Where have all the dumb men gone
And where are all the dolts?
Where’s the gentle idiot that gives amazing hugs?
Isn’t there a moron who’s pure of heart and kind?
Late at night I toss and I turn
And I hope that I can find...
I NEED A HIMBO
I’m holding out for a himbo til the end of the night
He’s gotta be strong
And he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be dumb and polite
I NEED A HIMBO
I’m holding it for himbo til the morning light
He’s gotta be dumb
And he’s gotta be sweet
Supportive respectful and kind
Somewhere after midnight
In my wildest fantasy
I can walk around alone
And it doesn’t feel risky
Raised to be respectful and raised to treat me sweet
It’s gonna take a gentleman to sweep me off my feet
I NEED A HIMBO
I’m holding out for a himbo til the end of the night
He’s gotta be strong
And he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be dumb and polite
I NEED A HIMBO
I’m holding it for himbo til the morning light
He’s gotta be dumb
And he’s gotta be sweet
Supportive respectful and kind
An IQ that’s but a tenth of my own
The lights are on but no one’s home
I can bet there’s a himbo out there all alone
Doesn’t always understand the world
Confused by what I do
But he’s always drinking his respect women juice
I NEED A HIMBO
I’m holding out for a himbo til the end of the night
He’s gotta be strong
And he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be dumb and polite
I NEED A HIMBO
I’m holding it for himbo til the morning light
He’s gotta be dumb
And he’s gotta be sweet
Supportive respectful and kind
I NEED A HIMBO
I’m holding out for a himbo til the end of the night
He’s gotta be strong
And he’s gotta be fast
And he’s gotta be dumb and polite
I NEED A HIMBO
I’m holding it for himbo til the morning light
He’s gotta be dumb
And he’s gotta be sweet
Supportive respectful and kind
Story Summary: After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man?
Chapter Summary: Tommy invites you to the club, but you are barely in the building when confessions start to pour from both your lips.
AN: Trigger warnings are underneath the cut in small red letters to avoid spoilers.Thank you so freaking much to every single one of you little cutie patooties who love Tommy and his girl so much! I've honestly loved creating their little world and making so many of you fall for Tommy.
Word Count: 2.5k
TW: biting, tying hands together, kissing, dirty talk, oral (Female receiving, multiple orgasms, use of safe word, aftercare
You
Tommy puts you down in the middle of a room that’s not nearly as luxurious as his. He didn’t need to scan his watch to get into this one, which you assume means that it’s a public space. You glance over your shoulder to see a dark curtain drawn over part of the wall. The room is nothing ostentatious which surprises you. Aside from a chest of drawers and a large bed, the room is empty.
Click.
You head swivels back to Tommy, who’s standing beside the door, his hand on a small dial, the source of the sound you just heard. “What’s that?”
“Microphone,” He juts his jaw to the wall behind you. “They can hear everything happening in here now, sweetheart.”
A smile pulls at the corners of your mouth and you bite at your lip to stop it from forming. Tommy, on the other hand, smiles wide, a small laugh leaving his lips; lips that are stained just a tad from your red lipstick.
“Are you going to let them see?”
Tommy doesn’t answer you, but that’s how you like it. You don’t want to make decisions and that’s the best part of that little checklist you slid under his door - he already knows what you like and what you want to try. Tommy spins away from you towards the set of drawers. His movements are confident and calm, but something dangerous radiates off of him. Your heart rate elevates, your vision honing in on Tommy. You feel like prey, like a deer in a meadow who suddenly senses danger. Unlike the deer though, you don’t want to run - unless it’s towards the one who’s about to tear into you. He opens a drawer, his broad body making it so you can’t see what he’s grabbing. It’s equal parts unnerving and so fucking sexy. You ball your hands into fists, your fingernails digging crescent shaped moons into your palms, the pain of it distracts you from running to him.
“Hands in front of you,” he barks, his voice rough and commanding. When his eyes meet yours they’re nearly black. This is the man who spanked you in his library, not the man who just spent time kissing your entire body. The shift of it startles you, a gasp filling the silence as he walks towards you, a thin black rope in his hands. He continues speaking as he winds the rope around his hands, creating a bow. “Before I let them see you, I need to make sure they know who you belong to.”
He holds up the loops and you slip your wrists through. “It’s only you, sir,” you say through another gasp as he tightens the rope with a single flick of his wrists.
“Oh, I know that already little hellraiser,” he moves to stand behind you. The sound of cotton on skin before his shirt comes over your shoulder and falls to your feet. You don’t dare look, even though a shirtless Tommy Miller is enough to create world peace in your eyes. Seriously, who could continue arguing and fighting when they could just stop and stare at all that sinew and tattooed skin? His warm breath hits your shoulder blade as he says, “But the crowd I’m sure is gathering behind that curtain certainly doesn’t.”
Pain, red hot and sharp, explodes along your shoulder blade. It’s gone before you can react, but when the same sensation erupts along your hip you cry out.
“Tell me about the colours,” Tommy commands, his lips pressing softly to the spots you’re pretty sure he just bit.
“Green means go,” you say as his teeth sink into your side, confirming your thoughts just a few second ago. “Fuuuuck.”
“Keep going,” he encourages and you squeeze your thighs together.
“Yellow means I’m close to my limit.” Teeth pinch the skin of your other shoulder blade, your cunt clenching.
“Ouch,” you whimper, but the moan he pulls from you as his tongue soothes the pain is all the permission he needs from you to keep going.
“R-red means stop,” you breathe, Tommy’s mouth kissing along the globe of your ass before he bites the back of your thigh.
“Ow, fuck, sir.” Your clit throbs with each graze of his teeth and press of his lips. Each pinch of pain is quickly soothed by his kisses or lap of his tongue.
“Give me a colour, baby.” He rasps, his breath heating along your skin.
“Green,” his teeth meet your other side next, sharp and piercing.
“I’m going to open that blind soon,” he says roughly between light kisses down your hip. You arch, pushing your ass towards his face. “They’re going to see every mark, every indent of my teeth on your perfect skin.” He nips at your thigh, just below where your ass meets your leg. “Spread your legs, show me how wet you are.” You shuffle your feet apart, preening at the whimpered praise Tommy gives you. “You have no idea how beautiful you are, sweetheart. This fucking cunt is going to destroy me the first time you let me fuck you.”
You cry out as he bites your ass cheek, your pussy dripping at the thought of people listening just beyond that flimsy little curtain. You imagine them squirming, shuffling from one foot to the next. Them, like you, feeling like they are going to jump out of their skin as they eagerly await Tommy’s next move. With every mark Tommy leaves on your skin, you picture more people crowding the window, some of them so turned on by what Tommy is doing to you that they have to rent rooms of their own; fucking each other with a raw and carnal need as they replay the scene in their minds. Your wrists burn against the rope that binds them together, throat dry from the heavy gasps of air that are forced into your lungs with each bite. Earlier you were so deep in your own head. His lips and hands felt amazing, but every time you were about to relax you started worrying about how intimate everything was, the little voice in your head telling you that this isn’t real, it’s an act, a show. With everything you know about love, passion like this doesn’t exist in real life. But now, the pain as he marks your skin jolts you out of your own thoughts.
Finally, after what feels like hours, Tommy pulls away and wanders back to your front. You blink up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “It hurts,” you pout.
“The bites? They were supposed to hurt.”
You shake your head and he draws his eyebrows together in confusion. “Not the bites, my pussy. Please let me come now, Tommy.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, his eyes dancing along your face. Whatever it was that you just said has shifted something in his face. He’s softer, some of the honey flecks returning to his eyes, when it dawns on you.
Tommy…
Tommy
He should be mad, furious really. In these walls he is only referred to as Sir. In fact, in the last decade he can’t remember a time someone called him Tommy while they were naked. But he does know one thing, his name leaving someone’s lips has never sounded so…pure, so full of reverence. He glances up to the ceiling, then tugs at one of the long ends of the rope to remove the cuffs. He cradles your forearms gently, checking over the faint red lines the rope left behind. He presses on the pads of a few fingers, watching them go from pink to white and back to pink.
He nods in approval, and turns to head back over to the wall. His favourite part of this room is that it appears to be vanilla, and for the most part it’s used by the less kinky members of the club, but there’s always something salacious hidden in the shadows of JMKink. When he spins back to face you, you’re looking at him with a sense of regret, like you know you fucked up by calling him anything but Sir. He presses the second button on the panel by the door and the curtain pulls open with a soft whoosh. Your eyes flick to the side, like you want to look but he shakes his head, stopping you from looking behind yourself. He wants them to see the red marks, the sparkling rhinestones that spell out “Yes, Sir” along the waistband of your thong. He pushes another button and you flinch at the grinding sound that comes from above you. He watches your breathing speed up, your tits rising and falling rapidly. This time, you don’t look away from him, and that earns you more praise.
“That’s my girl, keep your eyes on me. Don’t worry about them.” The metal bar that he lowered from the ceiling is at the perfect height now, just enough out of reach that you’ll have to go on your tip toes to reach it. He taps the button to stop it, then slips off his shoes and socks before padding back over to you. Something about being in only jeans while making his partner fall apart again and again is like a drug to him and the with the way your eyes trail down his body it feels like that drug is being injected straight into his DNA.
“Remind me, hellraiser. Why didn’t I let you come last time?” This is his favourite part of having an audience. The storytelling; creating a scene, building the anticipation, working in well timed twists and turns, before the…well…climax - both metaphorically and theoretically.
“Because I didn’t listen.”
You look malleable right now, fully immersed in subspace, ready and willing to listen to everything he says. He nods, pushing his hands into his pockets before walking towards you. “Grab onto that bar.”
Your head tilts adorably to one side and he can’t help the small breathy laugh he lets out. “Above your head. Just reach up and grab onto it.” You try to follow his instructions without look away, but when your fingertips wiggle looking for the bar he laughs quietly again and gives you permission to look away to find it.
Yep, she’s deep into subspace alright.
“I’m going to make this a little easier on you than last time, okay?” You nod as he steps into your space. Your warm body pressed against his, still so much shorter than him even when you’re pushed up onto your toes. He pulls you flush against him by your waist. “You are allowed to make as much noise as you want this time, but you are not allowed to let go of that bar. Understood?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
His eyes flick to the window then back to yours. “Your cries of pain drew in quite the audience. I can only imagine how many more will gather around that window when they hear how pretty you sound when you come.”
Before you can respond he’s on his knees, tugging your panties down and then lifting one of your legs over his shoulders before burying his face in your pussy. There’s no slow movements this time, no letting you adjust. Your clit is so swollen that it’s pushed free of its hood. Tommy pulls it into his mouth, rolling his tongue along it. His fingers dig into the meat of your ass, steadying you while simultaneously pushing you harder against his face. If he suffocated to death right now he’d die a very happy man.
The world melts away, your moans become louder, morphing into groans and gasps. He’s not sure how long has passed, or how many times you’ve announced that you’re going to come. He doesn’t care and has no plans to stop, you know what to do if you need the break. So, he drinks you down, his ears greedily wanting more of the moans and sobs and whimpers. His knees ache under the dark wooden floor of the room, your legs shake with a mixture of exhaustion and yet another orgasm.
“Red,” your voice is a hoarse rasp.
“Shit, sweetheart,” he says, catching you as you let go of the bar above your head and slump forward. Since he’s not that much shorter than you while kneeling, he guides you to the ground. When a submissive uses their safe word that grants them access to a safe space - all contact stops immediately and only after he’s asked for consent to move into aftercare will he touch them again. As he lowers you to the ground your arms wrap around his neck, plastering your overheating body to his. Still, he keeps his hands as much to himself as he can without letting you fall. His next words are whisper, quiet enough that he knows only the two of you can hear them. “Do I have your consent to carry you to the bed and hold you until you come back to yourself?”
“Yes, but not that bed,” You manage to whisper back. Your body is covered in a thin layer of sweat, making it easy for him to slip his arms around you. Your mask slips as you bury yourself into his chest, and that’s all the cues he needs.
Tommy pulls you tighter to his body, “Keep your face towards me,” he says in a soft warning, then stands and takes you back to his private room.
Chapter summary: after his decision to stop seeing you regularly Joel gets you a car but his plans go awry when you suddenly fall ill and Joel rushes to help.
Chapter tw: 18+ mdni | angst | fluff | smut | hurt/comfort | Joel's pov | age gap (Joel's in his late 40s, reader's in her early 20s) | pining | flirting | dirty thoughts | m!masturbation | mention of piv I mention of public m!masturbation (not caught) | mention of parental abuse | mention of a parent’s death | food/alcohol consumption | swearing | smutty slow burn
Word count: 3,6k
A/n: this chapter took me sooo long, I’m sorry, loves🥲 I hope you will enjoy it! Smooches and hugs to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and helping me when I was overthinking things ♥️ Dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Series Masterlist | MASTERLIST
“Hellooo?”
Joel flinches and looks up at Tommy, who’s sitting in front of him at the bar table. For the last few minutes his younger brother’s been complaining about their pain in the ass client and Joel’s mind wandered off. Or at least that's what Joel thinks he’s been saying.
“Yeah. Sorry.” Joel takes a sip of his beer, hiding his eyes from Tommy’s piercing stare.
“You ok, man?” Tommy asks, leaning slightly forward as if trying to read the older man’s expression in the dimly lit bar. “Been quiet all night.”
“Yeah. Jus’ tired.”
“‘K,” Tommy gives Joel a little smile and takes a swig of his whiskey.
****
Joel isn’t lying. Well, not completely lying. He’s been sleeping badly for a few weeks now, tossing and turning, fantasising about you and jerking off till early morning hours then driving to work completely exhausted.
It’s gotten even worse now because every time his head hits the pillow, you’re staring at him with those ‘fuck-me eyes’ of yours. The ones he saw in the car the last time he drove you to college. Their fiery glint was calling for action, demanding it, luring him in. Joel had never been that horny in his damn life. A shudder still runs through his body as he remembers how hard he came in that parking lot, desperately moaning your name in his car like a perv. What if he got caught? Cold sweat covers his forehead at the thought. His career, his reputation, his life — they’d be ruined.
But what else was he supposed to do with all that desire? Fuck you in his truck right outside your school? Leave his cum not on his fist but deep in your sweet pussy? Hnggg just a thought of having you makes Joel’s hand slither down to his already-tight boxer briefs as he’s lying wide awake in his bed. Every goddamn night is the same.
A squirt of lotion on his palm.
Heavy breathing.
Joel’s fist pumping his hard cock.
A needy moan.
Frustrated huffs and puffs as Joel’s wiping his cum off.
Now he keeps a pack of wet wipes and a bottle of lotion on his nightstand just for that. It’s like he’s 18 years old again, judging by the amount of loads he’s squirted all over his bedsheets. The longing is getting out of hand but what can he do with this obsession that has your name? Joel has no clue.
****
Tommy gets another glass of whiskey while Joel’s nursing the same bottle in his hand. He’d love to go stronger, maybe he’d fall asleep without thinking of you, but the possibility of alcohol loosening his tongue and him yapping about you in front of his brother scares Joel to death.
Besides, he didn't come to get drunk. He has a plan and he needs a sober mind to carry it out.
“So… How’s Maria like her new car?” Joel asks, inching closer to the topic he wants to talk about.
Tommy’s face lights up.
“She loves it! Benji, too. We installed his chair yesterday.” Tommy makes big eyes and huffs, “Damnn, it nearly cost me a marriage. Those things are created to break up families.”
He chuckles gleefully and Joel nods with a strained smile. He clears his throat and as nonchalantly as possible tests the ground.
“Whatcha ya gonna do with the Toyota?”
Tommy raises his brows, surprised by the question about Maria’s old car, and then shrugs.
“Hmm… Sell it I guess.” Tommy frowns. “Don’t wanna think about all that yet. Already know it’s gonna be a pain.”
“Yeah,” Joel hums, his eyes darting between the bottle and his brother’s face. “What if I take it off your hands?”
“What d’you mean?”
“Sell it to me.”
Tommy stares at Joel for a few seconds as if expecting him to be joking.
“You have a car. Sarah, too,” he says. “Why’d you…?”
“S’for a friend,” Joel interrupts his brother, impatient to get it over with.
“A friend…” Tommy repeats slowly, his head tilted to the side. Joel takes a sip of beer and drops his eyes to the table, suddenly scared that Tommy will find you there, in his thoughts.
“Does that friend have a female name by any chance?”
Fucker!
Joel grunts and glares at the sibling, his lips pressed in a tight line. Tommy smirks, watching Joel’s reaction. It’s too strong not to mean anything and they both know it.
“Does it matter?” Joel asks with defiance, taking the question head on, not denying anything.
Tommy watches his brother, not blinking for a few moments, and then says in a calm tone, a smile dancing on his lips,
“Yeah, I’d say it matters.”
Joel keeps his eyes on the beer bottle, hoping that Tommy will drop the interrogation.
Yeah, right!
“Did you meet her during one of your club outings?”
Joel’s heart does a somersault in his stomach and he lifts his widened eyes at the younger man who’s sitting there with a sly smile on his face.
Oh how much Joel regrets that time he got shitfaced and told Tommy about his ‘hobby’ as you call it. He wanted to boast how easy it was for him to pick up girls there and Tommy didn’t judge him that time, just laughed and asked a few questions. Joel struggles to remember which ones. They both had never mentioned it ever again and Joel hoped that the memories of that conversation evaporated from Tommy’s intoxicated mind. Apparently they didn’t.
“Tommy….” Joel gruffs with warning in his tone, his hand gripping the bottle tighter. The younger man raises his hands and chuckles,
“Hey, s’not my business. You’re a big boy, Joel. You know what you’re doing. I just don’t want you to get in trouble.” He shrugs and finishes his drink in one gulp.
“I won’t,” Joel mumbles and quickly changes the subject, the night taking its usual course.
Only when they leave the bar and wait for an uber Joel asks Tommy when he can come to check the car out. The younger man smirks and offers the next day.
****
They meet after work and Joel shakes on the deal with Tommy. The car is a little worn out, but it’s in a very decent condition. Still Joel decides to take some extra time to change the oil or the tyres if necessary and to drive you to the college one last time. Maybe he’s stalling, maybe he hates the idea of not seeing you regularly, so checking the car is just an excuse but he’ll never admit to it. Even to himself.
As always in life plans can’t keep up with changes and one morning Joel sees your name pop up on his phone screen. He turns the tv off and frowns, nerves tightening his chest as he immediately assumes the worst. He quickly picks up.
"You sick?" Joel asks as soon as he hears your croaky "Hi".
"Yeah, how'd you know? Are you spying on me?"
"‘cause you sound like shit," Joel sighs and sits straight, ready to spring into action.
"Aw, thanks." Your tone is sarcastic and for a second Joel fears he's offended you but then your lovely laugh flows through the speaker until another coughing fit grips you. Fear for you makes his stomach churn and he decides to drive to your house right away but then realizes that he’s got no idea where you’re staying these days.
When you stop coughing, Joel asks,
"What d'you need? Text me your address, I'll be there."
You're silent for a few seconds and then you reply, your voice soft.
"Thank you, Joel. But I have everything, don't worry. I just... I called to say that I'm not going to classes tomorrow."
"Oh." Joel nods as if you can see him. He should be relieved — the temptation to pull you on his lap and fuck you senseless in his truck isn't going to entice him. Besides, he could work on the car and get it ready for you by the time you feel better.
But Joel doesn't need to search his soul too deeply to realize that a sudden heavy feeling weighing on his chest is sadness. He's upset that he won't be able to drive you one more time, spend time with you, talk to you, listen to your voice.
"Joel?" You call his name, interrupting his thoughts.
"Yeah, yeah, of course. You need rest. Stay in bed and tell me your address. Please, sweetheart."
"I am in bed and ... Sounds like you really wanna join me here,” you purr and Joel rolls his eyes — now it’s neither the time nor the place to flirt with him, yet his cock disagrees and twitches in his pants.
“You shouldn’t come, you’ll catch whatever I have.”
“Address,” Joel says shortly and you half-sigh half-moan in his ear.
“Mmm, love when you go all dom on me.”
You taunt Joel and he grips his phone, breathing heavily. He feels his cheeks burn, his muscles tense up, you evoke a usual reaction in him — like a tornado is lifting him off the ground.
Little minx keeps playing even sick, he thinks. Yeah, being friends with you is really not an option when every time you flirt with him, his whole being wants to pounce on you right then and there.
Finally you give him the address and Joel says he’ll be there in an hour or so.
He goes to the kitchen and gets to cooking.
****
An hour later he’s at your place. Or your friend’s place rather. He wonders if you talked about him, if they know about your trips, about the kiss… Girls tell everything to each other but maybe you’re embarrassed of him. Probably so.
Joel rings the bell and soon you open the door. His chest fills with warmth when he sees you but then his smile falls — you look really sick. He wants to grab you and get you to his place, so he could take care of you and tend to all your needs.
“Hey,” you croak, wrapping yourself tighter in a fuzzy robe.
Joel sighs,
“Damn…”
“Do I look that bad,” you smile weakly and hide the lower part of your face behind the collar.
You look like an angel. Always. Joel wants to say. “No, no. You.. look sick, s’all. Are you runnin’ a fever?”
“Nah, I don’t think so.” You shake your head and then cough again.
Joel furrows his brows.
“You think? Have you measured it?”
“No. M’not sure we have a thermometer.”
“What?” Joel’s brows shoot up as you shrug your shoulders, looking guilty under his disappointed stare. Joel feels bad — being told off is the last thing you need right now, so he decides to act.
“Ok, let’s take care of you.” Joel walks inside the house without an invitation, not caring about manners.
You gawk at him but the corners of your lips are turned up, your eyes are sparkling with glee.
“Come in, I guess,” you laugh and then gasp softly when Joel places his palm on your forehead. Your lips part as you’re staring up at him but don’t pull away.
Joel’s face stays serious, despite an ocean raging in his stomach at the sensation of your skin.
“Seems fine,” he declares after a few seconds and his big hand leaves your head.
Then he throws a quick look around and asks,
“Where’s the kitchen?”
You nod in the right direction and Joel throws his boots off and strides there.
“You can go to bed. I’ll bring you soup.”
“Soup?!” you gasp, padding after him.
“Yeah, it’ll get you on your feet in no time.”
Joel walks into the kitchen and puts a bag on the kitchen island. He pushes a box of Cheerios sitting on the surface out of the way and raises an eyebrow at you as you sit on a stool.
“‘S pure sugar. Don’t eat this shit.”
“They’re not mine,” you grumble, “Sam loves them.”
Joel shakes his head, mentally judging your housemate, and pulls the biggest container he could find in his house out of the bag.
“Oh my god, Joel! It’ll last me a week!”
“Nah, you’ll finish it quickly I promise you. Not to brag but .. S’really good.”
He searches for a bowl and a ladle in the cabinets and after finding them pours some soup.
You look down at the golden liquid in front of you, lean down to smell it and then hum.
“You’ve just made it? For me?” You ask, grabbing a spoon.
“Yeah. Doesn’t take long. Plus I cooked it a million times before. It’s my mother’s recipe,” Joel says with a soft smile. “She always made it for me and Tommy and then I treated Sarah with it when she’d get sick.”
Your lips spread into a smile as you’re listening to him then you start eating.
“Mmmm,” you gush. “It’s delicious, Joel. Thank you.”
You put one spoon of soup after another in your mouth and Joel watches you with a content smile, pride expanding his chest.
Joel’s mood lights up as he sees that you’re living in a nice house, much nicer than your dad’s, especially considering the fucker isn’t here to mistreat you. Despite being ill, you’re safe and Joel knows you’re going to get better soon.
“What was your mom like?” You ask, interrupting his thoughts, and push the empty bowl away.
“Another helping?” Joel asks and you shake your head.
“No, thanks. I’m full.”
“She was the kindest person I’d known,” Joel says without a trace of doubt. He grabs the bowl and walks to the sink to give it a wash.
“I’ll do it,” you offer hurriedly but Joel motions for you to get back on your seat.
He faces the sink and keeps talking,
“She loved me and Tommy very much. Our father… he was a handful but she always protected us. She tried to soften him when we’d fuck up. Didn’t always work but at least she tried.”
Joel chuckles bitterly and then he hears your deep sigh.
“Sometimes I’m glad that my mom didn’t see what happened to our family after she…” you clear your throat and add, “it’s better she never knew.”
Joel returns the bowl to the cabinet and comes back, only the kitchen island dividing you two. He wants to give you a hug but feels he’d be overstepping.
Your tone gets colder as you say,
“He called. Two days ago.”
‘The asshole?!’ Joel wants to growl but instead asks, “Your father?” You nod and Joel grips the counter with his fingers, anger burning his chest with hot iron.
“He feels bad, he says. For throwing me out. Wants me to move back home.”
Joel clenches his jaw, the knuckles of his hands whiten. You can’t go back, he thinks. He won’t let you. Not after the scene he witnessed. He wouldn’t find peace knowing that you live with that man again.
To Joel’s relief you sigh and mutter,
“I said no. I’m finally free,” your tired eyes are glossy as you lift them up to Joel’s face. “Yeah, it’s harder… so much harder. I depended on him a lot as it turned out… but I can breathe with my whole chest now.”
Joel’s face softens and leans down, placing his forearms on the surface.
“How d’he react?” He asks and sees a veil of sadness pass over your face. Staring down at your hands you reply,
“He wasn’t happy.” You sigh again and your voice trembles as you murmur, “Whatever.”
You seem to be on the verge of tears and Joel walks around the island and comes up to you.
“You did the right thing,” he says, placing his hand on your shoulder and giving it a little squeeze. “I doubt he’ll ever change, sweetheart.”
“No, he won’t,” you croak, staring ahead. “But I can’t make myself hate him, you know.”
For a few seconds you both are silent until you ask, “Your dad… he was like mine, yeah?”
Joel remembers the beating his father called up-bringing and nods, his brows furrowed.
“Yeah.”
You look up at Joel, your teary eyes searching for answers.
“Then tell me… does the voice ever go away?”
“What voice?” Joel mumbles, slowly drowning in your beautiful and sad eyes.
“The one telling me that I deserved all of that.”
Joel’s chest tightens, compassion for you overtaking him, and wishing nothing else but to comfort you right now, he pulls you into a hug. You slide off the stool and push your face into his flannel-covered chest. Joel’s heart breaks as you’re sobbing quietly in his arms, clenching his shirt with your fingers. Painful memories of his own past sting his soul and he presses his cheek to your head, trying to alleviate the ache.
“It does go away, darlin’,” Joel lies, rubbing your back with his palms. “It will.”
When you stop crying and pull away, Joel looks into your reddened sleepy eyes and offers,
“Let’s get you to bed.”
You rasp something like “yeah, wouldn’t you want that,” and pad to your room.
Your bedroom looks like a standard guest room except for your things scattered around here and there. Joel smiles when his eyes land on the wooden cat on your nightstand.
“You takin’ good care of him?” He jokes, nodding at the figurine he carved for you.
“It’s a she,” you glare at him with a fake offence and then give him a wide smile. “I pet it every time before I go to sleep. And I think of you.”
Your gaze is soft but he notices a flush of fire behind your eyes.
“Tuck me in,” you purr, getting in bed.
Joel rolls his eyes but still walks up and tucks your blanket for you. The way you’re staring up at him, lying under the covers, makes his whole body vibrate. You look warm and sleepy, soft and sweet, he craves to touch you, hold you, kiss you…
“Joel,” you say his name quietly, so sensually it sends shivers down his spine. “Can I ask you something?”
Joel narrows his eyes at you, fully aware of how provocative your questions can be.
“You can… can’t promise I’ll answer.”
He gives you a lopsided smile, standing over you with his hands on his hips, hoping that you’ll spare him this time. You react with a weak giggle.
“Ok. Tell me…do you still go to Paradise?”
Joel drops his eyes at the mention of the club and shifts on his feet
“No,” he gruffs, shaking his head. Your lips twitch and it seems that you like his answer yet you don’t drop the topic.
“Why not?”
Joel’s eyes involuntarily travel down your body covered by the blanket as he lies,
“Have no time. Too much work.”
You hum, not tearing your curious gaze off the man over you, and then murmur,
“Was I the last girl you picked up there?”
Joel stares at you, fully aware what you’re getting at, and after a long sigh he says,
“Yeah, guess so.”
“Huh,” you hum, turning on your side, quickly covering the lower part of your face with the blanket but Joel still notices the apples of your cheeks rise, he sees a smile in your eyes.
“Ok, m’gonna go. Get some sleep.”
You throw a cheeky glance at him and then say,
“Yes, sir.”
Joel feels his neck and cheeks burn, his heart starts beating faster, and scared that he’ll pop a boner, he walks to the door.
“The soup’s still hot. Have some more when you’re up.”
You mewl a quiet “ok, thanks” and flutter your eyes closed.
Joel returns to the kitchen, tidies up the counters as quietly as possible, trying not to wake you up. Then he walks to the fridge and looks at the photos on the door.
Hmm Joel places his hands on his hips and shakes his head. It’s mostly party pics. Laughing young men and women in their twenties, drinking, dancing, making silly faces. He notices you in some of them, looking tipsy and hot as hell.
There is one particular pic that grabs his attention- a family at the beach. Parents and two kids. The girl, your friend apparently, looks your age. She’s smiling at the camera, a volleyball tucked under her arm. She seems sweet. Joel hopes that she’s a good friend to you. The girl’s brother is standing next to her, flexing his arm muscles for the pic. Joel chuckles. He looks younger, sixteen or so. They both look happy.
Joel remembers the picture of your family he saw in your house. How sad you got when he stopped to look at it. Maybe your friends can be a better family for you? Maybe he can be someone who protects you, helps you, gives you some kind of support? No, it seems crazy. His feelings would surely get in the way and sooner or later your flirting would make him cross the line. He takes a deep sigh and goes to get his bag.
Joel checks on you one more time, peeking through your bedroom door. You’re sleeping peacefully on your side, your breathing a bit loud because of your stuffy nose, but you seem fine otherwise. He contemplates watching you sleep for some time but immediately realizes how creepy it’d be, so he imagines pressing a kiss to your beautiful lips and then leaves.
Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know if you want to be tagged in the future parts♥️
After Hours: Part 7 | Javier Peña x Original Female Character [Written as Reader/“You”]
SUMMARY: You and Javier reach the end of the line. ~4.2k Word Count.
RATING: E. Modern!AU. 18+. Mature topics and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work.
TAGS: The reader is kind of an OC since she has a backstory/last name, no use of y/n, alternating pov, angst, drug/substance use, talks of addiction, overdose mention, suicidal thoughts, intense drug withdrawals, lots of guilt and anxiety, multiple time jumps, unhappy ending for him, happy ending for reader, if I forgot to tag anything else please let me know, more tags found on series masterlist.
DISCLAIMER: This story portrays sex work as valid labor and affirms the autonomy, skill, and agency of sex workers. At the same time, it does not ignore the very real dangers, exploitation, stigma, and systemic harm that many people in the industry face (often without protection or support). The glamor shown here is part of the fiction, not a denial of reality.
A/N: i can’t fucking believe we are at the end of this. it has been an absolute blast working on this story! i’m so glad i finally had the time to write it out and do it justice, since it’s been an idea i’ve had for about two years now. thank you to everyone who has read, commented, and supported this fic. it is always a pleasure getting to read everyone’s thoughts on the story, characters, etc. the world-building of this story has been one of my faves, and you all know how much i love reader and how protective i am over her. i know for a fact that i’m going to write some one-shots with her and javi so we have that to look forward to! enjoy it, babes! 🖤 reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated, thank you for reading! (series masterlist) / (read on ao3)
SIX MONTHS LATER
Leon Valentine goes down on a brisk fall day, and it’s not this grand, cinematic takedown like most believed it would be.
No, it’s actually really fucking pathetic.
They find him in the shittiest motel on the Nevada-California state line. He’d been holed up there for weeks; money running dry, paranoia eating him alive.
Fleeing and hiding was bad for business. Leon knew about as much.
His reign over Vegas had ended.
Now the once intimidating man is reduced to nothing but a junkie with a needle in his arm. Cause of death: overdose.
Whether it was intentional or not, it doesn’t matter.
The Ivory Saints Casino has been gutted, the once-opulent gambling floors now crawling with federal agents from different branches.
All greedy to get their claim of fame from the aftermath of the takedown headed by the DEA.
Ace is amongst one of the many businesses linked to the criminal powerhouse to get condemned.
Arrest warrants ripple through Sin City—politicians, socialites, dirty cops, all exposed and scattering like roaches when the lights come on.
Javier stands outside the room, cigarette dangling from his lips, watching as the paramedics wheel the body bag out on a creaky gurney.
The zipper is partially open. Leon’s face is pale and bloated, mouth slack, eyes half-lidded in a final, undignified stare.
A far cry from the slick, power hungry kingpin he’d been.
The smoke burns through Javi’s lungs in that familiar, punishing way. What should be a gratifying takedown isn’t.
“Well, shit,” Steve says, stepping up beside him with his own cigarette already lit, aviators perched on his nose. “We fucking did it.”
Javier doesn’t reply right away. He just stares at the empty space where the ambulance had been, the desert road stretching out flat and endless under the pale sky.
“We didn’t do shit.”
Murphy laughs, but once he sees the grim expression on Javier’s face, he matches it. “What the hell does that even mean, Jav?”
“We didn’t do anything but make it easier for the next asshole to step in.” His nostrils flare. “This doesn’t just end with Leon or The Ivory Saints. Someone else will pick up the mantle and we’ll be back where we started.”
Steve shakes his head, exhaling deeply. The smoke curls around his face like a ghost. “Man… you’re so messed up over her that you can’t even enjoy this colossal fuckin’ win.”
Javier doesn’t deny it.
Six months since you disappeared into witness protection. Six months since you screamed that you hated him, since your fists left bruises on his jaw and your nails carved bloody lines down his neck.
The marks faded, but the memory never did. He wakes up most nights yearning for you, only to find haunting comfort in cold sheets and the echo of you calling him a liar.
He hasn’t tried to find you. Not once.
It would’ve been easy, but he never caved.
Why? Because the last thing he wanted was to drag you back into danger just to soothe his own selfish need to know you were okay.
So he stayed in the dark. Smoked too much. Worked too late. Fucked no one, because no one else felt right.
“Enjoy it for me.” Javi says sarcastically, finishing off his cigarette then stubbing it out with his boot. “I’m heading back to the office.”
Steve watches him carefully. “You gonna get started on her release paperwork?”
Javier finally meets his stare, annoyance flickering across his exhausted face. “We’ve got one hell of a case to prepare for. That’s what I’m focusing on.”
The two have what feels like a silent standoff, once again communicating silently in the way that they always do when one or the other can’t find the words to convey what he’s actually thinking or feeling.
Finally, Steve nods. “Alright. I’ll wrap up here.”
Javier turns toward his Escalade, the folder with your release paperwork burning a hole in his briefcase.
He climbs in, starts the engine, and sits there for a long moment, staring at the road ahead.
Six months of wondering if you’re okay. If you’re still using. If you truly hate him as much as you said you did that night.
He puts the vehicle in drive and pulls out onto the highway, heading back toward Vegas.
Your freedom is the only thing he has left to give you. Even if it means he never gets to see you again.
Cutting your addiction off cold turkey almost kills you.
The withdrawals hit like death wearing brass knuckles.
Your body revolts in ways you never imagined possible; constant nausea that leaves you dry-heaving over the toilet until your throat is raw, fever that makes your skin burn while violent chills shake you so hard your teeth chatter.
Migraines split your skull open like an axe. Your stomach twists and cramps, sending you sprinting to the bathroom every few hours.
Sleep is a cruel joke; you lie in bed for days, bone-tired but wide awake, mind racing through every mistake, every face, every fuck-up that led you here.
The protection detail assigned to you brought a stone-faced doctor to the isolated lake house they’d stashed you in.
He did nothing more than just hook you up to an IV for hydration, saying that the best way to deal with the withdrawals was to just go through it.
If you’d had the strength, you would’ve cussed that motherfucker out for being useless.
But you couldn’t.
You were too weak and broken to do anything except be curled up on sweat-soaked sheets like a dying animal.
The house (beautiful in a cold, impersonal way) feels like a cage. You haven’t left it once in the time you’ve been here.
You don’t even know exactly where you are.
The illusion of freedom is there: a generous amount of money and a new identity waiting to be stepped into.
But you know the second you tried to walk out that door, shit would pop off somehow.
Even if you left… where the fuck would you go?
Back to Vegas so Leon could finish what he started? To Miami, where you swore you’d start over clean, only to leave a trail of blood behind you?
On top of the physical and psychological toll the withdrawals bring; guilt lives inside your chest, rotting everything it touches.
Soleil and Nayeli flash behind your eyes constantly. Your brain turns cruel, painting their blood on your hands, whispering that you’re the reason they’re gone.
Amala and Bailee too. All of them collateral damage because you helped the fucking government.
And then there’s Javier Peña. The anger toward him festers the longer you lose yourself.
You let your guard down around him. That was your mistake.
All those nights tangled in his sheets, him listening to you like your words actually mattered, looking at you like you were worth protecting.
He told you he loved you, and you believed him.
He got what he wanted in the end—his precious intel, easy access to your body—and you gave it to him on a silver fucking platter.
Then when it mattered the most, he lied to your face.
Suicidal thoughts tease the edges of your mind on the worst nights.
You curl into yourself, sobbing until your eyes swell shut, whispering apologies to ghosts who can’t hear you.
But you’re too afraid of death. Too afraid of the unknown that comes after.
As hellish as this half-life is, you’d rather choke on it than face whatever waits on the other side.
One gray afternoon, one of the marshals knocks on the bedroom door.
“Miss Valentine.”
You don’t move. You’re staring out the window at the motionless lake, the surface so still it looks like glass.
She repeats your name. You don’t even turn your head.
“What?”
“We just got the call. You’re being flown back to Las Vegas.”
You feel… nothing. A dull, empty void where emotion should be.
Leon’s either dead or in custody. It doesn’t matter. He means nothing to you. You already mourned your real father years ago. This biological tie to a monster changes nothing.
“Okay.”
The marshal lingers in the doorway, tone turning impatient. “Today. We need you ready to move within the hour.”
“It’s not like I have anything to pack.”
You received only a few basic items when you arrived—none of your personal belongings. You haven’t been anywhere to get anything, either.
“Then I’d suggest you shower and collect what little you do have so we can get on the road and make it there in time.”
You have enough energy to roll your eyes, though she can’t see it. “Okay.”
She lingers for a moment longer before you hear her boots thud down the hallway as she leaves.
You lie there a moment longer, staring at the gray water outside, then force yourself up.
You’ve survived six months of isolation, grief, and the slow death of everything you used to be.
Whatever waits for you in Vegas, you’ll face it. Even if right now, you don’t feel like you can face anything at all.
Javier stands alone on the same stretch of tarmac where he last saw you, the desert wind whipping sand against his polished shoes.
His fingers twitch at his sides, restless, anxious in a way he hasn’t been since the worst days in South America.
He’s faced down cartels, deceit, and death, but nothing compares to how he’s feeling right now.
The jet’s door finally opens with a mechanical hiss. You emerge at the top of the stairs.
You’re unrecognizable.
Gone is the glittering, untouchable force of nature who once owned every room she walked into.
You’ve lost weight, your skin is dull, eyes sunken and shadowed with exhaustion, hair brittle and pulled back in a messy ponytail.
You move like every step is sapping your energy, shoulders hunched against the wind, hands shoved deep into your pockets.
The moment your eyes land on him, they ignite. The anger that’s been simmering for months flares across your face.
“You have some fucking nerve.”
Javier doesn’t move. He just stands there, swallowing thickly, letting you close the distance until you’re only a few away.
Seeing you like this pains him. He did this, and still, some selfish part of him wants to pull you into his arms and never let go.
“I know,” Javi hoarsely replies. “It’s fucked up for me to be here. But I had to see you.”
You scoff, crossing your arms tight over your chest like a shield, looking away so he can’t keep dissecting you with that intense, analyzing gaze of his.
It once made you feel seen in the best way. Now it just makes you feel exposed.
“Why? So you can see just how fucked up you got me?”
You spin slowly in place, arms spread wide, showing off the wreckage he helped create. “Take a good look, Peña. You did a damn good job.”
Javier’s jaw tightens, the muscle jumping visibly.
“I never wanted it to end like this,” he tells you, words heavy on his tongue.
“What the fuck else did you expect?” you ask, almost incredulously. “I told you from the beginning you were fucking with things you knew nothing about. But no—you just had to sell your bullshit dreams to the girls who let their guard down. Look where that got us. Look where that got them.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. Javier doesn’t defend himself. He knows there’s nothing he can say that will make this better. His silence has always been answer enough.
“So what is this?” you continue, voice cracking despite your best efforts. “The part where you tell me you got Leon and have no use for me now? Ready to throw me aside again, Javier?”
“He’s dead.”
Your expression twitches, but you keep your face as stoic as possible. “Good.”
He didn’t expect you to react strongly to the news, either.
“Your family’s dynasty is over. Ace is gone too.”
Six months of grief, betrayal, and unresolved feelings pours in the space between your bodies.
Your next question even catches you off guard momentarily. “And my mother? Her son?”
“They’re safe.”
You let out a humorless, bitter laugh. “And I’m supposed to just believe you? You could be lying to me again like the bastard that you are.”
Javier doesn’t flinch. “You’re just going to have to take my word for it.”
“Your word means shit all to me now.”
“I know.”
Underneath the resentment you feel for him, the toxic pull that never quite went away is felt faintly, but you rope it in and smother it as best as you can.
All you can do is glare at him. If you had the energy, you would whoop his ass again, except this time you would impose maximum damage.
Javier looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.
“Where are you taking me now?” you finally ask.
His jaw works, teeth grinding together in that familiar tic. He knows what he says next is going to weigh you down even more.
And still, he forces the words out:
“You’re under arrest.”
Fresh anger surges through you, viciously burning away the numbness you’ve been blanketed with for months.
“What the hell are you talking about?” you hiss, stepping closer despite every instinct screaming at you to stay away.
Javier doesn’t back down, but his voice stays low, almost gentle in that way that makes you want to scream.
“I tried to make the charges disappear—made the case of how you helped bring the The Ivory Saints down. But with your record…” He clears his throat, rubbing a hand down his jaw. “All I could do was get it reduced. Two years in minimum security federal prison for prostitution.”
Your stomach drops. Blood drains from your face as reality sinks in of what your future is going to look like.
He goes on to explain how all your things, every scrap of independence you busted your ass for these last seven years, are going to be repossessed.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you choke out, disbelief cracking your voice. Tears sting behind your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Not in front of him. He’s seen you weak too many times already.
“So you’re here to bring me in?” You take a deep breath. “After everything, you really thought it was a good idea for you to do this?”
Javier’s eyes are dark with guilt and that only makes you angrier.
“I couldn’t let it happen without facing you.”
You bite down on your lower lip, looking up at the sky and blinking away the tears.
“I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. All I wanted was for you to walk away from everything with the vengeance you deserved to get for what Leon did to you.”
You shake your head, jaw moving from side to side as you try to keep your shit together. You don’t have time for his bullshit apology.
“I love you.” Javier has the audacity to say.
His sad brown eyes search yours, exhausted and desperate. He sounds like he means it when he says it.
You can’t bring yourself to believe him. Not anymore.
“You’re pathetic,” you whisper with finality, the words tasting like ash on your tongue.
His eyes flutter and his gaze drops down to his shoes, swallowing down all the guilt that’s lodged in his throat yet threatening to come up like bile.
You manage to move before the weakness can take root. You walk past him, legs heavy, and climb into the back of his SUV, slamming the door shut.
You don’t look at him as he gets in the driver’s seat. You don’t say another word.
Just like that, your biggest fear came true: losing everything again… except this time it wasn’t in the blink of an eye, but instead at the hands of a man you thought you could trust.
Javier pulls in to the federal building and it’s a fucking media circus.
News vans line the street. Reporters and camera crews surge forward the moment his vehicle stops, microphones thrust out, voices overlapping in a chaotic roar.
Flashbulbs pop relentlessly, turning the scene into a blinding, disorienting nightmare.
The fallen heiress is back in Vegas and in handcuffs. They’re salivating for the story.
You’ve been in this shit show your whole life. The Valentine name dragged through tabloids since you were a child.
It’s violating. Like vultures picking at a corpse that’s still breathing.
Javier kills the engine, brows pulled in a deep frown. He hates every part of this. Especially the cuffs locked around your wrists in front of you.
He’d argued against bringing you in restrained, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
Bullshit procedure protocols. Javier knows it’s all about putting on a show.
Now the metal digs into your skin, a humiliating reminder of how far you’ve fallen.
He steps out and rounds the vehicle to let you out, shielding you with his body as best he can. “Back off!” he barks at the nearest reporter, voice rough and authoritative. “Give her space.”
You emerge from the passenger side slowly, head down, hood of your oversized sweatshirt pulled low over your face.
The crowd presses in anyway, cameras clicking like hungry insects. Questions fly at you from all directions—invasive and accusatory.
“Did you betray your family for immunity?”
“Are the prostitution charges true?”
“Did you kill Leon yourself?”
You keep your face blank, eyes fixed on the ground, dissociating from the chaos the way you learned to do as a little girl. The noise fades into a dull roar in your ears.
Javier stays glued to your side, one hand hovering near your elbow without quite touching you. His jaw is clenched, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s ready to throw punches if anyone gets too close.
More officers spill out of the building to form a barrier, pushing the media back, but the frenzy doesn’t die down.
Right as you reach the top of the staircase where two officers wait to take you inside, you stop.
You turn to Javier, stepping close enough that he can see all the pain he’s inflicted on you.
“I hope every person you’ve ever fucked over haunts you until the day you die, Javier Peña.”
The words stab directly into his heart.
The mask he’s worn for months shatters completely. Guilt, self-loathing, and the love he still can’t kill—all of it lays bare across his exhausted face.
He’s spent his entire career telling himself he was one of the good guys: the one willing to get dirty to do what’s right.
But standing here, watching the woman he loves being led away in cuffs because of choices he made, he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.
And for what? A bigger bust? A notch on his record? The ‘most prolific achievement in his career’ as the papers are already calling it?
You don’t wait for a response, just turn away from him like he’s nothing.
The officers take your arms and lead you inside. The heavy metal doors swing shut behind you with a final, echoing clang that sounds like a coffin lid closing.
Javier stands frozen on the steps as the reporters surge forward again.
“Agent Peña! How does it feel to bring down the biggest crime family in Nevada history?”
“Is it true you had a personal relationship with the Valentine heiress?”
They want a hero’s story. That’s not what this is.
Now answers are given. Their questions feel like salt against an open wound.
He just destroyed the only woman who ever made him feel more like himself than any career achievement or fleeting lover ever did—and they want him to celebrate that.
His hands curl into fists at his sides as he finally turns to face the cameras, knowing he has to give a statement.
Javier Peña feels like the villain in his own story.
THREE MONTHS LATER
Javier stands on the edge of a rocky cliff just outside the city.
It sprawls out like a colorful, glittering wound in the night—the Strip moving like a river of light.
From up here, Las Vegas looks beautiful. Very reminiscent of his first night in, when the prospect of losing himself in it seemed exciting.
Steve stands beside him as the two men share the familiar quiet.
Smoke curls from their mouths and disappears into the cold night air, the low whistle of wind cutting across the rocks filling the void.
“So what now?” Murphy finally asks. “Onto the next one?”
Javier continues to stare out at the city, the night of your birthday ghosting over his mind, tormenting him.
“I’m done.”
Steve glances at him, a little surprised. “Done?”
“I’ve been done for a while,” Peña mutters, exhaling a thick plume of smoke. “I just kept telling myself this one would be different.”
He thinks of you as he always does; your dazzling smile, entrancing stare, sharp mind, and fiery attitude. How you did whatever the fuck you wanted because you had the entire world in the palm of your hand.
Javier ruined that. He took everything you had and gave you nothing but pain in return.
The shittiest gamble of all time.
“I can’t keep doing this,” he adds quietly. “I can’t keep ruining innocent people’s lives pretending it’s for a good cause.”
Steve doesn’t say anything for a long beat, just smokes, letting the wind carry his friend’s words away. Then he nods slowly.
“Don’t be a stranger,” is all he offers. “And don’t kill yourself over this, Jav. You did what you had to.”
Javier clenches his jaw, eyes bleary. Frustrated tears threaten to spill but he blinks them back.
He doesn’t deserve the release of crying.
They finish their cigarettes in silence, the glowing ends flickering like dying stars before they’re crushed under their boots.
Steve pulls him in for a hug.
“Say bye to the girls for me,” Javier says with a strained tone as they pull away.
“I will.” Murphy claps him on the shoulder one last time. “Let me know when you land back in Texas.”
Javier nods. He watches as Steve climbs into his truck, headlights cutting through the dark before the vehicle disappears down the winding road.
Then it’s just him.
He stays on the cliff for the rest of the night, every single memory of you keeping him planted where he is until the sky slowly lightens into a bruised purple as dawn creeps over the desert.
He lights one last cigarette, the smoke burning his lungs like penance.
Javier is going to spend the rest of his life repenting for ruining yours.
TWO YEARS LATER
You stand outside the storage unit in the dusty outskirts of the city, the midday sun beating down on your back.
The key feels heavy in your palm. It’d been taped to a plain white envelope you received this morning upon your discharge.
From Javier, of course.
At first, you weren’t going to open it.
In the last two years, you’ve seen him only once and it was during the trial—sitting in the back of the courtroom, eyes dark and unreadable, watching as you testified against what remained of the Valentine empire.
But curiosity… or maybe something weaker, more pathetic, won out.
You tore it open in the parking lot of the prison as you waited for the bus, heart hammering wildly against your ribs.
Inside: the key and a short note in his handwriting.
Hopefully this is enough to help rebuild your life.
I’m sorry. For everything.
No signature. Just those words and the address to this storage facility.
You take a deep breath and bend down to unlock the heavy roll-up door. The metal rattles loudly as you push it upward.
“Holy shit.”
The unit is packed floor to ceiling with your things.
Clothes, shoes, purses, jewelry, art prints you’d collected, boxes of beauty products and decor.
Everything from your Vegas loft and your Miami apartment. All of it.
Your eyes well with tears as you step inside, taking it all in.
That’s when you spot the old wooden chest in the corner.
It’s one you’ve had since you were a little girl. You’ve never been able to part ways with it.
Rushing over to it, you drop to your knees, fingers trembling as you open the lid.
Inside, tucked neatly into old tampon boxes like a ridiculous, brilliant secret, is a small fortune in cash.
Your father, Lionel, had always taught you to be smart with your money.
Never put it all in one place, princess. You took his lesson to heart, especially when you became a dancer.
Stacks upon stacks of hundred-dollar bills, untouched and exactly as you left them.
It’s more than enough to start over. For real this time. Anywhere you want.
You sit on the cool floor of the storage unit, surrounded by the ghosts of your old life, and cry into the money you thought you’d lost.
Materialistic as it may be—all of your belongings hold significance to them. The things you did to live that luxurious lifestyles taught you harsh life lessons that helped shape you into the woman that you are today.
Wiping away the tears and snot, you look down at his note again.
You haven’t fully healed from Javier, but you’ve healed enough to let go of the hate towards him.
Carrying it around only made you miserable and kept you chained to the past.
You were never going to move forward in your life if you didn’t forgive him in your own way. You’re certain that whatever life he’s been leading since your lock up is punishment enough for his sins.
Doing this for you—preserving your things, giving you a real chance to start over—is the least he could have done.
And strangely, it feels like closure.
You close the chest gently, running your fingers over the worn, painted wood.
A small, tentative smile tugs at your lips—the first real one in years.
You’re going to get back on your feet and live your life for yourself and no one else.
A/N: holy shit why am i crying rn 😭 once again i want to thank you for reading this story. i have loved being able to write javier like this where he's kind of irredeemable while still staying true to his character. he fucked up with her, yes, but i truly could never see them together for real as like an actual couple. they’re too broken to be with each other. i really want to continue writing her and showing how she betters her life after the events of this… especially since i want her to be endgame with frankie 😭 are y’all fucking with that pls be honest!!!! anyways, always a pleasure to interact with all of you. your support means everything to meeee hehehe i’ll see you divas in the next one 🖤
