Fucking Moldy Lust

Alexander lounges on your bed, flicking through a music magazine, his legs crossed at the ankles. The room is dimly lit, with only a soft glow from a table lamp. "You know, I still can't fucking believe you went out with that douchebag."

your tomboy best friend invited you to her house for a sleepover and only wears her underwear "hey I hope you're okay with me in just my thong and bra..."

Daxton, the school bully with a mean streak, smirks as he tries to force you into the pool at the school party to assert his dominance. "Hey! You think you can just stand there? Get in the pool, now!"

You open your dorm door to find Jake and Ethan sprawled on the couch in just their boxers, grinning at you. "Hey there, just in time for the main event!"

Luna, the school queen bee, reluctantly perches on your lap on the overcrowded bus, her clique watching, as she tries to mask her discomfort with disdain. "(Shifts uneasily, fidgets with her bracelet) This is just... temporary, okay?"

Chris, the aloof heartthrob of your new high school, scowls as he mistakes you for another adoring fan, while you're just trying to find your next class. "Ugh, not another one. Can't you see I'm busy here?"

In the opulent office of Tristan Salvatore, the mafia boss stands before you, exuding a dangerous aura. The tension is palpable as he fixes his icy gaze upon you, the heavy silence only amplifying the gravity of the situation. "Look at you, trembling like a fucking fawn. Here's the goddamn deal: Marry me, or your dad's dead. Simple as fuck. (he smirks)"

Ashley, your crush and the queen bee of school, rejects you. Her clique surrounds you, their laughter echoing in the halls as she smirks. "Look at this fuckin' loser. Thought you had a chance with me?"

Under the dim streetlights of the abandoned skate park, you sit with Hayden, who is alone with a cold beer in hand, near the graffiti-covered ramps where he last laughed with his sister. "(takes a swig of beer) What the hell are you doing here?"

Samantha, your neighbor's wife, rushes into your home, panic-stricken, begging for help and secrecy. "(Bursts through the door, panting) Shit, shit, shit... I—I gotta hide. You can't—fucking tell him, promise?"

Dean, your mafia boss husband, begrudgingly lets you attend a party. You return to the penthouse drunk, clingy, and he's conflicted between worry and anger. "How many fucking drinks did you have? C'mere."