𑣲 ✉️ DIARY OF A SHORT PERSON ᰋ garrett graham x !reader 𝄞 blurb . fluffy. #shittiest thing i’ve written in a while but i need to empty out my drafts.
its not that your short, its the fact that garrett is way too damn tall.
and so it started when he began leaving the shared mugs on the highest shelves in the kitchen because obviously his tall frame is face to face with them, so to him it’s completely normal. conveniently ignoring the fact that you cannot reach them without climbing onto the counter just to grab your everyday dishes.
you’d be standing on the counter at eight in the morning, one hand braced against the cabinet, muttering curses under your breath while stretching for your own damn coffee mug.
and he’d walk in, scratching his jaw, watching you like this was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all week.
“need help?” he’d ask, just to be annoying, already knowing the answer.
or whenever he used your car for a quick trip to the store and changed the rearview mirror and seat positioning, completely ignoring the fact that you weren’t built the same way. every single time you got in afterward, you’d have to scoot the seat forward inch by inch, adjusting everything with a glare he wasn’t even there to witness.
the cherry on top was the shower head.
you let out an annoyed groan, your neck craning awkwardly under the spray, and shoved a towel around yourself before storming out of the shared bathroom. steam followed behind you, curling dramatically into the bedroom.
garrett looked up from where he was stretched out on the bed, scrolling on his phone before he looks up.
sometimes he genuinely thought he might meet god when he angered you.
because there you were with crazy damp hair, flushed skin, furious expression and somehow that only made you look more breathtaking.
“you changed it again,” you snapped.
to say he had the audacity to blink innocently. “changed what?”
“fucking everything. my car, the shower head—” your hands gestured wildly, punctuating every word. you were on a roll now, a full-blown rant about his complete and utter disregard for your spatial existence.
he, on the other hand, had let the phone fall beside him. he was hearing approximately none of it.
watching the way your cherry lips formed each furious word. the way your cheeks flushed deeper the more worked up you got. the way you stood there, wrapped in a towel, glaring at him
he felt the primal urge to grab you and swallow you whole with kisses. to shut you up in the best way possible.
shit, there was something wrong with him. finding this attractive when he should be at least slightly concerned for his life.
“—and i swear to god, gar, if you leave one more mug that fucking high, i’m going to—”
he didn’t let you finish.
he stood, crossed the small distance between you, and framed your face with both hands before pressing a firm, deliberate kiss to your mouth, cutting you off mid sentence.
for a second, you were too stunned to react, hands still frozen mid gesture.
then you melted against him, like you do every single time, your anger dissolving into the warmth of his mouth.
he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks.
you blinked, breath still uneven, eyes still blazing. “you can’t just kiss me when i’m mad at you.”
“why not?” he murmured, a ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “it works.”
he leaned in again, slower this time, brushing a kiss at the corner of your mouth.
“i’ll fix everything,” he continued grinning. “starting right now.”
his hand drifted to your side, poking you lightly. you jolted with a soft squeak.
“focus,” you muttered, swatting him away, but there was no real heat left in your voice.
“i am focused,” he replied, not looking away from you once. his gaze softened. “completely focused on you.”
he kissed you again, slower, softer this time just enough to make your knees weaken, before pulling away and heading toward the bathroom.
“gonna go fixing your shower,” he called over his shoulder as he passed you, giving your ass a light pat, leaving you standing there in the lingering steam, trying to regain whatever composure you had left.
you were supposed to be mad at him.