#filthy fluff

content: fluff + jealousy + humor + established relationship + one spicy line

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You tried. You swear you did.

You smiled through clenched teeth when Drew hugged that girl from his acting class a little too long. You sipped your drink when she laughed way too hard at something he said. You even stayed in your seat when she touched his arm and tilted her head like a goddamn golden retriever in heat.

But now you’re in his car, arms crossed, lips pressed tight, and Drew’s trying not to laugh because he knows what’s coming.

“I’m not mad,” you start, your voice sharp and suspiciously even.

Drew hums. “Okay.”

You pause. Your lip twitches. “I tried to be the chill girl,” you say, hands flying up like you're pleading your case in court, “but honestly? I’m not.”

A beat of silence. He turns his head to look at you. Slowly. Like he’s witnessing something holy.

You continue, unhinged and adorable: “I’m not chill. I’m not cool. I’m the opposite of chill. I’m a psycho with lip gloss and access to your location 24/7.”

Drew grins, head falling back against the headrest. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, eyes dragging down your body and back up. “That was the hottest thing you’ve ever said.”

Your jaw drops. “I’m confessing to being insane.”

“And I’m rock hard.”

You gasp. “You’re sick.”

He just leans over the console, his hand curling behind your neck. “You love me though.”

You roll your eyes, but your mouth’s already softening. “Unfortunately.”

“Next time, just tell me if someone’s pissing you off,” he murmurs, brushing your lips with his. “No need to go full jealous Barbie in silence for an hour.”

You pout. “But then I’d lose my mystery.”

“You stabbed your straw through your cup out of rage. You lost the mystery a long time ago, baby.”

You slap his arm. He kisses you harder.

You’re still mad. But being mad while kissing Drew Starkey?

Not that bad.

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content: filthy talk, domestic fluff, long-term relationship energy, teasing, suggestive language, kisses everywhere, nasty-fun couple vibes.

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The door barely clicks shut before Drew’s hands are all over you — one gripping the grocery bags, the other sliding around your waist, fingers pressing into your hip like he’s staking a claim.

"Mm... you thought you were bein' real cute back there, huh?" His voice drops, lazy and rough, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Bending over like that right in front of the fuckin’ bell peppers... Baby, I about lost it."

You huff a laugh, elbowing his ribs half-heartedly. "You're such an idiot."

"Nah," he grins, dropping the bags onto the kitchen island with a thud. "I'm a man barely hangin' on. You can't just wear that little dress out in public and expect me to act right."

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away — you love this. Love the way he can’t help himself. Love the way he looks at you like you’re the hottest thing to ever exist.

"Look at you," he murmurs, gaze raking over you slow, heavy, hungry. "Goddamn. Walkin' around the store swingin’ those hips, reachin' up for the pasta like you didn’t know exactly what you were doin’. Torturin' me. You’re cruel, baby."

His hands slide lower, thumbs pressing into the dip of your lower back, fingertips teasing just under the hem of your dress — rough, warm, familiar.

"Drew..." you warn, breath catching when he presses you back against the counter, caging you in with his body.

"What?" His smirk is downright sinful. "Somethin' wrong?"

Your hands flatten against his chest, meaning to push him away, but they stay there — fingers curling into his t-shirt like muscle memory. "The frozen stuff... it’s gonna melt."

"Let it," he growls, mouth crashing into yours before you can protest. It’s messy — teeth knocking, tongues tangling, all heat and wanting and that stupid, giddy laugh you always make when he kisses you like this.

"Drew, seriously—"

"Nah. Not seriously. Not right now," he mutters against your lips, gripping under your thighs and lifting you onto the counter like you weigh nothing. "You sittin' here all pretty with those legs open? Way more important than some damn frozen peas."

"We bought ice cream," you try, but your voice goes shaky when he bites at your jaw, lips trailing heat down your neck. "It’s your favorite—"

"It’ll survive. You? Mm... not so sure, sweetheart," he hums, fingers sliding higher up your thighs, palms rough against soft skin. "Not when you look like that."

"You’re impossible." Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging when his mouth finds that stupid spot under your ear — the one that never fails to wreck you. "You’re actually disgusting."

"Mmhm. And you fuckin’ love it," he grins against your throat, biting, sucking until he knows he’s leaving a mark. "Love when I talk to you like this. Gets you all squirmy and sweet, pretendin' like it don’t make you wet when I tell you exactly what I wanna do to you."

"Drew." Your name on his lips sounds like sin. Like a prayer.

"What? Just bein' honest, baby." His fingers slide higher — teasing, barely there, driving you insane. "Could’ve fucked you right there in the produce aisle. Right between the zucchinis and the eggplants. Give those old ladies somethin' to really gossip about."

"You’re not real," you laugh, breathless, tugging him back to you, catching his mouth with yours — rough and sweet, like every kiss with him.

"Real as hell, baby," he grins, lips brushing yours. "And you’re stuck with me now. Me and my filthy fuckin’ mouth."

"So tragic," you hum, fingers sneaking under his shirt, dragging over the warm skin of his stomach. "Should’ve read the fine print."

"Yeah... shoulda. But you didn’t. And now this is your life." His grin turns softer, but somehow hungrier. "C'mon. Let’s throw this shit in the fridge real quick... then I’m bendin' you over the couch."

"Drew—"

"Or the kitchen counter. Hell, bedroom if you’re feelin' fancy." His hands trail back down your thighs, squeezing. "But that dress? Not makin' it past the next ten minutes. Fair warning, baby."

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content: fluff, gamer!drew, teasing, kisses between giggles, pet names, established relationship, domestic and cozy vibes.

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"You just—no, baby, not that button!" Drew burst out laughing, leaning so far back on the couch he almost dropped the controller.

You frowned, lips jutting out in an instant pout. “Why is there even a cliff there?! Who puts a random-ass cliff in the middle of the map?!”

Still laughing, he paused the game, snatching your controller before you could throw it at the cushion in defeat. “It’s literally been there the whole time.”

“Well maybe the map hates me,” you muttered, folding your arms as you slumped dramatically against his side.

Drew turned to look at you, and that grin of his softened into something dangerously fond. “Oh my god, your face,” he said, clearly still amused, but now it came with that look. The one that said you were doomed—in the best way.

“You’re not allowed to laugh at me,” you mumbled.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he corrected, inching closer until your knees touched. “I’m laughing near you. While loving you. Which is very different.”

You gave him a side-eye. “You’re the worst teacher.”

“I’m the best teacher,” he said, setting both controllers down. “You just don’t like losing.”

“I died twelve times.”

“And you pouted twelve times.” He bit back another laugh. “You’re the cutest when you’re mad at pixels.”

You were about to grumble again when his hand slipped behind your neck, pulling you in. A kiss—warm, unhurried—softened the frown on your face.

Then another, just at the corner of your mouth. Then your jaw. Your shoulder.

“My little baby,” he whispered against your skin, voice barely audible through the smile he couldn’t quite hide.

You blinked up at him, cheeks flushed. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“And you're lucky I think your death count is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You smacked his chest playfully, but you were already laughing. He kissed you again, just to shut you up—and maybe because he couldn’t help it.

Controller forgotten. Game over. Round won.

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