#hayden.txt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katiapostsss · 24 days

Text

DRABBLE:

hayden can't help but kiss you sometimes

you cannot tell me his love language isn't physical touch.

〰️

once hayden kisses you, he can't stop. you're just so intoxicating to him, so perfect. it's like a drug he can't get enough of, a dream he doesn't want to wake up from. it's your face, and the way your lips slide on his, and the feeling of leaning in and pulling away, and holding you in his arms.

you weren't much for talking. when it was necessary, sure, sometimes when you were happy, or angry, or had any other strong feelings that called for words. it was hayden who brought out the talker in you. because, for whatever reason, one that was unbeknownst to you, you loved to talk to him.

it was like years of bottled words you never cared to share before came pouring off your tongue the moment a favored topic came to mind, as if they'd been banging at the walls of your throat, begging to be let out, and you'd just never known you had needed to say them. in those moments, a feeling of eagerness caught your heart, like you couldn't pronounce the syllables at the same rate your mind thought them, and all you wanted to do was show your boyfriend exactly everything that you were saying as you said it.

he had struck that chord in you just now. "i've never heard of it," was what got you speaking—and quite quickly—of train rides and a german girl and death. the book thief.

yes, these were your favorite times. saying but not fast enough, showing but not strongly enough. it was late into the night, and you were laying before him on your bed, his hands running through your hair and his mouth quirked into the beginnings and teasings of a smile. you didn't know it, but these were his favorite moments too. when you got so immensely excited, that it was evident in your every movement, your skin glowing, your blood prickling. hayden couldn't help but pull you closer, feel tempted to kiss you right then and there.

instead, he laid quietly across from you, relishing the twinkle in your eyes and the faint energy thrumming off of you, feeding the temptation more and more. "i don't know. she was kinda just mean the whole book, y'know, with the yelling and things," you were rambling, "but it was obvious you were supposed to like her at some point. especially when michael died and all." his finger traced the line of your collarbone, and he was stupidly, absently nodding along. "but i never really liked her anyways. i felt bad for her of course, but— wait— that's not the point. i was trying to say—" hayden couldn't take it any longer.

his eyes flicked to your lips, and without warning, he dipped his head and kissed you. you were caught off guard, your hands, which had been toying with the hem of his shirt, traveling to his chest and balling into fists. it was sweet and short, but it ceased your spiel enough to keep you quiet even when he pulled away, his face littered with adoration. you barely even got the workings of a huffed laugh in before he was leaning in again. "hayden—" this time, his kisses trailed to your cheek, your jaw, and then your neck. "stop that— i'm trying to—" a giggle, "—explain."

"i'm listening," he uttered against your skin in return, pulling back and staring intently into your eyes. his gaze fell to your lips, which he pecked again. broad hands traveled to the crooks of either side of your neck and held you gingerly, pushing your head back to meet his caresses.

"hay.." you sighed, a smile playing on your mouth, but despite your protestations, you were melting into his touch, your eyes falling closed. you felt a thumb brush your lips, then smear the swipe of chapstick you had applied prior to laying down with him.

"can't help it," you heard him whisper, pecking you one more time. "okay, done. go on."

5 minutes after starting your rambling up once more, he was kissing you again. you didn't fight after that.

giggling and blushing as i write this this is a cry for help. late night scenarios w/ hayden 🤝 me

i was listening to last kiss tv and mother said "how you'd kiss me when i was in the middle of saying something" so i had to deliver as seen fit

requests are open 😊😊

313 notes · View notes

katiapostsss · 19 days

Text

✧˚ · . "I THOUGHT YOU KNEW!" — . .

˗ˏˋ 📄 ´ˎ˗

teaser:

"just because you

kiss someone, doesn't mean you're

dating!"

ᶜ ʰ ᵃ ʳ ᵃ ᶜ ᵗ ᵉ ʳ ˢ : sam monroe x gn!reader

warnings! :

blood ,, a fight ,, yelling ,, swearing.

SUMMARY: sam monroe has never been good at communication. as his best friend, you know that. but, in the aftermath of a fight, erupted in your name, you realize just how bad it truly is.

〰️

this fic was inspired by @agirlsguidetolove !!

the bell was not what dismissed your english class now, but voices erupting, shoes scuffing, and one word. fight. over and over, screamed, again and again.

the whole of the room went silent, perking and straining their ears. "a fight?"

glances were exchanged, a whisper, and then, before ms. madden could protest, the sound of chairs being pushed back and running steps, though, she protested as everyone left, arms outstretched, trying to stop the madness. "now— class, sit down! this is a problem to be dealt with by the teachers!" of course, no one listened.

"oooo, there's a fight!" someone whooped as they wooshed out the door and into the corridor.

you yourself straightened, locking eyes with a hallway acquaintance and abandoning the idea of staying inside all together. you got up, slipping out after your classmates and half-jogging down to the scene. "he's getting his ass beat!" came a cry, then, "damn, clifford! that's all you got?"

a clump of people, surrounding whatever gruesome brawl inside, which was what you just assumed was said fight, appeared around the bend. you craned your neck as you came closer in proximity, trying to see over heads and out-stretched phones, but failing quite miserably. when you stood at the perimeter of the hubbub, you gave up looking over the crowd and instead looked in, for light glinting off piercings and jet-black hair, fiery, blue eyes dimmed by the messy makeup bordering them. and found nothing. sam monroe, your best friend since 1st year, had third lunch after you, so this would be his break period. he had to be somewhere...

it was when you heard his voice that you realized exactly where he was. "wanna fuckin' talk now, pussy?!" and it was unmistakable, that voice. suddenly, the fight became all too interesting, and you began pushing against the sea of students and struggling teachers to get to the middle of it. your heart was in your stomach. he had done it, hadn't he?

"fuck," you uttered, getting shoved and trampled all the way there. and surely, when you seized the opportunity and made it to the center, there sam was, a burst lip, blood dribbling from his nose. he was straddling charlie clifford, some kid in your spanish class, punching the poor guy straight into the ground over and over again. in horror, your eyes widened, a hand covering your mouth, before you had the good sense to enter in and grab his shoulder, pulling him off. "get the fuck off him! sam! what the fuck is wrong with you! oh my fucking—"

sam had never done anything like this before. it was so strange, interfering a fight that he was in. he was known for being quiet—at least on the outside—void of emotion. this was completely unorthodox. it took three pulls until he gave in and let you drag him up, wiping the blood from his nose with his forearm and staring menacingly at the boy on the ground, who was writhing and crying in pain, his face mangled to the point of being unrecognizable. a few disprovals from the crowd.

"someone's girlfriend is here to save monroe!" someone yelled. "save?!" in return.

"bitch," sam snarled, spitting blood onto the ground by charlie's shoes. you watched the kid in shock, who sobbed and sobbed, barely registering the teacher that came in and bent down next to him, prodding at his face, or how he straightened and looked to the crowd.

"everyone! back to your classes!" he yelled, but the students were already departing, understanding the fun was over. the few that stayed grumbled with their friends.

"and you!" the teacher turned to sam. "principal's, now!" the words were twisted together. feeling horrible, you didn't bother looking over at your best friend, who was staring at you, hesitating to leave, instead, bending beside charlie and helping him sit up.

"are you okay?" you uttered, trying to wipe off some of the blood on his face. he moaned in pain in response. looking up at the teacher, who was speaking into a walky talky, you offered to help. "i can bring him to the nurse's?"

"yes, please do." he nodded, the device beeping in his hand.

you spent the rest of the day by clifford's side, apologizing hastily on your best friend's behalf.

---

"what the fuck was that, sam?" there was no word to describe how you felt in that moment. angry? no. not angry, it seemed too harsh a feeling, while, in contrast, confused seemed too light. both, maybe, for what he had done to clifford.

sam laid atop his blankets, one foot dangling off his bed and the other propped up into a bent position. he, to your knowledge, and to the knowledge and gossip of others, had been given a two-day suspension, effective immediately, and went home, busted lip, bruised cheek and all. you threw the frozen pack of peas you spent a good three minutes looking for—the best you could do—at his chest and stared incredulously at him, who, after a moment, took the bag and put it to his cheek.

"what, never seen a fight before?" he grumbled in annoyance, hauling himself up and dangling both feet off the bed. you pursed your lips, entering his room and stopping before him.

"not with you in it." which was completely true. you sharply lifted his chin up to face you, making him drop the peas into his lap. a scowl painted your lips in response to his injuries. "and here i was, thinking you were more mature in that field." the first aid kit plopped onto his bed and from it, you took some bandages, and rubbing alcohol.

"and here i was, thinking you always let me explain before you accused me of shit."

"accused?" you spit, "i'm pretty sure everyone saw that fight, sam. how is stating facts accusing?" you straightened and opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol, emptying some of the liquid onto a cotton pad.

"you don't even know why we fought," he said, closing his eyes and leaning back until his head hit the wall. you rolled your eyes.

"stop that." he didn't move. tutting, you climbed over him until you straddled his hips, giving you access to his face. you didn't bother warning him of any pain before you hastily cleansed the dried blood from his cracked lip and nose, and the only sign that he actually was in pain, was the slight furrow of his brow. he opened his eyes and watched your face as you worked. "you're right. i don't know why you did it, but i frankly, don't care. clifford did not deserve what you gave him. you should've just kept quiet."

his face twisted in anger, and he turned his head to the side to keep you from reach, slightly pushing you off of him. "right. kept quiet. as if you fucking know what he even said." you scowled. "i mean— why are you even taking his side?! i thought we both, mutually hated him!" sam, all of a sudden, looked like he could punch clifford into the ground all over again. "like— we used to talk shit about him together. switching up now is crazy."

you set the pad and liquid aside, and came to stand, keeping by the bed. "sure, i hate him, but not enough to wish that shit you put him through upon him! and for the record, this is completely normal of me, after what you did. the only one who's switching up here is you!"

"well i'm sorry i have real, human emotions." he glared daggers at your face.

"real, human emotions you should've kept to yourself!"

sam laughed as if unbelieving of your words, looking off to the side like some sort of audience would agree with him on this. "well what the hell was i supposed to do, y/n?! just sit there and listen to him talk shit about you without batting an eye?!"

"oh so that's why," you laughed bitterly. "how mature, sam. since when have you ever cared who talks shit about me, anyways! you certainly never cared before."

he sat up, shaking his head and pushing off the mattress, suddenly pacing. you turned toward him, watching him go.

"since when have i cared," he repeated to himself with a scoff, brows furrowed. "i've always cared, y/n!"

"never enough to beat the poor guy so—"

"stop it with that name. that poor guy deserved what he fucking got."

"no! he didn't, sam! how insensitive can you be?!" your arms extended at your sides, your face falling deeper into that of disbelief. "i mean— it's just shit-talking! why does that even fucking matter, especially coming from clifford—"

"oh, i don't know," he said sarcastically, pausing and whirling on you. "maybe because it was you he was shit-talking! i mean, what do you expect me to do in that situation? agree with him?! tell him i totally think my girlfriend is a bitchy slut too?!"

your heart stopped. the whole world stopped.

you immediately went quiet, eyes going wider than they were before, face freezing in confusion, surprise, a mix. sam seemed to sense the shift, his body relaxing from its tensed state slightly, though his cold eyes did not thaw one bit. "what."

you tried searching for words, but came up with none, questioning if you had just imagined the word that came out of his mouth, if it was just a trick of the following and previous syllables. "gir— girlfriend? i— what? since— since when did we start.. dating?" you stuttered out, breath labored and heart thudding. you felt every cell in your body thrum to life with feeling. sam looked dumbfounded.

"since we kissed," he deadpanned, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. "you... didn't know?"

quiet. sam had kissed you drunkenly, on the way home from a party you had dragged him to just last week. as you both were heavily intoxicated, you thought it meant nothing. that it was a mistake. i mean, you barely even remembered what happened! now, though... "of course i didn't know..! just because you.." a swallow, "kiss... someone, doesn't mean you're dating, sam."

he closed his mouth, and you saw his adam's apple bob. "i— i thought you knew.." he near-whispered, his face doused in embarrassment and redness. you were aware of sam's lack of communication, but you never thought it was this bad.

"yea, that's.. obvious." you looked down awkwardly. "but— i didn't... i..." more quiet. you awkwardly met his eyes. "and that's why you..."

"i'm sorry," he said instead of answering your question. "i know i shouldn't have gotten angry— or.. i should've told you.. or asked you if you... wanted to.. date me. i just thought.."

a nervous and slightly relieved smile pulled at your lips, easing some of the tension in the room. "it's alright," you spoke, shifting awkwardly on your feet. "and i'm sorry too. for not letting you explain yourself. for jumping to conclusions. just— try not to get yourself suspended next time." the joke also eased that tension, eliciting a slight laugh from him.

"i'll try. i just.. couldn't..." you nodded so he didn't have to finish the sentence, eyes straying to the ground. there was still some distance between you. your legs itched to close it. maybe too soon. "if.. if i..." sam started. you looked up at him. "if i asked now, would you.. date me? still? is it.. too.."

"are you asking me to be your girlfriend?" you quipped delicately, finally drawing nearer. his body tensed the closer you got.

"only counts if you say yes." he shrugged, and you smiled, finally standing before him.

"then, yes. thanks for asking. this time." you had charlie clifford to thank for the rest of the night spent with sam, no matter how much you cursed him throughout it.

kinda hate this but i needed to write something for sam so 😞😞

this fic was inspired by @agirlsguidetolove !!!

159 notes · View notes