I'm Taking It Just For You blurb was soo good, it felt so real like I understood what reader felt, please part 2 no pressure thoo but where they will get happy ending,(i hope you will get your happy ending too)!!
Here you go! I've been really busy with everything, but I'll write all the requests , please be patient with me 🥹 And thank you so much, anon!
It's Always Been You
Pairing: Harry x Reader
Warnings: Swearing, Angst (but with fluff)
Word Count: 2.4 k
A/N: Pictures from Pinterest, credits to owners!
Masterlist
Part 1
They were sitting at a secluded corner by the window. The lights in the restaurant were dim. The warm lights cast an ethereal glow to the woman sitting opposite him. Everything was going as planned, but to Harry, he felt like he was sitting in a sensory deprivation chamber.
Across from him, Sarah, or in other words, the girl he’d been so nervous to ask out, was laughing at something he said. He knew that she was beautiful and kind. But then, why did he feel like something was missing?
"So, you mentioned your best friend helped you ask me out? You two sound incredibly close.”
Sarah said, leaning in towards him with a soft smile playing on her red lips.
"Yeah. We are. She’s... she’s the best. I wouldn't be here without her."
And from there, Sarah took the reins of the conversation and started talking about anything and everything. Harry tried to stay attentive, nodding at the right intervals and smiling when she said something funny. He tried to focus on Sarah’s story about her childhood dog, but his mind kept drifting. He found himself comparing the differences between her and Y/N. Sarah uses too much perfume, and the strong vanilla scent makes his head ache, he thought . Y/N always smelled like cherries. It was her signature scent. Sarah laughed with her hand over her mouth. It was soft and polite. But Y/N would have thrown her head back in laughter. She'd be unfiltered and loud. What would Y/N think of this place? he wondered. She’d probably make a joke about how expensive the restaurant was and how pretentious the menu was. And then she'd probably convince him to get out of there and go to their usual place, the diner at the far end of the street, and get chocolate milkshakes and loaded fries. He reached for his phone. It was a subconscious reflex, wanting to tell her how the date was going, and that he was doing exactly what she told him to do. But his thumb hovered over the screen, and then he had the epiphany and he felt like he was going to throw up. He looked at Sarah and realised with absolute clarity that he felt nothing with her. There was no spark. Whatever he hoped he'd have with her was simply not there. Right in that instant, Harry realised with a terrifying intensity that it was Y/N he was looking for in Sarah.
"Harry? Are you okay?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowed.
"I—I'm so sorry," Harry stammered, his pulse quickening as he sprang to his feet.
"I just... I’m so sorry, Sarah. I don't think I can do this."
He didn't wait for her response. He was already out of the booth. His heart was racing. He didn't want to be there. He couldn't even think of anyone else other than his best friend whom he was in love with.
He scrambled into his car, his hands trembling as he gripped the steering wheel tight. His knuckles were turning white from how tight He was holding onto it. He dialed Y/N’s number in panic.
Pick up, please, pick up.
It went straight to voicemail.
He didn't care about the etiquette of texting or calling at this hour. Nor did he care how late it was. The panic that had been simmering in his gut all evening had boiled over into a need to see her face.
He pulled out of the parking lot, tires chirping against the pavement, and sped toward her apartment. Every red light felt like an hour and every mile felt like a lifetime. He needed to know she was there. He needed to hear her voice and be near her, even though he had no idea how he was going to go about his recent realisation.
He pulled up to her building and sprinted to the door, not even bothering to knock. His spare key felt cold in his hand as he slid it into the lock and let himself into the apartment. The lights were all turned off, it was quiet and dark. Where was she?
"Y/N?" he breathed out, his voice shaking.
The apartment was still. His eyes followed the night light coming from the bedroom. He walked in to find her curled under her duvet, her hair fanned out against the pillow. She looked beautiful in the warm light.
He let out a shaky breath at the sight of her. It was as if she was the thing that was grounding him. He stepped closer, his eyes tracking the way her chest rose and fell. She looked peaceful. Whatever he wanted to say to her can wait till tomorrow, and he could use that time to decide how he wanted it to go. Would he tell her or would he keep it to himself? Well, whatever it was, he had time to think about it. With a soft kiss on her forehead, he decided to tuck her blanket higher so that she won't get cold. It was when he reached out that his eyes snagged on her journal lying beside her hand, open and face down on the bed. He had seen it before in her room but she wouldn't let him read any of its entries. He had begged her to let him read it, but when he realised how stubborn she was about it, he didn't force her anymore. He smiled to himself at the memory and reached for it. No, he was not going to read it, if she didn't want him reading it, she probably would have a good reason for it, and he was not gonna break her trust. He went to close it, it was just a reflex to keep her things tidy, but then he saw his name in it. His fingers froze and the air in the room seemed to vanish into vacuum. What has she written about him? He looked down, and he saw the truth she had been hiding from him in plain sight all this time.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Harry’s heart was beating out of his chest as he squinted at the page. The handwriting was erratic. And it appeared that it was smeared in a few spots, probably the evidence of tears shed in his absence.
I told him to go. I told him he was charming, that he was kind, that he deserved to be loved. Every word I told him was true and from the bottom of my heart. I’m the cause of my own heartbreak.
He smiled at me tonight and told me that he's grateful for me. Because I helped him to go after what his heart wanted. I wanted to tell him that he doesn't have to look for someone else, and that I could be it all for him, if he lets me. But I didn't. I just smiled back and let him walk away.
I’m so tired of being the ‘best friend.’ I’m so tired of being the map that leads him to everyone but me. I think I’ll take a step back after this weekend. I need to be anywhere he isn't, so that I can try to remember who I was before I became defined by how much I love him.
If only he knew that every poem I’ve written, every song I’ve saved, every prayer I’ve whispered at 3:00 AM... it’s all him. It’s always been him. And it will always be him, even if I have to bury this version of myself just to keep him in my life in some way.
Harry’s vision blurred as he flipped the page. His fingers were shaking so violently the paper crinkled. The next page was a rough draft of a letter, dated just yesterday:
Harry,
I love you and I don't think I’ll ever know how to stop. But I can’t watch you love someone else anymore. It’s destroying me. And I think —
He stopped, a sob escaping his lips. Every page he turned was a chronicle of his own obliviousness. He had been looking at her for years, but he had never seen her. At least, not until now. His choked sobs seemed to wake Y/N up somehow. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open to find the source of the voice that woke her up. When she saw Harry, standing at the foot of her bed with his shoulders heaving, her first instinct was confusion. Then, her gaze dropped to his hands to see that he was holding her journal. It was wide open and his knuckles were white as he gripped the leather spine, his thumb pressed hard against a page filled with her confessions nobody has ever known. The blood drained from her face on seeing him with it in his hands. Panic flooded her veins and she sat up quickly.
"Harry? What are you doing here?" She prompted to see how he would react. He wouldn't have read it all, he wouldn't have seen that it was about him, she tried to console herself.
He didn't look up immediately. He seemed to be re-reading the words. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were filled with unshed tears. His face was characterised by a mixture of betrayal, and rage(?).
"How long?" His voice was raspy as he practically growled at her. She was scared. She wasn't familiar with this version of him, especially when his voice was now stripped of every ounce of the warmth she was used to. "How long have you been carrying this, Y/N? How long have you been lying to my face?"
"Give it back!" she stood up and lunged for the book. Her hands reached out, but he pulled it back, his movements quicker than hers as he shielded the pages from her view.
He warned, his tone slicing through the air. "Don't you dare tell me to give it back. I want to know when it started. Was it when I met Sarah? Or was it when you sat there and helped me pick out an outfit for my first date? I wanna know what you were thinking while you watched me stumble around like an idiot?"
"Stop it!" she cried, her voice cracking as she forced herself to steady her shaking hands. "You have no right to read that! It was private! It was never meant for you!"
"It was written about me!" Harry roared, the sound echoing off the walls, startling them both. He slammed the book down on the nightstand with force. The lamp on the stand rattled at the impact.
"Every fucking page is my name. It's all about me! You’ve been living in a secret world right next to mine, and you didn't think I deserved to know, huh?"
"Why the fuck were you snooping?" she shouted, fat tears making their way down her cheeks. She felt like her heart was tore open and laid out for anyone to laugh at. It was her most guarded sanctuary that was violated. She scrambled off the bed, needing the distance but he was already closing it.
"No! You don't get to do this! You don't get to come into my home, read my private thoughts, and then judge me for being miserable! I protected you! I protected you from the burden of me!"
"You didn't protect me!" he stepped into her space, towering over her, his chest heaving with anger and desperation.
"What you did was isolate me! You let me chase a ghost while the real thing was right here! Did you enjoy it, huh? Did you enjoy watching me walk into a trap?"
"Because you don't like me like that!" she sobbed and her throat felt dry.
"You never looked at me like I was anything more than a safety net! You were my best friend, and I would have rather been your friend for a lifetime than lose you in an awkward confession! What was I supposed to do, Harry? Tell you and watch you pull away? Watch you feel guilty every time you looked at me? I chose to lose myself so I wouldn't lose you! I did it because I loved you enough to want you to be happy!"
"You coward! You self-sacrificing coward. So you decided for me! You decided for both of us. You decided that I was too shallow to see you?!" he hissed, but his voice cracked. The anger was now replaced by agonizing pain.
"I was protecting my heart!" she screamed back, shoving at his chest. He just stood there and took the blow and his eyes locked onto hers. "Because that’s what I have to do every day! I have to protect my heart from you! And you just waltzed in here, tore it open, and now you’re angry? You know what, read it, read it all, I don't care anymore." She thrusted her journal into his hands, while tears flooded from her eyes.
Harry grabbed her wrists, his grip firm but not bruising, holding her in place. "Would you just fucking listen to me? I was sitting there with Sarah, and I felt nothing, Y/N! Nothing! Because every time she spoke, all I could think about was you and how you would answer that question. I was waiting to hear your voice. I’m not in love with her. I haven’t been in love with anyone but you for a long, long time. And it took me this date to realise how dumb I've been."
Y/N stared at him, shocked to the core. "What?”
He chuckled through the tears and pulled her close, “guess we've both been idiots, eh?”
She searched his face for him to laugh at her and tell her that it was a prank, but the moment never came. His eyes were telling her the truth. He pulled her closer, his forehead pressing against hers. The silence that followed was charged with the aftermath of their fight and the terrifying reality of the truth that now lay open in front of them. He apologised to her over and over again, kissing the top of her head.
"Don't you ever try to hide from me again, I'm not going anywhere. We are going to fix this, and you are never, ever going to be the only one holding the weight of us again.”
Thank you so much for reading, lovelies! Feedback is very much appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them in! And if you want to be added to the taglist, please lmk.
omg no cos why is that ‚dont go fast make it last‘ shirt giving lazy mornings after a show, in harrys huge presidential suite bed, the sunlight filtering through the curtains and cockwarming
cw: 2 uses of daddy
"Good morning," Harry rasped, brushing your hair away from your face.
Sighing, your head falls to the side, your nose knocking into Harry's. "Mmm, good morning," you parroted, your voice groggy with sleep. "What time is it? Are we late-"
"No, no," Harry reassured you quickly, quietly, stroking your head soothingly. "There's nothing going on today. Just missed you is all."
His sweet words make you hum with a smile. With your eyes still shut, you rolled onto your side and curled up to him, hitching a leg over his hip. Pressed up against him, you feel the heated throb of his hard cock pulsate between you. It reminded you of last night, Harry still high off the adrenaline of his show, using all the pent up energy to pound into you.
It made you greedy for more.
Grinding into him, you whine when his cock nudges against your sore pussy, growing more aroused.
"Shh, baby," Harry cooed, pulling you closer into him, his cock snug along your lips. "Do you need something?" He was teasing you now, you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "You need daddy to take care of you?"
"Mhmm," you whimpered, nodding your head. "Want daddy's cock. Please."
He kissed the tip of your nose, shushing you. "You'll get it, don't worry baby." Lifting your leg higher, he then grabbed his cock, running the tip through your sloppy pussy before dipping inside. You groaned around the intrusion, the stretch achingly, delightfully tight. "There we go. Right where I belong, right baby?"
WARNINGS: dry humping and dirty talk (oops), cursing, body insecurity, etc.
Read the rest of the series here.
wc: 4k
“My two favorite beings are lying on the floor. Are we alright?” He asked.
Harry put the bags down, and you nodded. “Just spending some quality time with my fave guy.”
“Heyyy,” he said, getting down on the floor with the two of you.
You giggled. “You know Donald is the love of my life, right?”
“If I have to compete against anyone, I’m glad it’s him,” Harry smiled, petting Donald on his side.
You hummed. Donald was in his glory. His two favorite people were petting him and paying attention to him. This went on for another 30 minutes until Donald decided to get up and lie somewhere else.
This caused the two of you to laugh hysterically. “Guess he’s done,” Harry said.
“Guess so.”
Harry took everything he bought out of the bag. You went over to the fridge. “I still have two slices of pizza left from yesterday.”
“I brought the remaining brownies,” Harry said.
“Shocked there’s any left to be honest,” you chuckled.
“Hey! I have self-control!”
“Do you?” You smirked.
“Mmm. Maybe not,” Harry said, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you. “Definitely not when it comes to you.”
His kiss sent shivers down your spine. “What is your lack of self-control telling you to do to me?” You asked.
“Mmm. Too many things that are naughty,” Harry replied, pulling your lip into his mouth.
“So, why don’t you do then?” You moaned.
“Cause I respect you too much,” he said, kissing your neck.
“What if I wanted you to disrespect me?”
Harry made a sound deep in his throat. “Don’t say that, baby. Please.”
“Why not? You afraid you’ll do it?”
“Mmhmm,” he nodded as he pecked kisses on your neck. “I think about….”
But the moment got ruined by Donald barking at the door. Harry pulled away, groaned, and walked over to the dog. “What’s the matter, buddy? Gotta go to the potty?” Donald barked.
Harry looked at you. “I’m sorry. Give me 10 minutes with him.”
“Please, Har. It’s fine! Take your time.”
Harry put Donald’s leash on him and took him out for a walk. You fanned yourself and had to wipe yourself in the bathroom. What was he going to say? You loved that dog, but right now, you were mad at him for ruining the moment.
You set up the bowls of snacks and turned on Netflix to the movies category. You had to distract yourself.
Gabbie had texted you. Did I see hot boss leaving your apartment?
He’s taking his dog for a walk. He’ll be back soon
Ooooo. I’ll be sure to put my noise-canceling headphones on
Omggggg. No, you don’t have to worry about that.
No? Thought I heard hot boss swear to himself in the hallway under his breath and mumble something like “she’s going to be the death of me.”
Geez. You must have misheard
I don’t think so 🥰 have fun. Use protection!
Gabbie!
What? Safe sex is good sex
He’s back. I’ve g2g
LET ME KNOW HOW IT IS
You put your phone down on the table and smiled at Harry, who took Donald’s leash off him and washed his hands.
“Is he ok?”
“He’s great. Just needed a bathroom break.” He smiled as he dried his hands with a paper towel. “You alright?”
“Fine.” You nodded. “I set up our stuff if you want to watch something.”
“Perfect! Let me just use the bathroom real quick, and then we will get this date started. Pick whatever you want to watch,” Harry said, walking to your bathroom.
You looked through the options and landed on Anyone But You. You hadn’t seen it before and plus, Glen Powell was nice to look at.
Harry was back when you had the movie chosen. “Is this ok?”
“I’m fine with anything you choose.” Harry sat down on the couch. You got a few blankets to put on you and then sat down next to Harry. He put his arm around you just as you hit play. “You sure you’re ok with this as a date?” He asked. “We could go out.”
You shook your head. “I want to stay right here.”
“M’kay. Good.” You two watched the movie, laughing at the funny parts. Your laughter died down, though, as Harry’s arm traced over your arm and fell down lower and lower.
You leaned forward with the bowl of popcorn. “Want some?” You asked.
Harry opened his mouth, indicating that you feed him. “Thank you,” he said as you put some pieces in his mouth.
You giggled. “Sure.”
The movie was done, snacks were eaten, drinks were drunk, and you scrolled to find another one. Harry said he liked the first one, so he trusted your judgment.
You stumbled upon another less popular one that looked like a romcom, so you chose it. About an hour into it, you chewed on your Twizzler, and the movie turned very spicy very fast.
Harry’s hand moved from your arm to your leg, drawing small circles on it. You tried not to get turned on, but it was a very sexy scene.
Harry cleared his throat. You squeezed your legs together. His hand moved up and down your leg now. You bit your lip.
The scene ended, but you were still hot and bothered. Harry took a sip of his drink and adjusted his blanket.
About 20 minutes later, it happened again. “Oh, there they go again,” you chuckled.
“Mmmm,” Harry agreed. “I feel like this movie is losing plot and just becoming sex scenes.”
“Seems like it.”
The scene was over quickly. Although now you were imagining Harry doing exactly what the man on screen did to his love.
You started to squirm. “You alright?” Harry asked.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“No need to apologize. Just want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
“As comfortable as I can be,” you whispered.
Harry looked over at you and smiled. He leaned forward and gave you a kiss.
You didn’t really care about the movie anymore. It seemed to be wrapping up anyway. You straddled Harry's lap and continued to kiss him.
His eyes widened as he cupped the back of your head. The kiss got hot and heavy. Tongue was involved, and lips were pulled by teeth. He moaned low. “(Y/N).”
“Harry.”
You put your arms on his shoulders and bit your lip. He was breathing heavily as you placed your clothed pussy on his clothed cock. You began to rock back and forth slowly.
Harry’s mouth dropped open, and his hands dropped to your waist. “Wait.”
“What?”
“You-you said you wanted to go slow. Are you sure you want to do this?” Harry asked breathily.
“This is exactly what I want.” This was safe. Clothes stayed on. You didn’t necessarily have to be good at it. No risk of pregnancy. And you were so incredibly turned on, it was either this or masturbate in front of him.
You rubbed your crotch against Harry’s pants again, and he shuddered. “(Y/N), you have to… to promise me that you aren’t feeling pressured to do this, that you fully consent to this.”
You nodded and whined. “Please. Harry, please.”
“I’ve got ya,” he said, grabbing your waist. “It’s ok, honey. Go slow.”
You bit your bottom lip as you pulled on the back of Harry’s hair. You slowly ground your hips down into Harry’s. You could feel him getting harder by the second. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured. “That’s it. Good girl.”
He kept his voice low, almost cooing. Harry let you control how you moved, how soft or hard you humped. You decided to speed up, especially when you became wetter. You had never dry humped someone before, but you wanted to do it more often.
Harry swallowed his now dry throat. “You’re doing great. You feeling alright?” He asked.
“Mmhmm. Is it good for you?”
“Fuck,” he chuckled, putting his head back on the couch. “Baby. This is amazing. Keep going if you want."
“Ok.” You got wet enough that the impression of Harry’s covered cock slipped through your clothed slit. Harry moaned and kissed your neck. “Slide up and down.” You did as he said. “Yes, just like that, baby. Good job. Shit.”
You could feel the impression of his cock between your folds as you slid up and down on his crotch, and it made you shake. He was big, really big. Plus, it was hitting your clit perfectly. You whined.
“You need to cum, baby?” Harry asked.
You nodded and pouted.
“Me too,” Harry said. “I know. You can cum anytime. I’m here.” He threaded his fingers through yours. “I’ve got ya.”
“Pop up for a second,” he said. You hovered over him. Harry adjusted himself. When he told you to sit, your eyes got wide. “Are you comfortable with this?” Harry asked. Your pussy was lined up with the tip of his cock, both clothed, of course. You nodded. “Can you bounce for me?” he asked.
You grabbed onto Harry’s shoulders and bounced on him like you were riding him. “That’s it. Perfect. Look how perfect you are,” he said, his breath shaky.
“Harry,” you gripped his shoulders.
“Cum for me, please, honey.”
You threw your head back, biting your lip as you bounced. Harry leaned up and placed kisses on your neck. “You smell so good.” He put his left arm around your back. “Can I help you out a little?”
You picked your head up, looking him in the eyes. “Ok,” you nodded shyly.
“It’s alright for me to touch you?”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Are you sure? You can just keep grinding on me. I will keep my hands to myself. You tell me,” Harry said, putting another kiss on your neck.
“Touch me, please.”
You adjusted, loosening the tie on your pajama pants. Harry hesitated, but you grabbed his hand and put it in the waist of your pants.
“No going back. You still want this?” Harry said.
“Please. I trust you,” you whined.
That’s all it took for Harry’s hand to slide down your front and place a finger on your clit, rubbing it in slow circles. You moaned loudly, and your legs shook. Harry watched every twitch and expression on your face, his mouth dropping low when yours did.
“You’re so wet for me. So good. Does that feel good?” He cooed.
“Uh huh. Please-please don’t stop,” you shook.
“I’m not stopping, baby, until you cum. Come on. I know it’s close. I can feel it.”
He sped his finger up a little more, and within a minute, you were cumming on it. You gripped his hair and put your face in his neck as you rode out your orgasm.
“Shit,” you heard Harry say. This was the hottest thing you have ever done. When you stopped shaking, Harry pulled his fingers out and kissed your temple. “You alright?” You nodded.
He rubbed your back. “You did so well, baby. So brave and so assertive. I’m really proud of you.” Harry kissed your forehead.
You picked your head up and kissed him. “I feel bad that you didn’t cum.”
Harry cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about me.” Harry had, in fact, cum, right when you did. You clenching on his hand sent him over the edge, but it was embarrassing to admit that he cum in his pants.
When you came to your senses, you got off of Harry’s lap. “Let me get you a napkin to wipe your fingers off,” you chuckled nervously.
“No need,” he said, sticking his fingers in his mouth, sucking off your cum.
“Oh,” you said, shockingly. You watched in awe as his fingers popped out of his mouth.
“Fuck. I knew you’d taste so sweet,” he said, moaning.
You had to squeeze your legs together again. “Um,” you pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m going to use the bathroom, and then it’s all yours.”
Harry nodded. You briskly walked to the bathroom, cleaning up between your thighs. You splashed some water on your face, changed your pants, and told Harry the bathroom was free.
He got up to use it. You blew out a breath, clicked “No” on the “Are you still watching?” message, and shut the TV off.
Your phone chimed with a text. Thought you said I wouldn’t need headphones
Omg we weren’t that loud. In fact, Harry was very quiet.
Was it good? I know he has a big one 🍆
I didn’t really see it. We just sort of… dry humped, but it felt big
Go get that dick, girl!
Oh my God 🙈
Harry came out of the bathroom, holding his underwear. “Erm, I don’t suppose you have a bag I could put these in?”
“You can use my washing machine.”
“Oh, right, yeah. Thanks.”
You showed him where the washer and dryer were and offered him to borrow a pair of pants from you since he looked uncomfortable in them. They were a little short, but they would do.
“Well, I guess you should get Donald home,” you chuckled nervously.
“You want me to leave?” Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Whatever you want to do. I can drop your pants off to you tomorrow.”
“I will take Donald home, feed him, get him settled, but I’m coming back.”
“It’s ok. You don’t have to come back,” you shook your head.
“I just licked your cum off my fingers. I think we need to at least talk about it,” he said.
Your face turned beet red. “Um, ok.”
Harry gathered up his stuff and put Donald on his leash. He pecked a kiss on your lips. You gave Donald a kiss. “I’ll be back in about an hour, ok?”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I’ll see you then, and I’ll bring dinner.” He gave you one last peck before heading out the door. In one minute, there was a knock. You thought it was Harry, but it was Gabbie.
“Tell. Me. Everything,” she said.
Gabbie walked into your apartment and squealed. “You can’t stay too long. He’s coming back. He just had to drop his dog off.”
“(Y/N), blah blah. Skip to the humping.”
“Gabbie…”
“Come on. Spill it. I’m not gonna tell anyone. I live with a goldfish.”
“We were watching movies, having a stay-in date. The second movie got kind of steamy, and Harry was tracing circles on my thigh, and I just…kind of sat on his lap, and it turned into humping,” you shrugged.
“Amazing! So are you ready for sex sex now?” Gabbie asked.
You sighed and sat down on the couch next to your friend. “Gabbie, he’s perfect.”
“Ok?” She asked.
“And if he sees me naked, I’m going to scare him away, and I can’t do that cause he’s perfect,” you whined.
“Babe, he’s not going to get scared away. That man is clearly smitten with you. He wouldn’t have wanted to date you if he didn’t find you attractive, right?” Gabbie asked.
“Yeah, but-.”
“No, buts. Ok. Maybe a little butt. I don’t know what you’re into,” she said.
“Oh, my God!” You put your head in your hands.
“Listen, I’m not trying to tell you you have to have sex. Do it on your own time, but if you’re only holding back because you think Harry isn’t going to like what he sees, you’re crazy.” She took your hands. “Girl, you’re hot, like it’s unfair how hot you are, and this is coming from a straight girl.”
You chuckled at that. “I just have this fear. Like what if he gets what he wants and then that’s it?”
“You know that’s not going to happen. He’s going to be like ‘mmmm more please.’”
You giggled. “More, please?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what he’s going to say.” She laughed. Then, you laughed. “Do it on your timeline, but don’t make him wait forever,” Gabbie said. “But, be safe and use protection. I’m not babysitting.”
You whacked her on the arm. “Thank you for talking to me.”
“Anytime girl.” She hugged you and then left.
You finished prepping for Harry to come back, even though you told him he didn’t have to. An hour and 10 minutes passed, and you were losing hope.
When there was a knock on your door two minutes later, you quickly walked to open it. “Sorry, I’m late, baby. The line for food was insane. They didn’t have milkshakes, so I went to another location, and it was a whole mess.”
Harry put the food down on the counter and then kissed you. “I hope McDonald’s is ok. I was craving a Big Mac.”
You had tears in your eyes. “You could’ve skipped the milkshakes.”
“I know they make you happy, and I always want to make you happy, so I had to get them,” he said.
You gave him a few small pecks and a “thank you” before you dug into your food.
“I was going to text you, but my hands were full, and then I had to drive and make sure nothing spilled and-.”
“Harry,” you said, mid-chew. “It’s ok. You’re here now. Thank you for the food and the trouble.”
“It was no trouble,” he said, sitting down next to you. “Nothing’s trouble for you.”
You hummed as you ate your chicken nuggets and fries. After you ate, Harry placed his hand on your thigh. “I don’t want things to be awkward between us.”
“They’re not,” you sipped your milkshake.
“It just seemed like you wanted me to go home and not come back.”
“Well, at first I kind of did,” you put your milkshake down. “But, I thought it over and we’re adults, right? In a relationship, something like that was bound to happen.”
He squeezed your thigh. “I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me.”
You shook your head. “No. I’m not uncomfortable, never around you. I was just a little embarrassed.”
“And that’s understandable,” Harry cupped your cheek. “And if you ever don’t want to do something, you have to tell me.”
You nodded. Harry gave you a kiss. You finished your milkshake. When you made your way over to the couch, Harry said, “Listen, I’ve got to talk to you about something.”
“Ok,” you swallowed.
“It’s nothing bad. I promise! Just a favor,” he said.
“What do you need?”
“Now that I’m officially the boss and was just kind of thrust into this, they want me to do a training seminar. Sadly, there’s no plus one for this one,” he said. “But, if you could just take care of Donald when I’m gone, I’d appreciate it.”
“Sure! When is it?”
“Next month. I really appreciate it, babe. Thank you. He loves you, and you’re cheaper than a kennel," he laughed.
You chuckled. “You don’t know my hourly rate!” You joked.
“Oh yeah. What is it?”
“A kiss for every hour you’re gone,” you bit your lip.
“That I can afford,” he said, leaning forward to kiss you.
“This one doesn’t count!” You said.
“Fine by me.” Your little kiss turned into a makeout session. When you were out of breath, you pulled apart.
Harry ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. You yawned. “I’m sorry, baby. I’ll head out,” he said.
“Sorry,” you waved your hand through the yawn. “You don’t have to leave.”
“I would love to stay, baby, but I gotta get home to Donald. I’ll text you tomorrow.”
“Ok,” you pouted.
“Come on. Walk me to the door,” he held his hand out.
You got up and walked to the door with him. “Did you enjoy this date?” Harry asked.
“Are you kidding?” You asked.
He chuckled. “Just checking. Need me to give you a wake-up call tomorrow?”
You shook your head. “I’ll be fine.”
“Ok.” Harry gave you a kiss on the lips and then one on the forehead. “Sweet dreams, honey. Lock up behind me, ok?”
“Good night.”
Harry left, you locked the door, and went to your bedroom, feeling more confident than ever in yourself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When Monday rolled around, you and Harry went to HR on your lunch break. You decided to go then because fewer people were around. When you both showed up at the HR department, the woman, Susan, raised her eyebrows. “How can I help you two?”
You sat down, and Harry blew out a breath. “We… need to fill out some forms.”
“Who harassed whom?” she sighed, looking through her forms.
“No, no!” He sat back. “(Y/N) and I…. are together.” Harry intertwined his fingers with yours. “And we just want to cover our bases.”
“Oh,” Susan looked at the two of you over her glasses. “No PDA in the office,” she said. Harry let go of your hand. “When did this thing start?” she asked.
“A few weeks ago, maybe like a month,” Harry said.
“I have to read a few statements here that you need to agree to and then sign these papers,” Susan said, laying them out in front of you.
“Neither party should initiate public displays of affection while in office. That includes kissing, hand-holding, pet names, and especially intercourse,” she said.
“If said party breaks up, the company is not responsible for their working relationship. That being said, neither person can be fired or demoted because of said breakup.”
She went on to read a bunch more stuff, and your head started to hurt. “Do you both agree to these rules?”
“Yes,” you said.
“I do,” Harry replied.
“Good. Sign there and initial there and there,” Susan said. You both did as she said. “Are you planning to make this arrangement public?”
“No. At least not right away. We’re still fairly new ourselves,” Harry said.
“Ok. Well, if you do, and your coworkers harass you for it, you come to me,” Susan said.
“Thank you,” you smiled. Susan smiled back.
“You two make a very cute couple,” she said.
You both looked at each other. “Thank you. We think so, too,” Harry said.
“Off you go now,” Susan said.
You and Harry both returned to your desks right before lunch ended. Coworkers were starting to come back. “Make sure you take time to eat, ok?” he said, putting his hand on your back. “You can clock back in since I took up all of your time.”
“Ok.”
“Thanks for doing that.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“I would have felt horrible if we got caught and then we didn’t have the papers signed,” he said.
“Yeah. Me too.”
“You ok?” He asked.
“Mmhmm. I… just don’t want anyone to hear,” you smiled.
“Right. I’ll get back to work. You. Eat.”
“Yes, sir,” you said.
Harry groaned, and you giggled. He walked back to his desk, and you ate your lunch.
About a minute later, Harry texted. Do you want to come over tonight?
You smiled, texting him back. Idk if my boyfriend would like that
I'm Taking It Just For You blurb was soo good, it felt so real like I understood what reader felt, please part 2 no pressure thoo but where they will get happy ending,(i hope you will get your happy ending too)!!
Here you go! I've been really busy with everything, but I'll write all the requests , please be patient with me 🥹 And thank you so much, anon!
It's Always Been You
Pairing: Harry x Reader
Warnings: Swearing, Angst (but with fluff)
Word Count: 2.4 k
A/N: Pictures from Pinterest, credits to owners!
Masterlist
Part 1
They were sitting at a secluded corner by the window. The lights in the restaurant were dim. The warm lights cast an ethereal glow to the woman sitting opposite him. Everything was going as planned, but to Harry, he felt like he was sitting in a sensory deprivation chamber.
Across from him, Sarah, or in other words, the girl he’d been so nervous to ask out, was laughing at something he said. He knew that she was beautiful and kind. But then, why did he feel like something was missing?
"So, you mentioned your best friend helped you ask me out? You two sound incredibly close.”
Sarah said, leaning in towards him with a soft smile playing on her red lips.
"Yeah. We are. She’s... she’s the best. I wouldn't be here without her."
And from there, Sarah took the reins of the conversation and started talking about anything and everything. Harry tried to stay attentive, nodding at the right intervals and smiling when she said something funny. He tried to focus on Sarah’s story about her childhood dog, but his mind kept drifting. He found himself comparing the differences between her and Y/N. Sarah uses too much perfume, and the strong vanilla scent makes his head ache, he thought . Y/N always smelled like cherries. It was her signature scent. Sarah laughed with her hand over her mouth. It was soft and polite. But Y/N would have thrown her head back in laughter. She'd be unfiltered and loud. What would Y/N think of this place? he wondered. She’d probably make a joke about how expensive the restaurant was and how pretentious the menu was. And then she'd probably convince him to get out of there and go to their usual place, the diner at the far end of the street, and get chocolate milkshakes and loaded fries. He reached for his phone. It was a subconscious reflex, wanting to tell her how the date was going, and that he was doing exactly what she told him to do. But his thumb hovered over the screen, and then he had the epiphany and he felt like he was going to throw up. He looked at Sarah and realised with absolute clarity that he felt nothing with her. There was no spark. Whatever he hoped he'd have with her was simply not there. Right in that instant, Harry realised with a terrifying intensity that it was Y/N he was looking for in Sarah.
"Harry? Are you okay?" Sarah asked, her brow furrowed.
"I—I'm so sorry," Harry stammered, his pulse quickening as he sprang to his feet.
"I just... I’m so sorry, Sarah. I don't think I can do this."
He didn't wait for her response. He was already out of the booth. His heart was racing. He didn't want to be there. He couldn't even think of anyone else other than his best friend whom he was in love with.
He scrambled into his car, his hands trembling as he gripped the steering wheel tight. His knuckles were turning white from how tight He was holding onto it. He dialed Y/N’s number in panic.
Pick up, please, pick up.
It went straight to voicemail.
He didn't care about the etiquette of texting or calling at this hour. Nor did he care how late it was. The panic that had been simmering in his gut all evening had boiled over into a need to see her face.
He pulled out of the parking lot, tires chirping against the pavement, and sped toward her apartment. Every red light felt like an hour and every mile felt like a lifetime. He needed to know she was there. He needed to hear her voice and be near her, even though he had no idea how he was going to go about his recent realisation.
He pulled up to her building and sprinted to the door, not even bothering to knock. His spare key felt cold in his hand as he slid it into the lock and let himself into the apartment. The lights were all turned off, it was quiet and dark. Where was she?
"Y/N?" he breathed out, his voice shaking.
The apartment was still. His eyes followed the night light coming from the bedroom. He walked in to find her curled under her duvet, her hair fanned out against the pillow. She looked beautiful in the warm light.
He let out a shaky breath at the sight of her. It was as if she was the thing that was grounding him. He stepped closer, his eyes tracking the way her chest rose and fell. She looked peaceful. Whatever he wanted to say to her can wait till tomorrow, and he could use that time to decide how he wanted it to go. Would he tell her or would he keep it to himself? Well, whatever it was, he had time to think about it. With a soft kiss on her forehead, he decided to tuck her blanket higher so that she won't get cold. It was when he reached out that his eyes snagged on her journal lying beside her hand, open and face down on the bed. He had seen it before in her room but she wouldn't let him read any of its entries. He had begged her to let him read it, but when he realised how stubborn she was about it, he didn't force her anymore. He smiled to himself at the memory and reached for it. No, he was not going to read it, if she didn't want him reading it, she probably would have a good reason for it, and he was not gonna break her trust. He went to close it, it was just a reflex to keep her things tidy, but then he saw his name in it. His fingers froze and the air in the room seemed to vanish into vacuum. What has she written about him? He looked down, and he saw the truth she had been hiding from him in plain sight all this time.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Harry’s heart was beating out of his chest as he squinted at the page. The handwriting was erratic. And it appeared that it was smeared in a few spots, probably the evidence of tears shed in his absence.
I told him to go. I told him he was charming, that he was kind, that he deserved to be loved. Every word I told him was true and from the bottom of my heart. I’m the cause of my own heartbreak.
He smiled at me tonight and told me that he's grateful for me. Because I helped him to go after what his heart wanted. I wanted to tell him that he doesn't have to look for someone else, and that I could be it all for him, if he lets me. But I didn't. I just smiled back and let him walk away.
I’m so tired of being the ‘best friend.’ I’m so tired of being the map that leads him to everyone but me. I think I’ll take a step back after this weekend. I need to be anywhere he isn't, so that I can try to remember who I was before I became defined by how much I love him.
If only he knew that every poem I’ve written, every song I’ve saved, every prayer I’ve whispered at 3:00 AM... it’s all him. It’s always been him. And it will always be him, even if I have to bury this version of myself just to keep him in my life in some way.
Harry’s vision blurred as he flipped the page. His fingers were shaking so violently the paper crinkled. The next page was a rough draft of a letter, dated just yesterday:
Harry,
I love you and I don't think I’ll ever know how to stop. But I can’t watch you love someone else anymore. It’s destroying me. And I think —
He stopped, a sob escaping his lips. Every page he turned was a chronicle of his own obliviousness. He had been looking at her for years, but he had never seen her. At least, not until now. His choked sobs seemed to wake Y/N up somehow. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open to find the source of the voice that woke her up. When she saw Harry, standing at the foot of her bed with his shoulders heaving, her first instinct was confusion. Then, her gaze dropped to his hands to see that he was holding her journal. It was wide open and his knuckles were white as he gripped the leather spine, his thumb pressed hard against a page filled with her confessions nobody has ever known. The blood drained from her face on seeing him with it in his hands. Panic flooded her veins and she sat up quickly.
"Harry? What are you doing here?" She prompted to see how he would react. He wouldn't have read it all, he wouldn't have seen that it was about him, she tried to console herself.
He didn't look up immediately. He seemed to be re-reading the words. When he finally lifted his head, his eyes were filled with unshed tears. His face was characterised by a mixture of betrayal, and rage(?).
"How long?" His voice was raspy as he practically growled at her. She was scared. She wasn't familiar with this version of him, especially when his voice was now stripped of every ounce of the warmth she was used to. "How long have you been carrying this, Y/N? How long have you been lying to my face?"
"Give it back!" she stood up and lunged for the book. Her hands reached out, but he pulled it back, his movements quicker than hers as he shielded the pages from her view.
He warned, his tone slicing through the air. "Don't you dare tell me to give it back. I want to know when it started. Was it when I met Sarah? Or was it when you sat there and helped me pick out an outfit for my first date? I wanna know what you were thinking while you watched me stumble around like an idiot?"
"Stop it!" she cried, her voice cracking as she forced herself to steady her shaking hands. "You have no right to read that! It was private! It was never meant for you!"
"It was written about me!" Harry roared, the sound echoing off the walls, startling them both. He slammed the book down on the nightstand with force. The lamp on the stand rattled at the impact.
"Every fucking page is my name. It's all about me! You’ve been living in a secret world right next to mine, and you didn't think I deserved to know, huh?"
"Why the fuck were you snooping?" she shouted, fat tears making their way down her cheeks. She felt like her heart was tore open and laid out for anyone to laugh at. It was her most guarded sanctuary that was violated. She scrambled off the bed, needing the distance but he was already closing it.
"No! You don't get to do this! You don't get to come into my home, read my private thoughts, and then judge me for being miserable! I protected you! I protected you from the burden of me!"
"You didn't protect me!" he stepped into her space, towering over her, his chest heaving with anger and desperation.
"What you did was isolate me! You let me chase a ghost while the real thing was right here! Did you enjoy it, huh? Did you enjoy watching me walk into a trap?"
"Because you don't like me like that!" she sobbed and her throat felt dry.
"You never looked at me like I was anything more than a safety net! You were my best friend, and I would have rather been your friend for a lifetime than lose you in an awkward confession! What was I supposed to do, Harry? Tell you and watch you pull away? Watch you feel guilty every time you looked at me? I chose to lose myself so I wouldn't lose you! I did it because I loved you enough to want you to be happy!"
"You coward! You self-sacrificing coward. So you decided for me! You decided for both of us. You decided that I was too shallow to see you?!" he hissed, but his voice cracked. The anger was now replaced by agonizing pain.
"I was protecting my heart!" she screamed back, shoving at his chest. He just stood there and took the blow and his eyes locked onto hers. "Because that’s what I have to do every day! I have to protect my heart from you! And you just waltzed in here, tore it open, and now you’re angry? You know what, read it, read it all, I don't care anymore." She thrusted her journal into his hands, while tears flooded from her eyes.
Harry grabbed her wrists, his grip firm but not bruising, holding her in place. "Would you just fucking listen to me? I was sitting there with Sarah, and I felt nothing, Y/N! Nothing! Because every time she spoke, all I could think about was you and how you would answer that question. I was waiting to hear your voice. I’m not in love with her. I haven’t been in love with anyone but you for a long, long time. And it took me this date to realise how dumb I've been."
Y/N stared at him, shocked to the core. "What?”
He chuckled through the tears and pulled her close, “guess we've both been idiots, eh?”
She searched his face for him to laugh at her and tell her that it was a prank, but the moment never came. His eyes were telling her the truth. He pulled her closer, his forehead pressing against hers. The silence that followed was charged with the aftermath of their fight and the terrifying reality of the truth that now lay open in front of them. He apologised to her over and over again, kissing the top of her head.
"Don't you ever try to hide from me again, I'm not going anywhere. We are going to fix this, and you are never, ever going to be the only one holding the weight of us again.”
Thank you so much for reading, lovelies! Feedback is very much appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them in! And if you want to be added to the taglist, please lmk.
✶ dean tries to act unbothered by the growing relationship between you, so you kiss his best friend as payback.
002. WARNINGS !
✶ no actual smut, but some suggestive stuff happens. beau is used but he’s right where he wants to be, don’t feel too bad.
word count : 2,8k
gif by @luke-thompsons
Dean has a problem.
He’s always been good at acting nonchalant. Keeping things casual. Avoiding the emotional side of hookups altogether. Usually, it works out pretty well.
He makes it a point not to get involved with the same girl for too long. Everyone on campus knows about his reputation, and if he suddenly seemed devoted to one person, people would start getting the wrong idea.
So how has he become the one with the wrong idea?
Somewhere along the way, Dean caught feelings for his fuckbuddy. Friend with benefits. Whatever label you wanted to slap on it, he’d broken the one sacred rule: don’t catch feelings.
You blew into his life like a tornado.
You tore apart his carefully maintained routine and—before he even realized it was happening—made everyone else seem considerably less interesting.
At first, Dean didn’t mind. He’d found a girl who could match his energy, someone who wanted the same uncomplicated physical release he was more than happy to provide.
But then things started changing.
Sometimes, after sex, you stayed.
You’d lie in bed talking about classes, his hockey practices, your bizarre family dilemmas, campus gossip—anything and everything. Neither of you ever intended to fall asleep together, but somehow it kept happening. More than once, you woke up with Dean wrapped around you, his arm draped across your waist as if it belonged there.
Which was honestly very nice.
The problem was that Dean had always been excellent at avoiding things. Yet he’d never felt this way about a girl before.
At least not since high school, and he’d be a senior in a matter of months. The whole thing felt strange. Too serious. Too grown-up. It didn’t fit the effortless, unbothered persona he'd spent years perfecting.
You weren’t much better.
You’d tried to bring up the subject more than once, testing the waters carefully, only to abandon it whenever Dean gave you nothing to work with. Every conversation seemed to end with him brushing things off or changing the subject before it could become real.
Of course you’d caught feelings too.
Because beneath all the flirting, the confidence, and the reputation, Dean was kind. Thoughtful in ways most people never got to see. He was gentle when it mattered, attentive without making a big deal out of it, and he'd never once made you feel disposable.
Not like certain frat boys or other athletes, who only cared about themselves.
Dean Di Laurentis is boyfriend material.
The problem is that he doesn’t seem to realize it.
Or maybe he does. Maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it.
Which brings you to your current dilemma.
Dean is sprawled across the couch, a girl’s hand resting on his chest as she gazes up at him like he hung the stars himself. And he’s entertaining it.
You’d never explicitly asked for exclusivity, but the two of you had established one rule from the beginning: if either of you wanted out, or wanted to be with someone else, you’d say so.
For the past few weeks, you’d seen each other almost every day. You weren’t seeing anyone else, and you’d gotten the impression he wasn't either. In fact, campus gossip had been practically buzzing about the fact that Dean Di Laurentis hadn’t hooked up with anyone at a party in weeks.
It shouldn’t have made you jealous.
You weren’t together. You weren’t anything.
So why did it feel like you were everything? Why did it feel like he was breaking your heart without even realizing it?
The noise of the party faded into the background as you chugged the drink in your hand and headed for the kitchen in search of something stronger.
You wanted to curse Garrett for hosting this stupid party. For practically forcing you to come, knowing Dean would obviously be here.
Grabbing a bottle of tequila, you started pouring.
Your eyes kept flicking back and forth between Dean’s hand resting on the girl's thigh and the way their faces seemed just a little too close together.
“Whoa, there.”
A voice beside you pulled you from your thoughts.
Beau Maxwell.
Dean’s best friend gently took the bottle from your hands before you could continue.
“Rough night?” He asked, glancing at the alarming amount of tequila you’d managed to fit into one cup
“Yeah,” you said with a tight smile. “You could say that.”
His expression softened. Without a word, he grabbed a random mixer from a nearby shelf and handed it to you.
“Here,” He twisted off the cap and passed it over. “Unless your plan is to drink four tequila shots at once.”
A laugh escaped you despite yourself.
You poured some into the cup and took a sip. Immediately, you coughed.
“That bad?” Beau asked, amused, patting your back lightly as you struggled to swallow.
“It's really strong,” you managed.
“Can I try?”
You looked up at him and held out the cup. “Be my guest.”
Beau took a sip and a second later, he grimaced.
“Damn.” He lowered the cup. “Who hurt you?”
You tried to laugh but the joke landed a little too close to home.
Had Dean talked to Beau about whatever this thing between you was? Did Beau even know you'd been sleeping together?
Your eyes drifted back toward the living room.
Dean now had two girls caressing his face and chest. Logan and Tucker were sitting nearby with girls of their own, laughing about something. Still, the knot in your stomach refused to loosen.
Beau followed your gaze, understanding immediately flashed across his face.
Before you could look away, his hand settled on your waist. He gently turned you around until your back was resting against the kitchen island, blocking your view of Dean entirely.
“He's really dumb sometimes,” Beau said.
You hummed in agreement, taking another small sip.
Then, before you could think better of it, you asked, “Wanna do something maybe even dumber?”
His eyebrows lifted.
“Like what?”
You tilted your head slightly. “Like helping me forget what his name even is.”
For a moment, Beau said nothing, but he didn’t remove his hand from your waist. Instead, his thumb brushed absentmindedly against the fabric of your top, moving back and forth.
His gaze flickered down to your lips.
“He’ll be pissed,” Beau said quietly.
“I doubt he cares.” Your voice came out softer than intended. “Just look at him. Not a care in the world.”
He glanced toward the living room before looking back at you, his jaw tightening. Then he leaned in slightly, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
The word barely left your mouth before the space between you seemed to disappear. For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in the tension hanging between you. Then Beau closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft and careful, nothing like Dean.
Dean kissed like everything was urgent, like he was always one second away from losing control. Beau, meanwhile, seemed content to take his time.
You found yourself kissing him back anyway, driven by a messy combination of hurt, anger, and the lingering hope that Dean might finally show that he cared.
The kiss deepened, and for a moment you let yourself get lost in it. It was nice. Beau was nice. A few weeks ago, you might’ve even considered going back to his place, letting the night unfold into something more. But now, no matter how hard you tried to focus on the boy kissing you, your thoughts kept drifting elsewhere.
Now, all you could think about was a certain blond hockey player.
Despite the warmth spreading through your chest, despite the attention and the distraction, there was no real desire to take things any further.
Still, even if you’d wanted to, you never got the chance.
You’d barely noticed how much time had passed when a loud clearing of a throat cut through the moment. A heavy hand landed on Beau’s shoulder, the interruption sharp enough to make both of you freeze before slowly pulling apart.
And there stood Dean. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful, his entire body rigid with tension. But it was his eyes that made your breath catch, blazing with a fury that left little doubt he’d seen far more than enough.
“Having fun?” He asked through gritted teeth.
“Hey, Dean,” Beau said breathlessly, moving his hand away from your jaw.
You took a deep breath, glancing between the two men.
“Didn’t realize you two knew each other,” Dean said.
“Yeah, we’ve crossed paths a few times,” Beau answered. “We have a business course together too, right?”
“Yeah, right,” you stammered out, suddenly acutely aware of Beau's hand on your waist and Dean’s eyes burning into your profile.
Dean hummed, his jaw still tightly clenched.
“I think one of your teammates was looking for you,” he said to his friend.
“Who?”
“I don’t fucking know. He was just asking around for where you were.”
You knew it was a lie. You could tell by the bored tone of his voice and the way he seemed far more interested in staring at you than looking at Beau. Dean had never been a particularly good liar.
“Okay...” Beau trailed off. “I’ll see you around?”
You looked up at him and nodded, “See you.”
Dean watched him walk away to search for his supposed teammate.
“You won’t be seeing him around,” he all but growled.
Before you could respond, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the staircase leading up to his room. You stumbled after him, startled by the sudden movement.
You barely had time to process what was happening before you were standing in his bedroom, the door locked behind you while Dean paced in front of his bed.
“Dean, what the fuck?” You finally asked, breaking the silence as you frowned at the man in front of you.
“Me what the fuck?” He shot back, turning to point at you. “You what the fuck?”
“Huh?”
Your brows knitted together as you stared at him in confusion.
“Why the fuck would you kiss Beau?”
A sharp laugh escaped you, completely devoid of humor.
“You think it’s funny to mess around with my friend? That’s so fucked up.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you have no right to act like this or throw accusations around when you’re not any better.”
You let out a deep breath and rubbed at your eyes, trying to gather yourself.
“You don't get to practically entertain a threesome on the couch and then get mad because I kissed someone.”
“It's not just someone. That’s my friend,” he snapped. “And what threesome? I haven’t slept with anyone since we started—”
The words died on his tongue, and you caught it immediately. The hesitation. The way he suddenly seemed unable to finish the sentence.
Because the truth was, even Dean couldn't figure out what exactly the two of you were. Or, perhaps more accurately, what the two of you weren't.
“You’re gonna act like you didn't have two girls all over you?” You huffed. “Because you looked really comfortable.”
“All over me?” He looked genuinely offended by the accusation, as if it couldn’t have been further from the truth.
“I know we’re not exclusive or anything, but really? You had to do it right in front of me?”
“I don’t know what you think happened, but I didn’t even kiss them.” He shook his head. “I mean, one of them tried, but I just didn’t...”
“Didn’t what?”
For a moment, he stayed silent.
Dean sat down on the edge of his bed, dragging a hand over his face as he searched for the right words. His elbows rested on his knees, his head dipping briefly into his hands before he finally looked back up at you.
The anger had vanished, replaced by something far more vulnerable, something pained enough that it made your chest tighten just looking at him.
“I couldn’t kiss someone else.”
You let out a shaky breath at his words, watching as he waited for your reaction.
“Dean, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Why?” He asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Because...” Your mind flashed back to all the times you’d carefully tried to bring up whatever this thing between you was. The times he’d thanked you for being so chill about your arrangement. The times he’d said he didn't have time for a girlfriend. How much he enjoyed his freedom.
“Is it so crazy that I could feel something between us?” He asked, a frown creasing his brows.
“You told me you didn’t want a girlfriend,” You replied.
“And you said you wanted a casual relationship.”
“Yeah, because you said you didn’t want to be tied down,” you shot back. “I’m not going to ask for something serious from the same guy who’s with a different girl every night.”
“You should’ve told me that,” he muttered.
Taking a deep breath, he stood and closed the distance between you.
“I've done casual before. It wasn’t an issue for me,” you explained. “But then you started doing things… You remember my friends’ names. You cuddle me. You kiss my forehead when I leave in the mornings...”
His expression softened.
When he gets closer to you, he takes your hands in his, rubbing his thumb across your palm.
“Did you like kissing Beau?”
“What?” You asked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic when it felt like the two of you had almost finally admitted your feelings.
“Did you like kissing Beau?” He repeated, his gaze darkened now, one hand lifting to cradle your cheek.
“It was nice,” you admitted softly, watching the way he couldn't stop looking at you. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Yeah?”
His face was closer now, his breath brushing against your skin.
“It wasn’t fair to Beau, to just... use him.”
“You feel guilty, then?”
“I think he knew it came from jealousy, but it still wasn’t right.”
Dean slid a finger beneath your chin and tilted your head up until your eyes met.
“Beau can handle himself,” he said quietly. “He knew what he was doing.”
“So you're not mad?” You asked, the gentleness in his voice was making it difficult to think straight.
“I'm furious,” he admitted, a humorless laugh escaped him. “But I’ll deal with him later.”
His thumb brushed across your jaw.
“You, on the other hand, are another story.”
Before you could even react, Dean slid his hand to the side of your neck, pulling you into a deep kiss. The frustration that had been simmering between you all night seemed to collide at once.
One hand settled at your waist before drifting lower to your ass, drawing you closer as his other arm wrapped around you, hoisting you up and wrapping your thighs around his waist.
He backed you against the door, kissing you like he had a point to prove. When he finally pulled away, it was only to press a trail of kisses along your jaw, his forehead resting briefly against yours as both of you fought to catch your breath.
His hand moved toward the hem of your skirt, brushing over the fabric of your panties and finding the evidence of just how affected you were. The corner of his mouth twitched as his gaze flickered up to meet yours.
“This for him or me?” Dean asked, his voice low and rough around the edges.
“You,” you whispered immediately, your pulse racing as his heated gaze locked onto yours. “Always you.”
Those three words were all he needed.
Dean pulled away from the door and guided you toward the bed, dropping you on it before leaning over you. His lips found yours again, the kiss softer now, stripped of some of the jealousy and frustration that had fueled it moments before.
Then you suddenly broke away.
“Wait,” you gasped, catching his wrist before things could go any further. “Before we do this, I need to know what we are now.”
For a moment, all you could hear was the sound of both your breathing.
“Whatever you want us to be,” he said finally.
“Seriously? You’d just give up your womanizer ways for me?” You stared at him, a skeptical look on your face.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Baby, if you wanted to get married tomorrow, I’d do it.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you laughed, feeling him press a soft kiss to your cheek.
“Too soon to talk about children, then?”
“Take me on a proper date first.”
Dean's smile widened, “That can definitely be arranged.”
NOTE : sorry for the abrupt ending i just didnt really know how to end it without making it too long... also please don’t ask for a part two i won’t be doing one! reader was a bit of a hypocrite in this one but let’s support messy female characters 💜
have you seen the tiktok trend of the girlfriends telling their boyfriend they found their bestie on hinge/tinder. think of that with garrett graham, his reaction would be hilarious
OBSESSED WITH THIS!!!!!!
trouble
summary - you’re going to send garrett to an early grave with some of these tiktok pranks
pairing - garrett graham x girlfriend!reader
word count - 948
You slumped down on the sofa next to Dean.
Garrett was on the other side of the sofa, doing whatever guys did on their phones.
You had set up this prank with Dean, to play on your boyfriend, after having seen it on your TikTok a couple of times.
“Dude, you have to see this.” You said to Dean, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him as you pretended to show him the fake Allie profile you’d set up on Hinge. Yes you’d really gone to lengths trying to perfect this prank.
“What?” Dean asked, looking up from his own phone at yours.
“Allie’s on Hinge.”
“Huh?”
“Allie. I found her on Hinge.”
“Like the dating app?” Dean pretended to look confused as he put down his phone to look at yours.
You subtly looked at Garrett from across the room, who you could tell was actively listening but still paying close attention to his phone.
“Yeah, look.” You fully handed Dean your phone.
“The fuck?” Dean spluttered. “I literally took this photo of her.”
“That’s seriously what you’re focusing on right now?” You gaped.
“But look…”
“Yes, I’ve seen, Dean.”
“What are you two freaking out about?” Garrett piped up.
He was peering over his phone at you two like he was absolutely done with whatever nonsense was ensuing. He had told you multiple times about the day he regretted introducing you to Dean.
“My girlfriend has Hinge, G!”
“Oh.” His brows furrowed and you wondered whether he had already sussed out the situation. “Let’s see.”
You tried to hold back a laugh as your boyfriend walked over to your side of the sofa, sandwiching you between him and Dean as he sat next to you.
Garrett looked over your shoulder to your phone in Dean’s hand.
Dean gave you the side eye as Garrett intensely looked at the fake Allie profile. Both of you wanted to laugh so bad, but you were in too deep to stop the prank now.
“God.” Garrett tutted. “Why would she do that?”
“Fuck if I know.” Dean answered.
He scrolled down Allie’s profile, past the pictures and prompts. It was made to look like she’d really taken building a profile seriously.
Then Garrett pulled away from you really fast.
You pursed your lips to keep you from laughing as Dean looked at his best friend with teasing eyes.
“Hold the fuck up a minute.”
“What?” Dean played.
“Who’s Hinge are we looking at this on?” Garrett asked.
Hook, line and sinker.
The crux of the prank.
“I dunno. Y/N passed me her phone.” Dean shrugged.
Your chin was cupped by Garrett’s hand. He twisted your face so you were looking at him, his eyes wild and eyebrows raised.
“Yes?” You teased.
Garrett just raised his eyebrows further.
“Why do you have Hinge?” He looked at you, assessing every micro-movement.
Dean returned your phone to your lap and scooted an inch away from you, clearly very disturbed by whatever was happening between you and Garrett.
“I don’t know.” You shrugged.
“You don’t know?” Garrett challenged, dropping his hand from your chin now that he knew he had your attention.
“She doesn’t know.” Dean chimed in, causing Garrett to momentarily shoot dagger eyes at him.
“Shut up Dean.”
Garrett didn’t look angry or upset.
He just genuinely looked confused at what was going on - like he was missing a central piece of information.
“You download it by accident?” He asked.
“Maybe.” You shrugged again.
You chanced a look at Dean, who was way too focused on his lap to be acting normal. He clearly felt your gaze on him because the next minute he was trying to hold back a grin, causing you to bite the inside of your cheek to do the same.
“You know what I think?” Garrett asked, and you turned back to look at him.
“Hm?”
“I think you’re both idiots.”
You broke by letting out a burst of laughter, whilst Dean already began to protest.
“Uh - What? So you don’t think your girlfriend’s cheating?”
Garrett looked at Dean like he’d just said the most ridiculous thing ever.
“No.” He said matter of factly. No hesitation.
The simple word made your laughter dry up.
You saw the sparkle come back to life in his eyes when he looked at you. He was clearly beginning to understand the lack of seriousness in this situation.
Your hand moved to link through his and you squeezed tight for reassurance.
“But seriously, why do you have Hinge?”
“It was a TikTok prank, I’m sorry.” You said.
“So the joke was that I had to notice you had Hinge, not that Allie was cheating on Dean?”
“Woah - no-one’s cheating on anyone, buddy. It’s a fake profile. My girlfriend is very much obsessed with me.”
“You two are exhausting.”
“You love us really.” Dean said.
Your boyfriend sighed and fell back flat on the sofa, covering his eyes with his hands.
You decided to lay down with him - or, on top of him - before he could escape. His hand automatically moved down to cup against your back, despite the complaint he’d made moments before.
“See?” Dean tried.
“Don’t start.”
“But that’s love. Right there.”
“Dean.”
“I’m just saying…”
“Dean!”
“How am I the one in trouble? Your girlfriend’s the one with a fake Hinge profile.”
“And she will be in trouble later.” You buried yourself into the crux of Garrett’s neck as he spoke, trying to hide the rising blush.
“Okay, at some point there’s too much love, G…” Dean gagged. Deciding there was only so much affection he could witness in one day, Dean got up and left, leaving you and Garrett alone.
Hope yall are hungry for a blurb about Harry being a pirate who is stuck on a ship that’s in one of those ships in a bottle because he was cursed by his ex sea witch gf and each night he gets to leave the bottle so he can find the person who can break the curse but at sunrise he’s back in the bottle but then you buy it at a random estate sale and end up being the one to break his curse letting him finally be free! And if you don’t like this idea you can take it up with @monicaalexandraaa 😂💖
Me telling Monica an off the wall idea as an example for how fics can be fun:
Monica wanting me to actually write the off the wall idea:
c/w ᝰ.ᐟ jealousy + insecurity, ex mentions, crying (both), drunkenness/intox, miscommunication, possessive!dean, pet names (princess, baby, angel, baby doll + no y/n), angst with comfort, party setting + language
“There you are, princess.”
You smile before you can stop yourself as Dean presses a rough kiss against your cheek, his body sliding in behind you, big and warm against your back while the crowd moves around both of you.
“Havin’ fun?” He asks, mouth brushing your neck while his hands settle on your hips.
“Mhmm,” you giggle.
“You drunk, baby doll?”
“Mhmm…”
His laugh rumbles against your skin. “Yeah? Are you askin’ me or tellin’ me?”
You laugh harder at that, turning your head slightly when he nudges his nose against your cheek. Dean catches your mouth, kissing you deep and slow before pulling back with a grin still spread against your lips.
“You wanna dance?”
“Okay,” you say, and the second that word leaves your lips he’s pulling you away.
The dance floor is packed by the time the two of you push your way into the middle of it. Bodies crowd tight around you beneath flashing lights, Dean’s hand tightening on your waist, pulling you against him.
The two of you start dancing, your body moving easily with his while the crowd shifts around you.
“You look so fuckin’ good,” he mumbles, low and deep against your ear, making you press into him a little more.
His hands hold your hips again, turning you and pulling you close, your arms wrapping loosely around his neck while a smirk tugs at his lips and his hands move lower.
The chain around his neck glints beneath the lights as he dips in, pulling you closer by the small of your back, his lips on yours, sending a wave of warmth rushing through you.
A smile breaks across his lips as the music changes—something slower—putting you right where he wants you. Your back hits his chest, breath catching in your throat.
His hands wrap around your body, his face tucked so close you can feel every warm breath, the two of you grinding slower now.
Your eyes flutter open and a wave of unease rushes over you as you lock eyes with a few people you recognize from the rink. The second you catch them staring, they look away, one of them muttering something into his red SOLO cup while the other nods in agreement.
Dean starts singing along to the music, his deep voice vibrating against your neck. You focus on that, the corners of your lips trembling as they pull into a smile you wish wasn’t so weak.
You try to let yourself fall back into him, focusing on the heat of his body and the smell of his cologne. His hands drag you closer, but it doesn’t stop the unease this time. When you open your eyes again, the insecurity hits harder.
Wellsy… She gives you a small smile, tight around the edges just like yours.
You close your eyes again before the doubt can settle too deep, Dean’s head tucking back into your neck. His lips move slow against your skin beneath the pounding music, his grip firming on your waist instinctively.
He turns you around again, one hand sliding over your waist while the other curls loosely around your throat, pulling you back against him before kissing you so deep your thoughts scatter for a second.
His mouth moves against yours, slow and messy, warm from beer. Dean kisses like he gets distracted by it—like he forgets there are people around once he gets ahold of you.
Your fingers tighten in the front of his shirt, as a lump forms in your throat, your breathing tightening in your chest as the thoughts come rushing in.
Maybe if she called, it would be over.
What if he wishes he were kissing her instead?
What if he wishes you were someone else?
“Dean,” you whisper softly, your voice breaking against his lips.
“Angel,” he murmurs, kissing you again.
You swallow hard, collecting yourself for a moment. “Do you wanna go upstairs?”
Dean grins so boyishly it makes the hurt worse.
He grabs your hand, pulling you through the crowd so fast you barely have time to keep up with him. He drags you through the packed house, still glancing back at you with that stupid excited smile.
And when you reach the steps he hooks an arm underneath your thighs and lifts you clean off the floor, starting up the stairs with you. A startled laugh slips out of you, but he swallows it, not catching the way it waivers on his lips.
Your fingers slide into his messy blond hair as he carries you farther upstairs. You close your eyes tighter, stomach sinking as you become all too aware of the sting building behind your eyes—tears balancing dangerously along your lashes.
You’ve felt weird all day. Ever since this morning when you opened Instagram and saw Dean’s name underneath one of Allie’s posts.
One stupid comment. Congratulations!
That was it. Nothing flirty. Nothing inappropriate.
Nothing that should latch on and refuse to let go, but it does.
Allie was standing on some giant stage in New York smiling beneath bright lights while thousands of people flooded the comments underneath her post and somewhere in between all of them was Dean.
And now, those weird looks and whispered conversations downstairs suddenly feel loaded. Every glance feels like the people around you know something’s going to happen, and you don’t, and they don’t want to miss the chance to see when he finally finds his person again.
Like you’re temporary.
Just the girl standing in the middle of whatever unfinished thing still exists between Dean and the girl everybody thought he’d end up with.
Dean shoves the bedroom door open, and kicks it shut, the bass downstairs making the pictures in his room rattle against the wall, the hum of the party seeping through the bottom of the door.
You reach for the ties of your top, trying to pull yourself together as he tears the t-shirt over his head, the both of you stripping between messy kisses before he’s dragging you down onto the mattress with him.
You crawl toward him slowly, knees sinking into the comforter while Dean watches. “Fuck, baby…” He lies down on the bed, guiding you on top of him as he brushes his hair off his face, biceps flexing with it. “Been waiting for this all day.”
Those six words heal something in you for a moment. Inching you back to that place you had been before you woke up this morning.
He reaches his arm up, hooking his hand around the back of your neck, lowering you toward his lips. “I love you—”
“Allie?”
You blink down at Dean once, thinking you heard him wrong, but it sounded like he said her name. Dean’s head snaps toward the door—all the color draining out of his face.
A person from behind the door tries again. “Allie, Dean? You in there?”
Dean goes completely stiff beneath you. “No—” The word flies out of him. “No, dude, what?”
Your stomach drops so hard it makes you sick.
Dean’s already trying to recover before you can even think straight.
“You need something?” He calls quickly, voice tighter now.
“Just wanted to say ‘hi’, man. Sorry.”
You shove off him, knee catching in the comforter as you stumble toward your discarded clothes on the floor, heart shattering so hard it aches.
“Hey—hey.” Dean catches your wrist, fingers wrapping around you fast enough to stop you mid-step. “Baby.”
“Let me go,” you whimper, and he does, his hands drawing back but he follows after you anyway as you struggle back into your clothes.
“What—what’s goin’ on?” He asks breathlessly. “I’m sorry about the Allie thing, alright? I’m sorry, baby.”
The room around you swims with the tears waiting to fall from your eyes, trying not to blink because you know once they fall there’s no stopping them. But you break anyway.
“That’s just Cooper,” Dean says quickly, words starting to trip over each other now. “I haven’t seen him in forever, he just—he’s fuckin’ dumb, alright?” He laughs nervously, but there's nothing funny about it and he can feel that.
Your fingers shake so badly fumbling with the zipper of your jeans it takes three tries to get it up.
“Baby, c’mon.” Dean’s voice whispers over your shoulder, his big hand coming down to rest on your hip. “Just talk to me.”
You lift the sleeve of your top, brushing away your emotion. You can feel him staring at you now, looking over your shoulder, but he can't see enough—not yet.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, turning you toward him, hands gripping your arms. “Baby—hey, hey.” His blue eyes search your face desperately. “No, no, no. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
You try to look away from him, but Dean pulls you into his chest before you can, his arms wrapping around you tight. One hand cradles the back of your head, the other pressed against your back, trembling with adrenaline.
“Baby,” he says again, softer now. You can feel his heartbeat pounding underneath your cheek, suddenly sober, that loose buzz he’d been feeling downstairs long gone.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, big hands cupping your face while his thumbs swipe beneath your eyes trying to catch the tears.
“Baby… I—That. That can’t just be because of that, right?” He asks, voice stumbling over itself now. “I mean—yeah, okay, wait. That—that was insensitive as fuck…” His brows pull together harder the longer he looks at you. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Your lip trembles, and Dean’s entire expression shifts, his thumb brushing along it too like he's trying to stop that from happening. The panic on his face gets worse, blue eyes moving frantically over your face, trying to figure out how this got so bad.
“Talk to me,” he whispers but you bite your lips instead to keep from crying, complete whiplash from the girl laughing and wrapped around him downstairs twenty minutes ago—but you were putting on an act for the both of you.
Allie’s name breathing into the room at the same time that Dean was telling he loves you was just it… the breaking point. The moment you couldn't keep up with the lie that you were okay, because you're not.
His hands tremble as he holds your cheeks, leaning in to kiss you, gentler than he ever has, like he thinks he can soothe this out of you if he’s soft enough.
He draws back a little, the air between you tight and heavy, as you whisper.
“You’re not over her, are you?”
“What?” He asks, not angry or defensive, just hurt. “Allie? I am. I promise you, I am.”
“I don’t think you are,” you whisper. “Or…” Your voice cracks a little and you look away from him, embarrassed the second more tears start slipping loose. “Maybe you are, I don’t know.” You laugh, but it sounds miserable. “I just—”
“Talk to me,” he says quickly, following your face when you turn away, trying to catch your eyes again. One of his hands slides down your arm, rubbing nervously while he watches you unravel. “Please.”
You stare down at the floor for a second before finally whispering, “I saw the comment… On her post,” you continue quietly. “It sounds so stupid out loud. Oh my god,” you sigh heavily, burying your face in your hand.
“It doesn’t—”
“And, people…” You swallow hard, trying to get the words out confidently but they sound so small. “I know they were talking about us downstairs.” Your throat tightens harder.
His brows pinch in confusion, stepping a little closer. “What people?”
You shrug defeatedly, shaking your head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s so stupid,” you whisper.
“It’s not,” he stops you from brushing it off as his hand slides down your arm, fingers threading through yours. “Seriously, who?”
“People expect you to be with her.” Your eyes finally lift back to his. “They do, Dean.” You wipe a few tears away, watching your hand tremble out of the corner of your eye. “I mean, she’s Allie. She’s beautiful and everybody loves her—”
Dean’s face softens. “Hey,” he says quietly.
“I just feel like—” Your throat tightens before you swallow. “I don’t know. Like maybe I’m just the girl in the middle of all that.”
He looks down at you, his lips pulled tight, the pink flush in his cheeks deepening, blue eyes shimmering now with tears of his own.
“Allie is a good person,” he says honestly. “She is.” He squeezes your hand in his. “She’s funny and she’s kind… I cared about her for a long time.”
Your stomach sinks hearing those words leave his lips. His forehead presses against yours, breathing deeply with you.
“But she’s not you.” His voice comes out low and certain this time. “She’s not the girl I’ve been thinking about nonstop for months. She’s not the first thing I think about when I wake up or the last person I talk to when I go to bed at night.”
He steps a little closer, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. Dean blinks and a tear rolls down his cheek. You reach up, cupping your hand against his face, brushing it away and he leans into it, looking down at you.
He grabs your hand, kissing your palm, then your wrist, guiding you to wrap your arms around his neck.
“She’s not the girl I dragged upstairs tonight because I couldn’t stop looking at her downstairs,” he continues, his voice gentle and broken. “And she’s definitely not the girl making me panic because she thinks I want somebody else.”
“Okay,” you whisper, nodding your head.
“It ended. We both knew it was ending before it actually did. I moved on,” he says softly. “And then I met you. Not the other way around. I swear.”
You nod up at him, feeling guilty for even bringing it up in the first place, maybe because he’s making you feel the opposite of what any guilty person would make you feel. There’s no defensiveness. No twisting it back on you. Just honesty.
“I just…” Your voice breaks, fingers twisting weakly in the front of his shirt again. “I don’t want to be the placeholder. The girl that’s here until you get your girl back.”
“Holy shit,” the words trip out fast. “How can you think that?” You can hear the hurt in his voice now as he buries himself in your neck. His breath comes out shaky as a few warm tears fall on your shoulder, seeping through your shirt. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles against your skin. “You’re mine.”
Your fingers slide in his hair, holding him closer and he exhales.
“I hate seeing you cry,” he whispers.
“I hate seeing you cry too. I’m sorry,” you answer, your voice just above a whisper.
“Please believe me, alright?” Dean asks as he pulls back and matches your gaze.
“I believe you. I do.”
“I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve caught this sooner.”
“You’re okay,” you whisper.
He inhales sharply through his nose, an anxious laugh slipping through his lips with your own. You rub the little rivers of wet off the apples of his cheeks, embarrassment crawling warm up your neck now after seeing his reaction.
“If it helps,” he says softly, “everybody downstairs already knows I’m crazy about you. I’m serious.”
“I’m crazy about you too.”
“I am obsessed with you.”
“Stop,” you laugh weakly, rolling your eyes while he bends suddenly, lifting you again.
“I mean it,” he mumbles as he nuzzles into your neck before dragging back. “You gotta promise me something, though.”
You look back at him and nod.
“You gotta promise me you’re not gonna sit in your head thinking shit like that by yourself. Because I swear to god, baby, I’m gonna prove to you that I got you. You have nothing to worry about.”
“I promise—”
“I can’t lose you,” he pushes out before you can even finish.
“You won’t,” you whisper softly.
“Me and you,” he says quietly.
“Me and you.”
dividers @uzmacchiato
🌻🐝taglist on my pinned post 🏒 @rafesthroatbaby @liss2709-blog @sushi-girl04 @judesgfirl @cdiaz18 @fiercetigerpoison @obsessedwrafe @vanillaiceyhot @maialopez23 @rexit-mo @georgiastars13 @princessaaa13 @dragonvalyria @livlovesfastcars @thebitchylibra @corvusmorte @st8rkey @imperfectlyperfect78 @winchestersbgirl @glitterandviolence13 @miramindlesslywriting @slut-4-rafey @emelia07
Warnings: Mentions of cheating, swearing, slut shaming.
Word Count : 5.5k
Summary: After a scandal leaves Y/N isolated and broken, she discovers that it was her rival who has been quietly fighting for her all along.
A/N: Pictures from Pinterest, credits to owners!
Masterlist
The history professor tapped his pen against the podium, after scattering the graded midterms across the front desks, beaming. “The whole class performed better than I expected. I'm proud of you.”
Y/N was nervously tapping her fingers against her desk, waiting for the graded paper in anticipation. When the blue-inked paper landed on the desk in front of her, the first thing she saw was the grade circled in red: 94. She let out a breath she was holding in. She was happy with her score. It was an A, and to Y/N, it was a respectable grade. And she was proud of it until a smug voice drifted from the seat just behind her.
"Ninety-four? Tough break, sweetheart. I’m sure there’s a tutor center somewhere that handles remedial reading."
She didn’t even have to look over to know exactly who was talking. She turned, her eyes narrowing as she met Garrett Graham’s gaze. He was leaning back in his chair, holding his own exam paper towards her to show her his score. The 98 stared back at her and she rolled her eyes, annoyed.
"It’s not remedial reading, Graham. Unlike you, I don't need to dedicate my entire existence to a GPA just to feel superior." she snapped.
The class was over and students were packing their bags for the next lecture.
That infuriating, lopsided smirk that he always saved for her, had smoke coming out of her head from how angry she was. He tucked his exam into his bag. "Well, some of us prefer winning to whatever it is you do. I saw you with your boyfriend at the union yesterday. Does he help you with your history notes, or does he just carry your books so your delicate arms don’t get tired?"
Her jaw tightened. He knew exactly which buttons to push, and he’s been doing this since freshman year. "Leave Jackson out of this, Graham. Just because you have a stick up your ass doesn't mean you have to take it out on my relationship."
"Relationship? Is that what we’re calling it?" He snorted, standing up. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes glinting with a mocking amusement. "I’m just saying, it must be exhausting dating a guy who probably thinks the Emancipation Proclamation is a brand of protein shake. I’m surprised you have survived three years with him."
"He’s a good person who actually has a personality, unlike your brand of 'I-play-hockey-therefore-I-am-god.' Seriously, do you ever get bored of being a cliché?" she countered. It seemed like that spike of adrenaline only ever happened when she was around him.
Garrett chuckled.
"I’m never bored, sweetheart. But think about it, you’re just lucky I’m generous enough to keep you on your toes. Without me, who would you have to be better than?"
"I don't need to be better than you, I am competing with myself. And I’m doing just fine."
"Keep telling yourself that," he said, pushing off the desk and straightening his jacket, though he didn't walk away immediately. His gaze drifted over her face as if he were trying to memorise the way her eyes sparked when she was angry. "Say hi to your golden boy for me. Tell him if he ever wants to learn how to handle a real sport he knows where to find me."
He turned and sauntered toward the exit, leaving Y/N seething. She watched him go, her fingers clutching the edge of her 94-grade exam until her knuckles turned white.
It was always like this. It had always been this constant, exhausting dance of insults and intellectual jabs. It seemed like they were perpetually locked in a rivalry. She shoved her books into her bag, her mind already racing with the next comeback she should have thrown at him. He was arrogant, he was insufferable, and he was absolutely the most irritating person on this campus. But as she walked out into the crisp afternoon air, she couldn't ignore the way her skin felt like it was humming like a residual electricity left behind by his proximity. She hated Garrett Graham. She hated the way he dismissed Jackson, and the way he hovered, or the way he made her feel like she had to be perfect just to earn his attention. But as she rounded the corner and saw the hockey rink in the distance, she couldn't help but look for his black sedan in the parking lot.
It was a sick, twisted game they played, a cycle of antagonism that kept them both hyper-aware of each other’s every move. If she got an A, he had to get an A-plus. If she was seen at a study group, he had to crash it. If she laughed at a joke in class. There was this constant bickering between them, this back and forth they both seemed to enjoy(?) for some weird reason. And don't even get her started on how much he seemed to hate her boyfriend. And he never shied away from telling her that either. He knew what the touchy subjects were and how he could push her buttons so that he could get her to snap back.
The debates in the class were on a whole another level. The professors knew that it would be a great debate if they were placed in the opposing teams because they were both intelligent and competitive. It had even bordered on a screaming match once.
She tucked the exam into her bag, walking toward the football field where she knew Jackson would be practicing. She hoped the sight of the football team would settle her nerves.
"He’s just a jerk," she whispered to herself, stepping onto the grass.
But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't that simple. Garrett Graham wasn't just a jerk. He was more like an obsession. And the worst part was that she had a sneaking suspicion that for him, the feeling was mutual.
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A month later, her world was flipped upside down, taking her with it. It all went down with a sickening chime on her phone that had divided her life into a before and after. Jackson had decided that if he couldn't have her, he would destroy her, after he was caught by her in bed with another girl. He had apologised to her over and over again but Y/N could not take him back. Not after three whole years of being each other's, not after the betrayal. Jackson was angry that she didn't take him back and hurled some curses at her before walking away. In Y/N’s mind, this was the worst thing that could happen to her, and she spent her weekend in her dorm with a tub of ice cream, wallowing in sadness. Until she got a message from Rori, her friend, on Sunday, that a private video of Y/N was leaked. Apparently someone had shared it in a group chat under a fake name. Y/N didn't even have to think who would have leaked it, because the only other person who had it was none other than her now-ex, Jackson. The video was private, a relic of a time she had been foolish enough to trust him. But now? Her privacy had been violated and she was treated like commodity. The video was shared in group chats and whispered about in lecture halls. It was plastered across the screens of strangers who didn't know anything about her.
Y/N could not handle the humiliation, she felt like she had nobody who could console her. She had stayed holed up in her dorm, the curtains drawn tight against a world that had suddenly turned predatory towards her. Every time her phone lit up with a notification, she flinched as though it struck her like lightning. She didn't dare check social media. She knew what was there, and she couldn't handle the slurs and the slut-shaming yet. Was this what she was to them? Was she nothing more than a scandal? A headline? Was that all she was worth?
The silence of her room was deafening. She spent her days staring at the ceiling, wondering how quickly "being the smart girl" turned into "being the girl in the video." Her friends, or at least the ones who claimed to be, had been hesitant and awkward. They didn't know how to look at her anymore, and truth be told, she didn't know how to look at herself. It felt like she had lost the thread of her own life. The exams, the history debates, the sharp, witty comebacks she used to fire at Garrett… they all felt like memories from a different lifetime. She wasn't an academic weapon anymore. She was just the girl who had been burned alive, and it felt like everyone was still watching the embers glow.
On Monday, after a whole week of being holed up in her room, she finally forced herself out. But it turned out there were people who were out to get her. She was booed and called names until she had to run to a washroom where she sobbed and sobbed, earning a few sympathetic looks from some of the girls. After spending more than half an hour in the washroom, waiting until she was certain no one was outside, she slipped out with her head bowed and the hood of her oversized sweatshirt pulled low. She walked straight to the library, finding a dark corner to hide. But as she sat there, staring at a page of text she couldn't comprehend, she eventually sensed a familiar presence approaching. She didn't need to look up to know it was Garrett. The scent of his signature cologne was unmistakable, cutting through the dusty smell of old books. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Of course. It had been a week, and he was the only one who hadn't taken a dig at her yet. The king of the jabs, the master of the insult. He was probably there to deliver the final blow. She braced herself, the tears she’d been holding back for seven days threatening to finally spill. She was ready for him to tear her apart. She kept her eyes fixed on the textbook in front of her, waiting for him to be done with whatever cruelty he was gonna throw at her. She was tired of everything. And when he stayed silent, she let out a shaky laugh, "Well?" she asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper. He didn't reply. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat feeling like a stone. "Aren't you going to say anything? Isn't this the part where you tell me how pathetic I look? How I’ve finally managed to live down to your expectations?"
She finally looked up at him, bracing for the smirk. But it wasn't there. Garrett was standing over her, one hand hooked loosely around the strap of his backpack. His posture was rigid. And for the first time in the three years she’d been engaged in this war of attrition with him, he didn't look amused or like he was sizing up a challenge. But, he looked furious, like he wanted to burn the building down around them.
"Everyone else already had their turn," she continued, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. She gestured vaguely to the rest of the library, where she knew people were watching and waiting for her to break. "Might as well let you have yours. The captain of the hockey team wouldn't want to miss the main event, would he?"
His jaw tightened, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. "What?"
She let out a bitter, wet laugh. "Oh, come on, Graham. Drop the act. You don't have to pretend you're a decent person today. Just get it over with so I can go back to hiding."
"I'm not pretending anything," he bit out.
"Really?" she challenged, her eyes burning with unshed, angry tears. "Because you've spent three years finding new, creative ways to make my life difficult. Why stop now when I’m already at rock bottom? Isn't that the dream?"
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, the curse sharp enough to make her flinch.
His expression shifted instantly. He didn't soften, but it looked like his anger was replaced by something that resembled guilt.
Y/N looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I know what everyone is saying. I know what they think of me. I’m the punchline."
"Stop."
She blinked, startled by the sheer force behind that command. "What?"
"I said stop. I don't want to hear it." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight.
He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. The wood scraped against the floor.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Sitting."
"No, I mean, why are you here? Did someone tell you I finally crawled out of my hole? Did you come to see the trainwreck for yourself?"
He looked at her. His eyes were dark and unreadable. It was true, though.He’d heard she was back on campus. Somebody had mentioned seeing her near the quad, and he had spent the last hour pacing, scouring the library until his chest felt like it was going to collapse.
"Go ahead," she challenged, her voice breaking. "Call me a slut. Isn't that what you're gonna say?"
His face went completely blank and it was terrifying. Y/N looked down at her desk, her eyes stinging. "That's what everyone else is doing."
He moved leaned forward, invading her personal space. His eyes were scanning her face, the way she was shaking like a leaf.
"Who called you that?" he asked.
"What?"
"Who? Give me names."
"Why would you care?"
"Because I asked," he growled.
"I don't know," she whispered, exhausted. "It doesn't matter."
He nodded, a single, sharp motion. But he kept his gaze locked on hers. "Have you eaten today?"
She was bewildered. Who is this Garrett?
"What?"
"Food. When was the last time you had a decent meal?"
"You came all the way here to play nutritionist?" she asked, a hysterical note entering her voice.
"You look like shit."
“Gee, thanks.” She muttered. It wasn't funny, but the absolute lack of pretense in his voice made it impossible to do anything else.
Garrett looked marginally relieved and his shoulders dropped a fraction at her reply.
He stood up, his gaze heavy. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"Cafeteria."
"No," she said, her tone final. "Absolutely not."
Garrett sighed, a sound of pure frustration. "Y/N."
He had never called her by her first name before, not once. It was always her surname, or sweetheart or genius.
"You need to eat," he said. "I'm not asking."
"Why?Why are you doing this?”
she asked, the question slipping out before she could catch it. Garrett looked away for a split second, his jaw working. When he looked back, he looked utterly miserable, but at the same time, entirely determined.
"We can talk about that later," he said. It wasn't a confession, but it was a promise. And as she looked at him, she felt relieved. In his presence, she somehow found solace. She stood up, her legs wobbly, and let him lead the way.
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The walk to the cafeteria with Garrett was surprisingly comfortable. It was bizarre because the boy who had spent three years turning Y/N’s life into a competitive sport was now walking beside her, carrying her backpack. He had just taken it from her shoulders without a word, and she’d been too exhausted by the last week, to even protest.
They were halfway down the corridor when a shout echoed off the lockers.
"Graham!"
Garrett groaned. A hockey teammate was jogging towards them.
"I'll be right back".
Y/N went to stop, her instinct to retreat kicking in. "No, it's fine. I'll be there in a minute," he interrupted, not breaking stride.
So she kept walking, her heart beating fast against her ribs. In the cafeteria were people laughing, eating, living lives that hadn't been shredded into pieces.
She kept her head down and joined the sandwich line. The girl behind the counter offered a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile. Y/N pretended she hadn't seen it. She just wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She paid for her sandwich, her hands trembling as she turned around, and that was when she heard it.
"Look who finally decided to show her face."
Her stomach dropped. It was Tyler, one of Jackson’s teammates, flanked by a group of football players who were watching her like vultures circling a carcass.
Tyler stood up, leaning against the table with a sneer. "You happy now, huh?"
She froze, her brow furrowing. "What?"
"You got him kicked off the team," he spat.
"Tyler what are y—"
"No, seriously," he laughed, a jagged, ugly sound. "You ruin his life and then come strolling in here like nothing happened? Like you’re the victim?"
Y/N’s throat tightened. She could feel tears glazing her eyes. "He ruined his own life."
Tyler’s nostrils flared, and he scoffed at her like she was a disgusting creature. "You're unbelievable. What did you expect, anyway? You send videos like that and then act shocked when people see them?"
A ripple of uncomfortable silence moved through the surrounding tables. Tyler leaned in, his voice dripping with venom. "God, you're such a—"
The rest of the sentence died in his throat as a hand snatched the front of his shirt hard. The sound of a chair clattering to the floor echoed like a gunshot. Y/N’s breath hitched. It was Garrett.
Tyler slammed back against the nearest wall and the cafeteria went silent.
Garrett’s voice was booming. "What the fuck did you just say?"
Tyler looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floorboards. "Graham—"
"What."
"I... I didn't know you were—"
"What. Did. You. Just. Say." He growled.
Y/N hadn't seen Garrett angry before. It was scary. Tyler’s bravado shattered, his face draining of color. "Sorry."
Garrett let out a humorless laugh. "Sorry?"
Tyler nodded frantically, his eyes wide. "Yeah, man. Sorry."
Garrett tightened his grip and pulled Tyler closer until they were eye-to-eye. "I told every single one of you not to say a fucking word to her."
Y/N blinked, the room spinning. He told them what?
"Didn't I?" Garrett prompted, his voice dangerously low.
"Y-yeah."
"And yet here we are."
"I'm sorry, man," Tyler squeaked.
"You do it again, and you'll wish Coach was the one dealing with you. Do you understand me?" Garrett whispered.
Tyler looked ready to pass out. "It won't happen again."
"Damn right it won't."
Garrett shoved him off, and Tyler stumbled backward, turning and practically sprinting out of the cafeteria. Nobody moved, everyone looked shocked to see the altercation. Garrett turned to the rest of the room, his eyes scanning the tables angrily. "What the fuck are you all looking at?"
The room collectively snapped back to attention. Conversations resumed, but they were hushed.
Garrett turned to Y/N, his expression shifting instantly. The rage vanished, replaced by concern.
"Come on."
He led her to a booth in the back, far from the prying eyes of the crowd. He sat across from her, his presence shielding her, but for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
"What was he talking about Jackson getting kicked off?" she finally whispered.
Garrett sighed and down at his hands, his jaw tightening. "I talked to their Coach."
Y/N felt a chill wash over her. "You got him kicked off the team?"
"I didn't get him kicked off," Garrett corrected, his voice hardening. "He leaked a private video. He—"
"Garrett—"
"He got himself kicked off, Y/N. He chose to be the kind of person who does that. That’s on him,” he said, looking up, his gaze intense.
Y/N looked away, the weight of the last week, the shame and humiliation crushing down on her again. She felt exposed and vulnerable.
Garrett’s hand moved across the table, his fingers grazing her wrist before he pulled back, as if afraid to overstep. "Don't do that, Y/N."
She looked up, startled. "What am I doing?"
"Please don't look at yourself like that."
The words made her realise that the wound was still raw. A single tear escaped her eyes, tracing a hot line down her cheek. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice cracking. "We’ve been rivals for years. You’ve spent three years trying to get under my skin."
Garrett leaned back, looking uncomfortable. It was as if he were wrestling with his own internal monologue. "I never hated you."
"You sure had a funny way of showing that," she retorted, a ghost of a smile touched her lips despite the tears.
"Yeah," he admitted, his voice dropping into a rough, vulnerable register. "I'm sorry…I just... I didn't know how to talk to you. I didn't know how to bridge the gap."
He leaned forward, his focus absolute. "And about what that asshole did… What happened wasn't your fault. You don't deserve any of this."
It was the first time anyone had said those words to her. It was the first time someone had stripped away the judgment and just offered the truth. She nodded, unable to say anything because she was sure she would just break down if she opened her mouth to speak. And for the first time after that horrifying incident, Y/N felt like she had someone. Which was weird because it was none other than someone she was sure hated her guts.
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The next day was better. Nobody shouted things at her from across the hallways, though people stared at her occasionally. It was strange. And Y/N was happy that Hannah was there.
By lunchtime, Y/N found herself sitting across from Hannah in the cafeteria, who was finally back after spending the entire week in another town for a major singing competition. Hannah always had a soft spot for Y/N. She was Garrett’s best friend and Justin’s girlfriend. She looked at Y/N with a mix of fierce protectiveness and sorrow as she’d heard bits and pieces of the nightmare as soon as she’d stepped back onto campus.
For a while, the conversation stayed safe as they talked about classes and other stuff and for the first time in days, Y/N felt like she was actually breathing again. That was when Hannah made the mistake of getting too comfortable.
"Honestly, if Garrett hadn't stepped in so fast, it would've been so much worse.”
she said, tapping her fingernails against her water bottle. Y/N froze, the sandwich hovering halfway to her mouth. "What?"
Hannah’s eyes widened, the realization hitting her like a freight train. She bit her lip, looking everywhere but at Y/N.
"Oh, shit," Hannah breathed.
A sinking, heavy feeling settled deep in Y/N’s stomach. "What do you mean, if Garrett hadn't stepped in?"
"Nothing," Hannah deflected, reaching for her bag. "I just meant... Uhhh…you know. It’s a big campus."
Y/N set the sandwich down. Her voice was dangerously steady. "Hannah. Look at me."
Hannah looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.
"I thought he told you, Y/N."
"Told me what?"
Hannah sighed, a long, defeated sound. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper that barely carried across the table. "After that video leaked... Garrett lost his mind."
Y/N was confused. "What?"
"I'm serious. I was out of town, but I heard the stories the second I got back. He went on a tear. He was going around to the fraternity presidents, the hockey captains, the football leads and everyone who holds any sway on this campus."
Y/N stared at her, her heart beating out of her body, "What for?"
Hannah looked at her, her expression unreadable. "To shut everyone up. He told them if he caught a single person sharing that video or even mentioning your name in a derogatory way, they’d be answering to him personally. And he wasn't exactly asking nicely."
"He did all that? Why?"
Hannah laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Are you kidding? Because he’s been obsessed with you since like forever, Y/N."
Y/N’s breath hitched. "What?"
Hannah sat back, her eyes wide as she realised what she’d just let slip. "Oh my God."
"What?" Y/N pressed, leaning over the table.
"You don't know."
"Know what, Hannah?"
Hannah slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening. She shook her head violently. "Nope. Absolutely not."
"Hannah, don't you dare do this to me. Tell me."
"I am not touching that with a ten-foot pole," Hannah said, grabbing her tray and standing up with a panicked energy. "Garrett would actually end my life if he knew I spilled that."
"Spilled what? Hannah!"
Hannah was already walking away, pausing only to look back with a smirk that was entirely too pleased with herself. "Talk to Garrett, Y/N. Talk. To. Garrett."
And just like that, she was gone, leaving Y/N sitting alone in the middle of the crowded cafeteria, her head spinning with a question she was terrified to ask.
Y/N stared at the spot where Hannah had disappeared long after she was gone.
The cafeteria buzzed around her, but it all sounded muted, like she was submerged in deep water because she could only think about what Hannah said a few minutes ago.
“Because he’s been obsessed with you since like forever, Y/N.”
No. That wasn't possible, there's absolutely no way. Garrett Graham didn't have the capacity for obsession. If anything, he was a creature of conflict, a walking, talking thorn in her side who had spent three years turning every interaction they had into a blood sport. He was infuriating and arrogant. And yet, as she sat there, the memories began to play in her head like a reel of film. Garrett showing up at her sophomore study group, despite not being invited, just to argue about her notes, or him appearing out of thin air every time she mentioned a competition or a presentation, his eyes glinting with intensity. Garrett hating on Jackson all the time like he had done something personally to him. Garrett making jabs on Jackson any moment he gets. Maybe Hannah wasn't completely insane? Which meant Garrett might be? She needed answers, and there was only one person on this entire campus who could give them to her.
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The history section of the library was a ghost town. Most students favored the lower floors because they were the ones with better lighting and easier access to the vending machines. But it appeared that Garrett preferred the silence of the stacks. She found him in his usual corner. He was reading through a heavy textbook that lay open in front of him; and there was a half-finished coffee cooling beside his laptop.
For a moment, she just stood in the shadows of the shelves, watching him. She was trying to see him differently, just to see if she could find the man Hannah had described. The man who had spent a week playing bodyguard when she wasn't even looking; the man who had apparently threatened half the fraternity system on her behalf.
Garrett must have felt the weight of her gaze because he looked up after a few seconds. The second his eyes locked with hers, he went still.
"Hey," he said.
Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the bookshelf. "We need to talk."
His expression shifted instantly. "What did I do now?"
The familiar response almost made her smile. "You tell me."
Garrett slowly closed his textbook, his fingers lingering on the cover. "I don't like that tone."
"Well, too bad."
His eyes narrowed, flicking over her face. "That bad, huh?"
Y/N pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.
"Hannah told me something," she said, cutting straight to the marrow.
The color visibly drained from Garrett’s face. He let out a sharp breath. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
Despite the tension, Y/N let out an incredulous laugh. "That's your response?"
"Because Hannah has the survival instincts of a goldfish," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair.
"So it's true?"
Garrett groaned and leaned back, his chair creaking. "What did she tell you?"
He dragged a hand down his face, and Y/N suddenly realised that Garrett was nervous. His leg was bouncing under the table.
"You went around threatening people," she pushed.
"I wasn't threatening people," he countered defensively.
"You literally intimidated Tyler yesterday."
"That was different because he deserved it."
She stared at him, daring him to continue. Garrett stared back, raising a brow. Finally, he sagged, his shoulders losing their rigid tension. "Fine."
"So you did it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Garrett looked away instantly, his gaze fixing on a point on the wall behind her.
"Hannah also said something else," she whispered.
His entire body went rigid. "Y/N." The warning in his voice was thick, but it only fueled her resolve.
"What did she mean?"
Garrett rubbed the back of his neck, clearly wishing he could be anywhere else on the planet. "She talks too much."
"What did she mean, Garrett?"
Garrett suddenly became fascinated by the steam rising from his coffee.
"Garrett."
"Y/N, don't ask questions you already know the answer to."
"Hannah said you’ve been obsessed with me."
Garrett closed his eyes slowly.
"Oh my God," the words slipped out before she could catch them.
He opened his eyes, and despite the gravity of the moment, he looked genuinely, deeply offended. "Well, obsessed is a strong word."
Y/N let out a disbelieving, jagged laugh. "You threatened half the campus, Garrett!"
"Okay, fine," he conceded, his voice dropping.
A genuine laugh escaped her. Garrett’s expression softened.
Garrett looked down at the table, traced the lines on the wood with his finger and then looked back up, his eyes twinkling .
"I like you," he said.
The words settled between them and she could sense the sincerity of his words.
"You like me," she repeated, trying to wrap her mind around the reality of it.
"Yeah."
"For how long?"
His wince was immediate, a physical reaction to the question. Y/N’s eyes widened and the realisation hit her like a cold bucket of water being sloshed down her head.
"No."
"Yeah."
"Garrett—"
"I know," he interrupted, his voice thick.
She sat in stunned disbelief. Three years. Three whole years of wasted time, and of battles fought in the wrong war. Every debate, every insult, every ridiculous, manufactured competition, everything they had between them... it hadn't been about winning. It had been about proximity. He just wanted to be close to her this whole time?
"Oh my God," she breathed again.
"That seems to be your favorite phrase today," he quipped, though the bite was missing.
"I’m just... I’m trying to catch up."
Garrett watched her, his expression a strange mixture of hope and fear.
After a few moments, she asked him
"So, what happens now?"
Garrett leaned back, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. "I don't know, I mean... nothing has to happen. I didn't tell you because I expected something. Honestly?" He offered a small, crooked smile. "Right now, I just want my rival back."
A strange happy feeling bloomed in her chest.
"You haven't argued with me properly in weeks," he added, gesturing toward her textbook.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. But his smile faded suddenly, his voice dropping an octave as he moved into the territory that actually mattered. "What happened to you was awful, Y/N. And I know you're hurting."
He tapped his fingers nervously against the table.
"But if you'll let me, I'd like to help. Maybe remind you to get food occasionally. Or stop you from hiding. Help you remember who you were before all this," he said, his voice careful.
Y/N felt her throat tighten.
"And when you're okay again, if you'll have me, I'd like a chance. But if you don't..." He shrugged, though his gaze remained fixed on hers. "We'll stay friends? Or maybe academic rivals? I'm sure you'll keep trying to beat me academically."
"I do beat you academically," she shot back, a spark of her old fire returning.
"Delusional."
"And you'll continue being obnoxious."
"There she is, the Y/N I missed."
For the first time in weeks, Y/N laughed.
“I think I'd like that.”
Thank you so much for reading, lovelies. Feedback is very much appreciated. If you have any requests, feel free to send them in! And if you want me to tag you, please lmk.
GARRET IS DOWN SO BAD ugh i love when men fall first AND hardest!!!! this was so good - so sad too 🥺🥺❤️🩹❤️🩹 a hurt comfort fic that i will be returning to!
Warnings: Mentions of cheating, swearing, slut shaming.
Word Count : 5.5k
Summary: After a scandal leaves Y/N isolated and broken, she discovers that it was her rival who has been quietly fighting for her all along.
A/N: Pictures from Pinterest, credits to owners!
Masterlist
The history professor tapped his pen against the podium, after scattering the graded midterms across the front desks, beaming. “The whole class performed better than I expected. I'm proud of you.”
Y/N was nervously tapping her fingers against her desk, waiting for the graded paper in anticipation. When the blue-inked paper landed on the desk in front of her, the first thing she saw was the grade circled in red: 94. She let out a breath she was holding in. She was happy with her score. It was an A, and to Y/N, it was a respectable grade. And she was proud of it until a smug voice drifted from the seat just behind her.
"Ninety-four? Tough break, sweetheart. I’m sure there’s a tutor center somewhere that handles remedial reading."
She didn’t even have to look over to know exactly who was talking. She turned, her eyes narrowing as she met Garrett Graham’s gaze. He was leaning back in his chair, holding his own exam paper towards her to show her his score. The 98 stared back at her and she rolled her eyes, annoyed.
"It’s not remedial reading, Graham. Unlike you, I don't need to dedicate my entire existence to a GPA just to feel superior." she snapped.
The class was over and students were packing their bags for the next lecture.
That infuriating, lopsided smirk that he always saved for her, had smoke coming out of her head from how angry she was. He tucked his exam into his bag. "Well, some of us prefer winning to whatever it is you do. I saw you with your boyfriend at the union yesterday. Does he help you with your history notes, or does he just carry your books so your delicate arms don’t get tired?"
Her jaw tightened. He knew exactly which buttons to push, and he’s been doing this since freshman year. "Leave Jackson out of this, Graham. Just because you have a stick up your ass doesn't mean you have to take it out on my relationship."
"Relationship? Is that what we’re calling it?" He snorted, standing up. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes glinting with a mocking amusement. "I’m just saying, it must be exhausting dating a guy who probably thinks the Emancipation Proclamation is a brand of protein shake. I’m surprised you have survived three years with him."
"He’s a good person who actually has a personality, unlike your brand of 'I-play-hockey-therefore-I-am-god.' Seriously, do you ever get bored of being a cliché?" she countered. It seemed like that spike of adrenaline only ever happened when she was around him.
Garrett chuckled.
"I’m never bored, sweetheart. But think about it, you’re just lucky I’m generous enough to keep you on your toes. Without me, who would you have to be better than?"
"I don't need to be better than you, I am competing with myself. And I’m doing just fine."
"Keep telling yourself that," he said, pushing off the desk and straightening his jacket, though he didn't walk away immediately. His gaze drifted over her face as if he were trying to memorise the way her eyes sparked when she was angry. "Say hi to your golden boy for me. Tell him if he ever wants to learn how to handle a real sport he knows where to find me."
He turned and sauntered toward the exit, leaving Y/N seething. She watched him go, her fingers clutching the edge of her 94-grade exam until her knuckles turned white.
It was always like this. It had always been this constant, exhausting dance of insults and intellectual jabs. It seemed like they were perpetually locked in a rivalry. She shoved her books into her bag, her mind already racing with the next comeback she should have thrown at him. He was arrogant, he was insufferable, and he was absolutely the most irritating person on this campus. But as she walked out into the crisp afternoon air, she couldn't ignore the way her skin felt like it was humming like a residual electricity left behind by his proximity. She hated Garrett Graham. She hated the way he dismissed Jackson, and the way he hovered, or the way he made her feel like she had to be perfect just to earn his attention. But as she rounded the corner and saw the hockey rink in the distance, she couldn't help but look for his black sedan in the parking lot.
It was a sick, twisted game they played, a cycle of antagonism that kept them both hyper-aware of each other’s every move. If she got an A, he had to get an A-plus. If she was seen at a study group, he had to crash it. If she laughed at a joke in class. There was this constant bickering between them, this back and forth they both seemed to enjoy(?) for some weird reason. And don't even get her started on how much he seemed to hate her boyfriend. And he never shied away from telling her that either. He knew what the touchy subjects were and how he could push her buttons so that he could get her to snap back.
The debates in the class were on a whole another level. The professors knew that it would be a great debate if they were placed in the opposing teams because they were both intelligent and competitive. It had even bordered on a screaming match once.
She tucked the exam into her bag, walking toward the football field where she knew Jackson would be practicing. She hoped the sight of the football team would settle her nerves.
"He’s just a jerk," she whispered to herself, stepping onto the grass.
But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't that simple. Garrett Graham wasn't just a jerk. He was more like an obsession. And the worst part was that she had a sneaking suspicion that for him, the feeling was mutual.
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A month later, her world was flipped upside down, taking her with it. It all went down with a sickening chime on her phone that had divided her life into a before and after. Jackson had decided that if he couldn't have her, he would destroy her, after he was caught by her in bed with another girl. He had apologised to her over and over again but Y/N could not take him back. Not after three whole years of being each other's, not after the betrayal. Jackson was angry that she didn't take him back and hurled some curses at her before walking away. In Y/N’s mind, this was the worst thing that could happen to her, and she spent her weekend in her dorm with a tub of ice cream, wallowing in sadness. Until she got a message from Rori, her friend, on Sunday, that a private video of Y/N was leaked. Apparently someone had shared it in a group chat under a fake name. Y/N didn't even have to think who would have leaked it, because the only other person who had it was none other than her now-ex, Jackson. The video was private, a relic of a time she had been foolish enough to trust him. But now? Her privacy had been violated and she was treated like commodity. The video was shared in group chats and whispered about in lecture halls. It was plastered across the screens of strangers who didn't know anything about her.
Y/N could not handle the humiliation, she felt like she had nobody who could console her. She had stayed holed up in her dorm, the curtains drawn tight against a world that had suddenly turned predatory towards her. Every time her phone lit up with a notification, she flinched as though it struck her like lightning. She didn't dare check social media. She knew what was there, and she couldn't handle the slurs and the slut-shaming yet. Was this what she was to them? Was she nothing more than a scandal? A headline? Was that all she was worth?
The silence of her room was deafening. She spent her days staring at the ceiling, wondering how quickly "being the smart girl" turned into "being the girl in the video." Her friends, or at least the ones who claimed to be, had been hesitant and awkward. They didn't know how to look at her anymore, and truth be told, she didn't know how to look at herself. It felt like she had lost the thread of her own life. The exams, the history debates, the sharp, witty comebacks she used to fire at Garrett… they all felt like memories from a different lifetime. She wasn't an academic weapon anymore. She was just the girl who had been burned alive, and it felt like everyone was still watching the embers glow.
On Monday, after a whole week of being holed up in her room, she finally forced herself out. But it turned out there were people who were out to get her. She was booed and called names until she had to run to a washroom where she sobbed and sobbed, earning a few sympathetic looks from some of the girls. After spending more than half an hour in the washroom, waiting until she was certain no one was outside, she slipped out with her head bowed and the hood of her oversized sweatshirt pulled low. She walked straight to the library, finding a dark corner to hide. But as she sat there, staring at a page of text she couldn't comprehend, she eventually sensed a familiar presence approaching. She didn't need to look up to know it was Garrett. The scent of his signature cologne was unmistakable, cutting through the dusty smell of old books. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Of course. It had been a week, and he was the only one who hadn't taken a dig at her yet. The king of the jabs, the master of the insult. He was probably there to deliver the final blow. She braced herself, the tears she’d been holding back for seven days threatening to finally spill. She was ready for him to tear her apart. She kept her eyes fixed on the textbook in front of her, waiting for him to be done with whatever cruelty he was gonna throw at her. She was tired of everything. And when he stayed silent, she let out a shaky laugh, "Well?" she asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper. He didn't reply. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat feeling like a stone. "Aren't you going to say anything? Isn't this the part where you tell me how pathetic I look? How I’ve finally managed to live down to your expectations?"
She finally looked up at him, bracing for the smirk. But it wasn't there. Garrett was standing over her, one hand hooked loosely around the strap of his backpack. His posture was rigid. And for the first time in the three years she’d been engaged in this war of attrition with him, he didn't look amused or like he was sizing up a challenge. But, he looked furious, like he wanted to burn the building down around them.
"Everyone else already had their turn," she continued, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. She gestured vaguely to the rest of the library, where she knew people were watching and waiting for her to break. "Might as well let you have yours. The captain of the hockey team wouldn't want to miss the main event, would he?"
His jaw tightened, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. "What?"
She let out a bitter, wet laugh. "Oh, come on, Graham. Drop the act. You don't have to pretend you're a decent person today. Just get it over with so I can go back to hiding."
"I'm not pretending anything," he bit out.
"Really?" she challenged, her eyes burning with unshed, angry tears. "Because you've spent three years finding new, creative ways to make my life difficult. Why stop now when I’m already at rock bottom? Isn't that the dream?"
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, the curse sharp enough to make her flinch.
His expression shifted instantly. He didn't soften, but it looked like his anger was replaced by something that resembled guilt.
Y/N looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I know what everyone is saying. I know what they think of me. I’m the punchline."
"Stop."
She blinked, startled by the sheer force behind that command. "What?"
"I said stop. I don't want to hear it." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight.
He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. The wood scraped against the floor.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Sitting."
"No, I mean, why are you here? Did someone tell you I finally crawled out of my hole? Did you come to see the trainwreck for yourself?"
He looked at her. His eyes were dark and unreadable. It was true, though.He’d heard she was back on campus. Somebody had mentioned seeing her near the quad, and he had spent the last hour pacing, scouring the library until his chest felt like it was going to collapse.
"Go ahead," she challenged, her voice breaking. "Call me a slut. Isn't that what you're gonna say?"
His face went completely blank and it was terrifying. Y/N looked down at her desk, her eyes stinging. "That's what everyone else is doing."
He moved leaned forward, invading her personal space. His eyes were scanning her face, the way she was shaking like a leaf.
"Who called you that?" he asked.
"What?"
"Who? Give me names."
"Why would you care?"
"Because I asked," he growled.
"I don't know," she whispered, exhausted. "It doesn't matter."
He nodded, a single, sharp motion. But he kept his gaze locked on hers. "Have you eaten today?"
She was bewildered. Who is this Garrett?
"What?"
"Food. When was the last time you had a decent meal?"
"You came all the way here to play nutritionist?" she asked, a hysterical note entering her voice.
"You look like shit."
“Gee, thanks.” She muttered. It wasn't funny, but the absolute lack of pretense in his voice made it impossible to do anything else.
Garrett looked marginally relieved and his shoulders dropped a fraction at her reply.
He stood up, his gaze heavy. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"Cafeteria."
"No," she said, her tone final. "Absolutely not."
Garrett sighed, a sound of pure frustration. "Y/N."
He had never called her by her first name before, not once. It was always her surname, or sweetheart or genius.
"You need to eat," he said. "I'm not asking."
"Why?Why are you doing this?”
she asked, the question slipping out before she could catch it. Garrett looked away for a split second, his jaw working. When he looked back, he looked utterly miserable, but at the same time, entirely determined.
"We can talk about that later," he said. It wasn't a confession, but it was a promise. And as she looked at him, she felt relieved. In his presence, she somehow found solace. She stood up, her legs wobbly, and let him lead the way.
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The walk to the cafeteria with Garrett was surprisingly comfortable. It was bizarre because the boy who had spent three years turning Y/N’s life into a competitive sport was now walking beside her, carrying her backpack. He had just taken it from her shoulders without a word, and she’d been too exhausted by the last week, to even protest.
They were halfway down the corridor when a shout echoed off the lockers.
"Graham!"
Garrett groaned. A hockey teammate was jogging towards them.
"I'll be right back".
Y/N went to stop, her instinct to retreat kicking in. "No, it's fine. I'll be there in a minute," he interrupted, not breaking stride.
So she kept walking, her heart beating fast against her ribs. In the cafeteria were people laughing, eating, living lives that hadn't been shredded into pieces.
She kept her head down and joined the sandwich line. The girl behind the counter offered a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile. Y/N pretended she hadn't seen it. She just wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She paid for her sandwich, her hands trembling as she turned around, and that was when she heard it.
"Look who finally decided to show her face."
Her stomach dropped. It was Tyler, one of Jackson’s teammates, flanked by a group of football players who were watching her like vultures circling a carcass.
Tyler stood up, leaning against the table with a sneer. "You happy now, huh?"
She froze, her brow furrowing. "What?"
"You got him kicked off the team," he spat.
"Tyler what are y—"
"No, seriously," he laughed, a jagged, ugly sound. "You ruin his life and then come strolling in here like nothing happened? Like you’re the victim?"
Y/N’s throat tightened. She could feel tears glazing her eyes. "He ruined his own life."
Tyler’s nostrils flared, and he scoffed at her like she was a disgusting creature. "You're unbelievable. What did you expect, anyway? You send videos like that and then act shocked when people see them?"
A ripple of uncomfortable silence moved through the surrounding tables. Tyler leaned in, his voice dripping with venom. "God, you're such a—"
The rest of the sentence died in his throat as a hand snatched the front of his shirt hard. The sound of a chair clattering to the floor echoed like a gunshot. Y/N’s breath hitched. It was Garrett.
Tyler slammed back against the nearest wall and the cafeteria went silent.
Garrett’s voice was booming. "What the fuck did you just say?"
Tyler looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floorboards. "Graham—"
"What."
"I... I didn't know you were—"
"What. Did. You. Just. Say." He growled.
Y/N hadn't seen Garrett angry before. It was scary. Tyler’s bravado shattered, his face draining of color. "Sorry."
Garrett let out a humorless laugh. "Sorry?"
Tyler nodded frantically, his eyes wide. "Yeah, man. Sorry."
Garrett tightened his grip and pulled Tyler closer until they were eye-to-eye. "I told every single one of you not to say a fucking word to her."
Y/N blinked, the room spinning. He told them what?
"Didn't I?" Garrett prompted, his voice dangerously low.
"Y-yeah."
"And yet here we are."
"I'm sorry, man," Tyler squeaked.
"You do it again, and you'll wish Coach was the one dealing with you. Do you understand me?" Garrett whispered.
Tyler looked ready to pass out. "It won't happen again."
"Damn right it won't."
Garrett shoved him off, and Tyler stumbled backward, turning and practically sprinting out of the cafeteria. Nobody moved, everyone looked shocked to see the altercation. Garrett turned to the rest of the room, his eyes scanning the tables angrily. "What the fuck are you all looking at?"
The room collectively snapped back to attention. Conversations resumed, but they were hushed.
Garrett turned to Y/N, his expression shifting instantly. The rage vanished, replaced by concern.
"Come on."
He led her to a booth in the back, far from the prying eyes of the crowd. He sat across from her, his presence shielding her, but for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
"What was he talking about Jackson getting kicked off?" she finally whispered.
Garrett sighed and down at his hands, his jaw tightening. "I talked to their Coach."
Y/N felt a chill wash over her. "You got him kicked off the team?"
"I didn't get him kicked off," Garrett corrected, his voice hardening. "He leaked a private video. He—"
"Garrett—"
"He got himself kicked off, Y/N. He chose to be the kind of person who does that. That’s on him,” he said, looking up, his gaze intense.
Y/N looked away, the weight of the last week, the shame and humiliation crushing down on her again. She felt exposed and vulnerable.
Garrett’s hand moved across the table, his fingers grazing her wrist before he pulled back, as if afraid to overstep. "Don't do that, Y/N."
She looked up, startled. "What am I doing?"
"Please don't look at yourself like that."
The words made her realise that the wound was still raw. A single tear escaped her eyes, tracing a hot line down her cheek. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice cracking. "We’ve been rivals for years. You’ve spent three years trying to get under my skin."
Garrett leaned back, looking uncomfortable. It was as if he were wrestling with his own internal monologue. "I never hated you."
"You sure had a funny way of showing that," she retorted, a ghost of a smile touched her lips despite the tears.
"Yeah," he admitted, his voice dropping into a rough, vulnerable register. "I'm sorry…I just... I didn't know how to talk to you. I didn't know how to bridge the gap."
He leaned forward, his focus absolute. "And about what that asshole did… What happened wasn't your fault. You don't deserve any of this."
It was the first time anyone had said those words to her. It was the first time someone had stripped away the judgment and just offered the truth. She nodded, unable to say anything because she was sure she would just break down if she opened her mouth to speak. And for the first time after that horrifying incident, Y/N felt like she had someone. Which was weird because it was none other than someone she was sure hated her guts.
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The next day was better. Nobody shouted things at her from across the hallways, though people stared at her occasionally. It was strange. And Y/N was happy that Hannah was there.
By lunchtime, Y/N found herself sitting across from Hannah in the cafeteria, who was finally back after spending the entire week in another town for a major singing competition. Hannah always had a soft spot for Y/N. She was Garrett’s best friend and Justin’s girlfriend. She looked at Y/N with a mix of fierce protectiveness and sorrow as she’d heard bits and pieces of the nightmare as soon as she’d stepped back onto campus.
For a while, the conversation stayed safe as they talked about classes and other stuff and for the first time in days, Y/N felt like she was actually breathing again. That was when Hannah made the mistake of getting too comfortable.
"Honestly, if Garrett hadn't stepped in so fast, it would've been so much worse.”
she said, tapping her fingernails against her water bottle. Y/N froze, the sandwich hovering halfway to her mouth. "What?"
Hannah’s eyes widened, the realization hitting her like a freight train. She bit her lip, looking everywhere but at Y/N.
"Oh, shit," Hannah breathed.
A sinking, heavy feeling settled deep in Y/N’s stomach. "What do you mean, if Garrett hadn't stepped in?"
"Nothing," Hannah deflected, reaching for her bag. "I just meant... Uhhh…you know. It’s a big campus."
Y/N set the sandwich down. Her voice was dangerously steady. "Hannah. Look at me."
Hannah looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.
"I thought he told you, Y/N."
"Told me what?"
Hannah sighed, a long, defeated sound. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper that barely carried across the table. "After that video leaked... Garrett lost his mind."
Y/N was confused. "What?"
"I'm serious. I was out of town, but I heard the stories the second I got back. He went on a tear. He was going around to the fraternity presidents, the hockey captains, the football leads and everyone who holds any sway on this campus."
Y/N stared at her, her heart beating out of her body, "What for?"
Hannah looked at her, her expression unreadable. "To shut everyone up. He told them if he caught a single person sharing that video or even mentioning your name in a derogatory way, they’d be answering to him personally. And he wasn't exactly asking nicely."
"He did all that? Why?"
Hannah laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Are you kidding? Because he’s been obsessed with you since like forever, Y/N."
Y/N’s breath hitched. "What?"
Hannah sat back, her eyes wide as she realised what she’d just let slip. "Oh my God."
"What?" Y/N pressed, leaning over the table.
"You don't know."
"Know what, Hannah?"
Hannah slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening. She shook her head violently. "Nope. Absolutely not."
"Hannah, don't you dare do this to me. Tell me."
"I am not touching that with a ten-foot pole," Hannah said, grabbing her tray and standing up with a panicked energy. "Garrett would actually end my life if he knew I spilled that."
"Spilled what? Hannah!"
Hannah was already walking away, pausing only to look back with a smirk that was entirely too pleased with herself. "Talk to Garrett, Y/N. Talk. To. Garrett."
And just like that, she was gone, leaving Y/N sitting alone in the middle of the crowded cafeteria, her head spinning with a question she was terrified to ask.
Y/N stared at the spot where Hannah had disappeared long after she was gone.
The cafeteria buzzed around her, but it all sounded muted, like she was submerged in deep water because she could only think about what Hannah said a few minutes ago.
“Because he’s been obsessed with you since like forever, Y/N.”
No. That wasn't possible, there's absolutely no way. Garrett Graham didn't have the capacity for obsession. If anything, he was a creature of conflict, a walking, talking thorn in her side who had spent three years turning every interaction they had into a blood sport. He was infuriating and arrogant. And yet, as she sat there, the memories began to play in her head like a reel of film. Garrett showing up at her sophomore study group, despite not being invited, just to argue about her notes, or him appearing out of thin air every time she mentioned a competition or a presentation, his eyes glinting with intensity. Garrett hating on Jackson all the time like he had done something personally to him. Garrett making jabs on Jackson any moment he gets. Maybe Hannah wasn't completely insane? Which meant Garrett might be? She needed answers, and there was only one person on this entire campus who could give them to her.
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The history section of the library was a ghost town. Most students favored the lower floors because they were the ones with better lighting and easier access to the vending machines. But it appeared that Garrett preferred the silence of the stacks. She found him in his usual corner. He was reading through a heavy textbook that lay open in front of him; and there was a half-finished coffee cooling beside his laptop.
For a moment, she just stood in the shadows of the shelves, watching him. She was trying to see him differently, just to see if she could find the man Hannah had described. The man who had spent a week playing bodyguard when she wasn't even looking; the man who had apparently threatened half the fraternity system on her behalf.
Garrett must have felt the weight of her gaze because he looked up after a few seconds. The second his eyes locked with hers, he went still.
"Hey," he said.
Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the bookshelf. "We need to talk."
His expression shifted instantly. "What did I do now?"
The familiar response almost made her smile. "You tell me."
Garrett slowly closed his textbook, his fingers lingering on the cover. "I don't like that tone."
"Well, too bad."
His eyes narrowed, flicking over her face. "That bad, huh?"
Y/N pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.
"Hannah told me something," she said, cutting straight to the marrow.
The color visibly drained from Garrett’s face. He let out a sharp breath. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
Despite the tension, Y/N let out an incredulous laugh. "That's your response?"
"Because Hannah has the survival instincts of a goldfish," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair.
"So it's true?"
Garrett groaned and leaned back, his chair creaking. "What did she tell you?"
He dragged a hand down his face, and Y/N suddenly realised that Garrett was nervous. His leg was bouncing under the table.
"You went around threatening people," she pushed.
"I wasn't threatening people," he countered defensively.
"You literally intimidated Tyler yesterday."
"That was different because he deserved it."
She stared at him, daring him to continue. Garrett stared back, raising a brow. Finally, he sagged, his shoulders losing their rigid tension. "Fine."
"So you did it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Garrett looked away instantly, his gaze fixing on a point on the wall behind her.
"Hannah also said something else," she whispered.
His entire body went rigid. "Y/N." The warning in his voice was thick, but it only fueled her resolve.
"What did she mean?"
Garrett rubbed the back of his neck, clearly wishing he could be anywhere else on the planet. "She talks too much."
"What did she mean, Garrett?"
Garrett suddenly became fascinated by the steam rising from his coffee.
"Garrett."
"Y/N, don't ask questions you already know the answer to."
"Hannah said you’ve been obsessed with me."
Garrett closed his eyes slowly.
"Oh my God," the words slipped out before she could catch them.
He opened his eyes, and despite the gravity of the moment, he looked genuinely, deeply offended. "Well, obsessed is a strong word."
Y/N let out a disbelieving, jagged laugh. "You threatened half the campus, Garrett!"
"Okay, fine," he conceded, his voice dropping.
A genuine laugh escaped her. Garrett’s expression softened.
Garrett looked down at the table, traced the lines on the wood with his finger and then looked back up, his eyes twinkling .
"I like you," he said.
The words settled between them and she could sense the sincerity of his words.
"You like me," she repeated, trying to wrap her mind around the reality of it.
"Yeah."
"For how long?"
His wince was immediate, a physical reaction to the question. Y/N’s eyes widened and the realisation hit her like a cold bucket of water being sloshed down her head.
"No."
"Yeah."
"Garrett—"
"I know," he interrupted, his voice thick.
She sat in stunned disbelief. Three years. Three whole years of wasted time, and of battles fought in the wrong war. Every debate, every insult, every ridiculous, manufactured competition, everything they had between them... it hadn't been about winning. It had been about proximity. He just wanted to be close to her this whole time?
"Oh my God," she breathed again.
"That seems to be your favorite phrase today," he quipped, though the bite was missing.
"I’m just... I’m trying to catch up."
Garrett watched her, his expression a strange mixture of hope and fear.
After a few moments, she asked him
"So, what happens now?"
Garrett leaned back, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. "I don't know, I mean... nothing has to happen. I didn't tell you because I expected something. Honestly?" He offered a small, crooked smile. "Right now, I just want my rival back."
A strange happy feeling bloomed in her chest.
"You haven't argued with me properly in weeks," he added, gesturing toward her textbook.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. But his smile faded suddenly, his voice dropping an octave as he moved into the territory that actually mattered. "What happened to you was awful, Y/N. And I know you're hurting."
He tapped his fingers nervously against the table.
"But if you'll let me, I'd like to help. Maybe remind you to get food occasionally. Or stop you from hiding. Help you remember who you were before all this," he said, his voice careful.
Y/N felt her throat tighten.
"And when you're okay again, if you'll have me, I'd like a chance. But if you don't..." He shrugged, though his gaze remained fixed on hers. "We'll stay friends? Or maybe academic rivals? I'm sure you'll keep trying to beat me academically."
"I do beat you academically," she shot back, a spark of her old fire returning.
"Delusional."
"And you'll continue being obnoxious."
"There she is, the Y/N I missed."
For the first time in weeks, Y/N laughed.
“I think I'd like that.”
Thank you so much for reading, lovelies. Feedback is very much appreciated. If you have any requests, feel free to send them in! And if you want me to tag you, please lmk.
Warnings: Mentions of cheating, swearing, slut shaming.
Word Count : 5.5k
Summary: After a scandal leaves Y/N isolated and broken, she discovers that it was her rival who has been quietly fighting for her all along.
A/N: Pictures from Pinterest, credits to owners!
Masterlist
The history professor tapped his pen against the podium, after scattering the graded midterms across the front desks, beaming. “The whole class performed better than I expected. I'm proud of you.”
Y/N was nervously tapping her fingers against her desk, waiting for the graded paper in anticipation. When the blue-inked paper landed on the desk in front of her, the first thing she saw was the grade circled in red: 94. She let out a breath she was holding in. She was happy with her score. It was an A, and to Y/N, it was a respectable grade. And she was proud of it until a smug voice drifted from the seat just behind her.
"Ninety-four? Tough break, sweetheart. I’m sure there’s a tutor center somewhere that handles remedial reading."
She didn’t even have to look over to know exactly who was talking. She turned, her eyes narrowing as she met Garrett Graham’s gaze. He was leaning back in his chair, holding his own exam paper towards her to show her his score. The 98 stared back at her and she rolled her eyes, annoyed.
"It’s not remedial reading, Graham. Unlike you, I don't need to dedicate my entire existence to a GPA just to feel superior." she snapped.
The class was over and students were packing their bags for the next lecture.
That infuriating, lopsided smirk that he always saved for her, had smoke coming out of her head from how angry she was. He tucked his exam into his bag. "Well, some of us prefer winning to whatever it is you do. I saw you with your boyfriend at the union yesterday. Does he help you with your history notes, or does he just carry your books so your delicate arms don’t get tired?"
Her jaw tightened. He knew exactly which buttons to push, and he’s been doing this since freshman year. "Leave Jackson out of this, Graham. Just because you have a stick up your ass doesn't mean you have to take it out on my relationship."
"Relationship? Is that what we’re calling it?" He snorted, standing up. He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes glinting with a mocking amusement. "I’m just saying, it must be exhausting dating a guy who probably thinks the Emancipation Proclamation is a brand of protein shake. I’m surprised you have survived three years with him."
"He’s a good person who actually has a personality, unlike your brand of 'I-play-hockey-therefore-I-am-god.' Seriously, do you ever get bored of being a cliché?" she countered. It seemed like that spike of adrenaline only ever happened when she was around him.
Garrett chuckled.
"I’m never bored, sweetheart. But think about it, you’re just lucky I’m generous enough to keep you on your toes. Without me, who would you have to be better than?"
"I don't need to be better than you, I am competing with myself. And I’m doing just fine."
"Keep telling yourself that," he said, pushing off the desk and straightening his jacket, though he didn't walk away immediately. His gaze drifted over her face as if he were trying to memorise the way her eyes sparked when she was angry. "Say hi to your golden boy for me. Tell him if he ever wants to learn how to handle a real sport he knows where to find me."
He turned and sauntered toward the exit, leaving Y/N seething. She watched him go, her fingers clutching the edge of her 94-grade exam until her knuckles turned white.
It was always like this. It had always been this constant, exhausting dance of insults and intellectual jabs. It seemed like they were perpetually locked in a rivalry. She shoved her books into her bag, her mind already racing with the next comeback she should have thrown at him. He was arrogant, he was insufferable, and he was absolutely the most irritating person on this campus. But as she walked out into the crisp afternoon air, she couldn't ignore the way her skin felt like it was humming like a residual electricity left behind by his proximity. She hated Garrett Graham. She hated the way he dismissed Jackson, and the way he hovered, or the way he made her feel like she had to be perfect just to earn his attention. But as she rounded the corner and saw the hockey rink in the distance, she couldn't help but look for his black sedan in the parking lot.
It was a sick, twisted game they played, a cycle of antagonism that kept them both hyper-aware of each other’s every move. If she got an A, he had to get an A-plus. If she was seen at a study group, he had to crash it. There was this constant bickering between them, this back and forth they both seemed to enjoy(?) for some weird reason. And don't even get her started on how much he seemed to hate her boyfriend. And he never shied away from telling her that either. He knew what the touchy subjects were and how he could push her buttons so that he could get her to snap back.
The debates in the class were on a whole another level. The professors knew that it would be a great debate if they were placed in the opposing teams because they were both intelligent and competitive. It had even bordered on a screaming match once.
She tucked the exam into her bag, walking toward the football field where she knew Jackson would be practicing. She hoped the sight of the football team would settle her nerves.
"He’s just a jerk," she whispered to herself, stepping onto the grass.
But even as she said it, she knew it wasn't that simple. Garrett Graham wasn't just a jerk. He was more like an obsession. And the worst part was that she had a sneaking suspicion that for him, the feeling was mutual.
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A month later, her world was flipped upside down, taking her with it. It all went down with a sickening chime on her phone that had divided her life into a before and after. Jackson had decided that if he couldn't have her, he would destroy her, after he was caught by her in bed with another girl. He had apologised to her over and over again but Y/N could not take him back. Not after three whole years of being each other's, not after the betrayal. Jackson was angry that she didn't take him back and hurled some curses at her before walking away. In Y/N’s mind, this was the worst thing that could happen to her, and she spent her weekend in her dorm with a tub of ice cream, wallowing in sadness. Until she got a message from Rori, her friend, on Sunday, that a private video of Y/N was leaked. Apparently someone had shared it in a group chat under a fake name. Y/N didn't even have to think who would have leaked it, because the only other person who had it was none other than her now-ex, Jackson. The video was private, a relic of a time she had been foolish enough to trust him. But now? Her privacy had been violated and she was treated like commodity. The video was shared in group chats and whispered about in lecture halls. It was plastered across the screens of strangers who didn't know anything about her.
Y/N could not handle the humiliation, she felt like she had nobody who could console her. She had stayed holed up in her dorm, the curtains drawn tight against a world that had suddenly turned predatory towards her. Every time her phone lit up with a notification, she flinched as though it struck her like lightning. She didn't dare check social media. She knew what was there, and she couldn't handle the slurs and the slut-shaming yet. Was this what she was to them? Was she nothing more than a scandal? A headline? Was that all she was worth?
The silence of her room was deafening. She spent her days staring at the ceiling, wondering how quickly "being the smart girl" turned into "being the girl in the video." Her friends, or at least the ones who claimed to be, had been hesitant and awkward. They didn't know how to look at her anymore, and truth be told, she didn't know how to look at herself. It felt like she had lost the thread of her own life. The exams, the history debates, the sharp, witty comebacks she used to fire at Garrett… they all felt like memories from a different lifetime. She wasn't an academic weapon anymore. She was just the girl who had been burned alive, and it felt like everyone was still watching the embers glow.
On Monday, after a whole week of being holed up in her room, she finally forced herself out. But it turned out there were people who were out to get her. She was booed and called names until she had to run to a washroom where she sobbed and sobbed, earning a few sympathetic looks from some of the girls. After spending more than half an hour in the washroom, waiting until she was certain no one was outside, she slipped out with her head bowed and the hood of her oversized sweatshirt pulled low. She walked straight to the library, finding a dark corner to hide. But as she sat there, staring at a page of text she couldn't comprehend, she eventually sensed a familiar presence approaching. She didn't need to look up to know it was Garrett. The scent of his signature cologne was unmistakable, cutting through the dusty smell of old books. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Of course. It had been a week, and he was the only one who hadn't taken a dig at her yet. The king of the jabs, the master of the insult. He was probably there to deliver the final blow. She braced herself, the tears she’d been holding back for seven days threatening to finally spill. She was ready for him to tear her apart. She kept her eyes fixed on the textbook in front of her, waiting for him to be done with whatever cruelty he was gonna throw at her. She was tired of everything. And when he stayed silent, she let out a shaky laugh, "Well?" she asked, her voice barely rising above a whisper. He didn't reply. She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat feeling like a stone. "Aren't you going to say anything? Isn't this the part where you tell me how pathetic I look? How I’ve finally managed to live down to your expectations?"
She finally looked up at him, bracing for the smirk. But it wasn't there. Garrett was standing over her, one hand hooked loosely around the strap of his backpack. His posture was rigid. And for the first time in the three years she’d been engaged in this war of attrition with him, he didn't look amused or like he was sizing up a challenge. But, he looked furious, like he wanted to burn the building down around them.
"Everyone else already had their turn," she continued, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. She gestured vaguely to the rest of the library, where she knew people were watching and waiting for her to break. "Might as well let you have yours. The captain of the hockey team wouldn't want to miss the main event, would he?"
His jaw tightened, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. "What?"
She let out a bitter, wet laugh. "Oh, come on, Graham. Drop the act. You don't have to pretend you're a decent person today. Just get it over with so I can go back to hiding."
"I'm not pretending anything," he bit out.
"Really?" she challenged, her eyes burning with unshed, angry tears. "Because you've spent three years finding new, creative ways to make my life difficult. Why stop now when I’m already at rock bottom? Isn't that the dream?"
"Jesus Christ," he muttered, the curse sharp enough to make her flinch.
His expression shifted instantly. He didn't soften, but it looked like his anger was replaced by something that resembled guilt.
Y/N looked away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I know what everyone is saying. I know what they think of me. I’m the punchline."
"Stop."
She blinked, startled by the sheer force behind that command. "What?"
"I said stop. I don't want to hear it." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight.
He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down. The wood scraped against the floor.
"What are you doing?" she whispered.
"Sitting."
"No, I mean, why are you here? Did someone tell you I finally crawled out of my hole? Did you come to see the trainwreck for yourself?"
He looked at her. His eyes were dark and unreadable. It was true, though.He’d heard she was back on campus. Somebody had mentioned seeing her near the quad, and he had spent the last hour pacing, scouring the library until his chest felt like it was going to collapse.
"Go ahead," she challenged, her voice breaking. "Call me a slut. Isn't that what you're gonna say?"
His face went completely blank and it was terrifying. Y/N looked down at her desk, her eyes stinging. "That's what everyone else is doing."
He moved leaned forward, invading her personal space. His eyes were scanning her face, the way she was shaking like a leaf.
"Who called you that?" he asked.
"What?"
"Who? Give me names."
"Why would you care?"
"Because I asked," he growled.
"I don't know," she whispered, exhausted. "It doesn't matter."
He nodded, a single, sharp motion. But he kept his gaze locked on hers. "Have you eaten today?"
She was bewildered. Who is this Garrett?
"What?"
"Food. When was the last time you had a decent meal?"
"You came all the way here to play nutritionist?" she asked, a hysterical note entering her voice.
"You look like shit."
“Gee, thanks.” She muttered. It wasn't funny, but the absolute lack of pretense in his voice made it impossible to do anything else.
Garrett looked marginally relieved and his shoulders dropped a fraction at her reply.
He stood up, his gaze heavy. "Come on."
"Where are we going?"
"Cafeteria."
"No," she said, her tone final. "Absolutely not."
Garrett sighed, a sound of pure frustration. "Y/N."
He had never called her by her first name before, not once. It was always her surname, or sweetheart or genius.
"You need to eat," he said. "I'm not asking."
"Why?Why are you doing this?”
she asked, the question slipping out before she could catch it. Garrett looked away for a split second, his jaw working. When he looked back, he looked utterly miserable, but at the same time, entirely determined.
"We can talk about that later," he said. It wasn't a confession, but it was a promise. And as she looked at him, she felt relieved. In his presence, she somehow found solace. She stood up, her legs wobbly, and let him lead the way.
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The walk to the cafeteria with Garrett was surprisingly comfortable. It was bizarre because the boy who had spent three years turning Y/N’s life into a competitive sport was now walking beside her, carrying her backpack. He had just taken it from her shoulders without a word, and she’d been too exhausted by the last week, to even protest.
They were halfway down the corridor when a shout echoed off the lockers.
"Graham!"
Garrett groaned. A hockey teammate was jogging towards them.
"I'll be right back".
Y/N went to stop, her instinct to retreat kicking in. "No, it's fine. I'll be there in a minute," he interrupted, not breaking stride.
So she kept walking, her heart beating fast against her ribs. In the cafeteria were people laughing, eating, living lives that hadn't been shredded into pieces.
She kept her head down and joined the sandwich line. The girl behind the counter offered a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile. Y/N pretended she hadn't seen it. She just wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She paid for her sandwich, her hands trembling as she turned around, and that was when she heard it.
"Look who finally decided to show her face."
Her stomach dropped. It was Tyler, one of Jackson’s teammates, flanked by a group of football players who were watching her like vultures circling a carcass.
Tyler stood up, leaning against the table with a sneer. "You happy now, huh?"
She froze, her brow furrowing. "What?"
"You got him kicked off the team," he spat.
"Tyler what are y—"
"No, seriously," he laughed, a jagged, ugly sound. "You ruin his life and then come strolling in here like nothing happened? Like you’re the victim?"
Y/N’s throat tightened. She could feel tears glazing her eyes. "He ruined his own life."
Tyler’s nostrils flared, and he scoffed at her like she was a disgusting creature. "You're unbelievable. What did you expect, anyway? You send videos like that and then act shocked when people see them?"
A ripple of uncomfortable silence moved through the surrounding tables. Tyler leaned in, his voice dripping with venom. "God, you're such a—"
The rest of the sentence died in his throat as a hand snatched the front of his shirt hard. The sound of a chair clattering to the floor echoed like a gunshot. Y/N’s breath hitched. It was Garrett.
Tyler slammed back against the nearest wall and the cafeteria went silent.
Garrett’s voice was booming. "What the fuck did you just say?"
Tyler looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floorboards. "Graham—"
"What."
"I... I didn't know you were—"
"What. Did. You. Just. Say." He growled.
Y/N hadn't seen Garrett angry before. It was scary. Tyler’s bravado shattered, his face draining of color. "Sorry."
Garrett let out a humorless laugh. "Sorry?"
Tyler nodded frantically, his eyes wide. "Yeah, man. Sorry."
Garrett tightened his grip and pulled Tyler closer until they were eye-to-eye. "I told every single one of you not to say a fucking word to her."
Y/N blinked, the room spinning. He told them what?
"Didn't I?" Garrett prompted, his voice dangerously low.
"Y-yeah."
"And yet here we are."
"I'm sorry, man," Tyler squeaked.
"You do it again, and you'll wish Coach was the one dealing with you. Do you understand me?" Garrett whispered.
Tyler looked ready to pass out. "It won't happen again."
"Damn right it won't."
Garrett shoved him off, and Tyler stumbled backward, turning and practically sprinting out of the cafeteria. Nobody moved, everyone looked shocked to see the altercation. Garrett turned to the rest of the room, his eyes scanning the tables angrily. "What the fuck are you all looking at?"
The room collectively snapped back to attention. Conversations resumed, but they were hushed.
Garrett turned to Y/N, his expression shifting instantly. The rage vanished, replaced by concern.
"Come on."
He led her to a booth in the back, far from the prying eyes of the crowd. He sat across from her, his presence shielding her, but for a long moment, neither of them spoke.
"What was he talking about Jackson getting kicked off?" she finally whispered.
Garrett sighed and down at his hands, his jaw tightening. "I talked to their Coach."
Y/N felt a chill wash over her. "You got him kicked off the team?"
"I didn't get him kicked off," Garrett corrected, his voice hardening. "He leaked a private video. He—"
"Garrett—"
"He got himself kicked off, Y/N. He chose to be the kind of person who does that. That’s on him,” he said, looking up, his gaze intense.
Y/N looked away, the weight of the last week, the shame and humiliation crushing down on her again. She felt exposed and vulnerable.
Garrett’s hand moved across the table, his fingers grazing her wrist before he pulled back, as if afraid to overstep. "Don't do that, Y/N."
She looked up, startled. "What am I doing?"
"Please don't look at yourself like that."
The words made her realise that the wound was still raw. A single tear escaped her eyes, tracing a hot line down her cheek. "Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice cracking. "We’ve been rivals for years. You’ve spent three years trying to get under my skin."
Garrett leaned back, looking uncomfortable. It was as if he were wrestling with his own internal monologue. "I never hated you."
"You sure had a funny way of showing that," she retorted, a ghost of a smile touched her lips despite the tears.
"Yeah," he admitted, his voice dropping into a rough, vulnerable register. "I'm sorry…I just... I didn't know how to talk to you. I didn't know how to bridge the gap."
He leaned forward, his focus absolute. "And about what that asshole did… What happened wasn't your fault. You don't deserve any of this."
It was the first time anyone had said those words to her. It was the first time someone had stripped away the judgment and just offered the truth. She nodded, unable to say anything because she was sure she would just break down if she opened her mouth to speak. And for the first time after that horrifying incident, Y/N felt like she had someone. Which was weird because it was none other than someone she was sure hated her guts.
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The next day was better. Nobody shouted things at her from across the hallways, though people stared at her occasionally. It was strange. And Y/N was happy that Hannah was there.
By lunchtime, Y/N found herself sitting across from Hannah in the cafeteria, who was finally back after spending the entire week in another town for a major singing competition. Hannah always had a soft spot for Y/N. She was Garrett’s best friend and Justin’s girlfriend. She looked at Y/N with a mix of fierce protectiveness and sorrow as she’d heard bits and pieces of the nightmare as soon as she’d stepped back onto campus.
For a while, the conversation stayed safe as they talked about classes and other stuff and for the first time in days, Y/N felt like she was actually breathing again. That was when Hannah made the mistake of getting too comfortable.
"Honestly, if Garrett hadn't stepped in so fast, it would've been so much worse.”
she said, tapping her fingernails against her water bottle. Y/N froze, the sandwich hovering halfway to her mouth. "What?"
Hannah’s eyes widened, the realization hitting her like a freight train. She bit her lip, looking everywhere but at Y/N.
"Oh, shit," Hannah breathed.
A sinking, heavy feeling settled deep in Y/N’s stomach. "What do you mean, if Garrett hadn't stepped in?"
"Nothing," Hannah deflected, reaching for her bag. "I just meant... Uhhh…you know. It’s a big campus."
Y/N set the sandwich down. Her voice was dangerously steady. "Hannah. Look at me."
Hannah looked like she wanted to be anywhere else.
"I thought he told you, Y/N."
"Told me what?"
Hannah sighed, a long, defeated sound. She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper that barely carried across the table. "After that video leaked... Garrett lost his mind."
Y/N was confused. "What?"
"I'm serious. I was out of town, but I heard the stories the second I got back. He went on a tear. He was going around to the fraternity presidents, the hockey captains, the football leads and everyone who holds any sway on this campus."
Y/N stared at her, her heart beating out of her body, "What for?"
Hannah looked at her, her expression unreadable. "To shut everyone up. He told them if he caught a single person sharing that video or even mentioning your name in a derogatory way, they’d be answering to him personally. And he wasn't exactly asking nicely."
"He did all that? Why?"
Hannah laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Are you kidding? Because he’s been obsessed with you since like forever, Y/N."
Y/N’s breath hitched. "What?"
Hannah sat back, her eyes wide as she realised what she’d just let slip. "Oh my God."
"What?" Y/N pressed, leaning over the table.
"You don't know."
"Know what, Hannah?"
Hannah slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes darting around to see if anyone was listening. She shook her head violently. "Nope. Absolutely not."
"Hannah, don't you dare do this to me. Tell me."
"I am not touching that with a ten-foot pole," Hannah said, grabbing her tray and standing up with a panicked energy. "Garrett would actually end my life if he knew I spilled that."
"Spilled what? Hannah!"
Hannah was already walking away, pausing only to look back with a smirk that was entirely too pleased with herself. "Talk to Garrett, Y/N. Talk. To. Garrett."
And just like that, she was gone, leaving Y/N sitting alone in the middle of the crowded cafeteria, her head spinning with a question she was terrified to ask.
Y/N stared at the spot where Hannah had disappeared long after she was gone.
The cafeteria buzzed around her, but it all sounded muted, like she was submerged in deep water because she could only think about what Hannah said a few minutes ago.
“Because he’s been obsessed with you since like forever, Y/N.”
No. That wasn't possible, there's absolutely no way. Garrett Graham didn't have the capacity for obsession. If anything, he was a creature of conflict, a walking, talking thorn in her side who had spent three years turning every interaction they had into a blood sport. He was infuriating and arrogant. And yet, as she sat there, the memories began to play in her head like a reel of film. Garrett showing up at her sophomore study group, despite not being invited, just to argue about her notes, or him appearing out of thin air every time she mentioned a competition or a presentation, his eyes glinting with intensity. Garrett hating on Jackson all the time like he had done something personally to him. Garrett making jabs on Jackson any moment he gets. Maybe Hannah wasn't completely insane? Which meant Garrett might be? She needed answers, and there was only one person on this entire campus who could give them to her.
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The history section of the library was a ghost town. Most students favored the lower floors because they were the ones with better lighting and easier access to the vending machines. But it appeared that Garrett preferred the silence of the stacks. She found him in his usual corner. He was reading through a heavy textbook that lay open in front of him; and there was a half-finished coffee cooling beside his laptop.
For a moment, she just stood in the shadows of the shelves, watching him. She was trying to see him differently, just to see if she could find the man Hannah had described. The man who had spent a week playing bodyguard when she wasn't even looking; the man who had apparently threatened half the fraternity system on her behalf.
Garrett must have felt the weight of her gaze because he looked up after a few seconds. The second his eyes locked with hers, he went still.
"Hey," he said.
Y/N crossed her arms, leaning against the bookshelf. "We need to talk."
His expression shifted instantly. "What did I do now?"
The familiar response almost made her smile. "You tell me."
Garrett slowly closed his textbook, his fingers lingering on the cover. "I don't like that tone."
"Well, too bad."
His eyes narrowed, flicking over her face. "That bad, huh?"
Y/N pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.
"Hannah told me something," she said, cutting straight to the marrow.
The color visibly drained from Garrett’s face. He let out a sharp breath. "Oh, for fuck's sake."
Despite the tension, Y/N let out an incredulous laugh. "That's your response?"
"Because Hannah has the survival instincts of a goldfish," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair.
"So it's true?"
Garrett groaned and leaned back, his chair creaking. "What did she tell you?"
He dragged a hand down his face, and Y/N suddenly realised that Garrett was nervous. His leg was bouncing under the table.
"You went around threatening people," she pushed.
"I wasn't threatening people," he countered defensively.
"You literally intimidated Tyler yesterday."
"That was different because he deserved it."
She stared at him, daring him to continue. Garrett stared back, raising a brow. Finally, he sagged, his shoulders losing their rigid tension. "Fine."
"So you did it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Garrett looked away instantly, his gaze fixing on a point on the wall behind her.
"Hannah also said something else," she whispered.
His entire body went rigid. "Y/N." The warning in his voice was thick, but it only fueled her resolve.
"What did she mean?"
Garrett rubbed the back of his neck, clearly wishing he could be anywhere else on the planet. "She talks too much."
"What did she mean, Garrett?"
Garrett suddenly became fascinated by the steam rising from his coffee.
"Garrett."
"Y/N, don't ask questions you already know the answer to."
"Hannah said you’ve been obsessed with me."
Garrett closed his eyes slowly.
"Oh my God," the words slipped out before she could catch them.
He opened his eyes, and despite the gravity of the moment, he looked genuinely, deeply offended. "Well, obsessed is a strong word."
Y/N let out a disbelieving, jagged laugh. "You threatened half the campus, Garrett!"
"Okay, fine," he conceded, his voice dropping.
A genuine laugh escaped her. Garrett’s expression softened.
Garrett looked down at the table, traced the lines on the wood with his finger and then looked back up, his eyes twinkling .
"I like you," he said.
The words settled between them and she could sense the sincerity of his words.
"You like me," she repeated, trying to wrap her mind around the reality of it.
"Yeah."
"For how long?"
His wince was immediate, a physical reaction to the question. Y/N’s eyes widened and the realisation hit her like a cold bucket of water being sloshed down her head.
"No."
"Yeah."
"Garrett—"
"I know," he interrupted, his voice thick.
She sat in stunned disbelief. Three years. Three whole years of wasted time, and of battles fought in the wrong war. Every debate, every insult, every ridiculous, manufactured competition, everything they had between them... it hadn't been about winning. It had been about proximity. He just wanted to be close to her this whole time?
"Oh my God," she breathed again.
"That seems to be your favorite phrase today," he quipped, though the bite was missing.
"I’m just... I’m trying to catch up."
Garrett watched her, his expression a strange mixture of hope and fear.
After a few moments, she asked him
"So, what happens now?"
Garrett leaned back, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. "I don't know, I mean... nothing has to happen. I didn't tell you because I expected something. Honestly?" He offered a small, crooked smile. "Right now, I just want my rival back."
A strange happy feeling bloomed in her chest.
"You haven't argued with me properly in weeks," he added, gesturing toward her textbook.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. But his smile faded suddenly, his voice dropping an octave as he moved into the territory that actually mattered. "What happened to you was awful, Y/N. And I know you're hurting."
He tapped his fingers nervously against the table.
"But if you'll let me, I'd like to help. Maybe remind you to get food occasionally. Or stop you from hiding. Help you remember who you were before all this," he said, his voice careful.
Y/N felt her throat tighten.
"And when you're okay again, if you'll have me, I'd like a chance. But if you don't..." He shrugged, though his gaze remained fixed on hers. "We'll stay friends? Or maybe academic rivals? I'm sure you'll keep trying to beat me academically."
"I do beat you academically," she shot back, a spark of her old fire returning.
"Delusional."
"And you'll continue being obnoxious."
"There she is, the Y/N I missed."
For the first time in weeks, Y/N laughed.
“I think I'd like that.”
Thank you so much for reading, lovelies. Feedback is very much appreciated. If you have any requests, feel free to send them in! And if you want me to tag you, please lmk.
