jasmine, my queen: what if gas reader takes steve to a family event as her boyfriend for the first time? obviously her parents know him already as roommate steve, but she’s out here at the family bbq or christmas party with a Certified Hottie™️ on her arm and all the relatives wanna meet him and they’re totally enamored of the new boyfriend. i’m talking cousins, grandma, nieces and nephews all in love with this guy…wouldn’t it be fluffy and delicious?
ok thanks! have a good day 💖
𑣲 guilty as sin drabbles
“Baby, please don’t stress—I swear on my life that I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Steve reassures you gently, squeezing your thigh gently as he pulls into your parent’s driveway.
You nod but honestly, you were a little apprehensive since it would be the very first time that Steve would meet your entire family. Of course, Steve already knew your parents, in fact he and your dad had just been to a baseball game together last weekend. But it wouldn’t just be your parents at your family’s annual 4th July BBQ but also your grandparents, aunties, uncles, your cousins, your sister, your niece and your nephew who was only eleven months old.
But what quickly became apparent was that you had no reason to be nervous. Because the moment you walked into your parents’ backyard with Steve’s arm around you—your extended family had very quickly decided that they adored him. Even your grumpy uncle had greeted him. It took barely any time at all for Steve to be whisked away and fawned over by your grandmother and your auntie.
“That was your roommate?” Your sister Mel asks, bouncing your little nephew Noah on her hip as you watch Steve talk animatedly to your auntie and grandmother about his coaching job at Hawkins Middle. “I would have folded a lot sooner than you did if my roommate looked like that.”
You roll your eyes but you feel your face turning hot and not at all because of the hot weather.
“Mel, you’re literally holding your baby.”
“So? I have eyes,” Mel asks with a smile, leaning down to kiss a squealing Noah on the cheek. “Speaking of—can you take him for a minute? Need to go and help dad with the salad. He’s having some sort of lettuce crisis.”
“But I—”
You don’t get to finish your sentence, because Noah was suddenly placed into your arms because you could even thinking of doing so.
“Thank you!”
Mel could have not have ran back into the house any quicker, her maxi dress swishing behind her as she did. You would have been annoyed if your nephew wasn’t so damn adorable—all chubby cheeks and toothless smiles.
You look down at your nephew, his big eyes staring up at you quizzically and you can’t help but smile.
“Hey, Noah Bear,” you coo gently, your smile widening when your nephew beams up at you like you had hung the stars.
“You look real good with a baby, sweetheart.”
Heat spreads through your body at your boyfriend’s words. You turn, Noah now squawking in your arms to see Steve standing a few feet away from you, apparently pulled from the conversation with your family at the sight of you with a baby.
Typical.
“Don’t get any ideas,” you tell him with a wry smile as he approaches you and Noah, his hand finding home on your waist and causing a fluttery feeling deep within your gut.
“Oh, honey,” Steve murmurs in a low voice, one that only intensifies the feeling in your gut. “I’m getting so many ideas.”
And just like that, your afternoon was completely derailed but Steve Harrington just smiles at you like nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Oh! Look at you three!”
Your mom’s timing could not have been any worse. Your face felt as though it was burning and Steve was just smiling as though he wasn’t the cause of it.
“I need to take a picture, let me just—”
“—mom!”
But your mom was already grabbing her camera and Steve was already pulling you against him, grinning down at Noah as he did so. Noah—who already seemed to be Steve’s biggest fan—squealed and wriggled about in your arms.
“I got him,” Steve says, taking Noah from your arms and holding him with such a quiet confidence that you feel your heart do something traitorous in your chest. Because Steve Harrington with a baby—
The sound of your mom calling your name pulls you from your thoughts and you have barely a second in which to smile at the camera.
You don’t hear your mom’s compliments, you aren’t able to focus on anything but the way Steve squeezes your waist gently before leaning down to whisper in your ear: “in a few years time, we’ll be at these barbecues with our baby.”
You roll your eyes like he was being ridiculous but deep down? You prayed that he was right.
But if how much your family already liked Steve was any indicator of your relationship? Steve Harrington was probably going to be sticking around for a long, long time.
fighting the monday blues with steve x single mom!reader thoughts...
i'm just thinking about reader who hasn't slept with anyone in... god, you can't even remember how long. life became work and daycare pickups and doctor's appointments and making sure you had dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets stocked in the freezer.
somewhere along the way, you stopped thinking about yourself as someone who could be wanted.
and then steve harrington happens.
this ridiculously handsome, ridiculously thoughtful guy who's technically a whole five years younger than you.
"what?" he'd laughed when you brought up the age difference. "c'mon, we're basically the same age."
easy for him to say when he looks like that.
you keep trying to convince yourself it would never work anyway. he's gorgeous, charming, effortlessly good with people. women probably throw themselves at him.
meanwhile, your life comes with baggage: a kid who isn't his and a calendar built around school drop-offs and bedtime routines.
you assume that, eventually, he'll realize this isn't the kind of life he pictured for himself.
except steve doesn't see a list of reasons why it won't work.
he sees you.
and then, somehow, before you can even process it, he's gone and won over your daughter too.
you find him sitting cross-legged on your living room floor, letting her attempt to braid his floppy hair while she giggles herself silly. she tugs a little too hard and he throws his head back dramatically.
“owww, you're so mean to me.”
she erupts into laughter, immediately asking if she can try again.
“i guess,” he sighs dramatically, “if i have to.”
those stupid, warm brown eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles at your daughter, looking at her like she’s the most important person in the room.
which, to him, she is.
and so is her mom.
you keep waiting for the catch. for steve to realize there's a whole world beyond yours—a world where he gets to be young and carefree and unburdened, instead of choosing a life that already comes with so many responsibilities.
and every time he looks at you with that soft, awestruck expression, you have to look away because surely this isn’t real. no one has ever looked at you like that before.
yet despite your best efforts to push him away before things can get any more serious...
he gets you into bed.
it's terrifying.
you're more nervous than you've ever been with anyone—even more than your first time—because this isn't just about being physically vulnerable anymore.
it's the way he looks at you.
at the scars and stretch marks. the body that carried your daughter, that carried you through the hardest years of your life. the body you've spent the last decade treating like something practical, something that only mattered because it kept you moving.
never something to be cherished or wanted.
except steve doesn't look at you like that.
his gaze is nothing short of overwhelming.
there's an intensity to it that makes your heart stumble, something instinctive and undeniably hungry, but it's softened by so much warmth and affection that you can't bear to meet his eyes.
you glance away, folding your arms across your stomach and trying to make yourself a little smaller.
except steve won't let you disappear.
he waits.
gently tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, kisses your cheek while he’s got two fingers lazily fingering your pussy, stroking deep and knowing and good because “I’ve gotta make sure you’re ready for me, hm?”
and oh, did you mention he was hung, too?
stretches you to the limit every time. he can fuck you for hours, though he makes you come at least three times before he even thinks about pulling his dick out.
and when he tells you you're beautiful in bed with a completely straight face, you believe he means it.
it's not a line. he says it the way someone says the sky is blue.
like it's simply, undeniably true.
and he's just... too much.
because the men you've been with before never paid even a fraction of the attention he does. no one slowed down long enough to notice when you got tense, or checked in just because they wanted to know how you were feeling.
but steve does. constantly.
he notices every tiny shift in your expression, every shaky breath and every little gasp.
he's endlessly patient with you, spending hours on his knees at the foot of your bed, blinking up at you with his nose buried in your pussy. cheeks tinged pink, glistening with your slick, hair a complete mess because he'd wanted you to stop worrying about being so careful with him. because he'd wanted you to grip onto him and show him what felt good.
and the whole time, he's looking at you with this expression that's almost impossible to describe.
wonder and gratitude. a kind of open, wholehearted adoration that feels too big to hold.
like he's trying to memorize the details of this moment because he still can't believe he gets to love you.
and all you can think is...
how?
how could someone so kind, so heartbreakingly good, look at you like you're the greatest thing that's ever happened to him?
what you don't realize is that he looks at you and wonders the exact same thing.
fluff, firefighter!steve, baker!reader, meet cute, female reader, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns for reader | request by @violatedvibrators (greatest username of all time)
wc: 1.1k
Steve Harrington had been kicking himself for almost a whole week for not asking for your number when he had the chance. In his defence, he had been working at the time and since he was making sure that your building didn't burn down after a baking recipe gone wrong, asking for your number hadn’t been too high on his priority list.
But man, he really regretted not asking for it anyway.
Because he knew there had been something between the two of you that night—that it wasn’t just gratitude for putting out the fire you had accidentally started in your eyes.
He wanted nothing more than to go back to your apartment and ask you out but he knew how insane and deeply inappropriate that was and so, Steve had decided to leave it in the hands of fate. He told himself—if it was meant to be, you’d find each other again.
And fate intervened one rainy Saturday morning just before his shift.
One of his colleagues, Sam, had recently moved and came into work the other day raving about a little independent bakery a few blocks away. He had said their cinnamon buns were to die for.
And so, Steve wanted to see for himself just how good Sugarplum Bakes was.
The bell above the door had barely rung all morning. Saturdays were usually your busiest day but with the rain hammering down outside, no one seemed to want to venture outside for a pastry.
And so, you hum to yourself as you finish a fresh batch of blueberry cinnamon buns, the quiet morning giving you some time to work on a new recipe.
You had been more careful this time since your last attempt at a new recipe had resulted in a small kitchen fire. You had naturally panicked about it but when the fire brigade turned up and the most gorgeous man you had ever seen put out the fire like it was nothing, you found yourself feeling flustered for reasons that had nothing to do with the burnt pastries.
You had been so deep in thought about said gorgeous fireman that you barely even notice how much icing you had been pouring over the cinnamon buns.
“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, eyes on the excessive amount of icing now covering the buns. It was definitely a little more than you would usually use on your cinnamon buns but they still looked delicious.
You suppose you could blame it on the gorgeous fireman who had been on your mind for the past week.
You were just slicing up the buns when the bell above the door sounded for the first time in over an hour.
“Coming!” You call, wiping your hands on your apron before rushing out of the kitchen to greet the customer who was carefully inspecting one of the displays.
You open your mouth to do your usual greeting, one that you knew like the back of your hand but you freeze when the man—who was wearing a Hawkins Fire Department jacket—look up and you see the eyes of the fireman who had prevented your apartment from burning down.
You stare at him with wide eyes, briefly wondering if you were dreaming or perhaps even hallucinating his presence.
But he smiles at you and says, “hey. You burnt any more pastries yet?” And you knew then that you were definitely not dreaming.
You laugh nervously as your hands hastily smooth down your apron like it would help you in this situation. Like it would stop your heart from racing or make the fluttery feeling in your stomach go away.
“Not yet,” you reply with a small smile, your cheeks feeling hot all of a sudden. “That was a one time thing, I assure you. No fires here.”
“That’s a damn shame,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting and amusement glittering in his warm eyes. “I’d love an excuse to see you again.”
Your stomach does something funny at those words. You decide to ignore it for the time being.
“Well, this is actually my bakery so feel free to stop by anytime,” you tell him, trying to keep the nerves out of your mouth. “On the house, of course. Since you—you know, stopped me from burning down my kitchen.”
The man laughs and the sound makes you feel warm inside, makes you forget about the rain pouring outside.
“I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Harrington.”
You tell Steve your name and his smile widens.
“Pretty name for a pretty baker,” he tells you. You pray he doesn’t notice how flustered that makes you feel, how those words seem to have rewritten your brain chemistry entirely.
You should say something smart, something that would make him feel as flustered as you feel. But you come up short and so, you say nothing.
“So—I’ve been told your buns are pretty good.”
You blink, something twists low in your gut. “Sorry, what?”
Steve falters, his face and the tips of his ears turning red as he realises the accidental euphemism that had slipped from his lips. The fact that he was now flustered makes you feel even more endeared to him.
“Your cinnamon buns,” he explains, cheeks still burning. “I just—I’ve heard good things. I didn’t mean—”
It was your turn to smile now, your turn to revel in his slightly flustered demeanour.
“I actually just made some blueberry cinnamon buns. New recipe I’m trying out,” you tell him. “Fair warning, I used way too much icing on them. But I’d love a second opinion.”
Steve pauses then smiles and says, “there’s no such thing as too much icing.”
You take extra care with the bun you pick out for Steve, making sure it was the best one from the bunch (for feedback purposes, obviously) and you pack some of extra blondies and a danish swirl in the takeaway box.
You hand it over the counter to Steve and there was a moment where your fingers brush against his and the fire in your gut burned so hot you weren’t sure that there was anything that could put it out, even the firefighter stood in front of you.
“Does this come with your phone number?” Steve asks, a hopeful edge to his voice. “You know—just so I can give you a full review on these over-iced buns.”
The question does nothing to help your heart ponding in your chest, in fact, it makes it beat even faster. Makes you feel a lightheaded.
“It does.”
You smile back at him before grabbing a nearby pen you use for noting orders and a napkin, which you scribble your number on.
Steve takes the napkin, barely able to contain his smile as he slides it carefully into his pocket.
“I’ll call you,” he promises, already planning on calling you the second his shift ends. “Until then—don’t start any fires. Or do, at least then I’ll get to see you again.”
You laugh as he leaves the bakery, thanking your lucky stars that Steve Harrington decided to stumble into your bakery.
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summary: every terrible memory comes rushing back to you after you accidentally break one of steve’s plates.
warnings: mentions of past abuse, domestic abuse (not including steve), glass breaking, minor injury, ptsd, anxiety, panic attack, little angst, crying, steve is so sweet, fluff, happy ending of course
word count: 2.1k
Sometime you felt like being with Steve was too good to be true. He was unlike anybody you’ve ever known. He was loyal and kind, always affectionate and respectful beyond words. He understood you in ways you weren’t even sure you did yourself.
As achingly sweet as he was, you practically lived in anxiety. It was like you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. You waited, shoulders tense, for his kind hearted demeanor to finally switch on a day you upset him – maybe even only inconvenienced.
But he never did.
Steve never raised his voice – never raised his hand to you – he never dished out silent treatment when he was upset. He never demanded unrealistic expectations from you. He never asked you to change yourself or try to stuff you in a box.
It should’ve felt good. Safe.
It just made you feel more on edge. Like his inevitable blow up would be worse than anything your mind could have ever conjured up.
None of this was his fault, not even a little bit. You had your disgusting ex-boyfriend to thank for it. He was the one who littered your skin with bruises and wounds. He was the one who would kick you to the ground over and over and over again for saying the wrong thing at dinner. He was the one who told you you’d never deserve anything more than what he gave you.
And even though you were years out of it, and you did most of the work to unlearn every cruel word he instilled in your brain, it was hard to let it all go.
Steve knew about your past and not once did he let it affect the way he saw you. He didn’t see you as fragile or weak – he saw you for you. Strong willed and determined.
But was it really enough?
Today was Steve’s first day as head coach for the middle school baseball team. His promotion from elementary school to middle had been something he worked the past year for.
You couldn’t have been more proud of him but words didn’t feel like enough. So while he was at practice, you spent the day fixing up your shared apartment. You paid attention to every detail as you cleaned, you hung adorable baseball decorations around the room and you put every ounce of love into the dinner you made for him.
You had three pans across the stove at any given time, your fingers raw and numb from all the chopping. Your back ached from leaning over the stove but you knew it would all be worth it to see his face when he walked in.
He spent so much time making other people happy, you wanted to do the same for him.
Dinner was just about finished, you made him his favorite dish of yours – pot roast with some mashed potatoes and veggies on the side. The last thing was to plate it and fix the table.
In the cabinet, there was a set of beautiful glass dishes you and Steve were gifted by his mom. They were old china – beautifully hand painted with blue and white. You never had the chance to use them yet, but today felt like the perfect opportunity.
You carefully pulled two plates out and perfectly placed the food across the glass. You set his side of the table and then yours and with a quick glance at the clock, you had just enough time to yank your apron off to reveal the pretty red dress Steve bought you a few weeks ago.
Only a few minutes later, Steve walked through the door. Dressed in his blue and white coaching polo, paired with his khaki pants. His brown hair was floppy atop his head, his stubborn curl leaning over his forehead.
He looked tired – undoubtedly from the warm sun, but his eyes lit up the second they saw you. He gently shut the door behind him, but paused in the doorway as he took in the sight around him. The smell of food hit him first. His eyes danced around the room – taking in the decorations, the cleanliness, the beautiful table you set with candles and flowers alongside your dinner.
Then at you.
Your ridiculously gorgeous frame standing beside the table, wearing the dress he bought you. Your hands clasped in front of you, a shy smile ghosting on your lips.
“Hi Steve,” You murmured at him and he didn’t even try to bite back his grin.
“Hey baby,” He replied, finally finding his strength to move. He tossed his keys on the dish beside him and in a few short steps, he ended up right in front of you.
His hands found their home at your waist, his thumb stroking over the fabric there. Your arms follow, wrapping around his shoulders.
“What’s all this, hm?” His voice is so gentle and full of love. You smile up at him and quickly peck his lips before pulling away from him. You easily steer him to his seat across from you. You find your own seat immediately after, a smile still coating your mouth.
“This..” You gesture towards the plate in front of him. “Is to show you how proud I am of you, Steve. You worked so hard for your promotion and you’re gonna do great,”
Steve felt his chest warm with adoration as you stared at him. He was almost at a loss for words.
You were too damn sweet.
He smiled back at you and raised his hand across the table to grab yours.
“It’s beautiful baby, just like you,” His words make your cheeks heat up and he chuckles. “I love it honey, thank you.”
Your smile widens and you gesture towards the food “Now eat, it’s gonna get cold,”
Steve nods quickly, his hand slipping from yours to dig in. The two of you ate together, talking about how his first day went and how much he loved it already.
He told you about the kids on the team and some of the parents he was able to meet. He told you what he planned to focus on first with them and you could see that twinkle in his eye every time he talked about it.
It made your heart feel like it was going to burst.
When you finished dinner, you stood to gather the dishes but he stopped you before you could.
“Nuh-uh,” He hummed, rising to his feet and easily stealing the glasses from you. “I can do this,”
You frown up at him. “But it’s your day, Steve,”
He stacks the plates over each other, holding them with both hands as he presses a sweet kiss to your temple.
“You cooked all of this. The least I could do is wash the dishes,”
You fight back a smile as he walks further into the kitchen and to the sink. He places them down before his fingers begin to unbutton the sleeves of his shirt, carefully rolling them up to his elbow.
You bite your lip to suppress the grin threatening to make it’s appearance.
“Okay, but I can still help,” You declared. Steve says something from the sink that you can’t quite catch as you grab the drinking glasses from the table.
Both of them sit in each palm as you turn to walk back to the sink. What you didn’t account for was the chair pushed closer than you thought and before you can stop it, your foot catches on the wooden leg. Your knee buckles and in an attempt to keep yourself from falling, the cup slips from your grasp and shatters across the hardwood floor.
Your ears ring.
In an instant, you’re on your knees, huddled over the broken glass. Instinctively, your hands reach out to grab the pieces of glass as if you could somehow put it all back together before Steve turned around.
Suddenly, it was like you were no longer with Steve and instead, you were back in that awful house. You could feel your body trembling as your mind echoed with nasty thoughts, all by the sound of your ex boyfriend’s voice.
Look at what you did.
You can’t do anything right.
Do you even know how much that cost?
Your eyes stung with tears and your breathing hitched. This wasn’t just a cup – this was gorgeous art Steve was gifted by his mother and you ruined it.
You heard the sound of plates clattering in the sink and Steve’s footsteps getting closer.
This was it. This was when it was going to happen.
Your stomach was in knots as your hands quickly grabbed pieces of the glass. You couldn’t stop your hands from clenching around it but the fear pumping in your veins had you unable to feel the way it pierced your skin.
You could just barely see his shoes enter your vision. The sound of him calling your name was almost clouded.
“I’m – I’m so – I’m so sorry, Steve. It was an accident, I – I swear,” Your stuttering voice was all you could focus on.
Then Steve bent down and you physically braced for the impact. You didn’t really know what kind – from his hand, his shoe, his elbow – whatever he chose really.
But that didn’t happen. Of course not.
Steve gently wrapped his palms around your arms, pulling you upright until you were sitting in the chair furthest from the broken glass. Your hands still clutched the pieces tight, little specs of blood spilling from the sides.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve cooed, gingerly raising his palms to cup your cheeks. “Are you okay, baby? What happened?”
You don’t dare to meet his gaze. You keep your eyes locked on your trembling hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to break it. I’ll – I’ll fix it. I can – I can fix it,” You say frantically, tears streaming down your face in rapid succession.
Steve frowns and pulls your face upwards to face him. He says your name gently but firm. “Hey, I don’t care about the cup,”
Finally, you look up at him.
Your vision is clouded from the hot tears lining your eyes but you can see him. His face is twisted in confusion, his mouth pulled down into a frown and his eyes swirl with concern.
He looks almost relieved that you’re looking at him again.
“It’s just a cup, okay? It’s not a big deal,”
You shake your head, lip wobbling. “But it was from your mom. It was important and I – I broke it,” You sobbed.
Steve held you tighter. “Baby, breathe,” He says softly. “I promise you it’s okay. It was an accident.”
Your shoulders shake as more tears pour from you. Steve glances down at your hands and sees the way you’re clinging to the glass pieces. He mutters a curse before grabbing a wet towel and carefully forcing your fingers away from your palm.
He winces at the sight of your nicked skin and begins to clean up the skin. He keeps his eyes on his task as he begins to talk again.
“Baby, I need you to understand something,” His voice is firm but so tender. You blink through your tears and look back at him. “I will never hurt you, and I will never yell at you, especially not over a broken cup,”
Steve carefully plucks the pieces of glass out of your hold and throws them into the pile of the rest. He places the towel over your palm and uses both of his to interlace your fingers. His brown eyes meet yours.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, baby. Accidents happen and it’s okay to get scared but I want you to know that you never have to be afraid of me. You’re safe baby, I promise you that.”
By the time he finishes, a new wave of tears have washed over you but not from anxiety – from love. From the love you’re overwhelmed with for him. From the aching difference in the way he treats you than anybody else.
You want to believe him so much – you do believe him, even when it’s easy to fall back into your bad spot.
He looks up at you from where he kneels in front of you. He’s careful in his movements, hyperaware of anything they could set you off. You suck in a shaky breath and wrap your arms around his neck.
His arms wrap around you easily, caging you into him and his warmth. He whispers sweet things in your hair, lips grazing across your temple.
“I – I love you,” You whimper against the skin of his neck.
Hi can I request for dean di laurentis and fem!reader where he would js casually carry her ike she would wrap her legs around his waist and rest her head on his shoulder can carry her around the hockey house when she feeling lazy or doesn't want to walk and how the guys would react and wht dean reply would be cs those two act like it's an everyday thing,
I feel like he's such a big guy that he would really not see the big deal in carrying you around because you're light for him lol
private ride
"Dean! You helping with the keg or what?" Tucker called out, pushing the large container of beer into the corner of the kitchen.
"He's busy." Logan laughed as he enter the kitchen, snatching some of the pretzels from the bowl Tucker had laid out.
Tucker raised his eyebrow, "Too busy for beer?"
Garrett followed Logan into the kitchen, sweaty from a quick weight lifting session in the garage. He grinned, seeing Tucker's perplexed express, "Too busy for anything."
"Why-" Tucker cut himself off hearing a thump and giggle from upstairs. "Ohh."
"Exactly," Logan smiled, avoiding Tucker as he left the room with the bowl of pretzels in his hand.
After a few minutes, the slapping of feet coming down the stairs could be heard.
"Finally..." Tucker grumbled under his breath, annoyed to be the only one making this party presentable. He already finished laying out all of the snack, although the pretzels had mysteriously disappeared.
Dean appeared in the kitchen, you hanging from his tall frame like a baby koala. You arms were wrapped around his strong shoulders and your legs were snug around his hips. Dean smiled at Tucker, holding his hand out for the tap. He kept a hand lightly on your ass, not appearing to actually support any of your weight. He kept it there more as an armrest of sorts.
"Alright, I'll tap the keg." Dean said, leaning over the keg with the tool in his hand.
Tucker just gawked at him. "How are you doing that?"
Dean just glanced at him, focused on the keg. "What? You've seen me tap the keg before-"
"No," Tucker remarked, pointing to you. Your head was tucked into Dean's neck, your hair covering your face in a way that screamed "go away" to outsiders. "Holding her without either hand."
Dean glanced down at you, seeing your eyes peered up from against his throat. He grinned, "Just what a man has to do when he has a clingy girlfriend."
You grumbled, your voice muffled against his chest, "I'm not clingy."
"That's insane." Tucker proclaimed as Garrett and Logan re-entered the room.
"What's insane?" Logan asked.
Tucker gestured to the sight before them of the two most love-sick people on earth.
Logan just shrugged, "They do that all the time. You're usually passed out drunk, but I guess they're starting early in the evening."
Garrett hummed in agreement, the stolen pretzels had somehow ended up in his possession at this point.
"I didn't sleep well." Your muffled voice said.
Tucker snatched the pretzels away from Garrett, "I feel like you guys are punking me."
"Nope," Garrett said, "They're just freaks."
"Freaks in more way than one." Dean remarked suggestively with a wink, making everyone groan.
areudirty
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