When you come back to Sunnyvale after almost a decade Julian can no longer hold his feelings back.
Warnings: foul language, smoking, drinking, SMUT, basic trailer park boys shit
(Wrote this just to satisfy my sleep paralysis demon - don’t expect it to get much love)
Julian stepped out of his trailer, the late-morning sun glinting off the rim of the glass in his hand. He moved with that usual easy confidence, shoulders squared, drink steady even as he adjusted his pace down the porch steps. The rum and Coke swirled lazily with every shift, but he didn’t spill a drop. He never did.
His eyes were fixed ahead, mind somewhere else until they weren’t.
Until they caught on you.
The moment he saw you standing there, his stride faltered. Just a beat. Just enough to show the surprise that broke through his calm façade. His jaw slackened, the expression rare for him, before he quickly pulled it back under control.
“Y/n,” he said, low, almost disbelieving. The way he spoke it was different, like he’d been holding onto the sound all this time, and saying it now was both familiar and strange.
He took a couple of steps toward you, glass never wavering, eyes locked like he wasn’t quite convinced you were real. It had been years, after all.
And for once, Julian looked like a man who didn’t already have the next line ready.
The name left your lips on a gasp, your smile wide as you launched yourself at him. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck before he had a chance to react, but when you did, his own arms came around you, solid, steady, strong. He held you like he wasn’t sure if letting go would make you disappear.
For a moment, he just froze there, stunned. The glass in his hand tilted dangerously, but not a drop spilled. It was like his brain hadn’t caught up with his body yet, like he couldn’t quite believe you were actually here in front of him after all this time.
When he finally leaned back, it was only far enough to see your face. His dark eyes searched yours slowly, taking in every detail like he was memorizing it. His voice came out rough, lower than usual.
You nodded, smiling through the sting of tears. “In the flesh.”
He shook his head with a disbelieving laugh, his arm still locked tight around your waist. “Damn… how long’s it been? Feels like forever.”
You bit your lip, counting, your chest tight. “Eight years.”
“Way too long,” he murmured, and for once the easy confidence in his tone wavered. His hand slid from your waist down to your fingers, lacing through them, like he wasn’t ready to let go. His gaze ran over you again, slower this time, softer. “Damn, look at you. You haven’t changed a bit.”
You snorted, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, hush. Look at you, Mr. Muscle Man.”
That pulled a laugh out of him, full, deep, genuine. The kind of laugh you remembered from late nights and old jokes, the kind that rumbled out of his chest and made you smile harder than you meant to. He shook his head, leaned in, and bumped your shoulder playfully.
“You always did know how to flatter a guy,” he teased.
“Call it a talent,” you shot back with a grin.
His eyes glinted, mouth curving into that smooth grin you remembered too well. “And just as feisty as I remember.”
He didn’t say the rest out loud, that he felt good. Better than good. That the weight of seeing you again after all these years had him practically buzzing. Happy didn’t even feel like the right word for it. Julian wasn’t the type to gush, but inside? He was damn near ecstatic.
You gave him one last squeeze before stepping back, letting your eyes wander across the park. Fresh paint, new trailers, less broken glass and chaos than you remembered. “This place has changed a lot,” you said with a smile. “Looks good. Who owns the park now?”
Julian followed your gaze, glass in hand, the sun catching the rim. “It’s a lot tamer than it used to be,” he admitted, almost like he couldn’t believe it himself. Then, casual as anything: “I actually own it now.”
Your head snapped back toward him. “Julian!” You gasped, beaming. “That is amazing! Just what you always wanted. I’m so proud of you.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. For a second, his composure cracked, eyes dropping to the ground, mouth twitching like he wasn’t sure how to handle it. A faint blush crept across his face before he cleared his throat and tried to reel it back in. “Wasn’t easy,” he said gruffly. “Had to fight pretty damn hard to get ownership.”
You rolled your eyes knowingly. “I can imagine.”
That crooked grin slid across his face, the one that always gave him away. “Yeah. Took some bribes, roughed up a couple of guys… same old song and dance.” He took a sip from his glass, letting the ice clink. “But it was worth it. I own the park now. Got a few legit businesses running, keeps us outta too much trouble. Cleaned it up, made it somewhere people actually wanna live.”
His tone was nonchalant, like he was just listing off the week’s errands, but you could see it in his eyes, pride. Not the loud, bragging kind. The quiet, hard-earned kind.
And for the first time, you realized he’d actually done it. He’d made good on everything he used to talk about in those late-night, half-drunken promises.
The crack of gunfire shattered the calm, sharp and close enough to make your stomach lurch.
Julian’s whole expression snapped dark in an instant. He swore under his breath, glass sloshing, and then his hand was around your wrist, pulling you behind him, solid and protective, his body a wall between you and whatever the hell was going on.
“What the fuck?” His voice was low, dangerous. His eyes scanned the park, already narrowing in on the obvious culprit.
Julian hissed through his teeth. “Goddamnit, Ricky. He just can’t stay out of trouble.” He didn’t let go of your hand, dragging you along with long, determined strides toward the noise.
By the time you reached Ricky’s trailer, the scene was pure chaos. Ricky was red in the face, screaming at Cory and Jacob, who looked like they’d rather sink through the dirt than stand there.
“You two fuckin’ idiots can’t let squirrels live under the trailer!” Ricky bellowed, waving his gun around like punctuation.
Julian stormed up the steps, grabbed Ricky by the shoulder, and spun him around. “What the hell is wrong with you? Shooting off your gun like that?”
Ricky blinked at him, indignant. “I had to try and get these squirrels, Julian! They’re gonna eat all the weed and then give birth to little baby squirrels, and before you know it the whole park’s overrun with those hash-hating bastards!”
You clapped a hand over your mouth, half to hide your laugh and half because you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.
Julian rubbed a hand down his face, already exhausted. “Christ, man. You can’t just fire your gun whenever you want. We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile.”
You crossed your arms, smirking despite yourself. “And it looks like you’re all doing a terrific job at that.”
Julian shot you a look that said not helping, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, fighting the faintest twitch of a smile.
They went wide as loonies. “Holy shit! When’d you get back?”
Before you could answer, he was pulling you into one of his bear hugs, reeking of smoke and weed plants.
“Just a few minutes ago,” you laughed, patting his back. “Got my mom’s old trailer. Gonna fix it up.”
Julian rolled his eyes, glass sloshing in his hand. “Ricky, why are the squirrels a problem right now?”
“They’re eating the hash, Julian!” Ricky’s voice cracked like it was the end of the world. He jabbed a finger toward the trailer. “I saw the little bastard’s ass run under there! Cory and Jacob can’t even use a fuckin’ net right. Hopeless idiots!”
Julian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed like a man being tested by God himself. “There are things called traps, Ricky. You could always try using one.”
Ricky snorted, waving the gun like punctuation. “I got a trap, Julian. A nine-millimeter lead trap right fuckin’ here!”
Julian dragged a hand down his face, muttering, “Jesus Christ.” His patience was hanging by a thread. “You can’t just shoot every problem you’ve got.” He glanced at Cory and Jacob, who were still standing around uselessly. “You two boys run along. Go find some shade before you set yourselves on fire.”
“Right, Julian,” they mumbled in unison, shuffling off. Cory managed to trip over his own feet, and both of them stole one last lovestruck look at you on the way out. Julian clocked it out of the corner of his eye, jaw tight, but he let it go. Ricky was enough of a headache for the moment.
“C’mon,” Julian said finally, nudging Ricky toward the trailer.
Inside, the smell hit you like a wall, skunky, earthy, unmistakable. Plants lined the place like a greenhouse. Julian immediately started counting stalks, his brow furrowing deeper with each empty space.
“Damn it, Ricky…” he muttered. “How many plants have the squirrels gotten?”
“Four!” Ricky barked. “That’s what I been tryin’ to tell you! We need someone to sleep out here and catch the bastards before they eat all the fuckin’ plants!”
Julian threw his hands up. “Then set a trap! Hell, set ten! What do you want me to do, post security shifts?”
You just stood there grinning at the back-and-forth, because honestly? Nothing had changed at all. The chaos, the cursing, Julian’s patience running on fumes, it felt like stepping right back into old times.
Leaning down, you sniffed one of the plants. “Damn, Ricky. This shit smells good.”
Julian glanced at you, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. He’d missed that, your laid-back, no-bullshit way of slipping into the madness without batting an eye.
Ricky already had a joint pinched between his fingers, grinning. “You guys wanna smoke?”
Julian cut him a sharp look, then glanced at you. His hesitation lasted all of half a second. “You in, princess?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” you teased.
Julian’s smile was slow, deliberate, dangerous. He plucked the joint from Ricky, slipped his lighter out of his pocket, and held it steady at your lips. “Ladies first.”
You leaned in, lips closing around the paper as the flame sparked. Inhaled deep, the smoke curling warm down your chest.
Julian didn’t look away once. His eyes followed every detail, your lips, the slow drag, the way you exhaled. Something about watching you like this had always knocked him sideways.
Ricky clapped his hands, oblivious. “Fuck yeah! Just like old times!”
He was still watching you, glass balanced in one hand, hunger simmering just under the cool.
Ricky squinted through the smoke, joint hanging off his lip. “So what are you doin’ back here, huh, Miss Hollywood?”
The nickname made you laugh, but Julian didn’t. His eyes stayed fixed on your face, waiting.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low, casual on the surface but loaded underneath. “How long you stayin’?”
You hesitated only a beat. “Uh… long term.”
It wasn’t the whole truth. Not even close. You didn’t tell them about the divorce, the screaming matches, the way you’d walked away with nothing but your mom’s old trailer lot and a purse stuffed with just enough cash to keep you moving. You weren’t ready for that yet.
Julian didn’t push. He just studied you in that steady way of his, eyes narrowing slightly like he could see all the parts you weren’t saying. He knew better than to ask, not yet.
He took the joint back from you, lips brushing the filter where yours had just been, and inhaled slow. The smoke curled out of him in a long, steady exhale, shoulders finally easing. “Well,” he said, handing it back with the faintest twitch of a smile, “I’m sure we can make some room for you here, then.”
You smiled, warmth settling in your chest. “I’d appreciate it.”
It felt good. Right. Like coming home.
Julian leaned back against the counter, glass balanced in one hand, watching you through the haze. He’d thought about this, about you, more than he’d ever admit. But back then he’d convinced himself it was safer not to touch it, not to risk ruining the friendship. You’d left, and he’d taken that as his answer.
Now, though? Now you were standing here again, laughing at Ricky’s nonsense, looking at him like no time had passed. And suddenly it was all he could do not to remember every damn thing he’d missed, the spark in your smile, the way you always gave it to him straight, the pull he’d tried to bury.
He cleared his throat, smirk tugging at his mouth. “Since you’re back… how about a barbecue. Little welcome home party for you.”
You tilted your head, curious. He knew exactly what he was doing, because he remembered how you got with a drink or two in you. Loose. Carefree. Flirty. The thought made his stomach tighten in ways he hadn’t felt in years.
Julian glanced at Ricky, already knowing the answer. “What do you think, Rick? Sound good?”
Ricky perked up instantly, grin splitting his face. “Oh, fuck yeah. Let’s get fucked up!” He slapped his thigh, like the decision had been made for the entire park.
Julian chuckled, shaking his head, then looked back at you with a raised brow. “Sounds like we’ve got ourselves a get together, then.”
Julian’s knee bounced as he leaned back in the lawn chair, glass balanced in one hand, a smirk tugging at his lips. He couldn’t help it, just watching you slot back into Sunnyvale like you’d never left had him buzzing. “Anything you in the mood for tonight? Beer, liquor, joints for days?” He tipped his glass at you, eyebrow raised.
You shot him a look over your shoulder, smirk sharp. “Don’t think I’ve changed that much, Jules. Still the same trailer trash girl who was always chasin’ your ass around.”
The words hit him like a jolt. His laugh rumbled out low, rough, and for a second he forgot about the whole park around you. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, princess.”
You were already pulled into conversation with Sarah and Lucy, their chatter spilling quick and excited, your smile bright in the glow of the bug-zapper. Julian sat back, taking it in, that familiar weightless feeling stirring in his chest.
“After all these fuckin’ years you still got that stupid look in your eyes,” Ricky barked out, laughing through a lungful of smoke.
Julian snapped his head toward him. “Shut the fuck up, man. Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” His voice was flat, but the denial fell apart the second his gaze drifted right back to you. He hated how easy it was for Ricky to read him. Always had.
Bubbles adjusted his glasses, frowning at Ricky. “Hush, Ricky. I think it’s beautiful.”
Julian felt his ears burn. He glanced at Bubs, muttering, “Yeah, yeah… shut it. Just enjoyin’ havin’ her back, is all.” He took a long drag off the joint to cover the twist in his stomach.
Ricky snorted. “You think she’s gonna move that pussy husband up here?”
Julian’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. Of course Ricky would bring him up. “Don’t know what she was thinkin’ marryin’ that jackass.” He said it like it didn’t matter, like the thought of you going back to that life didn’t make his blood boil. Truth was, he was praying you were done for good.
Bubbles’ frown deepened. “Hope not. He was mean. Kicked my kitties. Called me funny-lookin’. Stupid son of a whore.”
Julian’s hand tightened around his glass. “Damn right, Bubs. Don’t care for him either.” The memory of that first handshake, well, lack of one, burned hot in his head. The guy had sized him up, dismissed him with a sneer, called him a drunk like Julian hadn’t heard worse a thousand times before. He’d wanted to break his nose then, and if the bastard ever set foot in Sunnyvale, Julian was sure as hell gonna finish the thought.
He looked back at you laughing under the Christmas lights strung haphazardly across the lot, and his chest eased again. You deserved better. And this time, maybe he’d finally let himself believe he could give it to you.
The smell of charcoal hit first, Bubbles had the grill going full tilt, apron on, spatula in hand, humming to himself like he was auditioning for a cooking show. A cooler the size of a bathtub sat open in the middle of the lot, stuffed with beer, ice melting into a puddle at Ricky’s feet as he rummaged through it like a raccoon.
“Bubs, flip that one! It’s burnin’!” Ricky hollered, already three beers deep.
“It’s supposed to be crispy, Ricky!” Bubbles shot back, waving the spatula dangerously close to Cory’s face.
Julian leaned against the railing with his glass, dark shirt stretched over his shoulders, watching the whole circus unfold. Every few minutes, his eyes found you, laughing with Sarah, leaning over to fix Lucy’s lighter, dancing a little when J-Roc’s boom box kicked into a bass-heavy beat.
You belonged here. He felt it in his chest like a steady drum.
“Fuck, man,” Ricky said suddenly, stumbling up beside him with two hot dogs stacked in one hand, no bun. “You’re starin’ at her like she’s the last beer in the cooler.”
Julian cut him a sideways look, jaw tight. “Eat your food, Ricky.”
Ricky grinned, mustard already smeared across his chin. “I’m just sayin’—kinda obvious.”
Julian muttered something under his breath, took a long pull from his glass, but his eyes betrayed him when you laughed so hard you doubled over, one hand on Sarah’s shoulder.
Bubbles shuffled up, spatula still in hand. “Don’t listen to him, Julian. Nothin’ wrong with lookin’ at someone like that. She’s pretty. Always was.”
Julian’s throat worked as he drained the last sip, the ice clinking in the bottom. “Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “She is.”
“Shut the fuck up, Ricky,” Julian snapped, but his tone wasn’t sharp. His eyes were back on you, soft in a way he didn’t let show often. You were perched on the picnic table now, beer in hand, laughing like you hadn’t in years.
Julian sat back with his glass, ice clinking soft against the rim, watching J-Roc spin into one of his “impromptu” performances the second he clocked you. The crowd ate it up, Ricky was howling, Sarah was clapping off-beat, and Cory and Jacob looked like they’d just seen God.
Julian shook his head, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. Typical. But when he glanced sideways, he caught you watching too, your smile wide, shoulders loose, laughing like you belonged right in the middle of the chaos.
Then J-Roc dragged you up front.
“Yo, yo, lemme hand dis shinzza over to one of the hottest bitches in the pack, ya know what I’m sayin’, HAAA!”
The crowd erupted. Catcalls, whistles, Ricky hollering something obscene. Julian’s jaw ticked. He rolled his eyes, but his gaze never left you, standing up there, laughing into the mic like you hadn’t missed a beat.
The sound of it hit him in the chest like a punch, equal parts sweet and sharp. Christ, you looked good. Too good. And watching every other asshole in the park practically drool over you sparked something in him he didn’t love acknowledging.
Possessive. That’s what it was.
He took a slow sip of his drink, but his hand tightened on the glass. Couldn’t decide what pissed him off more, his boys acting like idiots, or you making it look so damn easy to steal the spotlight.
And yet, he couldn’t look away.
You laughed into the mic, shaking your head at the noise coming from the crowd. “Wow, this is definitely the warm welcome I was wanting! It’s great to be back in Sunnyvale!”
The park went wild, cheers, whistles, Ricky barking out something about “party of the year, boys!” J-Roc and T were throwing gang signs in the air like you’d just signed a record deal. Even Bubbles clapped his hands together, his glasses sliding down his nose.
Julian, though? He just sat back, nursing his rum and coke, fighting the smile creeping up his face. He always loved this about you, how you could walk into a room, or a whole damn park, and not flinch when every eye turned your way. You thrived on it. Show-off to the core, yeah, but Christ, you always backed it up. You owned it. And no matter how many years had passed, you still had him just as hooked.
“Now I know we’re all wondering…” you paused, leaning into the mic with a sly grin, “why the fuck am I back?”
The crowd roared, Ricky shouting, “Yeah, spill it! We need the intel!” Cory and Jacob were nodding so hard you thought their necks might snap.
Julian’s jaw worked as he watched you scan the crowd, soaking up the attention like it was nothing. He told himself it was just amusement twisting in his gut. But deep down, he knew better. It was that same old ache, no the one that came every damn time you reminded him how magnetic you were.
And worse? How much he wanted you close enough that nobody else in Sunnyvale could touch what he saw was his.
“Well,” you said, dragging the word out as you held the mic aloft, your grin wicked. Then you lifted your hand, wiggling your fingers so the lights caught the diamond flashing on your ring finger.
The crowd oohed like you’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
“I,” you announced, sliding it off with exaggerated slowness, “am getting divorced!” You shoved the ring deep into your pocket like it was trash. “Fuck that motherfucker!”
The park erupted. Ricky whooped like a wolf at the moon. J-Roc and T hollered “ayyyy divooorce party!” like it was a mixtape drop. Even Bubbles clapped, shouting over the noise, “Good riddance! Guy was an asshole anyway!”
Julian… he just sat there, smirking into his glass, the ice clinking as he took a long, slow sip. The way you tossed that ring away without a shred of hesitation, not an ounce of sadness, it lit something sharp and satisfied in his chest. Christ, he was glad to see it. Gladder still to have you here, back where you belonged.
Ricky clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to slosh the ice in Julian’s glass. “There you go, buddy,” he snickered, eyes bright with mischief.
Julian shot him a side glance, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, yeah. Shut up, Rick.” His tone was flat, practiced, like this was nothing, like he wasn’t buzzing with the urge to drag you off stage that second.
Ricky wandered off, already distracted by someone waving a joint, and Julian’s gaze slid right back to you. He couldn’t help it. Wouldn’t, even if he could.
There you were, laughing into the mic, owning the crowd without breaking a sweat. Every time you moved, the whole park leaned with you. And Julian… he just sat there, glass heavy in his hand, jaw tight.
Christ, he wanted you. Wanted to haul you off stage, kick the rest of Sunnyvale to the curb, and keep you all to himself. Just you and him. No audience. No noise. Just what he’d been missing all these years.
You slid off the stage, grin wide, still buzzing from the crowd’s cheers. When you dropped into the chair beside him, Julian already had a joint waiting between his fingers. No words, just the offer. You took it, lips brushing the paper as you pulled in deep, smoke curling up into the night air.
Julian sat close, so close he could probably smell whatever cherry lip gloss you had on. His eyes stayed on you, steady, unreadable, as he finally broke the silence.
“How come you didn’t mention you and Pretty Boy were separated?” His tone was cool, measured, but there was an edge under it. Curiosity. Something more.
You waved a hand, exhaling smoke. “Oh, we just decided to go our separate ways. Mutual. Very civil.”
Julian’s brow ticked up, disbelief flashing before he smothered it with a long drag off the joint. He held it in, exhaled slow, face smooth as stone. But his voice carried a thread of bite.
“Yeah, real civil. That’s why a freshly separated woman comes crashin’ back to Sunnyvale and shoves her wedding ring in her pocket like it’s pocket change.”
You shot him a look. “Didn’t throw it away. I’ll pawn it tomorrow.”
He snorted, the sound half laugh, half scoff. He could still picture it, you on stage, sliding that shiny rock off your finger like it was nothing. Christ, it did something to him, seeing you like that, sharp, pissed, free. Sexy as hell.
“Oh, yeah?” He passed the joint back. “Gonna spend it all on hash and booze?”
“Fuck no. I’m not Ricky.” You leaned back in the chair, lips curving as you took another pull. “I just want it gone.”
Julian watched you through the haze, his eyes narrowing like he could see past the smoke, past the bravado. Something sat under your words, unspoken, but he knew better than to push. Not yet.
Instead, he went with the easier target. “Ricky would’ve hocked that rock and blown it in ten minutes flat.”
You laughed, sharp and easy. “On the dumbest shit he could find.”
Julian smirked, glass clinking softly in his hand. “Yeah. Like squirrel traps.”
As the night stretched on, the party only got louder, music thumping, bottles clinking, Ricky yelling about squirrels again from somewhere down the row. You, though, were happily tucked against Julian’s side, warm and tipsy and looser than he’d seen you in years.
He couldn’t get enough of it. The way you laughed too loud at Cory and Jacob’s nonsense, the way your hand kept drifting to his arm, your head eventually settling right on his shoulder like it belonged there.
“I’ve missed this,” you sighed, words slurred just enough to give you away.
Julian’s arm tightened around you, pulling you closer without even thinking about it. He smirked down at you. “Missed what, princess? The booze and the shitty weed?”
You laughed, cheeks flushed, eyes half-closed. “Definitely the shitty weed. Has that… special taste to it, y’know?”
Julian huffed a low chuckle, shaking his head. This wasn’t good weed, it was Ricky’s ragged backyard crop, but you made it sound like vintage champagne. That was the thing about you. You could make anything feel good. Fun. Worth it.
He reached across you for the joint, using the motion as an excuse to pull you practically into his lap. “Yeah,” he murmured, taking a hit before passing it back. “I know exactly what you mean.”
The night air had turned sharp and cold, but Julian barely noticed. Not with you curled up against him like that, your hair brushing his jaw, your laugh bubbling against his chest. Heat coiled in him, the good kind, the dangerous kind. His arms locked around you tighter, and he let it happen. Possessiveness bled into him, slow and heavy. You were his. Always had been. And he’d break someone’s nose for even thinking otherwise.
Eventually, you downed the last of your drink, setting the empty jar on the table with a little wobble. “Well, fellas, laddie friends,” you announced dramatically, “I am off to bed.”
Julian frowned, his arm tightening before you could pull away. The sudden loss of your warmth hit him harder than the booze. He opened his mouth, ready to tell you to stay, to crash in his trailer instead of that cold, busted-up tin can of your mom’s, but Ricky cut in first.
“Aw, come on,” Ricky barked, throwing his hands up. “You’re fuckin’ poopin’ the party! What the fuck you gotta get up for tomorrow, huh?”
Julian’s jaw flexed. For once, Ricky wasn’t wrong. He gave a short nod, agreeing silently. You weren’t walking back alone. You weren’t sleeping in that dump of a trailer, not when he was right here.
Julian was glad it hadn’t taken much convincing. He knew better than anyone, sober you liked to play things careful, but drunk you? That was a whole different beast. He could always count on you to give in eventually.
“Fuck,” you groaned, half-laughing as you gave in. “You guys are making me make bad choices again.”
Julian smirked, hand already hooking your wrist to tug you down onto his chair. You landed in his lap, warm and soft against him, and he didn’t hesitate, arms looping around your waist, locking you in place like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You never did make good choices in the first place,” he said smoothly, and for the first time all night, he didn’t bother hiding how much he liked having you there.
The firelight and Christmas lights strung across the lot caught the faint blush creeping across your cheeks. You tried to brush it off, but Julian saw it, hell, he savored it. For all your bravado, the little flush of pink gave you away.
He’d tried to move on. Christ, he’d tried. Other women, other nights, other distractions. None of it stuck. None of it came close to this, having you back where you belonged, in his arms, looking better than you ever had. It was like the years apart hadn’t even happened. Like you were still his, and maybe you always had been.
“Yeah, like that asshole you shipped off with,” Ricky piped up suddenly, snorting as he reached for another drink. “Not your best decision.”
Julian’s jaw clenched. The mention of your ex was like nails on glass. His arm tightened automatically around your waist, pulling you closer into his chest. The last thing he wanted right now was to think about that piece of shit.
You rolled your eyes and reached up, your hand finding the back of his neck. Your fingers toyed idly with his hair, tugging at the short strands. “Ugh, don’t mention him right now,” you muttered. “You’ll kill the mood.”
Julian’s lips curved into a smug grin he couldn’t fight off. You always did love messing with his hair, and the way your touch sent little jolts down his spine hadn’t changed one bit. His gaze dropped to your hand, then back to your face, eyes dark, hungry, full of all the things he wasn’t ready to say out loud.
“Yeah, Rick,” Julian said finally, his voice low, rough around the edges. “No one wants to hear about that bastard right now.”
And by the way he held you tighter, there was no mistaking what he meant: because she’s here with me.
Your fingers kept brushing through his hair, tugging lightly at the short strands, and Julian swore he could lose his mind right there. His hands wandered without him even thinking about it, big palms dragging slow across your thighs, tracing lazy shapes into your skin like he had every right to touch you wherever he pleased.
He dipped his head, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You smelled like booze, perfume, and faintly like him, the way he wanted you to. His lips ghosted over your skin, light kisses peppered along your throat, then firmer at your collarbone before he worked his way back up, leaving a trail that made it very clear he didn’t want to stop.
“Julian…” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him. “I… I should really get going. I’ve got to unload all my shit tomorrow.”
A low sound rumbled from his chest, half growl, half laugh, but there was nothing playful in his eyes when he looked up at you. They were darker now, sharp with something raw and possessive. His grip on your hip tightened, anchoring you firmly to his lap.
“No,” he said, voice steady but rough. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The way he said it left no room for argument. Not tonight. Not after nearly a decade of missing you, of wondering if he’d ever get another shot at this. There was no way in hell he was letting you walk back to that shitty little trailer when you were right here, warm and smiling and touching him like you used to.
Julian’s gaze stayed locked on your face, studying every flicker of expression. He caught the twitch of a smile you tried to hide, and it only made his chest burn hotter. You weren’t pulling away. You weren’t pushing him off. You were sitting in his lap, playing with his hair, smiling at the way he held you like you belonged there.
And that was all he needed.
Because maybe, just maybe, you remembered what it used to be like too. And maybe, if he didn’t screw this up, there was a second chance waiting for him.
Julian’s grip on your hip tightened, his fingers digging hard enough to leave their mark. His other hand came up to cradle your cheek, thumb dragging slow against your skin while his eyes locked onto yours. Dark. Hungry.
“You’re coming home with me.”
“Julian, no. I’ve got my mom’s trailer. It’s okay—”
A low, frustrated growl rumbled out of him, cutting you off. His hold only clamped down harder, the steel in his voice sharp enough to pin you in place. “I said no. You’re not sleepin’ in that goddamn trailer. Thing doesn’t even have proper heat, no AC. I’m not lettin’ you freeze your ass off in there. You’re comin’ with me tonight.”
The fight in you softened, lips curving as you leaned into his touch. “Fine. Since you’re the boss.”
Julian’s jaw unclenched, and for the first time in hours his grip loosened, though not by much. He let out a breath, relief mixing with the same burn that’d been sitting in his chest all night. His hand slid deeper into your hair, fingers tangling slow, possessive, like he needed proof you were real and here.
“You’re damn right I’m the boss,” he murmured, his voice low and certain, his gaze heavy on you.
The party rumbled on around you, Ricky’s voice loud in the background, Bubbles laughing at some dumb joke, but Julian barely heard it. His mind was already made up. He wanted you out of sight, away from all these prying eyes, locked up in his trailer where nobody else could touch you.
The crowd thinned as the night wore down. One by one, people peeled off toward their trailers, still buzzing from booze and cheap weed. Ricky lingered just long enough to sling an arm around Lucy’s shoulders and announce, way too loud, “Well, I’ll see you fucks tomorrow. Lucy and I are gonna bang.”
You burst out laughing, waving them off. “Good for you, Rick.”
Julian rolled his eyes so hard it nearly hurt. Typical Ricky. He couldn’t care less what those two were about to get up to, his focus was squarely on you, the way your smile lit up your whole damn face under the glow of the porch light. The more he looked, the more his patience frayed. He needed you out of sight, away from all this noise, pressed up against him somewhere private.
“Let’s go too,” you said, rubbing your bare arms with a shiver. “I’m getting a little cold.”
That was all Julian needed. He stood immediately, already steering you up from your chair with a firm hand. “You are cold,” he muttered, wrapping an arm snug around your waist. He pulled you tight into his side, warmth and possession radiating from the simple gesture. “C’mon, princess. Let’s get you back to my trailer where it’s warm.”
You stopped at your car, popping the hatch and bending over to rummage in the backseat. Julian’s eyes dropped before he could stop them. The way your shorts rode up… Christ. His jaw flexed, his grip on your hip tightening instinctively.
He forced himself to look away, staring hard at the gravel like it might save his self-control. But his pulse was hammering, every nerve screaming at him to forget the bag, forget the car, just throw you over his shoulder and haul you straight into his bed.
You straightened up, slinging the black duffel over your shoulder. The smirk you gave him nearly knocked the wind out of him. “Lead the way, Jules.”
Julian didn’t hesitate. His hand found yours, firm, steady, calloused fingers lacing through like it was the most natural thing in the world. He started walking you toward his trailer, his other hand still snug at your waist, guiding you like he owned the right to.
The night air bit cold, but it didn’t matter. Not with you pressed so close.
Julian’s head was a storm of distraction. He could barely keep his stride even, every step weighted with the fight not to stop right there and press you against the nearest wall. His thumb traced lazy circles over your knuckles, a grounding gesture, though the heat in his chest was anything but calm. He wanted you under his arm, on his lap, sprawled across his bed, anywhere, so long as it meant he could finally have you without an audience.
When you leaned into him, bag bumping lightly against your thigh with every step, Julian’s jaw tightened. Christ, he’d waited too long for this. Too many years, too many nights spent with the wrong women trying to forget the only one he couldn’t. And now here you were, drunk, beautiful, pliant in his grip.
“You’re awful quiet,” you teased, tilting your head up at him.
Julian gave a low hum, his mouth curving into that half-smirk you remembered too well. “Tryin’ not to drag you inside like a caveman, princess. Don’t test me.”
Stepping into the trailer, you took in the place with a slow sweep of your gaze. The air smelled like bourbon and cigarettes, underscored by the low hum of a classic rock station bleeding from an old radio. Faded photos, vintage album covers, and a few random knick-knacks lined the walls, worn, mismatched, but it all fit him. Rugged. Broken in. Pure Julian.
The door clicked shut behind you. Julian slipped the bag off your shoulder before you could argue and tossed it by the couch without a second thought. He sank into the sofa with his glass in hand, then patted the cushion beside him with a look that wasn’t really a suggestion.
You sat down, and for a moment the only sound was the steady tick of the ice in his glass. Julian’s eyes raked over you slowly, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to take you in. He set the drink down on the table, his hand lingering there before he leaned back, gaze fixed on you.
Christ, he’d been patient long enough.
“You don’t even fuckin’ know,” he said finally, voice low, rough around the edges. “How much I missed you.”
The words weren’t rehearsed. They just came out, plain and raw, like he couldn’t hold them back anymore.
The years seemed to peel away in an instant, memories of late nights, reckless crushes, and every little favor you’d ever done for him flooding back all at once. Your chest tightened with a mix of warmth and regret, the kind that came from thinking about roads not taken.
“Sometimes,” you admitted quietly, the words tasting bittersweet as they left your mouth, “I think I should’ve married you instead.”
Julian’s eyes flickered wide, just for a beat, like your words had knocked the air out of him. He’d thought about it more times than he could count, what it would’ve been like if you’d chosen him back then. And now, with you sitting right here, admitting it out loud? It lit something in him he couldn’t put back out.
He reached up, cupping your chin with surprising gentleness, his thumb brushing along your jaw. He leaned in close, his voice low, like it was meant for you alone.
“Always wanted to kiss you,” he murmured, eyes fixed on your mouth like it was the only thing in the world worth looking at.
Your lips curved into a daring little smile, the kind that had always driven him half-crazy. “Try it. You might like it.”
His breath hitched, and for the first time all night, Julian let himself drop the act. His eyes darkened, his voice rough.
“Oh, I know I’ll fuckin’ like it.”
The second Julian’s mouth met yours, it was like a fuse blowing. Electricity shot straight through you, the kind that made your chest tight and your pulse pound in your ears. At first, he kissed you slow, deliberate, like he was tasting every second he’d missed. But the second your lips parted and his tongue brushed against yours, restraint was gone.
One broad hand cupped the back of your head, holding you steady, while the other slipped around your waist and hauled you flush against him. His body was heat and solid muscle, pressing you into the old couch cushions until they sagged beneath you.
He shifted with ease, sliding between your legs like it was where he belonged, his weight settling over you, his mouth moving with more hunger, more certainty. His hands roamed, up your ribs, down your thighs, like he’d been starving for the feel of you and couldn’t decide where to start.
When he finally tore himself from your lips, his forehead pressed to yours, his voice came out rough, lower than you’d ever heard it.
“I’ve wanted you forever,” he rasped, eyes locked on yours, his chest rising and falling hard.
Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him even closer, your grin crooked. “Then stop wasting your time, Swazey.”
That earned a laugh out of him, deep, warm, and disbelieving. He shook his head, a grin cutting sharp across his face, his eyes glittering with something between affection and heat.
“Stop wasting my time, huh?” he echoed, his voice teasing, though his grip never loosened. “Alright, princess. Fine.”
And before you could quip back, he crushed his mouth to yours again, harder, hungrier. This time there was nothing tentative about it, no hesitation left. Just years of want finally crashing down in one long, desperate kiss.
Between breaths, his words ghosted against your lips, rough and certain.
The couch springs squeaked under your back as Julian pushed you down, looming over you with that dark, hungry look in his eyes. His voice came out low, rough as gravel.
“You’re still legally married, aren’t you?”
The words made your breath hitch. You nodded, nerves skittering up your spine. “But we don’t have to if you don’t—”
Julian cut you off with his mouth, kissing you hard enough to steal the rest of the sentence. His lips dragged over yours, hot and firm. When he finally pulled back, his growl vibrated against your skin.
“Oh, fuck no. I hate that prick. Just wanted to make sure I can tell him I banged his wife.”
Your laugh melted into a moan as his hands slipped beneath your shirt, rough fingers finding lace. In one practiced motion, he unhooked your bra and tugged your shirt up, baring you to him. His mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard before teasing circles with his tongue. The scrape of his stubble had your whole body sparking.
“Julian—” your voice cracked as his hand slid lower, slipping under the waistband of your shorts. His fingers traced you through the damp fabric of your panties, the pressure making your back arch off the couch.
“Fuck, you’re wet already,” he muttered against your chest.
Your head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut as he rubbed you just right, heat pooling low in your stomach. “I need you,” you panted, clutching at his shoulders. “Inside me. Now.”
That was all the invitation he needed. He yanked your shorts down in one swift motion, tossing them aside, his own pants following with a clumsy kick. His cock was thick, flushed, glistening at the tip as he settled between your thighs.
He dragged the head against your slick entrance, groaning as you bucked toward him. “Been waitin’ years for this,” he growled.
“Then stop waiting,” you gasped. “Fuck me, Julian.”
And with one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt. Both of you moaned, your walls clenching tight around him as he filled you.
“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, rolling his hips. “This pussy’s even better than I remember.”
He set a brutal rhythm, hips snapping against yours, the couch creaking beneath the force. His grip tightened on your thighs, fingers leaving marks, as he drove into you again and again, hitting deep enough to steal your breath.
“Fuck, Jules,” you cried, nails digging into his back. Every stroke had you closer, your body wound so tight you thought you’d snap.
“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, fucking you harder. “Come on my cock. Been dreamin’ about this for years. Give it to me.”
Your orgasm ripped through you, white-hot and blinding. You screamed his name, clenching down on him, your body trembling as waves of pleasure tore through you.
Julian didn’t stop, thrusting through your climax until his own release hit. His groan was guttural, head tipping back as he emptied inside you, his cock twitching deep, filling you with every hot pulse.
When it was over, he collapsed against you, breath ragged, sweat dampening his hair. For a long moment, the only sound was your pounding hearts and the lazy crackle of classic rock still playing faintly from the radio.
Julian lifted his head, brushing damp strands of hair from your face with surprising gentleness. His gaze softened, even as his smirk lingered. “I’ve wanted you for so long. Tell me this ain’t just a one-night deal.”
You smiled, lips curving with mischief as you pulled him back down for another kiss. “I’m not going anywhere, Jules. Sunnyvale’s home now.”
That was all he needed. He kissed you slow this time, tasting the promise on your tongue. For the first time in years, Julian knew he wasn’t gonna let you slip away again.
