thought maybe you’d figure it out on your own. But you didn’t.”
“Sam…” Her voice broke.
He looked down at his hands. “It’s not your fault. I get that. But don’t ask me to be okay with seeing you like that. I’m not. And I won’t be.”
She stood there quietly for a few seconds.
Then nodded.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He didn’t answer. Just walked past her, back to the living room floor.
Needy and desperate
Stephan glass x Reader
Summary : Stephan has been containing his desire for you for too long—wanting to be respectful, but he finally gives into it.
It started with a knock at the door.
Not a text. Not his usual quiet window tap. A knock, impatient, low, the kind that said I need you before a word was spoken.
I opened it to find Stephan. Hair messy like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. Suit crinkly and clinging. Eyes dark and heavy with something I couldn’t quite place.
“Hey,” I said, leaning against the frame. “It’s midnight.”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
“No.”
That made me straighten. “What happened?”
He didn’t answer. Just stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and looked at me like I was the only thing holding him together. “I can’t sleep,” he muttered. “I can’t do anything, actually. You’re in my head. All the time.”
My mouth parted slightly. “Stephan—”
“I don’t want to talk,” he said. “I just want to be near you.”
I blinked, stunned by the softness in his voice. The openness. The lack of armor.
It wasn’t like him.
Usually, I had to peel things from Stephan. Usually, he kept his feelings locked behind compliments and smiles. But right now, he looked… desperate.
And then he was kissing me. Like he’d come undone halfway down the street and needed me to hold him together.
His hands were everywhere. Gripping my waist, cupping my face, fingers trembling as he kissed me like he’d been starved for days. His hips pressed against mine, his body already hard and frantic, like just touching me wasn’t enough.
“Jesus,” I whispered, pulling back slightly. “What is going on with you?”
He rested his forehead against mine. “I don’t know.”
“Did something happen?”
“No,” he breathed. “Yes. I don’t know. You wore that stupid dress yesterday and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. It’s driving me insane.”
I laughed, surprised. “Stephan—”
“You don’t get it,” he said, voice hoarse, lips brushing my jaw now. “You walk around all the time like you don’t even notice what you’re doing to me. Like I’m not losing my mind.”
He pressed open-mouthed kisses to my neck, soft, pleading, almost reverent.
My stomach flipped. “You’re very… clingy tonight.”
“Yeah,” he said without shame. “I am. I need you. Right now.”
I tilted his face toward mine. “You’re serious.”
He nodded. “I’m so gone for you it’s pathetic.”
I smiled. “It’s actually kind of hot.”
He kissed me again, slower now, more grateful than greedy. Then he whispered, “Can I… take you to bed?”
God, the way he asked. Like he needed permission to breathe.
I nodded.
He didn’t even wait for me to lead. Just grabbed my hand, pulled me gently, and followed me into the room like it was the only safe place he knew. When I sat on the edge of the bed, he dropped to his knees between my legs without a word.
“Stephan?” I said, caught between confusion and heat.
He rested his cheek against my thigh, looking up at me with flushed cheeks and raw eyes.
“I don’t want to be rough,” he said. “I don’t want to fuck. I just… I want to be in you.”
That was somehow worse. Better. Devastating.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“Can I undress you?”
I nodded, breath hitching.
His hands were careful, almost shy now. He lifted my shirt like he was unwrapping something fragile. Pulled my pants down slow, kissing the skin he revealed like a thank-you.
I watched him, stunned. “What’s gotten into you?” I asked softly.
“You,” he said, eyes flicking up. “You got into me. Now I can’t get you out.”
I opened my legs a little wider. “You want me?”
“More than I want to breathe.”
He climbed up and over me, lips pressing gently to my collarbone, my jaw, the space between my breasts. Slow. Worshipful. Like he was memorizing everything.
And when he finally slid inside me, it wasn’t rushed. It was deep, slow, steady — like we had all the time in the world.
He buried his face in my neck and moaned softly. “Fuck. I missed this.”
“We were together yesterday,” I murmured, smiling.
“I know. Doesn’t matter.”
I wrapped my legs around him, fingers threading through his hair. He rocked into me like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.
He didn’t talk much after that.
Just held me. Moved in me. Clung to me.
When I came, it was quiet, full-body, aching — like my heart cracked open with it. He followed soon after, whispering my name against my skin like a prayer.
We stayed tangled for a long time. He didn’t roll off. He didn’t pull away.
He just stayed inside me, arms tight around my waist, breathing uneven.
Eventually, he whispered, “Don’t let me screw this up.”
I kissed the top of his head. “You won’t.”
“I already am.”
“No. You’re just scared.”
He pulled the blanket up over us, still wrapped around me.
“Promise me something?” he asked, voice raw.
“Anything.”
“Don’t let go first.”
I didn’t hesitate.
“I won’t.”
And I meant it.
Tease
James Kelly x Reader
Summary : James comes home clingy and needy, so you take the advantage of his need to tease him.
I knew something was off the second he walked in.
James didn’t knock. He never knocked. But tonight he hesitated. Stood in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if I’d let him in.
His eyes were dark, tired, burning. His hoodie sleeves were shoved up, fists clenched in the fabric.
“Hey,” I said softly.
He didn’t answer.
I took a step forward, suddenly wary. “Everything okay?”
Then he closed the door behind him and exhaled through his nose.
“I need you,” he said, like the words cost him something.
I blinked. “Okay…”
“I’ve been trying not to come here all day. I was gonna let you breathe. Be normal. Be decent.” He laughed once, bitter. “Didn’t work.”
I crossed my arms, leaning against the table. “So you gave up on self-control.”
“Entirely.”
“And what is it, exactly, that you need?”
He swallowed. “You.”
I paused. Let the silence stretch.
Then smiled.
“Well,” I said, slow, “aren’t you sweet when you’re desperate.”
That made his jaw tighten.
I walked past him, deliberately brushing against his shoulder. “Sit down.”
He hesitated. Then did.
I could feel his eyes on me as I moved to the counter. I took my time pouring a glass of water, sipping it, knowing it drove him insane when I ignored him.
“You really gonna make me beg?” he muttered.
I turned slowly. “Should I?”
He looked up at me, sharp cheekbones, dark lashes, lips parted.
“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said. “Just… please.”
That word.
I nearly caved right then.
But I didn’t.
I walked toward him, slow and deliberate, and slid into his lap without asking.
His breath caught. His hands landed instantly on my hips, fingers digging in like he was trying to ground himself.
But I held his wrists. “No touching.”
“Y/n—”
I leaned in, lips barely brushing his. “You came here because you needed me. So be good.”
He groaned softly, hips jerking up against mine. “That’s not fair.”
“I know,” I whispered. “But you like it.”
I kissed the corner of his mouth, soft, teasing, then pulled back.
He groaned “You think this is funny?” he muttered.
“I think you’re very easy to ruin.”
His hands twitched under mine.
“Can I touch you?” he asked quietly. “Please.”
I studied his face. He looked wrecked already. Like I hadn’t even done anything and he was falling apart.
“Not yet,” I said.
Then I started moving my hips, slowly, deliberately — just enough friction to make him curse under his breath.
“Fuck, you’re evil,” he whispered.
I smiled. “You love it.”
He shut his eyes, jaw flexing, trying so hard to stay still.
But I leaned in again, lips at his ear.
“Say it.”
He shuddered. “Say what?”
“Say you need me.”
“I’ve already—”
“Say it again.”
His fingers curled into fists.
“I need you,” he breathed. “More than I can stand. I want you so fucking bad it hurts.”
God, he meant it.
I kissed him then, finally. Open-mouthed, hungry, dragging my fingers into his hair. He groaned against my mouth like I’d given him oxygen.
And I kept kissing him, but slow. Drawn out. Every move meant to push him further to the edge without letting him fall.
I rolled my hips once more, and he whimpered.
I loved that sound. From him, it was holy.
Then I whispered, “Take me to bed.”
He didn’t need telling twice.
He picked me up like I weighed nothing, kissed me hard, and practically stumbled down the hall, nearly knocking into the wall.
When we reached the bed, he set me down like something precious. But his hands trembled.
I pushed his hoodie off his shoulders and dragged my fingers down his chest — slow, teasing. He looked like he might explode.
“Please,” he whispered again, eyes wild. “Don’t tease anymore.”
I tilted my head. “You wanted me. This is what that looks like.”
“I wanted you naked,” he said, voice low. “And moaning my name.”
That earned him a shove. He landed on the bed, breathless. Then I climbed over him and finally pulled off my shirt. His eyes darkened instantly.
“Holy shit,” he breathed.
“You like?”
“I’m gonna die.”
I leaned down, lips grazing his.
“Then die begging.”
And finally, finally, I let him touch.
His hands were frantic, greedy, reverent. Like he couldn’t decide whether to worship me or devour me.
When he slid inside me, he actually gasped.
“Oh, my god—”
I rode him slow at first, watching him fall apart beneath me. His hands gripped my hips, head thrown back, eyes fluttering.
I leaned over him, kissed his throat. “You okay there?” He let out a strangled laugh. “You’re a menace.”
But he didn’t stop me.
He let me have all the control. My hips moved at steady pace, rolling and lifting them in different motions. He was a mess beneath me, his eyes barely open, mouth parted. When his eyes did open they were glued to my bouncing breasts.
He reached up, taking a boob into his hand. I threw my head back and he slid his hand up and around my throat, rubbing and squeezing it gently. I let out a soft moan, my brows furrowing.
“Look at you…you look like a goddess,” he said breathlessly. I tried saying something back, but my breath came out in soft pants and little whimpers. I was so close, unable to express it properly I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.
“You close baby?”
I nodded, that was enough to make him snap. His hips thrusted up into mine, skin slapping and our wetness combining. His chest has a glaze of sweat and so did my boobs. We were a mess. Smelling like sex and desire, bodies pressed together in a tight embrace.
Soon enough we both came, his hands held my hips as we both let out strangled moans and whimpers. I pressed my forehead to his, panting softly.
He rode out our high while I stayed sat on his lap, I had no energy to move and no will to go anywhere.
His arms around me felt like heaven, my inner thighs ached deliciously and my body pulsed with satisfaction.
And I stayed in his lap like a lovestruck kitten.
Sunday Mornings
˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
Sam Monroe x Reader
The baby monitor crackled to life just as the sun started bleeding through the blinds.
Sam groaned beside me, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Tell her to sleep five more minutes.”
“She’s four,” I said, already sliding out of bed, “not a snooze button.”
“Same difference.”
I pulled on his hoodie from the floor and padded down the hall. Mila was sitting up in bed, blanket half-on, hair sticking up in every direction like she’d fought a thunderstorm in her sleep.
“Morning, my sweet girl,” I whispered, scooping her up.
She yawned dramatically and flopped her head on my shoulder. “Mama… Daddy said I could have pancakes.”
“Did he now?”
I walked back into the bedroom with Mila in my arms. Sam had faceplanted into the mattress, one leg hanging off the bed, boxers low on his hips.
“Hey, pancake promiser,” I said, nudging his back with my foot. “You made a deal.”
He grunted. “I didn’t think she’d remember.”
Mila squealed, wriggling out of my arms and belly-flopping onto him. “PANCAKES!”
Sam groaned louder, muffled by the pillow.
He rolled over eventually, shirtless and scruffy, lifting Mila onto his chest like a human teddy bear. She immediately nestled there, her little fingers tracing his chest.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching. The way her curls melted into his chest. The way his arm instinctively cradled her back. The way his eyes softened, even half-asleep.
It was stupid, how much I loved them. Eventually, Sam opened one eye. “What?”
“You look like a dad.”
“A hot dad?”
“The hottest,” I said, climbing back into bed beside them.
He leaned over and kissed me, lazy and soft. Mila wriggled between us, completely unbothered, then whispered loudly, “I want chocky chips in mine.”
“Babe,” I said to Sam, “go make the baby her pancakes.”
He smiled, hair a mess, eyes still heavy. “Anything for my girls.”
Sam as a girl dad pt. 2
— Mila’s First Birthday
The balloon arch collapsed an hour into the party.
Sam stood in the middle of the backyard, icing on his black jeans, holding a crumpled banner that said “ONEderland” like it had personally betrayed him.
“I told your cousin not to staple it to the fence,” he muttered.
Mila, dressed in a purple tutu and covered in cake frosting, was giggling like she had orchestrated the entire mess.
I laughed. “She’s having the time of her life. That’s what matters.”
Sam glanced down at her. “She looks like a pastel gremlin.”
“She’s yours.”
“She’s perfect.”
He leaned down, kissed her sticky cheek, then licked frosting off his own finger. “Pretty sure this is in my hair.”
“It is.”
“She’s laughing at me.”
“She gets it from me.”
Sam smiled.
— First Bug Encounter
“Babe?” Sam called from the hallway.
“Yeah?”
“There’s a… thing.”
I poked my head around the corner to find him holding Mila under one arm and pointing at a suspicious blob on the wall with a rolled-up comic book. He looked like he was in a horror movie.
“She was crawling and it ran at us. Like it knew I was weak.”
“It’s a caterpillar,” I said.
“It’s planning something.”
Mila gurgled and reached toward the bug, curious and fearless.
Sam stepped back. “Oh no. You are not forming alliances with it.”
I laughed. “Let her touch it.”
“If she touches it, we’re moving.”
— Bathtime
“I think she’s drowning the duck,” Sam said solemnly from the bathroom doorway.
I leaned in to see Mila in the tub, aggressively shoving her rubber ducky under the water like she had a grudge against it.
“Let her work through it,” I laughed.
Sam kneeled by the tub, sleeves rolled up, tattoos splashed with water, already soaked despite insisting he’d “just be supervising.” Mila immediately threw a cup of water directly into his face.
He blinked, deadpan. “She’s trying to baptize me.”
“She’s cleansing your sins.”
“She’s got a long way to go, then.”
Still, he stayed there the whole time. Let her splash him. Let her cover him in bubbles. And when she held out a tiny rubber turtle like an offering, he took it like it was sacred.
— First Time on a Plane
Mila was curled in Sam’s lap, her tiny fingers clamped around his hoodie string like a lifeline. Her first flight had just taken off and her face was somewhere between amazement and panic.
Sam gently bounced his knee. “It’s okay, baby girl. We’re just flying. Like birds.”
She let out a suspicious whimper.
“She doesn’t trust the physics,” I said.
“Neither do I,” Sam muttered. “This is just… a chair in the sky.”
Still, he whispered to her the whole time. Talked her through the clouds. Showed her how small the world looked. And when she finally fell asleep, drooling on his hoodie, he didn’t move a muscle.
“I can’t feel my leg,” he whispered.
“You can’t feel it, or you don’t want to move her?”
He glared. “Same thing.”
One last time
James Kelly x Reader
Summary : You and James are divorced with a daughter named Mila, but the tension still lingers between you two when you both drop Mila off at one another’s house. You go to talk it out but it only ends in James’s bed.
Contains : James as a girl dad, slight angst, smut.
The rain had stopped just before I pulled into James’s driveway.
It left the pavement damp and shining, like the whole street had been freshly scrubbed. Mila was asleep in the back seat, one hand clutching her purple stuffed bunny, head tilted at that impossible toddler angle that always made me want to gently fix it and never quite dare.
I sat there for a second, engine ticking, the hum of the radio low.
I could see James through the window.
He was in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair messy — not the kind of messy you style on purpose, but the kind that comes from real life. There was something soft about him like this. Something painfully familiar.
He didn’t see me at first.
Then he did.
Our eyes met through the glass, and he didn’t look away.
Not immediately. Not like he used to.
I stepped out, rounding the car and opening the back door gently. Mila stirred, blinked up at me with that dazed, half-asleep face only kids could pull off. I brushed her hair back, whispering, “We’re at Daddy’s, sweetheart.”
She blinked again. “Daddy’s?”
“Yeah, baby.”
She sat up, clutching her bunny tighter, and I lifted her into my arms like I always did, even though she was getting too big for it. Her weight felt different lately — not heavy, just grown. Just not my little baby anymore.
James opened the door right as I reached the steps. He leaned against the frame, looking at her, not me.
“There she is,” he said, voice warm.
“Hi Daddy,” Mila mumbled, still clinging to my shoulder.
“Hi, beautiful.”
He reached for her and she went willingly — melting into his arms like it was the safest place in the world. He smelled like cedar and soap and something vaguely burnt, which probably meant he’d tried to cook again.
She buried her face in his neck.
I tried not to look too long.
“Thanks,” he said, eyes finally flicking to mine. “For bringing her. I know Sunday’s not usually—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in.
We stood there for a beat too long, Mila between us, a very real and very loved reminder of everything we’d been. Everything we still were, even now. Even after the lawyers and the division of books and the fight about who kept the cast iron skillet.
James shifted his weight, bounced Mila a little. “She said you guys made pancakes this morning.”
“She poured the batter herself.”
He smiled — the real one. The crooked one that used to undo me. “That’s my girl.”
Another silence. Another beat.
I looked away. “You should probably get her inside. She’s still half-asleep.”
“Yeah. I just—” He hesitated, glancing at me. “Can we talk later? After she’s down?”
My chest tightened, but I didn’t let it show.
“Depends what about.”
He gave a small shrug. “Nothing huge. Just… stuff.”
“Stuff,” I repeated.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll think about it.”
He nodded, then turned to carry Mila inside, her little arm slung lazily over his shoulder, her bunny dangling from one hand. I stood on the porch a second longer than I meant to, watching her disappear into his chest, into the house, into the life that used to be ours.
The door didn’t shut.
Not all the way.
He left it ajar, like he was still deciding if he wanted me to follow.
Or maybe he already knew I wouldn’t.
I stayed in my car for twenty minutes.
Tried to talk myself out of it. Tried to convince myself that whatever James had to say could wait until next week. That it wasn’t worth stirring things that had finally started to settle.
But the porch light was still on. And the front door was still cracked.
So I got out.
The house hadn’t changed much. A few more plants. Mila’s artwork taped to the fridge. A new coffee table that didn’t match the rest of the furniture. The same smell — detergent and wood and something warm. Something that used to mean home.
James was in the kitchen when I stepped in, leaning over the sink, a glass of water in his hand, back turned.
“She asleep?” I asked softly.
He nodded without looking. “Out cold. Barely made it to the pillow.”
I stepped further in. Closed the door behind me. That familiar click echoed louder than it should’ve.
He turned finally, leaned against the counter. Tired eyes. Soft jaw. That old James — the one from late nights and grocery runs and baby monitors at 3 a.m. — peeked through all the quiet hurt.
“You really came back,” he said, like he wasn’t sure I would.
“I said I’d think about it.”
“You used to say that when you already knew.”
I smiled faintly. “Still do.”
He gestured to the table. “Want to sit?”
“I’ll stand.”
He nodded like he expected that. Set his glass down. Rested both hands on the edge of the counter like it was the only thing holding him up.
Silence stretched again.
And then he said, “I don’t know how to do this anymore.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend it doesn’t still hurt when you leave.”
My chest tightened.
“You wanted the space,” I said carefully.
“I know. And I don’t regret asking for it. We were miserable. We fought all the time. Mila was hearing things she shouldn’t have heard.”
I nodded. “We were both angry.”
“But now it’s like…” He trailed off. Ran a hand through his hair. “You’re still here, but not here. It’s like a ghost version of us walks around every time we see each other.”
I leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “Because what we had was real. That doesn’t just go away, James.”
He looked at me, eyes fierce and quiet. “Then why did we let it go?”
That question landed like a punch. I didn’t answer right away.
“Because love stopped being enough,” I said finally. “Because we were exhausted, neither of us wanted to be the one to fix it anymore.”
He closed his eyes like he didn’t want to hear it, even though he knew it was true.
“I didn’t stop loving you,” he said.
“You stopped showing it.”
That cut through him. I saw it — in the way he shifted, in the way his jaw clenched like he wanted to argue and couldn’t.
“And I stopped asking for it,” I added, softer now.
The air in the room felt too still.
“You know I’m still in love with you, right?” he said suddenly.
My heart dropped.
“That’s not fair,” I whispered.
“It’s the truth.”
I swallowed hard, my throat thick. “You can’t just drop that on me like it means nothing.”
“I’m not. It means everything.”
He crossed the room slowly — not sure of his footing, like I might flinch if he got too close. He stopped just in front of me, inches away.
“I think about us all the time,” he said. “Not the bad fights. Not the walking on eggshells. I think about you in the kitchen at midnight, singing to yourself. I think about the way you used to wake up first and bring me coffee even though you hated the smell. I think about the first time you let me hold Mila, and you looked at me like I wasn’t broken anymore.”
“James…”
“I never stopped wanting you.”
My eyes burned. My mouth parted but nothing came out.
He reached up, thumb brushing the side of my face, gentle. Familiar.
“I know we’re not supposed to go back,” he said, quieter now. “But for just one night… I don’t want to feel like strangers anymore.”
The smart thing would’ve been to walk away. The safe thing.
But I’d never been safe with James. I’d only ever been real.
So I closed the distance.
He kissed me like he’d missed every inch of me. Not rushed — reverent. Like he wanted to relearn my taste, my rhythm, the way my hands curved around his shoulders. His mouth moved against mine with the same weight it always had — intention layered with grief, love, and want.
My fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as his hands slid to my waist, grounding me in the moment. He backed me into the wall gently, his hips flush against mine, our breath shared, shallow.
We moved together like people who knew every detail — every sound, every tell, every way the other fell apart.
His hand slipped beneath my shirt, fingertips brushing over familiar skin with aching caution. He paused, breath ragged against my neck.
“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.
I didn’t.
I kissed him harder instead.
And then we were stumbling toward the couch — not frantic, not clumsy, but like gravity kept pulling us back into each other. Clothes slid away in slow, quiet layers. Fingers mapped skin like rediscovery. Everything familiar felt new again.
He kissed my shoulder, my collarbone, the hollow of my throat. He took his time, memorizing instead of rushing, as if this might be the last time.
I arched into him, hands tangled in his hair, hearts pressed too close.
His fingers explored places that had been untouched for too long. Soft whimpers escaped my lips, arching up into his touch like I might not survive without it.
He pulled his fingers away from me, sucking the wetness we collected off them. My eyes nearly rolled back at the familiar sight.
Then his body came down over me, hands gripping my waist firmly as he lined himself up. My eyes were hooded, lips parted like I knew what to expect next.
The fire crackled in his living room, warming our intertwined bodies. His breath was heavy against my skin as he lined himself at my entrance like he was hesitating. Like he knew that he wouldn’t come back from this.
He pushed into me in one quick thrust and our bodies shuddered at the sudden sensation. My back arched into him, nails clawing his back muscles. His face contorted into something so handsome I almost came undone at the sight.
His fingers wrapped around my waist and brought me towards his thrusts, my breasts bouncing at each collide. He hovered over me, groaning like an animal. His cross necklace swung back and forth in front of my face like a filthy reminder of what we were doing.
“So beautiful…” he muttered into my neck, enticing a moan out of me. He shouldn’t be saying things like that. Things that make me feel like we were back to square one.
The sound of our love making filled the room, nasty and beautiful.
And when we came together, it wasn’t wild or rushed or messy. It was slow and aching.
It was us — complicated, beautiful, broken. Afterward, we lay in silence. His arm draped across my stomach. My head on his chest. Neither of us said what we both knew.
That this didn’t fix anything. That it didn’t mean we were back together.
That it only meant we still felt everything, too much, too deeply, too permanently.
His fingers grazed mine. “She looks more like you every day,” he said quietly, referring to Mila.
“She’s got your stubbornness though.”
He smiled, eyes closed. I stared at the ceiling.
And for a few minutes, I let myself believe that maybe, love wasn’t gone.
Just resting. Waiting. Still there, under everything we couldn’t say.
High
Sam Monroe x Reader
Summary : you and Sam escape the schools football game to go get high behind the schools bleachers.
Contains : Smoking, swearing, oral (f receiving) , making out.
Smoke curled around Sam’s face, soft and slow, blurring the sharp edges of his cheekbones and veiling those glassy, hooded eyes. He always looked softer when he was high, less guarded.
His back was pressed against the old brick wall, one leg stretched, the other bent just enough to rest his arm on. The joint dangled from between his fingers, the ember pulsing faintly with each inhale.
He looked like trouble.
“You’re staring,” he murmured, voice low and dry. The corner of his mouth tugged into that smirk, the one he barely used, like he was saving it for moments like this.
I leaned back against the brick behind me, feeling the chill of it through my dress. The wind moved the trees above us, brushing branches against each other like nature couldn’t keep still either.
“This stuff’s good,” I muttered. My head was swimming, but not in a bad way. Everything felt soft. Warm. Slow.
“You say that like I’d bring you anything less.”
We were supposed to be at the football game — the big prom fundraiser they put on every year. Noise still drifted over from the other side of the school, the echo of whistles and cheers barely reaching us out here.
But Sam had cocked an eyebrow and said, “You really wanna sit in a crowd pretending you care about this shit?”
And now here we were.
Behind the bleachers alone.
When I looked back over at him, his eyes were already on me — not just glancing, but watching. Tracing. Like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth. Like he’d been watching me for a while.
“What are you doing?” I asked quietly.
He blinked, slow and unbothered. “Nothing.”
I huffed a breath. “Hypocrite. Told me to stop staring, now look at you.”
He didn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth lifted again — not quite a smirk this time. Softer. Hungrier.
My whole body felt liquid, like I was melting into the air around me. I didn’t know if it was the weed or the weight of his gaze, but something about the way he looked at me made everything else feel very far away.
He didn’t stop staring. And I didn’t want him to.
So I stared back.
His features were so sharp and pretty it was borderline unfair — pale skin kissed by just enough shadow, lip ring glinting faintly in the light, black hoodie unzipped halfway to reveal a worn band tee stretched over his chest. His hair was messy, falling into his face like it always did, and I wanted to push it back just to see him clearer.
My fingers twitched at my side. Then I gave in.
I reached out, slow and unsteady, brushing his cheek. His skin was warm and smooth with the slightest hint of stubble along his jaw. His eyes slipped closed as he leaned into my hand like it was instinct.
My other hand lifted, threading into his hair, and it was soft. He let out a breath. Barely a sound. His hands, resting on his knees, shifted. I didn’t notice how close we’d gotten until I could feel the heat of his thighs near mine.
I leaned in just a little more, fingers on either side of his face.
“Pretty boy,” I whispered, brushing my thumb along his cheek.
He let out the faintest sound — something between a breath and a whimper — and suddenly his hands were gripping my hips, dragging me toward him in one swift pull.
I gasped, half-laughing, stunned by the shift in his energy.
“Sam—”
He didn’t wait.
His mouth found mine like it belonged there — slow at first, tasting, teasing, then hungrier. His tongue slid across my lower lip, asking, daring. I opened to him and he groaned softly into the kiss, hands anchoring me in place.
I moved without thinking, slipping onto my knees, climbing into his lap, straddling him. My dress hiked up my thighs, not that I cared. His hoodie bunched beneath my hands as I clutched him, grounding myself in him.
His lips moved with mine like he’d been waiting months for this — deep, unhurried, greedy. His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips, guiding me to rock gently against him. I could feel how hard he was already, and something about that made my stomach tighten.
I rolled my hips again, slow and deliberate, and his head fell back against the wall with a low groan.
Fingers inching closer and closer to the edge of my panties under my skirt, and for a moment I had a sudden realisation of what was happening.
“Sam—we shouldn’t…”
The words barely left my lips before he flipped me gently onto the grass, the damp coolness soaking into the back of my dress. I gasped, startled, my eyes wide as I looked up at him hovering over me.
“Why shouldn’t we?” he murmured, voice low, lips brushing the hollow of my throat like the question wasn’t meant to be answered.
“We…” I tried again, but his mouth was already moving, pressing warm, open kisses against my neck. My thoughts dissolved with every drag of his lips, every graze of his teeth.
I felt him smirk against my skin, that dangerous grin he always wore when he knew I was losing control. And he was right. I was.
My head fell back into the grass, fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie as his hands slid up my thighs, slow and steady. His touch made the wind disappear, made the trees above us blur. I felt everything and nothing all at once.
He didn’t speak again, didn’t rush — just kissed his way down, every inch of skin he passed over igniting something deep in my chest. When he pushed the hem of my dress higher, I didn’t stop him. I couldn’t. The air between us was thick with heat, need, and desire.
“Fuck,” he whispered, almost to himself, fingers brushing along the edge of my lace. His voice wasn’t lustful — it was reverent, like I was something he hadn’t dared touch until now.
My breath hitched as he kissed the inside of my thigh, soft and slow. My hand found the back of his neck, grounding myself as he hovered there — not moving, just breathing against my skin.
“Sam…” I whispered, not a warning, not a plea — just his name.
Then his tongue dragged up my slit, making me shudder softly. He groaned at the taste before diving back in.
His tongue explored every inch of me while I gripped the grass holding on for dear life.
My chest rose and fell, biting my lip to contain my moans. He looked up at me, pulling away for a second. I let out a soft whine at the loss of contact, between my legs still aching for release.
“Don’t hold back those noises, I wanna hear you…please,” he said softly but firmly, his eyes still red from the weed and his lips swollen.
He looked like a dream, his head between my thighs, licking up and down on my clit with a pressure that made my whole body shake.
When I came undone, I squirmed from his touch, too sensitive for more. But he gripped my hip, steadying me while he licked every last drop from me.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, breath still heavy, watching him between my legs in a haze of disbelief and something dangerously close to awe. His hair was a little messy now, lips pink, eyes heavy as he looked up at me with a lazy, satisfied smile.
He slid my panties all the way off with deliberate slowness, then, without breaking eye contact, folded them once and tucked them into his pocket.
The sight alone sent another shiver through me.
He smoothed my dress back down, fingertips brushing against my thighs with a kind of tenderness that didn’t match the wildness of what had just happened.
I collapsed back into the grass, chest still rising and falling, limbs buzzing. Between my legs, I was a mess—warm and undone, legs trembling slightly with the aftermath. He looked at me like he knew exactly what he’d done and was proud of it.
Overhead, the stars blinked dimly through the haze of stadium lights. The echo of the football game still floated toward us—cheers, whistles, the occasional distant announcement over the speakers.
Beside me, Sam sat back, rolling another joint with a practiced ease. He lit it with a flick of his lighter, the orange glow briefly illuminating the edge of his jaw, still flushed from earlier.
I turned my head to look at him, smiling without meaning to. Too dazed to care, too spent to move.
He caught me staring. Exhaled slowly. And then—
“Open your mouth,” he murmured, his voice low, teasing, and thick with smoke.
I blinked at him, amused. But I obeyed.
He leaned over me, lips just shy of brushing mine, and gently blew the smoke into my mouth before kissing me soft and slow—like it was a thank you, or maybe a promise.
I tasted him, and the smoke, and something more dangerous underneath.
God, I thought, as his lips hovered just over mine.
This man is going to be the death of me.
Sam Monroe as a girl dad
— Sam’s first diaper change
Sam stood frozen at the changing table, staring down at the tiny wriggling baby like she was made of glass and explosives.
“She’s glaring at me,” he muttered, eyes wide.
“She’s not glaring,” I said, biting back a laugh as I leaned against the doorway. “She’s pooping.”
His face paled. “Even worse.”
He slowly unfastened the diaper like he was defusing a bomb. The baby, Mila, let out a soft coo, unbothered. Sam, on the other hand, looked like he was sweating.
“This isn’t natural,” he whispered. “This feels like some kind of test. Like karma or something.”
“Welcome to fatherhood,” I smirked, handing him a wipe.
He took it like it was a weapon, then paused. “Wait… does this go… here?”
I nodded, watching him struggle with a deadly mix of horror and tenderness. When he finally managed to secure the clean diaper, he let out a breath like he’d just completed an Olympic marathon.
Then Mila farted.
Sam blinked. “She’s mocking me.”
— Late night cries
The clock read 3:12 AM. The only light in the room came from the dim hallway glow, and the sound of Mila’s tiny whimpers filled the air.
I rolled over, about to get up, but Sam was already moving. Hoodie half-zipped, one sock missing, and a unicorn sticker somehow stuck to his hair.
“I got her,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.
I watched from the bed as he picked her up gently, pressing a kiss to her forehead before settling into the rocking chair.
He cradled her like she was the most precious thing in the universe.
“Hey, baby girl” he whispered. “What are we doin’ awake again, huh? You miss us that bad?”
She quieted almost instantly, little fingers curling around one of his hoodie strings. He smiled.
“Me too,” he said softly.
I don’t think he even realized I was still watching. But in that moment, all I could think was God, I love him.
— Fashion struggle
Sam stood in front of the closet holding up two tiny onesies like he was trying to pick between life paths.
“One has bats on it. That feels like it aligns with our aesthetic,” he said seriously. “But this one says I Love My Daddy and… I mean, come on.”
I walked in, brushing past him. “You’re actually overthinking baby fashion?”
“Her look matters,” he said. “First impressions are important.”
“She’s four months old. Her audience is mostly stuffed animals.”
Sam held up the I Love My Daddy onesie again. “Okay but look at this and tell me it’s not illegal levels of cute.”
I gave him a look. “You just want her to wear it so you can post a photo.”
He grinned. “Yeah. And I’m gonna cry about it later.”
— Afternoon naps
It was late afternoon and Mila had finally fallen asleep on Sam’s chest. He was lying on the couch, head tipped back, a quiet song playing from the old speaker near the window.
I walked in to find him completely still, hand gently covering her back, eyes closed.
“You sleeping?” I whispered.
He peeked one eye open. “Almost. She’s warm.”
I sat on the arm of the couch, watching the way his fingers unconsciously rubbed slow circles on her tiny back. His hair was messy, his face soft.
“You’re really good at this,” I said.
He blinked at me. “At… what? Accidentally getting spit on my shirt?”
I smiled. “At being her dad.”
He looked at her, then at me. “It’s scary,” he admitted quietly. “But I want to be good. For her. For us.”
And that right there, that’s what made me fall in love with him all over again.
I love Sam as a girl dad 🙏
TEEN PARENTS
Sam Monroe
New series coming soon
Characters :
Mila Monroe — 1 year old (but she gets older in some scenarios)
Y/n L/n — 18 years old
Sam Monroe — 19 years old
This series will be a bunch of scenarios of you, Sam and Mila! It will be fluffy with some struggle as they are teenagers trying to raise a child.
Some scenarios will also be of just you and Sam having alone time away from Mila and being able to be kids again.
Hope you guys enjoyyy
Chapters —
Imagines pt 1
Imagines pt 2
—
Sunday mornings
SEX ON THE BEACH
James Kelly x Reader
Contains : sex
Summary : You and James go to the beach with your friends, later in the night once they’ve all left you both make love on the beach.
We should’ve gone home hours ago.
The bonfire had burned down to coals, the others already peeled off, some to their tents, some to their cars, some into the woods with someone else’s lips on their neck. But we stayed. Of course we did.
James was sitting beside me in the sand, hoodie sleeves rolled up, one hand wrapped around a beer bottle he’d long since forgotten to drink from.
“You’re quiet,” I said.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s always dangerous with you.”
He gave me a sideways look. His mouth tugged into something half-smile. “I brought you here for a reason.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
I nodded. “Same reason I came.” His eyes dropped to my mouth. “And what reason’s that?”
“To be alone with you.” He set the bottle down. Slowly. Carefully. Then looked at me like I was something worth losing his balance over. “You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” he said, voice low.
“You didn’t say anything.”
“I was trying to be good.”
I turned toward him, tucking one leg under me, letting my knee brush his. “That’s your first mistake.”James didn’t move right away. He just looked at me, jaw tight, breath shallow, like he was holding himself still out of sheer will.
Then I leaned in. Just a little. Just enough to push.
That’s all it took.
He kissed me hard, one hand cupping the back of my neck, the other gripping my thigh like he needed to feel every inch of me now or go mad. The sand shifted beneath us, our bodies tangling, mouths messy, desperate. I tasted salt and beer.
He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Tell me to stop.” I kissed him again. “Don’t you dare.”
That’s all he needed.
We stumbled back onto the blanket we’d brought earlier, spread near the rocks, half-covered in our jackets. The fire was a distant glow now, barely flickering, but the moon was bright enough to see his face — flushed, focused, blue eyes wide and wild.
He kissed down my throat, pushing my shirt up, dragging his teeth along my skin like he was memorizing me by mouth. I gasped, arching into him as he slid his hand beneath my waistband, fingers tracing slowly, deliberately, until I could barely keep quiet.
“You like that?” he whispered. I nodded, biting back a moan. “Yes.” He smiled against my neck. “Then say it.”
“I like it,” I whispered back, voice cracking. “Fuck, James…”
He groaned, pulling away just long enough to strip his hoodie and shirt off in one clean motion. I sat up and did the same, shimmying out of my jeans while he leaned down to kiss my chest, then my stomach, then lower — mouth hot and open, teeth grazing, tongue slow and unhurried.
It was maddening.
When he finally moved over me again — bare, warm, hard — we both went still. Just for a second. Our foreheads touched. His hands cupped my hips. I could feel him shaking, holding back.
“This isn’t just sex,” he said, almost like an apology. “I know.”
He kissed me, then pushed into me in one slow, aching motion. My breath caught. His eyes locked on mine. We didn’t look away. The rhythm we found wasn’t fast. It wasn’t frantic. It was slow and deep, every thrust a kind of language we’d never let ourselves speak before.
I moaned his name against his shoulder. He said mine like a vow. Our bodies rocked in time with the ocean behind us, waves crashing louder than our breathing but not drowning it out. My back arched as he slid deeper, my nails dragging down his spine. He cursed quietly, kissed me harder, moved faster.
It built slow — the tension, the heat, the pleasure like a rising tide. And then I came apart, crying out into his mouth, hips trembling beneath his grip. He followed seconds later, whispering my name like it hurt to say, pulling me close as we both collapsed onto the sand-covered blanket.
We lay there in the afterglow, limbs tangled, skin sticky with sweat and salt. His chest rose and fell against mine. After a while, I said, “You’re going to be finding sand in your pants for a week.”
He laughed, muffled against my neck. “Worth it.” I smiled, fingers brushing his jaw. “Still think bringing me here was a good idea?”
He looked up at me. “Best decision I’ve made in a long time.” And in the silence that followed, I realized something terrifying and sweet.
I believed him.
I hate the way you love me
James Kelly x reader
Contains : Swearing, arguing, angst, angry sex.
Summary : You and James are arguing about your relationship, and he opens up about how he doesn’t know how to love the way you want him to.
It started with the door slamming. It always did.
James came in like a storm, pacing, vibrating with that untouchable kind of anger, the kind that came from fear dressed as pride. He didn’t look at me. Just cracked open a beer, didn’t drink it, set it down too hard on the counter.
I waited. He said nothing. So I said, “You disappeared for two days.”
He turned his head, jaw tight. “I needed space.”
“From me?”
He didn’t answer. That was enough of an answer.
I stood slowly, crossing my arms. “You don’t get to ghost me and walk in like nothing happened.”
“I didn’t ghost you.”
“No? Because that’s what it felt like. Silence. For two days. You don’t even text, James.”
He laughed once. Dry. “So now I’m your boyfriend?”
“No,” I snapped. “You’re just the guy who crawls through my window at midnight, sleeps in my bed, and acts like I’m the only person in the world when it’s convenient for you.”
His shoulders tensed. “I told you I’m not good at this.”
“That’s not an excuse anymore.”
“I’m trying—”
“No, you’re not. You’re hiding behind this whole tortured act like I’m supposed to fill in the blanks. But I’m not a mind reader. I’m tired of this James.”
He turned toward me fully now. Face unreadable. Voice low. “You don’t get to say you’re tired when you’re the one pushing me away.”
“I’m pushing you away? I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Bullshit. You’ve got one foot out the door every time I get close.”
“Because I’m scared.”
“Well, so am I, Y/n!”
His voice cracked. The room felt smaller. He ran a hand through his hair. “You think I don’t know I’ll ruin this? You think I don’t lie awake at night trying to figure out how to not screw it up?”
“Then say that.”
“I just did.”
My chest rose and fell fast.
“I hate how you love me,” I said suddenly, bitterly. “Like you’re bracing for impact. Like it’s already doomed.”
James stepped forward. “I hate how you don’t love me. Not really. Not enough to believe in me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Then what the fuck are we doing?”
I didn’t know. I didn’t know anymore.
“I think about you all the time,” he said, voice shaking now. “And not just when I want you. All the time. When I’m driving. When I’m doing nothing. When I’m trying to move on from the shit that keeps me locked in my head. You’re the only thing that pulls me out.”
I swallowed. Hard. “You ruin me,” I whispered. “Every time you leave, I start to believe I imagined it all.”
He stepped closer.
“I don’t want anyone else,” he said. “And that scares the hell out of me.”
“Then stop acting like I’m disposable.”
We were so close now I could feel the heat off his skin. My hands trembled. My throat ached.
“Say something,” I breathed. “Or walk away.”
He didn’t walk away, he kissed me hard.
His mouth crashed into mine like a punishment. Like he hated himself for wanting me this much. And maybe I hated myself for letting him.
We stumbled back into the wall. His hands gripped my hips tight, dragging me against him like he needed the pressure to stay grounded.
“I hate you,” I whispered against his mouth.
“Liar.”
“I do. You make everything harder.”
“Still a liar.”
He bit my bottom lip and pulled. My gasp made him groan, dragging his hands under my shirt, pushing it up over my head without asking. I didn’t care. I wanted this fight, in my bones, in my blood. I wanted to feel it in every bruise he left on my skin.
His mouth moved to my neck, kissing, sucking, biting, no tenderness. Just tension and teeth and too many things unsaid. He spun me fast, pressing my chest to the wall, hand splayed between my shoulder blades.
“You wanna hurt me?” I asked, breath catching.
“No,” he growled. “I wanna fuck the fight out of you.”
My knees nearly gave out.
He yanked my jeans down, rough, exposing me. I kicked them off and turned to face him, eyes blazing.
“Then do it,” I whispered.
He looked wrecked. Angry. Beautiful.
“Don’t say that unless you can take it.”
“I can take it.”
His mouth slammed back onto mine, hands everywhere, gripping my thighs, pulling me toward the bedroom in a blind, frantic stumble. We barely made it to the bed.
He threw me onto it, followed fast, dragging his shirt over his head, muscles flexing with the motion.
I clawed at his jeans, and he pushed mine the rest of the way off. We were nothing but skin and heat and hunger now.
But even in the mess, his eyes stayed locked on mine.
“You sure?” he asked, hoarse, breathless.
I nodded once. “Make me forget everything.”
He hovered over me, breath heavy, eyes flickering between rage and restraint.
His thumb brushed my bottom lip. Not gentle, just rough enough to make me gasp.
“You wanna forget everything?” he said, voice low. “Then remember this instead.”
He pressed inside me in one hard, deliberate thrust, no buildup, no softness.
I cried out, fingers digging into his shoulders. His name came out broken, like a prayer I didn’t mean to say out loud.
His eyes fluttered shut. His jaw flexed.
“Jesus—” he muttered, as if it physically hurt to be inside me.
He didn’t slow down. He didn’t let up. This wasn’t sweet or pretty. It was a build up of anger and desperation.
He drove into me like he meant to leave bruises in my bones. My back arched off the mattress. His hand shot out and pinned my hip down hard, holding me there like he didn’t trust me not to run.
“Still hate me?” he rasped, eyes locked on mine.
“Yes,” I choked out. “God, yes.”
He smiled darkly, not cruel, just wrecked. Like he knew exactly what we were doing to each other.
My legs wrapped around him on instinct. I couldn’t help it. I needed him deeper, closer. Needed to feel every part of him and still not enough.
He grabbed my thigh, threw it over his shoulder, and angled himself even lower. The change hit me like a shockwave.
I nearly sobbed. “James—”
“Shut up,” he whispered, dragging his lips down my neck, tongue hot and slow over a bruise he’d just made. “Take it.”
He reached between us and found my clit, fingers rough, relentless. My whole body trembled. My vision blurred. I was unraveling in real time.
“Come on,” he growled. “Let go.”
My orgasm hit so hard my ears rang. I gasped, clutching at his back, nails raking down his skin. I heard myself whimper — heard his voice in my ear, whispering filth and apologies and things I wasn’t ready to believe.
He kept moving through it, chasing his own release, hips slamming into mine, teeth clenched, eyes fluttering shut.
And then I felt him stutter.
He groaned deep in his throat, head dropping to my shoulder as he came — hot, heavy, still muttering fuck, like even now, this wasn’t enough to shake what he felt.
We collapsed into silence.
Sticky, sweat-drenched, barely breathing.
I felt the weight of him — chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat. His breath was hot on my neck. His hands still on my hips like he didn’t trust me not to disappear.
I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
We stayed like that for a long time — the kind of stillness that only came after destruction.
Eventually, James shifted, rolled onto his side, and looked at me.
Not the hungry way he always did. Just, honest.
“What the hell are we doing?” he whispered.
I stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know.”
He brushed my cheek with the back of his fingers, barely there. His mouth twitched. Not a smile. Just something softer.
“You’re it for me,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“But it is.”
I kissed him again. Slower this time. No fight left.
And for the first time, he didn’t pull away.
Sam Monroe x Reader
Smut !
It was just past two in the morning.
I hadn’t meant to come downstairs, I told myself I was only getting water. But my body was buzzing, restless under skin that felt too tight, too alert. The kind of awake that had nothing to do with caffeine and everything to do with the man in this house.
The kitchen light was already on.
He was standing by the sink in nothing but a pair of loose grey sweats. Bare-chested, broad back to me, one hand resting on the counter. The other running through his hair like he didn’t know what to do with his own thoughts.
He turned at the sound of my steps. His eyes found mine, then immediately dropped to the oversized shirt hanging off my body — his, stolen weeks ago. No bra. No pants. Just bare legs, bare feet.
Something in his jaw twitched.
“You couldn’t sleep either?” I asked.
His voice came low. “Not a chance.”
I reached for a glass, filled it with tap water. The sound of it echoed in the stillness. Sam didn’t move.
“I keep thinking,” he said, “if I just keep busy, I’ll stop wanting you like this.”
I set the glass down, heartbeat stuttering. “How’s that going?”
He finally turned, stepping forward, slow and deliberate. “Terribly.”
Now he was in front of me, not touching, not even reaching. Just standing there, eyes dark, chest rising and falling like he’d just come in from a run.
“I’ve wanted you since the first night I stayed here,” he said. “And I haven’t stopped.”
There wasn’t time to speak. To overthink. I reached for him and he was already kissing me.
His mouth was warm and rough, tongue brushing mine with a kind of quiet desperation. His hands slid down my sides, then gripped behind my thighs, lifting me effortlessly onto the counter. I let out a soft gasp, knees parting to wrap around him. The cold marble shocked my skin; the heat of him erased it instantly.
He broke the kiss, breathing hard. “If you want me to stop…”
“Don’t,” I said. “Please don’t.”
That cracked something in him.
His mouth was on my neck, jaw, shoulder, moving with purpose now. He peeled the shirt up slowly, exposing skin inch by inch. When it came off, he stepped back for a second and just looked.
Like I’d undone him.
“Jesus, baby,” he muttered. “Look at you.”
His hands came back to my hips, warm and wide and firm. He bent down and took one of my nipples into his mouth — slow at first, sucking gently, teasing it with his tongue. I moaned, gripping his hair, rolling my hips forward until he hissed through his teeth.
“Fuck, keep doing that,” he whispered. “Just like that.”
He pulled my panties down, slow and deliberate, dragging them down my thighs and letting them fall to the floor. Then he dropped to his knees in front of me.
And for a moment, everything went still.
Sam looked up, palms pressed to the outside of my thighs. “Let me take my time.”
I nodded, breath shallow.
He leaned in and kissed my inner thigh — once, then again, higher each time, until his mouth was right where I needed it most. He licked a slow stripe between my folds and exhaled like he’d been starving for this.
His tongue circled my clit, just light enough to tease, before flattening against it with pressure that made me gasp. He found a rhythm — slow, controlled, maddening, and when he slipped a finger inside me, my body clenched so tight around him I heard him groan.
“You taste unreal,” he murmured against me.
He added a second finger, curling them just right while his tongue kept working my clit in tight, rhythmic swirls. I gripped the edge of the counter, toes curling, thighs trembling.
My orgasm built fast, hot and undeniable, blooming through my chest like a fire under my ribs.
“Sam—fuck—I’m gonna—”
“Do it,” he growled. “I want to feel it.”
I came with a cry, legs shaking around his shoulders, my back arching so sharply it felt like I might split open. He held me through it, fingers slow and steady, mouth gentle as he coaxed every last wave from me.
When I slumped forward, breathless, he stood and kissed me hard — letting me taste myself on his tongue, hands cupping my jaw like he was trying to ground himself.
“I’ve wanted you like this for so fucking long,” he whispered. “I don’t even know how I held back.”
I reached for the waistband of his sweats, tugged them down. He let them fall, kicking them away. He was hard, thick, flushed and ready. My mouth went dry just looking at him.
He grabbed a condom from his wallet on the counter — I didn’t even ask. He rolled it on with shaking hands, kissed my forehead, and lined himself up.
“You sure?” he asked.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
He pushed into me slowly — deep, tight, stretching me until I felt completely filled.
We both moaned.
He gripped my hips, steadying us, and started to move. Slow at first. Deep. Every thrust brushing that spot inside me that made my whole body tense. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, our chests pressed together.
“Faster,” I whispered. “Please.”
He gave me what I needed.
The pace picked up — his hips snapping into mine with more urgency, his mouth buried in my neck, my name a groan against my skin. I clawed at his back, bit his shoulder, wrapped my legs around him tighter like I could somehow pull him deeper.
“You feel like fucking heaven,” he growled. “So warm. So tight. I’m losing my goddamn mind.”
He shifted the angle, hit something that made me cry out. His fingers tangled in my hair, his other hand gripping under my knee as he drove into me harder now, messier, sweat beading down his temple, the counter squeaking under our weight.
“Sam—I’m gonna—”
“I got you. Let go.”
I shattered again, this time with his name as a broken sob on my lips, body pulsing around him. He kissed me hard, then lost rhythm — hips stuttering, breath catching, until he groaned deep in his chest and came, buried inside me, still thrusting slow through the aftershocks.
He rested his forehead against mine, our breathing ragged and uneven.
No one said anything.
The fridge hummed. Our skin cooled. The night wrapped around us like a blanket.
Finally, he pulled back enough to look at me.
“I’m in trouble,” he said, smiling gently.
I traced my fingers over his chest. “Why?”
“Because I’m not walking away from this.”
I kissed him once more.
“Good,” I said. “Neither am I.”
pleaseeeee
I need him
LATE
Sam Monroe x reader
Summary: You and Sam are late to dinner with your friends because he’s horny.
Contains: swearing, sexual content.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I warned, tugging a T-shirt over my head.
Sam didn’t stop.
He sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, one hand braced behind him, the other holding a pair of keys he was clearly not planning to use anytime soon. His eyes dragged over my legs, up my bare thighs, stopping at the hem of the shirt, his shirt, that barely covered my underwear.
“Not looking at you like anything,” he said, lips twitching.
“You’re staring.”
“You’re wearing that.”
“This is your shirt.”
“Exactly.”
I rolled my eyes and turned back to the mirror, running a brush through my hair. We were supposed to be leaving in fifteen minutes, some dinner thing his friend was throwing. Casual, he said. ‘Nothing fancy.’
So why did he keep biting his lip like he was trying to unbutton me with his eyes?
“You know we have to actually show up, right?” I said.
“No we don’t.”
I looked over my shoulder. He was still watching me. My brush fell from my hands and hit the floor, letting out a sigh, I bent down and picked it up. His gaze dropped again. “Bend down like that again and see what happens.”
“Im brushing my hair.”
He stood. “Not anymore you’re not.”
And then he was behind me, slow but sure, his hands sliding around my waist, mouth at the back of my neck.
“You always this impatient?” I asked, smirking.His breath was warm against my skin.
“You always this cocky when your legs are shaking?” He said, dragging his lips up the side of my neck.
“They’re not.” I said, barely a whisper.
“Yet.” I could feel his smirk against my skin
I turned to face him. His hands stayed on my hips, thumbs stroking over the fabric of the shirt. His eyes were darker now. Focused. “You’re gonna ruin my makeup,” I murmured.
“Good.”
He kissed me. It started slow, the kind of kiss that says I’m going to take my time with you, but that didn’t last long. His hands slipped under the shirt, rough palms dragging up my sides, not stopping until his fingers were brushing the underside of my breasts.
I moaned into him, leaning forward, letting the brush fall from my hand and clatter to the floor. “You gonna make us late?” I whispered against his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “I am.”
He walked us backward toward the bed, hands greedy now, mouth devouring. I landed on the mattress with a soft thud, his body already crawling over mine, all heat and hunger and need.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I said.
“So are you.” He replied, breathless.
He pulled the shirt over my head in one swift motion, tossing it aside without looking. His eyes landed on my chest, his breath caught. “Fuck.” I reached up and tugged at the waistband of his jeans. “Off. Now.”
He obliged, stumbling a little as he kicked them off, eyes never leaving mine. He wasn’t smiling now. He looked hungry.
When he crawled back over me, we both exhaled at the same time, that full-body, skin-to-skin relief. His hand cupped my breast, mouth following fast, tongue warm and wet against my nipple. I arched into him, gasping, one hand in his hair, the other clawing down his back.
“God, you’re so—”
“Say it,” he growled.
“You know what you’re doing to me.”
“I want to hear it anyway.”
“You ruin me.”
He smiled against my skin, teeth grazing. “Good.”
He trailed kisses down my stomach, then lower. His hands spread my thighs, and I felt his breath before I felt anything else, hot, open-mouthed kisses on the inside of my thigh, his thumb dragging over the damp fabric of my underwear.
“You’re soaked.”
“Because of you.”
He hummed low in his throat, then pulled the fabric aside and licked a slow stripe up my center. I cried out, head falling back, body arching. His grip on my thighs tightened. He took his time, long, lazy strokes, mouth and fingers working together in maddening rhythm. He didn’t rush. Didn’t need to. He had me unraveling by the second, every breath louder than the last.
“Sam—please—”
“Tell me what you want.”
“You.”
“I’m right here.”
I looked down, breathless. “I want you inside me.”
That made him fold. He moved up fast, grabbing a condom from the drawer, one hand shaking slightly. He tore the wrapper open with his teeth, watching me the whole time.
When he pushed into me, we both went still. No words. Just this.
Hot. Slow. So deep I swore I stopped breathing.
“Fuck,” he whispered, forehead pressed to mine. “You feel…”
“Don’t stop.”
He moved, slow at first, like he was memorizing me. Then faster, harder, our bodies slamming together in desperate rhythm. Every thrust pulled a sound from my throat I couldn’t hold back. My nails dug into his shoulders, and he didn’t stop, didn’t let up, just kept moving, kept chasing whatever it was we both needed so badly.
“You’re mine” he said into my ear, voice broken. “No one gets you like this. Just me.”
“Just you,” I gasped. “Only you.”
My orgasm hit like heat breaking under skin. I clenched around him, shaking, moaning so loud I didn’t care if anyone heard. He wasn’t far behind, hips stuttering, breath ragged, before he came with a groan that sounded like need and relief and everything in between.
We collapsed together, sweat-slicked and breathless, limbs tangled. A long moment passed. Just the sound of our breathing.
“We’re very late,” I said, voice hoarse.
Sam laughed against my neck. “Totally worth it.”
This picture genuinely makes me tweak
He’s so fine.
Some of my favourite pictures of Hayden.
