⌗ BREAKFAST SOUP
⤿ GARRETT GRAHAM loves that you're an academic weapon. Well... he loves it until finals week rolls around and suddenly your textbooks are your first love.
!! wc: 2k. innuendoes. fluff. fem!reader. established relationship. studious!reader. garrett is whipped and needy. no spoilers. taglist open. ENJOY. COMMENTS ENCOURAGED.
Garrett was currently standing outside of your dorm door, with two coffees balanced in one hand, a grocery bag hanging from the other, and absolutely no intention of leaving anytime soon.
You had barely opened the door before he was stepping inside like he already belonged there, nudging it shut with his foot while you stood there in shorts and one of his old hockey hoodies looking half asleep and completely overwhelmed.
“You look terrible,” he said immediately, his voice far too cheerful for someone who had interrupted your studying at eight in the morning.
You stared at him flatly. “Thanks."
“You’re welcome.” He leaned down to kiss you anyway, smiling against your mouth for a second before pulling back. “Did you sleep at all?”
You moved aside so he could walk further into the apartment, dragging a hand down your face. “Like… three hours.”
Garrett sighed the way he always did when you admitted things like that, disappointed but unsurprised, and headed straight for your kitchen counter to unpack whatever he’d bought. The apartment smelled faintly like coffee and printer paper and the vanilla candle you’d burned so long the night before that the wick had nearly disappeared completely.
“You can’t survive finals on iced coffee and academic validation,” he told you while pulling containers out of the bag. “I brought actual food.”
You blinked at him. “Is that soup?”
“Yeah.”
“For breakfast?”
“It has vegetables in it,” Garrett replied easily. “Basically self care.”
Normally you would have laughed harder, but your brain felt like it had been microwaved for several consecutive days, so instead you just shuffled toward the table where your notes were spread out in messy piles. Highlighters, flashcards, half-open textbooks, empty wrappers. It looked less like a study setup and more like evidence of psychological deterioration.
Garrett looked at the table and let out a low whistle.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “It looks like you’re trying to cure something or solve a cold case.”
You dropped back into your chair with a groan. “I have a paper due and an exam on Thursday, and a presentation and exam on Friday.”
“And?”
“And I’m going to die.”
He walked over behind you slowly, warm hands settling on your shoulders before his chin rested against the top of your head. The simple weight of him felt grounding in a way you hadn’t realized you needed until that moment.
“You’re dramatic,” he murmured.
“I’m realistic.”
“You’re passing all your classes.”
“You don’t know that.”
Garrett hummed thoughtfully. “Pretty sure I do," he drawled, "Considering you’ve been talking about eighteenth century political theory in your sleep.”
You turned your head slightly to glare at him. “That happened one time.”
“Twice, actually.” His grin widened when you groaned louder. “Baby, you literally sat up at three in the morning and started arguing with an invisible professor.”
Heat crawled up your face despite your exhaustion. “Why would you tell me that?”
“Because it was funny as fuck.”
“It was humiliating.”
Garrett just kissed the side of your head before moving away again, completely unaffected by your embarrassment. That was the problem with him. Nothing ever seemed capable of genuinely rattling him. He moved through life with this easy confidence that made everything around him feel calmer by association.
Unfortunately, that same confidence also made him incredibly distracting.
By the third day of him practically living in your dorm, you had realized your boyfriend was physically incapable of letting you focus for more than forty consecutive minutes.
At first, it had seemed helpful.
He made sure you ate actual meals instead of scavenging prepackaged snacks from your snack cabinet. He forced you into bed before two in the morning. He quizzed you with your flashcards while sprawled across your bed, wearing gray sweats and no shirt because, apparently, he enjoyed making your life harder.
But somewhere along the way, his helpfulness had started blending into deliberate distraction.
“You’ve been reading the same paragraph for ten minutes,” Garrett pointed out from your bed that evening.
You looked up from your laptop with narrowed eyes. “Maybe because somebody keeps talking to me.”
He looked entirely unbothered by the accusation, stretched out against your pillows with one arm behind his head. “I miss you.”
You stared at him. “I’m literally right here.”
“Not mentally.” Garrett pouted slightly. “Your brain’s been kidnapped by academia.”
You rolled your eyes and looked back at your screen. “I have to finish this.”
A moment of silence passed.
Then—
“Do you think penguins have knees?”
You shut your eyes immediately, your lips pursing as a long, heavy exhale left your nose.
“Garrett.”
“What?” His voice was innocent in the most suspicious way possible. “I'm deadass!”
“You are actively sabotaging my education.” You grumbled, swiveling in your chair to face him with sagging shoulders and narrowed eyes.
“I’m enriching your life.”
“You asked me if penguins have knees.”
“And now you’re thinking about it.”
You hated that he was right.
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, quiet and tired, and Garrett’s expression softened instantly at the sound. Like he’d been waiting for it.
“There she is,” he celebrated softly.
Something in your chest tightened a little at the way he looked at you then.
Garrett had always been affectionate, always naturally warm in a way that drew people toward him without effort, but there was something different about him during this week. Softer around the edges. More attentive.
Every time you rubbed your eyes too hard, he noticed.
Every time your shoulders tensed from hunching over your desk too long, he pulled you away from it.
Every time you got too caught up studying to realize hours had passed, he appeared beside you with food or water or a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.
It was difficult not to love him a little painfully for it.
Later that night, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by papers when Garrett wandered into your room again after showering, his hair damp and curling slightly at the ends.
You tried not to look at him. For your own sanity and also for the sake of your Modern Political Theory class. You knew, if your eyes lingered longer than a second you would be a goner. Your papers would end up damp under the towel that he discarded... that could not happen. Not during finals week.
Unfortunately, Garrett noticed everything.
“You're staring,” he said casually.
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.”
You kept your eyes firmly on your notebook. “You’re wearing just a towel and have your damn chain on.”
“And?”
“And you know I have no self control.”
Garrett laughed quietly under his breath before walking over to where you sat. He dropped down beside you easily, all warmth and solid weight, his thigh pressing against yours.
“You know,” he murmured while reaching for one of your flashcards, “most boyfriends would be offended that textbooks are getting more attention than them.”
“Most boyfriends don’t look at me while I’m studying ancient medical malpractice like they’re plotting something.”
“I am plotting something.”
You finally looked at him then. “That’s concerning.” Your eyebrows were raised, and despite trying to keep your gaze focused on his unfairly handsome face... your eyes wandered.
You traced the line of his jaw with your eyes, following the one damp strand of hair that was clinging to his neck. That, unfortunately, led you to his shoulders... his broad, sturdy shoulders that had checked guys double his size into the boards. The broad, sturdy shoulders that just a week before had scratches on them from your nails digging into him while you were underneath him.
His mouth curved slowly. “I’m trying to figure out how much convincing it would take to get you into bed right now.”
Your expression flattened immediately. “Garrett.”
“What?” He leaned closer, smiling when you instinctively leaned back. “You’ve been studying for like six hours.”
“I have an exam tomorrow.”
“You also have eyeballs that are about to fall out of your head, for once I'm not even trying to make those eyeballs roll back, I'm just trying to get you to rest them." He grinned, shooting you a wink.
You tried to ignore the warmth climbing into your face as he reached over to brush his fingers beneath one of your eyes gently.
“You’re exhausted,” he said more quietly this time.
The teasing faded from his expression then, replaced with something softer that always caught you off guard no matter how many times you saw it.
You exhaled slowly. “I can’t fail this class, I'm teetering on a B- and I really want to bring my grade up as much as I can."
“You won’t fail, you're literally the smartest person I know. If you're reciting this shit in your sleep I think you can do it when you're awake.”
“You don’t know that.”
Garrett’s hand slid to the side of your neck, thumb brushing lightly against your skin.
“I do know that,” he corrected. “Because you care too much not to do well.”
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then Garrett ruined the moment completely.
“But if you do fail,” he added thoughtfully, “I’ll still date you.”
You shoved him immediately, laughing despite yourself while he grinned so hard it became impossible to stay irritated.
“There you are again,” he said softly after a second.
“What?”
“That laugh.” His eyes stayed on your face. “Been waiting all day for it.”
The affection in his voice hit harder than it should have.
Your entire week had been stress and pressure and exhaustion, every hour blending into the next until you barely felt human anymore, but Garrett kept pulling you out of it every single time you disappeared too far into your own head.
Even now, sitting on the floor in the middle of your disaster of a dorm with papers scattered everywhere, he looked at you like you were still worth paying attention to.
Like you were something gentle instead of an unraveling mess.
Garrett leaned forward then, kissing you slowly before you could overthink any of it, one hand cupping your jaw while the other pulled your notebook out of your lap and tossed it carelessly onto the floor beside him.
You laughed against his mouth. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Mhm,” he murmured. “Still dating me though.”
“Unfortunately.”
His grin widened immediately.
Then, without warning, he hooked an arm beneath your knees and lifted you straight off the floor.
You yelped, grabbing onto his shoulders automatically. “Garrett-...”
“You need sleep.”
“I need to study, I have like 15 lecture slides left!” You protested, but you knew in the end it was going to be useless, and frankly, you weren't upset that you weren't going to win this battle.
“You need both,” he corrected while carrying you toward the bedroom. “And since you apparently won’t take care of yourself voluntarily, I’m stepping in as your incredibly handsome intervention.”
You buried your face into his shoulder to hide your smile.
“You’re so annoying,” you mumbled.
Garrett dropped you gently onto the mattress before climbing in beside you without hesitation, pulling you against his chest like it was instinctive.
“Yeah,” he said easily, pressing a kiss into your hair. “But you love me anyway.”
The way he said it, so sure and so full of love, was all you needed to let the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your head fall against his warm skin.
Maybe just one night's sleep would be okay, especially in the arms of Garrett Graham.
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