#sub sam monroe

a/n: zapz your requests always hit different. hope u likeeee <3

You had him right where you wanted him—beneath you, flushed and trembling, his fingers digging into your hips as you moved. Sam was always like this, needy, sensitive, every little movement pulling a whimper from his lips. But tonight? Tonight, he was worse.

Every time your hand left his throat, he grabbed it again, dragging it back, silently begging. His breath hitched every time your fingers pressed into his skin, pupils blown wide as he stared up at you, completely wrecked.

But when you let go again, testing him, watching as he immediately grabbed your wrist and tried to force your grip back around his throat, you finally had enough.

Swiftly, you pinned his hand down against the sheets, your body stilling over him. His whine was immediate, frustrated, desperate, his hips jerking upward in protest.

“No.” Your voice was firm, unwavering, and his breath hitched at your tone. “If you want something, use your fucking words and ask for it.”

Sam blinked up at you, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast. He was so used to taking what he wanted in little ways, pulling and grabbing, hoping you’d just give in. But now? Now he had to say it.

He squirmed under you, trying to push against your grip, but you didn’t let up.

“Well?” You raised a brow, waiting.

His face burned red, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, but after a moment, his voice finally broke through the haze. Soft, strained, desperate.

“Please…”

You leaned down, lips ghosting over his jaw, your grip tightening slightly on his wrist.

“Please what?”

His breath stuttered, his free hand gripping the sheets so tight his knuckles went white.

“Please—choke me.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. “Good boy.”

LIKE HELLOOOO DO YOU GET ME

I GET YOU ZAPZ I GET YOU. here's more puppy sam <3

CW: smut, handjobs, puppy play, collars, sub sam, degradation, cum eating

Sam was on his knees, his head bowed, the collar snug around his neck. The metal tag jingled softly as he shifted, his breath coming in short, desperate pants. Your hand was tight on the leash, tugging it just enough to make him whimper.

"Be a good puppy and be quiet," you ordered, your voice low and commanding as your hand stroked him with slow, deliberate movements. "And don't you dare make a mess. You cum when I tell you to, got it?"

He bit down on his lip, trembling as he tried to obey, but the way your grip tightened on the leash had him melting.

The tension in his body was almost unbearable, his hips jerking slightly despite himself.

"Ah, please," he whimpered, his voice high and strained, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as he struggled to hold back.

"Shh," you hushed him, tugging the leash harder to pull him closer. "I said quiet. Puppies don't talk, do they?"

He shook his head frantically, his nails digging into his thighs in a desperate attempt to stay grounded. But when your hand moved faster, the rhythm deliberate and unforgiving, his resolve crumbled.

"I-I can't-" he stammered, his voice breaking, and before he could stop himself, he let go, a choked moan escaping his lips as he spilled over your hand, his chest heaving.

You stilled for a moment, your grip on the leash firm as you looked down at him, raising an eyebrow. "Bad dog," you said, your tone sharp but laced with amusement. "I told you not to make a mess."

Sam's face burned with shame, his breath hitching as he looked up at you with wide, tearful eyes. He knew what was coming next.

"Clean it up," you commanded, releasing the leash just enough for him to lean forward.

He nodded quickly, his cheeks flushed, and obediently lowered himself, his tongue darting out to lap up his puddle of cum as you watched with a satisfied smirk.

"That's better," you cooed, tugging the leash again to keep him under control. "Maybe next time you'll listen, hmm?"

sam monroe knife kink guys cmon say it with me now

Sam tries so hard to act tough, but the moment you pick up the knife, his cocky attitude melts away. The blunt edge grazes his throat-not enough to hurt, but just enough to make him freeze, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows hard. His breathing turns shallow, and you swear his lips tremble when you tilt his chin up with the blade.

He'd try to mutter something bratty like, "You don't have it in you,” but the faint hitch in his voice betrays him.

You smirk, dragging the dull edge down the column of his throat, watching goosebumps rise on his skin as it trails lower to his chest. His shirt is already open, exposing his pale skin, and you make a show of running the blade between his pecs, just brushing his skin enough to make him shiver. “What was that, Sam?” you tease, pressing the flat of the blade against his chest. “Not so mouthy now, are you?”

His breath hitches as you lean in close, your lips grazing the shell of his ear while your free hand slides down his waist. He's squirming now, his hips jerking slightly against nothing as you toy with him. You slide the knife lower, down to the waistband of his jeans, and he lets out a soft whimper that makes you grin.

“You like this, don't you?” you whisper, the knife now resting against his belt buckle. Sam's cheeks flush, and he bites his lip hard, refusing to admit it, but the way his chest heaves and his hips roll forward tells you everything you need to know.

You press the knife gently against his belt, just enough to make him feel the cool metal, and he finally breaks.

“Please,” he chokes out, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Please, what?” you taunt, tilting his chin back with the blade again so he's forced to look you in the eye. His pupils are blown wide, his usual cocky smirk long gone, replaced with desperation.

“Please... touch me,” he whines, his voice trembling as he squirms under your control.

a/n: 🎤 thank you zapernz. in my professional opinion, he needs the brattiness edged out of him. (btw i love getting asks from u theyre so fun to write)

CW: sexual content, bratty sub sam monroe, dom reader, orgasm denial, 763 words

Sam Monroe would push every button you had, fully aware of the consequences. He’d start with small jabs—smirking as he leaned lazily against the wall, arms crossed, the picture of defiance. “What’s the matter? You look tense. Rough day? Maybe I can help,” he’d say, his voice dripping with sarcasm, his eyes daring you to react.

As the day wore on, the pokes turned into full-on backtalk. Snide comments, smug little grins, and pointed remarks that had your patience fraying by the minute. And when you finally grabbed him by the arm and dragged him to the bedroom, his cocky smirk only widened.

“Oh, is this my punishment? I’m so scared,” he’d sneer, even as you shoved him onto the bed. “What’re you gonna do? Lecture me? Please, this is cute.”

Your calm demeanour as you crawled onto the bed, straddling his hips, seemed to throw him off for just a moment—but not enough to stop the snark. His words faltered as your hands trailed down his chest, slipping beneath his shirt. “Still mouthing off?” you’d ask, voice low and dangerous.

“What, you’re gonna keep asking questions or—ahh—” His voice caught as you rolled your hips against his, grinding just enough to make his breath hitch.

“Finish that sentence,” you whispered, your tone razor-sharp. He squirmed, his bravado faltering for a split second before he plastered that cocky smirk back on his face.

“Is that all you’ve got?” he taunted, but his breath hitched again when your hand slid lower, palming him over his jeans. You could feel him hardening beneath your touch, and his attempts to maintain control were laughably transparent.

“Still talking,” you murmured, your fingers deftly unbuttoning his jeans, sliding them down his hips. He lifted them just enough to help you, but the moment you leaned back to rake your eyes over him, he was back at it.

“Gonna take all day, or—fuck—” His taunt dissolved into a sharp gasp as your fingers brushed over him, light and teasing, through the thin fabric of his boxers.

You leaned close, your lips just grazing his ear. “What was that? Didn’t quite catch it.” Your hand moved slowly, torturously, up and down, the friction just enough to make his hips jerk.

“J-just saying you’re taking your sweet—shit—time,” he managed, though his voice was trembling now, his cock straining against the fabric as you continued your maddeningly slow pace.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got all the time in the world,” you replied, your tone dripping with mock sweetness as you slipped your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down with deliberate slowness. His breath caught, his hips lifting instinctively to help you, but his mouth was still running.

“This supposed to scare me?” he muttered, though his voice was weaker now, his cock twitching under your gaze as you wrapped your hand around him.

Your grip tightened slightly, just enough to make him gasp, and you started stroking him in slow, deliberate motions. His cocky remarks faltered as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his jaw. “You were saying?”

For a moment, he looked like he might try another retort—but then you slowed your movements even more, your thumb brushing over his tip in a way that made his entire body tense. His head fell back against the pillow, a shaky moan escaping him, and for the first time, he seemed to realize what you were doing.

“Wait—don’t stop,” he said, his voice breaking into a whine as you pulled back slightly, your hand stilling completely.

“Oh, so now you’re asking nicely?” you teased, your tone light but cutting as you hovered over him. “What happened to all that attitude, Sam? No more smart remarks?”

He let out a desperate little whimper, his hips jerking up as if chasing your hand. “Please,” he whispered, his voice shaky now, his cock twitching against nothing as you kept him on the edge.

You smirked, brushing your lips against his ear. “What’s that? No backtalk now? That’s what I thought.”

He groaned, his hands gripping the sheets as he tried to hold back the wave of frustration and need threatening to overwhelm him. “Please,” he begged again, his voice barely more than a whisper, and you couldn’t help but grin, savoring the sight of him completely undone beneath you.

sorry guys

a/n: first time writing for sam‼️ i need to make him cry all his eyeliner off. hope u like this short little drabble <3

CW: collars, sub sam monroe, pet names (puppy), sexual themes

The moonlight filtered through the cracks in the blinds, casting soft slivers of light across the room. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast, a dark flush creeping up his neck as he fiddled with the frayed edges of his jeans. The black leather collar around his throat was new, a recent addition you had picked out earlier that week. It looked perfect on him, snug against his pale skin, the small silver tag glinting with each shaky breath he took.

You leaned in closer, fingers trailing over the cool leather, watching as Sam's eyes fluttered shut at the touch. "You look good like this," you murmured, voice soft but commanding. "Like my perfect little puppy."

His breath hitched, and you could see the way his hands twitched, resisting the urge to reach for you. It was almost cute, the way he tried to maintain some semblance of control, even as his resolve crumbled. You could tell he was holding back, biting his lip to muffle a whimper.

"Speak up, puppy. Let me hear you," you whispered, your fingers tightening just slightly on the collar. His eyes shot open, wide and glassy, a desperate need clouding them.

"P-please," he choked out, voice barely more than a whisper, his usual defiant attitude melting away under your touch. "Need you..."

"Good boy," you cooed, your thumb brushing over the sensitive skin just beneath the collar. "Now, beg for it properly."

Sam's cheeks burned with humiliation, but he didn't hesitate this time. "Please, please touch me," he whined, hips shifting forward as if to seek out your touch.