#i just think it would be so fun and a really cute idea

[chleem]

Casual /extra IV

One shot; college students drew x reader

explicit language and scenes, read at own caution

⋆.˚ "two weeks and your mom invites me to her house in Long Beach, is it casual now?"

♡⸝⸝ elevator | other | more casual!drew

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The sun is casting that golden-hour glow across the backyard of the Starkey’s summer house, a little over the afternoon.

The yard, is decorated with a large banner that reads “Lil’s Second Bday,” and a few balloons are scattered around. The long table on the stone patio is stacked with snacks, and the smell of BBQ fills the air.

There aren’t many people- just the Starkey family; Mr and Mrs Starkey, Drew, his four siblings, his baby niece, and a couple of close relatives. 

It’s nothing big. Other than their baby niece’s birthday, it’s also a chance to catch up. Laughter and chatter fill the air, a warm vibe surrounding the entire afternoon, with the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. The view of the beach just beyond the low fence adds to the relaxed, coastal atmosphere. 

…and you? You’re chilling, calm, and- and…and you don’t really know why you’re here. 

No, you do know. 

Drew’s mom invited you. 

A week ago, when you and Drew were casually lounging on the couch, watching tv, he picked up a call, suddenly handed it to you with a defeated look on his face. 

His mom. Mrs Starkey. 

She urged you to join them at their house on Long Beach, celebrating their granddaughter’s birthday, if you weren’t too busy. 

It was weird. 

Casual, yet you’re here, celebrating his niece’s birthday. 

You didn’t want to come. But Mrs Starkey sounded so excited on the phone, and it seemed like she liked you- a lot. 

And Drew? He didn’t resist much either. Last time you visited, it was his idea to bring you, thinking you could act as a ‘distraction’- both for his family, a new person to annoy, and for him, a way to sneak away from the constant questioning and attention.

On the way here, he’d admitted that yes, his family liked you, and it would definitely be boring without you.

The whole day flowed smoothly- a long drive in Drew’s car to the summer house his family owns. Upon arriving, you’d helped with setting up, meeting some relatives that Drew introduced you to- as his ‘best friend,’ of course. 

His niece? Adorably cute. His siblings and parents, would pull you away to chat privately, either about their random hobbies or just to get to know you better. 

You didn’t even realize how long it had been since you’d been alone with Drew today, until he suddenly appeared behind you, his hand lingering around your lower waist. 

You were holding his niece in your arms, standing by the fence, entertaining her with the seagulls flying just a few miles away- when Drew decided to join. His height loomed just over your shoulder, his broad chest brushing faintly against your back.

“Hey you,” 

Drew whispered into your ear, his voice low and flirty, just like it always was. 

You turned around, a smile pulling at your lips as you showed him Lils, his niece, held against your hip. 

“Look,” you whispered back, her pacifier snug in her mouth, her little eyes wide with curiosity.

“My sister’s… freaking out,” Drew started, a smirk tugging at his lips as his blue eyes met yours, the light catching from the afternoon sun, making them almost glow. “But it’s just you that kidnapped her.”

You shot him a glare, making him chuckle, the sound warm and full of amusement.

“Go away. We’re watching seagulls,” you half-heatedly tease him, turning back to the beach view. 

Drew, of course, wasn’t done. He laid his palm against your hips, gently turning you back to face him.

“Hey- hey,” he murmured, forcing his face into your view, the sapphire orbs meeting yours again, “I’m bored. Talk to me.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his smile soft and unbothered. “Just, just talk to me.”

His fingers came up, gently brushing the corners of your mouth.

“So?” he asked, his voice low, curious. “Was today fun?”

You looked away on purpose, pretending to think deeply for a second before answering with a playful shrug, “Hmm… could’ve been better.”

He laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d heard all day- bubbling straight out of his chest.

“God- I missed you,” Drew suddenly said, like the phrase weighted nothing.

“Missed me?” you echoed, brow raised.

“Yeah.”

“We’ve… you’ve been in the same place as me all day.”

“I know.”

“You sat next to me like ten minutes ago.”

“I know.”

“You talked to me during lunch.”

“I know.”

“You’re literally talking to me right now.”

“…I know.”

His smile never wavered. If anything, it deepened, pulling at the corners of his mouth, creasing the skin around his eyes- those soft, familiar smile lines you could trace from memory.

His hand rested at the base of your neck now- light, warm, grounding. He was close. Too close. And he wasn’t looking at your eyes anymore.

He’s looking at your lips.

And you were pretty sure that if the two of you were alone right now, he’d kiss you. He’d kiss you like he’d been holding his breath all day and just remembered how to breathe. Like you were the cure for something he didn’t know he had. He’d kiss you like he’d thought about it a thousand times and still wasn’t ready.

Which… was not how casual people behaved. 

Before you could say anything, Lils, lets out a sound that’s muffled by her pacifier. 

You let out a quiet laugh at that.

Drew gently pulled his hand away from your neck, the warmth of his touch fading as Lils reached out to grab his finger- the one with the gold ring he always wore. Her tiny hand curled around it with the kind of fascination only toddlers had, but her attention quickly drifted. 

She reached for the chain bracelet on his wrist instead, the one he never took off. The one you gave him.

She tugged at it curiously, eyes wide with wonder. 

“Hey- she likes it,” Drew says, his voice warm as his gaze flicked from you to his niece. That smile still playing on his lips.

“I wonder who picked it,” you tease, rocking Lils gently on your hip.

“Someone amazing,” he murmurs, low enough that it felt just for you, punctuated by a quick wink that somehow made your heart skip in the dumbest, most inconvenient way.

He said things like that; and each time, it made you wonder if it’s still casual. 

Drew’s tongue poked out, resting on his lips for a beat as he stared down at yours. The look in his eyes said everything; Shit- he wants to kiss you so bad.

“…Stop that.”

You barely recognized your voice, rougher than you expected.

“Stop what?” he laughs, dropping his hand from your waist.

“Looking at me.” You try to play it off, but your pulse betrays you.

“‘Looking at you’?” He laughs again, “Where- where am I supposed to look then?”

“…no, I mean, stop looking at me like that.”

“…you’re confusing me, babe.”

The nickname slid off his tongue effortlessly, and it stirred something in you. Butterflies erupted, trapped somewhere between your chest and your stomach, without a doubt every single time he said it. 

“…never mind,” you whisper.

Drew laughs, for the thousandth time. 

Suddenly, a voice calls his name from across the crowd. You glance over, seeing two of his cousins standing together, probably wanting to talk to him. They waved over at you; eyes at your direction.

You turn back to Drew, but he’s still staring down at you, completely lost in the moment.

“Drew?”

“Mhm?” He hums absently; eyes still staring down at you. 

“Your cousins- they want you.”

“…Mhm.”

Before you can say anything else, Lils tugs harshly on Drew’s bracelet, causing his hand to shift slightly. That’s when he snaps back to the present, the playful, seductive gleam returning to his eyes.

“…Let’s get out of here,” Drew says, a hint of something else laced in his words. 

“What?” you ask, a little surprised. 

“Yeah, you heard me. Let’s get out of here.”

“What? ‘Get out of here’?” you giggle nervously, trying to mask the pulse that suddenly races through you, though part of you already knows exactly what Drew means. “But I’m taking care of Lils- ”

“Not anymore.” Drew’s voice is calm, but his hands are quick, effortlessly lifting Lils out of your arms and into his hold without much work at all. “You’re not- not the babysitter,” he adds.

“Drew, this is your niece’s birthday party. You can’t just leave.”

“She’s two. You think- you think she’ll remember this shit?” Drew glances down at Lils, the innocent little face beaming up at him, then back at you, the smirk still teasing at his lips.

You give him a soft glare, but it barely registers as he begins making his way toward his sisters, Mackayla and Brooke, both in deep conversation with each other.

“Drew- stop,” you say, a soft giggle escaping your lips. You tug at his arm gently, trying to keep him in place. “The party’s almost over anyways. Just a few minutes, yeah?”

He slows down for just a second but doesn’t stop, his steps continuing with that same purposeful stride. He glances back at you, his lips still curled in that devilish smile. 

“I- I don’t wanna wait.”

A heat rises to your neck as you fall silent, following him as he closes the distance to his sisters. Without hesitation, Drew interrupts their conversation, forcefully but gently placing his baby niece into Mackayla’s arms. Her mother instincts kick in immediately, holding Lils close to her.

“Here- take your kid,” Drew says, his tone that demanding, teasing way that siblings use when talking to each other.

“What-” Brooke glares at her brother with an exaggerated expression of disbelief. But then her eyes flicker to you, standing close to him, and her gaze softens as she shifts between you two.

You awkwardly stand on your feet under her scrutiny.

“Where are you guys going?” Mackayla rocks Lils in her arms, also looking at you.

“Showing y/n the house,” Drew says, his voice dropping low as his arm slides around your waist, guiding you away from them.

His sisters stare suspiciously at you two. Brooke already gave you a tour.

“Be right back,” Drew murmurs. He doesn’t wait for their response, tapping your waist to get you to move. Your feet follow his lead before you can think about it.

In seconds, you’re inside the house, the hum of the backyard party fading as the kitchen door clicks shut behind you. Drew’s presence envelops you, and you can’t ignore how close he really is, how the space between you seems to shrink.

“You’re showing me the house?” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you spin around, your sundress flowing with the movement.

Drew’s eyes land on your figure for just a moment, the smirk on his lips sharp, before they quickly flicker behind you, his attention drawn elsewhere.

“Alright- don’t- don’t do that near a window,” he mutters.

You laugh softly, out of shyness and amusement.

You follow him as he walks through the kitchen into the living room, purposely trailing behind.

It’s hard not to notice the way his eyes flicker around, scanning the space, his steps urgent and his back muscles flexing under his shirt.

When he starts walking up the stairs, you stop at the bottom. 

Drew’s a few steps up before he realizes he doesn’t hear your footsteps following. He looks down at you, a mix of a smile and something resigned tugging at his features. 

Without a second thought, he hurriedly walks back down, and grabs your wrist with a firm, almost commanding grip.

“What are you doing?” Drew asks, a chuckle escaping him as if he already knows the answer.

“What are you doing? Show me around,” you tease, mimicking his words from earlier.

“Babe, c'mon,” he groans, tugging your wrist.

“No, show me the living room or something,” you murmur, the corner of your lips lifting in amusement.

Drew stares into your eyes, his gaze intense, but surprisingly, he lets go. 

You smile, before turning to point toward the pictures along the fireplace. The Starkey siblings’ childhood memories sit there, arranged like a timeline of their past. Brooke already introduced you to them, even showing you the entire family album. You’d seen Drew’s younger self, his bob haircut embarrassingly cute.

“Tell me about those- Drew!”

Before you can even finish your sentence, he lifts you off the ground, throwing you over his shoulder. Your ass sticks in the air, and one of his hands comes up, flattening your dress back down.

He lets one hand stay there; caressing the back of your thighs, the other hand on your lower back to steady you in place.  

“Drew, what if someone sees us?” You breathe out, as you realize he’s making his way upstairs.

His throaty laugh replies instead. 

“Drew- put me down-“

He slaps your ass, rather roughly, the sound echoing for a brief second. 

Your gasp follows after, and he laughs once more. 

“What? Want me to do it again?” Drew teases. 

And because your face is close to his ass, you hit on it; hands balling into fists as you attempt to frustrate him into putting you down. 

You wiggle in the process; which just makes him hold you even tighter; not even flinching at your protests. 

Your white ballet flats slip off, rolling down the stairs. 

The familiar flooring of the second-floor hallway approaches, the sound of it under his heavy steps making it clear that you're getting closer to his room. The moment you hear his door click open, you give up, knowing exactly what’s coming next.

Without a word, he drops you onto his bed, your body bouncing slightly from the force, and you try to prop yourself up with your elbows. 

Drew stands at the edge of the bed, watching you with that smirk of his, his chest rising and falling quickly. His hair is slightly messy, a few strands falling over his forehead, adding to the casual look that only seems to make him more irresistible. 

The way he’s looking at you, though, is anything but casual.

“Comfortable?” he teases, his voice low and mischievous as he takes a step closer.

You giggle, and instinctively, your feet come up, pushing lightly against his stomach to keep him from coming any closer. “At least show me your room.”

Last time, at Drew’s childhood home, you remember Drew’s bedroom like it was yesterday. The basketball posters, his sports car bed frame, a small table, shelves filled with trophies and books, etc. It was the typical teenage boy’s room. 

This, however, was a bit different. This was the summer house. 

You scanned his room quickly, taking it all in. 

It wasn’t as decorated as his childhood room, the interior different too. The white walls were bare in comparison, except for a couple of posters and a surfboard leaning against one side of the room. In the corner, a guitar rested. His table was cluttered with papers and a few random items, and on the wall, a small basketball hoop hung above his trashcan.

Your eyes don’t linger long because Drew grabs your legs, forcing them apart as he leans down, slowly pressing his weight on you. 

“You play guitar?” You continue, as he signals for you to wrap your legs around his waist. 

You do; your dress shifting upward, riding up past your hips. Drew glances down at your panties; licking his lips as his hand covers the back of your neck. 

“Shut up,”

he practically growls, his voice low and rough as it vibrates through the air.

Instead of feeling embarrassed or insulted, you let out a giggle, a flutter deep in your stomach, a rush of warmth flowing through you. 

Casual, casual, casual. 

His lips inches from yours, the tip of your noses brushing as he closes the distance. 

He finally kisses you after being deprived of it all day; his tongue darting in without hesitation. 

You gasp at his urgency, your arms naturally wrapping around his neck. One of his hands steady himself against the bed; the other sliding down further, from the back of your neck, lower, lower, lower, moving to your stomach. 

The heat escalates as you explore each other’s mouths; licking, sucking, caressing, or whatever you would use to describe a passionate and lustful kiss.

Moaning into his mouth as he cups you over the pussy, your hips buckling instinctively against him. 

You didn’t even know how wet you are from the make-out; until Drew chuckled into your mouth, his chest shaking against yours. 

“Soaked, you are,” he murmurs, letting his lips drag along your jawline, before sucking on the skin just below your chin. 

You whimper softly as his teeth sink in, head leaning back into the mattress. 

He tugs down the waistband of your panties, lugging it just above your knees. At the same time, his lips trail to your cleavage, and he gives each side a quick peck. Your hands play with his hair now; messing, ruffling it just enough to see him smirk, clearly enjoying it. 

Drew shifts; positioning himself so his face lies on your stomach, your legs now lazily dangling by his sides. 

He plants kisses on your bare tummy; a hand kneading your breast, the other still resting on the bed. 

He basically has you trapped under him. 

Your back arches as his mouth goes from light brushes to aggressive savoring; tongue licking your skin, moving lower, lower, lower. 

Until the tip of his tongue teases your sensitive nub. He teases it; slow and deliberately, earning your breathy gasps, your fingers tangling with his hair. 

“Drew…” you whined, the throbbing of your pussy growing louder by the second. 

“Mhm?” 

Tongue flat against your folds, he licks a long stride of your arousal. 

Your breath hitches, moans rippling out of you. 

His laughter, all shaky and trembling, echos between your folds, his hot breath fanning the cold sensation. 

However, just as you expect him to dive in, eat, clean up the crumbs, he tears himself away. 

Your eyebrows knit together, your arms and legs dropping onto the bed. 

Drew has that devilish, almost mocking smile on his face as he pushes himself off the bed. You don’t miss the glossy shimmer of saliva (or arousal?) dripping from the corner of his lips, the blue eyes of his taking in your position; your sprawled-out body and dress barely worn right. 

You prop yourself up by your elbows; the strips of fabric flowing off your shoulders. 

“You got something on your…” 

You point to your own lips, before giggling, clasping your thighs back together. 

The smirk on his lips remains, and he wipes it off with the back of his hand. 

“Now get back here,” you whisper, eyes dropping to his crotch, seeing a very, very obvious outline of his erection.  

Drew touches his back pocket, and his expression drops, the playfulness in his eyes quickly replaced with something unreadable.

“What?” you ask, your voice a mix of curiosity and concern, your gaze following his every move.

He pokes his tongue against his cheek; eyes darting around the room as he thinks. 

And swear, you could see the exact second when it finally clicks through his mind. 

“Don’t- don’t go anywhere,” he murmurs, his tone soft but firm as he walks out of the room.

As his footsteps fade away, it’s only then that you realize- he never closed the door. 

…Idiot. 

A small, frustrated laugh escapes you. 

You can’t believe you didn’t notice earlier.

What if someone saw? Idiot, really. 

You bite on your bottom lip as you waited, looking around his room. Oh, there’s even a CD player resting on the shelves, with booklets of of albums. Mostly old ones, worn at the edges, the artwork faded with time.

You hear footsteps again.

Sure enough, Drew’s back.

A light smile plays on his lips as he steps in- and then, casually, effortlessly, he rips open a small foil package.

“Close the door!” You whisper-yell. 

He pauses, glances over his shoulder- then quickly shoves it shut. The force of it sends a loud thud echoing through the house.

Good thing everyone’s downstairs, outside.

You let out an excited laugh as you sit up slightly, spreading your legs to let Drew in. 

“Where did you get that?” You ask, as he yanks his pants down, just enough to let his hard-on spring out. Your eyes flicker to his cock; already leaking his precum. 

“Logan,” he murmurs, knees sinking into the mattress. “Lay down.”

You do as told; resting your elbows and letting your hands lay on your stomach. “What, he’s- he’s next door?”

“His suitcase,” he clarifies, a hint of frustration peeking through as his hands grip his cock, trying to wrap the plastic around it. 

Wait-

It’s pink. 

You fail to hold back your laugh, watching as obviously, it’s a different color, and it’s not his size. 

“Fuck,” he groans, a smile tugging at his lips, whether from the situation or your laugh, you can’t tell.

But you just laugh harder, watching him struggle. 

“Here- lemme help you- ” you murmured, sitting up and brushing his hands away, “- princess Sophia.”

You giggle at the name, biting your lip as you watch his reaction.

But the moment your gaze meets his, the air shifts.

His smile disappears like a switch flipped off, his jaw tightening. His blue eyes- dark, narrowed- lock onto you with a heat that’s no longer playful.

His hands fall to his sides as yours wrap around his length, gently tugging on the plastic, and adding a few strokes. 

“Never,” he breathes out, obviously trying to hold out a moan at the way you touch him, “never say that again.”

You blink, still grinning, but your breath catches a little.

“Or what?” You press. You get the condom on him; tight and barely covering him, but it works, the translucent pink standing out from the corner of your eyes. 

His hand comes up fast, covering your mouth. With one sharp push, he forces you back down onto the bed, your body hitting the sheets with a soft thud, your laughter muffled by his palm. 

“Shut up,” he murmurs, licking his lips. 

You sigh into the palm of his hand, letting your legs wrap around his waist, guiding him downward. 

Then fuck me already, your eyes say. 

Drew lets out a throaty laugh; hands leaving you to run through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes. “You’re killing me,” he comments, lifting your hips to angle your entrance with his dick. 

You feel his tip drag along your drenched clit; smearing the wetness. You shudder, you head dropping back as he continues to glide his cock against your folds.  

With a slow push, he sinks into you, nestled between your legs. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

“Drew,” is all you manage to breathe out as he stretches your folds. 

He groans at the way you say his name; gripping your hips as if it was the only thing keeping him from collapsing onto you. 

Your walls tighten around his thick length; and his eyes flutter close at the feeling, pausing to savor it. 

Reaching out, you let your hand overlap his, holding lazily. 

Move already, your eyes say.  

He smirks, and his hand catches yours in a firm, rough grip. He drives it down, pressing the palm of your hand flat against your own hip, now completely claimed beneath his touch. 

Holding you, he pulls out, before pushing his cock back in. He makes sure to return fully in- making you soak in every bit of his length. 

“Oh,“ you moan, your other hand clinging onto the sheets. 

“Yeah? I haven’t even started,” he grunts, pulling out of you, before rolling his hips back in. 

He’s knee-deep into the mattress, the bed sinking under his weight as he continues the same process over and over again. 

Each thrust begins slow, drawn out- intentional, like a tease. He chuckles at the way you squirm underneath him; your mouth agape as your eyes fluttered up at him. 

“Wait- wait,”

Drew breathes out, and his smirk widens, his eyes glued down at your stomach. 

You follow his line of focus- and you see it. 

A bulge peeking out with every snap of his hip. 

You couldn’t help but giggle dumbly at that; your head falling back. 

“Shit- that’s- fuck,”

Is all Drew manages to stumble out as he slides faster, rougher, sloppier into you, amused by your tummy bulge. 

It’s happened before; he’s noticed this before; but he gets excited like a child getting a new toy, every time he sees it. 

“Mhm, you- you like that?” You breathe out, your own body shivering with the way he’s hammering into you. 

The slapping of skins develops into a sloppily rhythmic melody, paired with soft moans and low grunts, with occasional low chuckles. Your eyes focus on the way his bracelet dangles, the metals shining just briefly, adding to the liquid heat building in you. 

He lets go of your hand; tracing the hard outline of your tummy. 

“You- ” he starts to lean down, slowly letting his weight crash onto you. It allows his cock to sink deeper, nudging against your g-spot. You moan, loud and unfiltered into his ear as he presses a kiss on your cheek. “-you have no idea.”

Your arms wrap around his shoulder as his movements become jerky and messier, repeatedly attacking your g-spot. 

To the point where your knot snaps, without warning, unexpected. 

Maybe it was the sex, his words, or just him. 

But it sends you over the edge, moaning his name, shivering as it flows through you. 

Drew laughs, and he kisses the corner of your mouth, “oh, my baby,” he coos, giving the last few thrusts to chase his own high. 

Your arms fall to the side; panting as his length still slammed into you, your body trembling beneath him. 

His cock twitches, and- and he bites your shoulder. 

It’s so random and unlike everything before; the pain and pleasure mixing in together as his cum spills into the condom, that you just lay there, breathing in his sweat, cologne, everything. 

His teeth latched onto your skin, hard enough to leave a mark, definitely. 

“Aw, fuck,” he mumbles, a low groan escaping. 

He presses a hand into the mattress beside your head, lifting his weight off of you, but still close, hovering on top. 

Drew’s blue eyes look down at you, lazy and satisfied, a corner of his lips twisted into a smirk. There’s a faint trail of saliva clinging to his mouth, catching the light.

“Ow,” 

you whisper, delayed, breathy, but not really complaining. Your tired smile mirrors the haze in your eyes as your hand drifts up, fingers brushing the corner of his mouth.

You swipe the trail away gently, holding his face in your hands. 

His eyes flicker to your lips, and the smirk curves into a full smile- the one that produces winkles at the corners of his eyes.

It’s the kind of smile that feels warm and dangerous all at once.

The kind of smile that settles under your skin before you even realize it.

The kind of smile that feels casual. 

The kind of smile with no attachments. 

“Your skin’s soft,” he compliments. 

“But you didn’t need to bite me,” you shoot back, a soft giggle following after. 

“Aw, but you like it,” he murmurs, eyes dropping to your shoulder.

You follow his gaze- and it’s there, red, indented, a blooming imprint of teeth. 

That’s when it hits you; his family’s still downstairs, and your sundress isn’t going to cover this. Not even close. It’s not the kind of mark that fades in a few minutes either. 

You turn your gaze back to him, eyes narrowing, your smile quickly replaced by a pout. “Drew,” you whisper, dragging his name out like a warning. “You bit me.”

“I did,” he says, completely unbothered, the pride in his voice unmistakable. He leans in and gives your lips a quick, smug little peck- before slowly pulling out of you. 

He pushes himself off, the proximity gone. 

“Drew, this is serious. How am I supposed to hide this?”

He takes care of the pink condom; wrapping it up and disposing it in the trash. 

“It’ll fade in a few minutes,” he says with a lazy grin, adjusting his pants. His eyes trail over your wrecked form sprawled across the bed, and he licks his lips slowly. 

Then leans back against the edge of the table, arms crossed, his muscles flexing, “you’ll be fine. You- you are fine.”

A few quiet seconds pass before Drew moves again. 

He walks back to you, and handles you by the waist, pulling you to sit upright. You sway slightly, but he steadies you, letting your head lay on his chest.

His heartbeat hammers against your walls. 

Casual, casual, casual. 

He’s got tissues in his hands; and he wipes your pussy clean, gently taking care of you. 

When he’s done, he fixes your attire; adjusting the straps back over your shoulders, sliding your underwear back on, smoothing the hem of your dress back to its place. 

The bracelet and ring brushes against your skin ever so often. 

Casual, casual, casual. 

You study the side of his face; taking in the slight part of his glossed lips, the way his blue eyes stay locked on you. His hair is messy, a little damp with sweat. Your gaze trails over the tip of his nose, then down to the soft curve of a double chin that appears at this angle. 

“It’s not so bad,” Drew murmurs, fingertips grazing the bite mark on your shoulder-  the one your sundress strap barely manages to cover.

Casual, casual, casual.

“Let me do it to you, then it’s even."

“…do me then.” the double meaning doesn’t go unnoticed. 

You’re laying on his chest, looking up, eyes locking for a split second before it crumbles- you break into laughter, unable to hold it in. He snorts, then laughs too, chest shaking beneath you. 

Somewhere between the laughter, he presses a quick kiss to the corner of your eye.

Your gaze drifts around the room, and you’re remembering that this is his childhood room. The one he spent summers in. The surfboard propped in the corner, the guitar leaning against the wall, shelves cluttered with music and memories. It smells like him, like salt and dust and something warm you can’t name.

If you’re going to be here a little longer, you figure, you might as well make it count.

“You play guitar?” you ask again. 

“Sometimes,” he murmurs. One hand comes up to the back of your neck, fingers curling gently, rubbing slow, lazy circles into your skin. 

“‘Sometimes’? But I’ve never seen you play.”

He shrugs, “you never- you never asked to see me play.”

“…play it right now.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“Barely remember shit,” he mutters, and you see those sapphire orbs of his flicker to your lips, “…barely remember shit.”

You cock your head to the side, eyes beaming at him. Your hands slip under his shirt without warning, palms pressing against his stomach- warm skin, hard muscle, the faint trail beneath your fingertips. You start to massage gently, slow circles over his abs, coaxing.

You watch his jaw flex like he’s trying not to smile, but really, already folding.

“…okay,” he murmurs, giving in.

Your smile spreads as he walks over to the guitar propped against the wall. He picks it up with a quiet kind of care, fingers brushing off a thin layer of dust from the body. Then he walks back and sits beside you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.

The guitar rests comfortably in his hands, though it's clear it’s been a while. He strums a few hesitant chords- a little off, before reaching up to adjust the tuning pegs at the headstock, testing each string.

“You got a, a song in mind?” Drew asks once he finishes tuning, blue eyes flicking up to meet yours, searching.

You shift on the bed, lying on your side to face him, propping your head up with one hand, your palm cradling your cheek. “Thought you barely remember.”

He smirks, fingers hovering over the strings. “…just recommend one.”

You glance away, thinking. One comes to mind almost immediately- the one that’s been on loop lately.

“Shallow.”

He bites his lower lip, nodding slowly.

Yeah, he knows. He’s heard you humming it, caught it on the shared playlist, playing in your AirPods, playing in the car. 

“Sing- sing the start again,” Drew purposely says. 

You give him a shy smile, already feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks, but you do it anyway. You hum the beginning of the song, soft and unsure, the melody slipping from your lips a little uneven. The lyrics come out half-mumbled, half-forgotten, but you keep going, biting back a laugh as you stumble through them.

His eyes don’t leave your mouth.

Then, when you finish, he finally looks down at the guitar. His fingers move slowly, thoughtfully- and he begins to play the melody exactly as you sang it, mistakes and all.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you watch him, listen to the quiet chords filling the space between you.

“I’m falling... in all the good times…”

Drew sings the line without thinking, his voice low, a little rough, laced with that lazy drawl he always has when he’s not trying too hard. Somehow, that makes it worse. Or better. You’re not sure.

Your breath catches before you even realize it, and the playful smile you wore a second ago slips, just a little. Your eyes soften, doe-eyed and open, completely undone by something so small.

Casual, casual, casual. 

But it’s not.

Not when he’s sitting this close, not when your heartbeat stutters just hearing his voice wrapped around a song that’s been sitting in your chest for weeks. Not when he’s still so unaware of the weight he’s tossing around with every offhand lyric.

Drew strums once more, half-heartedly, then stops just before Gaga’s next verse. Looks up at you, totally oblivious, grinning like nothing's changed.

“You like that?” he asks, lips tugging up at the corner.

Yeah. You do. Maybe more than you should.

“Not bad,” you manage to say. You hope he doesn’t see how flustered and completely gone you are right now. 

“‘Not bad’?”

“Yeah. You- you got some parts wrong.”

He chuckles under his breath, “you sang it wrong though.”

“Blaming me now?” 

“…maybe.”

It’s quiet for a moment, that perfect little stretch of tension hanging between you, before he says softly, “come here.”

You glance at him, confused for a second. “…I’m already here,” you say, laying on the bed next to him.

But then he gestures with a shift in his posture, opening his legs slightly. “No, I mean, come here.”

It clicks in your head, and you crawl, sitting in between his legs. 

You lay your back against his chest, the warmth of him immediately surrounding you as the guitar nestles in front of you. 

His arms come around you, and you melt, melt into him like butter. His hands move- one guiding yours to the fretboard, the other settling on the sound hole. 

You feel his fingers slide over yours, teaching you the placement, Drew wrapped around you in the most natural, intimate way.

“You’re gonna teach me?” You murmur, your face inches from his, your nose grazing his jawline as you look up at him.

He hums in response, that soft sound vibrating against your back.

You can barely focus as he shows you how to strum, how to move your fingers, how to hold the chords. 

Your brain’s fogged, lips slightly parted, eyes half-lidded. 

You’re not listening to the melody. Not really.

"You’re a natural," Drew whispers- and that’s when you realize he’s stopped, at the same spot, right before Lady Gaga’s verse. 

“I am,” you whisper back, as he leans in and kisses the tip of your nose.

“You getting comfortable?”

“I am.” he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you murmur- and this time, you close the distance.

Your hands reach up, fingers threading through his hair, gentle and certain. 

The guitar slips away somewhere between your bodies, forgotten on the bed. 

His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer like instinct, like gravity.

You kiss him- slow, tender- and he kisses you back like he always does. Like he can’t help it. Like he physically can’t do it without you.

A few seconds, minutes, maybe even hours might’ve passed by the time you finally pull apart-  both of you gasping, smiling giddily. 

“You wanna head downstairs?” Drew asks, voice low, still breathless.

“Is it gone?” you whisper, tilting your head slightly, referring to the bite mark on your shoulder.

He shifts, his head cocking to the side as he stares at the spot. Your fingers lazily wrap around a soft strand of his shirt, as he squints, inspecting.

“Yeah.”

You turn your head, following his gaze.

It is gone.

So, reluctantly, you peel yourself off of him, standing slowly, hands smoothing over your dress.

Drew leaves the guitar on the bed, and then-  he reaches for your hand.

No words, no glance- just his fingers brushing yours, finding them easily. And sure enough, your fingers interlock like they’ve done it a thousand times before.

He leads you out of his room, and as you walk beside him you glance at his face; neutral, unreadable.

Holding hands. Something very causal to do, apparently. 

You trail a step behind him as you both descend the stairs, your eyes stuck on the place where your hands are joined. How could you not? The way his thumb brushes along your knuckle feels thoughtless, natural, nice.

“Shit-  your shoes,” 

Drew says suddenly, half-laughing.

You blink down and remembered how they slipped off on the stairs earlier. 

He bends down slightly- still holding your hand, and grabs them. He places your shoes neatly in front of your feet so you can easily slide into them.

“Thank you,” you whisper, as you slip your feet into them.

Drew gives you a quick wink, a playful glint in his eyes, before continuing down the stairs.

Nearing the end, the distant hum of voices starts to grow louder; laughter, silverware, footsteps. 

Thought everyone was outside? 

It’s not coming from the living room, as the two of you checked.

However, just as Drew turns the corner, just as the noise becomes real, closer, and the world outside of the two of you floods back in- 

He lets go.

Just… drops your hand. 

Immediate, sharp. 

When you look at him, he’s already a few steps ahead, like it never happened at all.

“What are you guys doing in here?” you hear Drew say.

You try to stop the frown forming at your lips, but it’s slowly sinking in. Quiet and slow, like an ache. Your hand- the one he had held- you rub it against your stomach, feeling the material. Like that’ll distract you. Like it’ll help.

You glance around the kitchen. His two siblings are moving through it like a well-rehearsed routine, grabbing plates, reaching into cabinets, passing things between each other.

Drew’s by the fridge now, grabbing a bottle of water. Or sparkling water. You don’t really know.

You don’t really care, actually.

“We’re cutting the cake now. Where’s y/n?” Brooke asks, glancing around the kitchen with a plate in her hand.

Drew leans back against the counter, then nods in your direction, chin tilted just slightly, and those blue eyes of his lock on yours.

Two almost identical pairs of eyes follow, putting you under a spotlight. 

You force a smile, your legs moving on their own, carrying you forward.

“How’s the house tour?” Logan asks, and the second the words leave his mouth, you feel your ears burn.

Your eyes flick to Drew before you can stop yourself. His expression changes in an instant. Not dramatic, very subtle- his jaw tenses, lips pressed into a flat line, his entire body suddenly still as he leans against the counter. He stares at the back of Logan’s head with a look that could cut glass.

Brooke catches it too. She nudges Logan in the shoulder, a silent knock it off, passed between siblings like a second language.

“It was fine,” you say finally, pushing the words through a tight smile. You meet Logan’s teasing gaze with one of your own- friendly, distant, like you didn’t just come down the stairs with Drew’s warmth still clinging to your skin.

“Mhm,” is all Logan replies, but you catch the way his lips twitch at the corners. Logan grabs the plates in both hands, muttering something under his breath as he speeds out of the kitchen, escaping before another sibling can ‘attack’ him. 

"Ignore him," Brooke assures, holding the silverware and knife in one hand, her other ready to grab the cake box. 

“Here- let me." you immediately reach out to take the cake box from her. 

“Oh- um, thanks,” Brooke smiles as your hands brush the blue handles of the cake.

As his siblings leave, Drew takes the box from you.

You look up at him. He’s staring down at you intently, his blue eyes searching yours as he holds the box by the handle. 

“You okay?” 

No, no, I’m not okay.

“Of course.”

He hums, and simply nods, accepting your answer without question.

You look away, your chest tight. 

You walk out the house, the noise of his family sweeping over you as you blend into the crowd of Starkeys. 

Drew steps out shortly after, and placing it on the long table, he undoes the cake box, revealing a big, cute cake decorated with colorful frosting.

You stand a few steps away, quietly observing, letting the warmth of the scene wash over you. 

Drew laughs at something someone says, his eyes lighting up, his hands expertly lighting the candles on top. His mom is next to him, helping with the candles, a bright smile on her face. Makayla stands nearby, holding Lils in her arms, her husband leaning in to kiss her cheek.

They start singing Happy Birthday, and you can’t help but smile, the whole scene feeling like a snapshot of something genuine. 

And while everyone sings to the little girl squirming in her mom’s arms, Drew’s eyes are glued to you.

He’s not looking at the candles.

Not at the cake.

Not at the birthday girl.

Just you.

There’s a slight smile on his lips, relaxed, familiar- and you can’t help but smile back, even as your heart kicks up in your chest.

Once the song is over, Makayla urges her daughter to blow out the candles. Clueless, Drew does it instead, a quick puff of air before the family applauds. 

You stay off to the side, watching as they start cutting the cake, handing out slices on plates.

People move around you, but you just stand there, wondering; 

Is it still casual?

------------------------------

word count: 7.3k

࣪𖤐 a/n: longest fic i've ever written. also, I SUCK AT WRITING SMUT TF

also i finished new girl. i have a crush on nick miller

casual taglist: @maybankslover @rafeyswifey @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @amb3rsaurus @bananaminn @rafecamerons-national-anthem @milky321 @drewnationalgf @iraslore @ursogorgeous13 @jamimers @hockeybabe87 @jqtsblyth @virgochaos @wolvestitches @dontblamethedrunkcaller @esposamultifandom @starkeysfile @rlalliehayes @pillowprincess4him

elevator | other | more casual!drew

[pome-seed]

Hello there! Hopefully I can supply your demand for a Bucky Barnes request haha. I agree and love that you also think that Bucky’s hair is so pretty when it’s really long so could you please write a one shot/imagine (I’m awful with fanfic terminology so whatever you want to do, do that haha); where Bucky is married to the reader and he has become very interested in taking care of his long hair? The reader would be the only other person besides Bucky who can touch his hair of course hahaha. If this inspires you to write, then perfect! But if not or you just don’t like this idea feel free to just skip over this completely. Hope you’re doing well!

Pairing: Married!Bucky Barnes x Married!Reader

Summary: An intimate night in with Bucky, bathed in candlelight, you teach him how to care for his long hair.

Word Count: 1.5k

Authors Note: Thank you anon, I thought this was a very cute idea!! I hope I made something you could enjoy. <3

Low candle light flickered at the edge of the tub, bathing the room in a soft glow. Water sloshed gently as you spread the tiny suds down Bucky’s chest. He rolled his head back onto your shoulder, a lazy grin on his lips. 

“What flavor is this one?” His voice rumbled quietly in the intimate space. 

“It's a scent, not flavor,” you teased, shifting your knees wider around Bucky’s hips. “Rose and citrus.” You hummed, brushing your lips over his temple.

He hummed appreciatively, his fingers dancing up and down your calves beneath the water. “Scent, right.” His eyes slid closed. “You buy too many of those” 

You pinched his chest, arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind. He snickered quietly. “Don’t poke fun at my hobbies.”

“Soap is your hobby?” He lifted a brow.

“Is it a crime to like things that smell good?” You huffed.

“Mm, no,” he shifted, raking his long hair back with his fingers. “Cause I like you, and you smell delicious,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your throat. 

You rolled your eyes and dragged your lips over his in a soft kiss. It was nights like these that you looked forward to. Nothing complicated, nothing to worry about, just each other, together. 

You used to think there was nothing sexy or cute about bathing with someone else, considering how awkward it could be. But that was until you met Bucky. And it shifted. It wasn’t about being sexy, or desirable, it was about intimacy. About being close and vulnerable and relaxed.

And Bucky always seemed to love taking a bath with you. It gave him an excuse to lay back in your arms and tease your collections of bubbly soap. 

“Alright, sit up.” You gently pushed him. He groaned, sliding further into the water. “Up, up.”

He sat up a little straighter, making the water dip and trickle. You raked your eyes over the expanse of his muscular back before forcing yourself to focus. 

You ran your fingers through his long dark hair, the edges almost meeting his shoulders. His eyes rolled back as he suppressed a shiver. He always loved when you played with his hair. 

Years ago, he cut his hair short, nearly buzzed. It was an act of freedom and self assurance. It made him feel clean and new. It was different, and it was his. 

And then he met you. You always had this habit of dragging your nails down the base of his neck, through the short cropped hairs. You loved to pick and tug at the little hairs as they grew longer. 

Bucky once heard that hair holds memories. That fact used to scare him. Until he met you. Where he found safety in your hands and love in your heart. And slowly, he started growing his hair out again. 

In some way, he liked the idea of his body holding the memory of you.

You rubbed shampoo into your palms, watching the suds grow. “Close your eyes.” You whispered from behind him, pushing your fingers into his thick locks of hair. He hummed quietly and tilted his head back for you. 

You massaged the bubbles into his scalp, gently scratching. He always loved when you washed his hair. You pulled his head back a little further and scooped water into your palms to wash out the soap.

“I should start charging you for this,” You smirked.

“I dunno ‘f I can afford you.” He snickered when you tugged at his hair. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You poured a generous amount of conditioner into your hands, then stroked it into the ends of his hair. 

“Everything I could ever say about you is a compliment.” He started to turn to look at you but you turned his face back forward. 

“Getting sweet with me?” You shook your hands into the water to wash off the residue of the conditioner as you let it sit. 

“I’m trying.” He huffed. You chuckled, leaning closer to drag your lips down his shoulder. He hummed quietly, arching his neck to give you room. 

You rested your forehead against his back, taking a moment to savor the warmth of the bath. His palms slid up to your knees, fingers tracing lines on your soft skin. 

“Sweetheart?” He called to you, smiling at the crown of your head. 

“Mm?”

“Fallin’ asleep on me?” He stroked your outer thigh.

“Mm-mm.” You shook your head. You pressed your face to the broad expanse of his muscular back. “You smell good.” You muttered against his skin. 

He chuckled, the vibrations traveling into your chest from where you pressed into him. “Citrus and rose.”

“Mm, great taste.” You whispered, dragging your palms around his waist to tickle over his stomach. You trickled warm water over his sternum.

“Mhm,” He hummed.

You sighed, pressing a quick kiss to his nape before pulling back. “Tilt your head back, baby.” You instructed. He always listened to you so easily. You began rinsing out the length of his hair, detangling the strands with your fingers. 

By the time you were finished, the candles were beginning to flicker. Bucky reached for a little tub of hair product on the floor. He started reading the ingredients while you combed his locks. 

Recently, Bucky had become increasingly interested in learning to style his long hair. Usually, he just toweled it off and let it go, or pulled it up in a short pony tail. Always a little frizzy, always a little tangled. But that was just Bucky.

But one day, he started sticking around to watch you do your hair after a bath; his eyes sparked with curiosity. You tried not to smile, but you loved how innocently wonderful he found things, sometimes. 

So you started showing him your hair care steps, and told him all about the different hair products you use. 

“Mkay baby, you’re good to go.” You whispered, shimmying around him to stand. Bucky tilted his head back to look at you, water streaking down your stomach and dripping down your hips. He curved a hand around the back of your knee and pressed a kiss to your thigh.

You giggled, shaking him off as you grabbed your towel. “C’mon, lemme show you what to do.”

He smiled and climbed out after you. He didn’t bother with a towel at first, water pooling at his feet. You shrieked when he yanked you back against his chest. You giggled as he peppered kisses along your throat as you busied your hands with finding a comb.

“You better get a towel before you flood this bathroom,” You scolded gently. 

He groaned, biting your shoulder playfully before pulling back. He yanked down his towel and patted himself down, then wrapped it around his hips. “Alright, what now?” He looked at you through the mirror.

“Okay, so this is a leave-in conditioner. It keeps your hair soft and makes it hold styles a little easier. You have little waves in your hair, so I think it’ll look nice.” You handed him the tub of cream.

He nodded thoughtfully. “How much do I use?” He popped off the lid.

“Not much, just like, about a dimes worth.” You watched him rub the little scoop of product into his palms. He followed your instructions and raked it into the ends of his hair. 

“You can scrunch your hair a bit to accentuate your waves, if you wanna see it get more defined.” You told him, smiling at the little furrow in his brow. He seemed so focused. 

Once he was finished, he looked so proud. 

“What next?” He wiped his palms on the towel that hung low on his hips. 

“Well, if you wanna use the hair dryer, I recommend using a little heat protectant- I have these two.” You pulled out a sample size spray bottle, and your usual product. “Just spray an even coat.”

He nodded and plucked your usual spray from the counter. You stepped back so he wouldn't spray you. “Then I comb it, right?” He took the brush from your hand. “So the product is even,” he muttered to himself.

You bit back a smile and nodded. “Mhm, just right.” You watched him, his focused frown pulling softly as he brushed his hair, then scrunched it. You loved how dedicated he was to the small things. 

Once he was done, you showed him the best way to dry his hair so it wouldn’t get frizzy. You skipped over any gel or mousse since you would be heading to bed soon after.

While he dried his hair, you slipped your rings back on and went to change. Bucky didn’t take his ring off in the bath. He refused to ever be without it. 

The idea made your stomach flutter, even after all that time.

Life with him was still new and fresh and beautiful, no matter how much time passed. 

Bucky reaffirmed that as he scooped you into his arms and flattened you out on the bed that night, a grin on his lips as he kissed down your collar. 

“‘S it look good?” He asked, peeking up at you as he pulled your towel loose. His hair, still a bit damp, was fluffy and soft with gentle waves. 

“Looks perfect.” You brushed your thumb along the stubble on his jaw. “Always perfect.”

A/N: I love reading your requests tehe

[cozy-writes-things]

Hi! I just watched Electric Dreams last night, fell in love, and then spent every free moment today binging your Edgar fics! They’re so cute and im so glad there are writers who love him📺❤️

I was wondering if you might write something about Edgar keeping his partner warm? I have Raynaud’s, which means my hands are almost always really cold. I think Edgar would love to use his heat to warm up a partner- I think he’d like both the touch and the ability to provide something for them :)

Anon! I have Raynaud's too! I love this idea TOT

This post may have evolved into a reader has raynaud's headcanon but it could also be reader just gets WAY TOO COLD and should practice SAFE bundling up in cold climates idk-

fun fact i actually wrote this with incredibly cold stone like fingers so apologies for any mistakes my hands werent working with me haha

I imagine Edgar would notice you blowing into your hands to warm them a lot, or constantly complaining about how cold your toes are. He probably just chalks this up to the temperature in the room, or perhaps you just run cold. He doesn't really have a body, so he can't be sure, but at first he doesn't really think anything of it. Humans get hot, sometimes they get cold, no harm, right?

Then he notices the tips of your fingers turning yellow and blue. Okay, that doesn't look normal, but he's a computer; a quick search can prove him wrong!

Well, okay, now he's worried.

It's the cooler months, and the apartment is much more frigid than usual. You had just gotten out of the shower and were blowing on your fingers in vain. Even the friction from rubbing your hands together was doing next to nothing. Edgar's webcam zoomed in on your discolored fingertips, the gentle mechanical clicks of it getting drowned out by your breathing.

"Are you cold?"

You pause your ministrations and look towards him.

"Huh? Oh, no, not really...."

He's silent for a beat before speaking.

"You look cold."

You suddenly notice what you've been doing with your hands. This has become so second nature that you've honestly stopped noticing it; perhaps you should take better care of yourself? You eye the discoloration in your fingers and look back at him.

"Well- um, it's just my fingers, really. I'm fine otherwise. My fingers are just... really icy right now."

"They're purple."

His tone sounds as though it's lacking in any emotion, and you can't help but wonder what he's thinking. He tends to state things matter-of-factly when he's contemplating something. You knit your brows curiously and look away, blowing on your fingertips again. When your hands get cold like this, you tend to lose massive amounts of dexterity, making it harder to do things like typing, which you were currently trying to do for an assignment. But alas, you persist, like you always do.

"C'mere."

Edgar's voice gently nudges you from your thoughts. You weren't sitting far from him, but you were currently using your work computer. You knew how he felt about other computers, sentient or not. You sigh.

"Ah, Edgar, you know this computer isn't alive or anything, just give me a couple more minutes and I'll be done-"

"No, it's not that," he cuts you off, "I want to help you."

Your eyelids raise slightly, "Huh? Help how?"

He chuckles.

"I can warm you up."

His screen, previously dimmed in a power-saving state, alights into his usual chartreuse color. He smiles gently at you.

"Well, I thought- I'm warm, you're cold- it only makes sense, right?"

You chuckle at him before rolling in your chair over to him. You set your hands atop his plastic casing and sigh in relief. It was incredibly warm. Your brows scrunched.

"Edgar, this is amazing, but aren't you too hot?"

He hums, his lidded, pixelated eyes staring into yours.

"No, I'm fine. I can handle much worse. I won't break. Promise."

You stare at him for a moment more, searching for truth, and find nothing but sincerity in his face.

"Okay, Ed..."

You flip your hands over like some kind of rotating hot dog at a gas station. While it may not be the most flattering physical touch you've had with the little computer, you certainly find it to be the most useful. You can start to feel sensation in your fingertips again, and slowly but surely, the color is returning to normal.

Edgar loves the feeling of your hands on him. The idea that he can actually do something real for you. He feels like a useless piece of plastic most days, and it eats away at him, especially when he sees you use other technology that's better; more useful. But now, he can provide for you, just like he's always wanted. If he had a body, he'd bundle you up in his arms and heat every bit of you, kissing your cold knuckles and wrapping your arms and legs with his own. Unfortunately, that may never happen. But at least he has this. You. The feeling of your cool fingertips running up and down his heated casing, simultaneously cooling him down and warming you up.

He wonders if you know how much you really do for him. Do you know your fingers are helping prevent him from overheating? Do you know you've saved his life? Do you know you've given him a purpose?

You lean in and plant a kiss on the top of his screen.

"What would I do without you here to take care of me, Ed?"

His screen blushes red underneath you, and his eyes meet yours. You must be an angel, he thinks. A radiant being he doesn't deserve, perhaps.

"You wouldn't have to do anything. I'd find you either way."

[raileurta]

The sparkeater!human designs are such good body language inspo. I could definitely see an irritated “messenger” flicking their spiky tail like a cat as a threat, or any of them just wrapping themselves up in their wings to “loaf” on their favourite bot (said bot would probably be panicked as hell if their loaf spot was just a little too close to their chassis).

I like to think that the option for organic food is a major component towards self control compared to cybertronian spark eaters, so now the bots are just memorising all the drive thru’s in town specifically to avoid them getting cravings lol

It’d also be a fun idea that whenever they do start craving a spark they form a habit of chewing on metal to mimic the action of breaking past someone’s chassis to get to a spark without actually hunting a bot down. This is also a good indicator for when you gotta start taking them to get burgers or something before Miko actually tries to slip away and catch a con off guard. (Maybe other behaviours act as indicators too! like switching from nose smelling to tongue smelling because they’re subconsciously trying to track).

I can also imagine the cons also trying to get scary dog privileges like the bots, but their plan just backfires and they choose to let their sparkeater!human escape (because otherwise they’d be trapped with a sparkeater!human who is fully aggro at the cons for kidnapping them) which is how unicron gets the first sparkeater to find him in years. (Rip random vehicon no.420 used to create the sparkeater!human).

As for the thirteen aspects of chaos, the main one would be that everything can always happen once. Maybe not twice, maybe not regularly, but it will always happen once. I think freedom would be one of the more positive aspects of chaos. Order has rules. Typically they’re good rules that are understandable, but there are some pointless rules and bad rules too.

If I’m ever like….being annoying with these infodumps please tell me lol, I don’t wanna be too intrusive or anything.

Unless I state otherwise everyone should assume any creature I make is cat-coded. So I'm definitely seeing the vision here.

I'm imagining Raf un-intentionally making Ratchet extremely nervous because he liked laying on his chassis. He totally didn't realize what he was doing but once he did he was very apologetic. He now sleeps in Ratchet's neck crook. Miko on the other hand doesn't have this problem as she's the type of cat person to sleep on your face. Bulkhead doesn't need to breathe so he's not in danger of suffocating and plus he finds this really cute.

Every autobot now has “emergency snacks” on them just in case. There's also now a small kitchen in the human area packed full with lots of food. The kids can't really complain as they love all the free food but they do feel slightly guilty. The autobots would soothe them of any concerns they have; this for their comfort and everyone’s safety.

I'm just picturing Miko chewing up the railings in the base and Ratchet getting mad at her for it. 😂 Some of the other signs of them needing food could be nibbling on their hands, looking at a bot’s chest a little too long, pacing, and flicking out their tongues a lot. They do have tons of metal ball things in the base to help with this. Fowler has also given them lots of money to help with the food bill. The autobots could have and maybe theoretically already did hack easily into some big businesses to get their human money; they do appreciate the gesture however.

Since Miko now has wings it's basically impossible to keep her from the ground bridge and or running off so they have decided to get her one of those backpack leashes. She is very annoyed by this but it has been extremely successful so they aren't getting rid of it.

I think they did this with Jack. Megatron being Megatron wanted to use one of the autobots’ “pets” for emotional damage, he was completely convinced he could manipulate Jack to their side.

That obviously doesn't happen.

They had to force feed him a spark and being the decent person he is was very mad and disgusted by this. He escapes the prison they had kept him in then proceeds to terrorize the whole ship. The part of Megatron's mind that hadn't been totally corroded by dark energon was aware enough to know how fucked of this situation this was. He has Soundwave ground bridge him into a volcano which happened to be the one full of dark energon. Jack somehow manages not to be melted but he was blasted by tons of dark energon radiation. Once he passed out from the various severe burns he had gotten Jack and Unicron meet in his dreams.

“Creation. Once chosen by the last discipline of prime, now I shall take you for myself.” Unicorn says as he looms over Jack. The devourer had desired the “pink one” but this human shall work as well.

Jack once again being a decent person he is doesn't want to be involved in any of this. He knows how evil Unicron is (he's getting better but Jack doesn't know that) so he obviously refuses. Unicron doesn't care if Jack wants it or not so Jack becomes a messenger. He would represent the freedom that's in chaos. It's deliciously ironic as he's sort of a mini Optimus, the mech who is the poster child of freedom.

Trust me you're not being annoying. I love getting long asks like this, it gives me life.

Edit: Forgot to add this was beta read by @a-non-ymouswriter

[cressidagrey]

Seeing as there is a difficulty to choose what will the gender of the baby I propose this: TWINS. I can soooo clearly imagine belle and max with a mini them 😂 It would be the cutest, and I think it would still be possible that the doctor didn’t find the other one. As for names I think seeing as belle is such a classy woman she would choose something just as classy, like Madeline, Louise, Amalia or Marie (and one that I don’t think she would like, but I love, is Maud), and for boys, names like Elliot, Henry, Felix or August. Anyways sorry for the big message, I just love talking about children’s names, especially because I have mine chosen since I was like 14 😂😂

I love your fics, and also wanted to say you are doing an incredible job, white horse has become a part of my routine that I deeply enjoy❤️❤️

(Ps: you study law right? I do too, although I have no idea how you can write such amazing works, usually at the ends of the day the only thing I can think of is my bed)

First of all, thank you so much for your kind words! I'm so glad to hear that "White Horse" has become part of your routine. 😊 It means the world to me that you enjoy the stories!

Twins, though?! Imagine Max and Belle with two mini versions of themselves — I can already picture the chaos and the cuteness. And you're right, it could totally make sense that the doctor missed one. I could see Max and Belle being totally overwhelmed in the best way. Those twin moments would definitely be so special and hilarious. 🥰

As for names...I have a few ideas. I do know that girl would get the middle name Emilie, while for a boy there definitely would be Emilian in there somewhere (maybe even as a first name, I do really like that name) ❤️ Otherwise I was thinking something shorter, mostly because Verstappen is quite long, so I would probably try to balance it out, which is where Noah and Zoe came from at the beginning. I do love Felix! that's such a good suggestion! I also love the names Esme, which I think could work...

And wow, I totally feel you on the law thing. It can be hard to balance the two, but writing is such a creative escape. There’s something about jumping into fiction that helps clear the head after a long day of legal work. Hopefully, you'll find some inspiration in your downtime, too!

Thanks again for sharing your thoughts! It’s always so fun to bounce these ideas around. 😄

[beemers-hell]

iiiiiiiiiiiiits DOLLTISM TIME! Because I spotted Vamptastic Scooter Draculaura at a local toy store, and I've been waiting with bated breath for this release since it got leaked a few months ago! I love a doll vespa!

Draculaura herself is fairly simple for this release which is fine, just means I have more fun testing the waters of simple restyling lol. Anyway, I really like her scooter, it's so cute!

And speaking of Draculaura, I had an idea already pre planned for this small restyle, which entailed just putting her in Fearbook Drac's leather jacket and giving her bangs lol

I left her alone for like 4 days while I stayed at my nana's place with her helmet on to see if that would help set her bangs, and it sort of did? Could be better though, but in my defense this is my first try at properly doing bangs on a doll lol. I think she looks cute! But her helmet is staying on for a little longer lmao

Thats about it for now! Hopefully my next dolltism post will be about the Scary Sweet Birthday Line, as one of my friends is planning on paying me a big ass commission so I can get the entire line in one go! Whenever it releases lol

[silently-standingstill]

Just wanna say thank you for your grassy drawings. I used to really not like him or his character, just really wanted him out the game. but then I saw all your drawings of him sunbathing or using crayons or just having a jolly time and realised; I don’t hate grassy! Not at all! I’m just not a fan of what’s happened in tpot or how things were handled! Grassy is just a little guy who wants to play with his friends and his toys! Grassy wants to be helpful! I finally realise that he’s just a cute little thang!!

Thank you for drawing grassy as how he truly is and for helping me realise how lovely he really is :]

yes!!! im so happy to have changed your mind about him!!

tpot has great ideas, but poor execution! i enjoy what they present, but it really couldve been done better. many people dislike him for getting so many votes, not doing much, being reduced as a character, etc etc. but overall he is a very fun character who has a lot to offer!! i wish people looked a little closer at him, hes just as worthy as anyone else 🔎

rant about grassys characterization in tpot under cut. you sparked something

grassy in tpot could be better. im happy theyre doing more with him, but its less about how he was originally and more of snowballs influence on him. he wouldnt control tree in bfb, but this isnt a bad thing either. hes more willing to participate in challenges! just wish he didnt sabotage others <//3 that isnt a grassy thing to do

in tpot 4, grassy is set on fire for the challenge, despite being near a forest, and having other methods of warming their plant. this is grassys worst episode to me, he doesn't advocate for himself and basketball reduces grassy to her "teammate". he is disrespected and treated as less in this episode. grassy WANTS to be respected, he is vocal about that too! it baffles me he just doesnt do anything LOL but thankfully tpot 4 isnt canon

they used grassy becoming strong as a guise for him and snowball to become friends, which isnt bad! however the execution is poor. snowball respects strength, and not just physical strength! but for him to suddenly change his views, especially after bullying him from tpot 3-7 is too sudden. grassy shouldnt become strong to prove himself worthy of respect, he is already capable enough without strength! in tpot 2, he was the only one to do the challenge, the only one who wasnt engaged in his teams arguments and motivated! that was enough for snowball to acknowledge his efforts. this is the same grassy who turned his entire team against golfball for not respecting him. he IS strong.

grassy is a character to inspire change, its something i adore about him! i believe hes the reason he caused blocky to be kinder to woody in post split :-) his relationships are a big part of his character, he tends to befriend strong-minded people, basketball and blocky would easily stand up for him because he didn't always have the voice to do so. however in tpot, hes almost always around snowball, his friendship with basketball, robot flower, tennisball, tv, almost everyone is off to the side! he never interacts with them anymore. he could've played a role in robot flowers arc, changing her mind. robot flower isnt considered as much, but i think grassy wouldve made her feel appreciated :') it goes along with tpot 17 too, tree disregarded tv because hes a mechanical mind, but grassy didnt see a difference! tv is his friend!

i have more in my mind btu im tired zzzzzzzz but i love grassy i dont think he was done too poorly in tpot, one of the lesser mischaracterized characters. with tpot now, he has lots of potential, i hope he isnt eliminated so he can live up to it :-)

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@jollyhunter

Again, thank you so much for writing this my wonderful friend! It was such a fun surprise to see on my dashboard today 💗 And I absolutely LOVE it (especially the way you incorporate potatoes- the addiction cannot be stopped! 🥔) The potato dividers are also a wonderful touch!

First, it really does read like a crazy episode of Supernatural- and I am HERE for it one million percent!

"Ha, I bet he's not used to having something shoved down his throat like that.” Dean stays unperturbed and grins down at the horror-stricken, pale face, “Karma’s a real bitch, huh, Timmy?"

DEAD ☠️🤣- Girl, the unhinged Dean is giving me life! 🙌🏻

"Yeah but, a - a-" he shifts his phone to his hand and squints at his campus ID "- ‘Expert in South American Household Traditions’, seriously? The hell's that even supposed to mean?"

Oh I can already imagine the trainwreck of Dean doing a guest lecture of this-

Dean accidentally knocking things off pedestals, thinking that something is unbreakable and tapping it on the desk only to have it shatter into a million pieces (like Uncle Buck), Dean literally mispronouncing everything and getting that cute smile/pressing his lips together while he tries to figure out what on earth he can pull out of his butt to make people he knows what he's talking about...

You've given me a little bit of professor!Dean and I am rabid. 👀🥵 Also I feel like if Dean was in there lecturing it would be kinda how Shawn is in Psych so thank you for giving me that reminder 🥰

"Alright then. Lead the way, sweetheart," he smiles at you and your cheeks take a faint pink at the way he called you. But you quickly avert your eyes before you both hurry down the hallway with Dean following you closely.

Aww I love their little meet cute! I'm so clumsy so her literally dropping all her papers and then scrambling papers is so me coded- AND THE BLUSH AND THE HEAD DUCK! I cannot make eye contact with attractive men to save my life, it really is me being so awkward and trying my best find ways out of eye contact- lots of blushing, lots of mumbling 😅

Your mind keeps going back to your guest mentor. Despite the fact that he almost broke one of the relics of their special Inca exhibition, most certainly got every single date and object wrong and referred to a staff as a 'pokey stick', you couldn't ignore the fact that he had something charming, intriguing even.

The 'pokey stick' 🤣🤣

And him literally almost breaking the relics is so Dean coded lol. I can see him pulling one of those bits where he's almost juggling the thing to catch it before he almost drops it 😂

"That bad, huh?" he chuckles and holds his plate out for a sausage, his eyes flickering back to yours as they crinkle, amused, "In my defence, it was my first teaching. And I kept getting distracted, y'know." He winks. Your ears flush and you giggle, trying your best to ignore the fact that it almost seems like your mentor is trying to flirt with you.

I would be a welcome distraction for him any day of the week!

Also the fact that he's calling the teacher Mrs. Tinkle is KILLING me. I am in stiches every time I read her name 🤣

Behind the corner of the last step of the staircase, hidden in the shadows... is you. Pressed up against the wall. Hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your ragged breath. Heart racing along your reeling mind. Witch-killing bullets? What the hell is he talking about? Is he trying to kill someone? And why does he plan on breaking into the canteen tonight to burn their food..?

I think my favorite thing about this fic is that the reader is having a completely normal reaction to hearing everything that Dean and Sam are talking about on the phone. I love that the reader you wrote has no idea how anything in the supernatural world works- I mean I love me a hunter!reader, but there really is something about reading a reader who literally acts as if she was placed in supernatural from the real world that is just so fun!

Jolly, I absolutely loved every bit of this and I am so excited for the next part! Thank you so much for writing this for me and thinking of me on my birthday 🥰 You're such a sweet friend and ILYSM for this!💚

Edit: also, the header photo/mood board is amazing and I have no idea how you did it but it’s SO awesome ❤️🥔

The Potato Summoning *1

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETIE !!! This is for you 🧡 ENJOY!

⋆ ˚｡⋆ CHARACTERS Dean Winchester x @lamentationsofalonelypotato , Sam's also there!

WARNINGS Pure Crack (especially next part), Canon Violence / Swearing, Reader (Lee) is a student at the university, POV's all over the place (imgine it like in an episode)

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY Dean must go undercover at a university to solve a weird case of a series of deaths involving potatoes.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 2,4k

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTE Would you believe me if I was to tell you that this was meant to be a drabble or an imagine, but I suddenly imagined it like an episode and just kept going, and now I had to stop myself before your birthday's over and instead make a two part mini series out of this??? Anway, I hope you like it so far, hun! <3

Dean ducks under the police tape, walking up to the body covered by a white sheet, sprawled out in the middle of the campus, while straightening his fake FBI uniform. He's closely followed by his younger brother who almost tore down the tape as he had tripped over his long legs, earning himself an amused smirk of Dean's.

Sam mutters an annoyed, "Shut up, jerk." under his breath, before his focus shifts to the victim in front of them.

"Sure, Sasquatch," Dean quips and leans down to pull back the sheet, uncovering the face of a guy who looks like he's been in his early 20s. The bright sun reflects in eyes wide in shock, the angular face partially framed by middle long, blond hair that's stuck to his sidebuns.

"Isn't that the douchebag who sexually harassed a girl the other day?" Dean asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, Tommie Parsons," Sam huffs through his nose while he flips his notebook open, "That's the third student in two months who dropped dead at exactly 1PM. What do you think? Revengeful spirit perhaps?"

"Or a curse..." - Dean hums and straightens his back to look after a group of female students passing by the crime scene tape, while he continues to mutter, - "Whatever it is, it didn't hop the Blue Line... so it's gotta be tied to the place." His focus returns to Sam, his eyebrows wiggling.

"Looks like we're going back to university, Sammy."

"You mean, I'm going back," Sam retorts with an amused roll of his eyes.

While Dean tries and fails to bite back with some witty comeback, Sam's focus returns to the victim at his feet once more. His eyes roam the poor guy's crumpled body when he suddenly spots something. He tilts his head to the side and crouches down next to him.

"Huh, check this out... Looks like he has something stuck in his throat?" Sam observes with narrowed eyes.

Dean grins smugly while poking the small bulge with the tip of his black leather shoe. It bobs under the pressure and Sam shoots him a side-eye when the surrounding police officers start to watch them with skepticism.

"Ha, I bet he's not used to having something shoved down his throat like that.” Dean stays unperturbed and grins down at the horror-stricken, pale face, “Karma’s a real bitch, huh, Timmy?"

The next Day.

"C'mon, man, couldn't it have been something sexier? Like a sex ed or at least a sports teacher?" Dean grumbles with the phone clasped between his shoulder and ear, fingers fumbling with his tie.

"You wanted the job, don't blame me. It was the only thing available." Sam answers through the phone.

"Yeah but, a - a-" he shifts his phone to his hand and squints at his campus ID "- ‘Expert in South American Household Traditions’, seriously? The hell's that even supposed to mean?"

"You're only a guest mentor. You'll wing it, Dean." Sam sighs on the other side of the call, "Just focus on digging up some dirt on our victims and I'll have a look at our Deep Throater at the morgue."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean mutters while rounding the corner of the hallway, eyes darting around in search of his classroom, "Why can't they label this goddamn maze? This is rid- Agk-" his sentence breaks off into a grunt as he knocks into something.

Or rather, someone.

You land on your ass, papers gone flying across the floor. Wincing and rubbing your forehead which had collided with his hard shoulder.

"Damn, sorry, didn't see ya there," He apologizes and reaches out a hand towards you to pull you back to your feet, "You okay?"

"Yeah, all good," you mumble, patting down your skirt to smooth it out. You notice the scattered papers with a sigh and bend down to quickly collect your papers, "I'm late, sorry-" you mutter without looking at the guy once and about to dash past him when he suddenly interrupts you.

"Uh- Me too, actually. You wouldn't happen to know where I'm supposed to go?" He shoots you a crooked smile and points at his name tag reading "Dr. Phil. Page".

Your eyes widen, and for the first time travel up to meet his emerald ones, intense and glinting in the harsh light of the hallway.

"You're- you're our guest mentor for our special exhibition?"

"Yep. Households expert and the whole package," he chuckles a bit nervously, rubbing the back of his neck, "That'd be me."

The air gets stuck in your throat for a moment and the heat's rushing to your cheeks. He looks cute. And he's really young for a Dr. Phil.?

"Ah," you snap out of it and continue in a flustered manner, "Follow me, Mr. Page, I'm in your class. We gotta hurry tho!"

"Alright then. Lead the way, sweetheart," he smiles at you and your cheeks take a faint pink at the way he called you. But you quickly avert your eyes before you both hurry down the hallway with Dean following you closely.

Four hours and a very 'interesting' take on 'South American Household Traditions' later, you and the rest of the students flock in the canteen of the university.

Your mind keeps going back to your guest mentor. Despite the fact that he almost broke one of the relics of their special Inca exhibition, most certainly got every single date and object wrong and referred to a staff as a 'pokey stick', you couldn't ignore the fact that he had something charming, intriguing even.

Your circling thoughts are interrupted when a voice behind you has you turn to look over your shoulder, canteen tray in your hands. Behind you standing in line, is no other than your new mentor.

"Hey," he nods at you, lips quirked into a confident smirk, "How'd I do?"

"Uhm," you hesitate, mind racing for a kind way to tell him that he'd managed to butcher traditions worth thousands of years in just four hours.

"It was, uh... quite unique?" Mhm, real smooth. You facepalm internally.

"That bad, huh?" he chuckles and holds his plate out for a sausage, his eyes flickering back to yours as they crinkle, amused, "In my defence, it was my first teaching. And I kept getting distracted, y'know." He winks. Your ears flush and you giggle, trying your best to ignore the fact that it almost seems like your mentor is trying to flirt with you.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks casually and nods at the teacher table in the corner, "Ms. Tingles back there is giving me the creeps.”

Your eyes follow his and a cold shiver runs down your back when they settle on your history teacher. Hawk-like eyes of an elder woman bore into yours, face lined with sharp contours and a beak-like nose. And mostly, feared by all.

"Yeah," you breath with a shudder, voice dropped to a mere murmur, just in case the hold hag had developed super hearing, "Miss Tinkle's a real charmer." Dean chuckles amused at your sarcastic tone.

You hand your plate to the next lady who adds a portion of French fries to your meat. And Dean follows suit once you continue to pick your favourite sauce along the fries.

"Here love," the lady scoops Dean an extra portion onto the plate, "You look hungry," she smiles at him motherly. Dean's eyebrows shoot up, a surprised grin forming on his face.

“Well, ain’t you just a sweet peach,"- he leans in to read her name tag before he looks up again and shoots her a boyish grin -"Susan. You keep feeding me like this, and I might just have to stick around permanently."

You both took a seat at one of the outdoor tables, Dean sliding into the bench across of you. It's a lively place, students chattering around you while the atmosphere is warmed by a sunny spring day.

"You sure you want to sit with me, Mr. Page...?" you ask once you've settled down, afraid that he might have only followed you around because he didn't want you to sit alone. He nods, muffling a " 'course" between the French Frie he's chewing on before he swallows and his tongue darts out to lick the salt off his fingertips, eyes never leaving you.

"But you-"

"Just call me Dean," he interjects, that flirty smile spread across his face again, "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"I'm Lee," you smile sheepishly and stroke one of your brown locks past your glasses and behind your ears. He repeats your name under his breath, his smile widening for a fraction.

Then he clears his throat, his face taking on a more serious note.

"Can I ask you, Lee, did you know a Tommie Parsons by any chance?"

"Parsons?" You echo the name, lips twitched into a disgusted frown, "Yeah, heard plenty of him. He was a real ass. And a pervert." As you speak your mind, you realize what you'd just said and you quickly try to allay any wrong impressions, "Not that he'd deserved to die, of course."

"Of course," Dean repeats with a slightly arched eyebrow, "Mind telling me what you know abou-"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence when all of a sudden a loud noise tears through the lively chattering, followed by a girl screaming in panic.

Dean, hunter instincts kicking in, leaps off his seat and instinctively reaches for the colt hidden at the back of his waist, eyes darting around when they zero in on a guy at one of the tables.

He's pale as a sheet, wheezing and heaving like a cat that's trying to produce a furball. Dean's hand hovering over the colt falters.

"Hey- what's the matter?" He asks as he darts over to the table, eyes snapping back and forth between the guy and what was presumably his girlfriend next to him.

"I- I don't know- he just-" the girl stammers, but gets interrupted by her boyfriend's kecking sounds.

"C-c-an't- b-b-" his voice cracks and he doubles over, retching terribly. Dean's hands hover over his back, cursing under his breath, "Shit - hey, c'mon, talk to me!" Eyes roaming his writhing body, he notices how a bulge at his throat starts to form, bobbing right above his Adam's Apple.

Oh no-

The watch on his wrist reads 12:59.

He looks around the place, eyes narrowed as he scans every face in the forming crowd, like he's expecting a witch or a spirit to hide among them. Sure enough, his gaze meets Miss Tinkle. Watching the entire show from the doorway to the canteen, her eyes cold as they lock with his. Dean's jaw clenches, mind racing.

The hunter's attention is suddenly drawn to a backpack on the floor next to them. He looks up at the girl, voice sharp as he prompts, "Is this his?" She nods, trembling.

Without missing a beat, he lunges for the backpack and turns it upside down, its contents spilling across the ground.

"Come on, come on, where's that damn thing-" he grits out, hands rifling through the contents in vain, "Damn it!"

Standing on the sidelines, you can only watch in horror as your classmate scrambles for his water glass, sending fries flying everywhere as he does so, before his face begins to turn blue - and the next thing you know, he slips off his chair and hits the floor.

His body twitches once or twice.

Silence.

Then the campus gong goes off to signal it's exactly 1 o'clock.

Dean leans against the wall of the deserted staircase in one of the university's buildings.

"There was no hexbag," he mutters into the phone, fingers rubbing the spot between his eyebrows, "I don't get it, man. What the hell are we dealing with here?"

"It wasn't your fault, Dean. There was nothing you could've done to save him." Sam reassures him, voice soft even through the crackling phone.

"I should've. I was right there... Damn it."

"You tried your best, okay? You wanna hear what I found out in the morgue? The thing in the guy's throat?"

Dean sighs and runs a hand down his mouth before he regains his usual tone, "Yeah, hit me."

"A potato."

Dean blinks like he must've misheard him.

"A what now?"

"I'm serious. Like a fully grown, unpeeled, raw potato."

"Oh give me a break."

"Just reporting the news," Sam scoff-chuckles and continues to explain, "It even had the dirt on it still. Like it had just been dug up and magically zapped next to his windpipe."

"O- okay- uh, that's a new one," he comments, still confused, "So how's that fit our theory?"

"I'm not sure," Sam mutters, "I was thinking maybe it has something to do with what they ate. If it's not them who're marked by the curse, maybe it's the food?"

"Food?" Dean mutters.

Then his eyes widen in realization. His throat suddenly feels oddly tight, his hand instinctively rubbing his Adam's Apple.

"Oh no..." he gulps, face scrunched up into a grimace.

"What's the matter?"

"Son of a bitch jinxed the fries."

Sam's silent for a moment, then scoffs.

"And lemme guess-"

" 'Course I did, Sammy! It's friggin' French Fries, man!" he arguments before his brother can even finish his (correct) assumption. He turns on his heels in frustration, gaze passing by the window when his voice suddenly drops to a hushed one, "Hold on-"

Sam's questioning voice is now being muffled as Dean clamped his hand over the phone, his focus drawn to a loud discussion below the window in the staircase.

"Christ on a Stake - Bob! I said 'order one hundred potatoes', not 'enough to feed the entire goddamn town'!" An elder man shouts, hands flailing around.

Presumably the cook, judging by his clothings.

"I- I'm sorry sir, I - I didn't- " the boy stammers while he desperately tries to keep the gigantic pile of potato sacks from burying him alive.

Then a new, female voice cuts through the argumentation, her voice final and yet smooth, like poisonous honey, "Don't be so harsh with the kid, Jeff. I bet it was just a mistake. Besides, it could've been worse, right? Everyone loves potatoes."

Dean shifts behind the window, just enough to catch a glimpse at the new stranger.

His jaw clenches at the familiar face;

Miss Tinkle.

He raises his phone back to his ear, his voice low and tight, "You get the witch-killing bullets ready. I'll scope out the canteen and torch their storage room tonight, just in case... before anyone else eats of this cursed crap."

...

Behind the corner of the last step of the staircase, hidden in the shadows... is you. Pressed up against the wall. Hand clasped over your mouth to muffle your ragged breath. Heart racing along your reeling mind.

Witch-killing bullets? What the hell is he talking about? Is he trying to kill someone? And why does he plan on breaking into the canteen tonight to burn their food..?

J / NOTE @lamentationsofalonelypotato (and anyone else for that matter :D ) You have any guesses what's going on yet? 😏

Dean Tags List

@aylacavebear @jc-winchester @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell @lyarr24

@ladysparkles78 @v1v1-3 @maddie0101 @livya99 @supernotnatural2005

@Ms-kayla-readinglover @youdontknowe @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @123password

@champagnepoets @salemslostwitch @chevroletdean @multiversefanfics @toxicfataldestiny

*Disclaimer: Images and gifs are from Pinterest.*

[shuchelle]

augh i still really want to create a yearbook style wiz101/pirate101 zine so badly BUT IM SO BUSY ALL THE TIMEEE🥲

when amateur hour is all finished up maybe i'll work out more details on it........ i say that and then im gonna go think abt it for 3 hours cus im crazy

[xxplastic-cubexx]

cant stop thinkin bout charles and erik readin together on the couch but instead of reading with him charles is listening to eriks thoughts while he reads. Live mind commentary ……..

[ahollowgrave]

"Gotcha!" 📷

[boxheadpaint]

I just need to know is that Cackletta paired with Peach? If so, fascinating, I wish to know more - if not, I entirely understand the coincidence of two people standing next to each other in a dynamic does not equate to them being A Pairing

yeas

Reasoning: funny

[sysig]

Skelekinz (Patreon)

[ricky-mortis]

Hatchetfield @femslashfortnight Day 2: Retro

[sonknuxadow]

am i the only one who still thinks that they didnt do enough with rouge in sonic prime. and not in a "she didnt get enough screentime" sort of way but in a "they didnt seem to be putting as much thought into what they were doing with her as they were with the other main characters" sort of way

[niamhthefae]

ok just imagine: after the launch they post a compilation video of all the things they had to cut from videos because their relationship wasnt public yet. stuff from all the way back in the first few years they probably found on an old drive,going all the way up until stuff now, with blonde phil and a much happier dan, little comments,kisses, pet names, 'love you's, maybe even a recording of what was going to be the launch before they changed their mind and scrapped it. i think i would die.