just read through all your bunny stories, what an absolutely wonderful (scorching hot) tale. I loved the ending, it felt right! and only a little bittersweet, but it truly couldn't have ended any other way I feel. :)
Thank you!! 💓 that was certainly a fun time, I felt like I was cranking those out like crazy lol
kickstart my heart (garrett graham x southern belle!fem reader) part one
summary: tucker’s cousin visits from texas and immediately turns heads—including garrett graham’s. but she might be the one thing tucker doesn’t play about, and garrett could never hurt his friend like that….or could he?
uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.
♡ the library
♡ the garrett graham roster
♡ the record store
tags: cousin’s nickname is “honey”; possessive!garrett; size difference because garrett is a big boy; this is kind of shit but it’s just establishing.
briar university. springtime.
It’s an unseasonably warm spring day, and Garrett has the top of the Jeep down to let in the air. It whips around the group of them as they barrel down the street, a quick whip of the wheel bringing the Jeep tires screeching over the Hawk House drive. Garrett keeps the engine running just to finish the song, a Motley Crue base line tapped in time on the steering wheel.
“Kickstart my heart, give it a start—“
“Whoa yeah, baby!”
She’s comfortably perched on a striped chair of her own choosing, glasses pulled to the tip of her nose to watch the group of men screaming at the top of their lungs. The edge of her mouth curls up, a giggle bubbling in her chest and escaping her like music, when a head finally turns and catches her eye.
“Whoa. Whoa, whoa, who is that?”
Dean furiously taps both hands on John Logan, whose head turns to follow his friend’s frantic pointing.
“Holy shit. New puck bunny?”
Garrett is oblivious to the backseat conversation as the song continues, speakers too loud and jam too good to stop and listen. Tucker, seated beside him and slowly exiting the car, catches only the end of the sentence.
“Huh?”
Dean grabs Tucker by the front of his cutoff t-shirt, twisted to the point of wrinkles to yank him back toward the Jeep. He points toward the lawn, where the girl in her sunglasses and a cherry red bikini has gone back to her suntanning, face turned to the light.
“There’s an angel in the front yard,” Dean coos, voice lost to mesmerization.
Tucker ducks into the Jeep for a view of the lawn and immediately shoves at Dean’s hand. In fact, he has the gall to smack him upside the head. The blond man turns, mouth agape to stutter. John Logan watches in confusion as Tucker rights his shirt, adjusts his backpack on his shoulder, and saunters around the Jeep and across the lawn.
The song finally over, Garrett cuts the engine and cranes his head into the backseat. “What’s going on?”
“He hit me!”
“What did you do?”
“I said there was an angel in the yard—look! There is.”
Garrett finally turns, watching Tucker’s curls bounce as he rushes over the lawn toward the pink and orange striped chair and the girl lounging across it. She stands as he approaches, and everyone in the Jeep watches, dumbfounded to silence, as they embrace.
“Now how the hell did he pull that?” Dean murmurs.
Garrett tuts scoldingly, pulling his keys from the ignition and throwing his leg out. “Rude.”
“I’m just saying, he doesn’t have game like that.”
“You know, you’re not the only one who can attract beautiful women,” Logan adds, and all three of them exit the car in a lazy huddle.
“Hey, guys! Come here,” Tucker calls.
Dean fumbles over his own sneakered feet to rush toward his friend and the angel, pushing his sunglasses to the crown of his head as he goes. Garrett hears the sound of her soft laughter as they approach. By the time he gets there, Dean is already holding her hand and kissing her knuckles like royalty. He even bends in a little bow.
Tucker curls his lip in a snarl at his friend, who’s too busy blinking stupidly at the bikini-clad girl to notice.
“Guys, this is my cousin, Honey.”
Dean stands upright like someone tased him. “Cousin?”
All heads turned to the girl, who slips her hand from Dean’s and removes her sunglasses. She mirrors him, placing them at the top of her head.
“Hi,” she coos, thickly accented. “That’s not my real name, just what family’s always called me.”
Garrett immediately understands why. Listening to her speak was like drinking honey. Her voice goes down smooth and easy, far too sweet. He adjusts the strap of his bag over his shoulder, feeling heat gather on his face.
John Logan shoulders his way between Dean and Garrett to extend his hand. He glances at the other two, standing with their mouths open like idiots, and shakes his head.
“Hi, I’m John. Sorry about these two. Especially this one.”
He pats Dean firmly on the chest and it’s like watching an animatronic coming to life. Dean blinks, jolted a little, and sticks his hand out again.
“Dean.”
She shakes their hands gently, a barely-there touch and a blinding smile. Her eyes slide to Garrett then, who clears his throat and takes her waiting hand.
“Garrett,” he says.
She tucks her hands behind her back and grins. “Hi.”
Tucker slings his arm around her shoulders and gives her a little shake. “Man, this is so great! I didn’t know you were comin’.”
“Yeah, mama said to keep it a surprise. Said Arlene thought you’d plan too much if I told you I was coming.”
Tucker scoffs. “What? No, I wouldn’t. But it is a great surprise. You want something to eat?”
Honey steps back to her chair. “I’m gonna finish up out here first. Gotta work on my summer color.”
He chuckles, patting her on the arm. “Alright. We’ll leave you.”
He begins to mount his way toward the porch, stopping at the bottom stair only when he realizes he’s alone. He whirls around to find three men still lingering near his cousin, who’s back in her chair watching them with a grin.
“Guys,” he pushes through gritted teeth. “Get over here.”
“Oh yeah.” “Sorry.” “Coming.”
They slap and push at each other on their way to the porch, checking over their shoulders for a few last glimpses of the angel on their lawn. Tucker stands and waits until each of them pass him, shaking his head as they go.
Honey’s laughter follows them into the house.
♡ ♡ ♡
“She’s strictly off limits. No one is to look at her, no one is to talk to her, more importantly, no one is to touch her. Dean, that’s you, buddy. I am deathly serious about this.”
The three of them watch as Tucker paces the length of the living room rug, pointing fingers and daggered looks their way. Dean jerks his head back with an incredulous look.
“What, me?”
“And don’t call her a puck bunny again,” Tucker snaps, striding over to bring his finger so close to Dean’s face that it bumps his nose.
Dean pushes his hand away slowly. “Dude. I get it. She’s off limits.”
“Can we go? I’ve gotta study,” Garrett interjects, hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward the staircase.
“Yeah, man. I know I don’t gotta worry about you.”
Tucker throws another pointed look at Dean, and Garrett snickers as he stands from the couch. He heads toward the stairs for his bedroom, pausing for the briefest of moments on the first step to glance through the open front door.
Honey’s standing now, shaking her hair out of a clip to let it free. She’s holding a paperback to her glistening stomach, glasses shielding the color of her eyes. Sunlight shimmers from the slickness of her skin and makes her glow, as Dean said, like an angel.
Garrett swallows thickly and turns away from the screen door. He takes the stairs with heavy feet, hoping Honey doesn’t stay long, because he’s not sure he’s strong enough to honor Tucker’s request.
♡ ♡ ♡
But she’s there all day and all night. She has dinner with them, moaning into bites of Tucker’s lobster mac and cheese. Garrett shifts in the hard wood of his seat with a fist pressed into his thigh just to stave off the thoughts of her breath beneath him, her body writhing, that honey voice cooing and—
“Garrett?”
He blinks, coming to at the kitchen island where a bowl of cold chicken and a pile of study cards sit untouched before him. Across the marble, Tucker and Dean stand before him with equal looks of confusion.
Garrett clears his throat. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Pregame’s at 7, so I’m thinking we get there 7:30. You riding with us?”
Garrett glances at his abandoned study supplies. “Uh…might skip the pregame, come later. Gotta finish up here.”
Dean slaps him on the bicep in a sharp smack of skin. “Look at him, our star student.”
“Shut up,” he snickers. “I gotta pass this class for my major, douche.”
“I’m fucking with you. I respect it, bud.”
Soft footsteps fall into the kitchen, and a whiff of sweet coconut and toasted vanilla passes behind Garrett like a whisper. He turns his chin to his shoulder, catching the bare, sun-kissed skin of Honey’s shoulder as she walks by. She stops beside her cousin and grins.
“What are we talkin’ about? Parties?”
Tucker frowns at her. “Your mama would kill me.”
Her smile slips slightly. “Are you serious? I’m an adult, John.”
Garrett averts his gaze when Honey’s flicks his way. The words on his study cards sit like gibberish before him. The cousins continue to argue and barter, though their words too begin to sound like jumbled noises as Garrett disappears into his thoughts.
The sound of heavy footsteps rushing up the stairs break him out of them. He looks up to find Tucker alone, Dean and Honey now gone. Tucker sighs, leaning both hands on the kitchen island.
“Listen, Graham. Keep an eye on Honey before you leave, yeah? She’s like a little sister to me. I don’t want her around…certain things.”
Garrett rights himself, spine straightening like a rod. “Oh. Yeah, man, of course.”
Tucker exhales, and Garrett watches as it deflates him entirely. He feels comfortable in the knowledge that Garrett will keep Honey safe. That he won’t break his promise to his friend. The sizzle of desire that hisses in Garrett’s gut every time he sees Honey suddenly makes him feel like a piece of shit.
“Thanks, man. Alright, see you later.”
Garrett watches Tucker jog out of the room, sure to spend the next hour freshening his curls until he smells like coconut (it works on the ladies, they come flocking to feel them and ask him what he uses).
He picks up his fork and stabs at a cold piece of chicken.
♡ ♡ ♡
They’re gone two hours by the time Garrett tosses his bowl in the dishwasher and packs his study supplies away. His eyes are heavy with exhaustion and his body feels more ready for bed than a party as he mounts the stairs. Honey’s been quiet since her argument with Tucker, the room he gave her down the hall closed firmly to the house.
Garrett keeps his head down on his way to his room. He smells her before he sees her. Just as he nudges the door open, as he lifts his head, the coconut and vanilla come to him like a breeze.
One leg swung out of the window, one arm reaching helplessly for the limb of the oak tree out front, little grunts and groans leaving her like an animal.
Garrett inches into the room slowly, steps light and noiseless. He leans against his dresser, arms folded over his chest. He watches her a moment longer, one hand gripping the windowsill for dear life and the other still swinging for air.
“Oh for the love of—c’mon, goddamn son of a bitch,” she grumbles, and her accent is so thick it makes it even funnier.
A chuckle bubbles in his chest. He tampers it down by clearing his throat. Loudly. Her swinging stops short, body tightening to a close pinch. She pulls herself in slowly, gripping the windowsill with both hands when she turns. She’s straddling his window and he tries not to think about the way her bare thighs look in a tiny pair of jean shorts.
“Busted,” he declares.
Honey sighs, visibly relieved it’s only him, and swings her leg around to plant both feet on his floor. “Your room is the only one with access to the tree.”
Garrett looks past her at the tree, a seemingly easy feat but a clearly reckless choice. Her thigh already looks scratched up from the windowsill, discolored indentations and scrapes scrawl the flesh below the lace cutoff of her shorts. He swallows and looks away quickly.
“Which you were going to…shimmy down like an 80s movie?”
She scoffs softly, hands limp in her lap. “Maybe.”
A silence passes between them. Her eyes bounce between Garrett and the floor. “He still thinks I’m a kid.”
“Well you did just try to sneak out like one.”
The glare she tosses him is beautiful and razor sharp. He has to pinch his own bicep to bring breath back to his lungs.
“Yeah well, I knew he’d have you watching me. He’s a control freak, you know.”
Garrett nods. “I do know. But I’m not your bodyguard. You could’ve just used the door.”
Honey sits upright, turning her head to peer at him in the corner of her eye. “And you would’ve let me?”
He shrugs. “No, but it would’ve been fun to see you try.”
She snorts, eyes rolling, and then deflates again with a frustrated groan. “This is dumb, I didn’t come visit him just to be cooped up in this smelly house!”
“Hey, it’s not smelly.” Garrett frowns.
Honey veers back at him again. “It is. It smells like man. And meat. And sweat.”
He chuckles, dropping his arms. “Why don’t you just text him and say you’re coming to the party. Not much he can do if you’re already there.”
“He’ll freak out and follow me around the whole time. I just want to be my own person.”
He hums, nodding. Another silence fills the room. He watches her drum her fingers on the windowsill and glance about the room. She’s honed in on a framed picture of his mother on his desk when he breaks the lull.
“So, I’ll take you. You can be your own person, I’ll just be…a party buddy.”
Her eyes snap back to him. “A party buddy?”
“Yeah, everyone needs a buddy system. Think of me like your designated driver.”
She watches him a moment. A beat too long. Her eyes take him in, the broadness of his shoulders, the taut lines of his muscles, the darkness of his curls that flop against his head. He has a little tick, she notices, a fidget with his fingers in and out of a tight fist under his arm. His nose scrunches when he sniffles, feigning nonchalance. She’s heard all about Garrett Graham, all about the men in the house. But it’s different, sitting before him. Watching him be sweet.
And he is, she decided. Sweet.
“That isn’t the only frat on campus, right? Certainly there are other parties.”
Garrett nods slowly. “Yeah…but—“
“Perfect. You can be my buddy somewhere else. Johnny will never even know.”
She bounces to her feet, bright and perky and blindly beautiful. Garrett pushes off his dresser, mouth agape to protest, but then she’s bounding towards him with a little skip in her step, and she’s standing before him with a grin.
“Come on, bud. Let’s go have some fun.”
♡ ♡ ♡
Garrett understands immediately why Tucker didn’t want her out.
They enter the house and he watches as at least five guys beeline toward her. She’s handed a drink in a plastic cup that he immediately snatches, discarding in a potted plant on the front porch behind them. He steps back into the house and sets his hand against her back, pulling her close until her shoulder fits into his side.
It’s instinct. It’s reflex. She’s with him, even if she’s not with him.
Someone actually has the balls to step toward her once she’s nestled in Garrett’s side, but quickly retracts and scuttles away when Garrett angles himself forward and settles his face like stone. Honey watches with a small grin on her lips, cheeks sore with heat.
“You sure you ain’t my bodyguard?” she asks him, head tipping back to find his eyes in the dim light of the room.
He glances at her and snickers dryly. “Funny. Come on.”
He leads her through the front of the house, arm looped around her waist limply, but it’s enough. Enough to let anyone they pass know that she’s with him tonight, that she’s off limits. Enough to make Honey’s skin buzz with a million bee stings, thrum with an energy that’s practically radioactive.
He smells good. Like smoke and musk and man, and he feels so firm and warm brushing against her with every step. Her fingers twitch to touch his shirt, to feel the dark fabric against her hand. She feels his breath touch her head whenever he glances at her, like he’s checking to see if she’s still there. But she has nowhere to go. And why would she want to leave here, this nook she’s been given in this big, firm man’s side?
“What’s your drink of choice?” he asks her as they enter the crowded kitchen.
She surveys the options, the liquor bottles arranged haphazardly on the counters and island.
“How good of a bartender are you?”
Garrett shrugs and the motion lifts his hand to cup her left rib. She tries not to shimmy and shiver. His hands expand the size of the bone, the length of his fingers enough to protect her lungs alone.
“I’m decent. Want me to whip something up?”
She nods and grins and he releases her to grab a bottle. She feels bare without him immediately, cold to the air of a room jam-packed with sweaty bodies. She inches after him, watching him squeeze his way through hordes of people without word and without care. They move for him equally the same.
He returns to her with a drink and a pointed look. “Just one, little Tuck.”
She takes the cup with gentle fingers and a huff. “Buzzkill.”
He holds his hand against his chest. “Bodyguard.”
The cup muffles her giggle as she drinks and blinds her from seeing the grin that graces his face. He crosses his hands in front of himself and watches her take a healthy gulp of her drink, knowing one will be enough to make her wild.
She brings the cup down and sighs. “Delicious.”
♡ ♡ ♡
This was a bad idea. This was such a bad fucking idea.
He looked away for two seconds, called to by someone from the team, a few guys he recognized from around campus—and then she was gone. And when he found her? When he spotted her across the house in a sea of bodies with her arms up and her hips swaying?
She was gone.
She bounces up down, head tossing back and forth, lips moving to mime the lyrics of whatever song blared from hidden speakers. He can tell by the sway and swivel of her hips that she’s had more than one drink, by the glossy sheen of sweat on her bare limbs that she’s been busy.
She spins, less than gracefully but adorably all the same, and with half-open eyes spots Garrett. She grins, waving a flappy hand.
“Hi, bodyguard! Hey, y’all, that’s my bodyguard.”
She points to him for the collection of people around her. Only a few heads turn, a few people inching away when they see. Garrett steps further into the room, pinching his shoulders together to fit between bodies, lifting his arms to sift over heads.
When he gets to her, she’s not alone. There’s a hand on the sliver of flesh between the waistband of her shorts and her shirt. It’s slipping under the hem of the thin orange fabric, feeling her beneath. She’s got her head tipped back on his shoulder, lip caught between her teeth, and god help him, Garrett thinks he sees purple. A shade so deeply, furiously red that it violets in the darkness.
The feeling that snarls and crawls on all fours through the lowest part of his belly is a confusing creature to him. Honey is practically a stranger. Why is it prowling for her?
It takes him like a guide dog to the makeshift dance floor where he grips the strange fratboy grinding behind Honey by the arm. Hard. He gives it a tug he immediately regrets, sending the thinner boy hauling sideways like a sack of rice. He flinches back, away from Garrett, who reaches for Honey blindly.
“You can leave,” Garrett says lowly.
He feels something soft, gentle along his back. Honey’s hand drops back to her side when Garrett turns around. His hand is along her waist again, cupped just where it dips and curves.
“We were just dancin’.”
“Yeah, and Tucker would kill me if he found out. Matter of fact, he’d kill me if he found out we were even here at all. Come on, we should go.”
Honey resists Garrett’s hand pull, just barely. She stumbles forward a little by the force but defies enough to grab his attention. He pauses and turns around again.
“Honey…”
She likes the way he says her name. Low and gravely like a hum.
“Come on,” she whines, and she grabs both of his hands in hers. He lets her, arms lifting mechanically, body stiffening. “Just a little longer, I’m havin’ fun.”
He glances at their hands, her smaller ones holding his, the way her painted nails fold over his knuckles. She’s soft, a little clammy from overexertion. He can smell her again this close. She smells like warm dessert. Freshly baked. And she’s blinking up at him with a little devil in her eyes. An angel of mischief. Definitely Tucker’s cousin.
The thought comes to him with another wave of nauseating guilt. He begins to pull his hands out of hers. Honey sighs, stepping back into the circle of people behind her. Garrett inhales deeply, watching her over the slope of his nose.
“Honey.” This time it’s a warning. She likes that, too, she thinks.
She holds her arms up in a shrug, hips finding the beat again. “I’m havin’ fun!”
What begins as a drunken, bouncing bumble fades into a slow, lazy swivel and twist of her body. She rolls her hips, lets her hands run down her curves, closes her eyes to the music. Garrett watches with his hands clenched in tight fists, feeling alight like he’s standing in the scorching sun. How quickly his guilt turns to want.
Honey opens her eyes and then she’s upon him. Taking a fistful of his shirt right over his chest, using it to lead him into the sea of people like a leash. He follows dumbly, legs numb and moving on their own accord beneath him.
She settles where she wants them, smoothing her hand over his chest to rise. Up, up, coasting over the broadness of his shoulder. She brings the other up to loop around his neck, feeling the ends of his curls at the nape. Their bodies are so close he can see the glitter on her cheeks, the errant flakes of makeup under her eyes. He can feel her heartbeat. See every breath fluttered in her neck. His next swallow feels thick and tastes medicinal.
Garrett keeps his hands above her hips. Not touching. Not feeling. But at a proximity close enough to feel her warmth. If she shimmies, if she turns, the rough denim of her shorts scathe his thumbs. He finds his breath losing its steadiness at a quickening pace.
Honey presses until her chest touches his stomach. He inhales sharply, hands flat on her waist then. To push her away, to hold himself back. But she’s blinking up at him with eyes he can’t look away from, drinking him in, pulling him down.
She can’t reach his mouth all on her own. Surely, he helped her there. Perked on her tip toes, fingers slipped in the softness of his curls to scratch against his scalp, head tipped to catch the first taste of his bottom lip. He must have dipped down. Lowered his head, bent his knees a little.
She just begins to explore the soft slickness of his mouth with her tongue when he uses his hold on her hips, pushing her down flat on her heels. Their mouths detach wetly, loud like a smack against the thump of music. It brings the room back in technicolor, rushing at Garrett like a fall.
“Honey,” he sighs, and it sounds so pained. “We can’t.”
She smooths her hand over his chest, rising up again. “We can.”
Garrett recoils, head jerking back and hands firming up on her hips. He pushes her back a little more, putting a sizeable gap between them. But he doesn’t let her go.
“We can’t,” he repeats, authority clear and stern in his tone.
Honey drops her hands from him, pushes at his own on her body. The scoff that leaves her sharpens her, makes her sweetness curdle with sour.
“This is so typical.”
She escapes him before he can catch her wrist, barter with her to just go back to the house, forget about this. Why ruin her visit by bothering with him? But the words and thoughts fizzle out as soon as they come like a dying lightbulb, and Garrett’s feet struggle to keep her pace despite their difference in leg length as she hurries away.
The night is cool, a reprieve from the warmth of the day. Air rushes at him and calms the sudden surge of heat in Garrett’s face. It feels like being on the ice, the calm and soothing balm of cold along his flesh.
He finds her down the block, speed walking with her arms folded tightly over her chest. The drop in temperature makes her shiver, scantily clad in summer clothes. Garrett wishes he would’ve worn a jacket just for this.
“Hey! Hey, Honey, slow down.”
He jogs after her, keys dug out from in his back pocket and jingling in his hand. He catches Honey by the elbow, skirting her to a gentle stop.
“Stop,” he repeats softly. She veers around and glares at his chest. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”
“I’ll walk.”
He glances over her head at the darkened street before them. “Like hell you will. Come on.”
She jerks her arm away from his touch, tongue pressing into her cheek. Garrett lets his hand fall to his side, frustration rising to a boil in his chest. She was quick to pout when she didn’t get her way. It was clear the youngest Tucker was spoiled—but it wasn’t just that.
It was clear she was beloved, too, especially by Tucker, whose disappointment would weigh on Garrett like a brother’s if he found out about tonight. About any of it.
“Come on,” Garrett repeats, softer this time. “They’ll be home soon.”
Honey lifts her head to find his gaze. There’s anger in her eyes, that’s for sure, but it wavers, swallowed by disappointment. How long would she be kept in a tower by her family? How much longer would Tucker treat her like a child? What happened in the past was a mistake, a blip. She was freshly eighteen and prone to impulsivity. She’d grown up since then.
Not that Garrett Graham knew any of this. She came onto campus like a stranger and had remained so all day. She kissed him like a stranger, one that would breeze in and out of his life without consequence, without impact.
“Fine,” she mutters. “Let’s go.”
♡ ♡ ♡
She sticks her head out like a dog on the way home. Her hair flows and flaps in the breeze as Garrett rushes like a madman to beat his friends back to the house. He whips the Jeep into the drive, cuts the engine, and shakes Honey by the thigh.
“Come on.”
He rushes to her side of the car, pushing her head in by cupping it gently in his palm. When he opens the door, she tumbles out with a stagger to her step. A liquidity to her limbs.
“Ope!” Her head thumps against his chest with a hard thud.
Garrett catches her bobbing head in both hands, righting her to stand steady a minute. “You good?”
Honey sighs, eyes fluttering. “Yep. I’m sleepy.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I bet. All that liquor’s gettin’ to ya.”
She nods, lip pulled into a wet pout. “Mhm.”
“Let’s get you to bed.”
He holds her by the wrist—because he fears he won’t let go of her hand if he feels her fingers—and they journey toward the porch like moving through molasses.
“Honey, you gotta move your feet.”
“I’m tryin’!”
They giggle together as they tumble up the steps, Honey’s swaying causing Garrett to sway with her.
“Up the stairs, ‘m goin’ up the stairs,” she sings. “Garrett’s takin’ me up the stairs.”
“Yeah, he is,” Garrett hums amusedly.
He stands behind her on the staircase inside, hands hovering above her hips again. She pauses a moment, teetering. He steps up until her shoulders touch his chest.
“You’re a real good bodyguard, you know that?”
Garrett nudges her up gently. She stomps up the next stair.
“Thank you. Come on, few more. Atta girl.”
She shudders out a breath when they reach flat ground, letting herself be steered around. Garrett opens Tucker’s door to a mess of clothing and an unzipped suitcase on the floor. His dresser holds an array of jewelry, bags, and perfume. A mirror and tubes of lipstick and mascara sit on his desk. There’s a picture of Honey and Tucker in a frame by the lamp. They’re kids, grimy with summer sweat and a day’s worth of dirt. A Texas sun behind them, parched yellow land and tall trees.
Garrett looks away, guiding Honey to the bed. She falls to the mattress heavily with a breathy sigh. She throws her arms out above her, stretching toward the wall.
“Ta-da,” she slurs.
Garrett feels a fond smile touch his mouth. He chuckles at her, hands coming to his pockets when all they want to do is reach for her.
“Get some sleep.”
Her eyes sink shut, another syrupy sigh. “Okay. G’night, sugar.”
He laughs at that, stepping away. “Goodnight.”
The door thumps shut behind him on the way out, closing the house to quiet. Garrett exhales slowly, squeezing his eyes shut to revel in the momentary peace.
“Honey, I’m home!”
But it is just that. Momentary.
Garrett strolls downstairs, clasping hands with Logan as he passes, clapping Dean on the shoulder before he falls over a leggy redhead on the couch. Tucker’s in the kitchen, popping open a plastic container of cold spaghetti. His smile is bewildered when he peers up and finds Garrett.
“Ah, man, you never made it out?”
Garrett clears his throat. “Nah, just studied.”
Tucker pulls two forks from the drawer. “And Honey? Did you see her?”
Garrett glances toward the ceiling. “Uh, nah. She was quiet, man.”
Tucker nods. “Good. Look…keep this between us, okay?”
Garrett nods, sobering at the seriousness on Tucker’s face. Both men lean in a little across the island, glancing toward the living room where the others chitter away.
“She’s…still healin’ from some stuff. She went through a bit of a phase last year. I want her to have fun, but I don’t want her to back pedal. You feel me?”
Garrett nods jerkily. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I feel you.”
Tucker nods back, patting his arm. “Knew you would. You’re a good friend, G.”
Garrett laughs. “Yeah.”
Tucker takes his cold spaghetti into the living room, holding a fork out to Logan. Dean and the redhead tangle together on the edge of the couch, rolling and writhing enough to knock a mass of pillows over. The other two pay them no mind.
Garrett clears his throat, a flash of Honey’s hips and the taste of her mouth like the sizzle of cigarette butts to his brain.
He taps his fist against the counter and turns away, heading back upstairs. He rushes down the hall, forcing his way past Tucker’s door. But he swears, as he closes his door and peers at the open window overlooking the tree, that he can smell coconut and toasted vanilla. Even from here.
No one gets payback like Garrett Graham, and you’re banking on it.
wc: 1k
warnings: 18+ teasing, hickeys, hickeys, hickeys. they are underrated if you ask me.
authors note: this is my first garrett fic! kinda nervous. Just a little continuation of this post I made. i plan on writing one of these for Logan, Dean and Tucker too. hickey movement.
It happens on a day where you’d been particularly teasing. Purposely riling him up in ways that had his jaw tick. Whether it was an innocent hand brushing places it shouldn’t, or holding his gaze for longer than necessary, biting your bottom lip while your eyes traced the curve of his. Full, pink and far too kissable for their own good, they sit in a permanent straight line because he can’t do anything about you. Not in public.
”I bet you thought that was really funny today, didn’t you?” Garrett questions breaking the quiet of your room with the kind of gruffness in his voice that has your thighs find each other underneath your dress.
His big honey brown eyes meet yours in the reflection of the long mirror you’d been standing in front of for the past five minutes picking out an outfit for Malone’s later. The beginnings of a storm brew inside of them as he walks towards you taking in your curves hugged tight by the soft fabric.
”I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You try, but the breathless laugh that follows gives all your cards away.
“No?” He hums, stopping close enough behind you to feel the heat radiating from his towering frame.
His broad shoulders are wrapped in your favorite black henley and they take up the entire width of the mirror. The gold chain hanging from his neck popping against the inky color. A few of the dark curls on top of his head break containment, falling across his forehead as he looks down at you. It takes every ounce of will power not to meet his stare and keep your attention on the details of your dress instead. He’s having none of it though, curving two fingers under your chin, tilting your head up to the playful twinkle in the blacks of his eyes.
“You sure about that?” He whispers, flashing the whites of his teeth.
”Mmhmm.” You squeak, stubborn till the end.
Garrett holds your gaze, daring you to admit defeat, and the brush of his nose against yours almost has you doing it too.
”Why don’t I believe you?” He huffs out a laugh that kisses your already warm cheeks.
”I don’t know, sounds like a personal problem, Graham.” You smile, lifting yourself up on your tippy toes silently begging for his lips, but he pulls away instead.
His face softens for a brief moment at the disappointment on your face before he gathers himself again. Those same fingers grip your chin, bringing your attention back to the mirror, where he’s already waiting for you.
”I think you knew exactly what you were doing.” He murmurs against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.
Keeping his eyes on you, he bends down, bringing his mouth to the sensitive skin behind your ear. He smirks at the flutter of your lashes planting a feather light kiss there, before nipping at the hinge of your jaw relishing in the shaky sigh he gets in return.
“Always so sure of yourself.”
”Well, I’m always right.”
Your snort has him chuckle against your neck, his other hand wrapping firmly around your hip tugging you flush against his hard chest.
“And what if I did know what I was doing?” You ask with a heavy gaze, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.
He holds his attention on you, slowly dragging his mouth up the curve of your neck in wet barely there kisses that leave a glistening path against your skin in the low light of your room.
“Then, I would argue that I need compensation.” Garrett grins, taking your earlobe into the heat of his mouth, eyes flaring at the way yours roll in the back of your head.
”W- what kind of compensation?” You whimper, pressing your ass against the hardness growing against your back.
You don’t miss the low groan that vibrates from behind you, letting your earlobe go with a loud smack.
”I think that’s for me to decide and you to find out.”
His eyes trace the curves of your body, narrowing at the swell of your breasts. The little bit of amber that was left inside of them getting swallowed up by the blown out darkness of his pupils.
”I’m meeting you at Malone’s after practice right?”
Garrett’s question gives you whiplash, the quick beating of your heart pausing while you try to gather the little bit of brain power you have left.
”Uh - yeah, yeah I think so. Why?” You ask out of breath already. Body humming for more of him and he barely had to try.
Something devilish flashes in his gaze before he latches his mouth onto your pulse point, sucking hard.
”Oh fuck.” You moan, turning into butter in his hands.
He wraps his arm around your waist holding you up right, smiling into your neck at the breathless way his name falls from your lips. Flicking his tongue along the already forming bruise, he drags his teeth across the sensitive skin before moving down to start on another one. You encourage him against your better judgement by reaching behind you, digging your fingers into the softness of his curls at the nape of his neck.
Garrett’s eyes meet yours in the mirror from under the thick hood of his lashes and it goes straight to your core. Grinding against you, he lets you feel every inch of what you've done to him all day before hollowing his cheeks hard enough for your nails to dig into his forearms. You’re almost positive your neighbors hear the moan that pulls from the center of your chest. Squirming, his hold on you tightens as he continues his relentless assault on your neck until he decides you’ve had enough. He lets you go with a loud pop, and a pleased grin stretching his swollen lips across white teeth.
“Alright, gotta go to practice.”
He gives your ass a playful swat before turning around to grab his gym bag off the floor.
“Are you - are you serious?” You gasp, more angry at the fact that he wasn’t going to finish what he started rather than being permanently marked by him for at least a week.
“What? I told coach I’d start coming in earlier.” He shrugs, pretending as if he’s unaffected. You’d almost believe it too if it wasn’t for the noticeable bulge in his dark green cargos.
There’s a brief moment where you consider throwing a fit, but instead you decide to just cross your arms and huff.
“Don’t think you’re coming here after Malone’s.” You say with zero conviction. His lips twitch at it.
“Sure, whatever you say.” Garrett smiles that one smile that immediately brings out your own, closing the space between you to plant a kiss to your pout. “I’ll see you tonight.”
He steals one last lingering one that feels like he’s weighing the severity of what kind of punishment he’d get for skipping practice just this once. Whatever scenario plays out in his head is enough for him to find his will power to pull away and head to the door.
“I’ll get you back for this.” You smile, giddiness about tonight blooming in your stomach despite yourself.
“I’m counting on it.” He winks, taking one last look at you before slipping out your front door.
