So Much to Lose Part 13 : Family Dinner
words: 7.5k
story rating: 18+
tags: emotional, sexual tension, idiots in love
a/n: two days ahead of schedule! I had to add another chapter in before 'coffee flavored kisses' chapter so it makes dramaturgically (please get that reference). I hope you enjoy, its one of my favorite scenes I've written for this story.
masterlist
Chapter 13: Family Dinner
"Are you even listening to me?"
You glance over your shoulder to where Jennifer leans against your counter. She's wearing a purple sweater dress today, her own creation. She's holding a coffee and giving you a small smirk.
"Sorry, what?"
"You're distracted today," Jennifer muses.
The two of you are in your kitchen this morning, the early morning sun shining through your windows. It melted a lot of the snow, allowing bits of green to poke through.
Jennifer saw you returning from the market with all the baking supplies you'd need. She'd commented that she wished she could bake as well as you and so of course you'd offered to teach her.
She is so willing to spend her time teaching you to shoot, to take care of you, of course you wanted to pay her back in some small way. But ever since she crossed the threshold this morning with two coffees in hand chattering away about the town meeting you've felt this deep pit in your stomach.
Why did he do that? Why did you let him? Why did you want him to do more? You certainly hadn’t shied from his touch; you’d begged him to make you come right there. Your cheeks flame at the memory, thinking back to that evening.
You’d given Jennifer some bullshit excuse about a headache after she found you moments after you staggered out of the closet. Then you’d jogged home, your heart racing as quickly as your mind.
"Just haven't made a cake in a long time," you lie, turning away from her as you mix the batter. "Guess I'm just super focused on it."
The truth is you're completely distracted today. You have been ever since the town meeting with Joel's hand down your pants and his voice in your ear commanding you to come. You're ashamed to admit that since that night you've been bringing yourself off to the memory.
Are you actually attracted to asshole? Or is it just that he makes the world feel safe? That he can make your brain turn off and make it all go quiet?
There's also a humiliation there. "You think I didn't hear you on patrols?"
You force the thought from your mind. You don't need to think about that right now. You turn your attention back to your friend who is mixing her own chocolate batter.
"I was asking why you're making a cake of all things?" Jennifer says, frowning at the lumpy contents of her bowl. "You making it for Luke?"
She says it in a singsong voice, grinning toothily at you.
"No," you say with a smirk. "Just making it for practice."
Luke is another fly in the ointment as it were. While Joel's personality is abrasive at best, Luke is tender and sweet and patient. When he talks to you he really seems like he cares to know your opinion. Unlike a certain Mister Miller.
"Maybe I'll give this one to Joel," Jennifer muses, as if reading your thoughts. "They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach after all."
You give her a weak smile.
While you're ashamed that Joel's treatment of you is turning you on more than you want to admit, you're more ashamed that the woman in front of you is supposed to be your friend, your best friend, and you're keeping this all from her.
It wouldn't matter as much if she didn't like Joel. You could excuse your lack of sharing on being a private person. But you know that Jennifer likes Joel and keeping this from her is dishonest. But you're also a coward because you can't find the words to tell her.
"How was shooting practice with Luke?"
"Good," you tell her honestly, feeling a blush overtake your cheeks. "I shot four cans from a pretty fair distance."
"That's amazing!" Jennifer wraps you in a hug from behind. "See I knew you just needed a little practice!"
You grin shyly, feeling pleased and pretty damn proud of yourself.
"So did you like being with Luke alone?" Jennifer says casually as you set the temperature on the stove. There's something about the way she says it that gives you pause.
When you look up she's grinning into her bowl, a sneaky little grin just for herself. The answer is there before you even ask the question.
"You planned that?"
You stare at her open-mouthed. Jennifer shrugs at you, as if she is not the most devious person in the room.
"I mean I did need to help with textiles but I didn't need to miss practice." She winks at you. "And I may just get called away at the last minute next week too."
"Jennifer!"
The two of you dissolve into laughter, the rest of the morning bathed in shades of pink. Jennifer has that uncanny ability to bring color into every room.
A short while later you remove the dual cakes from the oven, praising Jennifer on hers. With your coaching her cake is going to be edible (which is more than you can say for her past baking ventures).
"Okay these need to cool before we ice them."
"Good, its lunch let's go get something."
You follow her out your front door, both of you pulling on your jackets as Jennifer chats on about how the textile group has needed her for the occasional shift.
"I don't mind though," she says tossing her blonde locks over her shoulder. "I love seeing all the fabric."
You wish that you could listen to Jennifer, to give all of your attention to her. But it's just not possible at this point, your mind is elsewhere.
It's back in that room with Joel.
Tommy and Maria are eating when you and Jennifer arrive to the dining hall. They wave you over with a smile and the two of you bring your trays to their table, joining them.
Maria is wearing Douglas across her chest and he is milk drunk, passed out and grunting slightly in his sleep.
"Hi you two."
Maria looks exhausted with dark hollows under her eyes. But she smiles anyway, kissing Douglas's forehead and turning to you.
"How have you been?"
"Good how about you?"
"Tired," she smiles weakly. "Oh, I meant to ask if there was any chance you'd be willing to make some more flowers for us? I don't mean to be selfish but I'd just love Douglas to have some bright yellow ones in his room."
"Of course!" You're delighted that you can do something to help your friend. "I'd love to, I'll work on it this weekend."
Maria gives your upper arm a gentle squeeze of thanks, whispering to Douglas that the nice lady was going to make his room beautiful.
"Seems we're all gonna be working hard this weekend," Tommy muses over his coffee. "Gotta start getting some of the holiday stuff out of storage at our place."
You wrinkle your nose in surprise.
"Christmas isn't for over a month."
"Yeah but it takes a lot to put on a holiday party for the town," Tommy says through a bite of salad as if you should know this already.
"Tommy this'll be her first one," Maria reminds him.
"Oh shit that's right," Tommy nods just as Jennifer retakes her place across from you. Tommy motions to her with his fork.
"Jenny knows all about it."
"What do I know all about?"
"The yearly holiday party."
Jennifer immediately grins enthusiastically.
"My favorite event of the year. The whole town comes out, everyone brings food, there's a band, dancing, booze, presents... It's always so much fun and goes until the next morning usually."
"We decorate the big barn by the stables," Tommy continues and you see the genuine joy in his eyes, like thirty years have been stripped away and he's just a sweet, boy on Christmas morning. "It's a big job, but with enough volunteers it goes pretty smooth."
"We'll help you," Jennifer says out of nowhere before looking at you. "Right?"
The thing you love most about Jennifer is also the thing that drives you the most insane. She's always wanting to help people, and that would be fine if she didn't try to rope you in with her.
Even if you didn't want to volunteer there's no possible way that you can say no now. Tommy is glancing over at you with an expectant raise of his eyebrows, Maria matching him.
"Yeah of course. What do you need done?"
"Well we got music, set up and tear down taken care of, that's usually the hard stuff," Tommy says, rubbing his beard absently as he looks off in the middle distance. Then he snaps, remembering. "How about decorations?"
"Sure," Jennifer nods. "I love decorating, plus I worked in textiles so I have access to fabric and stuff."
"Great," Tommy says looking overjoyed. "Joel'll be happy to have the help."
"Joel?""
Both you and Jennifer blurt the name out at the same time, though for very different reasons.
"Yeah Joel is in charge of cutting down and decorating the tree this year. Guy who normally does it broke his leg last week."
"Decorating a tree doesn't really sound like a three person job," you reason, pushing your carrot stick around your plate.
"You haven't seen how big the tree is," Tommy grins. "Joel's gonna get a big one, at least twelve feet. Plus there's hanging the lights around the barn and all that stuff."
"Leave it to us, Tommy."
Jennifer is fucking beaming as she goes back to her lunch, Maria and Tommy are exchanging smiles, but all you can do is hold in the nerves that begin in your stomach.
Tommy and Maria depart shortly thereafter with the latter giving you a squeeze to your shoulder before she leaves.
"I can't believe it, more chances to be alone with Joel," Jennifer giggles.
"I'll be sure to give you two a lot of alone time," you snark. "Take a page from your book."
The last thing you want is to be witness to more of them flirting, especially when thoughts of Joel have you feeling so churned up.
Jennifer laughs, about to reply to you when you both hear her name being called. An older woman with spiky grey hair is standing by the entrance to the hall and signalling for Jennifer to come over. Jennifer groans, muttering under her breath so only you can hear.
"I know that look. She needs help with something at the shop,” Jennifer rolls her eyes as she stands. "Any chance you could ice my cake? I'll pick it up later if that's okay?"
"Uh, I might be out for a walk," you say hurriedly. "How about I just bring it over to you later?"
"You don't mind?"
"Not at all."
"You're a peach!" Jennifer gives your hand a squeeze before excusing herself to join the woman standing expectantly at the dining room doors.
You watch after your friend, musing that it’s so like Jennifer to want to help everyone. But now that you know why she keeps her days so busy your heart aches for her. How can you think of being attracted to Joel when you know your friend likes him? A friend that's done so much for you.
Joel Miller isn't worth this anxiety or stress. It's not like he even enjoys your company. You're fairly certain he just gets off on ordering you around. You need to push him from your mind.
You'll go to dinner tonight, you'll do patrols with him, but you'll keep it professional. You are going to help Jennifer get with Joel. The decision is made. It's the least you can do for a woman who has been through so much.
Your name is called, breaking you from your thoughts. You glance over your shoulder to see Arthur and Penny headed in your direction with trays.
"I thought that was you," Arthur says with a grin. "Mind if we join you?"
"Please do."
The two of them sit shoulder to shoulder across from you. They fold their hands, muttering a quiet prayer for grace and then start digging in. You watch them, amused at how mis-matched a pair they are.
"So whaddya you do around here sweet pea?" Penny asks through a bite of toast. Up this close you notice her front left tooth is cracked.
"I do patrols," you say. She curls her lip at you, perplexed.
"Whassat?"
"It's when groups of us that take turns going outside the walls to make sure infected and Raiders don't get in or do damage to the dam." You pause hoping you've explained it decently. "
Penny gives a low whistle. "Dayum, that seems like an awful job. I'd rather clean up garbage any day."
“It's pretty much just been carrying a gun and riding a horse so far for me."
And mutual pleasure from my nemesis.
"I don't envy ya," Penny says shaking her head and dropping back to her lunch.
You don't know what to say to that. You watch them eat for a moment, intending on leaving them to it when Arthur starts talking.
"I wanted to ask you, when did you want to get together for the portrait? I'd love to get back into it and I know I promised you, so I've set up my table by the window and Maria's given me some paper and pencils."
"She did? That's great."
You haven't been by to see Maria since the meeting and her anxious looking face keeps floating back into your mind. You know that she must be feeling overwhelmed with everything on top of Douglas.
"She's a sweet lady," Penny observes. "Gotta bad case a' baby blues though."
You stiffen.
"Why do you say that?"
"Could see it the second I met her," Penny says absently drinking her tea. Her large eyes scan the room, obviously still nervous at the crowds. "Mothers know these things."
"You have children?"
You don't miss the look of anguish that touches both their features. Before she speaks you know what she'll say.
"Used to."
Arthur is somber when Penny goes quiet, as if behind his pale eyes, his mind is concocting images of the face of the nameless child. Feeling guilty and uncomfortable you want to change the topic, your brain clinging the first thing that comes to your mind. Which happens to be the previous topic.
"Arthur, I know I asked you about portraits, but I'm actually wondering if I could trade in that favor for a different one."
Arthur shoots you a watery grin.
"Lay it on me."
///
You take a look at yourself in the mirror over your dresser that evening. It's faded, warped from age and damp. But it does the job and it reflects your tired eyes and your simple clothing.
You blink at yourself before pulling on a new crimson-colored sweater, one of several that Jennifer gave you a few weeks ago claiming they would go wonderfully with your skin tone.
You don't know why you're so nervous as you head to Rancher Street with the cake in your hands. You've been invited for dinner, it's sure to be a pleasant night. The cake wobbles in your nervous grip, the frosting gleaming in the fading sunlight.
When the house comes into view you see Joel sail by in the window, going from one end to the other, reading something. His gaze is fixed, his head tilted to the page. From here you see his strong profile, the curve of his nose, and the pout of his lips.
Fuck. Don't think about his lips.
You swallow nervously as you make your way up the creaking porch steps. You take a full moment to stare at the door, looking at the chipped paint and the swept porch deck.
It's just a dinner. Ellie will be there. I'll be fine.
You knock gingerly with your free hand, shifting from one foot to the next as you hear footsteps approach.
Joel opens the door sharply, brows furrowed before he realizes it's you. His dark eyes widen slightly, scanning you and the cake. Immediately your heart begins to pound in your chest, your cheeks heating the longer his eyes linger on your face.
He's dressed as he always is, flannel and jeans. His hair is tousled, as if he's been running his fingers through it. You look at Joel's wool socks, strangely fascinated. They're a deep grey, worn and thick, they're so human. He stares at you, looking confused and a little surprised.
"Can I help you?"
His voice comes rumbling from his chest, deep and measured. You can't stop looking at his neck, noticing the sharp of his jaw, the fullness of his mouth. It has you feeling strangely distracted.
You lick your lips nervously, inhaling quietly when his gaze drops to your mouth and then back again.
"Uh... I'm here for dinner," you say breathlessly. "I brought the cake."
He peers at you, confusion clear in his expression.
"Dinner?"
"Uh, yeah..." Your neck is starting to heat because Joel is crossing his arms over his chest, tilting slightly against the door frame and he doesn't look like he has any idea of what you're talking about.
"Didn't you invite me to dinner tonight?"
He shakes his head slowly.
"But Ellie sa-" you start before slamming your lips together as realization belatedly dawns in your features.
Ellie wanted you for dinner. Ellie realized that you'd never stay if you thought Joel didn't expressly invite you.
Ellie played you.
"I'm sorry, I think there's been a misunderstanding," you say, feeling humiliated as Joel continues to stand there staring at you.
You thrust the cake towards him, your eyes on the ground.
"I made this for Ellie," you tell his socks. "Could you just give it to her?"
Joel takes the cake from you, his fingertips trailing over yours as he does. You swallow again, feeling the little bolts of lightning that start at his touch. You watch as Joel quietly prepares to close the door, his eyes now on the ground.
You hear the twist of the knob and can only make a little scoffing noise in the back of your throat. What had you been thinking? Had you really been so stupid as to think Joel Miller invited you over for dinner when he can barely stand you?
"Hey," he begins, but you're already starting to move down the porch, humiliation coming off of you in waves.
You both hear your name and your head jerks up to see Ellie coming up the walkway to the house, her arms laden down with bags. She sees you at the door and smiles broadly before she sees you heading away from the porch.
"Where are you going?"
"Ellie, I don't really know why I'm here."
Ellie's immediately deflates, her good spirits dimmed.
"I wanted you to have dinner with us."
It's impossibly sweet of Ellie to want to spend time with you, but is Joel a necessary part of the equation?
"Why did you tell me Joel invited me to join you both for dinner?"
"Because I knew if I didn't you wouldn't come."
Ellie's gaze sails away from you and over to Joel who stands with his shoulder against the doorway, arms crossed and brow raised. He looks unimpressed with the pair of you. Ellie gives a grunt, heading towards him with a frown.
"I invited her for dinner."
"Without askin' me first."
"Last time I checked it's my house too." Ellie shifts the bags in her hands. "I brought dinner and she brought dessert."
"Fine by me. I'll give you two some space."
Joel goes to retrieve his jacket from the hook by the door but Ellie makes a disapproving noise.
"No, you have to stay too."
Joel gives an exasperated roll of his eyes.
"Ellie what is this?"
Ellie looks like she's halfway between a cry and a shout. She doesn't answer until he reaches for his jacket again.
"It's my fucking birthday, okay?"
Joel goes still, his large eyes looking at her with confusion. A quiet moment passes between the two of them.
"Your birthday?"
"Yes."
There's a lot of confusion now on your end. The way they act you'd assumed they must have known each other for most of Ellie's life. But that can't be the case if her birthday is such a shock to him.
"I didn't know."
"Obviously. Now will you stop being a grumpy asshole so my friend can have dinner with us?"
Joel looks appropriately admonished, a hand sliding to the back of his pinking neck. He's about to speak but you cut in.
"Ellie this is a family thing," you try to appeal. "Here, take the cake and you two enjoy."
You go to hand her the cake but she shakes her head resolutely as she moves around Joel.
"Both of you."
With that she disappears inside leaving you and Joel on the porch in tense silence. He sighs quietly before shifting his eyes to your face.
"C'mon in then, I guess."
You follow the two of them into the kitchen, citing that you need to put the cake in the fridge just in case. It's been a long time since you made butter cream icing and you don't want it melting.
You set it amongst the array of vegetables and water bottles inside the ice box. Ellie grabs some plates and utensils while Joel stands watching you both.
"Grab the lemonade man," Ellie calls over her shoulder at him. You follow her into the other room, watching as she sets the table and indicates for you to take the nearest chair.
“Joel look what they're serving tonight!" Ellie laughs, holding up the huge plate full of ravioli from the dining hall. Joel gives a droll chuckle.
"My favorite."
Joel and Ellie exchange a secret smile, but not one that feels exclusionary. More just sweet to witness. Ellie scoops the pasta onto the plates and Joel fills up the glasses and the three of you take your seats and start eating.
You focus all your attention on the ravioli on your plate, taking small nibbles as your stomach is roiling.
You feel eyes on the side of your face and glance over to see Joel's eyes skimming back to his plate. He looks so sullen, his jaw clenching with every bite. Your eyes drift to the other side of the table to see Ellie. She's eating her pasta with gusto but you can see the defeated look in her face.
Some birthday dinner this turned out to be.
Joel sits on one end of the table looking uncomfortable, Ellie sits on the other end totally oblivious and you're in the middle of both with your eyes stuck on your dinner. You need to break this silence.
"So how old are you turning?"
"Fifteen," Ellie replies through a mouthful of ravioli.
"Same age I was when everything happened," you muse.
"Really?"
"Yeah," you nod. "Maybe that's why we get along so well. I haven't matured past fifteen."
You think you hear a small huff of amusement from Joel's direction but that might just be wishful thinking. The three of you eat your pasta in comfortable silence before Ellie turns her attention on you.
"Were you shooting yesterday? I thought I saw you and that tall guy."
Joel's attention drifts to you; you can feel it boring into the side of your face.
"Yeah," you answer quietly. "Our friend Je-“ you catch yourself, "our other friend had to work. Normally it’s the three of us.”
“Are you any good?”
“I’m better than when I started,” you smile, motioning to Joel with your fork. “But you can ask Joel, that’s not saying much.”
You dart a glance to see Joel smirking into his dinner. Ellie laughs through a mouthful of ravioli, before she shines her attention over your way.
“Did you hear about that party next month? Tommy was talking about it today.”
Who could forget the holiday party? The continued forced proximity with a man you just can’t quite figure out.
“My friend volunteered us for decorating,” you say, ignoring the way Joel’s motions still out the corner of your eye. “So I guess we better show up. Plus I’ve never been to one before so I’m curious.”
“We never had shit back like this in the QZ,” Ellie tilts back in her chair. “Closest we got is a pair of socks wrapped up with a bow. Fucking pathetic.”
“Language.”
Ellie rolls her eyes at Joel before looking back at you. “I hope this one is better than that.”
“You might need a dress if you go.”
The two of you glance over at Joel gulping back some of his lemonade. When he sees your dual questioning looks he raises his eyebrows, silently asking what?
Ellie stares at Joel as if she's been struck across the face. "The fuck would I wear a dress for?"
"In the south women dressed up for everything," Joel tells Ellie as he passes her the salad. "Just how things were done. My grammie wore a dress and pearls to go shoppin' in."
You can't help but discreetly glance down at your worn jeans and oversized sweater, suddenly seeing the snags and uneven loops in material. Not exactly dressed up. But you don't own nice, pretty clothes me up of soft feminine fabric. You have denim and leather and wool. Hard, fierce materials for the elements.
"I hate dresses," Ellie frowns. "And things have changed since your day old man."
"You little shit."
You smile into your pasta. The silence is back over the table and you feel the need to fill it, despite it being a comfortable one. Emboldened by the relaxed mood in all people at the table you shift your question to Joel.
"Are you going?" You ask casually, your attention on your meal. You hate how the flutter has begun in your chest.
"I better. I volunteered to help with it."
"I figured you might have just been doing it for Tommy," you shrug. "Can't say I picture you at some big event with dinner and dancing."
"Joel dancing?" Ellie sputters a laugh into her glass of water.
Joel arches a dark brow at Ellie.
"Just can't picture it," she says giggling.
"You know I wasn't born an old man," Joel says amused, turning his attention back to his dinner. "Did plenty of dancin’ in my day."
"Really?"
"S'half the reason Sarah was born," he says with a small smirk before he realizes what he's said.
The table grows quiet as his smile vanishes. Ellie notes the tension, shovelling pasta into her mouth. You feel a lurch in your stomach at Joel's queasy expression. As if you'd dug a blade down his sternum and exposed his still beating heart to the world.
It makes you speak without thinking, desperate to show him he's safe to share that side to him. Desperate to let him know he's not alone.
"My sister loved to dance," you offer up, feeling the dual gazes of the people at the table.
"My sister was in ballet but she'd uh, she'd do this stupid dance called the Macarena." You laugh a bit to yourself as you recall it. "It was really popular, was on the radio all the time and my dad hated it. I think that's why she kept doing it. He'd act all irritated but he'd always end up laughing." You smile at the memory. "She could always make people laugh."
Ellie is smiling broadly, fascinated by your stories of this time before and there’s something so comforting, so normal in talking about your sister like this. Like the world isn’t ended and ugly, like she could come walking through the front door right now.
"One time my dad waited until we were in the backyard and then he turned the hose on her when she started singing and doing it,” you say, laughing bubbling forth from you. Ellie joins in, amusement painted in her expression.
Joel is listening with a gentle curl of his mouth. Ellie turns her attention over to him.
"You ever do the Macaroni dance, Joel?"
"Macarena," Joel corrects. "And fuck no, I didn't."
His horrified expression and just hearing the term Macarena in his husky drawl has you laughing loudly, a bright, noisy thing that bursts from you. It brings Ellie along with it, giggling and snorting as Joel rolls his eyes, his mouth twitching as if he's unable to keep the smirk from spreading over his features.
The laughter ebbs comfortably and you shoot Joel a grateful look.
"It's nice to remember the good times."
The smile he gives you in return is soft and sweet.
"Yeah. It is."
His gentleness makes your chest ache in a way you don't quite understand. It makes you feel compelled to change the topic. You shift your attention over to Ellie who is watching you both with a small curve of the corner of her mouth.
"Uh, so, I didn't know it was your birthday but I guess I actually got you a gift,” you tell her. “If you want it and Joel's okay with it."
Joel looks on edge, brow raised in confusion. Ellie wears a twin expression, but more relaxed.
"Really?"
She looks around you for a box or wrapped item.
"I, uh, found someone to do your tattoo to cover up your scar."
Immediately the room is silent and Ellie’s hand unconsciously places itself on her forearm, hidden under her striped sleeve. Your eyes ping pong between the two of them, concerned you’ve done something wrong. Joel is quiet, his dark eyes surveying your face as if he doesn't know what to make of you.
"If you wanted it," you amend.
"Are you serious?" Ellie is wide-eyed.
"Yeah it's this new guy, Arthur. He just came to town with his wife. He does stick and poke tattoos and he owes me one so..." You trail off before forcing yourself to finish. "If you wanna see his work I'll introduce you to his wife. She's covered in them and they're gorgeous."
Joel is still quiet and you're not sure what to make of the silence. You frown over at him, grimacing slightly.
"Is that okay, Joel?"
Joel tilts back, one forearm lying casually on the table, the other resting on the back of his chair.
"I'll wanna meet this guy. Make sure he's trustworthy."
"Of course."
"If he is... Well, it's not my body not my choice. But if you want my opinion Ellie, I'd say it's a damn fine idea."
Relief blooms in your face as Ellie gives a squeak of delight. Joel is still looking at you though, face relaxed.
Ellie is still staring at you a beat before whipping her gaze to Joel. The two of them share a private grin before Ellie turns round to look back at you.
"Can we go tonight?"
You laugh. "No, but I can see if there's room in his schedule later this week. If you come to lunch in the dining hall tomorrow his wife might be there."
"Awesome!"
You smile back at her, feeling a familiar tug under your ribs every time you're happy. A measure of guilt mixed with joy. It makes your eyes wet and you push back from the table needing a moment to breathe.
"I'll go grab your cake," you mutter, striding from the room. You hear the two of them chatting quietly behind you as you pull the cake from the fridge.
You search the drawers for three plates and a knife, sniffling slightly. All you can think of is this bubbling joy and how she's not here to see it, to feel it, to live it too.
You take a moment to stare at the pale pink cake. The icing on it is lumpier than you would have liked, but you'd been rushed for time. You look at the sliced strawberries and delicate whirls and you frown.
This cake couldn't be less Ellie. Ellie is dark berries and bittersweet chocolate. She's not strawberries and pale pink icing. You idly wonder why you made this specific one for her today.
You know why.
You cut into the cake to shut up the voice, noting how dense it ended up being with each pass of the blade. You cut it into several pieces, wiping at your eyes with the back of your sleeve with each slice.
You feel a presence behind you; footsteps slow as they make their way next to you. Joel deposits the empty dinner dishes into the sink with a light clatter. You inhale his clean laundry and wood shavings scent, feeling dizzy. You wait for him to leave, but he’s standing there beside you, his frame sturdy. You drag your eyes up his chest to his face.
"That was kind of you, doin' that for Ellie."
"Oh, I'm not doing anything," you say with a shy lift of one shoulder. "Just the organizer."
Joel nods, tongue lodged in the side of his cheek as he stares at you thoughtfully. You let your hair fall in front of your face, worried he'll see the sheen to your eyes. It effectively blocks him out as you plate one of the cake pieces.
"She's a good kid," you offer, knife gliding over the dish. "She deserves good things."
"She does."
"Arthur is really nice," you tell him, hoping that if you continue to distract yourself by talking that your tears won't spill down your cheeks. "And I know he'd be discreet."
"S'good."
"So if you want to-"
You break off when you feel Joel's fingers sliding through your hair, moving it over your left shoulder so he can peer into your face. His fingers slip down your shoulder blade before leaving your body. You track each movement, body tingling.
"You okay?
You blink quickly, pulse jumping. His eyes hold nothing but concern in their depths, confusing you.
"Yep. I'm fine."
He cocks his head slightly, one hand braced against the counter.
"And the truth?"
You swallow, plating the remaining slices of cake.
"Do you ever feel guilty that you're alive and others aren't? Like... Every time I feel a little bit happy it's like its wrong."
Joel nods but he doesn't offer more than that. You're thankful because you're not sure any words could have brought a modicum of comfort anyway.
You scrub at your eyes with the back of your sleeve before taking a page from Jennifer’s book; forcing a wobbly smile onto your face and motioning to the cake.
“So are we singing Happy Birthday?”
“Not a fuckin’ chance.”
You grin at him, handing him his slice of cake and following him back into the dining room. Ellie there, looking excitedly to you as you slide her cake in front of her. She plucks the strawberry off the top, popping it into her mouth.
You take your lemonade glass and raise it.
"To Ellie on her birthday," you say with a grin. "May your coming year be full of adventure."
Ellie smiles with a shy tilt of her face into her shoulder. You're surprised when you see Joel raise his own glass.
"And less joke books."
Ellie sputters a laugh at this, head back her shoulders shaking. Joel chuckles at her and once again you feel like you're witnessing something sweet without being left out. Like they're letting you peek into their secret selves.
“So was this an okay birthday dinner?” you ask.
“My first real one,” Ellie shrugs. “So it’s a good one for me. Plus I don’t actually know my birthday. I just decided I liked November so…”
She shrugs trailing off, her eyes stuck on the cake like she’s ashamed. You dart a look at Joel to see him similarly surprised at this admission. How could he not know? You glance back at Ellie who looks somber.
“I love that idea,” you enthuse. “I never liked my birthday. I think I’ll move mine to the summer so it’s always sunny when I celebrate. I guess you’ll have to make me a cake for mine, Ellie, so you better start practicing.”
Ellie grins over at you as you stick a fork into your piece of cake, the tension broken. The three of you are quiet as you savor the burst of flavor on your tongues.
“This is so good,” Ellie enthuses. “Way better than anything in the dining hall.”
You smile into your cake, flushing at the praise.
“So aside from a tattoo what would you want for your birthday?” Joel asks Ellie, his soulful eyes sincere. In moments like this you can see so clearly that he is a father, and a dedicated one at that. If Ellie asked for the moon you have no doubt he’d manage it.
“I wanna see a dinosaur,” Ellie replies seriously. “Or see space like in those books you got me.”
"Time travel," Joel nods, grinning. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The three of you chat casually about things in town, about Ellie and school until your plates are empty and Ellie is announcing she’s full after her third piece.
Before you can start helping with the dishes she has your wrist in your grasp and is announcing to Joel that you and her are going to do girl stuff so he needs to leave you both alone. Joel hides the amusement in his features, nodding as you’re dragged away.
She pulls you into her bedroom, closing the door and motioning for you to follow her. You smile at her, feeling a bit of that sisterly affection flow through you as you watch her pace around her room, looking for something. She moves things on her shelves as she talks to you over her shoulder.
"Are you going to the party with that guy you're always with?"
"Luke?"
"Yeah that sounds right. Is he your boyfriend?"
Your eyes fly wide before you give an awkward chuckle.
"No. Not my boyfriend."
"But you want him to be?"
"I don't really know," you answer honestly, fingers trailing along the edge of her desk. “Jennifer keeps trying to get us alone together.”
Ellie makes a face at this, halfway between exasperation and disgust as she throws back the pillows she moved. It makes you giggle but then feel guilty because Jennifer is truly one of the best people you know.
"Why do you dislike her so much?"
"I dunno," Ellie shrugs her left shoulder. "Just think she's phony is all. Just like Diana."
"I used to think that too," you tell her honestly. "Jennifer suprised me though. I think you'd like her if you gave her a chance, Diana too."
Ellie just shrugs again, hands in the pocket of her jeans in a way that is all Joel. So much of her is, from her scowl to the way she sticks her lower lip out in thought. She looks over at her dresser, eyes brightening.
“That’s where I left it.”
You watch as she pulls out a dark blue ribbon holding it in front of her.
"I never pictured you as a ribbons in your hair kind of person," you tell her honestly.
"I'm not." She hands the ribbon to you. “It’s for you. It’ll look nice in your hair.”
You’re touched by this, taking the ribbon, fingers dancing along the frayed edges. It’s a midnight blue, the deep of an ocean. You smile at her gratefully before pocketing it.
“Thanks Ellie, but it’s your birthday you’re the one that should be getting presents.”
“I got enough tonight,” Ellie says, looking away from you shyly. She strides over to the bookshelf, bringing out a book you didn't see during your last visit here. She holds it up to you as you approach.
"Did you ever read this one? Joel says it's a good one."
Charlotte's Web.
You feel your stomach churning the longer you look at the title. The pale watercolor girl and pig.
"Yeah," you say in a quiet voice. "It's a good one."
Ellie nods, looking back at it before tossing it onto her bed, obviously her evening reading. She's quiet for a few moments, contemplating something before gazing over at you.
"Don't tell Joel I'm thinking of going to the party. He'll just make a big deal about it."
You smile, touched by her trust in you.
"Our secret."
///
When the moon hangs low in the sky and the world feels quiet you find yourself under the big window in your bedroom sitting under a knitted blanket, eyes wide. Your pupils look like little moons themselves, eclipsed when the reflection is shifted as you tilt your head.
You've always loved looking at the moon. Unlike the sun that can be harsh and unforgiving, the moon is calm solemnity. It's quiet and forgiving. It bathes you in a soft glow and your neighborhood in a quiet still.
You realize that being with Joel is like being exposed in the sun. Often harsh, unforgiving rays that burn your skin, but when it's warm and gentle attention is on you it's so enticing you want to bask in it. It's not as if you actually enjoy his company. He's fucking insufferable. It's because he withholds so much that when he finally relents and allows a bit of softness to trickle through it's like a stream you want to drown in.
You were always been the one who wanted to befriend the feral cat, to earn their affection, to let them know you could be trusted. You suppose that must translate into this life now, a desire to tame the wild.
And now you sit in the night, gazing at darkness, lost in thought. Tonight is one of those nights, the kind where your mind won’t quiet and the world seems more confusing than normal.
Sometimes on these nights under the moon you watch people wander up and down the streets. The night owls that aren't bidden by a clock like the rest of the town. But it’s almost three in the morning and the streets are empty.
It leaves you with nothing but your increasingly frenzied thoughts because if you focus you can still feel the sensation of Joel’s wide fingers buried in your cunt, the rasp of his warm breath on your neck, the husky urging of his rumbling voice telling you to come for him.
I know what you feel like when you're close. Don’t fight it.
Be a good girl and do it.
Give it to me. S’mine
You could write it off as nothing but lust but then dinner with Ellie? It had been a softening, a sweetness you peeked through the cracks of his hard planes. You’d seen love in his eyes for her, compassion for you. And above all you’d felt safety there in his home, a brief flash of it before your past memories caught up with you, nipping at your heels. Then the sensation of his hands moving your hair over your shoulder, the touch all tender and asking nothing in return but your honesty.
Joel Miller confuses you.
And then like some phantom you see him.
He’s there amongst the dreary wet snow, walking – well, stumbling slowly towards your home. He must have been at the Bison – he has the look of a man who’s had one too many, something you’ve never truly witnessed in him before.
You tense up, watching him in your window, knowing he can’t see you in the darkness but still paranoid he’ll sense you. With the moon high in the sky you can see him perfectly, the blue-black shape of his broad body and soft curls. You see when he comes to stand in the center of the street and you inhale softly when his eyes fix on your bedroom window.
He stands there for several minutes just staring, sort of wobbling from foot to foot. For some reason his presence compels you into pulling on a robe and rushing downstairs. Your blood is roaring in your ears and you know your pulse is doing its own little tap dance but it doesn’t stop you from jerking open the door.
"Joel?"
Joel is standing on your porch now with his dark eyes squinting against the light from your home shining out behind you.
"Joel, it's three am."
Joel just stares at you, a long lingering thing. Something about the intensity of it makes any further remarks die on your tongue. Why did you come down here? Why did you open the door? Why did you invite this awkward moment into your life?
Joel stands there with glassy eyes fixed on your face. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and for a moment you worry something might actually be wrong. You pull your robe tighter around you before you take a step towards him.
"Joel are you-"
You go silent when he holds up a hand in front of him, palm facing you, silently asking you to stop talking.
"Just ..." he trails off, voice thick with sleep and alcohol.
He makes no move to come closer, no attempt to touch you. He just stares at you a few more minutes and then with a satisfied little nod to himself he walks off your porch and into the night. You watch him trail down your steps and then his long legs carry him in the direction of Rancher Street.
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El Hambre (Hunger)
Summary: Getting Miguel to take a break is a full-time job unto itself, and requires a little extra incentive.
Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!Spider!Reader
Warnings: Lots of suggestive talk. Miguel being an ass hehe. A risky make-out in a public space, idiots in love CANNOT keep their hands to themselves. I put far too much of my descriptive powers into talking about how devastatingly sexy Miguel is. Also for my intents and purposes, Reader understands and speaks Spanish.
Note: I use the shortened version of his name "Mique" in my own writing just because I personally prefer it. Swap it with whatever nickname you prefer in your head :)
This is one of my personal favorite pieces I've written, and still makes me giggle like an evil maniac whenever I return to reread/edit it. I have shamelessly watched every Miguel scene in ATSV far too many times and will continue to do so; his image is already tattooed on the backs of my eyelids. As mentioned in my HCs, reader is a spider-hero, but I left her pretty vague on purpose -- feel free to fill in her costume/powers/skill set with your own spidersona!
*Spanish translations at the end! (I am fairly bilingual, but if I made a lil mistake here or there do forgive me)
He hasn’t turned away from his myriad glowing monitor screens in nearly ten minutes, standing like a damn statue with his feet wide apart and hands braced on his trim hips, only lifting to sharply swipe through any screens that serve him no purpose. Each tiny shift of weight, the rise and fall of his ribcage as he breathes, all the little things that prove he is still, in fact, alive, cast soft highlights over the swell and dip of taut muscle, every part of him coiled and ready to explode into action like the perfect hunting machine he is.
Right now, though, his eyes are burning from overexposure to even the dim interior of his watch station, and with an annoyed sigh he turns his face to the side, long fingers rubbing furiously at where the bridge of his nose meets his brow in the hope of chasing away the dull ache gnawing there.
“You do know that even though I don’t have spider-sense I can still hear you, right?”
You let go of your strand of web and drop lightly to the platform behind him, pulling off your mask and tucking it away. “What gave me away, the sound of me drooling as I stared too long?”
Shocking hell.
You’re in one of those moods.
Miguel can’t quite decide if he’s too tired for this right now or if he’s curious how far you’ll try and push him on his home turf. And it’s that indecision that starts him digging his own grave.
“I was going to say the way your heartbeat spikes every time you set foot in this room.” His voice comes out sweet and thick as honey, because he knows exactly what that tone does to you when he uses it.
“...And I can still smell my clothes on you. Did you sleep in my shirt again?”
“Maybe.”
Actually, you’d fallen asleep in a veritable pile of his clothes — it had been a bit since he’d had a free night, okay, and you weren’t desperate you just missed him.
That makes him chuckle. He can probably tell you’re omitting the whole truth.
Miguel finally turns to fully face you, and you inhale quickly as always, at the way he towers so far above your head, how his wide shoulders block out the light from his screens so his silhouette swallows you in darkness. His hair is messy, and there are deep shadows under his eyes, but his pretty mouth is slanted in a wry grin and the set of his thick eyebrows hints at underlying amusement.
“Cute,” is what he remarks at your wide blinking eyes and rapidly heating skin, and it makes him smirk wickedly, to see how that one word flusters you for the barest of seconds. You’ve told him multiple times that you hate being called “cute” by anybody else, but ever since the first time the word slipped past his lips when he really realized just how much smaller you were underneath his body….
Well, he knows the effect it can have.
You scowl and regain your composure. “Don’t call me that.”
Miguel’s only response is an easy shrug, a lift of one shoulder. “What’d you bring me?” He nods at the containers in your hands.
“Entitled prick.” With a dramatic flourish, you whip them away from his claw-tipped fingers. “What makes you think these are for you?” The exchange is back in your court with his query, and you intend to keep it there.
“Aren’t they always?” Dark eyes zero in on yours, their softness in the gloom betraying what the gesture means to him even if he won’t say it.
With a huff, you thrust the thermos and small box into his chest, pretending you don’t keenly notice the way the impact sends a ripple through his impressive pectorals. “Coffee. And those stupid little empanadas you love so much.”
“Not stupid.” He takes them from your grasp much more delicately than someone with hands so large should be able to. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had a single craving for subpar food? Keeps me human.”
He’s baiting you, knows that the words “not since I tasted you” are on the very tip of your tongue, because that’s just how your dirty mind works and he loves it. Can see the struggle on your face as you resolve not to say them aloud, and that almost goads him on more, to know you’re thinking it and just barely holding out so he doesn’t get the upper hand again quite yet.
You settle yourself on a nearby console and gaze expectantly at him, swinging your legs.
He gives you the side-eye as he sets your offerings down next to his work station.
“What.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I see you eat something,” you inform him sweetly.
Miguel groans. “Ay, loca, no eres mi madre. I’ll eat when I’m done running these last projections, okay?”
You obstinately sit cross-legged on the console and make a show of getting comfortable for the long haul. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me, Handsome. I meant what I said.”
He glares.
You glare back.
Finally he opens the box with painstaking slowness — you see the way his nostrils flare at the scent of hot food, though you know he’d deny it — and he takes a large bite, maintaining eye contact the entire time he chews and swallows, each motion dripping with mockery. His tongue runs across the length of his upper lip far too sensually to be accidental, and you just catch the points of his fangs glinting in the partial darkness.
“Better?” he drawls, dropping the empanada back in its container and leaning towards you.
“That was one miserable bite! Doesn’t count.”
His lip curls in a taunting sneer, and before you know what’s happening one of his powerful arms is on either side of you, his head cocked to one side as he studies you through half-lidded eyes. “Maybe your ears don’t work, Sweetheart. Tú no eres mi madre. ¿Comprendes?”
You decide to change tactics. “Fine, fine. I’ll let it go. But —“ you gently push a few stray strands of hair away from his forehead, pausing to kiss the stress lines between his eyebrows. “— when was the last time you slept, Mique?”
He rolls his eyes. “This morning —“
“For more than twenty minutes.”
That makes him think. And by the way his gaze guiltily slides away from yours, he knows you won’t like the answer. “…When was the last time I stayed with you?”
You sigh and cradle his strong jaw in your hands, thumbs massaging soft circles into his skin to get him to unclench his teeth. “That was four nights ago, Mique.”
A long exhale escapes him, and he rests his head against your chest. It warms you, that he feels safe enough in the moment to let down his guard and actually show such intimate affection in his workspace.
Or maybe he’s just that tired.
Either way, you’ll take it.
You start working his back and shoulder muscles, kneading deeply into the firm knots where you know he holds onto everything — anger, grief, guilt, worry — Miguel does not talk through the mess in his head, preferring instead to let it fuel his savage strength. But when the adrenaline at last wears off, you know the toll it can take on his body.
A sound halfway between a groan and a growl, and altogether far too suggestive for the time and place, rolls from deep in his chest and his hands tighten on the edge of the console, metal protesting as his talons curl into the hard surface. “Mierda. That’s tight.”
“Should I stop?” You can’t quite tell if his reactions are spurred more by pain or pleasure.
With Miguel, the two often travel hand-in hand, anyway.
“No.” To your disbelief, his hands uncurl from where they’re sunk into the console and travel to find your legs, teasing them apart so he can shove himself even closer and you have nowhere else to put them than around his waist, your heels resting just above his ass. “Keep going. Feels good.”
“Someone’s touchy today, huh? And not in the usual way,” you tease, and then suddenly yelp as his hot, searching mouth lands right in the center of your chest, very noticeable through the thin material of your suit. One of his hands immediately clamps over your mouth to stifle any further sounds.
“Cállate, Chula,” he warns, finally raising his eyes to yours again. You can see the crimson starting to smolder through in his irises, a sure sign that he’s giving in to having you right here in front of him, that you just might be a better use of his time than his projected calculations of multiverse-wide collapse.
He could use a break.
“You know people can hear you.”
You push his hand aside. “Right, and that was totally way more audible than whatever sound you just made a minute ago.”
“You know how I feel about it when you’re a brat to me,” he growls, snagging your lower lip with his thumb.
“I think you love it,” you whisper, one of your own hands sliding up the back of his head, tangling your fingers in his dark hair.
“I think that disrespectful mouth needs to be put to better use.”
He hasn’t ever kissed you in his workspace before, and the forbidden feeling of it as he pushes you down on your back, pinning you to the console and stopping your mouth with his own sends a jolt down the entire length of your spine. Miguel has always been a wild kisser when he’s properly worked up, and you gasp out loud as his sharp teeth nip your lip, immediately followed by his tongue soothing the momentary sting.
“I told you to be quiet,” he hums as he at last lets your mouths break apart.
“You didn’t say you were gonna bite me, Cariño!”
His answering smile is a wider one than you’ve seen in days. “Why would you ever assume no biting with me, Baby?”
“…Fair point.”
It takes you a minute to realize his fingertips are teasing the neck of your suit down bit by bit, leaving more and more of your throat exposed. “¿Qué haces, Mique?”
He shushes you, this kiss a little more romantic and drawn out than the last. “You said you’d sit here ’til I ate something, hmm?”
“Y-yes….”
His gaze burns dark red and you suddenly feel the entire weight of him trapping you in place.
“Well lucky you, pretty girl — you look a lot tastier than a cafeteria empanada right now.”
He keeps one hand over your mouth as he attacks your neck, your shoulders, your wrists, anywhere that he knows gets a shiver out of you and that you’ve told him he can leave a mark. You try to keep still, you really do, but it's almost impossible with the Spanish endearments he mutters in your ears and the way his lips, teeth, and tongue take you on a seemingly endless rollercoaster of sensation. You hear him hiss once or twice when his onslaught makes your thighs tighten around his hips, but you can’t help it, can’t help trying to pull his body even closer, even though his heartbeat is already thundering against yours and your desperate breaths are rocking his lungs.
When he finally uncovers your mouth again to let you take in more air, you splay your hands across his wide chest, prodding at the nearly-nonexistent layer of his digital suit. “Off.”
“Mmm, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he murmurs regretfully, and to your dismay, he suddenly releases you, picking up the coffee you brought him and swearing briefly in Spanish when he realizes it’s not as hot as he wanted anymore. “They’re looking for you.”
You sit up quickly at the sound of youthful voices echoing faintly in the corridors but getting closer — your spiderlings, no doubt, wondering what on earth took you so long bringing O’Hara his dinner. You’re a mess, you realize, hair disheveled and suit boasting several tears in unfortunate areas where his claws caught, the skin beneath already bruising wherever his mouth was.
“Catch your breath,” he advises around another bite of empanada, with all the smug tone of a life coach having just witnessed a breakdown (as if he wasn’t the sole cause of that breakdown). “You’ll need it, to explain away all of that.”
“I hate you, Miguel O’Hara.” You grit your teeth and slide off of his equipment, halfheartedly readjusting yourself and tamping down the rising tide of desire he had the audacity to start. “You and that fancy body glove of yours.”
“Just because no one can see what your nails have done to my back doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” he offers flippantly, as if that will do anything to fix your current state. “And I know by ‘hate’ you really mean ‘violently need me to make up for stopping short’. I have to come by for some of my missing clothes later anyway.”
Hope blossoms in your chest. “You’re coming over tonight?”
A thoughtful sip of coffee. “Unless LYLA kills me first for making her watch us go at it. I’ll pick something up for dinner, too. And who knows….” He steps closer, his free hand wandering from your back all the way down to your thigh and up again. “Maybe, if you tire me out real good, I’ll even get some sleep like you want?”
Anticipation bubbles through your veins at the thought.
“Yeah. I’ll be waiting.”
He gives your hip a sharp squeeze. “Atta girl.”
A burst of chatter below heralds the arrival of your little clan of doting spider-kids, so you gather your wits and swing down to meet them, praying none of them put two and two together and actually get four.
Miguel glances over the edge of the platform, and barely hides his satisfaction and amusement at the immediate flood of concern and questions that greets you: “What did this to you?! Are you okay?!”.
He almost considers coming down there and setting the record straight when he hears you say, “It’s okay, Kids, really, don’t worry about it. Just got chomped a few times by a giant angry spider while I was on a mission. But he’s gonna pay for it next time, I swear.”
No eres mi madre = You're not my mother
¿Comprendes? = Understand?
Mierda = (Expletive)
Cállate, Chula = Be quiet, Cutie
Cariño = Honey, Sweetheart
¿Qué haces? = What are you doing?
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