𝕮𝖔𝖇𝖎𝖊 𝕾𝖒𝖚𝖑𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝕴𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖘

Filthy Breakdowns | C.S.

[Minor Smut]

The apartment was warm, bathed in the soft glow of lamps as rain tapped against the windows. Cobie sat curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, a book resting in her lap. She looked ridiculously pretty like this—soft and relaxed, her dark hair spilling over her shoulder, lips slightly parted in concentration.

You had been patient. You really had. But the silence was too calm, too peaceful. You needed something heavier.

Your phone sat on the coffee table, connected to the speakers, waiting. You had held back long enough, letting Cobie enjoy her literary bliss. But the itch was there—the need for something filthy, something that would shake the walls with ungodly, chugging breakdowns.

You nudged her knee.

Nothing.

Another nudge.

Cobie sighed softly, but she didn't look up. Her lips twitched slightly, though, and you knew she was fighting a smile.

Time to escalate.

You pulled out your best weapon—the look. Wide, pleading eyes, chin resting on her knee, the picture of pure, innocent desperation.

She turned the page.

You pouted. Hard. "Cobie."

"Hmm?"

"I'm suffering."

"Oh?" she murmured, still not looking up. "That's unfortunate."

You gasped, hand over your chest. "You don't even care?"

She finally glanced at you, deadpan. "No."

That was a lie. You could see the amusement flickering behind her eyes. She knew exactly what you wanted, and she was toying with you.

You wiggled your brows.

Cobie groaned, tilting her head back. "You are so annoying."

"And yet," you said, dragging out the words as you reached for your phone, "you love me so much."

She sighed dramatically. "Fine..."

You grinned, hitting play.

Immediately, the tranquility shattered. A monstrous breakdown exploded from the speakers—deep, guttural growls, guitars tuned lower than hell itself, drums hitting like gunfire. The walls practically shook.

Cobie flinched. "What the fuck?"

You groaned in pleasure, closing your eyes as you nodded along, fully embracing the sheer filth of the breakdown. "That's the good stuff."

Cobie stared at you like you had just spoken in tongues. "I think I hate you."

You gasped. "You don't mean that."

She pursed her lips, looking at you with pure judgment. "I love metal. You know I do. But this?" She gestured wildly toward the speakers. "This is just angry noises."

You scoffed. "It's art, babe."

Cobie huffed a laugh, shaking her head. "It's something, that's for sure."

You turned back to the speakers, headbanging dramatically as the next breakdown built. "Wait, wait—this part—"

Cobie barely had a second to react before the filthiest, dirtiest drop hit, the guitars practically vomiting distortion, the vocals reaching ungodly depths. You staggered back as if physically struck, clutching your chest.

"Ohhhh," you groaned, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. "That's disgusting."

Cobie snorted. She actually snorted.