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☆ COME BE THE MAIN CHARACTER FOR A LITTLE WHILE...
MASTERLIST | REQUEST A BLURB |
🌟 requests : open
☁️ i write for: harry styles | azriel | off campus | marauders | clark kent | bucky barnes + more
✨ current hyperfixation: off campus characters
🫧 i write: fluff, angst - mainly lengthy blurbs
boo avoid using yn please <3
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High Tide | Garrett Graham x Reader
Warning(s): Fluff, mild body insecurity/anxiety, Garrett being an absolute sweetheart.
The invitation had been taped to the fridge for a week, a glossy cardstock reminder of your impending doom: The Annual Briar Hockey Kickoff Pool Party.
To anyone else, it sounded like the event of the semester. Sun, music, free alcohol, and a house full of elite athletes. But to you? It felt like a public execution.
You stood in front of the full-length mirror in Garrett’s bedroom, staring at your reflection in your swimsuit. The fabric dug in slightly at your hips, and every perceived flaw, every soft curve, and every insecurity you usually hid beneath oversized sweaters felt magnified under the harsh bedroom lighting.
Everyone there is going to look like a Sports Illustrated model, your brain whispered. You’re going to stick out like a sore thumb.
A wave of sudden, suffocating panic washed over you. Your throat tightened, and before you could stop them, hot tears spilled over your eyelashes. You quickly sat on the edge of the bed, burying your face in your hands, trying to breathe through the sudden tightness in your chest.
You didn't hear the door click open, but you definitely felt the shift in the room when Garrett walked in.
"Hey, beautiful, Tucker is downstairs honking his horn like a maniac because—" Garrett stopped dead in his tracks. The easy, cocky grin vanished from his face, replaced instantly by pure concern. He dropped his gym bag to the floor with a heavy thud. "Hey. Hey, what's wrong?"
In a second, he was on his knees in front of you, his large hands gently prying your wrists away from your face. His gray eyes scanned your tear-stained cheeks, full of a fierce, protective worry.
"I can't go," you choked out, your voice small and thick with embarrassment. "I can't go to the party, Garrett. You should just go without me."
Garrett frowned, his thumbs softly wiping away the tears tracking down your cheeks. "What do you mean I should go without you? I don't want to go without you. Did someone say something? Did Tucker open his mouth? Because I will punch him, I don't care if it's preseason—"
"No! No, no one said anything," you interrupted, looking down at your lap because looking at his perfect, sculpted chest—already shirtless and clad in boardshorts—was making you feel infinitely worse. "It's just… the swimsuit. And the party. Everyone is going to look perfect, Garrett. The hockey girls, the cheerleaders… and then there’s me. I just don't feel good. I feel… big. And soft. And I don’t want people looking at me and wondering why you're with me."
The room went dead silent.
For a terrifying second, you thought you had annoyed him. But when you finally dared to look up, Garrett wasn't annoyed. He looked completely heartbroken.
"Is that really what you think?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register.
You shrugged miserably, a fresh tear escaping.
Garrett let out a long breath, leaning forward so his forehead rested against yours for a brief, grounding moment. When he pulled back, his hands moved from your face down to your waist, his palms warm against your skin. He didn't pinch, he didn't adjust—he just held you, his grip firm and steady.
"Look at me," he commanded softly. You met his gaze. "You are hands down the most beautiful person in every single room you walk into. And I’m not just saying that because I’m your boyfriend and it’s my job. I’m saying it because it’s a fact."
"Garrett—"
"Nope, shut up, I’m talking," he interrupted, a faint, tender smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You think I give a shit about what anyone else at that party thinks? Half of those guys are idiots who couldn't find a book in a library, let alone dictate what’s attractive. And the girls? They aren't you. I don't want them. I want you."
His hands slid back up to cup your face again, forcing you to take in the absolute sincerity radiating from him. Garrett Graham was a lot of things—cocky, competitive, a golden-boy captain—but he never lied to you.
"Every single inch of you is perfect," he murmured, his eyes dropping to your lips before snapping back to yours. "If anyone dares to look at you and wonder why I’m with you, it’s because they’re wondering how a guy like me scored someone so completely out of his league. Because that’s the truth. I’m the lucky one here."
Your breath hitched, the tight knot of anxiety in your chest finally starting to unravel under the sheer weight of his devotion. "You really mean that?"
"With everything I've got," he said fiercely. He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It tasted like mint and felt like safety. When he pulled away, he gave your waist a playful little squeeze. "Now, if you want to stay home, we will stay home. I’ll text Logan and tell him we’re out, and we can order a pizza and watch whatever terrible reality TV show you want. I don’t care about the party. I just care about you."
You looked down at your swimsuit again. It didn't magically change, and the insecurities didn't completely vanish—that's not how anxiety works. But looking at Garrett, seeing the absolute worship in his eyes, made the voice in your head feel a whole lot smaller.
You wanted to go. You wanted to see him be the captain, wanted to laugh with his friends, and honestly? You wanted to wear the damn swimsuit.
"Can we… can I wear one of your oversized button-downs over it? Just for a bit?" you asked quietly.
Garrett’s face lit up with a brilliant, blinding smile. "You can have my entire wardrobe. Hold on."
He bounced up, walking over to his closet and tossing a lightweight, unbuttoned white linen shirt onto the bed. "Here. It'll look hot on you anyway."
You let out a wet laugh, wiping your eyes one last time as you slipped your arms into the shirt. It smelled entirely like him—mahogany, cedarwood, and clean laundry. It draped down past your hips, giving you the perfect amount of comfort.
"Better?" Garrett asked, walking back over and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, looking at your joint reflection in the mirror. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his chest pressed flat against your back.
You looked at the two of you in the glass. He looked big and protective; you looked safe and held.
"Better," you whispered, turning your head to kiss his cheek.
"Good," Garrett smirked, his usual playful arrogance returning now that he knew you were okay. He nipped playfully at your earlobe. "Because you look incredible. And honestly, I’m probably going to spend the whole night trying to keep my hands to myself, so really, you’re the one causing the problems here."
"Oh, shut up, Graham," you laughed, shoving his chest playfully as you grabbed your sunglasses.
"Never," he grinned, taking your hand and lacing his fingers tightly through yours as he led you out into the afternoon sun.
as someone who can 100% relate to this feeling, i thank you for your service for turning it into a comforting fic <33 🥹🥹🥹 the way garrett was so kind and gentle with her, and not pushy or exhausted, was so perfect!!!!
# GARRETT GRAHAM — THE RESERVATION !
MASTERLIST !
001. SUMMARY !
✶ you make garrett believe he forgot about date night.
002. WARNINGS !
✶ garrett calls you ‘honey’. another old tiktok trend.
word count : 1,6k
gif by @clary-jace
Garrett was staying at your dorm after a long day of hockey practice.
It was one of your favourite routines. He’d show up exhausted, his hair still slightly damp from a post-practice shower, and immediately collapse onto your bed beside you. The two of you would curl up together, pick a movie, and inevitably end up falling asleep halfway through it. Between your classes and his practices, you were usually both too tired to make it to the credits.
But today, you had a different idea.
Today, you had let boredom take the reins and found yourself influenced by a viral trend.
Your boyfriend was one of the most attentive men on the planet. In fact, you’d go as far as to say he was the most attentive. Which meant him forgetting about date night was simply impossible.
If Garrett made a commitment to you, he followed through. Every single time.
Sometimes, it was honestly a little annoying how attentive he could be, because he remembered everything.
The day you first kissed. The first time you said “I love you”. Even the exact moment you stole one of his hoodies and never gave it back.
You weren’t sure if he kept some secret list hidden somewhere or if an entire section of his brain had simply been taken over by thoughts of you, but one thing was certain: if there was a date night planned, Garrett Graham would remember it.
Which was exactly why it would be so funny to convince him he’d forgotten one.
You could already picture the confusion and disbelief on his face. The way he’d rack his brain trying to figure out how he could have possibly let something like that slip his mind.
A few minutes later, a knock sounded at your door.
You quickly adjusted the black dress you were wearing—far too formal for the quiet movie night you’d originally planned with Garrett—and crossed the room to answer it.
The second you opened the door, a smile tugged at your lips.
Your boyfriend stood there, bag slung over one shoulder, looking unfairly handsome for someone who had just spent hours getting checked into boards by grown men.
Almost immediately, his brows drew together as his gaze swept over your dress. But before he could ask any questions, you rose onto your toes and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
The effect was immediate.
His bag slipped from his shoulder and hit the floor with a dull thud as one hand found the small of your back, pulling you closer. He kissed you back without hesitation, already melting into the familiar greeting.
When you finally pulled away, you tilted your head.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
Garrett blinked, then he looked down at himself. Gray sweatpants and a black hoodie. Standard post-practice attire.
“Uh... yeah?” He said slowly. “Why?”
You arranged your features into the best combination of confusion and disappointment you could manage. “Did you forget?”
His frown deepened as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and shrugging off his hoodie. Beneath it was the black compression shirt he always wore after practice.
A criminal piece of clothing, in your humble opinion.
The fabric stretched across his shoulders and arms far too well, making it significantly harder to stay focused on your prank. For a brief moment, you considered abandoning the whole thing altogether in favour of admiring your boyfriend.
Unfortunately for Garrett, you were committed to the bit.
“Forget what, honey?”
His eyes drifted around your dorm room, taking in details automatically. From the makeup bag spread across your vanity, to the leather jacket draped over your desk chair that looked suspiciously similar to the one currently missing from his closet.
Then his attention returned to you.
“Our date?” You said, tilting your head as if he was the one being ridiculous. Which was especially unfair considering you had invented this entire situation purely for your own entertainment.
You watched him go completely still for a second.
Then, very slowly, he repeated, “...Our date?”
“Yeah.” You smiled brightly. “I’m really excited. You picked a good spot.”
“I did?”
The uncertainty in his voice nearly made you break. He bent down to grab his phone from his bag before sitting on the edge of your bed.
“Yeah,” you said casually, settling onto your desk chair in front of your makeshift vanity. “You didn’t really forget, did you?”
“No. No...” He shook his head, already scrolling through his phone. “Just checking our reservation.”
You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
“I’m so glad you picked that restaurant. We haven’t been there in forever, and their food is amazing.”
Continuing your performance, you grabbed your mascara and began applying it as if this conversation were completely normal.
Across the room, Garrett was staring at his phone with the concentration of a man trying to defuse a bomb.
“What did you…” He lowered the phone and cleared his throat. “What did you order last time?”
“We ordered a bunch of things to share, remember?”
He hummed, the sound coming out noticeably higher-pitched than usual.
To be fair, it wasn’t an incredibly descriptive answer. Garrett’s appetite was enormous thanks to hockey, and you could never decide what looked best on a menu. Most date nights ended with the two of you ordering half the restaurant and splitting everything between yourselves.
Still, you could practically see him filing the information away, desperately trying to determine whether this was a real memory he’d somehow lost or one you were creating in real time.
“You’ve been looking forward to this for a while, huh?”
“Mhm.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“Do you remember the last time we went?”
“Not really, no.” You unscrewed your lip gloss and began applying it. “But it’s been a while.”
“Huh.” A few seconds passed, then he asked, “And I can’t wear what I’m wearing right now?”
“Garrett, you planned this date.” You turned in your chair to look at him. “You specifically told me to dress semi-formal.”
“Yeah, obviously. I know.” The immediate response was reassuring, but the lingering frown wasn’t. “Just checking,” he added quickly. “Keeping you on your toes and all that.”
You stared at him and he stared right back, attempting what was perhaps the worst act of confidence you'd ever seen.
“Sure…” you said slowly, fighting to keep a laugh from escaping.
Garrett nodded once, as if he’d successfully recovered the situation, immediately grabbing his phone again. Apparently, whatever fictional reservation he was searching for had yet to reveal itself.
“Are you excited?” You asked innocently. “Because from where I’m sitting, you don’t exactly look excited for our date night.”
His head snapped up.
“What? I’m so excited.”
Before you could respond, he pushed himself off the bed and crossed the room, coming to stand behind your chair.
“Honey,” he said, resting his hands on your shoulders, “This is going to be the best date of your life.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really.” The answer came in the most ‘duh’ tone imaginable.
As if the very suggestion that he wouldn't be excited to take you on a date was completely absurd. As if he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes conducting a full-scale investigation into a restaurant that didn't exist.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
At that point, you decided it was probably best to abandon the prank before things escalated any further. Because now Garrett Graham had something to prove.
And knowing your boyfriend, that was a dangerous thing.
Another five minutes and he’d probably be making dinner reservations, buying flowers, and somehow chartering a helicopter just to demonstrate that he was, in fact, capable of pulling off the best date night of your life on a moment's notice.
“It's just…” You rose from your chair and turned to face him, leaving only a few inches between you. Tilting your head back, you met his gaze. “How can you be excited for a date that doesn't exist?”
For a second, Garrett simply stared at you, and then you watched the realization hit in real time. Confusion flashed across his face first, followed quickly by suspicion, before finally settling into understanding as all the pieces clicked into place and he realized exactly what you’d been doing.
His eyes narrowed at the burst of laughter that spilled from your lips.
“Baby, there’s no date,” you admitted, burying your face against his chest as you wrapped your arms around his waist. Looking up at him, you were immediately met with the most offended expression you’d ever seen on your boyfriend.
His mouth opened, then closed again as he searched for a response. For a moment, it looked like he was about to launch into an argument, but instead he simply shook his head, pulled you closer, and wrapped his arms around you.
“There can be, though.”
Another laugh escaped you.
“It’s okay. It was just a prank.”
“Yeah, but you’re already dressed up for that fake date, so…”
“So?” You prompted.
“I’m taking you out.”
You blinked. “Oh, really?”
“Yup.”
The answer came without a second of hesitation. Still holding onto you with one arm, he reached over and grabbed the leather jacket hanging from your chair, along with his bag.
“Let’s go,” he said matter-of-factly. “We’ll stop by my place so I can change, and then we can go to that place you’ve been wanting to try.”
You huffed out a laugh.
“There is no place, Garrett.”
“Then make one up.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and pointed at you. “You’re the one who invented an entire date night. Surely you can invent a restaurant, too.”
You laughed again as he reached for your hand.
Somehow, despite being the one who’d gotten pranked, your boyfriend had still found a way to turn it into an actual date.
Which, admittedly, was a very Garrett Graham thing to do.
NOTE : listened to ‘girls’ by kid laroi basically on loop while writing this. also, tell me if these tiktok trend pranks are something you guys like and want to see more of! (and tell me which pranks you’d like to read…). let’s wake up the garrett graham is the boyfriendest boyfriend agenda.
sorry i need a moment… i’m still stuck on garrett graham in a tight athletic shirt… 😅😅 i’m unwellsy…
THIS IS FUCKING MAGIC THOUGH!!!! please give me another 7476 of these fics <3333
High Maintenance
Garrett Graham x Female!Reader
Warnings: alcohol use, drinking to cope, anxiety, angst
Summary: You've been falling apart quietly for three weeks and you're very good at making sure nobody notices, especially your boyfriend Garrett. You're less good at it after four drinks and one overheard conversation you were never supposed to hear.
Author's Note: Thx for all the love on my first Garrett fic! I'm doing an OC rewatch rn and just felt like I needed to get this one off my chest. I <3 bestie Dean fr.
Eight months in and you still hadn't figured out what to do with being someone's favorite thing.
Garrett wasn't subtle about it. That was the thing, he had absolutely no interest in being subtle about it. He'd find you across a dining hall full of people and his whole face would do something embarrassing. He'd mention you to his teammates with the casual frequency of someone who didn't realize he was doing it, which, according to Dean, he wasn't. He'd show up at your dorm with soup when you were sick, uninvited, unashamed, completely certain he was welcome. He was always welcome. That was the other thing.
Eight months. Long enough that his hoodie had more or less permanently become part of your wardrobe. Long enough that you knew exactly which toothpaste brand he preferred, and that he took his coffee wrong, and that he looked up at the stands exactly once per game - same moment every time, right after warm-ups - just to find you.
You were, by every reasonable metric, fine. Good, even. Happy.
You were also, quietly and without telling anyone, coming apart at the seams.
It hadn't started with anything dramatic. That was the part that made it hard to explain. There was no single thing to point to, no moment where it all went wrong. Just a bad exam grade, then another. Readings piling up in two classes, then three. A cold that moved into your chest three weeks ago and apparently liked it there, the kind of tired that sleep didn't touch.
You'd cancelled plans with Garrett twice. Both times he'd said it's okay, babe, seriously, without missing a beat, and both times something in you had gone slightly sideways, because of course he had. Of course he was fine about it. He was always fine about it, which somehow made it worse, because it meant he was noticing, and adjusting around you, and that meant you were someone who needed adjusting around.
He'd started checking in more. Texts a little more often. Soup you hadn't asked for, dropped off with a knock and a smile like it was nothing.
It was nothing. That was the problem. To him it was nothing, and to you it was accumulating into something you didn't have a word for yet.
Too much, something in the back of your head had started saying. Quietly at first. Then less quietly. You're too much right now.
You were good at ignoring things. You'd been ignoring this for three weeks. You were, it turned out, not as good at it as you'd thought.
The party was Garrett's idea. Well, it was everyone's idea. Briar had won the game 4-1, and the hockey house was the kind of loud that rattled inside your skull pleasantly, all bass and laughter and the clatter of the boys being celebratory and stupid. The living room smelled like beer and Axe and the particular chaos of hockey players who were very pleased with themselves.
You'd smiled through most of it. You were good at that, too.
Garrett had kept you close the whole first hour, arm slung around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple every time someone stopped to talk to him, like punctuation. Hannah had found you at some point and the two of you had ended up in the kitchen with drinks you weren't really finishing, talking about nothing, which was nice.
But Garrett had gotten pulled away - something about Dean needing him, something about the highlight reel someone had pulled up on the TV - and you'd drifted. Which was fine. You were fine.
You'd ended up on the back porch without fully meaning to.
The night air was cold as you leaned against the railing, tipped your head back, and breathed.
You're okay. You're fine. You're at a party celebrating your boyfriend's win and everything is fine.
You heard them before you saw them. Two girls tucked into the corner of the porch, half-hidden by the shadows. You hadn't noticed them when you came out.
You recognized one of them.
Kendall. You'd heard the name in the careful, neutral way girls mentioned names when they meant something. She and Garrett had hooked up before. Before you. It wasn't a big deal. You knew it wasn't a big deal.
You turned slightly away, meaning to go back inside, meaning to just not be here for whatever this was.
But her voice carried.
"-no, I just mean, look at her. She's been off all night."
A murmur from the other girl. You went very still.
"I'm not being mean, I'm just - Garrett has a lot going on. He's got scouts looking at him, he's got finals coming up, and now he's got-" a pause, something that wasn't quite a laugh, "-one more thing to manage."
One more thing to manage.
The words landed somewhere below your sternum and just sat there.
"She seems kind of high maintenance," Kendall continued, quieter now. "I heard she's been sick, like, for weeks, and he's been running over there constantly. He doesn't have time for that. He doesn't have time for someone like- I mean, it's Garrett Graham. He could have-"
You stopped hearing the rest.
Not because they stopped talking, you just stopped being able to take anything in. The world narrowed down to the railing under your hands and the cold air in your lungs and the feeling of something fracturing very quietly behind your eyes.
One more thing to manage.
High maintenance.
He doesn't have time for someone like-
You turned around and went inside.
You went for the kitchen.
There was a handle of something on the counter - vodka, cheap, the kind that came in a plastic bottle - and you poured it into whatever cup was closest without really looking at what was already in it. You drank it faster than you should have. Poured another.
This was not something you did. You were not, by nature, a drink-until-it-goes-away person. You'd watched enough people use that particular coping mechanism to know better. You knew better.
You poured a third.
The thing was, and you understood this even as you were doing it, which somehow made it worse, that the words were just sitting there. One more thing to manage. Right in the center of your chest, perfectly placed, like Kendall had known exactly where to aim. And you needed them to move. You needed them to blur, or soften, or stop feeling so much like the thing you'd already been thinking at three in the morning for the past three weeks.
So you drank.
Hannah found you twenty minutes later, laughing too loudly at something a guy from the lacrosse team had said. She gave you a look, the kind that meant how many is that, and you smiled wide enough that she let it go. Or seemed to. You slipped away before she could ask a follow-up question.
The party had taken on that particular underwater quality that meant the alcohol was working. The edges of everything softened. The bass felt further away. You moved through the living room with the careful precision of someone who knew they were drunk and was trying very hard not to show it, which probably meant you were showing it completely.
Garrett was somewhere in this room. You could feel it the way you always could, that low awareness, like a compass needle swinging north. Normally you'd find him without thinking.
Tonight you turned the other direction.
You grabbed someone's abandoned drink off the end table. You didn't know whose, you didn't care, which was so unlike you that some distant sober part of your brain flinched, and made your way to the other side of the room. Someone pulled you into a conversation about something. You nodded. You laughed when they laughed. You were very good at performing fine, even now, even like this.
But Garrett kept appearing at the edges of things. You'd see his shoulder, the back of his head, catch a flash of his smile across the room, and something in your chest would do that terrible thing it always did.
So you kept moving.
You ended up in the hallway. Then near the stairs. Then, without fully deciding to, on the stairs themselves, sitting halfway up with your cup.
You sat for a while.
The alcohol had moved past the useful stage and into something messier, the kind of drunk where everything felt slightly too large and slightly too true at the same time. Your eyes were doing something embarrassing. You pressed the back of your wrist to them, hard.
You're fine. You're not going to do this here.
You stood up. Gripped the railing. Made it to the top of the stairs on the second try.
The upstairs hallway was dark enough that it felt like breathing room. You leaned against the wall and closed your eyes for a second, just long enough to get your legs back under you. Your dorm key was in your jacket pocket. Your jacket was downstairs. You needed to find it and leave before Garrett realized you'd been avoiding him for an hour, because if he looked at you right now with that face - the one he made when he was worried - you were going to fall apart in the middle of his own party, and you would not do that to him, you refused to do that to him tonight...
You pushed off the wall.
Misjudged the distance to the opposite side of the hallway by about four inches.
The door swung open before you could knock properly, or maybe you knocked wrong, and suddenly there was light and Dean Di Laurentis was right there, some girl half visible behind him, and all three of you stared at each other.
"Bathroom," you said, except it came out slightly sideways.
Dean blinked. Looked at you. Looked at the cup in your hand, mostly empty. Looked back at your face.
Something shifted in his expression, fast and uncharacteristically serious.
"Babe." Not to you. He was already half-turning to the girl, his voice dropped low. "I need a minute."
"You're kidding-"
"I'm really not." A beat. Something in his tone that left no room for argument. "Please."
The girl left in the precise way people left when they were furious and had decided to be graceful about it anyway. You watched her go down the hallway and felt vaguely guilty about it.
Dean stepped back from the doorway. "Get in here."
"I don't need-"
"You just walked into my door."
"I knocked."
"With your face, a little bit." He looked at you levelly. "Get in here."
You got in there.
He closed the door. The noise from downstairs dropped to a murmur.
"How much have you had to drink?"
"That's a weird opener."
"It's a normal question for someone who just almost fell through my door." He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, "How much."
You thought about lying. Decided it wasn't worth the effort. "Enough."
"Enough," he repeated, in the tone of someone doing math. His eyes moved over you, assessing. Quick and thorough the way athletes were sometimes, used to reading situations fast. "You don't drink like this."
"People drink at parties."
"Not you. Not like-" he gestured vaguely at the cup still in your hand, "-whatever this is." A pause. "What happened?"
"Nothing happened. I'm fine."
"Okay."
You stared at him. He stared back. He did not appear to be in any rush whatsoever.
You hated that. You hated the waiting.
"I overheard something," you said, and the words came out a little slurred at the edges. "On the porch. Kendall - you know who that is?"
Something crossed his face. "Yeah. I know who that is."
"She was talking about me." The cup in your hand felt very heavy suddenly. You set it down on the nearest surface. "She said I was one more thing Garrett had to manage." The words tasted exactly as bad coming out as they had going in. Worse, maybe, because you were saying them out loud now, making them real. "That I was high maintenance. That he didn't have time for someone like me."
Dean was quiet for exactly two seconds.
"She said that."
"She's not wrong, that's the thing." You laughed, and it came out wrong, too bright and too brittle. "I've been sick for like three weeks, and stressed, and he keeps showing up for it, and I keep letting him, and he has scouts and he has finals and I just-" You stopped. The room was doing something slightly unsteady. You pressed your fingertips to the dresser behind you. "I just didn't want to feel it. I didn't want to stand there in the middle of his party and feel like that, so I-" You gestured at nothing. At the cup. At yourself.
"So you drank a stranger's leftovers."
"I don't know whose cup it was."
"Yeah, that's the part I'm stuck on." Dean pushed off the wall and grabbed the desk chair, set it down in front of you, and sat in it backwards, arms folded over the top, looking up at you with an expression that was not quite his usual one. "Sit down before you fall down."
"I'm not going to fall-"
"You're leaning."
You looked down. You were, in fact, leaning slightly. You sat on the edge of his bed.
Dean watched you with the particular patience of someone who had decided they weren't going anywhere.
"She's not-" You exhaled, stared at your hands. "She's not some villain. She just said the thing I've already been thinking. And I couldn't-" Your throat tightened. "I couldn't stand there and keep smiling, so I thought if I just-"
"Drank enough that it blurred out?"
"I wasn't going to phrase it like that."
"But yeah?"
A beat.
"Yeah," you said, very quietly.
Dean rubbed the back of his neck. Looked at the ceiling. Then back at you, and something in his face shifted into something more serious, more deliberate, the version of him he mostly kept underneath all the noise he usually made.
"Can I tell you something without you getting weird about it?"
You made a helpless gesture.
"Garrett talked about you at practice last week," he said. "Full cringe, by the way, I'm doing you a public service by telling you this. Tucker asked how you were doing - just like, making conversation - and Garrett stopped mid-drill to answer. Like, stopped skating. Coach blew the whistle. Garrett didn't even flinch, just full-on answeredTucker like they were at brunch." He paused. "It was genuinely awful. The guys made fun of him for four days."
You stared at him.
"He said - and I am going to say this exactly once and then never again - that being with you was the first time in his life that coming home from a game felt better than the game itself." Dean's expression was the one people made when they'd eaten something sour. "Verbatim. He said that. To the whole team. In the locker room. While wearing his pads."
Your eyes were burning again, for a completely different reason.
"He talks about you like-" Dean exhaled through his nose. "Look, I've lived with that guy for three years. I have never, not once, seen him like this. And I mean the whole team. We all, okay, this is going to sound really weird-"
"Just say it."
"We all kind of think of you as ours too. Like, you're around all the time, and you're funny, and you ate nachos with us during the game and didn't complain about the TV volume once-" A pause. "That matters more than you think."
A noise came out of you that was almost a laugh. Wasn't quite.
"Kendall doesn't know what she's talking about," Dean said, and his voice had gone flat again. "She's not a bad person, she's just... she wanted something she didn't get, and that makes people say stupid things. It doesn't make the stupid things true."
Your eyes burned. You pressed the heel of your hand against one of them, hard, like you could physically hold it back, and for a second you almost managed it. Then your breath hitched and you didn't.
You hated it. You hated this, you hated that you were sitting in Dean Di Laurentis' room at your boyfriend's party with someone else's alcohol in your bloodstream, falling apart. This was not you. This was so profoundly, embarrassingly not you - and yet here you were, doing it anyway.
"I hate this," you said, rough.
"The crying or the drinking?"
"Both." You dragged your wrist across your face. "I don't do this. Either of this. I keep it together, and I've been keeping it together for weeks, and then one person says one thing and I'm-" You gestured at yourself. At the whole situation. The cup on his dresser. Your face. "This."
"You can't hold it together forever and then wonder why it comes out somewhere inconvenient." Dean's voice was even. "That's not strength. That's just pressure building."
You looked at him.
"Real talk," he said. "You've been running on empty, you've been pretending you're fine, and tonight cracked it open. And instead of letting yourself feel it, you drank half a mystery cup and were about to walk home alone in the cold." He raised an eyebrow. "Which we are going to circle back to."
"I wasn't going to walk home."
"You were absolutely going to walk home."
You didn't answer.
"Also," he said, and the sarcasm slid back in like he genuinely couldn't help it, "if you tell anyone I said any of this, I will deny it completely. I have a reputation and I'd like to keep it."
A sound came out of you that was almost a laugh. Wasn't quite. But almost.
"Drink some water," he said, standing, already moving to the mini fridge in the corner. He tossed you a bottle without looking. "And hey-"
You looked up.
"He's been looking for you for twenty minutes. Downstairs, increasingly frantic. You should talk to him."
You found Garrett's room because it was the only one with the light on.
The door was cracked. You pushed it open and stood in the doorway for a second, holding onto the frame slightly. The water Dean had given you was helping. A little. The edges of things were still slightly wrong.
You made it to the bed. Sat down. Put your face in your hands.
You heard him on the stairs before the door opened - that particular weight and rhythm, two at a time the way he always took them. And then Garrett was there, filling the doorway, and he stopped.
Just for a second.
Long enough for you to see it, the relief flooding in so fast it almost looked like something else. And underneath it, the residue of the twenty minutes before. He'd been worried. Not panicked, not Garrett, but worried. You could see it in the set of his jaw, the way he exhaled.
Then his eyes moved over you and his expression shifted into something different.
"Hey," he said carefully. "How much did you drink?"
You laughed, and it came out wrong. "Dean already asked me that."
"Dean texted me that you'd had a lot and that you were upset and to be..." he paused, "gentle. His word."
"Dean used the word gentle?"
"I was also surprised." He crossed the room and dropped to his knees in front of you, and it was such a Garrett thing to do - not sitting beside you, not keeping distance, just immediately down to your level, hands finding yours - that your throat tightened all over again. "Look at me."
You did.
He looked back, and he didn't rush it. Just looked at you the way he sometimes did when he thought you weren't paying attention. His thumb rubbed circles on your knuckles.
"I'm okay," you said. Force of habit.
"I know you're not." Not a judgment, just a fact. "Talk to me."
Your jaw worked. "I don't want to..." The words snagged. "I don't want to be something you have to manage, Garrett."
He went very still.
"I heard something tonight." Your voice came out thinner than you wanted, and you couldn't tell anymore how much of it was the alcohol and how much was just you: exhausted, hollowed out, finally out of room to hold it. "Someone saying I was... that I'm a lot right now. That you're running yourself into the ground for me, and you don't have time for someone like..." You stopped. "I've been thinking it for weeks. She just said it out loud."
"Who."
"It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"Garrett." You shook your head, and the room moved slightly with it. "That's not the point. The point is that I believed it. That I heard it and something in me just - yes, obviously, correct. And I hated that. So instead of finding you and telling you I was upset like a normal person, I-" You gestured vaguely at yourself. At the state of you. "This."
He looked at you for a long moment.
"You've been carrying this for weeks," he said. Not a question.
"I didn't want to make it your problem."
Something crossed his face. "You are not a problem."
"You have scouts. You have finals. You've been coming to my dorm every other day with food I didn't ask for-"
"Because I wanted to."
"-and I keep letting you, and I feel like I'm taking something, like I'm-"
"Stop." His hands tightened around yours. "Listen to me. I come over because I want to be there. I text you because I want to know how you are. That's not- it's not labor, it's not obligation, it's not me managing anything. It's me." He exhaled slowly. "You're it for me. You know that."
"You can't just say that."
"I say it constantly. The guys are sick of hearing it."
"Dean told me about the locker room thing."
"Of course he did." No heat in it. Just resignation, and something softer underneath. "It was embarrassing. I meant every word."
You looked at him, and your eyes were burning again, and this time you let them. You were too tired and too drunk and too emptied out to hold that back too.
Garrett rose off his knees and sat beside you on the bed and pulled you into him without any hesitation.
You leaned.
That was the hardest part, always. The leaning. Letting someone else take some of the weight.
You were so tired of holding yourself upright.
"You're not too much," he said, into your hair. "You have never been too much."
You didn't answer.
"I mean it."
"I know you do," you said, very quietly.
He held you tighter. The party carried on below, muffled and oblivious, bass thumping through the floor, and up here it was just this. His arms. The familiar smell of him. The particular exhaustion of something finally, finally spilling over after being held too long.
You didn't feel better.
Not exactly. Not the way you'd maybe hoped. The shame of the drinking wasn't gone - that would probably be worse in the morning, honestly.
But Garrett didn't let go.
He kept one hand moving, slow and steady, through your hair, the way he did when you were half-asleep and he thought you weren't noticing. Like this was something he wanted to do. Like you were something worth being careful with.
You didn't know how to explain what that did to you.
You weren't sure you had to. At least not tonight. Not to Garrett.
Tonight, you closed your eyes and let him hold you, and tried to remember how to just be here. Without managing, without performing.
Just be here.
absolute perfection <333 hurt comfort fic at its finest!!
dean as a bestfriend is my goal in life - especially one as perfect as you wrote him! and garrett 🥺
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.
FJKDKSLSLLSLSKFJD
@finelinevogue you just made my dayyyyy😭❤️
YOU’RE TOO KIND 💛💛💛💛💛
super excited to keep reading your off campus fics!!!!!
I Want My Rival Back
Pairing: Garrett Graham x Reader
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.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
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.
Love, E ❤️
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!
Blindside
Main masterlist | Off Campus masterlist
Garrett Graham x BestFriend!Reader
Fandom: Off Campus
Summary: You're tired of hiding your feelings, but when a guy mocks your insecurities, Garrett's brutal defense proves you're more than just friends.
Friends to Lovers / Hurt/Comfort / Angst
Warnings: not proofread yet, mentions of imposter syndrome/academic insecurity, graphic violence, swearing, Protective! Garrett
A/N: I really hope you like it! I wrote it in a rush bc I kinda feel the need to deliver, so I hope there are not so many mistakes bc English is not my first language. Anyway, starting today and until the 16th I need to lock in hard and study a whole semester worth of crazy engineering classes (mixed feelings abt engineering rn, it needs a lot of work but i kinda love it). so i will be a bit absent. all the requests will be written after the 16th. if you request something and feel like you can't wait for me, it is totally fine by me if you send the request to someone else. but i would appreciate if you give me the heads up first. Feedback is appreciated, as always! Take care of yourselves xx and lots of love 🫶🏻
Words: a lot
Requested here!
You had perfected the role of the platonic best friend over the years. You knew the layout of the perpetually messy house he shared with his teammates like the back of your hand. You were the girl who spent Thursday nights sprawled across his massive mattress, stealing slices of his bacon-and-sausage loaded pizza while he grumbled about his history assignments and the two of you debated Breaking Bad theories.
You knew the real Garrett. You knew that beneath the arrogant, untouchable exterior there was a guy who harbored a vicious resentment for the expectations his father, Phil Graham, placed on his shoulders.
And you knew exactly how to bite the inside of your cheek and look the other way when a starry-eyed puck bunny did the walk of shame down his stairs.
Garrett had made his boundaries crystal clear long ago: he didn't do relationships. Hockey was his entire life, and casual, no-strings hookups were his only speed. You were the sole exception to his rule about letting girls stick around, but only because you were safely, immovably boxed into the friend category.
Tonight, however, the walls of that box felt like they were shrinking.
The hockey house was currently vibrating with the force of way too many drunk college students, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer, sweat, and cheap cologne. You had retreated to the kitchen for a momentary breather, hoisting yourself onto the counter next to the sink.
"Here you go, darlin'." Tucker slid a freshly poured red plastic cup into your hand. He leaned against the counter beside you, watching the chaos of the living room with an amused smirk. "You look like you'd rather be anywhere else."
"I love being shoved into drywall by sweaty frat boys," you replied dryly, taking a sip. "It's my favorite Saturday night activity."
"Hey, Y/N/N," Dean drawled as he wandered into the kitchen. His green eyes scanning the room before locking onto a blonde hovering near the fridge. Dean was an unapologetic slut, and he treated the house like his own personal playground. He shot you a lazy, devastating wink before zeroing in on his target. "Looking good. Try not to let G scare off every guy in a ten-foot radius tonight."
You rolled your eyes, but the knot in your stomach tightened. Dean wasn't wrong.
Speak of the devil.
Garrett pushed through the swinging kitchen door a second later, his broad shoulders easily clearing a path through the throng of bodies. He was nursing a single Bud Light, strictly adhering to his self-imposed, one-drink limit for the hockey season.
He crossed the room and planted himself right between your knees, boxing you in against the counter. He smelled like his familiar, woodsy aftershave, and the sheer heat radiating off his large frame made your pulse betray you.
"I still don't get why you're insisting on mingling downstairs," Garrett muttered, running a hand through his short, dark hair. "We could be upstairs watching season two right now."
"I wanted to be social," you sighed, trying to ignore how naturally his hand rested on the denim of your thigh. "And I actually wanted to talk to some people tonight."
"Talk to who? That pretentious guy from your psych seminar?" Garrett scoffed, his jaw ticking. "I’m telling you, Y/N, the guy is a walking disaster. I saw him in the quad yesterday and he looks like he showers in liquid arrogance."
"His name is Harry, and he asked me to come find him tonight," you snapped, exhaustion seeping into your bones. "And for the record, you said the exact same bullshit about the last three guys I tried to date."
"Because they were all walking red flags!" Garrett argued.
It was an exhausting, toxic cycle. He didn't want you, but the second you tried to scrape together a dating life of your own, his fiercely protective streak mutated into full-blown sabotage. He actively blocked every attempt you made at moving on, hovering like a giant, muscle-bound guard dog while offering you absolutely nothing but friendship in return.
"Stop fucking hovering, Garrett," you fired back. You hopped off the counter, forcing him to take a step back to avoid a collision. "I'm going to go find Harry. Alone."
You didn't wait for his response, pushing your way out of the kitchen and into the sweaty bodies to escape the heavy weight of his stare. You just wanted five minutes to breathe, five minutes to pretend your chest didn't ache every time he touched you.
But as you stepped into the living room, your night was about to collide with a very different kind of disaster.
You scanned the room, looking for Harry. You had met him in your advanced literature seminar, and he was exactly the kind of guy you should be focusing on—smart, ambitious, and completely disconnected from the hockey ecosystem. He was supposed to be the guy who finally helped you pry Garrett Graham out of your heart.
You finally spotted him near the makeshift beer pong table set up over the dining room table. He was holding a plastic cup, laughing with two guys you recognized from the honors program.
You took a breath, pasting on a smile, and started to weave your way toward him. But as you closed the distance, the loud thump of the music dipped between songs, and Harry's voice carried over the ambient noise of the crowd.
"...yeah, I told her to come find me tonight," Harry was saying, taking a casual sip of his beer.
"Isn't she in your advanced lit seminar?" one of the other guys asked with a laugh. "I heard that class is brutal."
Harry scoffed, a cruel, dismissive sound that made you freeze in your tracks. "It is, and she is completely drowning in it. Honestly, it's painful to watch her try to keep up with the rest of us. I basically had to explain the entire reading list to her on Tuesday."
"So why'd you tell her to meet you?"
"Are you blind? Look at her," Harry chuckled, a slick, arrogant sound. "She's hot. And she's so desperate for help with her midterm, it’s basically a guaranteed hookup. All I have to do is pretend her thesis isn't completely pathetic, tutor her a little, and she'll be all over me. It's almost too easy."
The words hit you with the force of a physical blow.
Your lungs seized. A hot, suffocating wave of humiliation crawled up your neck, burning your cheeks. It was your darkest, most deeply buried imposter syndrome dragged out into the open and weaponized. You spent countless sleepless nights agonizing over your writing, terrified you weren't smart enough to be at Briar, and Harry had seen that vulnerability and decided to use it as leverage to get you into bed.
Tears prickled the back of your eyes, hot and sharp. A strangled breath escaped your throat, and before Harry or his friends could turn around and see you standing there, you spun on your heel and bolted.
You veered into the hallway leading to the front door, moving so fast you didn't even see the two silhouettes pressed against the wall until you collided hard with a solid back.
"Whoa, hey—" a familiar voice muttered.
You blinked the tears away just enough to realize you had crashed right into Dean, who was in the middle of hooking up with the blonde from the kitchen. Because of course he was. Dean had a notorious habit of hooking up everywhere but his bedroom.
"I'm so sorry," you choked out, your voice cracking pathetically.
Dean pulled back from the girl, his light-green eyes widening as he registered the tears spilling over your lashes. "Y/N/N? Hey, what's wrong? Wait—"
"I'm fine, sorry," you gasped out, pushing past him and shoving the heavy front door open.
The crisp October air hit you like a bucket of ice water, but it didn't numb the stinging humiliation. You stumbled down the porch steps and pulled your phone out of your pocket with shaking hands, swiping furiously at your screen to pull up the number for the campus taxi service.
Before it even began to ring, the front door burst open behind you.
"Y/N!"
Garrett’s voice was sharp with panic. He marched down the porch steps, his heavy black boots thudding against the wood. He grabbed your elbow, spinning you around to face him.
"Dean said you ran out of here crying. What the hell—" Garrett froze, the rest of his sentence dying in his throat as he took in your wet cheeks and trembling bottom lip.
The annoyance that usually shadowed his features when you fought was instantly wiped away, replaced by a raw, terrifying protectiveness. His large hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs gently brushing the tears from your skin.
"What happened?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "Did he touch you?"
You shook your head violently, squeezing your eyes shut because looking at him only made the shame burn hotter.
"Nothing," you choked out, pulling out of his grip. You wrapped your arms around yourself, fighting a losing battle against your own tears. "I'm not telling you what happened just so you can give me the whole 'I told you so' speech. You were right about him, okay? Can we just leave it at that?"
Garrett stared at you for one long, suffocating second. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, putting two and two together. The silence that stretched between you was terrifying. His eyes darkened to the color of a storm, and the muscle in his jaw ticked furiously.
He just turned on his heel and stalked back up the porch steps.
"Garrett!" Panic seized your chest. "Garrett, no!"
You scrambled up the steps, chasing him through the front door, but he was moving with the blinding, aggressive speed he usually saved for the ice.
"Garrett!" You yelled his name, pushing past confused partygoers, but he was an unstoppable force. "Garrett, stop!"
He found Harry exactly where you had left him, still leaning against the beer pong table.
Garrett grabbed the back of Harry's shirt, spun him around, and swung.
His fist connected with Harry's face with a sickening, bone-jarring crack. The guy didn't even have time to scream before Garrett hit him again, the sheer force of it lifting Harry off his feet and sending him crashing backward into the beer pong table. Red plastic cups and cheap beer went flying in every direction as the table buckled beneath them.
The crowd erupted into shrieks, scattering backward to form a wide circle.
Harry hit the floor, groaning, but Garrett wasn't finished. He dropped to his knees, grabbing Harry by the collar of his shirt, pulling his fist back to deliver another devastating blow.
"Garrett, stop!" you screamed, finally breaking through the circle of onlookers.
You lunged at him, grabbing his thick bicep and trying to haul him backward. But he was two hundred pounds of pure, sculpted muscle fueled by blind rage. You couldn't even budge him. Your fingernails dug into his arm, but he didn't even flinch.
"Graham, enough!"
Suddenly, Logan and Tucker burst through the crowd. Logan, a bruiser of a defenseman, wrapped his massive arms around Garrett's chest from behind, hauling him backward. Tucker grabbed Garrett’s other arm, digging his heels into the sticky floor to help drag their captain away from the bleeding guy on the floor.
"Get the fuck off me!" Garrett roared, thrashing against his teammates, his chest heaving wildly.
"Cool it, man!" Logan shouted, straining to hold him back.
You planted yourself right in Garrett's line of sight, placing both your hands flat against his chest. His heart was hammering violently against your palms.
"G. Look at me," you commanded, your voice shaking.
His wild, silver eyes finally locked onto yours. The lethal fury in his gaze flickered, the fight slowly draining out of his posture as he registered the sheer panic on your face. He stopped fighting Logan and Tucker, his heavy, ragged breathing filling the tense silence of the room. His knuckles were already turning a vicious shade of purple.
"We are going upstairs," you said, your tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. "Now."
You didn't wait for him to agree. You grabbed his wrist and turned, dragging him away from the wreckage, up the narrow staircase, and straight into his master bedroom.
You slammed the door shut, leaning your back against the heavy wood as if it could keep the rest of the world out. The chaotic bass of the party was instantly muted, leaving only the sound of Garrett’s ragged, heavy breathing.
He stood in the center of the room, staring blindly at his split knuckles. The skin was already swelling and bleeding, identical to the brutal bruises he brought home after playing dirty teams like St. Anthony's.
"Are you insane?" you choked out. Your voice trembled, the adrenaline crash finally hitting you and leaving you hollowed out. "You could get suspended for that! Coach Jensen will bench you, Garrett!"
"I don't give a fuck about Coach Jensen right now," he snarled, spinning around to face you. His gray eyes were stormy, flashing with a volatile, untamed fury. "He was using you, Y/N. He was standing there laughing with his buddies about manipulating you."
"And you think I don't know that?" Your voice broke. "You think I didn't hear him? God, G, you didn't have to throw a punch to prove how pathetic I am. I already knew!"
Garrett flinched as if you'd struck him. "What are you talking about? You aren't pathetic."
"I am!" you yelled, pushing off the door. The humiliation from downstairs was a living, breathing thing inside your chest. "I'm the idiot who thought a guy actually liked me for me. I'm the idiot who's failing her seminar, who trails after you like a lapdog, exactly like he said! And you charging in there to fight my battles like I'm incapable of defending myself only proved him right!"
"He's a piece of shit who felt threatened by you," Garrett argued, closing the distance between you in two long strides. "He knows you're brilliant."
"Stop it!" You shoved both hands against his solid chest, trying to push him away, but it was like trying to move a brick wall. "Stop pitying me! I can handle the fact that you don't want me. I can handle sitting on the sidelines watching you bring home a different girl every weekend. But I cannot handle you treating me like some fragile charity case you have to protect!"
Garrett didn't move. He absorbed your shove, his jaw tightening so hard the muscle ticked visibly beneath his skin.
"Pity?" he repeated, the word tearing out of him in a harsh, jagged exhale. "You think I pity you?"
"Garrett—"
"You think I sit up at night, listening to you talk about other guys, watching you dress up for dates with assholes who don't deserve to breathe the same air as you, out of pity?" He grabbed your wrists—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to pull your hands off his chest so he could step directly into your space.
His heat surrounded you, smelling of sweat, adrenaline, and his familiar woodsy aftershave.
"I don't defend you because I pity you, Y/N," he said, his voice dropping to a rough, desperate rasp. "I do it because I am completely, out of my fucking mind for you."
The air vanished from the room.
You stared up at him, your heart slamming violently against your ribs. "What?"
Garrett released your wrists, bringing his hands up to cup your face. His thumbs gently swept over your wet cheeks, his bruised knuckles resting warm and rough against your skin. The arrogance and swagger he wore like armor were completely gone, leaving behind a raw, agonizing vulnerability.
"I have been in love with you for years," he confessed, the words pouring out of him like a dam breaking. "I told everyone I didn't want a girlfriend because the only girl I wanted was my best friend, and I was too terrified of ruining it. So I kept my mouth shut. I watched you look for someone else, and it tore me apart."
"Garrett," you breathed, a fresh tear slipping down your face.
"You are the smartest, most beautiful person I know," he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips with heavy, agonizing intent. "And if you want me to back off, I will. I'll walk away right now. But don't you ever, ever think I pity you."
Your brain was short-circuiting. The secret you had buried so deep, the ache you had carried for years, was suddenly reflected right back at you in his intense gray eyes.
"You're the biggest idiot on this entire campus," you whispered, a shaky, breathless laugh escaping your throat.
He froze, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. "Y/N—"
"I've been in love with you since high school," you interrupted, sliding your hands up his chest to tangle in his short dark hair.
Garrett’s breath hitched audibly. "Are you serious?"
"You really think I hung around all this time just for the free pizza and your terrible taste in TV?" you asked, a blinding smile breaking through your tears.
A slow, devastating smirk spread across his lips, the dimples you loved so much finally making an appearance. "Well, damn," he breathed.
The hesitation vanished. Garrett’s hands slid to your waist, gripping you firmly and pulling you flush against his body. He crashed his mouth down on yours, and it was a messy, desperate collision of everything you had both held back for years.
He kissed you like he was starving. His lips were demanding, his tongue sliding against yours with a hungry, possessive heat that sent a shockwave of electricity straight down your spine. Your fingers gripped his hair, anchoring him to you as he backed you up against the door, his large frame pressing you into the wood.
When he finally pulled away, you were both breathless, his forehead resting heavily against yours.
"So," Garrett murmured, his thumb stroking your hip. "I guess this means I don't have to share you anymore."
You laughed, pulling his mouth back down to yours. "No, G. You definitely don't."
OBSESSED is an understatement 🥺🥺🥺🥺 i love them your honour!!!! i need 20 more fics of these 2 right now because they are so damn perfect
the bitch is back
summary - the hawks have won a game and are celebrating in Malone’s, where you work, and then everything goes wrong
pairing - garrett graham x girlfriend!reader
word count - +3.6k
The Hawks had won yet another game.
They were getting closer and closer to winning all their games this season. This of course meant two things; 1) A fuck load of celebrations and 2) A very happy boyfriend for you.
You were working the late shift when news of Briar U’s win came through, which instantly alerted you to prepare for an influx of people. Everyone knew the Hawks watering hole after a game was Malone’s. And they also knew it was only because their captain’s girlfriend worked there.
Garrett and the rest of the guys walked through Malone’s doors just after 8PM.
A chorus of cheers erupted through the small diner. You cheered and clapped from behind the counter.
Garrett smiled as people patted him on the back but his eyes instantly searched for you. It was as if his hold demeanor lit up when he saw you.
Your boyfriend wasted no time cutting through the throngs of people and around the counter, and you wasted no time bringing him down to your height for a celebratory kiss.
The cheers only got louder.
Your hands threaded through the curls on the back of his neck as you kept his lips pressed against yours. The kiss was sweet and sticky.
Garrett’s hand was just about to cup over your ass, but Della whipped it with a towel before he had the chance.
Garrett pulled away from your kiss reluctantly, causing you to actually whine.
“What the— Della!”
“She’s on the clock.” Della raised her eyebrows at Garrett, as if he was the one who initiated the kiss and not you. You could never do any wrong in Della’s eyes.
“But…”
“Ah ah. Get.” She chased him out from behind the counter.
You had to hide a laugh, because seeing Garrett get chased away from you by a woman twice his age was quite the spectacle.
Garrett got sucked back into the crowds of people celebrating.
He looked over his shoulder at you as Logan pulled him away, pouting like a child who had just lost their favourite toy. You smiled at him before returning to work.
——
A couple of hours later, you were still busy.
You hadn’t had a chance for a break, which was making you cranky, and you were doing your best to ignore the girls who had swarmed your boyfriend.
Garrett, of course, looked very uninterested with them and was mainly interacting with his friends, but it didn’t stop the simmering jealousy building up inside you.
“Another beer.” A guy appeared in front of you, slamming down his empty glass on the counter.
The guy looked completely drunk. His eyes bloodshot red and a mix of drink and dribble down his blue top.
“Was there a please in there somewhere?” You asked sarcastically.
“Just get me another beer.” He sneered.
Okay… If he wanted to be a prick, so could you.
“ID?”
You held out your hand.
“What?”
“ID, please.”
“You didn’t need my ID before.” He scoffed.
“Well I do now.”
The guy slammed his hands down on the counter and you tried your best not to flinch. You’d dealt with pricks like this before.
“Hey. Everything okay?” Garrett appeared next to the guy, arms folded across this chest.
If it weren’t for the fact that you were severely hangry and your patience wasn’t being tested by this guy, you might’ve swooned over how hot your boyfriend looked without his jacket on. There was a reason you always (jokingly) bit on his biceps.
“She won’t give me a beer.” The guy slurred.
“Maybe you don’t need another.” Garrett was clearly trying to deescalate the situation for you.
“It’s her job to serve beers.”
“And I said—.”
“Garrett, it’s fine.” You sighed, putting a new pint of beer in front of the guy.
“There we go. Now that wasn’t hard, was it princess?”
Garrett unfolded his arms, looking ready to punch this guy into next week - which was terrifying, considering it was only Wednesday.
You knew that if Garrett started something he would hate himself later, so you were only protecting him when you snapped, “Garrett. I said it’s fine.”
“Yeah, listen to your bitch Graham.”
Garrett couldn’t hold himself back then.
He used both of his hands to pull the guy up by his disgusting shirt. The guy - who’s name was still a mystery to you - physically whitened as it suddenly dawned on him that he’d messed with the wrong guy.
Garrett was taller than the guy, which gave him the upper hand to talk down to him to remind him of his place.
“Speak to her like that again and I’ll make sure you’re never able to speak again.”
“You won’t touch me.” The guy tried to act brave, but his lips trembled as he spoke.
“There’s more than one way to silence a man.”
Garrett let the guy go roughly.
You took note of how many onlookers there were, who clearly thought there was going to be a more interesting fight than there was.
This is exactly what you didn’t want.
You took the beer back from the counter as the guy scrambled to leave Malone’s.
Garrett looked like he was still trying to evaporate his anger when he turned back to face you.
“Baby—.”
“Why couldn’t you just leave it?” Your tone was angry as you wiped the counter down, and continued with other jobs.
“He was being a dick.”
“Yeah, most guys in a bar are.”
“Well, sorry for stepping in?” Garrett questioned, leaning against the bar.
You stopped what you were doing to stand in front of him from the other side of the bar.
“I said it was fine. You should’ve left it.”
“Well, I didn’t like the way he was speaking to you.” Garrett scoffed.
“I can handle myself.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.”
“You didn’t have to.” You said, effectively ending the conversation by walking away into the kitchen to get away.
You’d never been good at the difficult parts of a relationship, or in other words ‘the real stuff’. It was difficult trying to understand and accept that you had someone else on your side, and they weren’t expecting anything in return.
Garrett was the first boyfriend you’d had who was willing to defend you and it be as simple as that. It was hard to wrap that concept up in your brain.
“You good honey?” Della asked.
You realised you were standing in the way of the kitchen door, after having come through to catch your breath for a moment.
“Yeah.”
You weren’t even sure you’d convinced yourself.
“Jonah’s agreed to lock-up if you want to finish at midnight, rather than close?” She asked you. You knew with Della, though, that this wasn’t a request but rather her telling you to finish at midnight.
“Thank you.”
You looked at the clock in the kitchen, which told you you only had an hour left of this shift.
You could do this.
——
Turns out, you could not do this.
Your bad mood only worsened with time.
You hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. You hadn’t sat down in so long you couldn’t even take a guess how long it had been. You’d dealt with rude customers all night - one of which had subsequently caused an argument to happen with your boyfriend. And perhaps worst of all, you’d had to watch girls throw themselves at Garrett all night.
He was very publicly unavailable.
That didn’t seem to stop these girls though.
There had been one girl that had been really trying hard with him all night. She was everything you weren’t. Her hair, face, height and everything in between were the complete opposite to you.
She had you feeling insecure for no reason.
The girl had managed to squeeze herself onto the end of the booth, next to Garrett, and had been chatting to him for a good twenty minutes now.
He didn’t even look annoyed that she was there.
Was he punishing you for being a bitch to him before?
“Y/N, doll, will you collect dirty glasses please?” Della asked you.
“Sure.”
You picked up an empty crate tray and made your way around the counter, venturing into the belly of the diner for the first time tonight.
You started picking glasses up closest to the door, slowly making your way around the room.
In your head it was very obvious to everyone else in the room that you were saving Garrett’s table until last, because you were dreading it, but obviously no one else was actually thinking that.
The tray was nearly full when you reached Garrett’s table.
“Y/N!” Dean shouted, starting a chorus of cheers from the guys.
Logan stood beside the booth and pulled you into a side hug when he saw you.
Normally you would’ve melted into the hug and hugged him back, but you really weren’t feeling it tonight.
The anxiety in your stomach from the argument with Garrett was bubbling over-time. It didn’t help that the girl was still sitting beside him even though you’d come over.
You tried your best to smile as you took their empty glasses from the table and stacked them on your tray.
“Can we get another round of drinks?” The girl asked before you could leave.
Yet another person who had impeccable manners.
“Sure.” You nodded.
“Garrett, what are you drinking?” She asked, daring to put her hand on your boyfriend’s forearm.
“He only has one drink—.”
“One drinks my max—.”
You and Garrett both spoke at the same time.
You looked at him to find him smiling at you, a sort of truce lingering in the air between you both.
“Yeah, okay. Still another round of drinks.” The girl said.
As soon as you turned to walk away you heard her laugh with her friends. Normally you wouldn’t care, but you were pretty sure she was laughing at you.
She shouldn’t have tested you when you had so little patience left.
You slammed the crate of drinks on the nearest table and turned back to her, making everyone in the space around you stare.
The commotion had set Garrett on high alert.
You walked back to the table, stopping in front of her.
“Anna, is it?” You asked.
“Paloma.” She snickered, offended that you didn’t know her name.
“Right. Well, Paloma, I would appreciate it greatly if you could stop fawning over my boyfriend.”
The smile you gave her was anything but nice.
“Your boyfriend?”
You nodded.
“Your boyfriend is Garrett Graham?” She laughed. Her friends beside her also laughed.
You breathed out through your nose heavily, trying to keep your emotions in check. It was proving difficult.
And because you were so high on anxiety and adrenaline, you couldn’t help what your next few words were, “You come across as a bit of a slut when you’re trying to latch onto a guy who’s taken.”
You felt instant regret at your choice of words. Even the guys in the booth looked taken aback, because they’d never seen this side of you before.
Paloma scoffed, before standing up from the booth.
“Ohhh shit.” Tucker said quietly.
The rest of Malone’s had gone quiet after seeing the rising tension between you and Paloma.
“What did you just call me?”
“I’m sorry - I shouldn’t have said that.” You sighed.
“Sorry is what you’re about to be.”
Your reflexes were a second too late as Paloma struck you around the cheek with her hand.
Your head physically turned from the force of her hand, causing you to stumble so far back that somehow you ended up tipping over the tray of dirty glasses you’d collected, triggering your inability to balance and fall onto the floor with the glasses smashing all around you.
There was a collection of shocked gasps and screams from the fallen drinks.
It had only taken about five seconds to happen.
“What the fuck!” Garrett shouted.
The rest of the guys pitched in with the swearing and other girls swarmed Paloma like she was dead meat.
Whilst the chaos ensued around you, you tried your best to process what had just happened.
Your hands pricked with pain as you picked them up from the floor where they’d softened your fall. Tiny shards of glass were stuck in your palms and there was a fair amount of blood too.
Your cheek stung like hell.
It was inevitable that when the moment caught up to you, your eyes started to pool with tears.
Garrett immediately came into focus in front of you, crouching so he didn’t kneel in the broken glass.
“Hey. Hey, baby look at me.” He said softly, cupping the cheek you didn’t just get bitch-slapped in and turning your face towards him.
He took note of how red your cheek was, a slight cut there from where Paloma’s nails must’ve caught. He looked so worried. You could tell, because he wasn’t focusing on your eyes or lips for once.
Your eyes looked down at your palms, the stinging sensations increasing tenfold.
“Everyone out!” Della shouted from somewhere.
People started scrambling around you, which made you flinch in panic that someone may trample you.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Garrett said calmly. “You’re okay.”
“Di Laurentis, make yourself useful.” Della handed Dean a broom.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“C’mon. Let’s move out of the way.” Garrett said.
He scooped his arms underneath you and picked you up.
You wriggled a little, not wanting your boyfriend to feel like he had to carry you - especially after a brutal game of hockey where, no doubt, his limbs were still aching from.
“Hold still.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve said that about ten times tonight and none of them have been true.”
It was so annoying when he was right.
You settled into his hold as he carried you over to sit down in a booth far away from the mess. The last few stragglers were leaving now, except for yours and Garrett’s friends who were helping to clean up.
You guys were all like family, so you understood why none of them were leaving.
Garrett thanked Tucker when he brought over a small first aid kit, before he left you two alone again.
Your head was resting on Garrett’s shoulder as he had you sitting sideways on his lap. Your bruising cheek was visible for Garrett to see and wince at the intensity of it.
Garrett started pulling bits out of the first aid that he needed.
“I shouldn’t have called her a slut.”
“Maybe so, but she never should have hit you.”
“Oh, like you and that guy.” You reminded him of earlier.
“That was different. I just lightly threatened him.”
You didn’t want to start another argument about how it wasn’t different. Not when you felt like shit.
Garrett gently took one of your hands and started carefully picking out the shards of glass with some tweezers. He was so focused, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed.
You let yourself close your eyes for a moment.
It was insane that you’d been waiting for a break all evening and yet this was how you were receiving it - bloodied and exhausted in the arms of your boyfriend. It was slightly bittersweet.
“I hated her.”
“Paloma?”
You nodded and looked up at him. “She wouldn’t leave you alone.”
“Baby…”
“I know she wasn’t your fault. You weren’t even encouraging her. But I was right across the room from you and I… I just felt so stupid.”
“That’s not stupid.” Garrett continued plucking out glass, “For the record, I felt stupid too.”
“You did?”
“I should’ve just backed off when you told me too.”
“Garrett…” Your eyes softened.
“No. I still would’ve kicked his ass if he had touched you, but I should’ve listened to you.”
An understanding passed over you both.
Neither of you had done the right or wrong thing. You’d both just been humans making human mistakes, but it was owning up to and fixing them that made you just right for each other.
You brought out the best side to each other.
Garrett went back to removing the glass chips from your palms and you closed your eyes again, sitting in the quiet of the moment with him.
“You better not be crashing out on me.” Garrett mumbled.
Your eyes stayed closed as you smiled, your face protesting from the movement.
“I’m not.”
It was a few minutes later when Garrett had finished pulling the glass out of both your palms.
“This might sting.” He said.
You winced as he wiped over your cuts with antiseptic wipes. He kissed the top of your forehead with a quiet apology each time you flinched.
“Let me see you for a minute.”
“You are seeing me.”
“I want to see your eyes.”
You opened them slowly. No doubt they still looked a little glassy from the build up of tears that you were too stubborn to let out.
Garrett’s eyes were focused on yours. He was looking deep into your soul, like he was really trying to make sure that you were doing better.
A curl had fallen onto his forehead and you reached up to push it back. It was only then that you noticed he’d placed an obscene number of plasters all over your palm, which you couldn’t help but laugh at.
“This might be overkill.” You snickered.
“There’s no such thing.”
“There’s one, two… Five plasters.”
“Exactly. It’s not overkill.”
You rolled your eyes playfully.
Garrett caught your hand in his, covering yours entirely with the large span of his. It was little things like that which made you feel entirely safe with him.
“You know, I wasn’t trying to make you look weak earlier.” Garrett said, breaking the silence around your argument.
“I know.” You looked up at him so he could see the truth in your eyes.
“Then why were you so pissed?”
You shrugged, “I was tired.”
“Baby…”
“Genuinely. I promise. I was hungry. That girl, Paloma, was driving me insane. We had argued and it felt like everything was a little too much. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“No it wasn’t okay to snap like that. I’m sorry so please forgive me.”
“I already have.”
He leant down to kiss you. It was way less passionate than earlier on in the night, but with the burning pain from your cheek this was about all you could manage.
Garrett was very careful and gentle. He pulled back when you’d winced one too many times. Once again, you whined from the loss of contact.
“Need to be careful, baby.” He smiled as you puckered your lips to try and kiss him again.
“I am.”
Garrett gave you one more kiss to satisfy you, before pulling away entirely.
“Let’s get you home, yeah?”
“Okay.”
——
You all got back to the Off Campus house a little after midnight, since Della let you go home early.
You were tucked into Garrett’s side on the sofa downstairs, his oversized college hoodie on and your favourite comfortable joggers on too.
He hadn’t let you separate from his side since the whole showdown with Paloma.
“Thank you.” You said to Tucker - ever the caregiver - as he handed you a cup of tea.
Garrett nodded his head to his friend in thanks.
“That was a gnarly fight, L/N.” Dean said as he played Mario Kart with Logan.
“Dean.” Garrett warned.
“Sorry dad.” Dean joked, causing Garrett to launch a pillow at him.
“Seriously. Are you okay though?” Tucker asked as he settled down on the other side of you.
“I’m okay, Tuck.”
“Cause we’ll beat down her brother.” Dean suggested.
You turned to Garrett, peering at him around the hood you’d pulled up over your head, “Is he serious?”
Garrett made a face that told you Dean may-or-may-not be serious.
“Just say the word and we’ll ride at dawn.” Dean said, making you laugh.
Garrett welcomed the feel of your body moving from laughter, tugging you closer into his body with his arm. You couldn’t physically get any closer to him and yet somehow he managed it.
“You’re going to look so badass with that bruise.” Tucker said.
“Tuck… Garrett’s going to ride at dawn if you don’t stop saying shit like that.” Logan piped up, causing Tucker to cower and Garrett nod his head in agreement. Of course he wouldn’t, but he didn’t mind holding the threat over Tuck’s head either.
“How can I look badass when I’ve been wrapped in so many plasters that you can’t even see my skin anymore?”
“You always look badass.” Garrett squeezed your arm.
“Now you’re just getting corny, Graham.” You rolled your eyes and tried to hide the smile on your face.
“I’m okay with that.” He kissed the okay side of your face, “Worth it to see that smile.”
As the guys returned to the game of Mario Kart, with Tucker giving unfiltered commentary, you closed your eyes as you lay against your boyfriend.
You calmed down a while ago. The anxiety had left your body, but it didn’t hurt to still be kept safe against Garrett.
With your eyes closed you could feel the hood of Garrett’s hoodie being peeled back from your cheek. It was no surprise when you opened your eyes to see Garrett doing a quick check of your cheek.
“Stop checking if it’s still there.”
“Can’t help it.” He pouted.
“I’m okay.”
“And I believe that now.”
You hummed unconvinced.
Garrett only smiled before tucking the hood back around your face.
He still checked on the bruise throughout the rest of the night anyway.
social battery is at zero
summary - you are absolutely shattered, but it’s the first off campus bonfire of the summer and you don’t want to let your boyfriend down
pairing - garrett graham x girlfriend!reader
word count - +1.8k
It was the first bonfire of the summer.
Every year the Off Campus house would throw a bonfire to celebrate the start of summer. Exams finished and parties beginning.
You had spent the afternoon with Garrett and the guys prepping for the party, whilst also attending an extra credit class for an hour. Safe to say, you were exhausted.
The kitchen was hectic as Tucker ordered people around.
“Dean, no! I swear to God, if I see you eat another marshmallow man…” Tucker threatened Dean with a wooden spoon. Terrifying.
You smiled to yourself, whilst continuing your delegated job of setting out the drinks on a portable table just outside.
The sound of a camera going off made you look to your right, where your boyfriend, Garrett, stood shamelessly.
“Really?”
“What? You look so pretty.” Garrett shrugged like it was nothing.
You had to stop yourself from blushing, because it was getting annoying how much he could make you blush with even just the tiniest of things.
Dick.
Garrett continued messing around on his phone as you finished lining up the cans of beer in the ice-cooler.
You sighed, tired but feeling accomplished.
“You okay?”
Garrett slid his phone in his pocket and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, so he could pull you in for a quick kiss on your head.
You melted into his hold, feeling like you could just close your eyes and drift off in the comfort of him.
“Mhm.”
You inhaled his presence. He slightly smelled of Tucker’s cooking from inside, but mainly the laundry detergent he used that was on your list of five favourite things about him.
“Sure?” He pulled you back away from him, meaning you had to pull on your fakest smile.
“Yeah.” You nodded, smiling up at him.
“Okay.” He leaned down to kiss you softly. He would have kissed you longer than a few seconds, but the guys started whistling and cheering on from the kitchen window. “Fuck off, creeps.”
“Y/N - can you help me with this?” Tucker shouted from inside.
Garrett rolled his eyes and you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.
“Duty calls.” You patted his chest.
“Cannot catch a break.” Garrett muttered - something he always said when you were forced from his side for more than 5 minutes. It did make you feel very loved.
——
The bonfire had officially started an hour ago, but people had only really started joining in the last five minutes or so.
You, Hannah, Allie, Grace and Sabrina had been playing cards in the living area with a couple drinks between you, but now there were more people arriving you’d decided to give it up for the day.
The girls had gone to get more drinks and join the guys out back, but you’d stayed back to clear up.
“Y/N!”
You turned to see Beau enter the house with a couple of his friends behind him.
“Hey, Beau.” You smiled, packing away the last of the cards.
The guys had a cupboard just beneath the TV where they kept all their board games - including the game of Twister that you and Garrett played on your second date, and it made you fall for him really hard (Literally).
“You doing okay?” He asked, hands in his jean pockets.
“Yeah, I’m okay.” You smiled.
“Cool.”
He left you to find the guys outside. No doubt he had some dramatic entrance or speech planned with Dean.
You sat back against the sofa, and took your phone out to give yourself literally anything to do rather than go back outside.
You opened up your texts, responding to a couple of people that were asking whether they could come to the bonfire. Garrett had said it was an open house, so you replied yes.
You opened Instagram next, smiling when you saw Garrett had a new story posted. You clicked it and smiled even wider when you realised he had posted the picture of you setting up the drinks before.
“Can’t get rid of her ❤️”
That’s what he’d written as the caption.
You chuckled to yourself as you replied saying, “No refunds or returns.”
You opened up your work calendar next, your smile instantly disappearing when you realised how many shifts you had upcoming. It was made even worse when you realised you’d be missing out on being with Garrett for the start of summer.
It sucked, having to work for money.
Of course Garrett always offered to help you out, but you enjoyed the independence of earning your own money. Lord knows that didn’t stop him for always paying for dates and days out together.
“Absolutely not.” Your phone was plucked out from your hand by your boyfriend, as he sat up on the couch behind you.
“Hey!”
“This is a party, baby.”
“I know.”
“So what are you doing sitting here on the floor, looking at the most depressing calendar?” He challenged.
You sighed, tipping your head back to lean against his thigh.
You closed your eyes, enjoying this quiet moment with him.
“Sure you’re okay?” He took your chin between his forefinger and thumb, causing you to open your eyes sleepily.
“Mhm.”
“You’re not about to crash out on me, hm?”
You shook your head.
“Okay, then. Come keep me company outside.” He said, not giving you the opportunity to choose because he knew you’d stay inside given the option. He knew you too well.
“I’m keeping you company right now.”
Garrett huffed out a laugh, dropping his hand from your face. Your head automatically went back to leaning heavily against his thigh.
“You’ve been hiding in here for like ten minutes, baby.”
“I haven’t.” You squinted at the accusation.
“Beau arrived a while ago and immediately came out to find me, completely bypassing Dean, because he wanted to check in with me to see if I knew you were in here alone.”
“You both worry too much.” You cupped his cheek at an awkward angle, which he leant into.
“Of course I worry.” His eyes furrowed as he tried to comprehend why you’d think otherwise.
“I’m okay. Promise.”
“Okay. C’mon then, please?”
And because he asked nicely, of course you went with him.
——
The music is loud and the conversations are louder.
The main group of your friends are sitting around the bonfire. Garrett had saved you a camping chair beside him, but it didn’t matter because you were more comfortable sitting on his lap.
Dean had been talking about summer plans when you’d last properly listening to the conversation.
Since then your friends had talked about hockey, then movies, which somehow turned into hotdogs. You hadn’t contributed one word to any of their conversations though.
You were too busy fighting your heavy eyes by playing with the tassels on your boyfriend’s hoodie. It didn’t help that he had been constantly rubbing slowly circles on your lower back with his thumb.
Your head was resting against his shoulder as you sat sideways on his lap.
“Should I be offended that Y/N hasn’t laughed at a single one of my jokes?” You heard Dean ask, cracking a small smile from you but you didn’t have the energy for anything more.
Garrett looked down at you, which you knew because you could feel his eyes on you.
His face leant down so he could be close to you, without anyone else interrupting or overhearing.
“Shall we call it a night?” He asked.
Your eyes flicked to his and you immediately softened.
Maybe it was unfair that Garrett could look at you like that. Like there wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be. Even with half the hockey team sitting around the fire.
You made no big protesting movement, which told Garrett everything he needed to know. You were shattered.
You shook your head. “It’s your party.”
“You know that’s not an answer, baby.” He gave you a half-smile.
“You should be down here, with your friends.”
“I just want to be with you.”
“Okay Troy Bolton.” You huffed, which turned into a proud smile when Garrett laughed because he understood your reference.
“Tell me honestly. If you’re tired, we can go.”
“I don’t want you to be disappointed or feel like you’re missing out.” You looked down from his eyes to focus on picking at his hoodie tassels again.
“I promise I won’t. I’d be more sad missing out on something with you than this lot.”
And you know he means it.
You gave him a small nod and that was all the confirmation that Garrett needed.
You stood up from his lap with all the strength you could muster, your muscles aching to sit back down and rest for at least twelve hours. Garrett stood up quickly after you, taking your hand in his.
“We’re heading out.” Garrett announced to the group.
“Already?” Dean complained and Allie hit him on the arm.
“Yeah. Deal with it.”
“Get home safe.” Hannah smiled at you both as Garrett led you away from the fire.
“Bye guys.” Logan smiled.
“Bye.” You mustered a smile and a wave, and followed Garrett away from the party.
——
Garrett’s room was surprisingly quiet, considering the party going on downstairs - or maybe you were just too tired to notice.
As soon as you’d gotten upstairs, Garrett handed you his sweatshirt that he knew you loved wearing.
He helped you get changed, after noticing how slow and groggy your movements were. He was always happy to help, especially when it earnt him a thank you kiss.
Now you were laying on your side of his bed, curled up under the duvet and feeling like this is where you were meant to be.
Garrett had continued to potter around his bedroom, tidying aimlessly.
“What are you doing?” You asked, eyes half open.
“Tidying.”
You watched him throw socks and pants into his landry basket without any care for whether they were clean or dirty.
“Why?”
“Because my girlfriend is staying over and it looked like a dumpsite.”
“Graham, just get your ass in bed.”
Garrett chuckled, throwing the last of his messy clothes in his laundry basket before joining you in bed. He wasted no time getting underneath the covers and sliding in tight behind you.
“Babe?” You prompted.
“Hmm?”
“The light.”
“Oh for—.” Garrett mumbled some profanity as he got back out of bed to turn off the big light - which honestly why he had it on in the first place was a mystery and disgrace.
He quickly got back into bed with you.
This time he all but merged himself with you, entangling your legs with his and wrapping his arms around your body tightly.
The smile on your face was completely valid.
Being held in Garrett’s arms like this was second to none.
“Garrett?”
“Yeah?”
“I think my social battery died five hours ago.”
“Baby, I know.” He chuckled, which caused his hot breath to tickle the back of your neck.
“Thank you for leaving with me.”
“Any time.”
“It’s—.”
“Baby?” He cut you off.
“Yeah?”
“Go to sleep.”
garrett graham blurb ❄︎ off the clock.
pairing – garrett graham x nursing student!reader summary – garrett graham doesn’t do girlfriends. he does, apparently, do late-night hospital pickups, car doors, seatbelts, and hand-holding on the drive home. warnings – suggestive content, public-ish makeout, hospital placement mention, brief IV mention, strong language notes from me – just a little nursing student!reader blurb while i work through requests!! <3 word count – 1.6k
navigation – masterlist
The hospital spits her out just after eleven, blinking and half-frozen and still smelling faintly of antiseptic no matter how many times she’d washed her hands.
Behind her, the automatic doors sigh shut on all that bright linoleum and distant beeping and someone’s shoes squeaking down a corridor, and then she’s outside in the dark, where the cold hits so sharply she actually makes a noise about it. A wounded little exhale as she shoves her hands into her jacket pockets and tucks her chin down toward the collar of her scrub top.
“Jesus,” she mutters to herself, shoulders coming up around her ears.
It’s been a night. Long enough that her body feels like it’s been assembled incorrectly. Her feet hurt. Her brain feels soft around the edges. There’s pen on the side of her hand, her ponytail has slipped half-loose, and she’s still thinking about the patient in bay four who’d told her very seriously that nurses were the backbone of America before asking if she could please make the heart monitor beep quieter, as it was distracting him from his crossword.
She’s still smiling a little when she sees him.
Garrett’s leaning against his Jeep under the car park light, arms folded. His hair’s messy from a shower, dark curls still damp at the ends, and he has that whole Garrett Graham thing going on. Broad shoulders. Stupidly easy confidence. Mouth already curving like he knows exactly what she’s thinking and has decided to be annoying about it.
Her stomach does something small and embarrassing. Very professional. Very composed. Very student nurse of her.
He pushes off the car when he spots her, and his grin pulls wider, warm and smug all at once. “Hey.”
“Hey, you,” she says, and hates a little bit how soft it comes out.
His eyes move over her face, then down to her scrubs, her badge, her shoes. Quick enough to pass as casual if she didn’t already know him too well.
“You look like the hospital won.”
She huffs, but it turns into a smile because she’s missed him, which is humiliating. “That’s just what clinical excellence looks like.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Back pain. Emotional damage. Mild dehydration.”
“Sounds prestigious.”
“It is. Very competitive.”
His mouth twitches as he reaches past her for the passenger door and opens it before she can. He stands there holding it, eyebrows lifted like he’s daring her to say something.
She looks at him. “I can open a car door.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.” His eyes flick briefly to her mouth. “I’m being impressive.”
“With doors?”
“I’m starting small.”
She laughs despite herself and slides into the passenger seat, immediately hissing when the cold leather touches the backs of her thighs through her scrub pants. “Oh my god.”
Garrett leans one forearm on the top of the door. “You good?”
“No. I’ve died.”
“You’re still talking.”
“Final reflex.”
He laughs, shuts the door, and rounds the front of the Jeep. She watches him through the windshield, the loose, easy way he moves, one hand dragging through his hair as he comes around to the driver’s side.
They’ve texted constantly over the last two weeks. Stupid things. Tired things. Her half-delirious updates from placement. His pictures of Dean passed out on the couch or Tucker making dinner like a man personally betrayed by vegetables.
But it hasn’t been this. Him in the same space as her. His car smelling like clean laundry and cold air and whatever body wash he uses that she has absolutely no business recognising this quickly.
He gets in and starts the car, immediately blasting the heat. She holds both hands in front of the vents like she’s trying to resurrect herself.
“It’s so cold,” she says.
“It’s November.”
She turns her head slowly. “Thank you. That helped.”
“Anytime.” He shifts toward her instead of putting the car into reverse, one hand coming up to her jaw with that easy, devastating confidence of his. His fingers are warm against her skin, thumb settling just below her cheekbone. “C’mere.”
She goes torward him easily. His mouth is warm, familiar, faintly minty, and the kiss is supposed to be quick until she smiles into it and he makes that low, pleased sound in the back of his throat like he’s won something. His thumb presses a little firmer at her jaw. The hospital car park drops away for a second.
When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. “How was it?”
She hums, because words take a moment. “Okay. Busy. Fun, kind of. My brain’s not really working. Like, I think if you asked me my birthday right now, I’d need a minute.”
“Good to know. I’ll keep it simple.” His thumb strokes once over her cheek. “You eat?”
She makes a face.
Garrett’s expression flattens. “That’s a no.”
“I had coffee.”
“Babe.”
“And half a granola bar.”
“Babe.”
The word lands too easily. Warm. Exasperated. Like he has any right to sound that domestic when Garrett Graham doesn’t do girlfriends.
He only picks her up from hospital placements at eleven at night, texts her to make sure she isn’t walking out alone, remembers her schedule better than she does, and looks personally offended when she hasn’t eaten dinner. Completely different thing.
She lifts her brows. “Don’t babe me in your disappointed captain voice.”
“My disappointed captain voice works.”
“It’s bossy.”
He finally leans back, hand dropping to the gearshift. “You wanna go to yours? I can drop you. The guys are throwing something at the house.”
“Something?”
“Dean said low-key.”
“So loud.”
“Probably.”
“And sticky.”
“Almost definitely.”
She scrunches her nose, already imagining the music, the yelling, Logan saying something insane across the kitchen while Tucker tries to make sure no one breaks a lamp. Usually, she likes the hockey house. Tonight, the thought of it makes her want to climb into bed fully clothed and become unavailable to the public.
“No party,” she says. “I’d fall asleep standing up and someone would draw on me.”
Garrett nods. “Dean would.”
“Tucker would stop him.”
“Tucker would try.”
“Logan would take a picture.”
She grins, nodding very seriously. “Unsafe environment.”
Garrett smiles, softer this time. “Home, then.”
She nods, but instead of sitting back like a normal person, she leans over the console and kisses him again. Slower this time. Less hello, more something she’s not going to name because he’ll get unbearable about it and also because she’s tired enough to be honest by accident.
His mouth curves against hers.
“You staying over?” she murmurs.
“Yeah,” he says, too quick to pretend he had to think about it. Then, quieter, “If you want me to.”
She rolls her eyes before her face can do something stupid. “You’re very easy.”
“For you?” His grin turns lazy. “Yeah. Little bit.”
That shouldn’t make her stomach flip. It does anyway. To recover, she slides a hand into his hair and tugs lightly at the curls near the nape of his neck. His breath catches, barely, but she hears it.
She smiles. “Interesting.”
“Don’t start.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
His hand lands on her thigh over her scrubs, big and warm and far too comfortable there. “You’re supposed to be exhausted.”
“I am.”
He huffs a breath through his nose. “You’re harassing me for sport.”
“I can multitask.”
He laughs under his breath and kisses her again, and this one gets away from them fast. Two weeks of missed schedules and half-asleep phone calls and pretending none of it counts as missing each other.
His hand slides a little higher on her thigh. Hers tightens in his hair. The heat blasts over her knees, and she leans closer over the console, smiling into his mouth when he makes another low sound that’s going to be a problem for her later.
Then someone walks past the front of the Jeep. Close enough that when her eyes open, she catches the white coat, the badge, the tired doctor face, and the unmistakable glance into the car before he looks away with the grim professionalism of a man choosing not to involve himself.
She freezes. Garrett starts laughing.
“Oh my god.” She drops her forehead into his shoulder. “No.”
His chest shakes under her cheek. “Was that one of your doctors?”
“Don’t.”
“I’m just asking.”
“That is so unprofessional.”
“You’re off the clock.”
“I’m in the hospital car park!”
He shrugs. “Completely different.”
She lifts her head to glare at him, but his face is bright and smug and delighted, and it only makes her want to laugh too, which is frankly rude of him. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. That man watched me miss an IV yesterday.”
Garrett’s grin gets worse. “Good. New association.”
“What?”
He gestures with one hand. “Now he won’t think about the IV.”
“He’ll think about me making out with you in your Jeep.”
“Exactly.” He looks deeply pleased with himself. “Rebrand.”
She stares at him, then smacks his chest. “Drive.”
“Okay, okay.” He catches her hand before she can pull it back and kisses her knuckles, still smiling like an idiot.
She groans dropping her head back against the headrest. “I’m transferring schools.”
“No, you’re not.”
She points at the windshield. “Drive, Graham.”
He pulls out of the car park still grinning, one hand on the wheel, the other finding its way back to her thigh as soon as they hit the road.
Outside, the hospital drops behind them in glass and light, the streets stretching dark and quiet toward campus. The heat keeps blowing over her legs. Garrett’s thumb moves slowly over her scrubs like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
She tips her head against the seat and watches him in the passing streetlights, the curve of his mouth still there, stupid and pleased and familiar.
“What?” he asks without looking over.
She shakes her head softly. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
She turns her hand palm-up on her thigh, and after half a second, his fingers slide between hers like they were headed there anyway.
“Just drive.”
His hand tightens around hers. “Yes, ma’am.”
❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎
i’m so invested in this pairing! i love their dynamic sooo much 🥺🥺
also you’re writing is just chefs kiss - i could read your stuff all day & never get bored!!
just read the garret x ex reader and omg i just feel so pissed off for the reader 😭 bc why did it take him like 4 months goddd like girl u deserve better than this </3 he didnt even want to hear her out
okay you’re so true but also like reader was feeling very single & lonely so she caved & forgave (reader is me)
I feel like garret would be the biggest groveller 🙏🏾I was thinking something where the reader gets mad/ annoyed at him and ignores him to the point where’s he’s begging for her attention/forgiveness
better kiss me next time, bitch
summary - garrett forgets to kiss you one morning, so obviously you have to break up with him
pairing - garrett graham x girlfriend!reader
word count - 1.5k
“Baby, wake up.”
Garrett’s voice was the first thing that you became aware of as you woke up. You pulled the duvet up higher to your neck with a grumble in response.
Your boyfriend chuckled and you felt the bed dip next to where you were laying down.
“C’mon. I’ve got to go in five minutes.”
“No.” You mumbled, eyes closed and trying your hardest to go back to sleep. It was too early.
It was in fact a very reasonable time for you to wake up, but Garrett knew not to disturb you on those days where you wanted an extra lay in.
“Okay. I’m gonna go now.” He caressed your cheek delicately.
“Mhm.”
You thought about how Garrett’s imminent kiss was going to help you drift back off to sleep very nicely. There was something about his morning kisses - so tender and soft - that you wanted to wake up every morning forever with them.
So you were absolutely devastated when his lips never met your cheek and his door clicked shut behind him.
Your eyes shot open at the sound.
You threw back the duvet with a petty scoff.
Okay, sure, you’d refused to wake up to say goodbye to your boyfriend but the absolute cheek to leave without giving you your morning kiss. It was hard not to take it to heart.
Was he actually upset with you?
Was he messing with you?
Or did he genuinely just forget?
——
Garrett had been sweating by the time he finished practice.
His hair was wet and dripping, and his clothes were sticking to him like a second skin. Thank God the locker rooms had showers, because there was no way he was going home to you smelling like a sewer drain.
After Garrett had finished his shower, he wrapped his white towel around his hips and walked back into the main changing area.
He wasn’t expecting his teammates to be surrounding each other, watching something on Dean’s phone.
They all looked up at him… guiltly? No… empathetically?
Why were they all looking at him?
“Yes?” Garrett prompted.
Tucker nudged Dean, who then nudged someone else, who then nudged another person, until everyone was nudging each other and whispering about who would be the one to tell Garrett whatever.
“Can someone just please tell me what the hell is going on?”
It was Logan that came over to him, handing Garrett his phone.
Garrett looked down at the screen and saw your face. He frowned and nervously swallowed, looking up at his onlooking teammates one more time before hitting play.
It was a video uploaded onto the Fifth Line.
Jules was clearly filming and you were the only person in shot.
“I hear you have some big news for us, Y/N?”
“Yes.” You smiled sadly.
Garrett felt a punch to the heart at your sad face. He was going to knock out the idiot who took the smile from your face away.
Your eyes welled up then, and Garrett’s heart started to race. He was mentally counting how long it would take for him to get changed and get home to you.
“I’m now single.”
What?
Garrett’s jaw physically dropped, and his mind couldn’t process anything long enough to tell himself to close it.
Garrett couldn’t look away from the video, but he felt his best friend, Logan, wrap an arm around his shoulder in solidarity.
“So you and Garrett?” Jules asked.
“We’ve parted ways.” You nodded.
“Any particular reason?”
“He knows what he did.”
Garrett was so confused. Confused by the entire video and situation, but also confused on how to feel. One moment he felt sad for you, the next he was plain confused and now he was anxiously trying to recount what the hell you could be talking about?
Was this breakup even mutual?
What the actual fuck was going on?
“Y/N asks for privacy during this time.” Jules said before the screen turned black.
Garrett’s gaze kept focused on the phone.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even process a single thought. He was completely broken.
“It’s okay, man.”
It was Logan’s voice matched with someone squeezing his arm that made him flip out of his daze.
“No. No. What the fuck.” Garrett mumbled, walking over to his changing space.
He discarded his towel without any regard for all his teammates watching him - their captain. He pulled on a hoodie and threw on his sweatpants without so much considering pulling on underwear too.
It took Garrett less than five minutes to get ready to leave, whilst his teammates hadn’t moved a muscle.
“Have none of you got anything better to do?” He shouted out rhetorically as he left the locker room to go and find you.
You. His girlfriend.
Did he miss the memo of when you broke up?
You had slept over just last night. He’d left you in his bed this morning, wearing his clothes. Your underwear was in his washing basket because you were over at his house more than you were at your own dorm.
There was no way you had broken up.
And if you had, by some miraculous event, broken up, then he was about to become the world’s most needy and relentless ex-boyfriend.
——
The knock on your door sounded angry.
You bookmarked your current read, slipped out of your bed and walked across the wooden floor of your dorm to the door.
You had barely flicked the lock open before it was dramatically swung open to reveal Garrett, his hand splayed wide open to keep your door open.
You barely got to look at him before he moved towards you, cupped your cheeks firmly and kissed you like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do.
It took a moment for you to realise what was happening before you started kissing him back.
Garrett walked you backwards and somehow managed to also close your door behind him, without ever breaking the kiss. You moaned as he tilted your face to kiss you deeper, the desire in the pits of your stomach only growing.
Your hand touched his chest, your fist curling the material of his hoodie as he kissed you harder.
Your touch must have triggered something, though, because he stopped kissing you a moment later.
Both of your cheeks were flushed and lips fucked.
Your breathing was heavy. Your chest heaved as you locked eyes with his.
He kept his distance close to you as he spoke.
“You’re not breaking up with me.”
“W-what?” You asked. Your brain felt completely messed up from the kiss.
“We’re not breaking up. End of story.”
“Garrett—.”
“I saw your video on Fifth Line.” He cut you off.
“All of it?” You questioned, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to understand what was happening.
“Yes.”
“Okay, then you know I was making a joke.” Your hand let go of his hoodie and you pulled a little further away from him.
Clearly there was a misunderstanding or miscommunication happening right now, because you and Garrett were very clearly not on the same page.
“Hang on a minute.”
You pulled out of his hold completely in search for your phone. Garrett reluctantly let you go, but followed close behind you like a lost puppy.
After pulling up the Fifth Line on your Instagram, you opened the video that had already amassed three times the views of anything else, and pressed play.
Garrett came to stand close behind you, the side of his cheek pressing against the side of your head.
You watched the video with him, jaw dropped when the video stopped.
“I don’t understand.” You said quietly.
“Well that makes two of us.” Garrett agreed.
You put your phone back down and turned around to face him. “Jules recorded me saying that bit, and then also another bit saying how it was all a joke and that we’re very much together. I didn’t want any dick-picks sliding into my DMs.”
“Might be too late for that, baby.”
“Fuck.” You sighed, covering your face with your hands, “It was meant to be a joke.”
“Hey, hey. C’mon.” Garrett wrapped his arms around you to hold you close. The feeling of his arms encompassing you made you feel very safe. “Bit of a shit joke though, baby.”
Your head nestled out from his hold so you could look at him.
“Bit of a shit morning though.” You retaliated.
“Hmm?”
“You know what you did.”
“Well, clearly I don’t.” Garrett laughed.
“You didn’t kiss me.” You pouted.
“I didn’t kiss you?” Garrett’s eyebrows raised and you hoped that it was because he was shocked at his bad behaviour.
“No.”
“My poor baby.”
“Mhm.”
“In all fairness, you were half dead… I mean, asleep.” Garrett joked, because he teased you all the time about how you’re practically dead when you sleep.
“Well still…”
“Still what?”
“Better kiss me next time, bitch.”
“As long as we don’t break up. Can’t kiss you if we break up.” Garrett proposed.
“Let’s never break up.”
“Deal.
“Deal.”
no cause that’s the exact reaction he deserves for not kissing her!
like first off! why would you wake her up and then just not kiss her goodbye. that’s literally just so rude
but fuck that reaction was so hot
yes exactly 👏 you get it!!!!!!
Can I please get literally anything with garret graham my only thing is I want them in a established relationship
absolutely!!! here is a bunch of stupid social media trends that you & garrett have done tehe
chronically online girlfriend
summary - a bunch of stupid social media trends that you & garrett have done
pairing - garrett graham x gf!reader
word count - 2.5k
Ignoring my boyfriend for 20 seconds
You set your phone up somewhere discreet on the kitchen side so Garrett wouldn’t see.
After double checking it was recording, you continued to chop vegetables. You were making dinner for Garrett, because he’d been at hockey practice all evening and - honestly - you were just that good of a girlfriend.
Garrett always got home first from practice, so you knew when you heard the front door open and shut that it was him.
Okay, brave face.
You heard Garrett drop his bag off his shoulder onto the floor and his chucked his keys onto the counter.
“Hey.” He said tiredly.
This was going to be more difficult than you thought, because you already wanted to cave and just dote on him.
When you didn’t turn around or greet him, he got closer to you. His arms snaked around your waist so he could hug you from behind, his nose briefly inhaling the familiar scent of you at the back of your neck.
“Hello?” He questioned this time, whilst you continued to chop vegetables.
Your eyes darted to your phone and you had to hold back any emotion, which was difficult when your heart was melting at the sight of him pouting. Garrett’s eyebrows were furrowed the longer you went without acknowledging him.
“Baby.” He said a little more urgently this time.
Was that 20 seconds up?
Garrett huffed, unwrapping his hands from around your waist but still keeping you close against him. One hand reached for you to drop the pepper and the other reached to safely put the knife down.
Within a second he had you turned around so he could see your face. “What’s going on?”
His eyes tried to catch yours. You knew you would cave the moment you looked at him, which you did a moment later because you’d had enough of this trend already.
Garrett was frowning when you looked up at him. He looked worried, which only turned into confusion when he noticed you were trying to hold back a smile.
“I’m sorry.” You let out an exasperated sigh, “It’s for a TikTok.”
You turned to point at your recording phone.
Garrett’s whole body visibly softened and the crease between his furrowed eyebrows disappeared. He leaned down to rest his forehead against your shoulder and you brought your hands up to gently stroke through his damp curls.
“You scared me. I thought you were mad at me because I’d done something.”
“No, baby.” You smiled sadly, hating that you’d actually caused him this much panic or stress. “I’m sorry.”
Garrett lifted his head so he could look at you.
“It’s okay. Just don’t ever shut me out, okay? If you are actually mad at me, just talk to me. Please.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Video comments:
deandilaurentis: You got him good L/N
↪️ garrettgraham: Don’t encourage her… I don’t need any more emotional damage
alliecat: Aweeee he’s just a baby
randomgirl1: I would die just a chance to hold Garrett Graham like this
↪️ randomgirl2: Girl same
Ranking his hugs and kisses like a critic
You handed your phone to Hannah, who was already laughing at the outcome of this dumb trend.
You bit your lip, a nervous energy swelling inside of you. Hannah encouraged you with a nod, following you but also keeping herself hidden.
You walked up to Garrett, who was standing at Malone's bar waiting to be served. You sauntered up beside him and hugged him as best you could from the side.
"Oh, hey." Garrett's body melted against yours and he brought his arm instantly around your shoulders, pulling your body close so he could give you a kiss on the top of your head.
You pulled away after about five seconds.
"6.5. Felt like I was more into it than he was." You said, before walking away and leaving Garrett standing there none-the-wiser.
It was a bit later in the night and you were dancing with Hannah.
When she pulled out her phone and started to record you, anyone else would have thought she was just being a good girl-friend and capturing photos of you. Little did they know, she was actually filming you in preparation for your boyfriend approaching you from behind.
You threw your arms up in the air to the beat of the music.
Garrett made romance look so effortless as he slipped his head between your arms, his arms sliding around your waist to hold you close against his front.
Your eyes rolled back at the feeling of his warm hands against your stomach.
Your own hands reached behind you at an odd angle and around the back of Garrett's neck, blushing at the intimacy of it all. You were in the middle of Malone's for fuck sake not a club.
"And cut!" Hannah shouted.
If she hadn't said anything you probably would have forgotten all about this stupid trend you've been trying to do all night. Your eyes opened and you pulled out of Garrett's hold, turning around to face him.
He did not look happy that you'd just escaped him for the second time this evening.
"8.5. Getting better. More passion required." You said, before moving on.
"What the..." Garrett muttered to himself.
Dean swung his arm around Garrett's shoulders then, his other hand coming to pat him a couple times on the chest. "Is she trying to give you blue balls, dude?"
The final straw for Garrett is when you're speaking to some random guy and he's clinging onto every word you say.
The clench of his jaw must have been really obvious, because Hannah pulled out her phone to record just before Garrett stormed his way over to you.
You tried to keep a composed face as you Garrett came up behind the guy who was talking to you about literally nothing interesting.
"Hey man," Garrett tapped the guys shoulder, trying his best to look unbothered, "Can I just cut in here for a minute?" He gestured towards you.
"Oh yeah, of course G."
Garrett gave the guy a look, because only his close friends were allowed to call him 'G' and he had never once seen this guy in his life before.
Before you had the chance to say hello, Garrett's arms pulled on your waist and the back of your neck, towards him, until his lips met yours.
The kiss was messy and hot.
You stopped being shocked two seconds into the kiss and threw your hands into the hair on the back of your boyfriends neck, pulling strands the way you knew he liked.
Garrett kept kissing you, not letting either of you have more than half a second between kisses.
You whimpered when Garrett pulled you even closer into him, your boobs pressing against his chest. Even though you were both still clothed, it was completely overwhelming.
He pulled away with a satisfied smirk when he noticed how hot and flushed you looked. He could tell there wasn't a single thought behind your eyes.
"Was that enough passion for a 10?" He asked.
Your brain had to slowly compute what he had asked, but you gave him a knowing smile when you realised he had caught on to the trend you have been testing on him all night.
"Fuck yeah, that was a 10."
Video comments:
hannahwells: my video skills are unmatched
↪️ yourinstagram: thank you for your help as always wellsy <33
randomgirl1: Garrett Graham the God that you are
randomgirl2: The way he kissed her like there was nobody else in the room smh
itsjohnlogan: Get a room
↪️ garrettgraham: We did.
POV: Distance is temporary
Garrett had been gone for three days now.
He had left on the Friday and it was now Monday. An entire weekend without him had sucked. There had been no one there to make you breakfast in the morning, or pick you up from class or hold you tight when you fall to sleep.
You'd been making a short video documenting the time without him.
It started with you and Garrett in his room, laying on his bed together and laughing over something silly.
"I'm going to miss you." You whispered against his chest.
"I know."
"Did you just Star Wars me?" You chuckled. Garrett's chest rose and fell from laughing too.
"Yes. It's romantic."
"The most romantic, actually." You agreed.
Then the video cut to you waving him goodbye on the team bus, with him throwing you a bunch of kisses through the window.
Another video cut to you watching Garrett at the away game on your laptop, cheering when he scored a goal. When he tapped his glove over his heart, you knew that was his way of saying that the goal had been for you.
Then the video cut to you and Garrett on face-time.
"Aren't you going out with the guys?" You asked.
"In a bit." He yawned as he stretched out on the bed. "Are you at mine?"
"Mhm." You showed him a bit more of the background around you to confirm that you were in his room.
"Fuck I wish I was there too."
Your eyes softened and you couldn't contain the smile that his words brought out of you. "Wish you were here too. But you're not... so go and celebrate your win instead."
"I will. I just want to talk to you first."
Then the video cut to a POV from one of the guys' phone, filming Garrett at the party to celebrate their win.
"This is a party, Graham!" Logan shouted.
Garrett was too focused on texting you to even notice Logan's voice, let alone the camera filming him.
Finally the video cut to you slightly pacing the small length of Garrett's bedside, anticipating him walking through his bedroom door any moment.
When the door creaked open you didn't waste a moment to go over and jump on him for an all-encompassing hug. Garrett chuckled as you koala-beared yourself around him, stuffing you face into his neck to burrow yourself away. His bag fell to the floor with a thump and he walked further into his room so he could shut the door behind him.
Garrett's arms shifted beneath your body to hike you higher up his body.
"Nice to see you too."
Video comments:
itsjohnlogan: He genuinely didn't hear a word I said. He was locked-in on your texts
↪️ yourinstagram: aweee :(((
alliecat: MY FAVE COUPLE
↪️ hannahwells: so true bestie
randomgirl1: when is it my turn /gen
randomgirl2: i'm so sick of my FYP constantly showing me this couples relationship... (*scrolls through entirety of yoursinstagram feed*)
garrettgraham: <3
He's a man written by a woman
The idea of the video was sent to you by Sabrina, who said it was the most Garrett Graham-coded thing ever.
It relied on you montaging together loads of moments from the beginning of your relationship until now - but moments that specifically showed that Garrett Graham was a man written by a woman. If you know, you know.
The first few clips were of Garrett carrying your bags around.
"How many books does one person need?" Garrett's muscles flexed as he lifted the two bags of books out of the trunk of his car.
"Did you really just ask me that." You laughed, filming him pretending to do some bicep curls with the bags.
"I can't even hold your hand now."
"We're literally walking 20 metres from your car to your house."
"I agree - It's outrageous."
The next clip was you holding your phone up in front of the bathroom mirror. You had just taken some photos with him, because you liked the lighting in here and you were always looking for an excuse to have more photos together.
You quickly pressed record when you noticed Garrett fiddling with your necklace, frowning when he saw that the small letter 'G' was at the back of your neck rather than the front. He moved it around, carefully.
"There. Much better." He kissed your cheek.
It was clips like that where Garrett had been paying such close attention to you that he never even noticed you filming.
Your favourite video clip was barely visible, because you'd taken it at night.
Garrett and you were tucked well underneath his duvet.
"Stop."
You were still attempting to shove your camera in his face rather than listen to him. "Hold still."
"No. You'll film me and send it to the guys and I will forever lead a sad and regretful life." He continued to swat your arms away.
"Baby, please! You look so cute."
"Cute? I'm not cute."
"Your hair is literally scraped back, with a bright pink elastic, into a tiny ponytail right now." You tried to reason with him. That sentence alone should allow you to film without any restrictions.
Garrett groaned and lay flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You curled up next to him and brought the camera to hover above both of you so you could show off his hair styled.
You giggled again.
It was only when you went to upload the video and subsequently watched it back, that you noticed Garrett's whole demeanour soften when you laughed and he stopped pretending like this moment was the bane of his existence.
Video comments:
hannahwells: he's so book boyfriend coded
↪️ alliecat: agreed
↪️ sabrinaaa: agreed
↪️ itsgraceivers: agreed
↪️ garrettgraham: What does this even mean?
deandilaurentis: Setting the bar WAY to high G
↪️ itsjohnlogan: Preach
Interviewing him
It felt like Christmas day when your mini-microphone arrived in the mail.
After setting it up, you immediately went to try it out on your boyfriend.
Garrett was grabbing a snack from the fridge, shirtless and grey sweatpants - because he knew they were your weakness and he was a masochist.
Your phone was recording him as you spoke into the microphone behind the camera, "How does it feel dating the funniest girl alive?"
You pointed the tiny microphone over to Garrett, who looked at you like you'd grown a third eye.
"What?" He smiled, shutting the fridge with his leg and a bunch of things to make a sandwich in his hands.
"How does it feel dating the funniest girl alive?" You asked again.
Garrett shook his head over your antics, before giving in - because honestly who even was he if he wasn't giving you anything you wanted?
"Honestly, it’s a lot of pressure. I have to laugh at least 65% of the time just to keep her ego in check."
You scoffed behind the camera. The video caught the beginning of Garrett laughing out loud, but you walked off in a huff to avoid giving him the satisfaction of winning this conversation.
Video comments:
alliecat: Was this the day that you ignored Garrett for the entire day and he followed you around like a lost puppy because he genuienly thought you were upset?
↪️ yourinstagram: yes
↪️ garrettgraham: Still trying to get her to love me again...
↪️ hannahwells: oh pls ... like she ever stopped
Another day yearning badly for a fictional man
SO TRUE!!!!!
garrett graham ❄︎ good practice.
pairing – garrett graham x nursing student!reader summary – garrett graham doesn’t do girlfriends. she knows that. but after a heated trip upstairs turns into bruised ribs, nursing-student instincts, and accidental tenderness, whatever they’re doing starts feeling a lot less casual. warnings – suggestive content, alcohol, swearing, hockey injuries, wound care, casual hookup dynamics. notes from me – idk i just thought this pairing was cute because what’s better than a hockey boy who keeps getting beat up and a girl who actually knows how to look after him??? requests are open! word count – 5.4k
navigation – masterlist
By the time Garrett gets her upstairs, she’s already decided she’s going to be normal about it tonight. This is, obviously, a lie.
Normal would be letting him lead her through the party by the hand without staring at the back of his neck. Normal would be not noticing the flex of his fingers around hers every time someone bumps into them in the hall.
Normal would be not feeling the whole noisy, beer-sticky, post-game mess of the house narrow itself down to his thumb moving once over her knuckles as he guides her past a cluster of girls outside the bathroom and two guys shouting about somebody’s fantasy lineup near the stairs.
Normal would be remembering that this is what Garrett Graham does. The easy attention. The grin over his shoulder.
The way he touches like he’s not thinking too hard about it, like putting a hand at the small of her back or catching her fingers in his is just what his body does when she’s near enough. The way he makes a person feel briefly, stupidly singular, even in a house full of people who know his name and want a piece of him.
She knows better than to turn that into meaning. She really does.
She’s a nursing student. She has clinical placement at seven on Monday morning and three half-finished flashcards on cardiac meds shoved into her bag and a lab partner who keeps texting her about their assessment.
She understands symptoms. She understands pattern recognition. She understands that if a man who doesn’t do girlfriends makes you feel like a girlfriend for three to six hours a week, and then smiles at you after like he hasn’t just rearranged your entire nervous system, that’s not necessarily pathology. Sometimes that’s just Garrett.
His hand is warm around hers, and she’s a little drunk, and the game had been brutal, and he’d scored twice, and there are girls downstairs wearing Briar colours and looking at him like he’s something they could win if they stood in the right place long enough. And she’s the one he’s taking upstairs.
So. Normal. Definitely. Totally.
Garrett pushes his bedroom door open with his shoulder, tugging her inside after him, and the noise of the party drops at once to a muffled, bass-heavy pulse through the floorboards.
His room smells like clean laundry, cold air from the cracked window, and him underneath it, that warm boyish mix of soap and deodorant and whatever he uses in his hair when he pretends he doesn’t use anything.
There are textbooks stacked badly on the desk, a hoodie thrown over the chair, tape and a half-empty Gatorade bottle on the dresser. Evidence of a life being lived at full speed and cleaned only when Tucker threatens violence.
She gets half a second to take it in before Garrett closes the door behind her. Then he turns, catches her by the waist, and backs her against it.
The breath leaves her in a soft, embarrassing little rush. Garrett, for all his size and all the speed he carries on the ice, is annoyingly good at knowing exactly where someone’s body is in space.
He presses her back into the door with just enough weight, one hand braced near her head and the other sliding to her hip, his mouth already curving like he knows the sound she just made has ruined any chance of her acting composed.
“Hi,” he says, close enough that the word brushes her lips.
She looks up at him. “Hi.”
His grin deepens. “You’ve said that, like, six times tonight.”
“You keep appearing near me.”
“I live here.”
She tilts her head. “That’s probably part of the problem.”
He laughs under his breath, and then he kisses her before she can decide whether that was too honest to have been funny.
It starts the way it always starts, like he’s going to be patient just to prove he can. His mouth settles over hers slowly, warm and confident, one hand still at her waist, thumb slipping over the soft fabric of her dress.
She can taste beer on him, faint and bitter, and the peppermint gum he’d been chewing earlier because Dean had made some deeply unnecessary comment about post-game mouth and Garrett had thrown a bottle cap at his head.
His lips are soft in a way that always feels vaguely unfair, especially against the rest of him, the broadness of his shoulders and the hard line of his body still wired from the game, and when she opens for him he makes a small sound in his throat that goes straight through her like heat.
Her fingers climb into his hair before she can pretend restraint was ever on the table. His curls are a little damp at the roots from the party, from the shower he must have taken after the game, from whatever warmth still clings to him after the crush of bodies downstairs. She tugs, just lightly, and Garrett’s hand tightens at her waist.
“There she is,” he murmurs against her mouth.
She would like to say something clever to that. Something dry and immune. Instead she sucks his bottom lip between hers and feels him go briefly still. Then he groans. It lands low and rough in the small space between them, and something in her stomach tips clean over.
Garrett’s hand slides from her waist to her back and pulls her in harder, until there’s very little room left between the door and him and her body has to make several immediate decisions about survival. Her hands stay in his hair. His mouth opens over hers, deeper now, less patient, and the kiss turns messy in that private familiar way it gets when they are both pretending this is simple.
His tongue against hers. His thumb at her jaw. The scrape of his teeth, quick and careful, when she nips at his lip again because he’s rewarded it once already and she likes the sounds he makes against her mouth.
He kisses down her jaw, and her head tips back into the door before she can help it. His mouth moves warm over the hinge of it, then lower, to the line of her throat where her pulse is doing something medically ridiculous. He finds it with the kind of precision that feels almost insulting. His lips press there once, then again, open-mouthed and slow enough that her fingers tighten in his hair.
“Garrett,” she breathes, and immediately hates herself a little for sounding like that.
He hums against her skin, smugness practically vibrating off him. “Yeah?”
“Don’t be annoying.”
His smile touches her throat. “Be patient.”
She laughs, which comes out unstable because he chooses that exact second to kiss back up her neck, along her jaw, to the corner of her mouth. He catches her there before she can fully get the breath back, and this kiss is less patient from the start. His hand moves up to her jaw, fingers gentle but sure, thumb resting near the corner of her mouth in a way that makes it very hard to remember that she has bones.
She thinks he likes her.
It arrives abruptly, in the middle of his mouth on hers and his hand spread over her back and his knee sliding between her thighs like he already knows where she’ll make that soft sound for him. She thinks it, and then the thought sits there glowing, horrible and warm.
Garrett Graham does not do girlfriends. Everybody knows that.
It’s practically public information. He has hockey, classes, training, games, and the kind of attention that follows him around campus like bad weather. He’s just been made captain, which means half his life now belongs to the team in a more official capacity than it already did. He spends mornings on the ice, afternoons in class, nights pretending he’s not exhausted while some girl in a mini dress lets him drag her upstairs by the hand and tries not to care when he looks at her like this.
And she’s busy too. She is. She has lectures and placement and exams that make her want to peel her own face off. She has care plans to write and competencies to get signed and older nurses who can destroy a person with one look if they prime an IV line too slowly. She’s not wandering around with free time and delusion looking for somewhere to put both.
But Garrett’s hand’s at her throat, careful and warm, and his mouth is on hers like he has nowhere else to be, and she likes him so much that for a second it’s genuinely inconvenient to breathe.
His knee shifts higher between her thighs. The feeling catches before she can stop it. A little drag of pressure through the thin fabric of her dress and the heat already sitting low in her body, and her hips move once, almost by accident, chasing it.
Garrett’s response is immediate. His breath breaks against her mouth, not quite a laugh and not quite a groan, his fingers flexing at her jaw. “Fuck.”
The word should make her feel powerful. And it does. Unfortunately, it also makes her stupid.
She does it again, on purpose this time, and Garrett kisses her harder, his free hand sliding down her side, over the curve of her hip, to pull her closer against his thigh. The door is cool at her back. His body is hot everywhere else.
The party downstairs has become a distant, irrelevant animal. She can feel the dull beat of music through the wood, the pressure of his hand at her waist, the soft roughness of his lips when he drags his mouth from hers just long enough to breathe and comes right back like leaving was a mistake.
He turns them without really breaking the kiss, one hand moving to her back, walking her backward across the room. It’s smooth for approximately three steps, and then her knees hit the edge of the bed. She drops onto it with a soft, inelegant oof.
Garrett pulls back just enough to look at her. For one second, neither of them says anything. She’s sitting on the edge of his bed with her dress riding higher than she left the house intending, boots planted on his carpet, hair probably already a mess from his hands. Garrett stands between her knees, flushed and grinning down at her like this night has gone exactly where he wanted it to.
God help her, she grins back.
“Smooth,” he says.
“You shoved me.”
“I guided you.”
She has just enough time to roll her eyes before he pulls his shirt over his head, and then the entire mood changes.
The heat’s still there, because Garrett Graham shirtless is, objectively, not a situation a girl can be expected to process with clinical detachment.
His shoulders are broad and strong and his chest is exactly as unfair as she remembers from the other times she’s had the opportunity to lose her mind about it. There are abs. Obviously there are abs. Annoying, well-defined, deeply unnecessary abs that make some extremely unhelpful part of her brain go momentarily blank.
But over all of that, dark and yellowing and fresh and ugly, are bruises. A lot of them. Across his ribs. One spreading along his side in a purple smear that disappears toward his back. Another near his shoulder. Smaller marks scattered over his chest and stomach, some fading green at the edges, some new enough that the skin around them still looks angry. There’s a cut near his collarbone she hadn’t noticed downstairs and another thin scrape along his ribs, red, but not bleeding now.
She knew the game had been rough. Everyone had known. The hits had been loud enough from the stands that one of her friends had flinched into her shoulder and muttered, “Jesus, is that legal?”
She had watched Garrett get slammed into the boards and get back up like irritation was the only possible consequence. She had seen him grin through blood on his lip after the second period and had thought, with equal parts lust and alarm, that hockey players were not right in the head. But seeing it like this, close enough to touch, is different.
“Whoa,” she says, before she can soften it. Her hands come up instinctively but stop short of his skin. “Garrett. Hey. Hold on a second.”
He glances down like he has forgotten his own torso exists, then gives a small frown. “Oh. That.” His gaze lifts back to her, careless in a way that would be more convincing if she hadn’t spent half her week learning exactly how many bad decisions people described as nothing right before they became triage paperwork. “Yeah, you get used to it.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“Because that looks insane.”
“It’s fine.” He bends toward her, one hand already coming to her jaw, under the impression that his very stupid body can simply be kissed out of the conversation. “C’mere.”
He kisses her, and she lets him for about two seconds because she’s only human and his mouth is still his mouth. Then she makes a small, involuntary squeak of disapproval against his lips.
Garrett pulls back, forehead dropping to hers, jaw tight with the particular frustration of a man who can feel the night slipping out of his control and doesn’t appreciate the medical profession’s role in it. “What?”
She blinks up at him. “Can I at least look at them?”
His eyes narrow. “At what?”
“At your ribs, Garrett.”
“Jeez. They’re ribs. They’re still there.”
“Are we sure?”
That gets the corner of his mouth, barely. “Pretty sure.”
“Are you sure you didn’t break one or some shit?”
He lets out a groan and then, with all the theatrical suffering of a man denied his constitutional rights, flops backward onto the bed beside her. The mattress bounces under his weight. “We’re not gonna fuck, are we?”
She stares at him. Garrett looks over with the aggrieved expression of someone who believes he’s asked a very fair question.
She rolls her eyes so hard it almost hurts. “Can I just look? Please?”
“This feels like a trap.”
“You took your shirt off and revealed a fucking crime scene.”
He gives her a look so flat she nearly laughs at his stupidity. “It’s hockey.”
“It’s bruising over your ribs.”
He sighs, long and dramatic, then lifts one hand and gestures vaguely down at himself like a monarch granting access to disputed land. “Fine. Nurse me.”
“I’m not a nurse yet.”
“Great. So this is amateur hour.”
She shoots him a look, eyes narrowing. “Oh. Would you like me to stop touching you?”
“No,” he says too quickly, and then has the audacity to look slightly offended when she smiles.
She shifts onto the bed properly, one knee tucked under her, trying very hard to keep her attention on the task and not on the fact that Garrett is lying shirtless under her hands with his jeans still slung low on his hips and his hair a mess from her fingers.
The bedside lamp is on, yellowing the room softly, catching over the bruises and the lines of his stomach. Downstairs, someone yells, followed by laughter and a dull thud that neither of them bothers to investigate.
She presses two fingers gently along his lower ribs first. “How’s this?”
“Fine.”
She moves slightly higher. “Here?”
“Fine.”
She pulls her hands back and looks at him. “Garrett.”
“What?”
“Use a word that isn’t fine.”
He looks at the ceiling like she’s placed an enormous burden on him. “Manageable.”
“Wow. Thank you for your courage.” She presses again, lighter this time, watching his face. “Here?”
His mouth tightens before he can stop it.
She catches it immediately. “That hurt.”
“No.”
“Your entire face just did a thing.”
“My face does a lot of things. Girls usually love it.”
“Garrett.”
He exhales through his nose, then gives in by about one inch. “It’s… tender.”
“Tender like sore, or tender like don’t touch me there again unless I’m dying?”
He rolls his eyes.
“Answer.”
“Sore,” he says, then adds, because he’s incapable of letting her have anything cleanly, “but if you wanna touch me there again under different circumstances, I’m totally open-minded.”
She presses her lips together, trying not to laugh, and fails. “You’re actually the worst patient I’ve ever had.”
“I’m your hottest patient.”
She tilts her head. “Mm. Unfortunately.”
His grin flashes, quick and pleased, before she moves her hand higher and finds another spot that makes the muscles in his stomach tense under her fingertips.
Her brain, horribly unprofessional, registers the abs again. A full, useless, warm-body register of the hard give of him under her hand, the smooth heat of his skin, the fact that his stomach jumps a little when her fingers pass too close to the waistband of his jeans.
She’s touched him plenty of times. In significantly less educational contexts. But this feels different because she’s trying to be careful, and careful, with Garrett, is its own kind of intimacy.
“You’re staring,” he says.
She looks up and finds him watching her with one brow raised. “I’m assessing.”
“You’re assessing my abs?”
“They’re in the way of the bruises.”
He grins, head pressing back into the mattress as he adjusts his hips. “Tragic for you.”
“Deeply.” She drags her gaze back to the bruising near his side because if she keeps looking at his face while touching his stomach, she’s going to become useless to both medicine and feminism. “This one’s ugly.”
“Yeah, that guy was huge.”
She glares at him, one eyebrow raising in disapproval.
Garrett huffs. “What? I didn’t just let him hit me.”
“Sorry. I forgot he was supposed to ask for approval first.”
He laughs, then winces, one hand coming toward his ribs before he stops himself. “Ow. Jesus. Don’t make me laugh.”
Her face changes at once. “See?”
“I’m fine.”
She clicks her tongue once in frustration. “You just winced.”
“Because you’re funny.”
“Because your ribs hurt when you laugh,” she runs her hand across his chest again, genuinely concentrating on the damage now.
“Could be both.”
She gives him a look and reaches up to brush his hair back from his forehead, more because she wants to than because it serves any medical purpose.
His curls slip through her fingers, soft and warm, and his eyes do something quieter for half a second. Eyelids dropping halfway. Then the usual Garrett comes back over it, but not quite fast enough.
Her hand lingers. “I’m gonna get you some meds, okay?” she says, voice lower now.
He groans. “Can I get head first, or…?”
She huffs and smacks him lightly on the chest before she thinks. Garrett winces.
“Oh shit.” She jerks her hand back immediately, horror punching through the laugh. “Sorry. Sorry, my bad. My bad.”
He turns his head on the pillow and gives her a look of grave betrayal. “Jesus. Some nurse you are.”
“I said I wasn’t a nurse yet!”
“Yeah, and thank God. Accreditation board dodged a bullet.”
“I hate you.” But she’s smiling when she says it, which rather ruins the effect. She climbs off the bed, tugging her dress down as she stands because it’s migrated during the assessment with absolutely no respect for her professionalism. “Stay here.”
Garrett lifts his head slightly. “Where else would I go?”
“Knowing you? Back onto the ice to get punched again for sport.”
He opens his mouth to object. She points at him from the doorway. “Stay.”
His grin turns slow and irritating. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
His mouth opens again, probably to say something dirty, but she slips out before he can.
The hallway is louder than his room by several degrees, music and shouting rushing back in around her. She shuts his door behind her and stands there for a second with her hand on the knob, blinking herself back into the party version of the house. Two girls come up the stairs laughing into each other, one of them barefoot, both of them carrying cups. A guy she vaguely recognises from one of Garrett’s classes is sitting on the floor by the wall, looking solemnly into a bag of chips like it might answer something for him.
The bathroom is blessedly empty when she gets there. She flips on the light and starts opening cabinets.
Condoms. More condoms. A suspiciously ancient bottle of hair gel.
“Ew,” she mutters, pushing aside something at the back of the cabinet that may once have been a protein shaker lid and may now qualify as a biohazard. “Men should not be allowed storage.”
More condoms, because this house is prepared for everything except basic first aid. A packet of painkillers finally appears behind a half-used tube of toothpaste, and then antiseptic wipes in a box that looks like it has survived three tenants and a small war. She checks the date, then grabs them along with a clean washcloth from the stack under the sink.
When she gets back, Garrett is still on the bed, thank God, though he’s propped himself against the pillows now and is holding his phone above his face. He looks up when she comes in, and the expression on him changes in a way she wishes she hadn’t noticed.
The grin comes first, of course. It always does. But underneath it, there’s something softer. Something almost pleased. “You robbed our bathroom?”
“You own, like, ninety-three condoms and one bottle of painkillers.”
“Sounds balanced.”
“One of the condoms was in the medicine cabinet stuck to expired hair gel.”
He frowns. “That’s probably Dean’s.”
“Everything disgusting in this house cannot be Dean’s.”
“It actually can.”
She shuts the door with her hip and comes back to the bed, setting the supplies on his nightstand. “Sit up.”
He obeys, but makes it look like he’s doing her a personal favour. She hands him two tablets and the Gatorade from his dresser because hydration is hydration, even if blue sports drink feels questionable as medicine. Garrett takes them, eyes on her the whole time, then swallows with a grimace.
“See?” she says. “So brave.”
“I’ve been through a lot tonight.”
“You almost got laid and instead got ibuprofen. Devastating.”
He presses his lips together in an attempt not to laugh. “Finally, someone understands.”
She sits beside him, half-turned toward him, and tears open an antiseptic wipe. “This might sting.”
“Baby, I play hockey.”
She presses the wipe lightly to the cut near his collarbone.
Garrett hisses. “Fuck.”
She pauses, looking at him. He stares back, offended.
She smiles sweetly. “Baby, you play hockey.”
“Yeah, well, hockey doesn’t usually come in… little wet napkin form.”
She laughs despite herself and keeps going, careful now, dabbing around the scrape rather than dragging across it. He watches her while she works. She can feel it. The weight of his attention moving over her face, the line of her mouth, the way her hair keeps falling forward no matter how many times she tucks it back. The room feels warmer than it did before she left. Smaller, too, with him propped against the pillows and her sitting close enough that her knee presses against his thigh.
For a while, the party fills the places where neither of them speaks. Bass downstairs. Footsteps in the hall. A sudden burst of Dean’s voice somewhere below them, unmistakable even through the floor, followed by what sounds like Logan yelling, No, absolutely not, in a tone suggesting absolutely yes.
Garrett’s fingers touch her hair before she realises he’s lifted his hand. He brushes it back from her cheek, slow and absent, tucking it behind her ear with more care than the gesture needs. His hand doesn’t leave right away. His thumb grazes once near her temple, barely there, and when she looks at him, the grin is gone.
“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs.
The words are quiet enough that the party almost swallows them. Almost.
Heat rises immediately under her skin, stupid and quick. She looks down at the antiseptic wipe in her hand like it’s become fascinating. “You’re concussed, I think.”
Garrett shakes his head. “Mm-mm.”
“Garrett.”
“Was thinkin’ it before the game too.”
That makes something in her chest go inconveniently soft. She tries very hard not to let it show. She really does. Unfortunately, her face has chosen this exact moment to resign from service. Her mouth wants to smile. Her skin is warm. Her hands, which were perfectly capable five seconds ago, are suddenly very interested in folding the used wipe into a tiny, useless square.
“That’s probably still, like, concussion-adjacent,” she says.
He laughs, softer this time so it doesn’t hurt as much. “Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Make a joke when I say something nice.”
She looks up at him then. Her mouth opens, then closes.
Garrett’s expression shifts, not smug now. Curious, maybe. Careful in a way that sits strangely on him because he wears confidence so easily that it’s easy to forget he can be gentle without making a performance of it.
“I don’t know,” she says finally, because it’s the most honest answer she has and still only half of one.
His thumb moves once over the strand of hair between his fingers. “Okay.”
She huffs a small laugh. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” His mouth curves faintly. “I can work with I don’t know.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“I’m a generous guy.”
“You asked for head while actively bruised.”
The smile comes back properly then, and the room unclenches around them.
She reaches for another wipe, but Garrett catches her wrist before she can open it. “Hey.”
Her pulse gives a small, irritating kick. “What?”
He doesn’t say it immediately. That’s unlike him enough that she notices. His fingers stay around her wrist. “You looked good at the game. You were… you were wearing that little Briar sweatshirt.”
She narrows her eyes. “Are you making fun of my sweatshirt?”
“No.” His eyes flicker across her face. “I liked it.”
The warmth under her skin gets worse.
“You scored twice,” she says, because deflection is now a survival tool.
His grin tilts. “I know.”
“Cocky.”
“You brought it up.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile gives her away again.
His fingers slide from her wrist to her hand. “You looked pretty in my colours.”
Her heart does one of those hard, stupid beats that feels less like romance and more like a medical event.
She looks down at their hands because his are big and warm and bruised at the knuckles, and because looking at his face suddenly feels like stepping too close to the edge of something. “You can’t just say things like that when I’m trying to, like, provide healthcare.”
“Why not?”
“Um, boundary confusion.”
“You’re sitting on my bed in a tiny dress.”
“And administering antiseptic.”
“Mixed signals all around.”
She laughs, and Garrett smiles at her like he meant to make that happen, like getting laughter out of her is its own private stat he’s keeping somewhere in his head.
For a second, she lets herself stay there. Lets herself sit with the warmth of his hand around hers, the lamp light over his bruised chest, the ridiculous intimacy of painkillers and antiseptic wipes and his hair still messy from her fingers.
The whole night has gone sideways. From heat to something softer without losing the heat completely. From his knee between her thighs to her thumb brushing lightly near a bruise on his ribs. From fuck me to don’t make me laugh, it hurts.
Maybe this is what makes her like him so much. Not the obvious things, though the obvious things are doing their best. It’s that Garrett, who has every reason to stay easy and shallow and wanted by everyone, keeps accidentally becoming specific with her. Specific in rooms. Specific with his hands. Specific in the way he remembers what she wore to his game and says she looked pretty like it’s been sitting in him all night, waiting for somewhere to go.
She clears her throat and reaches for the last wipe. “I still need to clean that cut.”
Garrett’s eyes flick down to her mouth, lifting onto his elbow. “Mhm. After?”
She pushes him back down. “No, before.”
“So strict.”
“Alive men get privileges.”
He sighs and leans his head back against the pillows, exposing the line of his throat like he’s submitting to the terrible injustice of being cared for by a girl in a mini dress. “Fine. Do your worst.”
She shifts closer, half in his lap now because it’s the only angle that makes sense and absolutely not because her body has been looking for excuses since the hallway.
His hand lands at her thigh automatically, warm over the hem of her dress. He doesn’t move it higher. He doesn’t make a joke. He just rests it there, thumb slow against her skin while she dabs antiseptic over the scrape near his collarbone.
This time he doesn’t hiss.
“Good boy,” she murmurs before she can stop herself.
Garrett’s eyes open. The air changes instantly. Her hand stills. His mouth curves slowly, and the bruises, the ibuprofen, the entire attempted medical intervention lose significant ground against the expression on his face.
“Oh yeah?” he says, positively beaming.
She points the wipe at him. “Do not.”
His hand tightens lightly on her thigh, amusement low in his voice. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m warm.”
“And you’re in my lap.”
“For medical purposes.”
“Right.”
She gives him a look, but it’s hard to make it stick when he’s smiling like that and when she is, in fact, half in his lap, one hand on his chest, the other holding antiseptic.
Garrett’s gaze softens again, almost unfairly fast. “C’mere.”
“I’m right here.”
“Closer.”
She should say no on principle. She doesn’t. She lets him pull her in carefully, mindful of his ribs even when he clearly isn’t, until her forehead rests against his. The party moves under them, distant and messy and young. Someone bangs on a door down the hall. Somebody else laughs too loudly. Garrett’s room stays dim and warm around them.
His thumb brushes once over her thigh.
“Are you gonna sleep here?” he asks, quiet enough to make it sound casual and not at all like the question has changed shape in his mouth.
She pulls back a little to look at him. “What?”
He shrugs, but it’s a bad shrug. Too careful. “I mean, you can. If you want. Since you’ve already ruined the original plan.”
She stares at him.
Garrett’s brows lift. “What?”
“The original plan being sex?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes narrow. “And now your backup plan is… a sleepover?”
“Don’t make it sound lame.”
“It’s incredibly lame.”
His eyes move over her face. “You wanna leave?”
She doesn’t. The answer is immediate and sits in her before she can make it sound prettier.
“No,” she says.
His face shifts again, the smallest flicker of satisfaction moving through it before he reins it in. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
For a moment, they just look at each other. She’s waiting for him to make a joke. He’s probably waiting for her to make one. Between them, the thing neither of them has named sits warm and too close, wearing all the shapes of what this is supposed to be and none of them fitting quite right.
Then Garrett leans in and kisses her. Softer this time. Still warm, still him, still enough to make the room narrow, but without the frantic press from the door, without the urgent slide of his knee between her thighs.
His mouth moves over hers slowly, his hand rising to her jaw, thumb touching the corner of her face. The sweetness of it makes her chest ache in a way that’s frankly rude after everything else he’s already done to her tonight.
When he pulls back, he stays close. “You gonna keep nursing me,” he murmurs, “or am I cleared for kissing?”
She looks down at his bruised ribs, then back at his face. “Light kissing.”
He runs his thumb over her bottom lip. “Define light.”
“Um. No additional injuries.”
“So that rules out Dean joining.”
She laughs, louder now, and he smiles against her mouth before kissing her again, like the laugh is something he can catch if he moves fast enough.
Downstairs, the party gets louder. Upstairs, Garrett Graham lets her press one more cautious hand to his ribs and pretends not to notice when she leaves it there longer than she needs to.
❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎
this is my favourite thing since sliced bread 🌟
oh this fic has my HEART <333 so much love and so much realness :(( it reminds of how much love can be found in the smallest of moments <3
I feel like garret would be the biggest groveller 🙏🏾I was thinking something where the reader gets mad/ annoyed at him and ignores him to the point where’s he’s begging for her attention/forgiveness
better kiss me next time, bitch
summary - garrett forgets to kiss you one morning, so obviously you have to break up with him
pairing - garrett graham x girlfriend!reader
word count - 1.5k
“Baby, wake up.”
Garrett’s voice was the first thing that you became aware of as you woke up. You pulled the duvet up higher to your neck with a grumble in response.
Your boyfriend chuckled and you felt the bed dip next to where you were laying down.
“C’mon. I’ve got to go in five minutes.”
“No.” You mumbled, eyes closed and trying your hardest to go back to sleep. It was too early.
It was in fact a very reasonable time for you to wake up, but Garrett knew not to disturb you on those days where you wanted an extra lay in.
“Okay. I’m gonna go now.” He caressed your cheek delicately.
“Mhm.”
You thought about how Garrett’s imminent kiss was going to help you drift back off to sleep very nicely. There was something about his morning kisses - so tender and soft - that you wanted to wake up every morning forever with them.
So you were absolutely devastated when his lips never met your cheek and his door clicked shut behind him.
Your eyes shot open at the sound.
You threw back the duvet with a petty scoff.
Okay, sure, you’d refused to wake up to say goodbye to your boyfriend but the absolute cheek to leave without giving you your morning kiss. It was hard not to take it to heart.
Was he actually upset with you?
Was he messing with you?
Or did he genuinely just forget?
——
Garrett had been sweating by the time he finished practice.
His hair was wet and dripping, and his clothes were sticking to him like a second skin. Thank God the locker rooms had showers, because there was no way he was going home to you smelling like a sewer drain.
After Garrett had finished his shower, he wrapped his white towel around his hips and walked back into the main changing area.
He wasn’t expecting his teammates to be surrounding each other, watching something on Dean’s phone.
They all looked up at him… guiltly? No… empathetically?
Why were they all looking at him?
“Yes?” Garrett prompted.
Tucker nudged Dean, who then nudged someone else, who then nudged another person, until everyone was nudging each other and whispering about who would be the one to tell Garrett whatever.
“Can someone just please tell me what the hell is going on?”
It was Logan that came over to him, handing Garrett his phone.
Garrett looked down at the screen and saw your face. He frowned and nervously swallowed, looking up at his onlooking teammates one more time before hitting play.
It was a video uploaded onto the Fifth Line.
Jules was clearly filming and you were the only person in shot.
“I hear you have some big news for us, Y/N?”
“Yes.” You smiled sadly.
Garrett felt a punch to the heart at your sad face. He was going to knock out the idiot who took the smile from your face away.
Your eyes welled up then, and Garrett’s heart started to race. He was mentally counting how long it would take for him to get changed and get home to you.
“I’m now single.”
What?
Garrett’s jaw physically dropped, and his mind couldn’t process anything long enough to tell himself to close it.
Garrett couldn’t look away from the video, but he felt his best friend, Logan, wrap an arm around his shoulder in solidarity.
“So you and Garrett?” Jules asked.
“We’ve parted ways.” You nodded.
“Any particular reason?”
“He knows what he did.”
Garrett was so confused. Confused by the entire video and situation, but also confused on how to feel. One moment he felt sad for you, the next he was plain confused and now he was anxiously trying to recount what the hell you could be talking about?
Was this breakup even mutual?
What the actual fuck was going on?
“Y/N asks for privacy during this time.” Jules said before the screen turned black.
Garrett’s gaze kept focused on the phone.
He couldn’t move. He couldn’t even process a single thought. He was completely broken.
“It’s okay, man.”
It was Logan’s voice matched with someone squeezing his arm that made him flip out of his daze.
“No. No. What the fuck.” Garrett mumbled, walking over to his changing space.
He discarded his towel without any regard for all his teammates watching him - their captain. He pulled on a hoodie and threw on his sweatpants without so much considering pulling on underwear too.
It took Garrett less than five minutes to get ready to leave, whilst his teammates hadn’t moved a muscle.
“Have none of you got anything better to do?” He shouted out rhetorically as he left the locker room to go and find you.
You. His girlfriend.
Did he miss the memo of when you broke up?
You had slept over just last night. He’d left you in his bed this morning, wearing his clothes. Your underwear was in his washing basket because you were over at his house more than you were at your own dorm.
There was no way you had broken up.
And if you had, by some miraculous event, broken up, then he was about to become the world’s most needy and relentless ex-boyfriend.
——
The knock on your door sounded angry.
You bookmarked your current read, slipped out of your bed and walked across the wooden floor of your dorm to the door.
You had barely flicked the lock open before it was dramatically swung open to reveal Garrett, his hand splayed wide open to keep your door open.
You barely got to look at him before he moved towards you, cupped your cheeks firmly and kissed you like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do.
It took a moment for you to realise what was happening before you started kissing him back.
Garrett walked you backwards and somehow managed to also close your door behind him, without ever breaking the kiss. You moaned as he tilted your face to kiss you deeper, the desire in the pits of your stomach only growing.
Your hand touched his chest, your fist curling the material of his hoodie as he kissed you harder.
Your touch must have triggered something, though, because he stopped kissing you a moment later.
Both of your cheeks were flushed and lips fucked.
Your breathing was heavy. Your chest heaved as you locked eyes with his.
He kept his distance close to you as he spoke.
“You’re not breaking up with me.”
“W-what?” You asked. Your brain felt completely messed up from the kiss.
“We’re not breaking up. End of story.”
“Garrett—.”
“I saw your video on Fifth Line.” He cut you off.
“All of it?” You questioned, eyebrows furrowing as you tried to understand what was happening.
“Yes.”
“Okay, then you know I was making a joke.” Your hand let go of his hoodie and you pulled a little further away from him.
Clearly there was a misunderstanding or miscommunication happening right now, because you and Garrett were very clearly not on the same page.
“Hang on a minute.”
You pulled out of his hold completely in search for your phone. Garrett reluctantly let you go, but followed close behind you like a lost puppy.
After pulling up the Fifth Line on your Instagram, you opened the video that had already amassed three times the views of anything else, and pressed play.
Garrett came to stand close behind you, the side of his cheek pressing against the side of your head.
You watched the video with him, jaw dropped when the video stopped.
“I don’t understand.” You said quietly.
“Well that makes two of us.” Garrett agreed.
You put your phone back down and turned around to face him. “Jules recorded me saying that bit, and then also another bit saying how it was all a joke and that we’re very much together. I didn’t want any dick-picks sliding into my DMs.”
“Might be too late for that, baby.”
“Fuck.” You sighed, covering your face with your hands, “It was meant to be a joke.”
“Hey, hey. C’mon.” Garrett wrapped his arms around you to hold you close. The feeling of his arms encompassing you made you feel very safe. “Bit of a shit joke though, baby.”
Your head nestled out from his hold so you could look at him.
“Bit of a shit morning though.” You retaliated.
“Hmm?”
“You know what you did.”
“Well, clearly I don’t.” Garrett laughed.
“You didn’t kiss me.” You pouted.
“I didn’t kiss you?” Garrett’s eyebrows raised and you hoped that it was because he was shocked at his bad behaviour.
“No.”
“My poor baby.”
“Mhm.”
“In all fairness, you were half dead… I mean, asleep.” Garrett joked, because he teased you all the time about how you’re practically dead when you sleep.
“Well still…”
“Still what?”
“Better kiss me next time, bitch.”
“As long as we don’t break up. Can’t kiss you if we break up.” Garrett proposed.
“Let’s never break up.”
“Deal.
“Deal.”
