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macfrog · 1 year ago

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lend me some sugar cowboy like me chapter eight

look. i had an idea, i couldn't rest until i wrote it. enJOY part 8 of cowboy like me - check out my masterlist here!!! ALSO the lovely @wildcat116 created a playlist w some of my fave dbf-inspired songs which you can give a listen right heeerreee love u all sm hope u like this gargantuan chapter

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel throws a homecoming garden party for sarah – and decides to make it one to remember

warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) i honestly don't even know where to start with this one UHH age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, slightly jealous! slightly possessive!joel n also jealous!reader, sexting, mutual masturbation, phone sex, teasing, very semi-public ✨ activities ✨ involving a beer bottle

word count: 10.1k (lmfao)

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Well…” he takes a drink from his bottle, and then studies it in his hand. “I thought you could sweeten my beer for me.” Your eyebrows raise on their own, your body on autopilot. “S-sweeten…your…b…” Joel nods. His eyes track over to the rest of the party, and then back to you. “Nobody’s watchin’, darlin’. It’s just you ‘n me. Go on. Do it for me.”

“No, no, no, hey, baby – don’t change the subject. You didn’t answer my question,” Joel says, one hand on the steering wheel, the other waving around like a maniac’s in midair. “What – is – a garden party?”

Your dad is chortling in the passenger seat.

“If you’d stop interruptin’ me!” you yell from the back. You’re leant forward, head and shoulders between the two of them. “It’s, like, well…drinks, and food, sat out on the patio in the nice weather–”

“Sounds like a barbecue to me!” Joel roars, much to your dad’s delight.

He claps his hands together once and snorts with laughter until he’s out of breath. “That Sarah of yours has you wrapped around her little finger, Joel.”

“She says, ‘I’m too old for a barbecue’. I said, ‘Too old for meat on a grill?’ How do you get to be too old to eat steak cooked on a grill?”

You roll your eyes with a sigh, slumping back in your seat and looking out the window at the buildings sailing by. You’re on your way to Costco to pick up supplies for this barb– garden party Sarah’s requested from Joel. He’s not too impressed by the thought of it.

Your dad’s talking about some client of his who threw his daughter a quinceañera on a yacht off the coast of Florida, for some reason you don’t care to listen to. Joel doesn’t, either. You see his eyes watching you from the rear-view mirror, clocking your expression.

When you turn to fully look back, his eyebrows raise, a question: You okay?

You raise yours back. Whatever.

He breathes a laugh, then plays it off to look like he’s laughing at your dad’s story. The truck pulls in to the parking lot.

By all accounts, your dad shouldn’t trust you and Joel alone together half as much as he does. But when the three of you get out of the car – Joel opens your door for you – he takes off to grab a shopping cart.

You and Joel take the opportunity to meander slowly toward the store. You haven’t had much time as of late to hang out, get some much-needed attention from him, jump each other’s bones. Sarah’s return means one more person to run lies around, one more obstacle stopping you from having precious free time with each other.

More than all of that, you just miss him. Miss the way he talks to you when no one else can hear, the way he reads your mind and gets it right – annoyingly – every damn time.

He loosens his elbow, offering you it, and you snake your arm through it.

“Garden party,” he scoffs. “I sure am glad I have you to keep me right.”

“We’ll make it nice for her,” you reply. “She liked the banner and balloons, right?”

He laughs. “She sure did. Facetimed her roommates to show ‘em off.”

You take a few more paces in silence, the gentle breeze sifting through your hair. It’s nice, just wandering with Joel. His warm arm hooked around yours, safe, steady. You feel you could lean into him and let him guide you along like the wind, all trust in his capable hands.

Then your dad rattles over toward you guys with a squeaky-wheeled cart and fucks it all up.

Joel, ever the casual one, slowly unlinks your arms. He ain’t got nothing to hide. Just being chivalrous to his buddy’s daughter.

“Where to first?” your dad asks.

“Wish I knew.” Joel strolls inside, and you follow, heading into the chilly store.

Joel decides the easiest – and quickest – way to get this shopping trip over with is to split up. He takes decorations, your dad offers to grab some of the food, and you’re left with drinks.

You mosey down the aisles with your janky cart squealing every time you turn. Under fluorescent lights, you spot shelves of soda and make for them, dodging a half-empty cage of stock someone’s emptying.

There are so many brands and flavors it’s actually kinda intimidating, and you wish you had Joel here to tell you which ones he wants. That, and also to reach them for you. The Dr Pepper is on the top shelf, and even though he’d probably tease you for not being able to reach first, his tall form would pull down a crate in one swoop without you even having to ask.

“Oh, let me get those for you!” a voice calls from behind, and you swivel around to see a kid– sorry, a guy in a Costco uniform rushing over from the other side of the aisle. The sides of his strawberry blonde hair are shaven, longer on top, gelled back. Round cheeks, flushed bright pink.

His equally pink arms reach up and grip a crate, pulling it from the shelf.

“Could you please…grab me one of the lemonade, too?”

“Sure thing,” he says.

“Thanks.” You smile as he lays the second carefully in your cart.

“No problem. You new around here? I recognize a lot of folks, never seen you before.”

His name badge reads Zack. It suits him, you think.

Your hands are locked tight around the cart handle. He’s not doing anything wrong, but you still feel awkward. You rock softly from side to side, answering, “Nope, lived here my whole life. Well, that’s not entirely true. I lived in New York City for a few years for college.”

“New York, huh? What’s that like?”

“It’s…good. Kinda place you gotta experience to really…experience, I guess.” You nervously scratch your arm.

“I’ve love to hear more about it. I went to college for, I think, two semesters? And dropped right back out. Wasn’t for me. Are you…Sorry, I’m not tryna be forward. Are you…with anybody?”

“Oh, I, uh…”

Right then you feel the air stop short at your side and notice Joel out of your peripheral vision.

“Hey, you found ‘em,” you say, barely above a whisper, looking at the packs of paper plates locked inside his tight knuckles.

He tosses them into the cart on top of your soda, looking down at you over your shoulder.

“You found drinks.”

“Yep.” If the ground could swallow me up right about now, that’d be great.

Zack shuffles on his feet, looking from you to Joel. He looks panicked. You bite back a laugh.

“Thanks, son.” Joel’s voice is muted, toneless, and he takes the cart straight out of your grasp in one sweep, a quick nod in Zack’s direction.

You don’t move, instead hang back to give the assistant a grateful smile and tell him, “We’re in a bit of a rush. Party’s tomorrow.”

“Wow, well, have fun!” he replies. As you swing off to follow Joel, Zack hops along after you, tapping your shoulder.

“I didn’t catch your name?”

“Naw, but she caught yours, Zack!” Joel yells. Emphasis on the K.

“See ya,” you whisper.

“Makin’ friends, are we?” Joel mutters as you catch up to him.

You lightly hit his bicep. “I couldn’t reach the soda.”

“Poor baby.” He pets his lip. You smack him again, but your stomach floods with heat. Joel doesn’t make note of it. “Need your help pickin’ out a tablecloth,” he says.

“A tablecloth? What’s so hard about a tablecl–”

You round the corner and Joel nods ahead, to where an entire wall of party supplies sits. On the shelves, piles of paper plates, cups, and napkins, and on the pegs above, bags, tablecloths, confetti, cutlery, banners, and bunting.

“Oh…”

“I was thinkin’ that pink one with the stars on it.” Joel nods to the left, finger scratching his nose, where a baby pink sheet lies, white stars all over. You try to mask your frown.

“No?” he asks, looking over at you tensely.

You tilt your head back in his direction. “It’s just…she made such a big deal about bein’ too old for a barbecue. If she’s too old for a barbecue, ain’t she too old for…”

“Pink?”

You flash him a gentle smile. “I reckon she’d like that one.”

You point to a white tablecloth, decorated with metallic gold dots.

“So, no pink, no stars. Gold polka dots are fine?”

“Sure,” you reply.

“Keep me right,” Joel whispers, leaning over to take the packet from its hook.

“Got some nibbles,” your dad’s voice yaps as he joins you two, dumping a dozen bags of candy, chips, and what looks like half the snack section into the cart. He sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “We all done?”

“Just gotta get some platters,” Joel replies, pulling a handwritten list and pen from his back pocket and glancing down it.

You lean over to check it out, smiling at his haphazard handwriting.

Cups

Soda

Plates

Tablecloth?

Balloons

Food

Cake

He draws a line through soda, plates, and the tablecloth.

“You gettin’ a cake?” you ask him.

He replies without lifting his eyes from the list. “Next door neighbor’s doin’ it. She has a bakery in town.”

Your dad’s over by the bunting, studying it all with his hands clasped behind his back.

You lower your tone, leaning in closer. “Neighbor, huh? She cute? She single?”

Joel tuts and gives you a dead-eyed stare. “Might be. Not sure.” He tilts his head. “Why don’t we give her Zack’s number?”

You raise an eyebrow and take the cart from his hands.

“We’re done, Dad. Deli’s on the way out,” you tell Joel, and he follows at your heels.

You didn’t take Joel for a man who spends ten minutes deciding which food platters to buy, but when it hits two-thirty and he’s still standing with his chin between his fingers, you sigh.

“Is it this big a deal?”

“I imagine it is; it’s Sarah we’re talkin’ about here.”

You can’t help the smile that grows on your lips, seeing how determined he is to make it perfect for her. It’s cute, alright? Who would’ve thought Joel Miller would concern himself so much with deli platters?

“Quit that,” he tells you, not even looking in your direction.

“Quit what?”

“Your starin’. Give us away.”

Your hand comes up to shove him and he grabs it, looking over your shoulder to check your dad’s not looking when he pulls you close to him.

“Don’t make me tell you twice, baby.”

You raise your eyebrows, smug grin on your lips, and his eyes dance down your body.

He suddenly lets go of you and you realize why seconds later when your dad’s heavy arm smacks down over your shoulders.

“We done, Joel? There’s this show on National Geographic about sharks I’m tryna catch.”

You roll your eyes at Joel who hands you an amused grin, then places a couple of platters into the cart and leads y’all to the checkouts.

“I’ll take the cart back, get you both at the truck.” Your dad makes off, janky wheel squeaking off to the front doors.

Joel shakes his head in his wake, as bemused by him as you are. You smile Hello to the cashier.

“How are y’all today?” he asks.

“Good, thanks,” you reply, watching Joel’s thick arms hold the crates of soda up to be scanned. He’s tensing, veins lining his tan skin. You could bite into him, you’re so needy. It’s only been a fucking week.

The red light flashes across the barcode with a beep and he settles the drinks down to grab his wallet.

You glance around as he pays. From over Joel’s right shoulder, a familiar set of buck teeth approaches. You avert your gaze, swerving to hide between Joel and the counter.

“I’m goin’ on my break, Tom!” Zack’s voice rings out, and you feel Joel’s chest shift around your shoulder.

“You got the bags?” he asks, casually. Unbothered.

“Mhm,” you reply, not achieving the same level of coolness as he did. Your voice quivers as your eyes scan for Zack, hoping he won’t catch you.

Poor guy. He was friendly enough. Just, you happen to think Joel’s friendlier.

Even if he notices you, you’re already being swept out of the store by Joel, both crates of soda and the platters on top in his arms; a feat that might’ve killed Zack in the soft drinks section. You wander off together back out into the burning heat, eyes squinting in the sun.

Your dad is stood in deep conversation with someone by the cart return, a man with a balding head and blue jeans that you don’t recognize. “I’ll be over in a minute,” he tells you both as you pass, “work stuff.”

Joel loads the truck and you jump in the back.

“You not gonna sit up front with me?” he asks, turning back to you.

“And make my dad sit in the back?”

“Punishment for holdin’ us up.”

You raise your eyebrows and climb over the front seat, sitting in place next to Joel. His hand reaches over and cups your thigh. You like it, feeling like this is your spot. Right next to him. Co-pilot. Captain of the radio.

You probably don’t like the same music Joel does, though.

You bring a hand down to lace through his, fingers intertwining between your legs.

“So, Zack?”

You lean your skull against the headrest and glare up at the roof of the car. “I have no idea. He was just talkin’ to me.”

“He seemed to like you.”

“I’m very likeable.”

“Did you like him?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately? He look my type?”

Joel gives half a shrug.

“Don’t get all jealous,” you mutter, turning to check on your dad.

“Jealous,” Joel repeats, with a scoff.

“Uh, ‘She caught your name, Zack!’” You echo Joel’s rough inflection, emphasizing his Texas twang, stressing the K the way he did.

“That wasn’t jealousy, baby,” he says softly.

You huff, looking away and crossing your arms.

“You want me to be jealous?”

“No.”

Yeah, you do. It was kinda hot.

Joel’s smirking, you can see it from the corner of your eye.

“I…want you to be…It was hot when you…Well, I…It’s more that…In a word, I’d say–”

Joel’s hand squeezes yours, letting go and sliding slowly up your thigh. Your ears are throbbing with blood rushing when he finally stops just shy of your underwear.

“Got it,” he whispers.

Your eyes drift from his hand up to his expression. If it weren’t for the sweet smile he was giving you, you’d call him arrogant. But his warm expression, the way his head is tilted against his seat to look at you, really take you in, the upturned corners of his mouth…

It’s just as well your dad hauls the truck door open when he does, before you can throw yourself at his best friend.

“I’m in the damn back then, am I? Assholes,” he murmurs as he – struggles to – climb up into his seat.

“Blame your daughter,” Joel chuckles, hand reaching around the back of your headrest to reverse, “huh, Trouble?”

You open your mouth to clap a reply back, but your dad interrupts.

“Trouble?” he asks, brow cocked.

You spin around to watch his face contort in confusion.

“Who the heck is Trouble?”

“Your kid. Always causin’ it,” Joel says.

“Is she, now?”

You cast a look at Joel, out of sight of your dad. Are you fuckin’ serious?

He grins in return, driving off out of the parking lot.

----------

Joel had dropped you guys off on the way home from Costco. You’d wanted to stick around for a few minutes after your dad had hopped out of the truck, but he was relentless.

“Let Joel head off, he’s got a busy evenin’ ahead,” he’d insisted.

Joel had given you an apologetic glance as you unbuckled your seatbelt and followed suit.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He’d quickly kissed the back of your hand as you bid him farewell.

When Sunday rolls around, you spend the morning checking in with him, asking how the party’s looking and receiving photos to judge his decorating skills.

You: Not quite as good without my input, but it’ll do

Joel: Nothing’s quite as good without your input.

When it’s almost time to go, you’re still in the mirror making sure your outfit is perfect for Joel.

Perfect for the party, you mean.

You adjust the strap of your green dress, pulling the floral fabric over your bra. Totally innocent. Just a nice summer dress.

With slutty lingerie hidden underneath.

You’re only wearing it to fuck with him. You know that. Nothing is gonna happen at a fucking garden party. But your eyes flit across your body, trying to get into the mind of a forty-eight-year-old, watching the tops of your thighs as the wind lifts your skirt…

You unlock your phone and your thumb dances over the text thread with Joel. You’d taken some pictures before you’d slipped the dress over yourself, honestly just ‘cause you thought you looked hot, but now that the idea’s in your head…you might as well.

You: Does this lingerie say ‘garden party’?

You hit send and shut your eyes tight until you see stars, blindly throwing your phone to the floor and pacing back and forth. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck was that that was so stupid he’s totally gonna laugh at you you loser he’s–

It doesn’t take long for your phone to vibrate with Joel’s reply. You dive for it, grabbing it with a swoop of your arm.

Joel: Slutty garden party, sure.

You snort. Dick.

You: Like it?

The typing indicator pops up, then disappears, then returns. Three dots blinking at the speed your pulse is racing. Type quicker, old man.

Joel: I prefer what’s underneath it.

Your chest shudders with a sudden inhale. Your face begins to heat. A terrible idea has crossed your mind.

You’ve never been one for sexting. Not much, anyway. Certainly not on an actual message thread. Snapchat, sure, where the messages disappear from both your screen and your mind as soon as you’re done. But never somewhere there’s recorded proof.

It’s kinda hot. Having evidence of you and Joel. Pictures and messages to look back on.

So, you lay back on your bed and spread your legs. Hook a finger around the elastic of your panties, pulling them to the side to expose your – already glistening wet – folds.

You lower your phone, snap a couple pics. Play around, spread your lips, take more.

Then you send one.

Fuck it, right?

You: Sounded like you were missing it…

Your phone’s ringing within ten seconds of hitting send. You pick up and Joel’s calling out to someone.

“–right back, ‘m just goin’ to change.”

Sarah replies something you can’t make out, and Joel sighs.

“Naw, it’s just not very…I wanna look right for it. You look great. Just– I’ll be right back.”

You giggle quietly into the phone. “Excuses, excuses, Miller…”

“The hell are you doin’,” he hisses, bedroom door closing in the background, “sendin’ me that without a warnin’?”

“I did send warnin’,” you protest. “You must’a guessed when I sent the first one what the second was gonna be?”

Joel sighs and you giggle, laying back on your bed. Your hand returns between your legs and you whisper a moan, fingers sifting through soaking folds.

He goes quiet for a second.

“You playin’ with yourself, baby?”

“Mhm.”

“Feel good?”

“Yup,” you reply.

“You want me to make you cum over the phone?”

Your breath shudders and your chest heaves. Every damn time, he blows your cool every damn time.

“Uhuh,” you whimper. “’m so fucking wet.”

“Yeah? So needy, baby. Got yourself all riled up, haven’t you? Need me to fix it for you, take it away.”

You moan.

“You still wearin’ those little panties?”

You hum in response. He knows it’s a yes.

“Take ‘em off.”

“Joel, I’m leavin’ in–”

“Off.”

You obey him, dropping the phone onto your bed beside your ear and raising your hips, elastic of your underwear sliding over your pelvis and down your legs. You drop them to the floor and your hands resume position.

“Good girl,” he says, hearing you moan when your fingertips meet your clit again. “That better?”

“Mhm,” you croon.

He hisses, says, “Yeah. Gonna fuck yourself for me, pretty girl?”

You whine a Yes, and hear the clink of his belt buckle, the zip of his jeans. His voice echoes, bouncing off what you assume are his bathroom walls, when he tells you to slide a finger inside yourself. He lets a breathy sigh pass his lips, and you know he has a fist around his cock.

Your fingers dip inside your opening, collecting your slick and rubbing it up and down, soaking your clit before they return to your cunt and slip inside. You gasp, the stretch too good to keep quiet.

Joel murmurs another Good fuckin’ girl, and you can hear his soft panting. It drives you insane.

“Joel,” you whisper, “want you here.”

“I know, darlin’, I know.”

“Want you to f-fuck me.” Your swollen clit ruts against the base of your palm, the bone rubbing it so fucking good, and you squeeze your eyes tight shut.

“Soon, baby, promise,” he tells you, his hand pumping his cock, the sound of his precum coating his shaft floating through your cell into your ear. “Keep goin’, pretty girl. Bein’ so dirty for me, so fuckin’ good.”

Your back begins to arch, his praises and the sound of him jacking himself off pushing you closer and closer, warmth and pleasure flooding through your body from your core.

Joel speaks again through a strained voice.

“Wanted to fuck you yesterday,” he says, “so fuckin’ bad, baby.”

Your breath halts, cutting short in your throat.

“Wanted to,” groan, “sh-show that fuckin’ kid who you belonged to.”

You breathe a laugh laced thick with arousal. “Who I b…belonged to?”

You’re enjoying the thought as much as he is. Joel fucking you senseless in front of anyone who looks twice at you. Showing them that only he can make you feel good, only he can make you cum the way you do. The thought causes a whimper to escape your throat.

“That’s it, baby. You like that?”

“Yeah,” you whine.

“Tell me, pretty girl. Tell me.”

“’m yours, Joel. Fuck. Fuckin’ – yours.”

You’re whispering his name over and over, adding a third finger, imagining it’s his cock fucking in and out of you.

“So – close – baby,” he’s grunting, and you sigh in agreement. You’re writhing around on your mattress, legs wide open, hands pumping in and out and rubbing circles all over your sensitive cunt, wishing it was Joel all over you.

He’s moaning now, quietly humming down the phone to you, and it starts to undo the knot in your stomach. Your walls clamp around your fingers, hand begins to slow on your clit, and you utter his name before you fall silent, throat closing up as you climax.

The sound of your orgasm sends him over the edge right behind you. He groans, your name on his lips as he climaxes, repeating it over and over. You’re still coming to when he quietens, moans staggered, breathing heavy.

“Good?” you ask, fingers massaging yourself after your high.

“So good, darlin’,” he whispers, “did so good for me.”

You smile at his praise. Did so good for him, like you always do. It sends your head spiraling.

You dip your soaked fingers in and out of your soft cunt, lying in the bliss a little while longer, listening to Joel do his jeans back up and fix his belt.

He must figure what you’re up to, because he lifts the phone back to his mouth and says, “Tell me how you taste, baby.”

You don’t even think twice. You slip your fingers from your dripping cunt and suckle on them, moaning into the phone for Joel’s benefit. He lets out a low growl.

“Sweet as sugar,” you tell him, and he hums.

“Hey, hon?” your dad’s voice snaps you back to reality.

You’re not on some different plain with Joel’s voice purring in your ear. You’re not in private. You’re laying on your bed with your legs spread, Joel on speakerphone.

Your legs slam closed and you sit up straight, shushing Joel, who’s chuckling quietly into your phone.

“Yep?” you reply, voice shaky. “Shut the fuck up,” you hiss down the line.

Your dad pushes your door open as you stand, straightening your dress.

“Ready to go? I don’t wanna be late for Joel.”

“I don’t think he’ll mind.”

“He will. C’mon.”

He closes the door over when he leaves. You tug your panties back on and bring the phone up to your ear, speakerphone now safely off.

“Do you? Mind?”

“’s long as I get to see your pretty little face, I don’t care, baby.”

You smile. Then you think it over.

“…but you’d prefer I was there on time, right? Y’know, so you can spend more time with me?”

“Uhuh. Sure. More time with your ass, too.”

“Alright. That’s nice. See, you just ruined what could’ve been a really sweet moment. How romantic, Miller. Once again, your dick gets the better of you.”

Joel laughs. “Ain’t that what this whole thing is? My dick getting the better of me?”

You gasp, offended. “And here I was thinking you liked me for my personality.”

He scoffs. “Will you just get in the damn car and get your ass over here?”

You’re fixing yourself once more in the mirror; there can be no signs of what just happened.

“I’m cominggg…” you drawl.

“Good girl. Bring that personality of yours, too.”

You snort and hang up without saying goodbye.

Your dad is stood at the bottom of the stairs as you march down them, legs still a little weak.

“Sorry, kiddo, I just don’t wanna be late. Joel’s wantin’ us there first, and Rita will be waitin’.”

Your brows furrow in response. He elaborates.

“She’s comin’, too, I’ve to give her a ride.”

“Sooo…we’ll arrive at Joel’s around midnight? Just checkin’, so I can let him know. Y’know, she likes to take it slow in the car.”

“Ha-ha. Funny. Get your things.”

“Can I take my own car? We can race, see who gets there first.”

Your dad sighs. “How am I s’posed to explain that to her?”

“Just say Sarah wanted me over early.” You cock your head like a begging puppy. “Please?”

He nods, exasperated, and waves a hand toward you. “Go on, get. Take that salad, will you?”

You sit the ceramic bowl on your hip and skip to the front door, belting it into the passenger seat before heading for Joel’s.

He’s out back when you arrive, platter of food in his hand. He looks casual, like he wasn’t cooing you through an orgasm, like, twenty minutes ago.

“Hey, cowboy,” you call from the patio door.

He sets the platter down on the tablecloth you picked out and strolls back toward the house, hands taking your waist as soon as he’s close enough.

“Your dad here?”

“Nope,” you whisper, “he’s bringing Rita.”

Joel dips his head and presses his lips to yours, rocking you back and forth. You giggle against his mouth.

“Dress is nice,” he murmurs when he pulls away, your foreheads together.

“Oh, you should see what I have on under it.”

“Already did,” he whispers in a cocky song, and you laugh again into his kiss.

His tongue sneaks past yours, and you squeal when his hand drops to squeeze your ass under your short skirt.

“You’re gonna make me drop this salad!” You bat his smirking ass off of you to set your dad’s handiwork safely on the table.

The moment is broken by the sound of Sarah’s voice from the hallway. You both split apart, Joel heads back outside while you walk over to the fridge to grab a soda.

“Welcome home banner’s slipped, Dad,” she yells out the window, and Joel gives her a thumbs up. Sarah rolls her eyes and turns to you. “Hi, you!”

“Hey,” you reply, giving her a toothy grin. “Soda?”

She reaches a hand out and you pass her a Coke.

“I have never seen my dad so stressed,” she snickers, can to her lips.

“Me either. You don’t wanna know how long he took to decide what to get from the deli.”

Sarah silently wanders through to the living room, beckoning you to follow. You glance up at the streamers still hanging from the ceiling, the slanted banner above the TV.

You throw yourselves down on the couch and she rounds on you.

“So…?”

“So?” you say, taking a sip of your soda.

“What’s been goin’ on? We haven’t properly caught up yet.”

You shrug. “Not much. Workin’ at Sal’s, loving life. What’s been going on with you?”

“Oh, come on. You really got no news for me?”

“What news do you want?” You snort, lifting the can to cover your flushed cheeks.

Sarah shrugs. “I dunno, boys? Gossip? Drama?”

“What are you, thirteen? Thought you were a big Cali girl now.”

She tuts.

You sigh, conceding. “No boys, no drama happenin’, and the most gossip I know is Anna called in sick last week and then Sal’s niece saw a picture of her on Instagram at some house party. ‘s all I got.”

Sarah looks unconvinced. She smirks. Her eyes thin, only for a second, but you catch it.

“How’s your dad?” she asks after a tense stare-off.

“Fine,” you reply. “He’s bringing Rita.”

“Aw. I’ll miss ‘im, then. Won’t be here ‘til sundown.”

You giggle into your can, “That’s what I said, dude.”

Joel shuffles into the room then, making for the banner. Your eyes track him as he leans over the TV, strong arms reaching up to fix it into place. He grunts as he pushes the pin back in.

“Need a hand, Dad?”

“Nope,” he replies, “’m good.”

Your chest tightens as the memory of the last time that banner was pinned into place floods your memory. Sat atop Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into you when he set you back down. Then, him fucking you on the couch, right where your legs currently lie, Sarah’s draped over them.

And here he is, able to reach it all by himself all along.

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling flushed.

“You good?” Sarah asks when you sit up straight, fanning yourself with your hand.

“Is it hot in here?”

Joel turns, eyebrows raising.

“Crack a window, Dad.” Sarah’s fanning you now, too, wafting a magazine in your face.

He moves for the window and slides it open, pulling the shades back in attempt to get some airflow.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, hand on Sarah’s wrist. “I’m fine.”

She lowers the magazine and stares you down. “Are you pregnant, or something?”

Joel chokes, clearing his throat over by the window, and you bat Sarah’s leg.

“No, idiot! It’s just hot. You’re not hot?”

Sarah flicks her hair over her shoulder, chin lifting. “I’m very hot, actually.” She stifles a laugh at your expression. When she leans over to set her soda on the table, you shoot Joel a look.

He raises his hands in surrender silently and heads out of the room, reminding you guys that the party starts in twenty minutes.

“You like your decorations?” you ask once Joel’s gone.

Sarah’s eyes widen and she nods. “I heard you had a thing or two to do with ‘em.”

“I was creative director.”

“He’s so cheesy, ain’t he?”

“He just loves you. I think it’s cute.”

“I’ll bet you two got into, like, six arguments while you were puttin’ them all up. Right?”

You blink rapidly, trying to clear the memory from your eyes in case she reads it. “Nope. None. No arguments.”

You’re thankful when Joel’s front door pushes open and you hear Rita calling down the hall for Sarah, who jumps up and skips to meet her. When you follow, Joel’s in the kitchen doorway, watching you carefully. You know he heard every damn word, from no arguments to you thinking he was being cute.

You ignore him as you brush past, smug smirk on his face.

The backyard slowly starts to fill with more and more people as the afternoon goes on, sun rising higher and higher into the sky. Sarah is swept off by a small wave of school friends, all nineteen, none of whom you really know. One of them asked if you were her sister, and you choked on your drink before Sarah snorted and said, “No, dumbass, she’s my dad’s best friend’s daughter.”

They’re standing like a flock of seagulls over by the pool, shrill giggles piercing the air every ten seconds. Taking selfies, updating Instagram stories. Oh, to be nineteen again.

Being a senior citizen of twenty-three means, unfortunately for you, that you spend most of the afternoon tailing your dad and his buddies. At the food table, slowly depleting of the snacks your dad had practically raided from Costco, you’re witness to a conversation between him and Bill about the housing market.

“…I mean, if she wanted to get a place of her own,” your dad waves a hand in your direction, “how’s she meant to do it? What are they doin’ to help the younger generations get their foot in the door, hm?”

Bill’s shaking his head. Looks like vexation, like he’s agreeing with your dad, but you’ve a sneaking suspicion he’s just pacifying him.

“Maybe you’re better headin’ back to New York, after all, hon,” your dad says, and you raise your eyebrows, biting down on your bottom lip.

“Missin’ it yet?” Bill asks.

You shrug. “Sometimes. Was nice being around people who were into the same stuff as me. But I like being home.”

He nods, looking back down at the pool, sunlight gleaming off the water in ripples.

“She’s got plenty to keep her occupied,” your dad snorts. “Me ‘n Joel keep her right.”

You bite back a laugh. If you only fucking knew.

Bill chortles. “Joel Miller, keepin’ someone right? Now that’s a sight I’d like to see.”

You look over to him, pretending to laugh along, but your brows drop in confusion.

“Ah, they’re close, y’know?” your dad says. “He looks out for her. Think he keeps her on the straight and narrow better ‘n I do, these days, doesn’t he?”

“He, uh…Yeah, sure.” You can barely look him in the eye.

“Tell you what,” Bill twists around to grab another fistful of nuts from the table, “there ain’t nothin’ the good Southern air won’t fix. I notice a difference in you, this time around, kid.”

“Yeah?”

He nods enthusiastically, cheeks full. Still chewing, he says, “Oh, yeah. Hell, you used to come home for Christmas or whatever, ‘n it was like you were bored. Miserable. No offense, don’t take that the wrong way.”

You scoff. “Which way should I take it?”

“Now that you’re back here for good,” he continues, not hearing you, “‘s like someone switched a light on. Doesn’t she seem brighter?”

Your dad turns to survey you and eventually nods. “You happier here, kiddo?”

You shrug, mumble an, “I dunno.”

The men laugh. Bill gives you a clap to the back and strolls off back inside, leaving you and your dad alone.

“Why didn’t you ask that– that boy along?”

“Who? Sam?”

He nods. “Remember you had that date scheduled– I mean, not-date?”

You narrow your eyes. “I don’t think this is his scene.”

“Garden party not macho enough?”

You shake your head in bewilderment. “Macho?”

“Who’s macho?” Joel’s gruff voice sounds from behind.

You swing around to tell him, “Nobody,” and he shrugs, cheeks full with the sandwich he’s just thrown in his mouth.

“Nice,” you muse. “Very garden party of you.”

“Right?”

You smirk, peeling back the wrapper of the cupcake on your plate.

“Those,” Joel leans in, smirk on his lips, voice low, “were made by Nat.” He nods over toward the patio doors, where a blonde woman in a long purple dress stands, chatting to another of Joel’s neighbors. “Remember I told you she was makin’ a cake?”

You turn back to face him, narrow eyes set on his. He smiles innocently, and you can’t help but return it, butterflies tickling your stomach.

“Damn good cake it is, too,” your dad mumbles from your side. “Try some, hon.”

You lift the cupcake to your mouth, never letting go of Joel’s gaze, and run your tongue along the pink icing, collecting it all on the tip. Joel doesn’t move. He’s watching your lips.

Your teeth sink into the soft cake – it is fucking good, though you’d never admit it to Joel. He’s having far too much fun watching you; any more inflation to his ego and he might explode.

“Hm,” you run your tongue over your top lip, “tastes alright. But it’s pink. Sarah’s too old for pink.”

You throw the cupcake back onto your plate and roll your eyes.

Joel scoffs. Entertained. Nice job, kid. “Here,” he says, “you got some icin’ on your–”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead, licks his thumb and wipes it along the edge of your lip, collects the icing, then slots it back between his own, and sucks it clean.

Right in front of your fucking dad.

You’re honestly about to mutter a sincere thanks when you remember he’s standing right at your elbow, watching the whole thing. Watching his best friend run his wet thumb across his daughter’s mouth and then taste her on his tongue. Like it’s nothing.

Joel realizes halfway through what he’s doing and yanks his thumb out of his mouth a little too abruptly, nodding at you as if he’s just been courteous. He clears his throat when his arms are back by his side. “Uh…”

Your feet are heavy against the patio. You feel like your limbs are stuck in place, save for your hands, which cause the paper plate locked between your fingers to tremble.

“Th…Thanks.”

It’s all you can muster up the courage to say. You can feel your dad’s eyes on your shoulder like the sun burning your skin.

“Yeah. No problem.”

You stare between the two of them, unsure who’ll break first. Unsure if either of them will, or if you’ll have to cave and say something.

A swish of fabric against the back of your calves jolts life back into you and you hear a soft voice in your left ear.

“See you’re enjoyin’ the cupcakes, then?” she hums to Joel. Your stomach tightens.

“Uh, yeah, they’re, uh…real good, Nat. Thanks again. We were just sayin’ how good they are, weren’t we?” He holds a hand out, past you, to your dad, who nods along. You start to back away.

Joel can tease you all he wants about his next-door neighbor and her pink cupcakes, but you’ve truly never felt more grateful to have another woman approach him and take some of the heat off of you. In a blur of embarrassment and the tiniest sliver of thrill, you take off into the house.

Bill’s in the living room with a couple other men, watching something on TV. You flash by the door and straight upstairs, where it’s quiet, empty. You lock yourself in the bathroom, head immediately falling into your hands.

“Fuck,” you whisper into your palms.

Your pulse is racing, face flushed with color and heat, embarrassment seeping all over you. What the fuck was he thinking? Was he even thinking?

It’s not unlike Joel to do stupid stuff like this just to mess with you when you’re alone. But you know, from the look on his face, from how speechless he suddenly got, you know he didn’t mean it. You know that, right now, he’s probably outside, still being pestered by that lady Nat, feeling the exact same as you are on the inside.

You steady your breathing and crack the window, peering through the sliver of light. Your dad’s still by the snacks. You can hear Nat resuming conversation just below you, out of sight by the patio doors. Where is Joel?

You pull the window open a little more, and crane your neck to scope the entire yard. There, by the pool, Sarah’s friend is stuffing as many marshmallows into his mouth as he can, while the rest video him, hysterically laughing.

You notice a flash of flannel by the work shed and spot him; making his way down a stone path between some bushes. Rita’s on his arm. Good. Means he escaped your dad without much damage done.

You rinse your face over with splashes of cold water, check yourself in the mirror, and head back out. A roar sounds from the living room as you round the bottom of the stairs.

“I didn’t know bowling was so fuckin’ excitin’!” Bill yells.

You slip through the kitchen, drowned in golden sunlight, and back outside. Nat shifts to let you by her and you smile gratefully, her purple dress sweeping across your legs again.

You follow the path behind Joel’s shed, up some steps and dip your head beneath the greenery. It’s obvious what he’s been up to since you and Sarah left; he’s good with his hands. He’s landscaped most of his yard; starting behind the work shed is a small, private pathway which leads to a secluded patio, decorated with potted plants, shrubs, and two wooden chairs. It’s out of view from where the rest of the party are, but you can look down on pretty much everyone from here.

Rita and Joel are in conversation when you round the corner and his eyes lock onto yours.

“Hey, darlin’,” he greets you, so casual you almost forget what just happened. The man is so fucking cool, it almost riles you.

“Thought I saw you guys wander off.”

“Oh, honey, here, take my seat.”

“No, Rita, really. I’ll sit on the arm of Joel’s.”

You lean back onto the wooden arm, thighs dangerously close to Joel’s hands. He flinches as you settle, like he wanted to put a protective hand over your leg, and then remembered your company.

“Nice garden party, huh, Rita?” you chirp, eyes flashing across Joel’s face.

He shakes his head, knocking your leg with the back of his hand to tell you off.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous. Fine day for it, too.” Rita looks up to the clear sky. “Only the best for our Sarah. I’m just keepin’ Mr. Grump company over here.”

“Mr. Grump?” you snort, looking from her to Joel.

He sighs. “I am not bein’ a grump.”

“Are too,” she replies flatly, and Joel turns to stare at her.

“It’s hard work hostin’ so many people, alright?”

Rita chuckles, giving his arm a light slap. “He’s all the way over here to escape the party,” she tells you, sweet smile on her face.

You return it, saying, “That doesn’t sound like Joel at all. He loves people, don’t you?”

Joel grumbles, taking a sip of his beer.

The three of you sit quietly for a few minutes, Rita relaxing in the warm summer air, shade from the trees keeping her cool. You, too close for comfort to Joel, breaking out in a sweat with the need to talk to him about the cupcake incident. And Joel, almost looking bored, right arm on his armrest drawing shapes at the small of your back.

You could fucking scream.

“Well, honey,” Rita eventually says, “since you’re here, I’m going to run to the ladies’ room. You help me up?”

You carefully pull Rita to her feet, and she shakily wanders off back toward the rest of the party, waving a hand and telling you not to let Joel out of your sight. You take her seat in her absence.

“Arm not comfortable?” Joel asks, eyes on the party.

“Huh?”

“I said, arm not comfortable?”

“Not as comfortable as a whole chair.”

“Hm.”

You mock hum in response. “You want me back on the arm? You that needy, baby?”

He looks at you. His tongue in his cheek. “Nah, want you on my lap. But arm is less obvious.”

His words knock the wind out of you, but only for a few seconds. You’re getting good at not swooning at every sexual reference this man makes. You’re also getting shamelessly good at responding to him, matching his energy.

So, you stand, and, while checking nobody’s watching, shuffle over. Back to Joel, you lower yourself down onto his thigh. Swing your head around to look him in the eye.

“Better?”

In reply, he takes your waist in one hand and shifts you so you’re at a ninety-degree angle to him. His knees facing north, yours west.

“Better,” he confirms.

Your brows furrow. “What are you–”

“I thought it over. You ‘n that Zack boy.”

“Wouldn’t say he was a boy, was probably my age–”

“That Zack boy,” Joel repeats. “Him chattin’ to you, asking you about New York. Wantin’ to know if you’re single.”

How much of that conversation did Joel hear?

“He was just–”

“Makin’ conversation? Nah. He was into ya.”

“Well, if you say so. So, you thought it over?”

“Uhuh. I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“About what?”

“About walkin’ up to find you bein’ chatted up by some loser.”

“Oh, ouch, Joel. Zack’s feelings are hurt.”

The corner of his mouth trembles, holding back a laugh. Then he leans in.

“I don’t like to see anyone with their eyes on my girl.”

His girl.

Something inside you stirs. Something between your legs…tenses.

“Your…”

“You think that was nice? The way he was lookin’ at you? You think he wanted to be your friend?”

You stare at him, mouth agape. No words bubble to the surface.

“Nah, baby. He wanted you the way I want you. The way I have you.”

“You…have…And how is it you have me?”

“Sat on my lap, pretty little mouth wide open, wet enough that I can feel you through my jeans.”

He leans back in his chair, and you watch him wordlessly.

Your breath stammering, brain struggling to compute, you mumble, “What are you gonna do with me, then?”

“Hm?” he tilts his head.

“I said, what are you gonna do? With me?”

“Well…” he takes a drink from his bottle, and then studies it in his hand. “I thought you could sweeten my beer for me.”

Your eyebrows raise on their own, your body on autopilot.

“S-sweeten…your…b…”

Joel nods. His eyes track over to the rest of the party, and then back to you.

“Nobody’s watchin’, darlin’. It’s just you ‘n me. Go on. Do it for me.”

He takes the bottle and uses it to part your legs, before sliding it under your dress. You watch like you’re not even inside your body, just a passenger to Joel and his movements. All you know is you want him to do whatever the fuck he’s about to do.

The lip of the bottle pushes your panties aside, and you feel it line up at your lips. Joel looks up at you then with a question in his gaze.

You stare at him a few moments longer, and he lets you. He knows you’re taking this all in, even if it feels like it’s all in slow motion. He lets you take your time with your answer.

You nod, breathless. Do it. And he pushes up.

Your fingers immediately lock around his wrist, the beginnings of a moan escaping your lips. Joel tuts softly, wrist never stopping, just slowly inserting the bottle, neck gliding through your wet folds to your center.

You’re gasping, still holding onto him to steady yourself, coming back to earth only momentarily to check nobody’s nearby.

“Ain’t no one comin’, sweetheart,” Joel coos in your ear, “I’m watchin’. Just you enjoy.”

When the bottleneck fills you up, he pulls it back again. Your eyes begin to roll at the feeling of it dragging out of you. Your head cocks, body going limp. Lips seal shut, trapping a whine.

You rationalize it with three things. First off: nobody can see you here, not from down on the patio. Second: even if they could, Joel’s watching. And thirdly: you don’t give the slightest of fucks.

Joel and his ideas, Joel and his fucking ideas, forever pushing any other thought out of your head and replacing it with a want to please him, a need to do the things he asks of you. Forever washing away all your good instinct, leaving behind only the ache between your legs and the lust behind your eyes.

Joel starts fucking you – really fucking you – pumping the neck of his bottle in and out of your cunt. You’re doing everything not to scream out. Your hand grips tighter on his wrist and he smiles, looking down to the sight of the pair of you working together, fucking you together, chasing your high together.

“Liked it when I touched you, didn’t you,” he breathes, wrist jacking, “liked when I put my hand on you in front of everyone.”

“Did you like it?” you ask, head lulling, eyes folding shut. Legs opening wider just a fraction. Back beginning to arch.

He laughs. “Yeah, I liked it, baby.”

“Then I liked it, too.”

You like it when he talks to you. Like picturing the things he’s saying. The shock of Joel’s thumb on your lips. The desire you felt to part them and suck on it, right there and then.

Then, a twisted thought crosses your mind.

“Did you…did you like…oh…did you like N-Nat comin’ up…to you?” you whisper as Joel pushes the bottle deeper.

He growls, teeth locking together in some weird grimace of a smile. “Who’s jealous now, baby?”

You smile, head falling back. The sky is bright and blue and it burns your eyes to look, but then, your whole body is aflame.

You know he doesn’t care about anyone else. Know you’re the only one he wants to be doing this stuff with. But you’re there now, so might as well follow it through.

“You don’t– Fuck, Joel, fuck…You don’t think she’s…h-hot?”

He hums. Considers it. “Who’s sitting on my lap gettin’ fucked right now, pretty girl?”

“M-me,” you wobble, grinning.

“You,” he agrees, and pushes the bottle further.

You start to feel dizzy, the blood pumping through your ears deafening you. You place your hand on Joel’s knee to steady yourself as your legs give, cunt dripping everywhere. You can hear it, can feel it.

“Joel,” you pine, “’m close.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Joel’s purring, lips pressed against your ear. “You can cum, baby, I got you.”

Your hand comes up to grip the collar of his shirt – you’d worry about it looking suspicious, but your mind is somewhere else entirely as the pressure between your legs starts to unravel at rapid pace. It all becomes too much too quickly, and you can’t stifle the sounds from your lips any longer.

Your legs clamp shut, knuckles whiten, pussy throbs around the neck of Joel’s beer bottle. You cum for him for the second time today, quietly whimpering as his free hand rubs your hip, coaxing you back to earth.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes, “good girl. All over it, darlin’, that’s it.”

“Joel…” you’re panting, orgasm bearing down on your body.

He’s still lulling you through it, whispering words you can’t make out into your ear, lips pressed against your hair. He slowly slips the bottle from between your legs and sets it on the armrest, replacing his hand on your bare thigh.

It’s fucking covered in you. Your wet runs down into the beer, slick coating the outside of the neck. You can’t take your eyes off it, can’t fucking believe what’s just happened.

You take a deep breath of the sweet breeze, Joel’s arms around your waist, rubbing you gently. You lean down and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck.

A few minutes pass, couple songs on the stereo go by. Your hands toying with one of his, your breathing steadying against his chest. Joel mumbles into your hair.

“Your dad’s lookin’ for us.”

“How d’you know?” you mutter into his shirt, eyes closing over.

“That’s the third time he’s gone in ‘n out of the kitchen.”

“Maybe he’s just hungry.”

His chest jumps once with a laugh and he sits you both up. You stand wearily and Joel holds onto your hand as you slink back into the chair by his side. As you heave one leg over the other, core still throbbing, your dad emerges from around the shed. Joel lets your hand drop.

“Rita’s wantin’ home,” your dad murmurs, rolling his eyes.

“She ain’t much of a partier,” Joel says, lifting the beer to his lips. You stare at the lip of the bottle as his mouth kisses it, drink mixed with…well, you, spilling out onto his tongue. The neck is pearlescent with your cum. You feel lightheaded.

“You alright, honey?” your dad asks, and his hand comes down on your shoulder. Gently, but it still makes you jump.

“Y-yeah,” you reply, dragging your gaze from Joel’s lips. “Just…the sun, I think.”

Your dad looks worried, rubs the top of your back. “You need to go home?”

You shake your head, panting a little. “No, I’m good.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Joel says. The bottle’s between his thighs now, he’s twirling it. It’s like it’s a trophy to him. He props his elbow on his armrest and gives your shoulder a squeeze.

Your dad gives Joel an appreciative nod, then glares back at you. “You call me if you need me, alright? I’ll be ten minutes, tops.”

You muster up the energy to make some joke about going too fast in the car with Rita. Your dad chuckles, then nods again to Joel, and disappears around the corner.

“You okay?” Joel asks when he’s gone.

You return his glance, energy coming back. “Sweeten your beer? Where the fuck did you come up with that one?”

He’s grinning. Do you want to slap him, or mount him?

“Can’t let you in on all my secrets, can I, darlin’?”

You roll your head back, resting softly against the wooden chair.

“Alright. Just keep doin’ that.”

“Doin’ what?”

“Surprising me. See where it gets you.”

Joel laughs through his nose; you hear the quiet rumble of his chest.

“We better get,” he says, tapping your knee as he stands. “Before everyone goes home.”

“Thought that’s what you wanted?” you reply, taking his outstretched hand and pulling yourself up.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Joel mutters as you walk off in front of him, “did I say before everyone goes home? I meant to make everyone go home.”

Joel gets his wish soon enough. It’s almost four o’clock when you return to the party; Sarah and her friends are up in her room, Bill’s roped about three others in to join his new bowling watch party, and most of the guests are either gone, or getting ready to head. The garden is empty when you throw yourself back on a lounge chair, enjoying the quiet.

You feel yourself dipping in and out of sleep, sun keeping you warm, breeze lightly kissing your cheek. The music from the stereo has been turned down, so you listen contently to the quiet hum of country, making a mental note to tease Joel about it later.

You’re filled with a peaceful content, a little tired from your ridiculous antics, but happy. You’re starting to understand what Bill was talking about; that bright cheeriness always makes an appearance when you’ve been around one person in particular, doesn’t it?

“Dad?” Sarah’s voice sings through the open door from the kitchen. She peers through the shades, spotting you by the pool. “You seen my dad?”

You shake your head. “Not a clue.” Lifting the bottom of your bottle to drain the last of your beer on your tongue, you haul yourself up – with a huge effort – to sit up straight.

“Will you tell him I’m goin’ out? We’re gonna catch a movie.”

“I’m not invited?”

She snorts. “You can come if you want. Thought you might still be feelin’ funny, is all.”

“I’m good. Enjoy. I’ll tell ‘im when he makes a reappearance.”

“Bye, babe!” she disappears back into the house.

You give her a wave as her silhouette heads down the hall. Joel’s back gate squeals open and your dad’s voice calls in from your left.

“That Rita can chat, huh?”

He latches the gate closed, then drags a deckchair over beside you.

“You were quicker than I thought you’d be.”

“She wanted to show me some cross-stitch thing she’s been workin’ on. Told her you weren’t feelin’ great ‘n I should probably head back.”

You furrow your brows. “Poor Rita, she means well.”

“I know, I know. Just, next time you see her, keep the story up.”

You scoff. “You seen Joel?”

Your question is answered by the grumble which sounds from the kitchen. He appears seconds later, stretches his arms high above his head, then stalks over.

You did try to avert your gaze from the trail of hair under his belly button. You swear. But it was right fucking there.

He hoists a second chair over to your right. “Too much effort,” he mutters, throwing himself into it. “I’m glad they’re all gone.”

You laugh lazily and rest back. “Sarah’s gone to the movies.”

Joel nods in response, the sun hitting off of him and lighting him like some kind of Adonis. You struggle to pull your eyes away from him, mesmerized by the way the light hits his worn skin, reflects out of his deep-set brown eyes, ignites strands of his graying hair.

You fucking hate what he does to you, the aftermath of him making you cum. As if there’s some drug running through your veins, making you want him, need him. Need his arms around you, his skin on yours. Need more of his attention, as if phone sex and whatever the fuck that was with the bottle weren’t enough for the day.

Your eyes travel down his strong, thick arms, hair covering them just the perfect amount, down to his hands; rough, worked, but gentle, kind. They grip the armrests of his chair, and you imagine the same grip around your neck as he…

“Y’know, actually, this was a lot less stress than I thought it’d be,” your dad yaps, bursting your bubble. “Why so last minute, Joel?”

“Sarah only decided she wanted somethin’ a few days ago, and she’s out of town next weekend, so had to be this week.”

“Oh? Me ‘n her both. Where’s she off to?”

Your head darts around to look at your dad. Then, when he speaks, back to Joel.

“Nashville. Just for a few days. Goin’ with some friends from school, I think. They’re flyin’ out on Friday, be back Monday night. Girls’ trip, I guess.”

You shoot back to your dad, like you’re watching a damn tennis match.

“Funny that. Don’t you have a girls’ night on Saturday, hon?”

Staring at him dumbfounded for a few seconds, you nod slowly. “Mhm.”

“I’m headin’ up to Fort Worth for work,” he tells Joel.

Joel looks at you from the corner of his eyes. You slowly draw your gaze to meet his, mouth falling open a little.

“Yeah? This that big fancy client of yours?” he asks your dad, shifting in his seat.

“Sure is. He’s askin’ too much of me, these days. All these late nights, now workin’ the weekends?” He lets out a little chuckle, shaking his head.

You tear your glance from your Adonis to the pool ahead of you. You finally find your voice, knowing that, with this final piece of information, the fate of your weekend is sealed.

“You there long?”

“Just Saturday through Sunday.”

Well, fuck.

You and Joel exchange a knowing glance, his eyes darkening already.

“I’m sure you’ll be alright without me for one night, hon,” the voice from your left chuckles, but you’re both already elsewhere.

You will be fine without him, of course you will. You’re twenty-three. You’re a grown-up.

And you’ve got Joel to keep you company.

----------

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gothcsz · 1 month ago

Text

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XIX.

GIF by azertyrobaz

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: A lot of change in such a short amount of time.

WORD COUNT: ~14.2k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: fluff x10 (these two are in love), smut, oral (f), unprotected p in v (try at your own risk), a peek into domesticity, javi wears a cowboy hat, religious content, suicide mention, talks of grief and depression, angst x1000, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, spoiler tags listed at the end of the chapter.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: okay, not to get all rambly and stuff here but i feel like this chapter best emulates the vision i had in my head when i started writing this fic *cries* it was one of those things that was already thought up before i even had an outline, lmfao. this just fits the song thoroughfare so well (at least the way i've interpreted it for our little story :p) like i kid you not... i was crying writing some of this. this pairing means the world to me and i want to thank everyone who's taken a chance on this like ahhh i was beyond nervous when i started posting my shit publicly, but the support truly has made me a lot more confident and overall improved and left me content in my writing abilities 🖤 anyways, imma stop before this note ends up a million words (nooo kat don't stop yapping, you're so sexy aha 🫦) feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or on ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰ read on ao3. ♰

♰ playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

What follows is nothing short of perfect.

She moves into Javier’s life bit by bit, her presence taking up space in the quiet corners of his trailer home until it feels like she’s always been there. Her clothes begin to mix with his in the closet, her little trinkets are scattered across his dresser, her scent lingers in the sheets.

Her. Her. Her.

Javier can’t deny the comfort it brings. On nights when he works late, he’s greeted by the sight of her asleep on the couch, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the glow of the TV casting soft shadows across her face.

His heart swells at the sight every time, the weariness of the day evaporating the moment he steps inside. The kitchen always smells faintly of whatever meal she’s cooked, his dinner carefully wrapped and kept warm in the oven.

He’s used to solitude, but now he’s coming home to something more.

It’s not conventional by any means. They’re doing everything backwards, diving headfirst into a relationship that feels like it’s years old rather than what it really is.

Of course, amidst all the domestic bliss, there’s the physical side of things— something neither of them shy away from. Paloma, as it turns out, is even more insatiable than Javier ever imagined. He thought he had a strong sexual appetite; always eager to touch her, kiss her, pull her close, but her? She surpasses him with ease.

There isn’t a surface in his trailer that hasn’t been christened by their bodies tangled together— kitchen counters, the couch, the shower, even the porch steps under the stars.

She attacks him with the same wild eagerness every time, like a kitten who never tires of her favorite toy. Sometimes she waits for him by the door, barely dressed, ready to pounce the moment he walks in.

Other times, she sneaks up on him when he’s doing something mundane— washing dishes, folding laundry, and suddenly her hands are all over his broad body, tugging at his belt, her lips on his neck.

The more she’s around him, the more she craves him.

He’s convinced he’s never been wanted like this in his life, and he can’t help but give in every single time.

He never gets enough of the way her body feels under his hands, the soft, desperate moans she makes when he presses her up against a wall or when her nails dig into his back as she pulls him closer. She pushes him to the edge of control every time, and he loves the way she challenges him— how she matches his fire and fuels it even more.

It’s a storm of passion that neither of them want to temper.

Javier watches her move around the living room, laughing as she dances barefoot in one of his old shirts, and it hits him all over again how deeply he’s fallen. She is more than he ever expected, more than he ever thought he deserved, and the way she’s seamlessly integrated into his life feels almost like fate.

He can’t imagine it any other way.

“Got all of your stuff?” He lounges lazily on the couch, legs stretched out, one arm slung over the backrest. His eyes follow her as she sways to the rhythm of the song.

She holds a glass of wine in one hand, taking slow, deliberate sips.

“All that I need, yes,” she replies with a small smile, turning slightly to face him. The soft glow of the evening light filters through the curtains, casting a warm hue across the room.

“Talk to your dad at all?” he asks, more gently this time, knowing the weight that question carries. He doesn’t push, but it’s there— the reminder that things still need to be resolved, even if they’ve been pretending like the outside world doesn’t exist.

She shakes her head, her lips pressing to the rim of the glass.

The memory of their fight lingers like a bruise that hasn’t quite healed. She knows she’ll have to talk to him eventually, but she just can’t bring herself to reach out. The sting of his accusations, his anger, feels too fresh.

The only time she goes to the house is to grab more of her things, slipping in and out when he’s not there.

Javier doesn’t say anything, letting the country song fill their silence. He understands the complicated knot of emotions she’s carrying, and he knows better than anyone how hard it is to face something like this head-on.

He motions her over with a wave of his hand. Paloma drains the last of her wine, setting the glass on the coffee table with a soft clink before climbing onto his lap. Her fingers thread through his hair the moment she settles.

“When you’re ready, we’ll go together,” he murmurs, in which she gives him a small smile, nodding and leaning in, lips meeting his in a slow, gentle kiss.

Their plan is simple— once the case is officially closed, they’re gone. They’ll head down to the Peña ranch in Laredo while he gets his affairs together before making the big move to California.

Javier has already told his father about it, something that had him feeling more anxious than he cared to admit.

He was worried about Chucho’s reaction, how he would feel about him running off halfway across the country with a girl he’s only been seriously involved with for a handful of months, and officially dating for a shorter amount of time.

But when his pops picked up the phone, Javier didn’t need to explain much. The older man could hear it in his son’s voice— the warmth, the adoration, the way Javi couldn’t talk about Paloma without his tone softening.

It was a feeling Chucho recognized, one that reminded him of how he’d spoken about his own wife all those years ago. So instead of the lecture Javier had been expecting, all he got was a warm chuckle on the other end of the line and a simple request:

“Bring that girl home already.”

She is beyond excited for the trip to his hometown. She’s talked about it more times than he can count, her eyes lighting up whenever she imagines what it’ll be like on the ranch. There’s a spark of curiosity too, a genuine desire to understand where he comes from, to see firsthand what shaped him into the man he is.

He’s been giving her a rundown of all the names, stories, and family dynamics, painting vivid pictures of boisterous holiday celebrations.

It’s everything she never had— being an only child of two only children made growing up feel lonely at times. But now, the thought of being wrapped up in a lively, bustling, large family fills her with a sense of belonging she’s always longed for.

He smiled to himself as he watched her ramble about her plans to help his pops. The enthusiasm she exudes when talking about tending to it all is infectious. “You’re more excited about the horses than meeting my family,” he teased.

She laughed softly. “Maybe a little. I’ve always wanted to be surrounded by animals. It’s like getting to live out a little childhood dream. As you can tell, I had a lot of those.”

“Well, you’re gonna get your fill of horses, cows, chickens— you name it.”

Paloma doesn’t have a concrete plan for California, and Javier doesn’t press her for one.

She’s still figuring it all out, trying to navigate the delicate balance between who she wants to become and the life they’re about to build together. It’s why he’s been searching for a job that not only keeps him grounded but also provides enough stability to take care of her.

He’s determined to carry the weight of their future on his shoulders, even if she resists the idea.

“You don’t need to worry about some part-time job, Paloma. I want you to focus on your music,” he told her one night as they sat across from each other at the dinner table.

She shook her head, her brows furrowing slightly. “I want to pull my own weight, Javi. I don’t want you feelin’ like you gotta take care of me.”

“You are pulling your weight. Your music is your weight,” he countered gently, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “I just don’t want you wasting your time on some job that doesn’t mean anything when you’ve got so much talent. You’re too good for that.”

She bit her lip, still not fully convinced. But there’s something so different about how Javier cares for her. It’s not about control or dominance; it’s about how he wants to see her succeed.

To be taken care of like this isn’t completely foreign to her, but the depth of his desire to protect and provide is different to how her father had approached it.

Javier is solid, dependable, and she knows— without a shred of doubt— that she can fall blindly into his arms, and he’ll always be there to catch her.

His resignation letter is already printed, sitting on his desk at the station, ready to be dated and signed. Yet every time he considers turning it in, he hesitates. He knows the moment he submits it, the wheels are set in motion.

Romeo will likely be relieved that Javier’s leaving, but the fact that he’s taking his daughter with him?

It’ll be worse for them if he acts before she has the chance to speak to him.

Their culprit may be dead, but there’s still evidence to sift through, a case to finalize, press to deal with— and every passing day keeps them busy enough to avoid any serious confrontation. Still, Romeo finds small ways to needle him, little comments here and there that Javier swallows down for Paloma’s sake.

He’s biting his tongue more than he’s used to, and it grates on him. But a promise is a promise.

“Just don’t say anything to him,” Paloma had murmured one night, her voice lazy and sweet as they lay in bed together. She was tracing small, invisible shapes on his chest, her chin resting between his pecs, looking up at him with those half-lidded and dreamy eyes that have him wrapped around her finger.

“I mean it, Javi. No use in stirrin’ the pot just t’ get the last word in.”

He’d been in no shape to argue. Still recovering from the way she’d ridden him into oblivion, leaving him breathless, his body spent, he would have agreed to just about anything she asked at that moment. He nodded, a tired smile tugging at his lips as his fingers trailed down her spine.

“Okay, baby. I won’t.”

Since then, he’s done his best to keep his head down, ignoring the digs.

But it’s not easy. He’s a man of pride, unfortunately. Yet, every time he feels the urge to snap back, he remembers the look in her eyes, the softness of her voice as she asked him to keep the peace.

For her, he would do anything.

“Do we really have to go?” Javier’s voice carries a slight grumble, his eyes trained ahead as they drive toward the church.

“Yes, Javi,” Paloma replies with a playful sigh, barely looking away from the small mirror on the visor where she’s touching up her lipstick. “I promised Tammy. S’been two weeks since I’ve been.”

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat, fingers tapping against the steering wheel.

He’d abandoned all of it— the hymns, the prayers, the rituals— the second he set foot in Colombia, a lifetime ago. He never looked back.

Churches are just places steeped in sorrow.

Now, he’s supposed to sit in those old pews with the stuffy building smelling of musty wood and incense, trying to keep his head straight for over an hour. The thought alone feels suffocating.

But when she casually mentioned she was going, something in him felt the urge to tag along.

He glances over at her and finds her rubbing her lips together. Her hair is soft and brushed out, framing her face like she’s stepped right out of a dream, and that dress— modest, sweet, clinging to her curves just right— shouldn’t have this effect on him.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out lookin’ like that.”

She glances over at him, a knowing smile lighting up her face. “Oh, come on. I’m not even tryin’ to be sexy.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the problem,” he replies, shaking his head. “You don’t have to try.”

She lets out a soft laugh before turning her attention back to the mirror.

“If I combust into flames the moment I cross the threshold, you won’t have anyone to blame but yourself,” He can’t help but comment, eyes narrowing at the looming cathedral as they approach.

“You didn’t have to come, you know?” She counters, tossing him a sideways glance as she puts in her earrings. She knows this isn’t his scene, hell, it’s only hers because it’s all she’s known, but she made a promise to Tammy and she has to make good on it.

“I wouldn’t be a very good boyfriend if I stayed home.” The way he says it, so matter-of-factly, makes her heart swell.

Leaning over, she plants a soft kiss on his stubbly cheek. “You’re the best boyfriend,” she murmurs, trailing her lips over his skin before landing another kiss, this one just at the corner of his mouth. “I promise it won’t be as bad as you think.”

He grunts in response, parking the truck with a resigned sigh. He spits his gum into the wrapper and steps out, circling around to open her door. Because, of course he does, ever the gentleman— and before she slides off the seat, he leans in and kisses her softly.

“You really do look beautiful,” his eyes linger on her, full of that quiet admiration she’s come to adore.

“Thank you.” She scrunches her nose playfully, placing her hand in his much larger one. “Now try ‘n keep your hands to yourself. Please.” she adds, her voice teasing, but she means it. They are about to walk into a church, after all.

As they step through the large doors, the weight of every gaze in the room falls on them immediately. It’s impossible to avoid in a town this size, where everyone knows everyone— and everyone’s business.

Especially with Paloma showing up with a man on her arm. And not just any man, but the ex-DEA agent who’d swooped in like some kind of hero, playing a key role in solving the string of grisly murders that had haunted them for far too long.

The whispers are quick to follow. They ripple through the church like wildfire.

“I heard he knocked her up ‘n Romeo went ballistic.”

“Word is, she’s livin’ with him now. Bet they eloped— got hitched in secret. Do you see a ring on her finger?”

“I think it’s about time she found her a man. Can’t be young ‘n pretty forever.”

She can feel every glance, every sideways look, but it doesn’t rattle her. She’s been on the receiving end of this gossip way too many times, and Javier’s steady presence beside her is all she needs to keep moving forward. Still, it annoys her— how quickly people jump to conclusions, spinning stories based on nothing more than their own imaginations.

He seems entirely unfazed. His hand is firm in hers, fingers laced together. If he’s heard the whispers, he gives no sign of it, shoulders squared and head held high.

The man’s been through far worse than small-town rumors, and it shows in the way he carries himself, like none of this could ever touch him.

And maybe that’s why she feels so at ease despite the scrutiny. Let them talk, she thinks. They don’t know the half of it— the tenderness, the quiet moments, who they really are.

Her gaze sweeps across the room until she spots Tammy, Kristy, and Lola, already waving them over from a pew near the front. Their excitement is palpable, all big smiles and enthusiastic waves.

“Saved you a seat right next to us, pretty girl! Didn’t know you were gonna bring company,” Lola says with a grin, absolutely shameless as her eyes rake over Javier’s tall, broad frame. She’s practically fanning herself, and Kristy has to tug at her arm, reminding her with a sharp whisper, “We’re in the Lord’s house.”

She can’t blame her, honestly, he is looking extra handsome in his dark jeans, buttoned shirt and cowboy boots. “Last-minute plus one,” she jokes, leaning in to give them each a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

Tammy, being the warm, welcoming force that she is, pulls him into a hug without a second thought. “Oh, you two are so good together,” she coos, her voice full of approval as she steps back to admire them. Then, with all the subtlety of a freight train, she adds, “Your babies are goin’ to be the cutest gosh darn things, I swear.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Tammy,” Paloma manages to say, her cheeks heating up at the comment, shooting her friend a pointed look.

The older woman just grins wider, clearly proud of her little proclamation. “What?” she says, feigning innocence. “I’m just sayin’. You both got good genes.”

Javier finds it amusing, chuckling beside her. “Let’s not give Romeo another reason to want to kill me.”

“He can kick rocks, for all I care.”

They settle into the pew after that, Javier’s arm resting comfortably around her shoulders and he pulls her just a little closer, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “She’s not wrong, you know.” His lips brush against her skin, making her shiver. “And with the way you’ve been actin’, won’t be long ‘till we see if she has a point or not.”

She glares up at him playfully, elbowing his side, “Not helping.”

And damn it, the way he’s looking at her, like the idea of a future with her, a family, doesn’t seem so crazy at all… it makes her feel something deep in her chest.

Her eyes move over the now-crowded space, gaze flitting from one familiar face to another.

She doesn’t quite know what she’d even do if she spotted her father sitting among the congregation.

Javier, ever in tune with her, picks up on her subtle tension without missing a beat. “He’s at the station all day.”

“Right…” she echoes, her voice barely a whisper as she shifts in her spot, sitting back against the bench.

Before he can offer her any reassurance, the opening chords of the organ echo through the church, signaling the start of mass. He exhales quietly, already bracing himself for what he knows will feel like the longest hour of his life.

Once mass is dismissed and they say their goodbyes to the sisters, Paloma gently grabs his arm before he can leave. “Gotta go use the ladies’ room. Meet you outside?”

He nods, planting a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Sure, I’ll be waiting.”

With a warm smile, she turns on her heel and heads towards where the restrooms are tucked away. After finishing, she slows to a stop on her way back as something catches her eye.

Through the soft hues of the stained glass windows, she spots a familiar silhouette, unmistakable even from afar. Her breath hitches slightly as she bites her lower lip, hesitation bubbling to the surface. A crossroad.

Her feet decide before her mind does. They guide her to the back door, pushing her out into the small stone patio beyond.

The courtyard is quiet, the sunlight filtering down gently, a rare mercy in the typically unforgiving Texan heat. The large angel fountain at the center casts long shadows, its soft trickling sound almost calming.

There, on a weathered stone bench, her father sits. His head is bowed, a cigarette dangling from his lips, smoke curling lazily in the air. She stands frozen by the doorway for a moment, studying him.

“Hey, Daddy...” Her voice is soft, tentative as she finally steps forward, announcing herself. He doesn’t react immediately, but his head tilts up, and his gaze finds hers.

There’s no anger or bitterness in his eyes— just the same stubbornness she’s always known. He nods, acknowledging her in that quiet, unspeaking way that’s so familiar it hurts.

She walks over slowly and sits down beside him on the bench. For a moment, neither of them speaks, the space between them filled with the soft gurgle of the fountain.

“Didn’t think you’d be here today.” He says, voice gruff from smoking.

“Surprised you weren’t. You never work on Sundays.”

“Yeah, well, needed to do somethin’ to keep my mind occupied.”

A quiet settles and birds chirp in the distance, but even they seem hesitant to break the tension. Paloma picks at the lint on her dress, her fingers twitching to keep herself from fidgeting too obviously.

“Congrats on closin’ the case,” she blurts out awkwardly, still staring at her lap.

“‘Bout time we caught that piece of shit. Did us a favor by offin’ himself,” he grunts, ashing the cigarette. He blows the smoke away from her, their eyes still avoidant. “People can finally stop livin’ in fear... things can go back to the way they were.”

There’s a pointedness to that last part of the sentence she can’t ignore. She finally lifts her gaze to him, heart twisting at the sadness in his eyes that he’s trying so damn hard to bury behind his gruff exterior.

“Sweetheart,” he says, voice softening in a way that almost breaks her. “Please... come back home. It’s so quiet without you there.”

She quickly looks away, focusing on the path that leads to the cemetery just beyond the church. She wants to say something, anything, but the words refuse to come.

“That fight we had… it hurt,” his words drip with so much sincerity, she feels like she could drown in it.

Her father has never been one for grand apologies— he’s more of a man of looks and gestures, the kind of man who expects things to go back to normal after a few quiet, wordless days. But she can tell this time is different.

There’s no easy return from the things they said to each other that night.

“I shouldn’t have talked about momma like that.” She pivots the conversation.

“And I shouldn’t have called you what I did.”

She flinches ever so slightly, still feeling the sting of it.

“We both said things we didn’t mean,” he continues, his voice softer now, like he’s trying to walk back the pain. “And I’m so sorry. I was angry ‘n out of line. Broke your windchime that night… swept up the pieces after, but I couldn’t bear to throw ‘em out.”

Her lips form into a pout at the remembrance of the broken sentimental item.

“… It’s been haunting me— that thing,” he says with a dry laugh, shaking his head. “It’s like she’s standing there, right over my shoulder, reprimanding me for how I treated you.”

Paloma sucks in a breath, not knowing how to react.

How is she to tell him that she appreciates his apology, but that she isn’t coming back home?

“I never should’ve said what I did,” he repeats, tossing the cigarette butt into a nearby ashtray tower. “But I need you to understand, I’ve been sittin’ in that house with nothin’ but my own guilt for company. It’s been eatin’ me up.”

“You’re forgiven, Daddy.” She turns her head, catching the way he’s already watching her. “You’re right, we both said things we didn’t mean. Caught in the heat of the moment. But I meant what I said about not putting my life on hold to stay here.”

His brows knit together, and now it’s his turn to sit in silence. The frown deepens as she continues.

“I’m not doing that anymore. I can’t.”

“What are you saying, Paloma?” His words are thick with something she can’t quite place— anger, sadness, frustration. Maybe all of it.

She swallows hard, her eyes darting between his, attempting to read the emotions building there.

“I’m moving to California.”

At that, he lets out a laugh, but there’s nothing warm or amused about it. It’s sharp, cutting, before his face hardens into a look of disbelief. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means what I said,” she snaps, immediately going on the defensive. “Me and Javier— we’re going to California. We’ve got plans to live there. Together.”

He shakes his head, another condescending laugh escaping his lips. He stands abruptly, his annoyance palpable.

If she wasn’t so worried about ruining her manicure, she’d dig her nails into the stone bench.

“Javier, of course,” he spits the name like it’s something foul, his lip curling in disgust. That’s when her resolve snaps, and she’s on her feet, squaring off with him.

“You know, if you’d set aside your damn pride for just a second, you’d see he’s not doing anything wrong! He treats me right, Daddy. He cares for me. And here you are, acting like he’s some kind of—”

“Some kind of lowlife?” he interrupts, eyes blazing. “You have a thing for those.”

That apology from before has officially been tossed out the window.

“You are so unbelievable!” Her voice trembles, her own frustration boiling over. “I thought we were havin’ a moment and here you go, actin’ like you always do!”

Romeo’s eyes narrow, his jaw tight as he spits back, “It’s hard not to be hurt when your daughter tells you she’s skippin’ town with some guy who slept his way through a whole fuckin’ country, worked alongside murderers— then came into town and seduced her right out of our house!”

She runs her hands down her face, absolutely exasperated.

Hadn’t he been the one who jumped on the welcome wagon first? He was the one who loved Javier right off the bat— talked him up like he was the best thing since sliced bread. But now that they’re together, suddenly Javi’s the enemy.

She can’t believe they’re doing this here, at church, of all places. They haven’t started shouting yet, but she knows it’s only a matter of time. She needs to end this before it gets to that point.

“It was my idea,” she snaps. “He’s skippin’ town ‘cause of me. I want to leave. I’m the one chasin’ the dream. Why can’t you just be happy for me?”

Her voice breaks on the last word, heart cracking open.

He just stares at her, eyes hard, jaw set in that obstinate way she knows all too well. The silence between them stretches painfully until the static of his walkie-talkie breaks it, some garbled voice calling him back to the station.

“We’ll finish this another time,” he mutters, his voice hard, already turning away from her.

Paloma grits her teeth, her whole body shaking with exasperation. Why does it always have to end like this? Why can’t they just have one conversation that doesn’t feel like a war?

“Whatever,” she hisses under her breath, the word bitter in her mouth as she watches him leave.

As soon as he’s out of sight, she sinks back onto the bench, deflating like a balloon that’s lost all its air. She buries her head in her hands, fingers threading through her hair as she attempts to steady her breath.

She needs to recompose herself before she returns to Javier— who, by now, must be wondering what the hell is taking her so long in the restroom.

Just as she’s preparing to leave, a figure emerges from the surrounding greenery. Her eyes widen in surprise.

“Gabriel.”

He nods, tipping his tattered baseball cap, his clothes streaked with dirt, likely from a long day’s work. His usual quiet, rugged demeanor is as familiar as the earthy scent of soil clinging to him.

“Didn’t mean t’ eavesdrop on you,” he motions vaguely towards where she had been sitting moments before with her father. “Was workin’ when y’all started, uh...” He gestures again, not knowing what to say.

She nods, quickly wiping away some of the dampness beneath her eyes, her heart still hammering from the emotional upheaval. “It’s alright. Surprised you’re still workin’ here, though,” she says, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters. “Heard Sloane quit the bar.”

The mention of her ex-best friend sends a flicker of discomfort across her face, her lips twitching with a grimace.

He shrugs, looking down at the dirt under his boots. “Ranch is really kickin’ off. August needed her there more. The hour drive wasn’t worth it no more.”

The sudden openness from him catches her off guard. This was more than she’d heard him say in all the months that she knew him.

“And you? Aren’t you needed there too?”

His throat bobs as he swallows, his eyes flicking around for a brief moment before he answers. “Yeah, just… not in the same way. Plus, I like bein’ here. S’real peaceful.” Away from them, he thinks, the words bitter in his mind, though he doesn’t dare say that out loud. There’s a heaviness to him, like he’s been carrying them for far too long.

“More peaceful than all that beautiful land y’all got?” She presses, tilting her head, genuinely curious.

“Yeah… crazy, right?” He forces a chuckle, but it comes out awkward, like the sound doesn’t belong to him.

She shifts her weight, feeling the unease creeping between them. This conversation is starting to feel weirder by the second, and she’s ready to get out of it.

“Well, I have to get goin’—” She starts, thumbing over her shoulder toward the doors.

“Right, yeah, yeah,” He blurts, stumbling over his words. “I just, uh, overheard you sayin’ you were leavin’?” The statement comes out as a question before he rushes to continue, before she has a chance to respond. “That’s… awesome. California, huh? So far. I can see why you’d wanna ditch this shithole. S’not very fun here. It can feel… stale.”

She narrows her eyes, not sure what to make of his sudden shift in tone. “Yeah. M’real excited.”

A beat of silence passes, yet it feels like it drags. He should say something— warn her— but August’s looming presence, the consequences of stepping out of line, keep him in check. Fear clings to his skin like sweat, holding him back from doing what he knows is right.

“Well,” she breaks the tension, her voice clipped with polite finality. “Have a nice day, Gabe.” She forces a small smile before turning to leave.

“Just—” He almost steps forward, as if to stop her. She halts mid-step, her back stiffening. “Be careful. Stay safe.”

Her heart skips a beat but she keeps her face calm. “Thanks. You too,” she responds, giving him one last look before walking off, her pace quickening.

She feels flustered and unsettled. All she wants now is to find Javi and get the hell out of here.

Javier leans against his truck, chewing on a new stick of gum as his eyes anxiously scan the church’s entrance. His posture tenses every time the door swings open, but when he finally spots her stepping outside, he straightens up.

Pushing off from the hood, he meets her halfway with a worried look already forming on his face.

“Saw your dad was here, and you took a minute comin’ out. I assumed...” His voice trails off as he takes in her expression. His brow furrows, and he cups her jaw, thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. “Hey, everything okay?”

She shrugs, placing her hands on top of his, grounding herself in his touch. “Dunno. Talked to Daddy about us leavin’. It started off strong— apologies, the whole woodworks,” she bites her lip, “Then I mentioned the move, and well, he got like he always does.” She rolls her eyes, still feeling frustrated by it. “Divine timing when his walkie went off. He got called back to the station. Pretty sure the whole damn town would’ve heard us arguin’ if he had stayed.”

He sighs heavily, frustration knotting in his chest. This shit always happens when I’m not around. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he feels partially guilty for being the catalyst to the emotional tug-of-war between her and Romeo.

She shakes her head, her tone resolute. “No need to apologize, honey. I’m not gonna change my mind. I know what I want. He’s either gonna have to suck it up and get with the program, or he can wallow in his sadness. S’not my responsibility no more.” Her voice breaks a little at the end, but she’s firm, determined.

She moves his hands from her face down to her waist, stepping closer, resting her cheek against his chest. The steady beat of his heart soothes her, the rising anxiety easing under the warmth of his embrace and the smell of his cologne. “Just... hug me, please.”

Javier doesn’t hesitate. He wraps his arms around her tightly, pulling her against him, his chin resting atop her head. He rocks them gently, his thumbs brushing the small of her back in slow, comforting circles.

He’s proud of her— proud of the way she’s standing her ground, making choices for herself despite how much it clearly costs her.

It kills him that she’s had to fight for her independence like this, but life is cruel and has a harsh way of teaching lessons. He should know.

The weird interaction with Gabriel fades entirely, forgotten in the feel of being in his arms.

“C’mon,” he murmurs after a while, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s go home.”

She moans sweetly as Javier’s lips ravage her neck, his hands gripping her thighs firmly, hiking her legs around his waist. Her fingers thread through his hair as she tries to steady herself, arching into him. “Javi, we’re gonna be late,” she gasps, though the protest lacks any conviction.

He responds with nothing but a low grunt, lips dragging hotly along her neck, the scrape of his teeth making her shudder. His tongue flicks against her ear, the nibble on her lobe sending a wave of pleasure down her spine.

“I can’t leave without gettin’ a taste first,” he mutters, kissing his way down her body.

Her breath snags in her throat, anticipation building as he drops to his knees before her. She props herself up on her forearms, watching him with dark, lust-filled eyes as he disappears beneath the hem of her new red dress— a gift from him.

Javier had picked it out himself, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw it in the shop window. He knew then he had to see his in girl it.

And she did not disappoint. The way it adorned her body had him nearly losing his mind. His pulse had jumped, and his jeans got tighter within seconds, the sight of her owning the room in those matching red heels making his mouth water.

His hands slide up her thighs, bunching the fabric as he goes, but when he sees the barrier of her underwear, he lets out a dramatic sigh of disappointment. “For once, you’re actually wearin’ these?” he grumbles, teeth nipping the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, his breath hot and teasing.

She shivers under his touch, legs trembling slightly as she smirks down at him. “I’m gonna be up on stage tonight, Javi. You want everyone gettin’ a good look at my snatch or somethin’?”

Javier snorts, lifting his head briefly to meet her gaze with a wicked smile. “Your snatch?” he echoes, amused by her choice of words, his laughter a low rumble that sends a new wave of heat between her legs.

She shrugs playfully. “Well? Do ya?”

It’s this balance of passion and lightheartedness that keeps her craving every second she can spent wrapped up in him.

“As pretty as she is,” he murmurs, returning to his spot, his curved nose trailing along the skin he’s just kissed, a soft smile playing on his lips. “I’d rather keep this beauty for my eyes only.”

He sneaks his fingers up to tug at the band of her underwear and she instinctively lifts her hips, helping him peel them off, the rush of desire pushing any thoughts of being late far from her mind.

His touch is confident, decisive— he doesn’t tease, his impatience evident as he buries his tongue inside her. A sharp gasp escapes her lips, her legs instinctively clamping around his head, and he groans against her, the warmth and pressure of her thighs enveloping him.

They lose themselves in the pleasure, savoring this stolen time, but soon, the insistent ringing of his work phone breaks through their bliss, left forgotten on the dresser in the bedroom.

“Y-Ya gonna get that?” she manages to whimper out between breathy pants, the last thing she wants is for him to leave her on this table without getting her off.

Javier hesitates, half a mind to ignore it completely and continue eating her out, but the sound is persistent, and he knows it must be important. With a reluctant groan, he pulls back, trapping her clit between his lips for a final, wet suck before placing a gentle kiss on it.

“Yeah,” he grunts in displeasure, rising from his kneeling position.

He hovers over her, leaning down to kiss her deeply, his hand moving to grip her jaw, his touch both possessive and tender. “Quédate aquí,” he whispers, their lips brushing.

She nods, still reeling from the intoxicating sensation of his tongue and the musky scent of herself lingering on his mustache, feeling her pussy flutter at his words. “Okay. Hurry,” she breathes, heart racing.

He moves quickly, and she’s left there, feeling utterly boneless, lust thrumming through her veins as she waits for his return. Am I dreaming? she wonders, hardly able to believe that a man like Javier Peña actually exists— and that he’s hers.

She half-expects to hear the annoying sound of her alarm, pulling her back to reality.

The call keeps him longer than he’d like, but when he finally returns to the scene he left behind, the sight takes his breath away. She’s still perched on the table, her dress riding up her thighs, legs partially spread, beckoning him to return.

She looks like a breathtaking piece of art, a masterpiece crafted just for him.

“Hmm,” he hums, the sound coming from deep within his throat, and he can’t help but lean in, kissing her again and again, each peck igniting the air between them.

“Everythin’ okay?” she asks, her voice laced with breathless anticipation as she chases after his lips, not really caring for his answer— at least not right now.

“Yeah,” he responds tersely in a low rumble. His lips are swollen, aching for her as he sinks to his knees again, eager to resume where he left off.

The sultry sounds of her moans and his lewd, wet noises fill the air, creating a symphony of pleasure that dances off the walls.

When she comes, it’s with a sharp cry of his name, and he can’t help but smirk against her cunt, savoring every drop she has to offer. He lingers there, lapping her up before showering her with gentle kisses until he finds his way back to her mouth.

Her lipstick is smeared across his face, and she giggles breathlessly at the sight, brown eyes sparkling with mischief. She brings her thumb up to wipe away a smudge. “The color looks good on you,” she teases.

“Likewise,” he counters, squeezing her hip possessively, a goofy, lovestruck grin spreading across his face.

He gently pulls her panties back up, kissing each knee as he helps her off the table. As they both head into the bathroom to fix their appearances, the mood shifts.

She leans over the sink, fixing her hair, and can’t help but break the silence. “Who called?”

“One of the guys at the station. The girl from the hospital has finally been identified.”

Her heart sinks as she blinks quickly, turning away from the mirror to face him. “And?”

“Runaway reported missing from Louisiana. No wonder we never got any hits from anyone around here,” he continues, brows pulling together in a thoughtful frown.

Something curls in her gut at the news, her proximity to the neighboring state bringing back the god-awful memories of that night at the swamp— the ones she thought she was doing a good job of storing away. “Is she going to be okay?”

“Her grandparents are on their way to be with her. Aside from that, nothing has changed.” His voice lowers as he adds, “She still hasn’t woken up.”

Paloma nods slowly, turning back to the mirror for just a moment. She allows her face to reflect the uncertainty swirling within her, the worry etching lines of concern across her features. Despite her efforts to mask it, Javier’s keen eyes catch her reflection, but he says nothing.

It's much later on in the night and she’s on the last song of her set, nerves gnawing at her insides like it’s her very first performance. The familiar crowd blurs into a haze, her focus narrowing until it lands on him.

Their eyes meet, and an electric smile spreads across her face, an intimate connection amid the sea of faces.

“This last song is new,” she says, her voice trembling just a little. “Came to me in a dream.” This dream, of course, being him. “For a special someone.” Her nose crinkles with a soft laugh, part nerves, but mostly because he has this effect on her— making her feel like she’s drunk on love, intoxicated by the way he looks at her like she’s the only thing that matters.

Javier’s brows shoot up, surprise dancing in his eyes, his heart leaping at her declaration. The flush creeping up his cheeks is hot, and he tilts his head slightly, still planted in the familiar table where he sat all those months ago, always drawn to her.

Front and center, just as he always intends to be.

As she strums the opening chords, the audiences distorts into a gentle blur. These are the chords she agonized over for hours, the lyrics she metaphorically vomited in her notebook, words that only made sense when she thought of him.

Her band is here too, in perfect harmony, amplifying the depth of what she’s trying to convey. They’ve helped her make this moment feel as big as her heart— a reflection of the way he makes her feel.

Music is something that has always just been there, a backdrop in his chaotic life. It’s strange to admit, but he’d given up on enjoying that small pleasure of life a long time ago.

Sitting in this uncomfortable bar stool, watching her sing her heart out about him has a warmth spreading through his entire being like a fucking fever.

She’s using the one thing she’s best at— her music— to tell him, in the clearest way possible, that she loves him.

He’s never felt more alive.

She looks perfect under the stage lights, the guitar pressed against her body, her dress flowing like a cascade of silk.

An angel, sent down from the heavens to alter the course of his life forever.

“‘Cause in your pickup truck with all of your dumb luck is the only place I think I’d ever wanna be.”

Once the song ends, the applause jolts her back to the present, the warmth of the spotlight melting away as she realizes that she’s not alone in this moment.

The crowd cheers, but it’s his gaze she feels most. A soft blush blooms on her cheeks, and she quickly thanks the audience and her band, her voice catching slightly with a shy laugh.

As she steps down from the stage, a few regulars come up to compliment her and she appreciates it, she does, she’s just more focused on getting over to Javi right now.

The moment she’s close, he is out of his seat, sweeping her up into his arms without a care for who’s watching. He kisses her with such fervor that the nearby patrons break into whistles and teasing cheers. But he doesn’t hear any of it.

It’s just her— her lips, her warmth, the soft press of her body against his. His hands are firm on her waist, drawing her closer, like he never wants to let her go.

When he finally pulls back, breathless and dazed, his eyes shine with the depth of his emotions spilling over. “You are the most incredible woman I’ve ever known,” he says, his voice heavy with meaning.

She can’t help but laugh softly against his mouth, her chest swelling with a joy so pure she feels dizzy from it. “So, I’m guessin’ you liked the song?”

“I loved it, Paloma,” he says without hesitation. Before he can stop himself, the words slip from his lips. “I love you.”

She bites her bottom lip, the shimmer in her eyes giving way to the incoming happy tears. “You mean that?”

Javier’s expression softens even more, his hands cupping her face. “I do,” he declares, “I love you, and I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Her heart feels so full— it might burst. “I love you too, Javi. So much.”

He doesn’t know how he got so lucky, doesn’t know what he did to deserve someone like her, but right now it feels like the universe has aligned just for them.

Paloma spots his cruiser as she pulls into their little secluded spot, a thrill of excitement bubbling up inside her.

It’s just a picnic, a simple one before her closing shift at the library. She smiles to herself, glancing at the basket she’s packed with all their favorites.

Javier finally put in his letter of resignation, getting nothing but a scoff out of the sheriff and nothing more. It had surprised him, but he let it go, not wanting to give him an in to continue to berate him.

She tried getting in contact with her dad, to have that final talk like he had said they would that afternoon at church. But he slipped through her fingers like sand, dodging every attempt to communicate.

Every unanswered call, every ignored voicemail— it all piled up until she realized he was resolute on dealing with things by simply not dealing with them at all.

That hurt, more than she let on, especially knowing in just one week she’d be gone, moving on to the next stage of her life without mending that broken piece between them.

She cried in Javier’s arms the night it really hit her, the weight of it all too much. He held her tight, whispering soothing words about letting time heal the wound.

He had faith her father would come around— eventually. “He loves you, Paloma. He just needs to figure his own shit out first,” Javier had said, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back. She nodded, letting herself believe it because she had to. She’d leave him a way to contact her when the time came.

He wouldn’t stay like this forever— he couldn’t.

Now, here she is, walking past her boyfriend’s cruiser, her mood brightening as she catches sight of something unexpected.

There, sitting in the backseat, is a cowboy hat. Her eyebrows shoot up in amusement. She knows it’s part of his work uniform, but he’s never actually worn it.

The image of him in that hat— oh, she just knows he’d look so damn good. A slow grin spreads across her face as she pulls open the door and grabs it, placing it on her own head with a playful flourish. It’s way too big for her, of course, but she likes the way it feels.

She shuts the door with her hip and practically skips toward the familiar clearing. The sun is warm on her skin, and the light breeze carries the scent of wildflowers. She feels light, almost carefree, with the hat bouncing on her head and the picnic basket swinging in her hand.

Javier leans against the towering oak, his back to her, a cigarette perched between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the air. She spots him, her eyes narrowing as she tsks at him with playful disapproval. “Javi,” she shakes her head, though there’s a teasing smile tugging at her lips.

He flicks it to the ground. “Alright, you got me. First one I’ve had in weeks though.” He turns to face her, the sight of her in his cowboy hat making his heart stutter in his chest.

She’s all soft curves and sunshine, the wide-brimmed hat too big on her head but suiting her in the most unexpected way. He removes his aviators, his dark eyes taking her in as if he’s seeing her for the first time all over again.

“You were doin’ so well,” she comments, stepping up to him with a mock scolding tone, though there’s no bite behind it. She’s already on her toes, reaching up to press a soft kiss to his lips, her fingers grazing the stubble on his chin.

“Sorry.” Javier smirks against her mouth, flicking the brim of the hat. “What’s all this?” he grabs the picnic basket from her hand as he begins to set everything up.

“Saw it sittin’ in your car and it got me wonderin’ why the hell you don’t wear it more often,” she says with a grin, bending down to help him fan out the blanket over the grass.

He scoffs, “Because I look stupid in it, that’s why.”

She lets out a sound of bewilderment, her voice raising in mock outrage. “Oh, be so serious, Javi. Ain’t no goddamn lick of truth anywhere in that statement!” She toes her boots off, settling comfortably on the blanket beside him.

Javier rolls his eyes at her in exaggerated exasperation, playing along. “I am so serious,” he mimics her, though a simper dances on his lips as he starts unpacking the lunch she lovingly prepared.

She takes the hat off her head and, without hesitation, places it on his. The moment she sets it on him, she’s breathless, her pulse quickening at the sight.

He grumbles, rolling his eyes again as he reaches up to take it off. “See? Told you— stupid.”

But she’s quicker, biting her lip and halting his hand mid-motion. “No, wait,” she whispers, her voice suddenly more insistent.

He’s confused at first, his brows furrowing slightly as he watches her climb into his lap, her flowy maxi skirt spreading out around them like a blanket of its own.

“What?” he asks, his voice low, hands instinctively resting on her waist as she settles against him, the proximity having his skin tingling.

Her fingers trace his jaw, her voice dropping to a seductive purr as she leans in close. “Tan guapo,” she murmurs, her lips brushing his chin before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

The heat between them flares instantly. He groans softly when her lips meet his, their kiss deepening quickly. She moans into his mouth, grinding down on his hardening bulge.

Javier feels the tug on his belt just before his balance gives way, body tipping back onto the blanket with a muted thud, his brown hat still perched crookedly on his head.

He lets out a breathless laugh, a grin spreading wide as he gazes up at her, catching that mischievous spark in her eyes. “So eager, bella. Thought this was supposed to be a picnic.”

Paloma’s fingers are already deftly working at the belt, tossing it aside as she bites her lip, her cheeks flushed from excitement and the warm sunlight bathing them both. “Yeah, well…” she shrugs, “Gotta work up an appetite first, don’t we, cowboy?”

He licks his lips, dark brown eyes squinting slightly as the sun casts a soft halo around her, making her glow like some ethereal being.

It’s messy but also seamless, like an unspoken dance as they fumble to halfway undress— her camisole straps sliding down her arms, one breast spilling free as his pants get shoved down just enough to release his cock. She nudges her underwear to the side, wasting no time before sinking down onto him with a moan, welcoming the familiar burning stretch.

Javier groans deeply, one hand on her hip the other palming her breast. Her hands press flat against his broad chest, fingers spreading over the fabric of his shirt as she leans into him.

Her long skirt pools around them, and she takes a moment to find her rhythm, bouncing up and down with increasing urgency. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders, wild and untamed, as she rides him with a hunger that makes his blood boil.

Her nails dig into his shirt, leaving faint crescent-shaped marks as she moves faster, each movement sending shockwaves of pleasure through both of them.

Javier’s hat tilts precariously on his head, but neither of them cares. His hold on her hips tightens, guiding her motions as their bodies sync in perfect, chaotic harmony, every gasp, every moan intertwining like a melody between them.

He can barely tear his eyes away from her— the way she throws her head back, her mouth open in ecstasy, her body arching as she loses herself in the moment. She looks like a goddess, every movement driving him closer to the edge.

“Oh, fuck me, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he growls through gritted teeth, his hands moving to grip her ass beneath the skirt, guiding her movements.

His knees bend as he fucks up into her, driving deeper, and she mewls loudly into the warm, open air.

“All you, cowboy,” she slurs, feeling every inch of his cock stretching her and she grips his shoulders, using all her strength to pull him upright.

He follows without hesitation, his body adjusting as they shift into a seated position, her still in his lap. Now, she’s no longer bouncing, but rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, keeping him buried deep inside her.

Every slow grind makes her toes curl.

She catches sight of him beneath that damn hat, getting her soaking wet, even more than she already is. God, he looks sexy, too sexy. The way it sits slightly crooked on his head, the shadow it casts over his smoldering gaze— it’s driving her crazy.

Their mouths crash together, tongues sliding messily as they kiss with unbridled need, moans escaping between wet, sloppy breaths.

She clings to him like he’s the only thing keeping her in this realm, their bodies pressed so tightly together she can feel every pulse, every twitch. Her hips work him expertly, finding that perfect rhythm that drives them both wild.

It doesn’t take long before they’re unraveling, pleasure building until it crashes entirely.

His hands tighten their grip on her ass and she clenches around him just as he fills her up, both of them gasping each other’s names into their mouths, riding out the peak together. Her body trembles as she takes every spurt, her walls pulsing around him.

When it’s over, they’re a panting, sweaty mess. Javier’s forehead rests between her breasts, and she holds him close, her fingers twisting around the longer curls at the back of his neck, feeling the felt texture of his hat brushing against her damp skin.

Their breathing slows, but neither of them moves just yet.

“Gonna give me a heart attack one of these days riding me like that,” he mutters, his voice muffled against her breasts as he places soft, lazy kisses there. His mouth finds her nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a gentle suck that makes her gasp, her overstimulated body responding instantly. She can’t help but squeeze around his softening cock still nestled inside her, earning a low groan from him.

“Gonna get a heart attack if ya keep smokin’,” she teases, despite the lingering haze of pleasure, and he’s too fucked out to argue with her.

Javi simply chuckles, his breath warm against her skin, and she pushes him back, gently laying him flat against the blanket again.

She presses a soft kiss to his lips before slowly easing off his cock, both of them hissing at the sudden emptiness. Paloma rolls over and grabs her bag, pulling out a baby wipe. She wipes herself down first, then hands him one.

Once they’re cleaned up, the next hour drifts by in peaceful conversation under the shade of the towering tree. They share bites of lunch, talking about anything and everything, letting the simplicity of the moment soak into their bones.

She lies with her head in his lap and Javier wears the cowboy hat, still at her request, and she can’t help but grin every time she glances up at him.

His hand strokes through her hair, lazily tucking a strand behind her ear as he admires the earrings she has on. They glimmer in the sunlight, but it’s her thoughtful expression that holds his attention.

“Baby,” her voice is soft, almost hesitant.

“¿Qué, nena?” he responds as he continues running his fingers through her hair.

She swallows, her lips twitching slightly before she takes a breath. “I think I’m ready to tell you ‘bout my momma.”

His hand pauses mid-stroke, eyes sharpening as he looks down at her, sensing the weight of what she’s about to share. “Yeah? You sure?”

She nods gently, her gaze shifting to the space around them before she sits up, pushing herself off his lap. He moves too, adjusting to give her more room, knowing she needs the space to speak, to let whatever’s been weighing on her heart finally surface.

Clearing her throat, she fidgets with her skirt, her fingers trembling just enough that he notices. “I just figured… since we’re about to leave… it’s kind of like closure to me, you know?” She pauses, her voice a little shakier now. “I don’t ever really talk about her. But she’s on my mind. A lot.”

He watches her closely, his chest tightening with quiet concern. He doesn’t know what to say just yet, so he remains quiet, letting the silence sit between them in support, giving her the floor to spill whatever is locked in her heart.

“Her name was Abeline— well, Calmana… it’s complicated,” Paloma frowns, her voice already tinged with the weight of the memory. “She killed herself when I was thirteen. Daddy found her with her wrists slit in their bathtub.”

Javier feels the words hit him like a punch to the gut, the sudden heaviness wrapping around his chest. He tries not to let his shock show, but the revelation shakes something inside him.

He noticed the lack of photos of her in the Leighton home, never once asking why. The only picture he ever saw on Romeo’s desk was Paloma’s— the man never spoke of his late wife.

Now, everything about her and her relationship with him clicks into place with painful clarity.

“She was everything to me,” she continues, her voice growing quieter. “And she left right when I needed her most. Guess I should be thankful I even had her at all. She pushed me to be better, to raise my expectations, never let anythin’ feel like it was too hard…” She trails off, tone cracking at the edges. The vulnerability in her eyes makes Javier’s heart ache. He takes off his hat, setting it aside gently before reaching for her hand, bringing it to his lips with a sweet peck.

“And then she just went and did… that.” Paloma’s words come out broken, disbelieving. “It made no sense. It still doesn’t.” She looks at him then, and he can feel the depth of her grief, the unresolved pain she’s been carrying for so long. He hates seeing her like this, so hurt, but he knows this is a wound far too great for any of his words to balm.

He grips her hand a little tighter, offering her whatever comfort he can.

“It never makes sense,” he murmurs, careful not to overstep but wanting her to know he understands. “Only the person going through it really knows what it’s like… and that can feel very isolating.”

Paloma nods, even as her brow furrows slightly. She understands the logic, textbook reasoning, but it doesn’t bring her any real comfort. “I know, I know. But Javi… there were no signs before that. She was happy, sure, a little paranoid at times, but she was okay.”

Javier’s expression mirrors the sadness etched in her face, “It might’ve seemed that way,” he says gently, “but you never really know—”

“But I did know!” She cuts him off, her voice rising with frustration, with the raw edge of hurt that has lived inside her for years. “She had no reason to be sad. She had my dad, she had me…” Her voice cracks, and she angrily wipes at a tear that escapes down her cheek, pulling her hand from his grasp.

She sits up straighter, her breathing comes quicker, more uneven. Javier can see the edge she’s teetering on.

“Paloma,” he begins softly, his voice steady yet tender. “It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to feel like it doesn’t make sense.”

Her shoulders slump a little, her lip trembling. “But it’s not fair,” she whispers, “It’s not fair that she left me…”

Javier reaches for her hand again, this time more slowly, giving her the space to pull away if she needs to.

“Losing her was the worst pain I’ve ever felt,” she admits. “I did everything I could to try and understand it. Read so many books, sat through counseling at the church, but that was a waste of time.” She scoffs, the bitterness of that memory evident. “Can you believe they almost didn’t bury her there? Because of her suicide. It was so fucked up. Only reason they did was through a loophole. Her grave technically isn’t on their grounds. That’s why hers is farther away from the rest.”

The church, something that was supposed to offer comfort, had only added to the pain of her family’s grief.

It just keeps getting more upsetting, “I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been for you, mi amor,” he whispers and without thinking, he leans over, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her to him.

His arm around her feels safe and she leans into him, taking comfort in the strength of his embrace. “That’s when Daddy started gettin’ real mean. Our fights escalated, and it laid the groundwork for what our relationship’s like now.” She pauses, her gaze drifting toward the horizon. “He only talks about her when he’s pissed or hurtin’ or drunk. It’s like her memory only exists when he’s breakin’ down, and that feels like a disrespect to who she was.”

He can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to lose the love of his life like that, and as he gazes down at Paloma, the mere thought of her gone sends this dreadful fright up his spine.

The image of her lifeless in a porcelain tub, haunts him for a moment. He hugs her tighter, as if holding her now could protect her from that kind of pain forever. “Finding her like that must have broken him,” he tells her, though he’s not sure how to reconcile that with the bitterness in Romeo.

“From what I’ve seen, he’s not good at dealing with things.” He understands how hypocritical it sounds coming from him, given his own struggles.

She nods slowly. “Yeah, I know. I understand his side of things, I really do, but I don’t think he understands mine.” Her voice wavers, a quiet sadness lingering in her words as she looks out over the field.

The wildflowers sway gently in the breeze, their soft movement a sharp contrast to the weight of the conversation.

He watches her closely, admiring her quiet resilience. Even as she shares the ugliest parts of her past, there’s still an openness he finds beautiful.

They sit together in a pocket of silence, her gathering her thoughts, while he watches, waiting to follow her lead.

She breathes deeply before continuing, her eyes tracing the ground as if searching for the right way to put it. “It wasn’t ‘till recently that I learned more ‘bout her.”

His brow furrows slightly, sensing the shift in her tone. She pulls away from him just enough so they can sit face-to-face again. “What do you mean?” he asks gently, trying to read her.

“Growing up, she was real cagey whenever I asked about her childhood. What it was like when she was a little girl. At first, I didn’t press, you know? I was just a kid. But the older I got, the more confused I became. I couldn’t ask Daddy, and the questions just sat there, gnawin’ at me.” Her gaze finally lifts to meet his.

“And then one day, I got the answers to them,” she adds. There’s an anxious edge to her words, and he leans forward slightly.

“What were these answers?” he’s curious, tilting his head slightly to encourage her.

“She grew up in an orphanage in Argentina. You were right, on that ride up to Dallas, when you picked out my accent.” He remembers it vividly, blinking a few times in surprise.

“Just dropped her off at the doorstep when she was a baby. No identification, no explanation—nothin’. She didn’t have many friends growing up. Kept to herself mostly. It reminded me of how I was when I was little, scared of the girls on the playground.”

Javier raises an eyebrow, trying to ease the tension just a little. “You’re telling me you weren’t the most popular girl in school?” he teases lightly, offering her a playful smile.

Her lips twitch into small but genuine grin, the tension lifting for a moment. “No,” she admits, shaking her head. “I was apprehensive when it came to makin’ friends.”

She pauses, licking her lips as if trying to decide how to move forward. “Anyway,” she continues, “she grew up wanting to be a nun. I guess it made sense, considering who raised her. They were the only family she ever knew.”

This is Paloma’s truth, her connection to her mother, the piece of her heart she’s been keeping to herself.

“She was invited to Europe to join a special convent— a real selective one. The kind that had members handpicked by the Vatican. Real elusive, you know?”

At this, Javier feels a faint pull in his gut, a strange, uneasy sensation settling there. Something about this revelation sends a ripple through him, but he tries not to let his apprehension show. “Sounds intense,” he says, keeping his tone steady, though his mind races.

When she speaks again, it’s like she’s unveiling the most earth-shattering truth. “Turns out, Javi,” she exhales his name softly, “my mom, Calmana, was a direct descendant of Cain and Abel. And I don’t mean in a metaphorical sense. I mean literally— part of her family tree”

He stares at her, biting his tongue to keep his thoughts in check. His gut reaction is skepticism, but he masks it, choosing neutrality. “That’s... a lot,” he says slowly, his voice even, hoping it won’t give him away.

But she doesn’t catch the undercurrent of doubt in his words. She’s too wrapped up in the whirlwind of her story.

“They believed she was meant to bring peace to the world,” she continues, her eyes wide with conviction. “No more wars, no more famine, no more suffering. But before anything could happen, the convent was defunded and disbanded. That’s when she moved to the States, met Daddy, fell in love, and had me.”

Javier’s stomach churns. The story sounds eerily similar to the case they just closed. The killer, the strange ties to Rome, the impossible connections.

There’s no way this could all be related... could it? They caught their guy. The evidence was there. But the motive?

He clears his throat, trying to steady himself. “Paloma, how do you know all of this?” His question comes out sharper than intended, and he immediately regrets the tone when he sees her stiffen.

“I found some things,” she lies, her voice defensive. “Hidden away in her stuff. In the extra bedroom.” She’s careful to keep August’s name out of it, knowing it would lead to a different type of confrontation that, frankly, she’s not prepared for.

“And you... you believe it?” His voice is quieter now, searching her face for any cracks in the story. But she lets out a scoff, her eyes flashing with offense.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

He presses his lips into a thin line, feeling the conversation slipping out of control. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to choose his next words carefully. “I’m not tryin’ to discredit you, or her, but—”

“But what, Javi?” Her voice sharpens, her heart pounding in her ears. The way he’s looking at her, the disbelief in his eyes— it’s like she can already see where he’s headed, and she hates it.

He winces, knowing there’s no easy way to say what he’s thinking. “She was sketchy about her past, and then she died the way she did. Is it possible that maybe... maybe it’s not all true?”

His words hang heavy in the air, and he immediately regrets them, especially when he sees the way her expression darkens, eyes narrowing like she’s about to rip him apart.

“You think that she just made it up?”

He sighs, trying to stay calm, though he knows he’s already in deep. But the words tumble out anyway, against his better judgment.

“Maybe it was something to help her cope with whatever she was dealing with when she was younger. Something that eventually caught up with her...” His voice trails off, and he flinches at his own clumsy attempt to make sense of it.

And drove her to suicide? Yeah, great job at fucking listening to her, Javier.

Paloma’s laugh rings out, sounding every bit like her father. “You think this is bullshit,” she accuses, her eyes hard.

Javier feels the sting of her laugh. “I didn’t say that.” His voice is low, but he watches as she stands abruptly, brushing herself off with irritation.

He mutters a curse under his breath and rises with her, a sinking feeling in his gut.

“You didn’t have to.” Paloma’s movements are quick and precise, yanking on her boots as she avoids looking at him. “I’m real good at readin’ between the lines.”

“Baby, no—” Javier steps forward, trying to stop her, his hands reaching out in a plea. “Just listen—”

“I gotta get to work, Javi.” Her tone is cold, firm, and it shuts him down before he can say more. “We’ll talk about this when I get home tonight.”

“Don’t do that,” he says, soft but commanding. The tone halts her in her tracks, and she recognizes his frustration.

It’s the same as she felt when her father had pulled this kind of shutdown on her.

Her arms cross over her chest, and the disappointment in her eyes has him regretting running his fucking mouth.

“Your pragmatism wasn’t what I was expectin’ when I opened up to you about something so personal.”

“You’re right,” he admits. “I’m sorry. It’s just that... it sounded so much like some of the stuff from the case, and I couldn’t help but think about it like that.” He can see her stiffen, her glare piercing right through him. “But that doesn’t matter, querida. I know how personal this is for you, and I don’t want to undermine it.”

She nods slightly, appreciating his apology, but her mood has already been soured.

She needs space, wanting to escape to the library, where at least the silence won’t push back. “I just... I need to be alone.” She looks at him, but her eyes are somewhere else. “Or as alone as I can be. Promise we’ll talk about it later, okay?” Her lips brush his cheek in a quick, almost mechanical peck.

Javier stands there, watching her go, knowing full well he just made a mess of things. “Paloma—” he tries again, but her silence stops him cold. There’s nothing more to say. Not now.

She throws a look over her shoulder, wordlessly telling him to clean up their picnic, and he’s left in the clearing with his hands on his hips.

The urge to light a cigarette gnaws at him, but he fights it off. He’s already fucked up twice today— he doesn’t need to make it worse.

Paloma rolls her shoulders back, trying to shake off the weight of the day. She’s down to her last few closing tasks, moving through the motions, though her mind is miles away.

The shift at the library had been fine— routine, even— as she’s been trying to enjoy the last few that she has before she leaves.

However, her thoughts kept circling back to the spat with Javier earlier. It needles at her the way his skepticism had stung.

She just wants to go home, to fix things, to talk it out.

Finally, with her bag slung over her shoulder, she locks up and steps out into the night. Her car is parked across the street since the library’s lot is being repaved— long overdue, the cracks and uneven pavement have made even walking through it a hazard.

The streetlights do little to cut through the shadows of the darker lot, and she glances around, her nerves a little more on edge than usual.

She rifles through her bag as she walks, fingers brushing past lip balm and receipts before finally finding her keys. She fumbles with them in the dim light, the metal cold beneath her fingertips, and just as she’s about to unlock the car door— clang— they slip from her grasp, clattering onto the asphalt.

“Shit,” she curses, bending down quickly to pick them up. But when she stands again, her breath catches in her throat.

Leaning casually against the hood of her car is August, a joint lazily hanging from his lips, the tip glowing red in the darkness.

“August,” she clutches at her chest, trying to calm her racing heart from the scare he’s just given her.

His name feels foreign on her tongue, like something she’s meant to leave behind.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says smoothly, his thick accent curling around each word like smoke. He pushes off the hood, moving with a lazy confidence that makes her stomach turn as he rounds the car to stand at the driver’s side, too close for her comfort.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice trembles, though she works hard to keep it steady. She’s gripping her keys tightly now, her fingers digging into the metal grooves.

“Heard you were leavin’,” he replies, taking another drag of his joint. His eyes gleam with something predatory.

Gabriel must’ve told him, that rat, but she isn’t surprised.

“Yeah. Next week.” She nods curtly, hoping her clipped tone will get her out of this uncomfortable encounter.

“A shame to see you go, little dove,” August says, his gaze sweeping over her with unsettling familiarity, lingering on her chest and hips. It makes her skin crawl, and she shifts uncomfortably beneath his leer.

“It’s late. I really need to get home.” She tries to sidestep him, but his presence is a blockade.

He chuckles, the sound low and arrogant. “So icy, P. Thought we left off on good terms?”

He steps toward her, closing the space between them, and she instinctively takes a step back.

His grin widens, amusement flickering across his face like he’s enjoying this little game. “Why you steppin’ back? I just wanna talk.”

Her heart hammers in her chest, something in his tone setting off alarm bells. She takes another step, desperate to put more distance between them— only to collide with something soft and warm behind her.

“I think she’s scared,” a familiar voice purrs into her ear, and Paloma yelps, spinning around only to face Sloane, her countenance twisted into a smirk.

She glances between them, feeling trapped.

“What do you want?” Her voice trembles despite her best efforts. Their eyes are watching, calculating.

“For you to come back with us.” August’s voice is casual, as if he’s proposing something harmless, and it takes every ounce of restraint she has not to scoff in his face.

Instead, she lets out a sharp, bitter laugh.

“I thought I told you I had no interest in that anymore.”

“Yeah, well, that’s on me for makin’ you feel like you had a choice.” He flicks the filter of his joint to the ground, the ember dying as it rolls away.

With a simple jut of his chin, three more figures emerge from the shadows, closing in like predators. Paloma’s throat tightens as the weight of her situation hits her full force— she’s outnumbered.

Her fingers curl tighter around the keys in her hand. Her mind races, trying to gauge if she could make a break for it— grab one of the weapons stashed inside her car and either fight her way out or get the hell out of here.

“Don’t be stupid, August,” she warns, “You try anythin’ ‘n we both know s’only goin’ to end bad for you.”

He barks out a laugh, shaking his head like she’s just told the funniest joke. “Oh yeah? And who’s gonna stop me? You? That pissy old daddy of yours?” His eyes gleam maliciously. “Or maybe your incompetent, narc boyfriend?”

The mention of Javier makes her jaw clench, her teeth grinding together as anger flares hot inside her. But before she can snap back, Sloane’s voice cuts through, dripping with venom.

“Don’t worry,” she coos, a smug smile playing on her lips as she tilts her head condescendingly, “I’ll make sure to stop by and check on him when he finds out you’re gone. He still likes his women on top, right?”

Before she knows what she’s doing, Paloma lunges at her, fury propelling her forward. But her body slams to a halt, restrained by the large, rough hands of one of August’s men.

Her keys and bag tumble to the ground as she struggles against his iron grip, twisting and kicking, but he’s too strong.

“Let go of me!” she shouts, thrashing in his hold, her boots scraping against the pavement in a futile attempt to break free. The man’s grip only tightens, his fingers digging painfully into her arms, and her chest heaves with frustration and fear.

August steps closer, his face inches from hers, and he wraps his hand around her throat, holding her steady as he leans in. His breath is warm and sickeningly close.

“Can’t do that, little dove,” he murmurs, blue eyes darkened with intent. “Been lettin’ you do as you please for too damn long. S’about time we finally get this over and done with.” His thumb presses lightly against her pulse, and she glares up at him with every ounce of hatred she can muster.

“You dunno know how long I’ve waited for this,” he says softly, his lips curling into a twisted smile. “To finally have you the way you’re meant to be had.”

Her stomach churns, revulsion boiling in her veins. She narrows her eyes, her breath ragged as she gathers every bit of defiance left in her.

Without a second thought, she spits in his face, her saliva hitting him squarely on the cheek. “Fuck you.”

For a second, he stills, disbelief flashing across his face. Slowly, he wipes the spit from his cheek with the back of his hand, his expression darkening.

Then, without warning, his hand swings back, and the sharp crack of his palm colliding with her face echoes through the lot.

Pain explodes across her cheek, and she whimpers involuntarily, her knees buckling beneath her. But the man restraining her keeps her upright, his grip never loosening.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Paloma,” August says coldly, shaking his hand out like the slap had been nothing more than a casual inconvenience. “I don’t like doin’ it.” He turns away from her, his voice indifferent as he gives instructions to the others.

Her breaths come in ragged gasps, the sting of the slap still burning across her face. But adrenaline courses through her now, sharpening her mind.

She needs to act, and fast. She lifts her boot and slams it down hard onto the foot of the man holding her, grinding the heel into the soft flesh. It’s enough for him to loosen his grip and let her go.

Without a second thought, she bolts, heart pounding like a war drum as she sprints away.

Hope flickers in her chest like a fragile flame, but it’s snuffed out just as quickly when she feels a sharp tug on her hair.

“Damn it!” she gasps, the rough pull yanking her off balance. But her father’s voice echoes in her mind, reminding her of the self-defense moves he drilled into her.

Thinking quickly, she drops into a squat, lowering her center of gravity and using the momentum to twist violently. She feels the man’s grip falter as she moves, and then—crack!—the sickening sound of bone breaking reverberates in the air, followed by a pained cry.

She can barely believe the move worked, running as the world blurs past her in a rush of shadows and moonlight.

The sheriff’s department isn’t far, just down the street— if she can make it there, she’ll be safe. She darts down a narrow alleyway, the walls closing in around her, and for a brief moment, she thinks she might make it.

She can hear them shouting behind her, the thud of footsteps chasing after her, but she keeps running.

But then, pain— sharp and blinding— slams into her temple. She crumples to the ground, her body suddenly too heavy to move.

Through the haze, she sees Sloane standing over her, a baseball bat in her hand, the exact one Paloma keeps in the trunk of her car.

“I got her!” Sloane shouts, her voice triumphant.

She tries to crawl, her hands weakly clawing at the pavement. Blood trickles down the side of her face, warm and sticky, and her vision swims as dizziness overtakes her. She feels the bottom of the girl’s shoe press down on her back, keeping her from moving.

“Fuckin’ hell, Slo,” August’s voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from underwater. “Did you have to wack her in the face? Always doin’ too much— just like that girl at the barbecue.”

Paloma hears the words, the memory of that poor girl flashing in her mind. Sloane had dragged her into the woods, and now… now she’s about to meet the same fate. Her heart aches with the thought of what this will do to Javier, to her father. How this will destroy them.

“The bitch shouldn’t have tried to run off.”

They bind her wrists and ankles with thick rope, her body limp as they drag her back to the lot.

She’s thrown into the bed of a truck, her mind slipping in and out of consciousness, her thoughts spiraling back to the people she loves.

Javier’s face swims in her mind, and she clings to it, even as darkness begins to swallow her whole.

“Sadie, you know what you have to do. Dump her car in the lake. Go down with it. Remember that you’re doing this for a good cause— for her. Don’t be scared. You’re brave; you can do this.” August’s voice cuts through the haze of her consciousness, a distant echo tainted with a chilling calmness.

The young girl, Sadie, shifts nervously, her hands trembling as she takes in the weight of the task assigned to her.

The corners of the truck bed feel as if they’re closing in around her like a suffocating shroud.

Time seems to slow, every second stretching into an eternity as she fights to stay conscious.

After a moment of nervous hesitation, Sadie nods, her resolve crumbling.

Her pulse quickens as she feels August’s weight shift beside her.

He hops into the bed of the truck, looming over her frame, and she shrinks back, every instinct screaming at her to fight, to flee. But she’s too weak, her body betraying her with each shaky breath.

“Don’t worry, little dove. Soon enough, this will be nothing but a hiccup, insignificant as you cradle the entire world in your hands.” His words slither into her mind, tainted with a sickening promise.

He leans in closer, and she catches a whiff of his cologne mixed with something rotten. Her stomach churns, and she fights against the gag reflex rising within her as he presses a dirty rag against her mouth, muffling her cries.

The truck’s engine roars to life and begins to move. Tears spill from her eyes, hot and unrelenting, tracing paths down her cheeks.

She glances up at her captor, who is grinning down at her as he wipes away the blood and tears on her face, the moon looking menacing in the night sky behind him.

spoiler tags: slapping, kidnapping, depictions of violence. just a heads up, we are venturing into the more darker content era of this fic. i'll be tagging future chapters accordingly!

#pedro pascal #javier peña fic #javier pena fanfic #javier pena smut #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier pena fic #javier peña narcos #javier pena narcos #javier peña x ofc #javier pena x ofc

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