YO QUISIERA - JASON TODD
tw ⭒ jason todd x fem!reader, john constantine's sidekick!reader, swearing, jealousy and that's it, this is mostly fluff with best friend jason based on guess what??? ANOTHER SONG, yo quisiera by reik
a/n ⭒ do you have an idea of how of a sucker i am for jay????? this is just, i need this please show some love. reblogs and comments are appreciated and each one gets you a kiss on your forehead and a warm hug and yeah, i mentioned mbv because it has jensen ackles and he's my man <3
have you ever heard about not being able to decide who you love? well, jason has heard enough of that bullshit and he was sick of it.
it all started the day bruce brought back with him the man that the bat-kids could consider their weird uncle, john constantine and he showed up with a girl that was about jason's age. she walked swaying her hips a little too much and wore a smirk on her lips that made him a mix between upset and fascinated, there was also that white button-up shirt with the black trousers which made her look like a mini-me of the obnoxious sorcerer if only she wore also a trenchcoat and a red tie.
his first claim, after your first meeting, was that he didn't liked you "she speaks like she has all the right in the world" he said, voice gruffy and body a little too tense when dick asked him what he thought about you "she thinks she's funny but she's fucking annoying" and that makes dick chuckle.
"i think she's funny and smart, maybe you should try and spend some more time with y/n" dick tells him with a shrug before he leaves jason with his thoughts. there was no way on earth he'll get along with you.
but thruth be told, you were a little more giddy and nice that anyone could ever say constantine was and that made jason a bit less avoidant when it came to the times you were around the batcave and let's say that he just happened to get used to you, that's how he finds a new friend that he never thought would really understand him but he was mistaken.
since all of this it's been two years, it took jason a while to open himself up to you while you were maybe a bit of an oversharer but jason enjoys listening to your rambles, it's been so easy for him to accept you into his space in a way that's been noticeable to everyone around, not that they say anything because there are things that need to happen.
but what makes everyone tease him when they notice is how he seems to turn into a giddy kid whenever you're close, there's always a nice aura around you both but there are times he would be walking behind you like an overexcited puppy, following you from a corner to another because he needs to know what you need even if it's just a hug.
for dick that's just so funny, because he does remembers how annoying jason said you were and now he barely accepts going on patrol with anyone but you as his partner "thought you said y/n was annoying, you spend too much time with her for someone who you can't stand" he starts as soon as he steps next to jason and it causes him to grunt.
"she's annoying but she's my friend" jason says, shrugging it off before walking away to start his shift with dick as his partner "and what if i spend too much time with her? that's what friends do" the way he gets all defensive amuses dick and makes him giggle.
"sure thing, birdie boy" the nickname earns him a death stare from jason because that's just one of the ways you call him and if jason has to be honest he loves it but only when it comes from you "friends are running behind their friends like a lost puppy and looking at their friend like they hung the moon and the stars on the night sky"
"shut your mouth, grayson, she's my friend"
and yes, you're best friends but that doesn't mean he's not dealing with a big crush on you and he tries hard to hide it. maybe it works with you because you've never been wise enough with those things but there are things you can't hide from a family of damn detectives and the way he looked at you, how he spoke about you and the big amount of time he spent with you, yeah even bruce was aware.
jason had to deal with their knowing looks, the not so subtle glances they gave him as soon as you stood next to him because he was afraid that you could notice and that his feelings could ruin your friendship. it was sad having you so close yet not being able to do anything about it, he could hold his love if it meant you would be by his side even if he would have to see you around anyone else.
he wanted to be the one for you; he wanted to be reason of your nerves and smiles, he wanted to be the guy who would keep you awake until late just to talk a little bit more so then you could wake up feeling so eager to see him. jason wanted to be the guy you loved the most.
but instead he was your best friend, a shoulder to cry on and the first person you would always ask for advice before a date, which was the situation today. three days before valentine's day.
"and how am i supposed to know if he really likes me? i mean, he's nice but that can't be all" you start once you sit by his side, looking at jason with a small frown and your tone sounds so frustrated he sighs.
the question itself makes his breath catch because if he's not careful he could be giving himself away, letting you know how he feels about you and that is something he can't let happen.
"how am i supposed to know? i don't even know the guy" he replies with a low scoff, but truth be told he knows who the guy is and he also knows that he isn't worthy for you and it had been proven when he cancelled your date "but if he cancelled your date he might not be really interested"
"jay, i'm being serious! it's there something wrong with me?" you sink a little into the couch, arms crossed and a small pool of tears now forming on your eyes "why can't i have one single chance? why isn't there a single guy that really likes me?"
the only thing left for him on these situations is to lean in and drap one of his arms around your shoulder and he does, pulling you closer so you can cuddle yourself up into his side while he kisses the top of your head and bites his tongue so he holds back his words.
"life is pretty shitty, isn't it? i'm pretty sure the right person will show up eventually" he says softly, jason caresses your side while he coos you and there's a second when he swears he has a chance because you look up at him in a way that sends his stomach to do backflips.
he feels so damn jealous, you've been telling him about your dates and the guys that you hang out with and he wishes it was him instead. that he could be able to call you his, to kiss you and hold you, call you his girlfriend and have you all for him. he knows that's not even possible, he knows he can't indulge himself such a pleasure.
"i wish all guys were half as nice as you are, jaybirdie" your words are enough to make his face go as red as his helmet but he just pushes his feelings away again.
she's just being nice, you stupid asshole he tells himself as a dry chuckle leaves his chest mixed with an annoyed grunt "you don't want a guy like me, sweetheart, i'm sure as hell" he says in a whisper that you seem to ignore and he knows that it's better that way.
"now... i have no valentine's date so" he listens to your words and there's a voice on his head that tells him that this is his opportunity to get you a nice gift, to win you over but that's only possible on his dreams "would you be my valentine?" you asks, eyes still teary but there's a small smile on your lips and he wants to scream yes, he's about to answer when cass comes into the room.
funny enough to tell that cass is the only one of his sibblings that really knows from the source that jason is into you and they've both tried to find out if you have feelings for him and you do, cass knows and she has told him but he refuses to believe it. life isn't that good for him.
"ew, no" he says, his hand nudding your head lightly and he misses the quick glint of sadness on your eyes but cass doesn't and she coughs while giving jason a knowing look as soon as his eyes meet hers "why would i date my loser best friend for valentine's?"
rejection hurts and even when it felt like you were asking him as your second option thruth was that you've been scared enough to make any move. because this was special enough for you to want to be the one to actually court him, making him feel wanted and needed because he was important for you way beyond the friendship.
"yeah, no" you nod as you sit straight, clearing your throat to get rid of the knot that was starting to mess your voice up "it would be really lame, sorry. you must have plans already just for me to ruin them"
the sudden change on your attitude weirds jason out and it also scares him, did he messed up? yeah, he did he manages to think with the glare he receives from cass. sitting straight too, reaching her arm again to pull her back into his embrace.
"i hate valentine's, you know i have no plans at all" he says softly, trying to get you to look at him "but i can make an exception for you, what were you thinking for us to do?" jason asks, leaning in to kiss your temple.
"i was thinking we could watch a movie, you know..." you start, maybe a little less excited that he would wanted you to be and he nods with a small smile, his mind running with possible ideas until he remembers one of those movies with one of your favorite actors.
"my bloody valentine?" jason suggests, looking at you with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on his lips that made your heart jump. this was exactly the kind of things jason never gave himself credit for, he may not be perfect but even with every flaw he could possibly have he was there, trying to be better for those who deserved to be loved.
it was set, you left after a few minutes of discussion on what to bring to your valentine's movie night. as soon as you were gone cass came up to him and the way she stood right in front with her hands on her hips made him guess what she was about to say.
"i know i almost fucked up" jason starts, hands on his face as he grunts "but i just- how do you expect me to believe she really likes me?" he asks on the edge of losing it.
"jason, she's being so transparent about it" cass says, she sounds tired and maybe she is, this isn't the first time she's said this to her little brother "you're not the only one that's chasing after her all the time, she's also doing the same and you're just too hard headed to accept it"
those words play on his head on repeat until the time you're out of his room, hands holding a couple of bags with food and also a small gift you brought him. it doesn't matter how the night ends, you wanted to give him something special. jason opens the door of his room, a big and warm smile as he sees your face and his heartbeat grows faster.
he lets you into his dorm, letting you sit on his bed with your back leaned against the headboard and he drops to the matress, his head resting on your lap while you play the movie and everything is nice, you both laugh at the cranky 3D effects that are just so weird on a common screen, he teases you whenever tom hanniger appears on the screen and chuckles when you giggle.
he eats a little distracted, feeling so at ease when your fingers brush through his hair and he stops watching the movie to look up at you, all the happiness he felt being replaced by a wave of doubt, he wanted to accept the idea of you liking him back but his mind was always ready to mess it up.
jason isn't aware of the low grunt he lets out, sound that brings you to pause the movie to look down at him with a worried expression because you wouldn't want him to be wasting his time on something he didn't wanted to do. he feels your gaze on him, eyes fixed on his face and he turns to watch the screen.
"what's going on, red?" the nickname slips, it isn't so often you call him like that but right now it just seemed fair when his cheeks blush a little "is there something wrong?" and the soft voice you use makes jason want to cry.
if only you knew how bad he wanted to tell you, he was dying to let you know how much he wanted to kiss you and have you all for him.
"if i tell you something you promise me we will continue to be friends?" jason asks, it slipped and he wants to tell you to forget it but he knows it's too late when you tilt your head before nodding "i just... is it weird if i told you i wish i was the reason you wake up all giddy? is it bad if i told you i wanted to be the guy you cry over? that you really felt something else for me? i'm just dying to tell you so many things but i'm afraid you don't feel the same, i'm afraid to tell you i want you to be in love with me and lose you, that the only way to see you then is on my dreams"
with each word he says your cheeks burn a little more, your heart is about to burst when he stops speaking. jason is looking at you, waiting for a response and he grows anxious when you don't speak right away, he shifts about to stand up when you stop him.
"who says you're not already the guy i've cried for?" your voice is soft and he can't bring himself to believe his ears "i mean... i can believe you don't think about it but how couldn't i? when i told you i wished any other guy was like you i meant it... i thought you didn't felt anything else for me"
you want to keep talking, keep on telling him everything you've felt for him but your words are hushed by his lips on your.
jason is kissing your lips, his touch so tender on your face while his hands cup your face like you could break or vanish at any second. the movie was still paused and who could care about a hot masked killer when jason was reciprocating your feelings?
"do you mean it?" his voice is low, almost a whisper as he speaks after breaking the kiss without putting much distance between your faces, lips still brushing as he looks into your eyes.
"i mean it, red" and your words, mixed with that cute giggle of yours made his heart melt "i like you. i love you" you whisper with your eyes closed and jason feels like he's in heaven.
"i love you too, sweetheart"
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Crush On You
no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader
Hungry Hearts masterlist
The summer of '86, a season of love, record-breaking heat, and evening softball games in one Austin neighborhood. What happens when seventeen years later, that lost love comes back around?
warnings | 18+ cursing, smut, young joel is a goddamn menace
wordcount | 9K
a/n | hi folks, i come bearing part two of my hungry hearts series. she's long, okay? i'm sorry, the spirit of young joel possessed me what can i say. hope y'all enjoy this one, come tell me what you think in my inbox! also much love, much thanks to my trenchcoat brother @northernbluess for beta-reading this baby - love you, cousin
.....................................
“Well, well, look who has graced us with her presence. How’d you scare her out of hiding, Miller?”
“Oh, you know, black mail, extortion, a cattle prod.” Her scowl is lost on the pair as Mikey Donahue pulls Joel into a hug that’s more of a gruff back slap than anything else before promptly putting a beer in his hand. Meanwhile, she’s already regretting her decision to come along, trying to temper her grimace when Mikey hooks his arm around her shoulders to crush her into his side, grinning big and boozy down at her.
“Good to see you, big city. College suits you.” She has to laugh, seeing as Mikey didn’t have the time of day for her in high school and now he seems to be all too intent on laying the charm on thick.
“Thanks, Mikey, that’s real, uh, kind of you.” Before Mikey can reply with what she’s sure would be an equally charming remark, Joel curls his fingers in the neck of his t-shirt to pry him away from her, steering him further into the house.
“Alright, Mike, don’t scare her off, I just got her in the door. C’mon, man, I was promised a keg stand here.” All she gets from Joel is one more glance over his shoulder before she has been left entirely alone in a sea of her old classmates, with quite literally no escape route, considering she drove here in Joel’s rusted-out pick-up truck.
She fields a few polite hellos, trying her best to move through the house as unnoticed as possible to get to the backyard and away from the smell of sweat and socially anxious bodies. Mercifully, there’s only a few people outside, couples all tangled up and people smoking around the edge of the pool. She forgot Mikey Donahue had a pool, though she supposes his parents were always notorious for their money and how visible they made it.
This wasn’t her scene in high school, and it certainly isn’t now. Honestly, she’s not sure why she agreed to go with Joel in the first place. Oh yeah, Lisa-Anne. She kind of wishes she let Lisa-Anne have this one.
“Hey, big city, there you are!” Mikey again, this time with no Joel to wrangle him off and away from her. He really is the quintessential all-american boy, home from some expensive east coast school that she can’t remember the name of, the whole blonde and blue eye thing, floppy and smiley like a well-bred golden retriever. She isn’t quite sure where this sudden chumminess with her has come from, they certainly didn’t run in the same circles as teenagers. But there isn’t much room to ponder it when he has once again slung his arm around her, his face so close to hers that she can smell the pabst blue ribbon he probably just tossed back.
“Remind me what you’re studying all the way up in Chicago?” She knows for a fact that drunk Mikey has a temper, like, punching holes in the walls of his parents’ basement temper, so she makes no move to push him away, though she’d really like nothing more right now, trying and failing to create even an inch more of distance between them. Mikey doesn’t like that, dropping his arm to sling low around her waist, his fingers brushing against the bare skin between her jean shorts and where the fabric of her t-shirt has rucked up.
“I’m studying English.” It comes out smaller and quieter than she would like it to, her throat tightening with something like panic at Mikey’s continued advancements. On his part, Mikey seems to find the whole thing amusing, tossing his head back in a hard laugh.
“That’s right, always a little bookworm, weren’t you? Tell me this, what the hell can you even do with an English degree, big city?”
“You can do a lot of things with an English degree, Mike.” She’s just pissed off enough to finally yank out of his grip, sending him stumbling a few feet back, though he’s quick to recover with a laugh that sounds a little less friendly.
“I know it’s been a while since you’ve been home, big city, so I’m gonna do you a favor and pretend like that was just an accident.”
“Hey, Mike, where’d you go, man?” She’s never been so happy to hear Joel’s voice in her life, she thinks, taking one more subtle step back as he sidles up next to Mikey and slings his arm around his shoulders. The light from inside the house casts shadows over Joel’s forearm where it’s draped against Mikey’s chest, and she can see the tendons jumping there from how hard he’s holding onto him, though it otherwise looks like a friendly embrace.
“Was just catching up with that one, Miller, so you can fuck right off, thanks.” And there it is. She feels herself wince with the bite of Mikey’s words, though Joel stays completely calm, a placid and altogether unsettling smile quirking up his mouth.
“I think you’ve had enough to drink, man. Why don’t you leave the nice girl alone and go sleep it off before you do something you’re gonna regret?” She should probably do something other than stand there and stare at what is probably, definitely about to become a bad scene, a small crowd starting to form around them already. But she feels frozen where she stands, her eyes darting between Mikey’s sneer, and Joel’s ticking jaw.
“And who’s gonna make me regret it, Miller, huh? You?” Because they are apparently still children, the crowd of people let out a low chorus of ooooh at that. And then for a moment it’s perfectly silent and perfectly still, Joel and Mikey staring each other down in a strange, half-way thing between an embrace and a strangle-hold. But by the time she blinks again, the both of them have swung, Mikey missing and Joel making clipped contact with the side of Mikey’s jaw. It’s just enough to send Mikey stumbling back and over the edge of the pool, and because he’s still got a fist clenched in Joel’s shirt, he gets yanked in after him.
The crowd is quick to disperse after such a disappointing climax to their little spat, and while Mikey hauls himself out of the pool on the other side like a drowned cat, she finds herself offering out her hand to an equally sodden Joel. He drips all over her sneakers when he gets out, his flannel clinging to his torso, damp and darkened, something she tries not to pay too much attention to.
“You okay?”
“I’m not the one who just fell into a pool.” He drags a hand through his hair to get it slicked back out of his face, water still dripping off the tip of his nose as he looks at her. For a moment, she thinks that he looks small, a slight shiver in his shoulders, his eyes wide and his lashes all stuck together. He looks young, and he’s looking at her and only her.
“I’m fine, Cher, let’s get out of here, huh? This party is dead anyways.” With a quick shake back of his shoulders and a thumb swiped under his nose, that familiar front has already slipped back into place. But she’s fine with it if it means they’re going to get out of this place, letting Joel lead the barreling way back through the house, his sneakers squeaking and squelching with every step. And even though he looks ridiculous, dripping all over the hardwood floors of Mikey’s parents’ house, he keeps his chin tilted up like he owns the place and his shoulders squared off as broad as his leanness will allow, easily parting a path for them through the crowd and out onto the front lawn.
Neither of them speak when they get into the car, leaving the radio off as the engine splutters to life and they start winding their way back out of the wealthy neighborhood. She wants to say something, to thank him, to ask him if he’s sure that he’s okay, but she can’t find the right words, twisting her hands in her lap and watching the way the truck’s headlights spill out over the road.
“So you’re really going for it out in Chicago?” His voice breaking the silence startles her out of her simmering mind, and when she glances over at him, he only offers her a quick side sweep of his eyes before he focuses back on the road.
“You said you’re studying English?” He heard that? How long was he watching her and Mikey?
“Oh, um, yeah, yes.” She keeps her focus on the knuckles of his hand draped over the top of the steering wheel, a subtle tension and flexion to his grip.
“Gonna be a big shot writer, right? That was always your dream, wasn’t it?”
“When I was a kid, yeah. I don’t know, I’ll probably end up teaching, though I think my parents expect me to just wind up married and pregnant by the end of it anyways.” He snorts at that, shaking his head though he keeps his eyes on the road.
“You were always writing stories, Cherry.”
“Uh-huh.” Honestly, she’s surprised he held onto that fact, the ratty composition books she carried around everywhere as a child, and well into her teens too.
“Ever write one about me?”
“Oh, sure.”
“Wait, really?” His eyes finally dart over to her, eyebrows shot up his forehead and she has to bite back a laugh.
“Yeah, it was about your astonishing humility and non-existent ego.” She can barely get it out with a straight face, already dissolving into another laugh as Joel rolls his eyes at her dig.
“Alright, alright, guess I walked into that one.” They’ve just pulled up in front of her house, Joel flicking off the headlights so her parents don’t notice. For once, she’s in no hurry to get away from him, an honestly foreign feeling as they sit in his truck. He’s still soaking wet, his hair starting to stick up every which way from how it’s drying, though he seems perfectly content to keep staring at her, something like a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“You don’t like being home very much, do you, Cherry?”
“I really don’t, no.” She says it on a long sigh, no idea why she’s inclined to be honest with him like that.
“How come?”
“I feel like no one takes me seriously down here.”
“I do.”
“Joel.”
“What? I do.”
“How can that possibly be true when you still call me a name that came from me snorting soda out of my nose?”
“Okay, maybe originally it came from that, but that’s not why I call you it now, not really.”
“Please enlighten me then, why do you call me that?” His brow furrows for a moment, like he’s choosing his words carefully, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he finally answers.
“Because– because I just do, okay? But I do take you seriously, for the record.” She leans her head back on the seatrest, tilting her chin to look at him where he has his arm hanging over the steering wheel, his full body leaning and twisting toward her.
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh, and I’m gonna want a signed copy of your first book.”
“Oh please.”
“I’m dead serious, Cher. I probably won’t read it, but I reckon it’ll be worth something when you get all famous and shit.”
“Lovely, Joel, thanks so much for that.” He shrugs, though his gaze stays steady with hers, and it happens again, that softening around the edges, that kid she remembers. And again, it’s gone in a flash, Joel suddenly leaning toward her in an unexpected way. And, well, she reacts before she can really think.
“Jesus! What the fuck, Cher?” He has bodily recoiled from her back into the driver’s side, his palm cupping his cheek where she just landed a hard smack with the flat of her hand.
“Me what the fuck? You what the fuck? What the hell was that, Joel?”
“I don’t– I thought we were having a– a nice moment!” She goes to open the passenger side door, but Joel is quick to reach over and shut it again like a petulant child, eliciting a bitter laugh from her.
“We were until you pulled that shit. I’m not one of your little housewives that you can do whatever you want with.” This time, he doesn’t try to stop her when she clambers out of the truck, though he isn’t quite finished yet.
“Oh c’mon, Cherry! This ain’t playing fair!” She quickly shushes him before he starts to wake up half the neighborhood with his exclamations, only staying close enough to the car so she can whisper yell back at him.
“I’m not playing, Joel. Do me a favor and just stay away from me, why don’t you?”
…
While Sarah may not be the strongest batter, which is okay because Joel is working with her on it most afternoons, she makes for a mean third baseman, though part of him secretly wishes she played shortstop more often. And though he’s usually busy shouting reminders and tips at her from the bleachers, Joel is a bit preoccupied today watching something else, or someone else is more like it.
He’s never been so pissed at chain link fencing in his life for obscuring his view of her, standing in front of the bleachers with her arms crossed and her hip cocked out as she watches the game from behind sunglasses and a ball cap. But he’s also never been more grateful for the Austin swelter because it means that she’s in a tank top and jean shorts, and he’s pretty sure his mind is starting to short-circuit because it looks to him like Cherry picked up some tattoos in the last seventeen years. He can’t tell what they are from this distance, something wrapped over her right shoulder and down her bicep, and, fuck him, something on the top of her right thigh. So maybe he’s craning his neck a little to try to make out what the ink is, and maybe he should be paying more attention to the game, because when there’s suddenly some sort of scuffle on the field between the umpire and one of Sarah’s coaches, he has no clue what he missed.
“That was an out, are you kidding me? She tagged her!” He’s sitting close enough to third that he’s pretty sure it’s Ellie, at least he thinks that was her name, who the umpire and the coach are arguing over whether Sarah got her out or not before she stepped on third. Yeah, definitely Ellie, because here comes Cherry from the bleachers on the other side.
“Her foot was on the base when she tagged her, that wasn’t an out!” The umpire looks at Cherry with an amount of exasperation that tells Joel they’ve interacted before. Cherry, meanwhile, has her cap off and her sunglasses slanted down her nose to look at the ump with all the kindness of a parole officer.
“Ma’am please let us handle this and return to the bleachers.” He’s not sure why he decides to get involved, it’s not like he actually saw what happened. But the combination of it being Sarah who either did or didn’t get Ellie out and his own small desire to get a little closer to Cherry, regardless of the context, has him up off the bleachers and hooking his fingers through the chain link fence.
“I’m pretty sure it was an out, I had a better view of it than you did, Cher.” Judging by the way she scoffs and shakes her head, he probably shouldn’t have called her that, though there isn’t much time to ponder that when she’s walking over to him and getting as up in his face as she can with the thin mesh of chain link separating them.
“Don’t Cher me, Joel.”
“Mom, please, it’s fine, I’m pretty sure she got me before I tagged up.” Ellie and Sarah both look pretty ready for this situation to be over, huffing and rolling their eyes at their parents’ strange display.
“Els, you are not out, okay? You’re gonna stay on third and the game is gonna get going again–”
“Always were a sore loser.” It just slips out, and it isn’t even true. He was the sore loser, and he knows it, and judging by the way Cherry whips back around to glare at him, he has just incurred her admittedly deserved wrath.
“Oh, that is real rich coming from you, Joel Miller, you are–”
“Alright, folks, we don’t have time for this and I’m going to have to ask you both to wait in the parking lot while we finish this game.”
“What?” They say it at nearly the same time to the umpire, who just shakes his head at them and points toward the parking lot next to the ball field.
“Both of you, out of here, or I’m going to disqualify both of your girls from playing.” Well, really no arguing with that, especially not when Sarah and Ellie are giving them both pleading looks from behind the umpire. Cherry doesn’t give him another look, simply mutters an apology to the umpire before heading off toward the parking lot. And all he can do is sheepishly follow behind her with his own apology and a gruff play well offered to Sarah who just rolls her eyes at him.
No, not exactly what he had in mind for their second meeting.
He probably shouldn’t, but since he already seems to be playing the fool, he figures he doesn’t have much to lose in approaching her where she’s sitting in the popped-open trunk of her minivan, her sunglasses pushed up to the crown of her head and her legs swinging idly over the lip of the trunk.
“I’m, uh, sorry about all that.” Her eyebrows raise, a weary look that makes something hot and slippery curl in his gut, a little bashful under her gaze.
“I am too, I guess. They probably shouldn’t let us on the field together, huh?” Her words crack a bit dryly with the curl of her smile, instant relief washing over him in mirroring her expression.
“No, I reckon not.” She doesn’t say anything more, just scoots her hips to one side and pats the space next to her, an invitation he tries not to seem so eager to take as he sits down beside her. Close enough now that he can get a better look at the tattoo on her arm and her thigh. Something beating hard in his chest and tightening up his throat when he realizes that it’s a bouquet of chrysanthemums etched into her thigh. And on her arm, spiraling over her bicep and across her shoulder is a branch of a cherry tree.
…
There’s no other option on a Sunday. She wishes more than anything that there was, but she knows that everywhere else is closed.
“Thatcher’s auto and towing, how can I help you?” She hasn’t spoken to him in two weeks, not since that night they went to Mikey Donahue’s party. She even started picking Will up herself for dinner to avoid having him anywhere near her, pointedly ignoring the his shouts of her name from the ball field whenever she does. So hearing his voice gives her pause, and she nearly hangs the payphone back up, but she really has no other option right now.
“Uh, hi, my car broke down and I need to get it towed.”
“Cherry?”
“Um, yes?” There’s a long pause on the other end, though she’s pretty sure she can hear him let out a deep sigh.
“Shit, okay, where are you?”
“I’m out by the new mall, um, I think right off of eighth street? I don’t know what’s wrong with it, honestly it just sort of– gave out on me.”
“Alright, I’ll be there in five, just stay right where you are.”
“Well, I can’t exactly go anywhere else, Joel.” She can hear the sound of something metal clanging around in the background, followed by Joel letting out a low curse.
“Right, yeah, just hang tight.” With that, he hangs up with a quiet click, and all that’s left to do is walk the two blocks back to her car. Technically, it’s her mom’s car, her old station wagon that had been given to her as a graduation gift, dark green with wood paneling and a dent in the back bumper that she has somehow managed to hide from both of her parents for a year now. She gives the car another once over, definitely nothing wrong with her tires, and she’s not even going to pretend like she’d know what’s going on under the hood, so she settles against the side of the car door and bides her time watching the slow trickle of traffic pass by.
It’s the middle of the afternoon, another record-breaking day of heat, she’s pretty sure. At least it feels that way, her eyes set in a perpetual squint under the hard beat of the sun as she swipes at the sweat on her forehead with the back of her wrist. Though mercifully she’s not waiting for long when a truck with the Thatcher’s Auto logo on the side comes pulling up alongside where she had managed to park her car on the shoulder of the road. He hops out of the truck, dressed in a pair of coveralls with the sleeves tied around his waist, a white wife beater on top that’s smeared with grease stains, and she has to remind herself that she’s still pissed at him when his dimple pops with a sheepish smile as he approaches her, tugging the baseball cap off his head to run a hand through his hair before settling his hat on backwards.
“Hey, Cherry, um, how– how have you been?”
“I’ve been better, Joel, considering that my car won’t even start.” Nope, she’s not going to give him anything else, setting her jaw in a hard line and jerking her chin back over her shoulder as if to say get on with it. Joel seems to take the hint, giving her a jerky nod before taking a quick look around her car.
“Well, your tires look fine. Lemme pop the hood and see if it’s anything obvious.” She hopes more than anything that it is something obvious, that she isn’t going to have to drive back to the shop with him, but judging by the way Joel lets the hood close with a shake of his head, she doesn’t think she has gotten so lucky.
“I don’t know, Cher, I think you’re gonna have to come back to the shop with me so I can take a closer look.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to hold back a frustrated groan before she finally looks at Joel again.
“Okay, fine, and how long is that gonna take, do you think?”
“Got a few other cars I have to take care of first, but it shouldn’t be too long. You okay to wait at the shop?”
“I don’t think I have much of a choice, so yeah.” She waits in the cab of the truck while Joel hitches her car up, keeping her eyes flicked down and out of the passenger window when he gets back in.
“You giving me the silent treatment?”
“No, I just don’t have anything to say to you.” She doesn’t look at him as she says it, but she can hear the huff of a sigh he lets out before he cranks the truck into drive. He doesn’t try to talk to her for the rest of the drive, and she keeps her arms crossed pointedly in front of her chest, her whole body angled toward the passenger-side door. However, when they pull into the garage at Thatcher’s and she tries to get out, the lock on her door promptly clicks down and the handle won’t budge.
“Can we just talk for a second, Cher?” She pries the lock back open, but just as soon as she does, Joel clicks it back into place, forcing her to finally glare at him. His brow is furrowed and his knee is bouncing in his seat, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d guess that he’s nervous.
“Fine, what is so important that you have to lock me into your truck like a goddamn serial killer?”
“Wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t being so goddamn stubborn to begin with.” She lets out a clipped bark of laughter at that, once again pulling the lock up on her own to try to get out, and once again, like a deranged comedy act, he clicks it back into place before she can even get her fingers around the handle.
“Joel Miller, I swear to God, if you don’t let me out of this car right now I’m going to scream.”
“I just– just– fuck, Cherry, I’m sorry, okay? I wanted to say that I’m sorry.” That gives her pause. There have been only two other times in her life that Joel has apologized to her. The first time was when they were eight years old, and really, she thinks, it shouldn’t count because his mom forced him to, her hand between his small shoulder blades nudging him forward to say sorry for pulling on her braid from the pew behind her at church and making her cry.
The second time, they were ten. That one does count. She was sitting on the swings at the playground down the street, scribbling in her notebook when a little crew of boys in the grade above her came out of nowhere and started heckling her. Joel showed up on his bike as she was picking up the tattered pages and scraps of what had been the story she was working on in her notebook. She remembers that she was trying really hard not to cry in front of him when he knelt down beside her to help her gather the torn pieces, small hands trying to make it right. He had nothing to be sorry for, but he still said that he was real sorry, Cher, quiet, and sounding much older and wearier than a ten-year-old should. That one counts. But otherwise, those words coming out of his mouth have been non-existent, so she can’t help but fall silent to hear just what he has to say.
“You’re sorry?” He takes off his cap again, setting it down on the dash of the truck and dragging his hand back through his hair, very clearly having to work himself up to saying it again when he finally looks at her.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about what happened after Mikey’s party. I just– I thought that you–”
“Thought that I what? Did you really think I was going to be that easy, Joel?”
“What? No, if you would just let me finish speaking for Christ’s sake, I know that’s kind of difficult for you and your big mouth–”
“Wow, Joel, you really know how to apologize to a girl, huh?” With that, he slams the heel of his hand against the steering wheel, letting out a sharp curse that makes any other smart remarks fizzle out in her throat.
“You know what, Cher? Just forget it. You can go wait in the office and I’ll have your car ready for you as soon as I can.” He finally unlocks the car door, and she’s more than happy to get out and slam it behind her.
“Fine.”
“Yeah, fine.”
…
“So is your wife not a fan of softball?”
“My what?”
“Your wife, does she not like coming to games?” All he can do is laugh for a moment, pure disbelief at her question, and when he finally looks at her again, her brow still furrowed in confusion, he shakes his head with a huff.
“Is that like a funny question or something?” Just a little snap of annoyance behind her words, though he’s quick to respond, holding out his left hand in between them, his decidedly ringless left hand.
“A little bit considering there is no wife.” It’s the middle of the fourth inning from what he can tell, still plenty of time for them to be not allowed on the field, sitting in the back of Cherry’s car.
“Oh, but– was there one? I mean, Sarah’s mom?”
“Uh, no, she’s not in the picture, at all.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. But, uh, what about you? I mean– is Ellie’s– is your, uh–” She cuts off his floundering with a nudge of her shoulder against his, a tight smile on her lips.
“Not in the picture.”
“At all?”
“Never, doesn’t even know Ellie exists.”
“Shit, Cher, that had to have been hard.” She laughs, a clipped sound in the back of her throat as she slides her sunglasses back down onto her nose, keeping her gaze out on the field in front of them. He quickly does the math in his head, pretty sure that Ellie and Sarah are the same age, something heavy and hot settling in his chest when he realizes that she would have only been twenty-two when she had her daughter, just like him. It’s an aching fact, one that his mind starts to swim with, though her voice pulls him out of it quickly.
“It definitely wasn’t easy, but I’d like to think I’ve done alright.”
“I’ll say, it seems like every year there’s a new book of yours in the news for being a bestseller.” She turns to look at him at that, her eyebrows raised and her lips parted before settling into a slight smile.
“Have you read any of them?”
“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” His answer seems to stop her, her face falling behind the darkness of her sunglasses, though she’s quick to catch herself with a breathy humph before turning her eyes back on the field in the distance. He wishes he could tuck those words back in his throat, try that again if only to keep her eyes on him.
“Are your folks still in town?”
“Oh yeah, dinner every Sunday with them still.” She hums, a light sound that curls with her smile, though she still doesn’t look at him.
“That must be nice.”
“I think ma would throw a parade if she knew you were back in town.”
“Oh please.”
“I’m dead serious, Cher.” There, she looks at him again, her smile turning crooked as she nudges her shoulder against his, an easy moment that still makes his heart kick up in his chest.
“And Tommy’s still around? Miller’s Construction, right?” He must have a funny look on his face when she says that because she laughs again, something warm and flushed creeping into her cheeks that makes his mind go a little fritzed.
“I promise I’m not stalking you, I was just looking for someone to come fix some stuff at the new house. Sounds like you two have done well for yourselves.” His mind still hasn’t caught up, still such a strange feeling to have her here in the present, talking about these things in the present, all these normal, very grown up things.
“Uh, yes, yeah, we do alright. Tommy is still a fucking nuisance, but it’s good work. What’re you looking to get done?”
“I think my back porch is all rotted out, nearly put my foot through a plank the other day. Do you have any idea how much it would cost to redo the whole thing?”
“I’d have to come take a look, but I could redo it for you, no problem.” He has already decided how much it will cost. Nothing, not for her, though he knows if he told her that now she’d scoff and get someone else to do it who would accept payment. He’ll save that fact for after it’s finished.
“Alright, is there a number I can call to schedule an appointment?” Oh, oh, he’s not stupid enough to let this opportunity pass him by.
“Why don’t I, uh, give you my number? It’ll be easier that way.” He knows she knows what he’s doing, her lips pursing for a moment as if to consider it, but she still slides her phone out of her back pocket and hands it over to him. He has to think really hard about what his phone number is, typing it in with a small tremor in his hand that only gets worse when he gives her phone back to her with a barely there brush of their fingers.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Maybe, what’s the question?”
“Why’d you come back? I don’t know where you’ve been, Cher, but I can tell you that I never expected you to come back here.” Shit, he shouldn’t have asked that, because she’s not looking at him again, her chin tucking down as her mouth settles in a thin grimace.
“Honestly? I don’t know. We were in Chicago for the longest time, and then New York while I was working on my last two books. And it was great while it was great, you know? But it was just too much after a while, too much for Ellie, and too much for me.” He ducks his head down, trying to catch her gaze now that her sunglasses are pushed back up into her hair.
“So you made it to New York, huh?” That gets him a grin, her eyes crinkling up under her lashes at him.
“Yeah, the big leagues and all that shit.”
“How was it?”
“Lonely. I think I would have lost my mind if I didn’t have Ellie.” His heart twinges and then swells in his chest because he hates to hear that, and is also relieved to hear that, and then he hates himself for being relieved to hear that. That there wasn’t anyone else.
“For what it’s worth, Cherry, I’m real glad to see you back here again.” No, that didn’t come out quite right, and he has to stop himself from physically wincing when she gives him a furrowed look in response.
“I find that a little hard to believe, Joel.”
“Why?”
“Well, we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, did we?” He feels a long sigh leave his lungs, and she’s already hopping out of the trunk and brushing her hands down the front of her shorts as if to shake the conversation off.
“I am sorry, Cher, I–”
“Don’t, Joel. Don’t do that.” She shakes her head hard at him, eyes fierce for a moment before she slips her sunglasses back into place.
“Well I am.”
“Well I don’t want you to be. There’s no need for it when that was such a long time ago.” He wants to say something else, anything, but the tightness in his throat keeps the words stuck and simmering somewhere in his chest. She doesn’t look at him again, murmuring something about the game ending and wanting to help Ellie pack up, and all he can do is dumbly agree, shutting the trunk of her car and walking back toward the field a few paces behind her. Always a few paces behind her, it seems.
…
Joel was full of shit. Something about fixing her car as soon as he could, something about it not taking too long. Yeah, bullshit. She has been sitting in the front office of the auto shop for the last three hours, trying and failing to get some writing done in her notebook amidst the seemingly ceaseless sounds of whirring drills, clanking and crashing metal, and the men in the garage cursing and carrying on amongst themselves. Though some of the sound has died down now that it’s just Joel working, the other men all clocking out at five o’clock. Meanwhile, he hasn’t even gotten to her car yet.
Everytime she glances into the garage, his legs are still sticking out from under a cream-colored mustang. When he does finally pop out from underneath the car, her hopes of getting out of the place soon are quickly dashed as someone pulls up to the gas pumps out front. She knows that car, a convertible in an obnoxious shade of turquoise that could only mean Maureen Henderson. Her daddy got her that car for her sixteenth birthday and she never stopped thinking she was hot shit for it ever since.
She gets up from her cracked vinyl chair in the office to stand at the windows, trying to get a better look at their interaction. Joel is in fine form, of course, leaning down close over the driver’s side door, all grins, all popping gum with his jaw as Maureen rests a perfectly french-tipped set of fingers on his bicep. He must say something really funny for her to toss her head back like that, her teased-out hair bouncing with her tittering laugh. Joel slips around the front of the car, and, really, she thinks, is it so necessary for him to pump Maureen’s gas for her? Can Maureen really not just pump her own gas like a normal person? All a bit outdated, if you ask her. Though Maureen seems perfectly pleased with the whole production, leaning across the passenger’s side and slipping a few folded up bills into the back pocket of Joel’s coveralls while he’s turned away to set the pump back in its holster. How nauseatingly sweet of Maureen, who’s rewarded with another grin and something that must be really fucking funny for her to laugh so loud before she peels away from the shop with one more waggle of her fingers at him. Joel, meanwhile, seems in no hurry to get back to work as he moseys back into the garage, counting the bills that Maureen just tucked into his pocket with a stupid smirk on his face. Yeah, she’s seen quite enough.
“Hey, so I’m just wondering, when you said this wasn’t going to take too long, did you know that you were full of shit? Or is Maureen just that distracting?” Her eyes nearly water when she steps into the garage from the smell of motor oil and burnt rubber, though she’s a little too pissed to worry about that as she walks over to where Joel is rummaging through a tool box next to the mustang.
“Aw, Cherry, don’t tell me you're jealous of little old Maureen.” She would like to smack his smile clean off his face, the only thing stopping her being the fact that she still needs him to fix her car.
“I’m not jealous, Joel. I have been sitting in that office all afternoon watching you do everything except fix my car and I would like to go home now.”
“So you’ve been watching me, huh?”
“Christ, you really are relentless, aren’t you?” She honestly can’t believe he’s already bounced back to his incessant teasing after their little blow up in his truck, poking his tongue into the side of his cheek and squinting at her as she huffs at him.
“Alright, Cher, you’ve waited long enough. I’ll take a look.” She follows close on his heels as he sidles over to her car, popping the hood and ducking his head under to look at the engine.
“Well?” Though she has no clue what he’s looking at, she still leans over the engine next to him, searching his face for any answers.
“Hmm, oh, here’s your problem.” He twists what looks like a loose knob down into the engine, shocking her with how quickly he stands back up with a satisfied smirk on his face.
“That– that’s it?”
“Yep, loose spark plug.”
“And you couldn’t have fixed that earlier on the side of the road?”
“No, I could have, but then you wouldn’t have come and kept me company with your death glare all afternoon.” He can barely get his words out around a laugh. But she is decidedly not laughing. It’s completely impulsive, and maybe childish, but it feels good to shove the flat of both her palms into his chest, making him stumble back against the side of the mustang parked next to her car. And since it felt so good the first time, she decides to do it again, this time with enough force for his laughs to die out with a grunted oof.
“You’re an ass, do you know that? A huge– fucking– ass–” Each word gets punctuated with another shove, though on the last one Joel wraps his hand around her wrists, collecting them both in a tight hold and only pulling her closer against his chest when she tries to yank away from him.
“Let go, Joel.” Their faces are so close to each other’s that she can smell the cinnamon on his breath from that Big Red gum he likes to chew, can even see the freckle tucked between his lashes underneath his right eye, the same freckle that’s been there since they were kids.
“No.”
“No?”
“No, I’m not gonna let go.”
“You’re a fucking child.”
“That the best you got, Cherry baby?”
“Do not call me that.”
“Or else what?” A beat, a blink, a moment for her heart to sink into her stomach and shoot straight up into her throat when they both lurch into the space between them. There’s nothing nice about the first one, in fact, it hurts a little with how hard they both press into it, her nose mashing up against his as their teeth scrape and clash with each other. They kiss ugly. They kiss angry. Both of them too stubborn to let the other one get away with anything, the moment he licks into her mouth, she tangles her fingers in the back of his hair and tugs hard, swallowing down the grunt that looses from his throat. Though her upper hand is short-lived when Joel drops both his palms down to her ass and squeezes hard, her whole body jolting in his hold and pressing closer to him. He’s probably getting grease all over her clothes, but she’s not too concerned with that as she keeps drawing low little groans out of him every time she swipes her tongue against his.
“Wait, Cher– shit, wait– I can’t– I don’t–” She finally pulls back when he keeps mumbling, and suddenly the reality of the situation comes plummeting down on her, starting to panic when it seems like Joel has decided this was all a big mistake.
“What, what is it?”
“I want to do this right with you– your– you should have a nice first time and–”
“Wait, what?” Joel’s eyes get wide and round, his hands dropping down by his sides from where they had been holding her hips when she takes a step back from him.
“Well, I, uh– you– you’re–”
“Joel, have you just assumed that I’m a virgin?” He winces at the word like it’s a curse, and she finally has to laugh at how ridiculous this is.
“Does that mean you’re not?”
“Just shut up, Joel.” With that, she reaches forward for his waist where the sleeves of his coveralls are tied, making quick work of the knot and rucking his pants the rest of the way down as she kneels in front of him. She tucks her fingers into the band of his boxers, unable to help her grin when she feels his stomach tense against her knuckles.
“Can I?”
“Fuck, yeah, yes– you can do whatever you want, Cherry.” She likes him like this, with his throat bobbing and a crack in his voice pitching his words up an octave, his eyes wide and watching as she tugs his boxers down. And oh, she likes him like this too. Pretty boy who’s certainly pretty all over. The narrow tanness of his hips tapers into a dark thatch of curls, and well, there’s no two ways about it, he’s big, already hard, the tip flushed a perfect pink. Only a little intimidating, but judging by the sound he makes when she suckles the head of him into her mouth, she has it under control.
“Oh my god– fuck, okay, fuck– you– you’re good at that– Jesus.” There’s a bit too much of him to take it all into her mouth, though she does her best to bob her head down his length, her hand wrapping around what she can’t quite reach as she laps at the vein running along the underside of his cock. A fleeting thought in the back of her mind, this was not how she imagined her day going, not in any universe. But something has snapped, something that cannot be stitched back together. And now, all she feels is an aching want, pulling taut in her stomach, pulling her to him. Want, want, want. She’s never wanted something so bad in her life, she thinks. Not very ladylike to want like this, to gag with it, to dribble spit around it, to see how much more she can take just to coax another broken moan out of his chest, her palms splayed out on his hips to keep him pinned still beneath all her want. But what she didn’t consider is that he wants it just as bad and big as she does, hooking his hand around the back of her neck to pull her off of him and hoist her onto her feet, chasing after the taste of himself on her tongue as he turns them around to press her up against the side of the car.
“That was gonna be over too fucking soon if I let you keep doing that.” His hands get a little greedy, a little desperate, fumbling to get her t-shirt off before tugging her bra up and overhead without even unclasping it, ducking his head down to let his teeth scrape and nip at the newly exposed skin. He pauses only for a moment, pulling back, his parted lips shiny and blushing and his eyes heavy as he takes her in. She can’t help but drag her hand back through his hair, something tight settling in her chest when he absent-mindedly nudges his cheek closer into the cup of her palm.
“You’re something else, Cherry.” She doesn’t have any time to ask him just what he means by that, his lips already finding hers again, a small gasp in the back of her throat at the feeling of her nipples dragging against the fabric of his wife beater. And then it’s an awkward, slow shuffle, given that his coveralls and boxers are still pooled and pulled around his ankles, around to the front of the car, his hands finding the backs of her thighs to coax her up and onto the hood. From there his palms start to wander, one coming to cup the side of her neck before slipping down to her breast, the boyish squeeze he leaves there making her laugh, though the sound dies fast when his other hand rests heavy at the waistband of her shorts, thumbing at the button.
“Can I touch you, Cher?” It’s entirely too earnest, the way he’s looking at her from beneath the thick fan of his lashes, a small crease between his brows. And she’s a little afraid of how her want might skitter up her throat, so instead of saying anything, she simply pulls him in by the nape of his neck for another kiss as her other hand bats his away to undo her shorts. Mercifully, it’s enough of an answer for Joel, his hand replacing hers and dipping down beneath the fabric of her panties, the broadness of his palm cupping her cunt and grinding up into her heat in a way that makes her gasp against his mouth.
Annoyingly, he’s halfway decent at it, swiping his fingers through her cunt in a harsh rub, though she tenses up when he tries to immediately dip two of his thick fingers into her clenching entrance.
“Jesus Christ, warm me up a little first, why don’t you?” He looks genuinely perplexed by her exclamation, his hand stilling beneath the fabric of her panties as his brow crumples in reaction.
“What did I do wrong?” She tugs lightly at the hair at his nape, a light laugh leaving her lips when he lets out a huff like an impatient boy.
“You’re a bit harsh, Joel.”
“Well, I’ve never had any complaints before.” Said with a roll of his eyes and his hand still down her pants so really, she has a hard time taking him seriously.
“Well, I’m complaining. Just– gentler, here.” She clasps her fingers around his wrist to pull his hand away, giving her room to shimmy her shorts and panties further down over the curve of her ass, the way Joel’s eyes instantly fall to where her legs have now splayed open a bit wider not getting lost on her. She fits her palm to the back of his hand, guiding it back to her cunt, her fingers pressing against the backs of his to direct a firm, swirling pressure to her clit. Her head tilts back on her neck as the pleasure settles over her slow and smooth, continuing to guide Joel’s hand with her own.
“Just like that, s’perfect.”
“Like that?” He says it so quietly, so uncharacteristically small that her attention snaps back onto him. His eyes are glued to where her hand is still moving his, lips parted, a look that borders on wonder and clear concentration, and suddenly, she can’t take her own gaze away from the sight, her head tilting on her shoulder as her hand falls away from his to let him do it on his own.
“Yeah, Joel, feels really good like that. You can– you can add a finger now.” When he does, much slower, much softer, her eyes scrunch shut with a small curse and a sigh, and she finds herself leaning back on her elbows over the hood of the car, her whole body splayed out before him. Joel follows her slow fall, keeping a steady rhythm with his hand as he curls over her, his mouth resting hot and open between her breasts before he tilts his head to the side to take the peak of one of her nipples into his mouth.
“That feel good, Cher?”
“Yes, keep doing that, please. I– I’m gonna get there just like this.” Miracle, he listens, only adding another finger when she asks him for it, fucking her with his hand just how she wants him to. Miracle, she can’t tear her eyes away from his, the way he seems to be watching her face for every tell, every sigh and every fall. And miracle, she comes undone for him slowly, a cry catching in her throat when it finally hits her, the easiest unraveling. He only stops when she whines for him to, tugging his hand away and pulling him down for a kiss that’s more just two open mouths laying over each other than anything else.
“Can we? Do you want to?”
“Yes, I want to.”
“Condom?”
“Birth control.”
“Gotta love women’s lib.”
“Just don’t tell my mom.”
“Please don’t talk about your mom right now, Cher.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay, just come here.” He struggles a bit to tug her shorts and panties off of her feet, the fabric getting caught on her sneakers, though when he’s finally successful it’s the easiest thing for his hips to slot with hers, his hands curling around the backs of her knees to hitch her legs around his waist. Her arms settle loosely around his shoulders, laying back and bringing him with her as he presses his cock against her swollen cunt. A quick snarl of pain that pleasure snaps and smacks after when drives into her with one languid stroke, both of them letting out stuttered sighs when his hips press against hers. All of that want flickering up and down her spine as he starts to fuck into her, spreading her open again and again.
“S’a fucking dream, you’re a fucking dream.” She almost wants to laugh at the breathless murmuring of his words, because truthfully she doesn’t think anything has ever felt this real. Her body fitting around his, the way her heart is threatening to beat a break in her ribs, the way her nails can drag down the sliding wings of his shoulder blades, and the incessant, aching heat of him throbbing so deep inside her that she thinks she’ll still feel that hurt tomorrow. She hopes that she will.
“Joel, look at me, please.” She has to tug on his hair to coax his face out of the hollow of her throat and suddenly that want is dangerous. Looking into the crumpled pleasure painted across his face, watery eyes and slack jaw, and that want becomes dangerous because that want becomes something more.
She can feel her slick dripping down her thighs, the sound of skin meeting skin mixing with the obscene slip of it, only a fleeting worry about making a mess of the car, though that flits away when Joel drags his fingers back over her clit a little harder, a little greedier.
“Just want one more, Cher, please.” She likes please on his tongue. Please pushes her right over the edge. A little harder this time, a little more ragged, furling up tight and taut around him before everything melts down with a whine of his name. He’s still saying please like a prayer when he comes, and all she can do is sigh with the warmth spreading inside of her. Inhale, exhale, her ribs expanding as his contract, a careful, quiet dance as they both come down, still pressed close, lips suggesting grazes.
“Do you, uh, want to come up to my apartment?” Want says yes, a whisper her ears prick to under the obvious shout of no. Want says yes, over and over.
“Yeah, okay.”
....................................
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