heyy it’s ur oomf heh
could i request drunk gary with reader ?
I’ll be eating this up
hehe i've been waiting for a request!! yes of course Drunk! Gary Smith x Reader
Gary never planned to get drunk.
That was the thing—you could always tell when something wasn't part of the plan. He hated loosing control. Hated the fuzziness, the way thoughts slipped through his fingers. But tonight, the cheap music thumped too loud, the dorm common room smelled like spilled bear and sweat, and everyone kept laughing like the world wasn't a carefully stacked house of cards.
You noticed him before he noticed you.
Gary was slouched on the arm of a couch, one knee bouncing, fingers curled too tighly around a red plastic cup. His hair was messier than usual, eyes glassy in a way that wasn't his normal shape, calculating stare. He looked... off. Not dangerous. Not in charge.
Just human.
When his eyes finally found you, they lingered.
Too long.
You raised an eyebrow. "You good?"
He scoffed softly, like the word offended him. "Define good."
That was your first clue.
You crossed the room, weaving past people who were already halfway gone, and stopped in front of him. Up close, you could smell the alcohol—strong, careless. Gary titled his head, studying you like he was trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces.
"You know," he said slowly, "you're very distracting."
"Gary," you warned. "How much have you had?"
He shrugged. The motion was loose, unguarded. "Enough that everyone finally shut up."
You took the cup from his hand before he could protest. He watched it go with mild surprise, then laughed under his breath.
“Huh. You always do that,” he murmured.
“Do what?”
“Take things away from me and expect me not to bite.”
You met his gaze evenly. “You biting tonight?”
For a second, something flickered—instinct, maybe. Then it faded, replaced by a crooked smile.
“No,” he said. “Not you.”
That… caught you off guard.
The party noise pressed in on you both, and you made a decision. “Come on. You’re done.”
He should’ve argued. He should’ve snapped back with something sharp and mean. Instead, he stood when you tugged his sleeve, a little unsteady, letting you guide him down the hallway and away from the chaos.
The quiet hit him hard.
Gary leaned against the wall, blinking like the lights were too bright even now. You stayed close but didn’t touch him again—not yet.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.
“I know.”
He glanced at you, confused. “Then why?”
You hesitated. “Because you looked like you were going to implode.”
A laugh slipped out of him—short, humorless. “Yeah. That tracks.”
You walked him to his room. He fumbled with the key, cursed under his breath, then handed it to you like it was the most natural thing in the world. Inside, the room was cleaner than you expected. Controlled. Predictable.
Gary sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the floor.
“This is the part,” he said quietly, “where you tell me to sleep it off and leave.”
You didn’t move. “Is that what you want?”
He looked up at you then—really looked. His eyes were softer, unfocused, stripped of their usual armor.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “That’s… kind of the problem.”
Silence stretched between you. Heavy. Honest.
“You scare people when you’re sober,” you said gently. “When you’re drunk, you just look tired.”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“I’m not,” you replied. “I’m observing.”
He huffed, then leaned back on his hands, staring at the ceiling. “Everyone leaves when they see the mess.”
You surprised yourself by sitting beside him. Not touching. Just there.
“I’m still here.”
Gary turned his head slowly. The look on his face wasn’t smug or triumphant. It was almost… fragile.
“Careful,” he murmured. “I might start believing you.”
You held his gaze. “That’s the idea.”
For a moment, he leaned closer—not enough to cross a line, just enough that you could feel his warmth, his unsteady breathing. His forehead brushed yours, barely.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he whispered.
You didn’t pull away. “Then don’t push people away before they can.”
He laughed quietly, breath ghosting over your cheek. “You’re dangerous.”
“So are you,” you said. “Difference is, I know when to stop.”
That did it. He closed his eyes, tension bleeding out of him, and finally—carefully—rested his head against your shoulder.
Just that.
You stayed until his breathing evened out, until the sharp edges dulled and the night stopped spinning for him. When you stood to leave, he caught your wrist, half-asleep.
“You’re not allowed to disappear,” he mumbled.
You squeezed his hand once. “Neither are you.”
And for once, Gary didn’t argue.
The end.
AN: I hope you like thisss :33 I'm scared it's too "mischaracterisation" sobbsss. But thank you smm for asking lovely!!
