#mccall writes things

[ilyahugs]

from bad to worse

word count: 2,766 ship: Garrett Graham x reader rating: PG-13 summary: You and Garrett rarely get into real arguments. Little disagreements every now and then, sure, you’re both human. But legit fights? Not really. So when you do? It’s fucking awful. notes: a masterlist? in this economy? shocked. notes2: gifs are from this gifpack :)

It’s not often you’re working during an event at Malone’s, but it does happen every so often. You know why you get put on the shifts, because Della trusts you. Because you’re someone that doesn’t just come in and do their job, but is thoughtful to what people might need, is conscious of cleaning up tables and getting refills and pitching in for whatever’s necessary, even if it’s not technically in your job description. Which is kinda what’s happening tonight—you’re moving all over the diner and bar, grabbing refills, taking orders, seeing what needs done and not waiting for someone to ask you for help, you’re just doing it. 

You pause at the bar counter, reaching underneath to find your water bottle to take some greedy sips. 

This event happens every year, Briar U athletics coming together to raise money for youth sports. There’s live music and an auction and sometimes you can even win dates with players on certain teams. You glance through the crowd of people to where Garrett is seated with Dean, Logan and some rookies. 

You’re glad your Graham is off the market this year. 

A small smile pulls the corners of your mouth before you draw in a breath to center yourself and get back to work. 

—

Despite this being a fun event, Garrett has been tucked into the booth by the door since he’s arrived. The occasional hockey player will come up and talk to him, sometimes girls with raffle tickets, other times it’s Logan or Dean dropping off a beer but…he remains immovable. 

There are two rookies that you can’t remember the names of on the other side of the booth and Garrett is leaning over the table, talking to them in, what you can tell, a very serious tone. They’re wide eyed and nodding their heads and glancing at one another like they might have seen a ghost. There’s a lot of reverence as they look at Garrett; they know how much value they can take from listening to him and learning. But—

You shake your head, reaching out to grab onto Dean as he walks past. He looks down at your fingers, “Damn you got a grip; feel like you need to try out for one of these sports. Maybe tennis.”  

You roll your eyes, “Briar U doesn’t have a tennis team, Di Laurentis. What is Garrett doing?” 

Dean sighs, straightening his cardigan when you let go, “Scaring rookies.” He leans against the bar counter, “Trust me, I’ve tried to get him to put his phone down, but he’s reviewing game tape with them. We got that game coming up this weekend.” 

You blink, “It’s Tuesday.” 

Dean winces, “Yeah, well. He takes his Captain role very seriously.” 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, watching as Dean gets distracted by a pretty girl with curtain bangs and a great smile before your gaze lingers on the booth by the door. Look, you totally understand that Garrett puts a lot on his shoulders, things he should never have to carry. Responsibilities and expectations and promises and disappointments that aren’t all his own; some placed there by well-meaning teammates and a voice in his head that sounds too much like his father. 

But sometimes you worry he’ll get in these headspaces where he can’t pull himself out. 

You’re giving him ten more minutes before interrupting to remind him that it’s not going to hurt if he takes a breath every so often.

—

Ten minutes come and go. Dean and Logan join the booth of rookies, though you’re not sure if they were trying to free them or what. They’re stuck there too, like some sort of hockey player glue trap. You sigh softly and grab two plates of fries from the pickup window and carry one of them to a nearby table before setting down the other in front of Garrett and company. 

“On the house.” 

Garrett tips his chin to look at you, his features softening as his phone rests on the table. He reaches an arm out to wrap around your waist and you can’t help but smile, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth,

“Thanks, babe.” He mumbles against your lips. 

You reach out to run a hand through his curls as you pull back. He looks tired but not in a way that could probably be solved with sleep, it’s that sort of deep exhaustion that lives in your bones. 

Dean instantly starts in on the fries, not waiting for an invitation and you roll yourself back on your heels, trying to think of a gentle way to put this. 

“I dunno if anyone told ya’ll, but uh, this is a party.” You motion around to people having fun; dancing, singing along with the live band, drinking and checking out the raffle ticket table. Your gaze falls to the rookies, who look like they would love nothing more than to wriggle their way out of the booth, “Actually, Tuck was looking for volunteers to—”

“We’re on it.” One of them says, giving a sympathetic look towards Garrett. 

The second one actually looks like he’s waiting for Graham’s approval and when your boyfriend sighs before offering a small nod, they practically crawl out from underneath the table, not even waiting for Dean to move to let them out. 

You smile a little, shaking your heads as the rookies head into the crowd to find Tucker. 

Turning your attention back to the table, you slide in beside Garrett for a few moments. You haven’t taken a break yet tonight so you figure a few minutes won’t hurt. Reaching for a fry, you pop it into your mouth, turning your head to look at your boyfriend. You’ve been in these booths countless times at Malone’s, there’s rarely a moment where Garrett isn’t pulling you close. There’s always a wide grin on his handsome features, an arm around your shoulders, tugging until you’re mapped against his side, stealing a kiss. 

He looks stiff right now, borderline annoyed, it’s in the way his shoulders are straight, in the way his nostrils are flaring, the way you can tell he’s chewing on words in his mouth. And maybe that should have been enough of a warning for you to keep comments to yourself but—it’s frustrating when he allows himself to settle in this attitude. You’ve talked about this countless times; Garrett’s really been working on allowing his father’s harsh prospects to roll right off his shoulders. To build his own path. 

But you also know that old habits die hard. It just…you wish you could eliminate the hurt and damage that Garrett is left to deal with. He’s not alone.

You breath out, lifting your hand to run along his shoulders, “You should take a break, grab a drink. Maybe dance with me.” A soft smile pulls the corners of your mouth, “I’m off in thirty minutes.” 

“I can’t,” Garrett’s reply is sharp, causing your hand to pause on the back of his neck. He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. He doesn’t look at you when he says, “There’s too much riding on the game this weekend.” 

You glance at Logan and Dean across the table and both of them have various degrees of concern on their faces. Logan clears his throat, looking at you before his gaze wanders to Garrett, 

“I mean, I’m sure a small break wouldn’t hurt anything…especially if we’re gonna get to see your dance moves.” 

A small smirk lives on your lips and your hand slides off Garrett’s back, reaching for another fry. One of your favorite things to do with your boyfriend is dance. Mostly because it’s nothing serious; it’s feeling the beat of the music and singing along and doing absolutely ridiculous and silly dance moves that make one another laugh. It’ll definitely help his mood, you think, if not just loosen up the tension in his body. 

But Garrett is as unmovable as stone. 

“Also the game is this weekend,” You add after a moment, “It’s Tuesday—isn’t there such a thing as overtraining and overpreparing—" 

“You don’t get it,” Garrett interrupts, his gaze cold and unyielding as his hazel eyes fall to yours. “Okay? I know you’re trying to help, but you’re not. So stop.” 

You draw back from him a little, his words feeling like a physical punch. 

The moment Garrett gets a good look at your face, he winces, closing his eyes and breathing out of his nose. “Fuck, wait—” 

You shake your head, offering a watery smile towards Dean and Logan before mumbling that you have to get back to work. You quickly leave the table, feeling embarrassment and a little bit of shame heat the back of your neck. 

“Big mistake, G.” Dean comments, disappointed. 

You hear Garrett telling him to shut up before you disappear into the chaos of Malone’s. 

—

You work through the last thirty minutes of your shift, untying your apron to tuck away in your bag. You don’t look back at Garrett’s table, you don’t check your phone to see if he’s texted you, you resist the urge to approach him and apologize because—because you hate being in a fight with him. The thing is, you and Garrett rarely get into real arguments. Little disagreements every now and then, sure, you’re both human. But legit fights? Not really. So when you do? It’s fucking awful. 

You should have known better than to push when you knew he was in a bad mood, when he was wound too tight from unspoken words and pressures that you couldn’t see. Sometimes you have to let him wade through his shit on his own and come out on the other side without your help. And that’s okay? There’s nothing wrong with that. 

You breathe out and pull your hair into a clip, glancing up as someone comes up to the counter. You think…his name might be Matt. He’s on the basketball team for Briar U and giving you a soft grin. He’s in some of your classes, so you recognize his face above anything else. 

“You off?” 

You nod, “Yeah. Having a good time?” 

His eyes are slightly glazed—tipsy but not too far gone, “Yeah, I was thinking of playing a game of darts. You want to join?” 

Any other night, that might be a nice idea. But you’re in no mood, “Oh,” You shake your head, “No, I think I’m just gonna head home. Thanks though.” 

He pouts, which almost makes you laugh, “C’mon, one game. I’ll let you throw first.” 

You draw in a breath, almost saying yes—and then, out of nowhere, a voice sounds behind you, “She’s too nice to tell you to fuck off, but I’m not.” 

Your eyes widen as you turn to see Garrett looming. You know he’s taller than you, but it’s the way his body is positioned. It’s almost one hundred percent pure hockey aggression, his one hand gathering his fingers into his fist and jesus. 

You open your mouth to apologize to Matt but when you turn to look at him, he just looks amused. Which you suppose is better than being insulted or pissed off, “No worries, man. I know she’s your girl.” 

A muscle feathers in Garrett’s jaw. You roll your eyes, “Oh my god,” You mutter, then, “Thanks for the offer Matt but I think I’m going to head home.” 

You grab your bag, not looking back at either of them as you head right out the front door of Malone’s. The bell tings as Garrett follows you out, saying your name but honestly? You don’t want to talk to him—not after that weird-ass display of being protective when he had no reason to be. Look, you’re not going to pretend that you don’t like when Garrett watches out for you, when he has your back, that he wants to make sure you’re safe. Your past relationship with guys and relationships haven’t always been so thoughtful. 

But Matt wasn’t doing anything wrong. You didn’t need help. 

Garrett gently reaches for your elbow to get you stop walking and you turn to face him, smacking his hand away, “Don’t.” 

He lets out a slow breath as he pauses on the sidewalk, running both of his hands through his curls, “Matt may seem like he’s an okay guy but he’s got a reputation for being pushy.” 

And you know what that means; your annoyance flickering at the edges because…Garrett was trying to look out for you. But—

“You don’t get to talk to me like you did and then pretend you’re boyfriend of the year, okay?” You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder. 

Garrett lets out a breath, “Okay, you’re right.” 

You stare at him a moment, crossing your arms over your chest because…okay, out of all the things he could have said, that’s not too bad. You crinkle your nose at how easily you’re willing to fall for this man but the longer you look at him, you can see that the early frostiness he was embodying has thawed. His shoulders are looser, his gaze warm, tone gentle. Regret is painted on all aspects of the way he’s holding himself. 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, “Keep going.” 

A twitch of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth and he nods before taking a few steps closer. Your head tilts back to look up at him, your stomach doing ridiculous flips that it always seems to do when you’re near him. Part of you doesn’t want to easily give in to accepting whatever apology is going to come out of his mouth but…you also know Garrett, and the guy that was distant and cold and said things to push you away, that’s not who he is. 

“I’m really sorry about how I was acting earlier, for hurting you,” He reaches out to play with a strand of hair near your ear, tucking it behind a moment later, “Not that this is any excuse but I…I got a call from my dad earlier today. And like an idiot, I picked up the phone.” He shakes his head, his lips pursing, “Anyways, I’ve been letting it bother me ever since.” 

There’s an ache in the center of your chest at his explanation and you swallow over an emotion crowding your throat. You want to reach for him, but don’t. Not yet. 

“I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” 

You nod, “You should have talked to me.” 

Garrett nods, biting the inside of his cheek. He glances down at the sidewalk a moment before taking a small step closer, “I should have.” He clears his throat, “I’m—I’m still figuring this out. This whole boyfriend thing,” He admits, “I usually just let things go from bad to worse and figure out how to claw through until I’m on the other side of it.” 

Your arms drop from your chest and you tentatively reach a hand forward, resting it on his chest. You fix the clasp of his necklace so that it’s in the back where it belongs, smoothing your thumb along his neck. You can feel the way his pulse leaps underneath your touch, 

“Well, as someone who does have a girlfriend of the year award,” You tease, making an easy smile spread across his handsome face, “I’m here. You’re not alone, okay? I know I might not always understand but…we can work through things. Together.” 

“Together,” He repeats, “I like the sound of that.” 

You hum softly, tugging on his chain to draw him closer. Garrett leans down, your noses brushing in a bunny kiss. 

“I like the sound of you making it up to me…we can start with a kiss.” You tell him, very matter of fact. 

He smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist to draw you up against him. The kiss is slow and easy, Garrett’s head tilting as he deepens it. A shiver runs down your spine as his tongue slips into your mouth, stroking along your own. He keeps you close, even as you pull away to breathe. He presses a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth and your cheekbone, your foreheads resting together. 

“How else can I make it up to you?” He asks softly, fingers tucking themselves underneath your shirt at your back to feel your skin. 

You smile, “Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of ideas.” 

Garrett hums, brushing one last kiss along your forehead before guiding you towards his Jeep to take you home. 

[ilyahugs]

relationship coded

word count: 4,537 ship: Garrett Graham x reader rating: PG-13 summary: for someone who claimed to never have time for a girlfriend, garrett graham is pretty good at the whole 'boyfriend' thing notes: i have a masterlist now bc i've lost control of my life notes2: gifs are from this gifpack :)

There were rumors that spun around Briar U about your relationship with Garrett Graham and how you managed to tie down someone who notoriously ‘never did girlfriends’. Some ranged from the ridiculousness of blackmail to the ‘stream over rock’ concept, which is essentially just about wearing him down enough until he agreed. At the beginning, these ideas annoyed you—it wasn’t anyone’s business why you and Garrett decided to take a long-term friendship and turn it into something more. But then you realized that most people talking were just jealous or far too curious for their own good. The point in all this? For someone who insisted he’d never be someone’s boyfriend…he’s ridiculously good at it. 

That’s not to say that Garrett hasn’t always been thoughtful or kind or hadn’t gone out of his way to do something for someone else before dating you. It’s just that now, with that rose-colored lens of being exclusive, everything he does just tips you closer and closer into falling in love with him. 

As if you weren’t standing on that precipice already. 

—

You’re not sure whose grand idea it was to have a party in the woods, yet here you are. You suppose it’s aesthetically sort of pleasing, given that it’s October and the spooky vibes are slipping into everything your friend group wants to do. Don’t get it wrong—you love this time of year, you love Halloween and pumpkin carving and hay rides and decorating and dressing up. Woods, however? is kinda where you draw the line. 

Garrett’s arm slips around your waist as you sit in front of a small bonfire, tucking you back into his chest. You breathe out, turning your head to offer him a small smile. He smiles back, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You know he can feel how stiff you are, shifting every so often, your gaze caught to the woods just beyond where everyone is…

“You know the likelihood of us getting killed by a forest witch is like…low, right?” 

You huff at the teasing in his voice, “But never zero.” You mumble.

Garrett smirks, squeezing around your waist. “I think you need to lay off the horror movies for a while, babe.” 

“I think you should do more research,” You squirm, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your lower belly. “Literally these movies are available so people don’t make stupid decisions in the woods.” Your nose crinkles, “The minute Dean disappears, we’re leaving. Don’t even think about going to look for him either. Big fucking trap.” 

A laugh rumbles in Garrett’s chest and you know he’s looking around the bonfire for his friend because, yeah, if anyone disappears in a horror movie first you’re pretty sure it’d be Dean. 

“I think we all should probably leave the woods if Dean is our canary in the coal mine.” Garrett comments, taking a sip of his beer. 

You shift again, suddenly uncomfortable. Though after a moment of taking account that it’s not the woods giving you the creeps (it is, but this is something else), you hone in on that sharp ache that’s touching on your lower belly. It blooms suddenly across your abdomen and—

Oh no. 

It’s cramps. It’s cramps but—you tug your phone out of your pocket, checking your period tracking app and…three days early. You’re usually never early. If anything, you’re a one to two days late kind of girl. Shit. 

“I’ll be right back.” You say suddenly, getting up so fast you nearly elbow Garrett in the shoulder. 

His eyebrows draw together, his hand gliding down from your waist to rest on your outer thigh, “I’m pretty sure you told me that’s a death sentence in some of these movies.” 

A laugh strangles up your throat. Jesus Christ, he does listen to your horror genre rambles, “I’m just using the bathroom. If I’m not back in five minutes, send a search party,” You lean down and kiss his cheek, “Just kidding, but avenge my death.” 

“That’s not funny.” He calls after you as you begin walking towards the bathrooms but you can hear a twinge of humored warmth in his voice. 

You quickly make your way towards this stone-like structure in the woods which, at the very least, isn’t porta-potties. It reminds you of a park bathroom that doesn’t have a closing door but an open entryway that leads to three stalls and sinks. Running water, at least, which feels like a win. You shiver against the cold as you slip into one of the stalls, missing the warmth of Garrett’s body and the bonfire. It’s always so damp in these sorts of things. 

Tugging your jeans down, you groan as your suspicions are confirmed. You got your period early and there’s blood in your underwear and…staining the back of your jeans. Jesus. You pinch the bridge of your nose before rifling through your purse and—

“Seriously?” You mutter to yourself, realizing you brought a smaller bag tonight and not your usual purse which has all your period supplies. 

You bite down on your lower lip, frustration and annoyance pinpricking the back of your eyelids. You are not about to do something stupid like cry in the middle of the woods in a shady bathroom. You’ll just text one of your friends—odds are, they’ll have something for you to use. 

You use a wad of toilet paper in the meantime, tugging your jeans back up. Heading back out to the sink, you wash your hands and—

There’s the sound of someone coming. Large footsteps, shuffling leaves, branches breaking and—

You hear Garrett call your name just outside the doorway to the bathroom. You sigh out of your nose, your hand coming to rest on your hammering heart. Jesus. 

Moving around the corner, you see him standing near the entrance, “Hey, consider this the search party you wanted.” There’s a small smile at the corners of his lips until he gets a good look at your face, “What’s wrong?” 

God. This is so embarrassing. Look, you fully believe that if a man can’t talk about periods and blood and whatever comes with it shouldn’t be anywhere near fooling around with you on good days. But…you still feel heat kiss the back of your neck all the same. 

“I uh, I got my period.” 

Garrett shifts on his feet, his gaze brushing over you in what feels like a gentle caress. He opens his mouth to say something but you start rambling, 

“I’m early and I brought a stupid tiny bag tonight so I don’t have anything. And my jeans are ruined and uhm,” Emotion clogs the back of your throat, “And here I was worried about a vindictive forest witch when I should have been worried about my own body turning against me.” A strangled laugh escapes, “Like—how dumb is that?” 

He takes a step closer to you, brushing a hand over your cheek. It’s not until he pulls away that you realize a tear escaped from your eye. Fuck. 

Garrett slides his leather jacket off, handing it to you to hold for a moment as he tugs that purple hoodie he likes to wear over his head. Your eyebrows draw together in confusion, watching as he trades the sweatshirt into your hands to put the leather jacket back on. And then he’s…

He’s tying the purple hoodie around your waist, hiding the back of your jeans. The sentiment is so easy and so gentle that more tears slip down your cheeks. This is so—

You quickly wipe them away, sniffling. “Thank you.” 

He gives you a small smile, his hand resting on your shoulder. His thumb traces back and forth over your neck, “Okay, two options. One—we go back to the Jeep and I have some stuff in the trunk. I don’t actually…know if it’s what you need, but—” 

You blink, tipping your head back to look at him, “You have period supplies in your trunk?” 

Garrett rubs the back of his neck now, seeming uncertain, “Yeah. It’s just the pads, I think. I thought maybe you might need them at some point, like an emergency stash—” 

You press yourself up on your toes to kiss him. You can feel him smiling against your lips, wrapping your arms around your waist to press you in close. His hand trails up and down your spine before settling on the back of your neck, squeezing the tense muscles there. 

When the kiss ends, Garrett rests his forehead against yours, “Or option two, we can go home. You can get a shower and I’ll set up the couch with your favorites.” Meaning lots of blankets, a heating pad, a bowl of ice cream and salty snacks. “We can even watch something that’s going to give me nightmares.” 

You can’t help but smile at the reluctance in his voice, cupping his cheek to stroke your thumb over the bone, “My hero.” You tease.

He rolls his eyes but his smile is fond as his hand slips into yours, guiding your way back towards his Jeep. 

—

You’ve been dealing with migraines for as long as you can remember. They’re usually brought on by stress, which, it’s like you want to tell your body that there’s no other version of yourself that you can be at college. Regardless, this one lecture never fails to cause tension to pinch the back of your eyes. Usually you’re able to stave it off, take your meds, drink a lot of water and deal with a regular headache. 

Today though? It knocks into you like a cinderblock to the temple. 

A grateful noise leaves your lips as you make it back to your dorm room, toeing your shoes off and making a b-line for your bedroom. Your hip bumps into your desk and you curse whoever decided that was a good place for it to go. You can’t see out of your right eye and your head is pulsing along with the beat of your heart. You don’t even bother changing your clothes or reaching for the blinds because if you don’t sit soon gravity is going to take over and you’re going to fall. 

Lying face down on your bed, you bury your face under your pillows, hoping the cacophony of sounds and light and pounding stops soon. 

—

You’re not sure what time it is. You think you hear a door open and close and low voices in the living area of your dorm. Your roommate and…someone else. Maybe her boyfriend? Regardless, you don’t move. There’s an aching soreness to your temples and behind your eyes, a grating sort of pain that’ll get worse if your body shifts at all. It’s not…it’s not as bad as when you first got back to your room, but it’s teasing the edge of tipping into something that’s worse or getting better. There’s no way to tell other than just waiting it out. 

A soft sigh leaves your lips and more sounds gently fill the space. Your door opens, you think—blinds are being pulled down? Someone takes off your shoes and then slowly crawls into bed beside you. You draw in a breath, the smell of cologne mixing with laundry detergent and something purely Garrett. 

It’s like your entire body relaxes when you feel his hand gently trail up your back. 

You move just a fraction, your face peeking out from underneath the pillow. He offers you a small smile, “Hey,” He whispers, brushing some of your hair out of your face, “How you doing, champ?” 

“Bad,” You whisper back, the word crackly and tired. Your eyebrows draw together because you’re not sure how he figured out you were here—

“You missed your shift at Malone’s,” He fills in, his hand sneaking up and under your shirt to smooth his fingers against your skin. It feels really nice. 

“Fuck,” You clear your throat, shifting just enough to get yourself above the pillows. Garrett moves closer, his arm tucked around your waist, “I completely forgot—” 

“I told Della that the only reason you’d miss is because you were sick,” He assures, “She knows about your migraines, right?” 

You nod, your hand coming up to rest against your face. It’s quiet for a few moments, just the sounds of the dorm settling around you and your shared breathing. Garrett pulls a blanket free to drape over you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” He mumbles a moment later. 

You shake your head, “You didn’t.” You pull your hand from your face, your arm resting along Garrett’s side, tucking it underneath his hoodie. “I was kinda in and out.” 

Garrett is quiet for a few moments, his big hand rubbing along your shoulders, squeezing every so often. Despite sometimes feeling far too overstimulated and emotional, it feels good having him here, that unwavering silent support alongside you. 

“Do you need anything?” He asks. He doesn’t try to force you to eat or nag you about pills, he doesn’t try to assume he understands the inner workings of what your migraine might be doing to your emotions or your body. He’s just offering whatever might make you feel like you’re more in control. 

And he has no idea how much that means to you. 

Eventually shaking your head, you inch closer to him until your face is tucked against his chest, your leg sliding between both of his own. He breathes out, his lips and nose burying themselves in your hair. 

“I just need you.” Your soft reply comes a moment later and Garrett squeezes your body to his before relaxing against the mattress. 

—

One of the many things you love about Garrett is how willing he is to be completely ridiculous with you. He’s silly, which you don’t think many people realize. He’s very dedicated and determined and hyperfocused sometimes on his future, on hockey, on things that really matter. But when he allows himself to unwind, when he smiles freely, when he laughs hard and jokes with you just to get you to smile—it’s one of your favorite things. 

It’s late and the bar is packed. You’re a bit more tipsy than you usually allow yourself to get, but it’s your friend’s birthday and the shots have been steadily flowing since you got here. Garrett came late because he was finishing practice, so he’s a few drinks behind you, but that doesn’t stop him from dancing when you ask. 

His moves are wildly dorky, but in this charming kind of way that makes you bend a bit in full bellied laughter. Garrett is somehow awkward and boxy with some of his movements and yet it doesn’t stop him from being attractive, either. It’s not something a lot of people can pull off. You grin when he grabs your hand to twirl you and when the song gets to the chorus, you can’t stop yourself from bouncing along to the lyrics. Garrett doesn’t jump but he does hold onto your hand, a laugh slipping free every time you use his arm to push yourself up further. 

When you stumble over Garrett’s shoe after another spin, he wraps an arm around your waist and gently holds you to his chest, “Alright,” He chuckles, “C’mon, how about some water?” 

“How about a kiss?” You pout, your hand moving to touch his cheek. 

Garrett smirks, turning his head to press a kiss to your fingers before he leans down and captures your lips. It’s slow and easy and the way his tongue sneaks into your mouth makes your toes curl. You want to whine that it’s far too short but he peppers a few against your face when he pulls back and you suppose that’s good enough for now. 

Leaning against the bar once you get there, Garrett grabs a water from the bartender and sits it down in front of you. “Also paying for her tab.” He says over the music, motioning to you. 

You take a long sip of water, about to protest because you can pay for it, or at the very least half but two girls that you definitely recognize from other Briar U parties and hockey games come right up beside Garrett. Puck bunnies. 

They’re pretty, if not carbon copies of one another—blonde and tall and giggly when they talk to him. One of them is offering shots while the other is asking Garrett if he wants to dance and while he fixes both of them with a polite smile, he declines. You scoff softly as they nod, looking disappointed and pouty before disappearing. 

You chew on your straw as Garrett turns his attention back to you, raising his eyebrows, “You’re pouting.” 

You sip on your water, definitely sounding like a little gremlin when you voice, “I am not.” 

Garrett lets out a sudden laugh, “Okay.” Then, “You know there’s no reason for you to be jealous.” 

Oh my god. The back of your neck heats from the audacity of this man (and because he’s so right). And yet, “I am…I’m not jealous.” 

Your boyfriend hums like he doesn’t believe you and…you suppose he shouldn’t. You’re still looking at girls who approached him further down the bar. Before you can say anything else, Garrett hooks your chin between his fingers and kisses you again. 

Heat curls all the way down your body and you swear you can feel yourself melt directly into the floor. Your fingers curl into his shirt, holding onto him, and all other thoughts fade away. Especially the ones that don’t matter. 

—

In the morning, when you wake up in Garrett’s bed, tucked against pillows and too many blankets—there’s a bag of fast food on the nightstand along with some aspirin and water. The bag has a note written on it; 

—practice, see you later :) 

A small smile presses itself onto your face despite your hangover. 

—

Garrett is a boyfriend to keep, and as it turns out, you’re pretty good as a girlfriend too. 

—

It’s not often that Garrett gets into fights on the ice, but it does happen. You’re not sure what’s up with this player on the other team, but 32 won’t keep his mouth shut. You may not be close enough to hear what’s being said, but you have eyes. You tend to follow your boyfriend as he plays and 32 won’t let up. You can tell that Garrett is getting increasingly pissed off the longer the game goes on. You’re not sure whether the other player is trying to just…throw Garrett off his game so that he fucks up? Or get him in the penalty box? You can’t be sure. 

But the entire thing makes you nervous. 

The game is so close to being over—in fact, Briar U scores the last goal and the crowd goes wild, music playing and horns going off. 

You feel like there’s a moment in which you can exhale; both teams are lining up to congratulate one another on a good game played. Which would be fine, business as usual, except 32 opens his mouth for one last chirp. Whatever he says has Garrett seeing red, he launches himself across the line, gloves off, throwing a punch. Logan and Dean are quick to draw him back so it’s not as bad as it could have been? But fuck. 

You can’t sit in the stands anymore. You turn on your heel and rush through the crowds of people, trying to pass and get through. Your fingers play with the keys to Garrett’s Jeep, the cool weather a refreshing kiss to your flushed face once you get outside. You linger near the exit where the players come out and as time passes, a lot of them head out for the night. All but Garrett. 

When Logan opens the door next, he connects eyes with you, his gaze soft, “He’s still in the locker room.” 

You swallow, “Is he okay?” 

“I think he’s just trying to calm down.” 

Your legs move you forward and past Logan as he holds the door open. You don’t even realize he’s behind you, making sure you get past any lingering security so that they don’t escort you out. He disappears once you push the locker room door open, seeing Garrett sitting in front of his stall. His body is bowed, still in some of his gear, his elbows on his knees and his hands hanging loosely between his legs. 

The door gently closes behind you and you walk forward, “Garrett.” Your voice is loud in such a quiet room. 

He glances up at you, swallowing over emotion thick in his throat. He straightens his shoulders, centering himself, “How did you get in here?” 

Chewing on your lower lip, you stand in front of him, not touching him. Not yet, “Logan.” A moment passes, “Actually, I ran past him when the door was open. He just made sure I wasn’t tackled by campus police.” 

A ghost of a smile pulls the corners of his mouth, gone as soon as it appears. Close up now, you can see how upset he is. Like a livewire, barely contained, his hands shaking and breathing slightly shallow. You don’t want to ask him what happened because you don’t want to wind him up more than he already is—and honestly? It doesn’t matter what set him off. The point is that he’s having a hard time coming down from it now. 

That’s your priority. 

You breathe out and step closer, nearly bumping his one knee. You drag your fingers through his damp curls, getting them out of the way of his face. His head tips back and the stark emotion in his expression, the slight mistiness to his eyes—it’s like a punch in the gut. 

“Are you hurt?” You ask softly. 

Garrett looks down at his hands, which are still trembling, but he shakes his head, “No, I just—can’t get out of my head.” 

You nod softly, knowing how much violence is a trigger for him. How he struggles with it. You really wish you could speak your peace to Phil Graham, because you have so much to fucking say. But Garrett has never had you meet him, has never allowed him within two feet of you, even when he’s here at his son’s games. And you know why, you can respect that. But it doesn’t take away the anger and frustration you feel on your boyfriend’s behalf.

Especially when he’s like this. 

32 must have said something to create this headspace, Garrett wouldn’t have allowed himself to dip this low otherwise. 

You shift, standing between Garrett’s legs, gently untying his shoulder pads and sliding them off and onto the floor. Once you have access to his body, your hands fall, massaging the stiff muscles above his collarbones. You work your thumbs into his upper neck and trail your fingers to his back and then all over again—in a calming circle that eventually has his body relaxing, his shoulders unhooking from his ears, his jaw unclenching. 

“I don’t know what 32 said,” You say after a moment, “And I don’t need to know. But whatever it was? He’s not worth it.” 

Garrett swallows, “I’m sorry.” 

“No,” Your voice is firm, reaching for his chin so that he’s looking at you when you add, “Don’t be sorry—I’m not upset. I was just worried about you. I care about you, so much. You know that, right?” 

Garrett lets out a slow breath, his face pinching a little. His hands suddenly grip your sides, pulling you closer, his face pressing into your abdomen. You can feel that soft hitching of him trying to control himself, maybe trying not to cry. Your heart aches in your chest as you step closer, allowing him to clutch onto you, your hand soothing through his hair and down his back in slow, even circles. 

After a few minutes, Garrett finally seems like he’s calmed down, or at the very least he’s not shaking anymore. When he pulls back, you run a hand through his curls, offering him a small smile. You lean down to kiss him but before your lips can map over his, 

“I love you,” He says, “You know that, right?” He mirrors what you said, making your heart flip-flop in your chest. 

You smile fully, nodding, before kissing him. It’s gentle and quick, but seemingly enough. 

“I love you too,” You add, taking a step back. “C’mon, grab a shower before we head out. You stink.” 

A laugh rumbles in his chest before he shakes his head, standing to his full height. “Yeah, yeah,” He mumbles, tugging off his long-sleeved thermal. He turns to make eye contact with you, pausing, as if—

“I’ll be here,” You promise, sitting down in front of his stall, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Garrett nods, leaning down to kiss you again, leaving you with a warm sensation that feels a lot like home as he heads off to the showers. 

—

“Are they supposed to be like that?” 

You purse your lips, turning your head as you take a long look at the muffins you made, cooling on the stovetop at Garrett’s place. You wouldn’t consider yourself a baker or…even a cook, at any rate, but literally how hard is it to follow directions and like, put something in the oven for a specific amount of time? 

Apparently difficult. 

“Uhm,” You poke one of them with a fork and…as suspected, they are rock solid. “Maybe?” Garrett chews on his lower lip and you can tell he’s trying not to laugh. You smack him in the chest. “Shut up.” 

“I’m sorry,” A laugh escapes, “I’m pretty sure you could injure someone with one of these.” 

You groan, your head tipping back as you set the fork down, “I don’t understand, I followed the recipe. Maybe they…taste better than they look?” 

“Do you wanna chip a tooth?” 

“Garrett.” 

He laughs again, “Fuck, sorry. I’m just saying—think it might be a lost cause, babe. I say we toss them and let Tucker bake something when he gets home.” 

There’s a pout on your lips, even as you untie your apron, “Maybe I could try one, just to see…” You slip the apron over your head, setting it aside. But the moment you reach for one of the muffins, Garrett crouches down and scoops you up into his arms, tossing you over his shoulder. 

“Put me down!” You squawk, reaching down his back in an attempt to smack his ass, “Caveman.” 

He carries you over to the couch, “Sorry,” He does not sound sorry at all. In one easy motion, he plops you onto the cushions. You land in a flourish, a soft oof leaving your lips. Garrett maps his body on top of yours, smiling against your lips, “Boyfriend code says I have to protect you from eating inedible muffins. Those are just the rules.” 

A soft laugh rumbles in your chest, mixed with fluttering butterflies and your heart flip-flopping—all at the sound of boyfriend. Yeah, that never gets old. 

“Oh,” You smile, “Well if those are the rules.” You wrap your fingers in his shirt, tugging him down into a kiss. 

You think you can live with that. 

[ilyahugs]

an exclusive sort of casualness

word count: 4,657 ship: Garrett Graham x reader rating: NC-17 (for smut and a slight praise kink) summary: You and Garrett aren't officially together, though it doesn't stop either of you from acting like it. notes: i have a masterlist now bc i've lost control of my life. big fan of garrett calling the reader me 'baby', in this essay-- notes2: gifs are from this gifpack :)

When you started at Briar U, you didn’t think you’d be able to successfully balance classes, an unpaid internship and finding a job. You were lucky to stumble upon Malone’s—actually, lucky for a few reasons. For one, you were lucky that it was a popular spot for Briar U students because the burgers are incredible and the milkshakes are always thick and syrupy; not to mention there’s always cool events happening there. Everything from fundraisers to live music. You were lucky that Della was hiring and that she was willing to work with your complex schedule, basically giving you shifts any time you squeezed free time out of the universe. And most importantly, you were lucky because that’s where you met Garrett Graham your sophomore year. 

It’s just one of those things where you kinda clicked the moment you met. Shared classes and study sessions became seeking one another out at parties, and late night french fry runs and milkshakes. You went to his games as often as he came to check out art you’d make for on-campus exhibits. And one drunken game of flip-cup became soft kisses shared in the morning, delicate and tentative like the touch might disappear in the afternoon sun. 

But it didn’t. 

You are well aware of the rumors that Garrett Graham doesn’t do girlfriends; he’s got more ‘important’ things to focus on and can’t weather the distraction. You have a feeling it goes a little deeper than that and whatever, to each their own. You’re not exactly trying to hook yourself a boyfriend either. Not exactly. Though you’re not going to pretend you haven’t thought about it. Garrett would be a great boyfriend—he’s thoughtful and kind and loyal, he’s funny and does this thing with his tongue that makes your toes curl in your shoes just thinking about it. 

You’re having fun together, things are casual, but…at the same time, neither of you are seeking other people out either. An exclusive sort of casualness that you’re not sure makes any sense. Most of the time, you’re able to ignore that twinge in the back of your mind that wants to talk about it. To bring words to something unspoken. But it always seems like the wrong time. 

And above all that, you’re scared. Why ruin something that’s been working? Garrett is probably someone you can easily call your best friend. You not only get to depend on him, to laugh with him, to feel his support and how much he cares, but you also get to kiss him and share intimate moments that make your body ache long after they’re done. 

What if trying to talk fucks everything up? 

Garrett’s hand comes down on your knee, squeezing, “Bumble,” He tips his head down to catch your gaze, a soft smile pulling the corners of his mouth, “You okay?” 

You blink, glancing out the driver’s window to see that he’s pulled up to Malone’s. Shaking your thoughts loose, you let out a breath of a laugh, “I really think it’s time for a new nickname.” 

He purses his lips, tapping his fingers distractingly on the inside of your thigh, “I dunno, did you stop dropping trays of orders in there?” He motions towards the big windows of the diner and bar. 

Your cheeks heat, “I hate you.” 

Alright so bumble did sort of make sense. The first time you met Garrett at Malone’s you fumbled with a tray full of drinks. Luckily it was nothing hot, but they spilled everywhere. Garrett likes to tease that it was because you were distracted by his good looks…and you’re not about to tell him he’s partly right. You had been taken by surprise by your instant attraction when you saw him, but you’re also a klutz. Having a restaurant job is probably one of the worst things you could do in that sense. 

Garrett turns a little in his seat to face you, a laugh rumbling out of his throat, “I see. You want me to call you something cute, like baby?” 

Jesus Christ. 

Something heated crawls under your skin like liquid honey and you hate that you actually like the sound of his voice wrapping around those syllables. That you, embarrassingly enough, want him to call you that. Realization dawns slowly on Garrett’s face, his hazel eyes sharp with amusement and banked heat, 

“Oh,” He says slowly, voice low and dipping into places you do not have time to explore, “You do like that.” 

Garrett leans across the divide, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his hand moving from your knee to cup the side of your neck. His thumb drags over your quickening pulse point, “You’re gonna be late for work, baby.” 

You quickly squash down the urge to kiss him because that’s not going to help anything. Instead, you inch closer, dragging a hand down his chest before settling on his hip. His attention is sharp now, eyes darkening. 

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Graham.” You whisper, your fingers grazing the front of his jeans where he’s definitely getting hard. He draws in a slow breath, licking his lips. You smile prettily, bringing your hand back up and tapping his cheek. 

“Pick me up from work.” 

He smirks, shaking his head as you grab your bag and open the Jeep’s door to slide out, “So bossy.” 

“I think you like it.” You add pointedly, raising your eyebrows. You blow him a kiss before disappearing inside Malone’s, that conversation (again) lingering for another day. 

—

Malone’s is packed tonight, which you suppose shouldn’t be too much of a surprise. It happens every so often, especially when there’s an upcoming hockey game, like the one this weekend. Fans pour in, players find places to have decent food, and the drink menu has specials that are too good to pass up for a college budget. You feel like you’ve been moving around the restaurant with hardly any breaks in-between. Cleaning tables, grabbing refills, carrying food trays (without dropping anything, thanks very much), and when you manage to look at the time, you’ve got a half of an hour to your shift left. 

The little bell goes off to signal someone else coming through the door and you smile as you spot Logan and some other Briar U hockey players here for a late night meal. Logan connects eyes with you, offering a small smile as he heads to a booth, 

“He’s doing some extra drills with the rookies.” He supplies, even though you didn’t ask about Garrett. 

God, are you that obvious? 

“It’s okay,” You tell him, “I still got time on my shift, so.” You draw in a breath, settling whatever nerves that are for some reason sputtering in your stomach like dying butterflies, “I’ll grab you guys some menus.” 

Wandering back over to the bar, you reach over the counter to grab the menus, turning to head to the booth Logan and the other hockey players are hovering at. A glass drops, drawing your attention over your shoulder. 

This doesn’t happen often at Malone’s, but it is a bar…so the occasional drunken fight is bound to happen. You have no idea who it’s between or what even started it, but insults are being thrown and more glasses are dropped and a full out brawl starts between two guys at the bar counter. 

“Shit,” You mumble. 

A few others try to jump in and separate the people throwing punches and your gaze snaps to another waitress you work with, Marie, caught against the bar, trying to avoid flailing arms. You move before thinking otherwise, Logan saying your name in the background. You manage to get to her, closing your hand around her forearm, and right when you turn someone’s elbow snaps back—

And hits you right in the face. 

You don’t remember falling onto the floor, only Logan coming up beside you and helping you up. Your head is spinning, vision a little blurry, and the pain is ridiculous along your cheekbone and…did you bite your lip? You touch your mouth, your fingers coming away with bright spots of red. 

Fuck. 

—

A soft sigh leaves your nose from your spot sitting sideways in one of Malone’s booths. The fight got broken up and unfortunately the police had to be called to get it all situated but…at least the night was sort of salvaged? Della bought a round of free appetizers for all the tables that stayed after the mayhem and, you look at the time, your shift is over. So that’s something. 

Glancing up as the door to the diner opens, you can feel Garrett before you see him. He’s got this presence about him that always fills up a room, usually with teasing smiles, flirtatious energy and infectious laughter. Right now, however? When he turns the corner and you get a good look at him, Garrett’s resembling a raincloud that hasn’t spilled open yet. Crackling thunder and unstable lightning. 

“She wouldn’t let us call anyone,” Logan is saying, right beside him. He must have been waiting outside for Garrett to arrive, intercepting him before he burst into Malone’s with the energy of a hurricane. 

You narrow your eyes at Logan, adjusting the ice pack against your face. Your gaze says it all—traitor, “I’m fine.” You insist, voice muffled. You didn’t need an ambulance called. Nothing is broken and you got the bleeding at your lip to stop. 

Garrett’s jaw clenches, his nostrils flaring a little as he crouches in front of you; barely restrained anger. But the tone of his voice and his fingers are soft as he reaches to touch the uninjured side of your face, 

“Let me see, baby.”

Your stomach drops like a stone falling into the ocean. You’re pretty sure that the pet name was unintentional. He’s too distracted for it to be used to throw you off balance, to get your walls to drop and—and this is altogether too many thoughts to be spinning around in your brain right now. A headache pulses along the back of your eyes. 

“I promise I’m fine.” 

Garrett is patient, his hands gentle as his other one squeezes your knee, “Your stubbornness is noted, c’mon.” 

Rolling your eyes, you pull the ice pack from your face. Garrett goes very still, like some sort of statue carved out of marble. Suddenly you’re glad those idiots who got into the bar fight are gone because if looks could kill…

Garrett swallows, moving his hand to touch your bruised cheek. He carefully presses his thumb against your cheekbone and when you wince, a soft apology falls from his lips. Jesus, that fucking stings. Your eyes mist over when his thumb moves to touch alongside the split in your lip—yeah, that sucks, it’s going to make kissing difficult for sure. 

Garrett misreads your expression, leaning forward to kiss the spot above your eyebrow before standing, “Were those guys players or fans?” He asks Logan. 

You shake your head, reaching for Garrett’s hand. Logan shifts uneasily on his feet, glancing at you before looking back at his Captain. “Uh, players. I think.” 

You place the icepack on the table, standing from the booth, “Garrett.” 

Logan glances between you two, clearing his throat, “I’m going to go…over there.” He motions to the counter where Marie is, walking away before anyone says anything. 

Your other hand moves to force Garrett’s chin in your direction, waiting until his hazel eyes meet your own, “Don’t even think about it, okay? It was an accident.” The last thing you want him to do is to get into a stupid fight on the ice over something like this. 

“If you want to do something, you can take me home. I have the worst headache.” 

Garrett lets out a long sigh from his nose, taking your hand off his face so he can kiss your knuckles. But at least he nods, defending your honor (no matter how misguided), forgotten. 

—

It always sort of seems universally unfair that Garrett, for whatever his reasons, doesn’t ‘do girlfriends’ because he’s always proving in one way or another about how good of a boyfriend he’d be. 

Over the next week, not only does Garrett make sure that you’re healing properly but he goes out of his way to do other things too. Things that he’s done before and yet…you can’t stop thinking about him calling you baby, how you wanted to hear it again without telling him so. 

After he drops off dinner at your dorm before he heads to practice, with a gentle hand on your cheek brushing over the fading bruise underneath your eye and a kiss to your temple, you close the door with your heart in your throat. 

Your roommate on the couch raises her eyebrows at the interaction, pursing her lips, “If not boyfriend, why boyfriend shaped?” 

You let out a soft laugh, the back of your neck warm, “Shut up or I won’t share my mozz sticks with you.” 

She grins, pretends to zip her lips closed and heads to the kitchenette for plates. 

—

Another party thrown at Briar U like the day is ending in Y. You can’t even remember what frat house you’re at, only that Garrett is going to meet you here after his game. A game that he fucking killed by the way. You go to games when you’ve got the time off work; it’s fun seeing him in his element even though you wouldn’t consider yourself a hockey fan. Or any sports fan, really. But the energy of the crowd and camaraderie of school spirit and…the way Garrett sometimes looks to the stands and locks eyes with you, giving you that boyish grin…

Yeah, it’s definitely something to get used to. 

Grabbing a canned drink from a cooler, you pop it open and turn—and almost knock right into Pete. “Oh shit,” You laugh softly, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s my bad.” Pete, who's tall and has goldish brown curls and blue eyes and handsome in that sort of textbook kind of way, “Oh I meant to tell you, I uh, I took notes for you. From ethics.” 

You raise your eyebrows as he turns, seemingly looking for something. He grabs a backpack from the floor and tugs out a notebook, ripping the notes right out of it to hand over. You smile a little because that’s…

“Hey.” 

You turn at the sound of Garrett’s voice, coming up behind where you’re standing. He’s freshly showered, you can smell the mint in his shampoo mixing with the cologne he usually wears. He’s got on black jeans, a black t-shirt and his oversized leather jacket, the familiar gold chain resting against his chest. It’s definitely not anything new and yet your heart leaps in your chest all the same. 

You smile up at him, “Hi,” You bump your shoulder against his arm, “Great game.” 

“Thank you.” He smiles, something warm and soft; just for you. Then he glances at—

Right. Pete. You clear your throat, “Oh this is Pete, he’s in my ethics class.” 

Pete nods, dropping his backpack down against the couch, “I was just giving her notes that she missed.” 

“Which was very sweet,” You add, folding the notes that he handed over to slip into your backpocket. You look back up at Garrett, “My opening shift at Malone’s took longer than I thought today and I missed half the lecture.” 

Garrett hums, “You take notes for all the girls in your class?” 

The comment lands like a rock in a pond and your mouth opens slightly even though you’re not entirely sure what you’re going to say. If Pete picks up on the possessiveness in Garrett’s reply, he doesn’t show it, he only smiles and adds, 

“Only the smart ones.” 

The muscle in Garrett’s jaw twitches and Pete kinda clears his throat, smile withering, “Right well. Uh,” He tips his beer in your direction with a light laugh before disappearing. 

You shake your head, turning to look up at Garrett before lightly smacking him in the chest, “What was that about?” 

“Nothing,” He replies but his voice is pitched and his nose is crinkling and he’s pissy. 

And—oh my god. Your mouth falls open. No fucking way. 

“Are you…” Garrett gaze meets yours, raising his eyebrows, “Oh my god, you are. You’re jealous.” 

He scoffs out a laugh but you swear you pick up on the slightest tint to his cheekbones, “You wish, bumble.” 

“I don’t have to wish, your face looks like it's sucking on a lemon.” You inch closer to him, tipping your chin up to lock eyes, your bodies pressing together like puzzle pieces. “So now I’m back to ‘bumble’?” You ask, “What happened to ‘baby’?”

Garrett runs his tongue over his teeth, picking his hand up to brush the back of his fingers along your cheek where that bruise from Malone’s has healed, “I think you like hearing ‘baby’ a little bit too much.” 

Your reply is instant— “Maybe I do.” His eyebrows tip up before that soft surprise melts into heated longing. 

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve kissed Garrett. How many times both of you have touched eachother, fingers and lips and tongue and teeth—but something about this feels different, charged at the edges. More real, somehow. Like balancing at the precipice of a cliff. 

Pressing yourself up on your toes, your lips graze his, “Say it again.” 

Garrett nips at your lower lip with his teeth, a small smile toying with the corners of his mouth. “Baby.” He whispers. 

The moment the word comes out of his mouth, you kiss him with a force that nearly knocks him back on his heels. You enjoy the way his arms automatically wrap around you, almost lifting you from the floor, you enjoy the way you can feel him smiling against your mouth, his hands tangling in your hair. There’s a desperation there, like neither of you want the other to stop. 

Distantly, you feel Garrett back up, dragging you somewhere. You could care less where you end up. 

A door opens and closes and part of you wonders how he even knew where he was taking you, a flutter of a laugh leaving your chest as you pull back, just a little to see—

“We’re in a storage closet.” 

Garrett’s hands slide down your body, gently cupping your ass by his fingers slipping into the pockets of your jeans, “Yeah, I saw it when I walked in on Pete trying to make a move.” 

“Oh shut up,” You laugh, making him smile. “You’re lucky being jealous kinda makes you hot.” 

“Kinda?” He asks, a mock offended scoff tumbling out of his mouth. His hand moves to caress your cheek, brushing along your jawline, “Guess I gotta work on that.” 

You press a kiss to his chin, peppering them down his neck. Your hands move to unbutton his jeans, tugging at them when you pull back, “Don’t worry—I know exactly how you can do that.” This is utterly ridiculous but the great thing about Garrett? He never disappoints in playing along. 

“Oh yeah? How’s that?” 

You slide your hands along his shoulders before slipping them into his leather jacket, helping him slide it off his body. It lands on the floor near some cans of tomatoes and you plant a kiss directly under his ear, “By enjoying what I’m about to do to you.” 

In your opinion? Male moaning is severely underrated—and Garrett’s got that going on in spades. There’s something about him being the prince of Briar U hockey, something about him being such a figure on campus, a legend, bold and strong and fucking so confident it’s almost cocky. 

Something about a man like Garrett melting under your touch, groaning when he enjoys something, moaning that he wants you to keep going, that you’re good at it. Heat gathers low in your stomach at the idea, sinking to your knees, drawing the zipper of his jeans down as you go. 

A sharp gasp leaves Garrett’s lips as you push his jeans aside, your lips pressing to the head of his cock through his briefs. He’s already hard, making you throb between your legs. Ignoring your own needs, you tug down Garrett’s briefs to free him. His cock points towards his stomach, head slightly red, leaking precum. You chance a look at him as you wrap a hand around the base, the flushed pleasure on his face almost enough to send you over your own edge. A tiny whimper leaves your throat, your other hand sliding behind his thigh to anchor yourself and you draw in a breath before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. 

“Fuck,” He groans, his hand wrapping around the back of your neck, “That feels so good.” 

That’s exactly what you’d been after—the sounds emptying from deep in Garrett’s chest, the way his hand squeezes the back of your neck or threads through your hair, the swivel of his hips every so often, the way his thighs shake. Every single piece of it; his reactions are so genuine, so sexy. He’s not trying to perform for anyone, he’s not trying to play it cool. He’s just feeling. And you’re doing that for him. 

It doesn’t take long, building him up, and then suddenly he’s moaning your name. And the moment he says fuck, gonna come, baby—you lose it not long after he does. You pull off of him, reaching your hand down to slip it into your pants, finding your clit, rubbing once, twice and coming. His name is definitely on your lips. 

Over and over as those waves crash into you. 

Garrett reaches for your shirt at your shoulder, pulling you up. You can’t stop yourself from smiling as he cups your cheek to kiss you. You tuck him back into his briefs, fingers lingering at his waist and a soft moan leaves your lips as his tongue licks into your mouth—

Then the storage door swings open. 

Both you and Garrett turn your attention to the random guy who’s in the doorway, everyone blinking at eachother like the Spiderman meme brought to life. 

“Uh just…was looking for…chips.” He says. 

You look around on the floor, spotting some tucked into one of the shelves. You reach down and grab them, passing them off in his direction. 

“Thanks.” He replies…and slowly closes the door. 

A laugh breaks off in Garrett’s throat and you can’t help but look at him and grin, giggling too. He pulls you into another kiss, though both of you can barely stop laughing to do it properly. 

—

A few days pass in the normalcy that you’re used to. You and Garrett are exactly as you’ve always been and yet that same sticky sensation settles in the bottom of your ribcage. It’s always felt…unavoidable and suddenly it becomes exactly that. You want to talk to him about whatever it is that the two of you are doing. 

You don’t want to exist in half truths anymore, in both exclusivity and casualness. You can’t. 

It takes a minute to track him down. When you finish your shift at Malone’s and you don’t find him at his place, it takes one call going to voicemail for you to realize he must be at the rink. There’s not a scheduled practice, so at least you don’t have to worry about having this conversation in front of an audience. 

Rubbing your arms against the chill, you smile as wander through the bleachers and walk right up to the ice, watching Garrett’s lean and powerful body shoot pucks towards the goal. Most of them go right in, only one or two knocking just short. He really is something else. 

“If you wanted a private viewing, all you had to do was ask.” 

A small laugh slips through your lips as he notices you, skating over in your direction and bumping against the boards all too gracefully. He’s not in full gear, just a pair of dark jeans, a hoodie and the oversized leather jacket. 

“I wanted to talk to you.” 

Garrett licks his lips with a soft nod, giving you a onceover before backing up a bit on his skates, “Alright. If you come on the ice with me.” 

You raise your eyebrows, another laugh leaving your chest, though this time it sounds incredulous. “Uh, no. I’m not dressed for that and you know I can’t skate for shit.” 

“Aw c’mon,” He shrugs his jacket off, getting close enough to you that he can slip it over your shoulders, “You know I won’t let you fall.” 

You’re shaking your head even though you’re sliding your arms through the sleeves of the jacket. You can feel the residual heat left behind from his body and smell remnants of his cologne and…you hate how that’s pretty much all it takes to convince you to put skates on. 

You’re like Bambi, wobbly as fuck as you eventually make it onto the ice. Garrett reaches for you, holding onto your hand, a small laugh rumbling his chest. 

“Shut up,” Though you’re laughing too. A small squeak leaves your lips as you attempt to remain upright—how are you supposed to have a serious conversation when you’re swimming like this? “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” He skates by your side, squeezing your hand every so often, “Your legs are too far apart.” 

“Never heard that complaint from you before.” 

Garrett laughs, something warm and loud and it fills up your entire chest. You grin at him but lose your fucking footing and your entire life flashes before your eyes as you scramble for purchase. Garrett is quick to pick you up but it just throws you both completely off balance. 

And then he’s down on the ice with an oof!, you on top of him. 

You wince and lean up a little but…you’re pretty sure no one has broken anything, “What happened to ‘I won’t let you fall’?” 

“I didn’t,” He shakes his head, “I fell.” You giggle, covering your mouth with your hand. “I’m glad you think this is funny because I’m fully capable of getting up off the ice,” He tilts his chin forward to look at you, “Are you?” 

You tap his cheek, “While I have you here, I wanted to talk to you about… everything.” You draw in a confident breath, “About you and me.” 

Garrett raises his eyebrows, squeezing your hips so that you continue. Apparently he’s not moving until you finish what you started. 

“I don’t want to be casual anymore,” You breathe out, convincing yourself that you’re trembling because you’re cold and that it has nothing to do with nerves. “I want you all to myself. For real.” 

There’s a moment where silence fills the space between you and it dawns on you how awkward this is going to be if you need to leave this conversation and…you won’t be able to scramble up off the ice. But Garrett reaches to cup your cheek, a soft smile pulling at his mouth. 

He leans down, kissing you, slow and steady and suddenly you’re not very cold anymore, “You think I’m out here calling anyone else ‘baby’?” He teases against your lips, “You want me?” Garrett asks, brushing his thumb over your cheek, “You got me.” 

His one hand playfully squeezes your ass, sitting up a bit and getting up off the ice. He reaches his hand out to tug you up too, 

“C’mon—if we’re gonna be dating, you gotta learn how to remain upright on the ice. Embarrassing, really.” 

You laugh even though you know he’s poking fun at you. Once you’re up, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, your body molding against his own as his arms wind along your waist. You suppose if that’s the price you have to pay? That sounds worth it—and draw him closer for a kiss. 

[ilyahugs]

knowing

word count: 3,525 ship: Garrett Graham x reader rating: PG-13 summary: The guy you're dating is a dick and Garrett is done keeping his commentary to himself. notes: this is a picture of me because who thought i could ever just write one (1) reader insert: 🤡 notes2: gifs are from this gifpack :) notes3: my other GG x reader insert is here, and if you like reader inserts, I also wrote a bunch of nick leister (my fault london) ones

You’re pretty sure you’ve never felt heat crawl up your neck like this before, animosity licking at your nerve endings as you direct your gaze to someone you’ve always considered your best friend. Look, you’re not someone who gets pissed off easily. Not really. You’ll feel other emotions deeply—happiness, hurt, jealousy, but anger? It’s a wasted sensation. It burns too hot and takes too much out of you. 

Yet here you are, willing Garrett Graham to ashes at your feet because how does he have the audacity? 

“Who I date is not your business.” You snap. 

Garrett scoffs, his hands falling to his hips as he tears his gaze away from you. He’s smiling, but not in a way that’s amused. Good, he’s pissed too. Glad you’re not alone in this. 

You’ve been best friends with Garrett for years, he’s one of the first people you met when you were a freshman at Briar U. You clicked, connected, had a lot of the same classes and circles of friends. It’s always been something easy—like wearing your favorite sweater, or falling asleep. Something expected and automatic. Garrett is someone who’s been warm, dependable, loyal and there. He’s the person you turn to when you need advice or a shoulder to cry on, there’s no one better to dance with, to jump around and sing too loud, to join a drinking game with because you know you’re going to win with him by your side. You’d choose him time and time again; a whispered promise, a hand in the dark. 

Every single time. 

And yet—

“Not my business?” He asks, raising his eyebrows, “It became my business when we sat in there with that dumbfuck,” He points to the large windows of Malone’s, “and he didn’t know when your birthday was.” 

You swallow, wrapping your arms around yourself. You try to convince yourself that it’s cold, that there’s a breeze scraping by and getting through the thin layer of the puffy sweater you have on, but you know better. Unease skitters through your bloodstream like spiders. You hate that Garrett is bringing this up again. 

And you hate that he’s right. 

Tonight was supposed to be a chill night, hanging out with some of Garrett’s teammates who are your friends too, their girlfriends, your other friends and the guy you’ve been seeing for a month, Mark. Mark, who Garrett can’t stand and has been very clear on this fact ever since he met him. Which you just…you don’t understand. Yeah, Mark has his moments, but he’s…he’s a decent guy? 

One of the topics that had been brought up at dinner was your birthday. You had a huge party last year and Dean was wondering if it was business as usual for the weekend. Mark had asked if it was this upcoming weekend and Garrett had looked like he was ready to throw a napkin dispenser at his head. 

“Okay so—what, you’re the only person who hasn’t forgotten anything?” 

Garrett sighs impatiently from his nose, “Don’t,” He says after a moment, “C’mon, sunshine, Mark didn’t forget, he never knew when your birthday was. I bet you he still doesn’t know.” 

Sunshine. A nickname you’re so used to hearing coming from Garrett’s mouth. Something he’s called you for years now, ever since he teased you about always having a sunny disposition—it, for whatever reason, is making the bridge of your nose sting. 

“What are you doing?” Garrett asks, taking a step forward. His voice is strained; a frustrated hand winding through his curls, “Why are you wasting your time with this guy?” 

That same heat you felt before prickles underneath your skin. You know that Garrett is asking from a place of concern, even though his stance is unyielding and his voice is sharp. He cares about you and he’s frustrated because of it. But you hate the feeling of existing underneath a microscope, like you’re the only person in the history of ever to be in a relationship with someone where there was a hint of imbalance. As if everyone Garrett’s ever been with, which aren’t many if we’re being honest, were somehow perfect. 

“Okay,” You shake your head, a wet laugh falling from your lips. You can’t look at him, a thin vibration of an emotion you can’t name causing a slight tremble in your voice, “Just because Mark isn’t some sort of Briar U hockey legend doesn’t mean I’m wasting my time.” 

The argument lacks evidence and purpose and you know it. Garrett knows it. You know that Garrett knows it. You can feel him walk closer to you even though you’re not looking at him. Your bodies are like magnets, you can sense him even when far away. 

He reaches out and touches the pink fluffiness of your sweater, playing with the fabric between his fingers. You close your eyes when his fingers brush along your chin, knowing he wants you to look at him. You steel yourself, biting down so hard you swear you hear your molars crack. 

But your eyes find his hazel ones. A port in the storm, even now. 

“You know I don’t give a shit if he plays hockey,” Garrett replies quietly, voice and gaze softer than before. “I give a shit about you.” 

A breath skitters out of your lungs, your heartbeat hammering against your ribcage. And despite the fact that you know this, that it’s no different than things he’s said to you before, it feels too real, too sharp against your body. His words are like a knife sliding into all of your soft parts. 

“Well don’t,” You snap, pulling back from him. You wrap your sweater further around your body, turning on your heel, “I can take care of myself.” You walk away, keeping your gaze forward and your feet moving so that you don’t do something stupid—like allowing Garrett to hug you, like changing your mind. 

—

There’s radio silence from Garrett for the next two days. Which is…which is fine. That’s what you wanted, right? That’s what you asked for? When you put your phone down for the third time, it lands with a noisy clatter. You’re annoyed with yourself that you can’t just be the bigger person and reach out to him. Soft shame licks against your nerve endings —I can take care of myself. 

Fuck. 

“Where’s your head at?” Mark asks, turning your attention towards him. 

You’re at a bar, supposed to be on a date, but you’re definitely not the best company right now. And he can sense it. You swallow and turn your body to face him on the stool, a tight smile spreading across your face. 

“Sorry I’m here. Just some stuff on my mind.” 

“For your birthday?” He has another onion ring, wiping his mouth with a napkin. For some reason the act of him eating food, his attention wholeheartedly on the appetizer instead of you digs under your skin. You clear your throat, tapping your fingers against the bar. 

“Yeah, sort of.” 

He smiles, his hand coming down on your thigh. You try not to flinch. “I was thinking babe, forget some sort of big thing. You know? We could have a romantic getaway. Just the two of us.” 

You blink at him, your mouth opening but no words spilling out. Then, “I can’t do that to my friends.” 

He has another onion ring, raising his eyebrows, “I mean, it’s your birthday. It’s your decision—you don’t have to throw a ridiculous party just for them.” 

A pain pings in your chest at the word ridiculous. The thing is, it’s not like your friends just want another excuse to party (though you’re not going to pretend that some of them definitely enjoy the prospect), at the end of the day, they want to celebrate you. 

Emotion clogs the back of your throat and you struggle to speak for a moment, licking your lips. Your thoughts wander back to last year, the party you had, the cake Garrett went out of his way to make sure he got for you from that bakery a town over. 

You can’t imagine having your birthday without him. 

The audacity of Mark who— “Mhm,” You hum, pausing, then— “And when’s my birthday?” 

Mark crumples the napkin in his hand, “What do you mean?” You stare at him. Oh my god. “It’s this weekend.” 

No, it’s not. It’s Friday. As in tomorrow. You’re just planning the bulk of the celebration for the weekend. 

Something akin to disappointment swirls in your chest, though you’re not sure why. Why would Mark remember your birthday when you just brought it up at Malone’s? The thought that all of this caused a stupid fight between you and Garrett swirls like acid behind your chest, dipping into your stomach, making you nauseous. 

You shake your head, pulling back from the bar, “I have to go.” You slide off the stool. 

Mark frowns, “Wait, what?” 

You draw in a breath, trying to keep yourself from shaking, “I’m breaking up with you. I should have done it sooner.” 

Before you can slip away from the bar, Mark’s hand comes down on your forearm, yanking you back into place. You wince, trying to pull your arm out of his grasp. You open your mouth to say something but he talks over you, gaze suddenly blazing—apparently he did not see this coming, “Don’t be a fucking brat.” 

“Don’t be a fucking asshole,” You snap. 

“Let her go.” The bartender’s voice sounds, causing Mark to immediately drop your arm. He continues to ask if you need a ride called but you don’t stick around long enough to reply. 

Mark can pick up the tab; it’ll keep him inside a little longer as you begin walking down the street, just wanting to put distance in-between you and your ex. You debate calling a ride to head back to your place but…distantly, you know there’s only one place you want to be. Only one person you want to see. 

Tugging out your phone, you tap on Garrett’s message thread, 

y/n: are you home? 

—

It’s late by the time you’re walking up the steps of the off-campus house that Garrett and a few other of his teammates live in, but he’s already opening the door. In a pair of black sweatpants and t-shirt to match, he doesn’t ask questions as you walk over the threshold. The fact that he doesn’t say a word, that he just guides you into the kitchen with a gentle hand on your back, has to be chipping away at his well-practiced control. 

Garrett sits you at the island counter, moving towards the fridge. There’s a pint of ice cream in his hands a second later and two spoons, setting them down in front of you. His movements are calm and gentle, the only thing giving away the storm brewing inside is the occasional flexing of the muscle in his jaw and the flaring of his nostrils. 

But still he doesn’t ask. He just pulls a stool up beside you. And waits. 

You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve him up at a ridiculous hour when he was probably sleeping, giving you ice cream and caring about you after the last thing you said to him. Tears sting the back of your eyelids and with trembling fingers, you reach for the ice cream container. 

“Just have this on hand, do you?” You ask, voice cracking. 

Garrett lets out a slow breath, peeling it open when your hands keep fumbling. “I think we both know emergency ice cream is a must.” He picks up a spoon, scraping it over the chocolate to spoonful a bite into his mouth, “Pretty sure it was in the bylaws of the friendship contract we signed.” 

Your lips twitch, “I must have missed that page.” 

He scoffs, “It was on the same page that mentioned you being unable to sleep without an extra pillow against your back and that you consider chocolate ice cream to be the only acceptable dessert…otherwise you’d rather have mozz sticks from Malone’s. You didn’t miss it.” 

A sudden swell of emotion crashes into you like a physical wave, your hand coming up to cover your face. Fuck. Fuck. Garrett knows you well, he knows you so well and—and the fact that you’d been so angry at him for calling out something you should have been brave enough to say to Mark yourself…

You hate that your anger was so misplaced. You lashed out at Garrett not because he knew you, but because he knew you better than someone you were dating. 

How fucking embarrasing. 

“Hey no,” Garrett says gently, putting the spoon down, “Don’t do that.” His stool skids along the floor as he stands, moving to shift right beside you. When he pulls your hand away from your face, a shuddered sob slips out of your mouth. 

“Come here.” He whispers, tugging you against his chest. Because of the height difference, your head tucks itself underneath his collarbone, his firm arms wrapping around your back. He keeps you close, an open palm up and down your spine while the other tucks itself against your hair. 

You can feel his nose and lips press into your temple, his breath hot as he lets out a long sigh from his nose. Your fingers dig into his t-shirt, grounding yourself in his presence, the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with laundry detergent and something purely Garrett reaching into the branches of your lungs. 

This is not the first time you’ve cried so openly in front of Garrett and you know it won’t be the last, either, but some part of you hates knowing that this never would have happened in the first place if you just would have listened to what your friend was trying to tell you. 

Garrett only pulls back when he senses you’re ready, tipping his chin down to try and catch your gaze. 

You shake your head, his thumb dragging across your cheek to catch a tear track, “I’m sorry.” 

His eyebrows draw together and he reaches for a napkin on the counter to hand you, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

A small laugh escapes, the back of your neck heating along with your cheeks because really? “I kinda do.” 

His voice is firm, fingers on your chin again so your gaze meets his, “You really don’t.” 

Garrett pulls your stool closer to his own with his foot before he sits down again, handing you the extra spoon on the counter. His body is angled to face yours, his knee bumping into your leg. He does a playful cheers motion by tapping his spoon into the one you have, making a small smile pull into your face. 

“You gonna tell me what happened? Cause using my imagination isn’t helping.” 

You use the napkin on your face, tucking it into one of your pockets before spooning some chocolate ice cream into your mouth. Part of you really doesn’t want to tell him. You know that in all aspects of things that could have happened, it could have been worse. But…that same sort of sensation of shame wraps around you like barbed wire as you recall the interaction between you and Mark. Garrett is not the type of person to say I told you so; at least not about this. But you can still feel that ugly sentiment pressing against your throat at having to tell him what happened. 

“You don’t have to,” Garrett adds when you remain silent, “If it’s—” 

“No,” You interrupt, shaking your head. “I’m just…” You let out a long sigh, curling your hair around your ear, “I’m just embarrassed, that’s all. I should have listened to you.” 

“And if this were any other situation, I would ask you to repeat that sentence.” 

You roll your eyes, encouraging a soft laugh to leave his chest. The sound warms you from the inside out. 

“But,” He continues, “That’s not what this is.” He bumps you with his knee, drawing your attention to his face. When your gaze meets his, he offers you a small smile, “You can talk to me, sunshine. You know that.” 

You do know that. So you tell him about being at the bar. About Mark wanting the birthday celebration to just be you and him, how he was insistent on leaving your friends out. And then about how it got worse—about how, even after all of this, he still didn’t know what day your birthday was, and how when you tried to break up with him—

“He was just being a dick, almost wouldn’t let me leave the bar.” Your fingers rub absently at your wrist. 

Garrett clocks the movement, slowly setting his spoon down near the carton, “Do we think he’s still there? At the bar?” 

Your hand comes down on Garrett’s arm before he can stand up, “It doesn’t matter if he is, don’t even think about it.” 

He purses his lips, standing as if his intention was always to put his spoon in the sink, “No idea what you’re talking about.” 

You have one more scoop of ice cream before putting the lid on it, carrying it over to the freezer to put away, “Mark isn’t worth it.” 

Garrett catches your hand, gently smoothing his fingers over the red marks on your forearm. His nostrils flare again as he draws in a breath but his eyes are calm and warm. “No,” He agrees, “He’s not.” 

The air feels filled with static electricity connecting both of your bodies and for a second you…your gaze finds Garrett’s mouth. There’s this moment where you think about how Garrett never liked Mark, about that argument outside of Malone’s, how maybe it had nothing to do with your ex not remembering your birthday and everything to do with something else. Something that’s clearly simmering for you both directly under the surface, that’s been there the whole time and you didn’t see it until now. 

Your stomach flips. It’d be so easy to close the distance, to lean and kiss him.

“Sunshine,” Garrett says gently, his hand falling onto your shoulder to stop you from—

“Oh my god,” You take a step back, your hand covering your mouth, “I’m sorry, I don’t know…” 

“No,” Garrett says quickly, reaching for you before you can do something drastic like…rush out of the house. Heat gathers along the back of your neck and flutters your pulse as Garrett hooks his hand behind your elbow. “We’re very much on the same page,” He promises, “I just don’t want to kiss you while you’re upset over another guy.” 

It’s not the worst let-down you’ve ever heard and besides…Garrett’s right. Tonight might have unlocked something in you but it wouldn’t be fair to take time to decompress, to push everything into these wee hours of the morning.

Garrett leans down and plants a kiss to your cheekbone, “C’mon, I’ll get you settled upstairs.” 

He offers you a hand that you take; one of the easiest things you’ve ever done. 

—

You sleep in Garrett’s bed, which isn’t completely out of the ordinary. What is different, however, is how you’re woken up. 

Sunlight streams in through the curtains and there’s quiet shuffling before a weight sinks in beside your knee. It takes you a moment to fully wake up, to realize what’s going on. You drag a hand over your face, squinting before Garrett slowly comes into focus. 

He’s dressed comfortably, a t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly damp like he recently showered. Drowsiness lingers before you realize he’s holding a chocolate cupcake in his hand, a skinny green candle sticking out of it. 

He smiles, “Morning sunshine.” 

Shifting in bed, you lean back against a small stack of pillows. “What’s this?” You raise your eyebrows. 

“This?” He asks, pursing his lips, “Birthday cupcake.” 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip and you touch the tip of the unlit candle, “Tucker?” 

Garrett’s mouth opens in mock offense before he laughs, the sound making your stomach flutter, “Okay, contrary to having a chef in the house, I can make things without burning the kitchen down.” 

A breath catches in your throat, your eyes falling to the chocolate cupcake with white icing and tiny pink sprinkles, “You got up and made these?” There’s a sensation building in your chest like a rolling wave, utterly touched that Garrett would do something like this. Especially when you showed up last night out of the blue, freshly broken up with fucking Mark. 

Garrett remembers things easily—things that matter to you. Things that remind you that you’re not difficult to love. 

“Well…” He trails off, “If you don’t want it…” He pretends he’s going to get up. 

You quickly gather his shirt in your hands, pulling him close. His smile is wide again, eyes warm, “I want it.” You insist, then, “Guess what my wish is.” 

Garrett holds your gaze for a long moment before it dips to your mouth, “I don’t think I have to guess.” And draws you into a slow kiss. The cupcake will just have to wait. 

[ilyahugs]

under the weather

word count: 2,159 ship: Garrett Graham x reader rating: PG-13 summary: You slip into full girlfriend-mode after Garrett catches a cold from being out in the rain. notes: masterlist 💖 notes2: gifs are from this gifpack :)

It’s been rainy recently, which you suppose isn’t too surprising for spring. It’s bound to happen, a stretch of a week where it’s just constant cloudy skies and fat raindrops. You know some people detest the thunder and lightning, that it makes it harder to do activities on campus, but you’ve always loved a gray day. Yeah, it’s definitely made your volunteering opportunities that you have lined up a little scattered but things can be adapted. You’ve always prized yourself on going with the flow, on figuring things out in a pinch and this past week has been no different. 

It also helps that you’ve got someone like Garrett looking out for you. 

You were in the middle of a bake sale outside of your dorm for one of your various causes, a slight chill growing in the air thanks to dark, puffy clouds making their way across the sky. You had texted Garrett that you were pretty sure it was going to start storming and not only did that man show up unprompted with Dean and Logan to help put up a small tarp-tent leftover from a hockey event, he even had an umbrella for you. It was blustery and you hadn’t had a coat, just trying to sell through the cupcakes and cookies that were left so you could call it a day. You were determined, if nothing else. In the middle of selling a double pack of red-velvet cookies, Garrett took off his oversized leather jacket and slid it over your shoulders. You were grateful for the warmth his body left behind. 

Everything sold relatively quickly after that and you could only assume the eye candy of Logan, Dean and Garrett definitely helped. 

It’s still raining the very next night and once you get to Malone’s, you shake out your umbrella before pausing in the entryway. You’re a few minutes late to meet Garrett for dinner but with one quick glance-around, you see he’s not there yet. You settle yourself into a corner booth, tugging your phone out of your pocket when it starts to vibrate. 

There’s a small smile when you see it’s your boyfriend. You swipe to answer but before you can say anything he says, “Alright,” He clears his throat, though that doesn’t seem to help how deep his voice sounds. Maybe he just woke up? “Don’t get upset.” 

You raise your eyebrows, an amused noise leaving your lips, “A bit dramatic—you’re not even five minutes late yet.” 

A sound leaves his lips that you think is a laugh? “I can’t come.” 

You frown, opening your mouth to ask if he’s alright but then there’s the shifting of Garrett moving and then—a harsh sneeze. Then another. Oh. Oh no. You wince, waiting a moment before saying, “You sound great.” 

He scoffs, which again you think it’s supposed to be some sort of laugh because his voice is twinged in amusement when he says, “Yeah, thanks.” He sniffles, “I feel just as great too.” 

You stand from the booth, moving towards the counter to grab a menu. “God, I’m sorry Garrett. This is totally because you were under that tent with me in the rain. Without a coat.” You could have easily gone up to your dorm to get something. 

“I’d make the same choices,” Garrett assures you, the sound of fabric rustling; maybe him getting more comfortable in bed or on the couch. “It’s not your fault.” 

You draw in a breath and tap your fingers against the counter, “Alright, I’m gonna grab dinner and then I’m coming over—” 

“No,” He interrupts, “I don’t want you to get sick too.” 

You crinkle your nose at the directive, “I have a stone-clad immune system. Seriously, I think it’s from all the Flintstones vitamins I took when I was a kid. Your cold doesn’t scare me, Graham.” 

A rumble of amusement fills the line, making your stomach flutter, another smile pulling the corners of your mouth, “I’m guessing I can’t talk you out of this.” 

“I mean, you could try but I would put that energy into more important things—like getting better.” You glance up when a waitress from behind the counter smiles at you, lingering at the take-out register. “I’ll be there soon, get some sleep.” 

Garrett sighs but you can tell he’s smiling when he says, “Yes, ma’am,” before you end the call. 

—

Balancing a large takeout bag from Malone’s, you reach for the doorknob of Garrett’s place. There’s commentary sitting on the tip of your tongue that these guys just allow the door to be unlocked for whoever to wander right in but…you suppose that’s a good thing for right now. You’re not sure if any of the other guys are home and the last thing you want to do is make Garrett get up to get the door. 

You toe off your shoes beside the entrance and close the door with your foot. 

You’re about to call out and wander right up the steps when you hear a shuffle of blankets and a soft cough, a head of wild curls appearing as Garrett sits upright on the couch. A small noise of affection buzzes in your chest as you move closer to him, seeing him tangled up in a big knit blanket, wearing a pair black sweatpants and his purple hoodie. 

You settle the bag on the back of the couch for a moment, reaching out to push some of his curls off his forehead. He looks rough—and you’re saying that from a place of utter love and affection. There are soft purple smudges underneath his eyes, which are slightly distant and watery, and his nose is red rimmed and perpetually crinkled. 

“You know,” You say after a moment, “It’s a good thing I’m not someone breaking in because you guys keep leaving your door unlocked.” 

“Cutest burglar I’ve ever seen,” Garrett comments, his speech slightly muffled. His arm rests along the back of the couch, his fingers playing with the sleeve of your jacket. 

You smile a little, “That flirting would be cute if you could breathe through your nose.” 

There’s definitely a pout that follows and you find yourself shaking your head, leaning down to brush a kiss over his forehead. He doesn’t seem to have a fever, so that’s a good sign. Garrett lifts one of his hands, cupping the side of your neck, briefly running his thumb along your pulse point. 

You pull back, rounding the couch. And it’s like a tissue box was murdered because there’s an empty box on the coffee table, a small trashcan nearby filled with used tissues and a bunch crumpled up on the floor and on his blanket. 

He blinks, seeming to see the disaster just as you sit down near his thighs. He props himself against the arm of the couch, legs still stretched out in front of him as he reaches to clean up, “Shit, sorry. I passed out after I called you.” He sniffles. 

“It’s okay, really. You should see me when I get sick, I’m like a blanket monster.” You smile lightly, putting the bag from Malone’s on the ground. You begin to unpack it, “Okay, so I got two kinds of soup, french fries, uhm,” You draw your teeth over your lower lip, “A hot turkey sandwich with gravy on the side, mashed potatoes and a burger. I really wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for. I can eat plenty of what I brought too…and sometimes it’s good to have leftovers when you’re sick, if you’re not in the mood to make anything…” 

When you turn your head back to look at Garrett he’s sort of staring at you in this…glazed sort of expression that’s half surprise and half admiration. You feel heat kiss the back of your neck and your cheeks, 

“I know it’s a lot—” 

“No,” Garrett shakes his head, “No, it’s really sweet. Thank you. I’d kiss you but…” He half shrugs. 

A soft laugh leaves your lips because yeah, you know. Strong immune system aside, it’d probably be best if he didn’t. The smile quickly slips from his face and he lifts the collar of his hoodie to cover his mouth and nose. It takes a moment, his eyes squeezing shut as his breath hitches but then a sneeze stumbles forth. And then another. You wince at how rough that second one sounded. You reach out and rub his shoulder, 

“Bless you. You have any more tissues?” 

He sighs, a thick sniffle and then, “Under the bathroom sink.” 

You nod, standing up. You press a kiss to his curls before moving to pick up the trash can. Wandering into the kitchen, you dump all his used tissues into the larger trash and wash your hands before going towards the bathroom to look for another box of tissues. You put that under your arm and grab the tea kettle once you make it back into the kitchen, filling it with water. Turning the stove on, you set the tea kettle over the fire, carrying the tissues and smaller trashcan back into Garrett. 

Garrett’s used napkins from the takeout bag to blow his nose, tossing them into the trashcan as you set it back on the floor.

“Soup?” You ask. 

Garrett clears his throat before nodding. You set him up on the couch with the small container of chicken noodle soup that’s still pretty hot and glance over at the channel he has playing hockey highlights. You wrinkle your nose, making a soft laugh rumble in his chest. 

“What?” 

“I mean…you need a comfort movie on. This isn’t going to cut it.” 

“And if I said…hockey highlights were comforting?” Garrett’s eyebrows lift, spooning another careful bite into his mouth. 

“Who’s the nurse here, Garrett?” 

He laughs outright this time, reaching for the remote to hand you, “Right. How foolish of me.” He shakes his head, leaning further back into the couch as you push the Netflix button and pick a romcom from the 2000s. 

Nodding in satisfaction, you get up off the couch as the tea kettle begins whistling in the kitchen. You bring the takeout container that has the burger in it along with you, heating it up for a few seconds in the microwave after taking the onion off it. You bite into it, humming lightly as you grab a mug from the cupboard and fill it with hot water. Tugging the mint tea box from its spot alongside peanut butter and cereal, you tear open a teabag and settle it into the mug. Leaning against the counter, you watch as Garrett eats the soup you brought him, a small smile pulling onto your face. 

You’re so used to him being a bit larger than life, the prince of Briar U hockey, a personality that everyone seems to know and revere. There, tucked in a hoodie in the corner of the couch, blanket up to his hips and a tissue box on his lap, he seems a tiny bit smaller, charming in a way you can’t quite explain. 

But yours, undoubtedly. 

Drawing in a soft breath, you have another bite of the burger and grab the string of the teabag, dunking it up and down a few times before adding sugar. Carrying the mug back over to the living room, you sit on the other side of the couch, near Garrett’s feet. 

“Tea for you when you’re done.” 

He nudges your knee with his socked foot, “Thank you,” He clears his throat, “For being here,” Garrett adds, “You didn’t need to be.” 

You want to tell him that he’d do the same for you in a heartbeat or that you’re still feeling slightly guilty that he got sick because of you, but instead you push your knee back against his foot, “You know I love you 477,710 miles.” 

Garrett smiles, licking his lips, “To the moon and back. Quite a distance.” 

You grin, reaching forward to pick up the mug of tea, handing it off to him. Your fingers brush in the exchange and your heart rate thrums against your ribcage. Garrett finishes off his soup and lazily sips his tea, his attention on the TV every so often. He sets down the mug after a long while and shifts, grabbing a pillow. 

He sets it on your lap and you smirk as he rearranges himself so that he’s lying down with his head on your thigh. You shuffle backwards on the couch, getting comfortable, one of your hands stroking up and down his shoulder while the other intertwines itself in his curls. 

You scrub at his scalp, making him draw in a deep breath, eyes fluttering closed. He tucks himself close, allowing you to take care of him, his one hand tracing circles against your calf every so often as his arm hangs off the couch. 

“I love you too.” Garrett whispers. 

And you smile, because you know.

[ilyahugs]

let me help

word count: 3,242 ship: Garrett Graham x reader rating: PG-13 summary: Frustration and exhaustion pushes you to the brink, but you've conditioned yourself not to let anyone in. Garrett pushes that invisible boundary. notes: masterlist is here 😘 thanks to anyone who consistently leaves messages, comments, reblogs or likes notes2: gifs are from this gifpack :)

Ever since you were a kid, you’ve been used to depending on yourself. You had a single mom raise you, dad leaving the picture when you were eight, and no siblings to depend on. Your mom worked two jobs ever since then to support your family and when you were old enough, you chipped in with jobs too even though she never pressured you to do so. You’ve always been independent and self-sufficient and you’re not ignorant to the fact that both you and your mother busted your asses to get you into Briar U—

Which is why your scholarship and work-study and classes are so important. 

It’s not that you’re not allowing yourself to become distracted because not enjoying college for what it is (parties, making friends, having a boyfriend, going to events), isn’t going to help you balance everything. ‘All work and no play makes you a dull girlie’, and all that. So it’s not that. You love taking breaks at Malone’s with your friends or going to Garrett’s games to support him or drinking just a bit too much with everyone else and having Tucker make the entire house breakfast sandwiches as you struggle through hangovers. 

It’s just that you struggle to allow anyone to help you…no matter how much you might need it. 

You’re done studying for the night, your notebooks and books closed on top of a table at Malone’s, Garrett’s roommates and your friends all shoved into a booth. It’s late, you can feel your internal clock ticking towards wanting to crawl into bed. You run a hand through your hair, rubbing at your one temple as Dean tells a story (loudly) about doing some sort of keg stand at the party he was just at. That’s the spilling of different people in here—you were studying, Garrett is pressed into your side coming from extra practice at the rink, and a handful of people are coming from this party Dean is talking about in various shades of drunk, wanting fried, greasy food. 

You shift in your seat, a small smile pulling at your lips as Garrett and Logan totally drag Dean for this story, the booth lighthearted and silly and you wish you could enjoy it fully but you’re so fucking tired. 

Your early morning work-study shifts are finally taking their toll with late-night studying as a match-up. It’s a weird sort of desperation that claws at the bottom of your ribcage—you should excuse yourself, go back to your dorm, get some much-needed sleep. But at the same time, you’re tucked in this booth and even though you’re tired, you’re enjoying time with your people. Your mom always used to ask you what best charges your inner battery? And for you? It’s definitely these weirdos. 

“More fries.” Logan declares, waving over a waitress. “We need more fries!” 

The waitress who comes over laughs and writes it down on her notepad, “Okay.” 

“Stop yelling ‘fries’ at her.” Garrett smacks Logan’s arm with a menu but there’s a small smile pulling the corners of his lips. 

You smirk, shaking your head as your fingers press against your eyebrow. Garrett inches closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. It’s quiet in the way he cares about you sometimes—a gentle press of his fingers to your skin, his jacket over your shoulders, a coffee between classes, always having your favorite snack stocked at his place, a well-placed joke to make you smile, a soft kiss to your lips whenever he can. Even now, he can tell you’re tired, yet reading you well enough that he doesn’t tell you outright to go back to your dorm, either. 

You tip your head towards his, offering him a small smile, kissing the corner of his mouth before resting your head on his shoulder. You follow the conversation easily enough, Garrett’s lips tucking themselves along your temple every so often. 

You don’t even realize that you doze off until Garrett is carefully shifting beside you. When you open your eyes, he’s gathering your books up to put into your tote bag. The booth is empty except for you and him but one glance towards the bar counter tells you that’s where everyone else ended up. 

“Fuck,” You mumble and rub the side of your face, “Please don’t tell me I drooled on you.” 

Garrett smirks, “Alright, I won’t tell you that.” 

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose. How embarrassing. All over that oversized leather jacket he’s wearing that you love so much. 

He draws your hand away from your face, pressing a kiss to your cheekbone, “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” 

Garrett slides out of the booth, offering a hand to tug you out. You take it, shaking your head at his earlier statement as you stand in front of him, “Nah, it’s okay. Stay here with your hockey bros,” You grin, looking at the time. 

It’s late but Malone’s doesn’t close for another hour. Not that Garrett needs to be told this, but you know that his friends want to spend time with him beyond scheduled work-outs or practices or game-day rituals. He doesn’t need to leave just because you are, even though you appreciate the sentiment. 

Garrett draws in a breath, wavering for a moment, “You sure?” You nod, tucking your tote over your shoulder. “What about breakfast tomorrow morning?” 

You wince, “I have a shift.” 

His eyebrows draw together, “I thought you were off tomorrow.” 

“I was supposed to be,” You’re already tired thinking about it, “But someone is sick and my boss asked me if I could cover and…” You trail off, shrugging. 

Garrett chews on the inside of his cheek a moment before, “That’s when you tell him you can’t.” 

His name sounds like a sigh when you say, “Garrett.” 

“You’re gonna burn yourself out.” 

You know he’s coming from a place of concern, that he’s probably right. You’re doing too many things at once, not giving yourself proper time to recover and take breaks but…what are you supposed to do, really? Tell your boss no? It’s just one time and you know he’ll balance out the schedule so you’ll still get your day off. It just won’t be tomorrow. 

You pick up your hand, cupping Garrett’s cheek. You run your thumb over his cheekbone and relish how he turns his head a bit into your touch, “I’ll be okay. I’ll call you tomorrow—send me a text when you get home, okay?” 

Garrett looks like he wants to say something else but doesn’t, instead he presses a kiss to your palm, “Yes, ma’am.” 

You smirk, pressing your thumb against his lower lip before turning to head out from the comfortable warmth of Malone’s and Garrett into the cool, night air. 

—

You should have known today was going to be a rough one when you slept through your alarm—it tossed your entire morning off balance. You were late for the work-study shift you were never supposed to have in the first place and the coffee never hit just right to balance out how tired you were. People seemed a bit grouchier than normal? And the person who was supposed to come in after you to take over, so you could get to class on time, was late. So you were also late to your lecture. You find yourself unable to focus on what the professor is saying, so your notes are shit, and by the time late afternoon comes, you’re cranky and longing for bed. 

And Garrett. You really could use your boyfriend right now. There’s something about him that just…washes a calm over you. Those easy smiles, the tiny jokes, how his hands feel against your body, how you’re able to lose yourself in a kiss. 

You draw a calming breath into your nose as you check the time, knowing Garrett has practice starting in about fifteen minutes. You’ve already decided that you’re going to wait for him in the parking lot outside the team entrance and just—say hi, grab a small kiss, wait for him until he’s done. You know how silly that might sound? But the quick interaction will be enough to patch up a chaotic day. 

You head in that direction but upon arriving you see that Garrett’s Jeep is already in the parking lot. A soft sigh ignites the dull throbbing of a beginning headache because he’s…he’s already here. You missed him heading inside. 

That’s fine. That’s totally fine. You can just swallow over your raw emotions, pull up your big girl pants and—

And your phone vibrates. 

Tugging it out of your pocket, you see that one of your classes has posed grades from an exam that you took and you have no idea why you thought this would make your day any better because when you click on the notification—

Your tote bag drops onto the pavement by your feet. 

You stare at the grade posted, willing your eyes to look for something else because there is…there is no way you got a C- on that exam. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, shaking your head, attempting to ground yourself because you…you know that a C- isn’t the end of the world. It’s a difficult class, many people would be pleased or relieved to see that they got a C- on a tough exam. 

But not you. 

Your expectations are higher for yourself, you’re angry that it feels like you’ve fucked up, that you could have done better, that this C- will bring down your whole average and—and you’ve got responsibilities and scholarships and—

You blink when you hear someone say your name. It’s Logan, walking towards you, looking concerned. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“I’m—” The moment that word leaves your mouth, your cheeks heat, a flame licking the back of your neck in horror as you realize you’re crying. Big fat tears spilling down your face and dripping onto the fabric of your black jean jacket and oh my god. When did that happen? 

You try to get the words out, to explain, but they all get caught underneath your tongue. An exasperated sob exits instead and Logan gently touches your arm, “I’m gonna get Garrett.” 

You try for the word no but it comes out in a frustrated whine, something that Logan doesn’t listen to as he disappears into the building. Fuck. You slide your phone into your pocket, attempting to wipe your face with shaking fingers. All the build-up from earlier, from this week, fuck from this semester just all comes to a head. You’re so used to swallowing exhaustion and frustration that you just can’t anymore; you’re past the point of no return. There’s no pulling you back from the edge that you’ve tumbled over. 

Garrett comes out of the same doors Logan disappeared through a few minutes later, hastily pulling on a sweatshirt over his head. You think you’ve managed to get a handle on the tears slipping down your cheeks until he’s standing in front of you, 

“Hey,” He says gently, tipping his head down to try and catch your gaze, his hands cupping both sides of your face, “Hey, what is it? What happened?” He sounds panicked and you hate that you’ve worried him. 

Your lower lip wobbles, unable to find the words, sobs getting trapped behind your ribs and threatening to escape. You’re so tired, the kind that can’t be solved with sleep, the bone-deep weariness that somehow sticks like molasses. Something you can’t wade through alone. 

You manage to tug your phone out of your pocket and show him the grade posting, hoping that’ll be enough to explain. His eyebrows draw together as he stares at the screen but you can see that his shoulders relax ever so slightly, 

“Oh babe,” Garrett soothes, tucking your phone into his pocket. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

He’s sorry? You’re the one who burst into tears over a C-, accidentally interrupting his start to practice and he’s the one apologizing? You shake your head, your hand covering your mouth as you manage to get out, 

“I didn’t m-mean to—” Be like this. Completely fall apart. Something, anything that’s not just standing here crying. 

But Garrett is shaking his head because of course he understands, “No, don’t. Come here.” He hooks a hand under your elbow, drawing you into his chest, “C’mere, it’s okay. You’re okay.” 

Something unlocks behind your ribs when you lean against him, pressing your face into his shoulder. His arms come around you, squeezing, one of his hands rubbing the back of your neck. You feel safe, so you allow yourself to fall apart. Pent up sobs claw their way out of you and Garrett shoulders it all. He holds you tight, supporting your weight, soft words brushed against your forehead every so often. Patient and calm and gentle and everything you didn’t know you needed until it was right in front of you. Garrett’s fingers scrub through your hair, only pulling back when you’re ready. 

“Fuck,” You hiccup, wiping your cheek. Garrett uses the sleeve of his sweatshirt to remove the remaining tear tracks, his other hand gliding up and down your spine in slow intervals. Your glance over at him, embarrassment staining your face with heat. There’s a wet spot on his purple hoodie. “Your hoodie.” 

Garrett glances down at the spot and shakes his head, “I got a ton of these. Or, well, maybe less—since they seem to disappear every time you’re over.” 

You shrug your one shoulder, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Garrett laughs, the sound managing to pull you up for air, like you can breathe a little easier as he kisses your forehead, “I’m sure you don’t.” 

You close your eyes for a moment, your fingers playing with the strings of his hoodie, “I didn’t mean to come here like this. I–I actually was hoping to see you before practice just to say ‘hi’.” 

Garrett licks his lips, keeping you close but tipping his chin down to look at you, “That obviously has been building up for a while,” He squeezes your shoulder, “You’re exhausted.” 

You sniffle, trying to tell yourself that you’re human. There’s nothing wrong with you—it happens. There’s no possible way for you to burn a candle at both ends and not feel those consequences. 

“I’m gonna take you back to my place.” 

Your eyebrows draw together, your gaze looking up into his hazel one, “You’ve got practice.” 

Garrett shakes his head, “Told coach I had an emergency.” 

“Garrett—” 

He interrupts with your name, his hand moving to cup your cheek to make sure you’re really hearing him as he says, “Let me help,” His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, “Okay?” 

You swallow over the well-practiced urge to handle things yourself, even after breaking down against your boyfriend’s chest, before you slowly nod. 

—

You get back to Garrett’s place and he’s instantly making you a mug of mint tea, carrying it upstairs in one hand while the other loosely laces his fingers with your own. He guides you into the bathroom, setting the mug of tea down on the sink before turning the water on in the tub. He checks the temperature and plugs the drain, crouching to look through a small cabinet near the window and—

“Bubble bath?” You ask, sitting on the closed toilet seat. 

“Yeah,” a rumble of amused laughter coming from his chest, “It’s Dean’s—it’s better if you don’t ask.” 

You can’t help but laugh too because yeah, that fits. Shaking your head, you tug off the sweater you were wearing today, folding it before placing it on the sink. As Garrett moves around the bathroom, adding bubble liquid to the water, tugging off his hoodie to toss towards the basket in the corner of the room, you lift the mug of tea and have a few long sips. You wrap your hands around the warm ceramic, allowing the heat to sink into your bones. Your eyes close a moment, breathing in the calming scent of mint mixing with the strawberry from the bubbles frothing in the tub. 

Garrett crouches in front of you again, smoothing his big hands along your thighs, “Want me to undress you?” 

You open your eyes, heat fluttering in your belly, sinking lower and between your legs. And you know this probably isn’t his intention, but, “I’m too tired to fool around.” 

He smiles a little, “As tempting as that is, I’ll be on my best behavior. Perfect gentleman, promise.” He squeezes your knees. 

An amused smirk pulls at your lips, that same warmth filling up your entire chest because you trust him. Garrett really is a good boyfriend, someone that gives fictional romance a run for its money, a man written by a woman. You play with the chain resting on his chest, your thumb brushing over the collar of his shirt. 

You nod, then, “Come in with me?” 

He raises his eyebrows, a playful spark playing with his hazel eyes, “Oh so you want to see me naked?” 

“You never said I had to be on my best behavior.” You tease back and Garrett chuckles, leaning forward to kiss the corner of your mouth. Then, “I just want you close.” 

A gentle admittance that feels far too loud and vulnerable in the small space. He nods, nuzzling your noses together in a bunny kiss to get your shoulders to relax. “You have me.” He promises before standing you up from the toilet. 

He undresses you, unclasping your bra with deft fingers, your jeans going next. He tugs down your underwear, pressing a kiss to your ribs and your hip. You draw in a slow breath, running your fingers through his curls, scratching at the back of his scalp. 

Garrett pulls back and takes your hand, helping you into the tub. You sigh at the feeling of the hot water, reaching to turn the faucet off so the tub doesn’t overflow with the addition of your boyfriend’s body. You draw your legs up to your chest, sitting in the center of the tub, resting your chin on your knee as you watch Garrett undress. 

He smiles over at you as he shucks his jeans off, “You checkin’ me out?” 

“Definitely.” You pick up some bubbles in your hand and blow them at him. 

He smirks, shaking his head. He runs a hand through his loose curls, removing all his layers, your fingers tracing the long, lean lines of him. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your chest ache. 

Garrett gets into the tub, lowering himself behind you, his legs spreading so that you can easily sink between them. His arm wraps around your waist, tugging you back against him, his nose and lips tucking themselves into your neck. A few kisses are pressed there, his fingers lazily stroking your belly. 

“You feel better?” He asks after a moment. 

You nod softly, turning your head a bit to look at him. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and Garrett’s hand comes up to cup your jawline, turning it into a slow, deep kiss. The intimacy floods your chest with butterflies.

Despite how awful the sudden crash of your emotions were, you’re glad it reminded you of one thing—that Garrett wants to be here, offering you support just like the hundreds of times you’ve done the same for him. 

The important thing? Is to let him.

[ilyahugs]

break

word count: 2,012 ship: Garrett Graham x reader rating: NC-17 (for smut) summary: You really need to focus on getting this paper done. Garrett has other plans. notes: "maybe it'll just be two fics" i said, you know, like a liar. i have a masterlist now notes2: gifs are from this gifpack :)

A headache pinches along your temple as you lie on your stomach on Garrett’s bed. You shift the pillow underneath your hips before rolling your neck. Alright—just one more hour and you can call it a day. Squinting at the laptop that’s propped in front of you, you drag your fingers along the trackpad, clicking on your Word doc to make a change to one of your paragraphs. These classes are seriously kicking your ass lately but…if you want a shot at a halfway decent internship next semester, you need to kill it right now.

Which means putting up with migraines starting in your temples and your eyes becoming just slightly blurry. It’ll be worth it. 

Garrett opens the door to his room, raising his eyebrows as he drops his hockey bag on the floor, “Right where I left you.” 

He runs a hand through his damp curls, a small smile on your face as he passes by the bed, gently grasping your chin between his fingers to press a kiss to your lips. 

He pauses for a moment, glancing at the laptop on the bed, a gentle crinkle to his nose, “And I don’t mean that as a compliment.” 

You huff, swatting his hand away, “Let me put this into language you’ll understand—I’m trying to score a hat trick.” 

Garrett’s eyes narrow in soft confusion before a laugh startles forth, “Yeah, I don’t think you actually know what that means.” 

There’s a soft pout to your lips but you ignore him, turning your attention back to your laptop. “I know what I mean.” You grumble, even though you’re…actually not too convinced. 

Look, you love that your boyfriend is the prince of Briar U hockey, or whatever, but you’ve never been too pressed when it’s come to sports. You’re completely supportive—you go to games and everything, you wear the jersey, you cheer loudly and wholeheartedly. (Do you have any idea what you’re cheering for half the time other than following Garrett’s 44 around on the ice with your eyes? Absolutely not. But your enthusiasm has got to count for something.)

Garrett hums but doesn’t try to correct you, shifting so that he can stretch himself out beside you. He’s also on his stomach, his hand trailing up and down your back in a lazy fashion. He’s…utterly distracting. 

And you’re pretty sure he knows that. 

He smells like body wash and clean laundry, some sort of citrus from his shampoo, the heat of his skin wanting to make you turn towards him and burrow your face into his shoulder and neck. Ugh. You have too much to do yet. You run a hand through your hair and attempt to ground yourself in your mental checklist. 

“How was practice?” 

Garrett is quiet for a moment, his fingers slipping underneath the bottom of your shirt. He presses his fingers to your lower back, drawing shapes, “Good.” No elaboration. 

You purse your lips, turning your head to look at him. He’s so close that your noses brush. A soft smile pulls the corners of his mouth and he steals a kiss. 

“What are you doing?” 

His hand moves up your back, his thumb hooking underneath the clasps of your bra. “I think you know.” He speaks against your lips. 

You shake your head even though you’re smiling. “I have to finish this paper.” You nip at his bottom lip with your teeth. 

Garrett smiles—bright and unabashedly. It’s something that never fails to knock your heartrate into high gear. He’s got such a great smile, especially when it’s like this. Easy and real and directed at you. “And that is somehow supposed to convince me?” 

“Aren’t you grabbing dinner at Malone’s with the guys?” You raise your eyebrows, attempting to push at his shoulder but he’s immovable. 

He hums lightly, inching closer when you turn your attention back to your laptop. You can feel all the places in which his body touches yours. The heat of his breath brushes through your hair as he grazes a kiss to your temple, 

“That was the plan,” The hand that isn’t under your shirt reaches for your laptop, using the mousepad to click the save button on your essay, “When’s the last time you ate?” 

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion as you try to figure out what he’s doing, “I dunno, maybe eleven. I’m not hungry yet,” Slight lie, but, “As soon as I’m done with this, I’ll eat.” 

That’s supposed to be convincing him to let you get this thing completed, but instead—

In one quick motion, Garrett closes your laptop and shuffles it to the floor. When your mouth opens to protest, he unhooks your bra with deft fingers, wrapping an arm around you to turn you onto your back. A laugh skitters from your throat, your arms automatically wrapping around your front as you get comfortable against the mattress, staring up at him. 

“What are you doing?” 

Garrett nuzzles your noses together, making you smile and gently pries your arms away from covering your breasts. The bra is easy to move underneath the thin fabric of your shirt thanks to it being unhooked. He leans down, breath hot even through the material, your nipples peaking. Then he wraps his lips around a nipple, sucking—

It’s actually maddening how easily you keen into that touch, a purr practically leaving your throat. Jesus. 

“If you’re not going to eat,” He says slowly, voice low and dipping directly into your stomach—lower, lower, lower. Garrett sinks down your body, fingers slipping under the waistband of your comfy shorts, “Then I’m going to.” 

The implication is clear, his words heady in their promise and yet there’s a gentle hesitation in which Garrett waits. He holds your gaze, pressing a soft kiss to your thigh, his fingers rubbing at the skin of your hips. Warmth spreads through your entire body for a different reason, your hand cupping his cheek, drawing your thumb underneath his eye. He’s giving you time to say ‘no’ —if you really wanted to. 

But you don’t. 

The moment you nod, the moment you roll your hips up into his, he moves to join your lips into a kiss before yanking your shorts down. The fabric is haphazardly tugged off your legs and thrown aside, Garrett’s hand slipping between your bodies. You should probably be embarrassed about how wet you are already but that thought fizzles away as if it never existed when his thumb finds your clit. There’s two, tight circles, a series of kisses being placed along your jaw and down your neck before he trails down your body. 

This bed never feels big enough for this and yet Garrett always seems to make it work. He shifts your body backwards, positioning himself more between your legs, spreading them. A shiver works down your spine as the cool air brushes over your exposed flesh, your arms resting over your eyes. 

“Look at me.” 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek at the gentle command, fixing your gaze on him as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulders. He presses a kiss to the side of your knee, slipping lower and lower—

“You need to take more breaks.” 

Your mouth opens and closes, like you’re really somehow supposed to formulate words right now, “Is that what you’re doing?” You ask, “This supposed to be your break after practice?” 

Garrett smiles, another kiss pressed to your inner thigh. But he doesn’t respond. Instead he spreads you open with his fingers, his tongue swirling around your clit. You can feel the cool metal of the chain he always wears dragging across your heated skin. Your back arches into his touch, into the way his tongue slides inside of you, into the encouraging groans emptying from his throat. 

It doesn’t take you very long to reach the edge of that cliff, the pressure to keep yourself on top of everything has worked up the tension in your body, begging in one way or another to be released. And Garrett’s hand is moving so that his fingers can work in tandem with his mouth and—

“Fuck,” You whisper, “Garrett.” Your hand slides down your body, threading in his ringlets, tugging. There’s a guttural sound that seems to come from his chest, which only adds to heat twisting low in your belly. And when he curls his fingers up—

Your back arches off the bed when you come, your hand automatically covering your mouth so that you’re not too loud. Squeezing your eyes shut, you enjoy the fuzzy waves of your orgasm banking into you, your blood rushing in your veins, your body pulsing with echoes of pleasure. 

You’re distantly aware that Garrett moves. He kisses your thigh again, your knee, and then slips free. He returns a moment later with a warm washcloth, cleaning you up, and when he’s done he doesn’t try to pull your clothes back on but instead slips between your legs. His body blankets yours, his arms bracketing you on either side, keeping himself upright. 

Letting out a slow breath, you lazily wrap your arms around his waist, “If you were trying to convince me to take a break by falling asleep, you have succeeded.” 

He smirks, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, “If that’s what you need, I’m all for it.” 

You can feel the hard length of his cock pressing into your inner thigh, threatening to stoke a fire in your lower belly all over again. You shuffle, your hand moving with intention but he shakes his head. He catches your fingers, balancing himself over top of you with one arm while he holds your hand. He kisses your knuckles, 

“Next time.” 

You plant a kiss on his cheek, eyes fluttering closed because now you’re tired, which you’re sure was also part of Garrett’s plan—and then his bedroom door swings open with a bang!

“What the fuck, Dean?” Garrett snaps, making sure his body is on top of yours, shielding your nakedness from view, “How many times do I have to tell you to fucking knock?” 

A soft giggle sounds from your lips and you cover your mouth, your heart hammering against your ribcage. You can’t see Dean, but you can hear his smile as he replies, “Sorry G, we got tired of waiting for you. Malone’s or what?” 

He then proceeds to say hello to you and when he steps just a little closer into the room, Garrett reaches over the side of the bed and chucks one of your shoes at Dean’s chest. It lands, you can hear it, Dean giving a comical oof. 

“Alright, alright.” He closes the door, “See you there then!” He says through the wood. 

You can’t help but laugh, leaning up just a little to run a hand through Garrett’s loose curls. He shakes his head even though there’s a smile pulling the corners of his mouth, “Don’t encourage him.” He holds your gaze for a long moment, running his thumb along your jawline. “You want me to stay?” 

Shaking your head, you encourage him up by pushing on his chest. You organize some pillows against the headboard, completely removing your bra from underneath your shirt. Tucking yourself into his bed, you motion for him to hand over your laptop from the floor. 

He does so as he stands from the bed. 

“As tempting as that would be,” You muse, “I do need to get this paper done. And who’s going to bring me back pancakes if you’re here?” 

Garrett huffs out a laugh because right, how did he not realize that? He takes his sweatshirt off, a t-shirt on underneath. He hands it to you to pull on before going to his closet to grab a jean jacket. “Chocolate chip?” 

You beam at him, nodding and he comes over to steal one more kiss before heading out. Tucking your nose into the collar of his sweatshirt, you breathe in the lingering scent of his cologne and then tackle finishing this paper. 

[ilyahugs]

boring

word count: 3,732 ship: Garrett Graham x reader rating: PG-13 summary: There's a Briar U tradition in which people sneak into the campus pool at night. You're definitely not participating in that (until you are) notes: gifs are from this gifpack :) notes2: there's a masterlist now and clown behavior from me 🤡

You set a plate of fries down at Malone’s in front of your three friends—Mya, Stella and…well, you suppose Darcy is more of a ‘frenemy’ but still. The point remains. You give them each a very skeptical look before shaking your head, 

“I close tonight.” 

Mya grabs a fry and dips it into too much ketchup, “Girl. You and I both know that this is happening long after you’re done here.” 

You wince, trying to come up with some sort of other reason to avoid doing this ‘tradition’ that Briar U has. 

Stella leans against the counter, grinning at you, “We don’t want to do it without you, c’mon.” 

“I could care less.” Darcy adds her two cents, making Mya elbow her.

A small smile pulls at the corner of your mouth against your will at Darcy’s undignified huff. You tap your fingers against the counter in thought, watching as your friends eat fries. Even though your kneejerk reaction is to say no, there’s a small sliver of you that wants to do something you wouldn’t ordinarily do. There’s a Briar U tradition in which one night of the semester, students break into the campus pool and have a pool party. It’s very Gossip Girl-esque and you’re convinced that campus police and figureheads know what’s going on and just let it happen…controlled environment and all that. 

Regardless, you heard it got broken up last year and the school threatened to press charges. You’re not like your friends who have influential families and come from money. You have to work to be here. Which includes not getting into trouble and keeping your scholarship. 

When you open your mouth, your wind is taken out of your sails because Mya grins—

“I heard Garrett Graham will be there.” 

Darcy rolls her eyes, like hockey bros are somehow beneath her attention (even though you know they aren’t—you’re pretty sure she’s slept with Dean Di Laurentis her freshman year), “The entire hockey team will be there, that’s not news.” 

Stella smiles prettily at you, “Y/N doesn’t have a crush on the entire hockey team.” 

Heat gathers on the back of your neck and you’re grateful for the tiny bell going off behind you that says food is up in the window. You pull away from this conversation, putting plates on a tray and walking to various tables in Malone’s to drop off meals. 

Look—who doesn’t have a crush on Garrett Graham? You’ve been running in the same circles for two years and it’s a blessing and curse for that guy to constantly be in your orbit. You definitely consider him a friend but it’s that same certainty that tells you how far out of his league you are. He’s always got girls around him, puck bunnies and run-of-the-mill college girls alike. You suppose there’s no blame there—Garrett is gorgeous. He’s tall, broad and his body is toned and strong thanks to the years of meticulous hockey training. There’s this boyish charm to him that’s utterly frustrating; he’s funny and thoughtful and kind. It’s hard finding a guy that doesn’t wholeheartedly think with his dick but actually considers his brain and heart too. 

You’re particularly fond of his smile, the way it pulls at the corners of his mouth, how bright it can be when he finds something genuinely funny. 

You text sometimes, you hang out with your shared friends, but you’re not delusional enough to think Garrett considers that—considers you—as more than that. 

There’s no way you’re sneaking into the campus pool tonight just to see him. 

Wandering back towards your friends, you get refills for everyone and a giant coffee for yourself. 

“So?” Mya asks, putting cash on the countertop. 

You draw in a breath, answer on the tip of your tongue. Darcy scoffs, waving Stella and Mya off, “C’mon. She’s never done anything remotely reckless in her life—why start now?” 

Something pops in your chest, hot and nerve wracking and at this point, it’s not even the prospect of hanging out with Garrett (and seeing him shirtless because, c’mon, you have eyes) but it’s the word Darcy uses. ‘Reckless’ —she’s never done anything remotely reckless in her life—as if that’s actually a bad thing. As if now that’s something that should be wielded against you. 

Before Darcy can run away with that comment, you clear your throat, “Actually, I changed my mind. I’m going.” 

Stella and Mya grin. 

Apparently you’re sneaking into the campus pool tonight.

—

You hate that you let a word rope you into doing this but…instead of seeing this as ‘reckless’, you’re choosing to think of it as ‘bold’. Or…’adventerous’. Something that feels less derogatory, that convinces you that this is a good idea. It works for about ten minutes, which is how you find yourself standing outside the back door of the pool’s entrance. 

There’s a secret knock (because of course there is) and your hand has raised about three times to do it before something convinces you not to. You’re wearing a pair of high waisted black bikini bottoms paired with a black triangle bikini top. An overall-denim dress is covering everything and your hand slips into your pocket to thumb to top of your phone in thought.

“This is such a bad idea.” You mumble to yourself. 

“You talkin’ to ghosts?” 

You spin so fast you almost get tripped up on your flip-flops, Garrett’s answering grin staring down at you. Fuck. He’s wearing a pair of track pants and a white t-shirt. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for a response. When you don’t, he continues, “I heard there’s some around. Campus legend and all that.” 

“No there is not.” You huff out a laugh but it kinda sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself and…well. You totally believe in ghosts, so really, could be possible. You glance to the side of you like a specter might appear in the bushes. 

“So you’re talking to yourself?” He asks, sliding a casual hand into his pocket, “I’m not sure that’s any better.” 

You narrow your eyes at the amusement in his voice, “I’m just…” 

“Waiting for an invitation?” He smiles and then licks his lips. He reaches an arm past you, knocking on the door in three drawn out knocks, followed by four quick ones, “I didn’t expect you to be here tonight.” 

Without meaning to, you bristle, wrapping your arms around yourself as muffled commotion sounds behind the door, “Why? Because it’s unexpected and impulsive and I don’t do things like that?” 

Garrett pauses, his eyebrows drawing together, “No, I just—you closed at Malone’s right?” The fact that he remembers your work schedule, that he knows you’d rather be somewhere else tonight, reaches deep in your chest. 

Your cheeks heat at the way you sort of pinned him with that accusation, opening your mouth to reply, but the back door swings open. 

“Finally dude,” Dean grins, tossing an arm over Garrett’s shoulders, “Get the fuck in here.” He offers a small wave to you too and you draw in a deep breath, nodding at yourself, before following them inside. 

—

The pool deck is massive, which in this case is a good thing because there’s about fifty or so people milling around in various states of drunkenness and undress. There’s music playing low from a bluetooth speaker and someone hung carnival lights from the bleacher stands above the pool deck, giving the room a warm, twinkling glow. There’s a ridiculous amount of pool noodles, blow up rafts, donuts and floaties taking up the surface of the water. You expected the humidity to be stifling but it’s not too bad, even though the smell of chlorine is pungent in the air. 

Mya hands you another drink and you pop open the can to an alcoholic seltzer after doing a cheers motion with her. Stella is flirting with Tucker near a blow-up palm tree and…Darcy is nowhere to be seen, which is really ironic given that she was trying to give you shit for skipping. You pointedly  ignore the ugly sensation swimming through your bloodstream and curling up behind your chest. 

Because whatever, you’re here now. That’s what matters. 

And that’s what you tell yourself for the next hour as you do shots with your friends and dance a little chaotically and try your best to ignore Garrett in the pool. Garrett with his toned chest and gold chain sitting around his neck. Garrett with muscular thighs that are sticking out of cropped swim trunks and hair even curlier after it gets wet. Garrett with his bright smile and ridiculous laugh that somehow fills up the entire space—

“Go talk to him.” Mya nudges you with a grin. 

Your flip-flops squeak on the pool deck and your whole life flashes before your eyes. “I talk to him all the time.” 

“But like,” She raises her eyebrows, “Like talk to him.” 

“I think I need another drink because what you’re saying is beginning to make sense.” I mumble, making her laugh. 

She gently encourages you towards where the drinks are and you reach for another seltzer in the cooler. Someone comes up beside you, a guy you don’t know getting a beer at the same time. He blinks when he realizes he’s in your space, giving you a lewd smile that sort of makes your skin crawl. 

“Sorry.” You step out of his way, mentally cursing yourself for apologizing for no reason. 

“All good, babe,” He licks his lips, opening his beer bottle, “Feel like I’ve seen you around campus before.” 

What a line, “Yeah well,” You clear your throat, motioning towards the people milling around, “That’s true for everyone here.” 

He laughs like you’ve said something funny, “You wanna get in the water?” He asks, his gaze giving you a once over, “Big fan of the jean dress but uh, maybe we can see what’s underneath it?” 

Before you can reply, he’s reaching for the bottom of your dress. He curls his fingers around it, intent on pulling it up—

And then a water ball sails through the air and smacks this dude in the back of his head with an audible thwap. Your mouth falls open, a laugh escaping at how shocked he looks, his entire attention off you as he turns around and looks to the pool. 

Dean snorts, “Sorry dude, Garrett can’t aim for shit.” 

But when your eyes find Garrett, he’s certainly not amused. He’s staring at the guy beside you, his jaw working, both of his hands moving to brush through his wet curls. It’s then you realize he’s daring the guy to make some sort of comment, waiting—

And the guy scoffs, straightens his shoulders and passes by you without another word. 

Maybe you’re imagining the way Garrett visibly relaxes, the way his gaze locks onto yours, the twitch of a smile to the corner of his lips. But you’re certainly not imagining what comes out of his mouth, “I can, by the way,” He adds pointedly, “Aim.” 

—

The night spins forward a bit and people begin to slowly empty out of the pool area, finding better things to do. You’re not sure where your friends ended up…though you’re eighty percent sure both of them left with someone on the hockey team. Tucker is suspiciously missing too. A small smile pulls the corners of your mouth as you sit at the corner of the deep end, legs in the water, bopping your head to some of the music playing from the speakers. 

You’re glad you came, even though Darcy’s words are living rent free in your head. You didn’t want this to be about proving her wrong. Maybe…proving something to yourself, but…

A small wave of water presses against your shins and you look up to see Garrett swimming towards you. He smiles, one hand on the pool deck next to your thigh, keeping himself balanced and afloat. 

“You know,” He says after a moment, “The other half of this whole ‘break into the campus pool’ tradition thing is skinny dipping.” 

Your eyes widen, glancing around the pool deck to see if anyone is getting naked because, “Are you serious?” That’s the last thing you want to get caught up in. 

“I’m kidding,” He touches your knee, a laugh following that has you grinning at him, shoving his shoulder with your foot, “Though Dean will probably lose his swim trunks soon but that’s just for the sheer sake of nakedness.” 

You shake your head, “Mya will be so disappointed she missed that.” 

There’s a content sort of silence that passes between you and Garrett, comfortable. His gaze wanders up and along your body like a careful caress and your heart stutters in your chest when his eyes find yours. 

“When I mentioned that I didn’t expect to see you here, it wasn’t a dig. I was surprised to see you because this…usually isn’t your scene. Especially after a closing shift at Malone’s.” 

You take a second to let his words settle on your skin, pleased by the warmth they provide. He’s right. This isn’t something you’d usually go to and there’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t regret coming but…there’s also a fondness that feels like butterflies against your ribcage over the fact that Garrett knows you. He knows you well enough to see that you’d much rather be grabbing dessert after work, going back to your dorm, reading a book or watching a terrible horror movie. He knows because you’ve done those things together sometimes. Or you’ve texted about it. 

“No, I…I didn’t mean to jump all over you,” You apologize, even though you know that’s not what he was after, “I let Darcy get in my head that I was boring.” 

Garrett raises his eyebrows, looking like he wants to say something but doesn’t. He instead clears his throat, his hand wrapping around your ankle, “Can you swim?” 

You nod, “Yeah, I mean—I won’t be joining the team any time soon, but.” 

He smirks, inclining his head a bit, “Get in here with me.” 

A smile spreads across your face before you nod. You unhook the straps of your denim dress and tug it over your head, tossing it aside. Garrett reaches for you as you inch closer on the edge of the pool deck and you allow him to grab onto your waist to hoist you into the water. 

A shiver passes over your frame and you convince yourself it’s from the cool temperature of the water and not the feeling of his touch. Your hands come down onto his shoulders, squeezing as Garrett guides you both towards the dip in the pool, a place where you can almost stand. Your legs kick a little as his hands loosen on your hips before he lets out a light laugh, 

“I got you,” He adjusts his grip so you don’t sink. You want to tell him that you can, in fact, tread water, you just needed to get your bearings first. But you don’t want him to pull away, either. 

Your fingers play with a few of the curls along the nape of his neck, convincing yourself not to reach for the few that are bowing over his forehead. 

“You have a game this week right?” You ask, waiting for him to nod his head. “Is it a big one?” 

He smirks, shrugging his one shoulder, “They’re all kinda big in the grand scheme of things, I guess.” 

You nod, chewing on your lower lip. If you want it to be a bit more obvious that you’re into him, this is the opening you’re looking for. Right? “I was thinking of coming. To your game, I mean.” 

Garrett’s eyes lighten with surprise, a rumble of a laugh in his chest that you feel rather than hear, “Really? Do you know what position I play?” 

You purse your lips, “Well…I know it’s not the one with the net.” 

An honest-to-god laugh escapes him this time, his expression filled with warm amusement, “So close.” He teases and you push on his chest. 

Garrett uses that moment of opportunity to let you go, his hands disappearing from your waist. You dip under the water, standing on your tip-toes a moment later, sputtering as you get your balance again. 

“Worst,” You mumble at him but smile as he sinks closer, encouraging you to grab onto his shoulders again. 

Your bodies are closer than before, his hand along your hip and his thumb occasionally brushes along your lower back. The chlorine is strong but you occasionally catch moments of Garrett’s lingering cologne and something that’s purely him. It makes your stomach flip. 

You clear your throat, “I can memorize whatever you’re supposed to be doing before I go,” And that same amused look is back on Garrett’s face. You’re totally serious, you have until Friday and— “Oh wait, shit.” You wince, “Uh…” Your calendar swirls into view behind your eyes, “That’s the same night I have this frog rehoming thing.” 

Garrett blinks at you, “I can’t actually tell if you’re serious.” 

You grin, “I know it sounds fake but I’m working with this conservationist—it’s an extra credit seminar thing for my advocacy class.” 

He watches you a moment, lips twitching with the promise of a smile, even though he’s taking everything you say very seriously. “And is that what you want to do when you’re out of Briar?” He asks, “Some sort of…preservation?” 

You nod, your cheeks heating, “Yeah, I think so. I care about all of that, you know like…wildlife protection and advocacy.” 

The way he’s looking at you upticks your heartbeat, your fingers squeezing his shoulders again just to…ground yourself somehow. No one has ever looked at you like that, like you’re somehow holding something precious in your hands. Just by being yourself. 

“Anyways, uhm, I won’t be able to make your game because I’ll be doing that.” 

Garrett nods slowly, thinking, then, “You’re literally rehoming frogs?” 

“Yeah, basically. There’s this area with a chemical dump and…and I’m not going to bore you with the details.” You laugh. 

“I don’t think you’re boring,” He says firmly, like he’s been holding those words under his tongue ever since you brought it up, “I think you’re amazing. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.” 

A small smile pulls the corners of your mouth, your heart thrumming against your ribcage before you nod. 

“Especially any of those frogs that are probably going to be pissed you’re taking them out of their homes,” He adds a moment later, making you laugh, “They don’t know any better, though.” 

There’s this ridiculous urge to kiss him. 

You almost do. There’s this moment, this lean in, you swear the tip of your noses brush—

And then the back door of the pool bangs open, “Guys, campus police.” A random student pants, “On the way.” 

Your eyes widen and everyone explodes into action at once. Garrett moves swiftly through the pool, getting you to the steps to climb out. 

“My dress.” You say over your shoulder. 

“I got it, go.” Garrett promises, encouraging you towards where you came in. He hands you the t-shirt he had on and you end up outside, without shoes, tugging the fabric over your head. 

It’s haphazard and messy, everyone kind of disappearing towards the parking lot to where their cars are or to the dorms. It almost makes you laugh because, again, the campus pretty much knows this is going on and yet lets it happen every year. They could check cameras if they really wanted to. They probably take their time breaking this up so they don’t have to pull anyone into the Dean’s office. 

Still, you stick to the sides of the back door where there’s a bunch of trees. Garrett immerges a moment later, your dress and flip-flops in hand. He hands them over when you’re close enough, 

“You headed back to your dorm?” 

You nod, turning to motion in that direction but— flashlights, the jingling of keys; campus police. Garrett wraps a hand around your wrist, “C’mon, we can hideout at my place.” 

A soft laugh slips out of your mouth. Like this is some sort of big action movie, like anyone will care where you two disappear to. But you allow him to guide you towards his Jeep all the same, “Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls.” 

He grins over his shoulder at you, “Only the ones I don’t want to bail out of jail.” 

His hand glides down to yours, your fingers lazily intertwining and you can’t stop yourself from smiling all the way to his Jeep. 

—

By the time you get back to Garrett’s place, you’re shivering from being damp. The place is quiet, so you’re not quite sure where his housemates have ended up. A smirk lives in the corner of your mouth at the prospect of Tucker being at Stella’s dorm. 

Garrett encourages you into his bedroom before disappearing down the hall only to come back a few moments later with some towels, 

“You’re gonna turn into an icicle.” 

You laugh, tugging the t-shirt off yourself, grateful he was able to give you something to wear for the short drive here. He wraps a towel around your body, his hands rubbing up and down your arms to create a bit of friction. 

“You know I was thinking,” Garrett says after a moment, still helping create heat against your arms. It’s definitely helping. You press your nose into the fabric of the towel along your wrist, “After my game, if you’re still doing conservationist stuff, I could…come help you.” 

You raise your eyebrows, tipping your chin to look up at him. He’s got to be cold too. He pulled on the pair track pants he had at the pool before driving here, but his chest is bare, goosebumps pebbling over his skin. You reach up and play with a few damp curls over his forehead, tucking them behind his ear. 

“Garrett Graham wants to help rehome frogs?” 

He laughs, the sound as smooth as velvet, “Maybe.” He nods, “If it’s with you.” 

Your heart flutters in your chest and your fingers reach up to gently tug on the chain around his neck, encouraging him closer, “I’ll put you on my calendar, a very coveted spot to be.” 

Garrett smirks, silencing whatever you could say next with a kiss.