#Centrifugation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theclairvoyage · 2 months

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Centrifugation: Chapter 7

Series Masterlist

Joel takes care of you after the incident... in more ways than one.

Chapter Warnings: Reader takes pain pills, somno if you squint, a bit of dacryphilia, shower sex, rough sex, a little bit of dom!Joel, lots of soft!Joel, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), fluff that'll make your teeth disintegrate, mentions of violence, reader's mom makes an appearance

WC: 6.3k

Divider courtesy of the lovely @cafekitsune <3

Thursday, October 21st | 2131

Groggily, you wake in Joel’s dark room, air icy from his ceiling fan. You’re lying on your right side, heavily bandaged arm propped up on a pillow draped over your left. You sit up slightly and open your eyes fully, trying to accustom your tired eyes to the minimal lighting in the room. A strip of light on your left attracts you. The LED mirror light must be on in his bathroom, and the door is shut. You hear Joel’s footsteps pattering around the tile floor.

Now somewhat awake and equipped with better vision, you scan the room. His computer is stashed on the nightstand opposite the one on your side of the bed—he must’ve been working while you cozied up next to him and dozed off. You get up from the bed slowly, standing in place while your head recalibrates itself—the stars in your vision fade quickly, but your head is heavy as a rock. Joel must’ve given you one of your pain pills. You remember giving the orange bottle to him and telling him to put it where you can’t get to it—opioids are new to you, and you don’t want to risk dependence or nasty side effects.

You approach the door and tug lightly, the LED light blinding you momentarily. A fuzzy, curly-haired blur of a man turns to look at you from one of the sinks.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” Joel says softly. You’re cute – eyes squinting from the light, face flushed and patterned from your slumber. You’re still wearing the outfit you had on when he drove you from the hospital—baggy tee, baggy cotton shorts, patterned crew socks. He walks over to you and pulls you into a warm embrace, laying your head on his shoulder. You mumble something in response, causing him to chuckle.

“Someone’s high, eh?” he asks in a playful timbre, pulling back slightly to look at your face. Your gaze is foggy, pupils shrinking from the light as you look up at him. You smirk and let out a small whine, like a child woken up from a nap. He pulls you back in and breathes in your scent of gauze and hospital room.

“Let’s get you showered, baby,” he murmurs into your ear. You nod and lift your arms, giving him room to pull your baggy shirt over your head. The cool bathroom air licks at your nipples. He pulls down your shorts and underwear in one swoop while you lean on his arms for support. You watch him undress, the sight of his bare skin resurrecting your earlier arousal. Poor Joel has been wanting you since you teased him in the hospital room, and you can tell when you see the half-swell of his cock poking up as his boxers fight to slip over it.

He pulls you in close again, fingertips tracing patterns on your lower back. You pull your chest flush to his, pebbled nipples dragging on his skin. He leans in to kiss you—it’s slow and long, sleep still draining itself from your system and Joel keen on his promise to you from the hospital room. He’s going to make your body and mind feel good—help you start to recover from the events of yesterday.

While he was working, he watched you sleep, occasionally sneaking a hand over to stroke your temple as he recollected the events from yesterday. When Keri called him, he didn’t answer at first because the number was foreign to him—it was her frantic, mumbled voicemail that kicked his panic into overdrive. He called back immediately, needing to know if you were okay.

“Joel, she’s alright for now. That nut gashed her arm pretty good.”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill him, swear—,”

“He’s already dead. Idiot tried pulling his knife on the cops that showed up. Three bullets. All for a fucking permanent deferral.”

“Where is she? I need to—s-see her, be with her, where—,”

“Immanuel Hospital on 72nd and Sorensen. Call me when you get here, I’ll bring you up. She’s out of surgery.”

“On my way.”

Rage coursed through his belly at his reminiscence of yesterday, hands balled into trembling fists. He cried on the way to the hospital, worried that you might not wake or that some freakish sepsis accident would threaten to take you forever. Joel admits he doesn’t know much about medicine, and most of what he knows has been from Sarah’s Grey’s Anatomy binges. But he knows pain and loss—a road he couldn’t bear to travel, not with you. He had kicked himself two-fold: for letting himself get so attached so quickly, and for thinking that being attached to you like this was a bad thing. His past threatened to cloud his future, and that wasn’t an option with you in his life.

Mind snapped to the present, he puts on the cast protector he bought for you at the store and guides you into his palatial shower, steam wrapping the walls and the hum of water relaxing you instantly. You remember that there’s a large seating area in this giant ass bathhouse-disguised-as-a-shower. He sits you down and moves to redirect the flow of the two showerheads, so the streams hit your feet and legs. You lean back against the tiled wall, and he kneels in front of you. His hair is wet, but not quite drenched, droplets cascading down his tendrils and the bridge of his curved nose.

“I’m so happy you’re alright, sweetheart… wanna make you feel good,” he coos, leaning into place soft kisses on your neck and collarbone. You sigh and arch your chest into his mouth, craving his attention and devotion, a warm envelope you need to be sheathed in. His mouth moves down to your breast and licks the swell before swirling his tongue up to your nipple, mouth closing over the bud softly.

There are no teeth, no lingering marks as he continues his trail down your curves—just a man selflessly (sort of) pouring his affection for you on your body, hoping to make the day after one of the worst days of your life a better one. You card the fingers of your free hand through his wet hair as he descends to your navel, the only sounds being the steady stream of water and wet attention of his mouth echoing throughout the shower. He reaches your mound and you let out a low, long sigh. He spreads your thighs apart further and scoots down, hooking his forearms around your hips as he pulls you down slightly. You’re forced to use your good arm to prop yourself up. Now panting, you look down at him, water droplets from the condensing steam blurring your vision.

“You want this, baby?” he asks, beaming up at you from the apex of your thighs. Is he asking if you want him to continue, or if you want him? Either way, you nod feverishly.

“Tell me,” He pleads, licking up your inner thigh as his eyes are still locked on yours.

You whine in response. “Need you, Joel—all of you, please,” you beg quietly.

He places a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your cunt, and you cry softly, back arching and head tilting back. He groans into you, the sound and taste of you making his cock twitch. His tongue swirls over your clit and he sucks lightly. You gasp, the pressure setting your nerves ablaze. He continues slowly, alternating between flat licks—your favorite—and soft suckles of your clit. His tongue is strong and firm, soft and sweet all at once. You’re moaning his name as he continues licking you, each flick of his tongue casting more sparks in the inferno that is your orgasm—one that grows quickly. He’s moaning as he eats you out, only pulling away to tell you how good you taste, how wet you are, how much he enjoys doing this to you. He slides two fingers through your slick and pumps them into you languidly, fully intending to drag this out until you’re screaming.

“Oh, Joel, fuckfuckfuck—feels so good,” you pant, syllables coming out as heavy breaths. He groans into your core again, delighted to hear your feedback. He’s so fucking turned on by the taste, smell, sound, and look of you as he gives you raw pleasure, and he reaches a hand down to stroke himself. You notice the loss of his free hand on your thigh, his other hand still pummeling into you. You’re close—your quick huffs and intensifying moans let Joel know, too. Your pussy is squeezing his fingers so tightly that he has trouble pulling them back out. The edge is near, and you frantically rut your hips against his mouth and nose as you chase your high. Joel swears he could come right then and there, but before he can think of it further, you let out a wail and your legs spasm uncontrollably. Your orgasm is intense, strong leg muscles clasping around his head and neck. He’s not done, though—his tongue and fingers don’t slow until your hand is pulling his hair, coaxing him up to your mouth for a wet, messy kiss.

“Want you inside me, Joel,” you heave, looking at him with lust-blown pupils. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Stand up,” he commands. As soon as you do, his firm hands grasp your hips and rotate you so you’re facing the tile wall of the shower. Joel presses down on your back, urging your top half down. He rubs his hands up and down the landscape of your back, admiring the curve of your waist juxtaposed with your hips.

“Fuckin’ beautiful—tell me you’re mine,” he growls, hand fisting in your hair and pulling. You whine roughly, the upward crane of your neck compressing your vocal cords.

“Yes, Joel, fuck—I’m yours,” you cry, turned on by his dominance. He releases your hair and guides himself to your center, the swollen head of his cock gathering slick in your folds before slowly pressing into you.

“Shit—ah!” you cry, his cock at this angle nearly splitting you in half. He continues digging into you, and your breath is stuck in your chest, only coming out in sparse squeaks as he expands your walls. He grips your ass hard and spreads you open for him, salivating at the way your pussy grips and creams him. When he finally bottoms out, your vision blanks momentarily. Your organs feel shifted, like he’s quite literally rearranging your guts.

“Y’alright, babygirl? Is it too much?” he asks, a hand smoothing up and down your back as he waits for your cue to move. Your right hand is stuck to the wall, your forehead pressed against it for support as you try to regain your breath and relax your muscles. “Need to hear you’re alright,” he reminds you.

“Please move, Joel—oh!” the end of your sentence a response to the sudden removal of his cock. He pushes the tip into you again, slowly, hissing as you grip him.

“Ohhhh, baby—so goddamn tight,” he groans, and with no warning, he slams into you fully. Eyes rolling back into your head, you scream, overwhelmed by the sharp pain and pleasure of his entrance. He continues this punishing pace—out slowly, tip in, bam. You don’t even feel the dull ache of your arm anymore, only the delicious stretch of his cock and the painful aftershocks of his tip careening into your cervix. Hell, you might even bleed from this, how rough this sex is, but it feels so fucking good—his ravaging your body, hands squeezing your ass and hips so tightly you’ll bruise, him spitting your name and various expletives—you don’t want it to stop. It’s like he’s punishing you for not-quite-almost-dying, overcome by the emotions of what happened to you and seeing you broken but alive. Like he’s making sure you are alive.

“Perfect fuckin’ pussy,” he cries, thrusts losing their mojo and growing erratic as you continue to grip and soak him. “Baby, I’m close—need another one from you,” he pleads, hand grabbing your wrist to keep your torso up.

“Faster, Joel, please, I’m there—,” you moan. He obliges, and five quick thrusts in, the world bleeds white and your body fades into euphoric oblivion. Your ears are ringing, vision blank, body in overdrive from the sheer pleasure and intensity of your orgasm—you can’t hear him curse and groan as he comes inside you, breath knocking through his teeth as he spits your name. You feel his warm chest fold over your back, feel his soft lips and tongue on your shoulder, neck, ear, and when he turns you around so he can kiss you, you finally regain your hearing. The spray of water and your breaths are a noticeable contrast to the skin slapping and loud cries from just moments ago. The kiss is passionate, soft, slow, like he’s trying to tell you something—you can feel how much he cares for you in the way his arms embrace you, the way his lips revere your skin. He pulls back and looks at you with that… look. Again.

“Seein’ you come is somethin’ else—never seen anything like that,” he admits, eyes boring into you. You feel yourself suddenly become shy, his praise chipping down stone walls you have built inside. He kisses your forehead.

“C’mon, lemme wash you up,” he says, leading you to one of the showerheads. He washes your hair with some of Sarah’s shampoo that was here last time—his long fingers massage your scalp with perfect pressure and rhythm. You might fall asleep right here, fucked-out and exhausted from the pain meds filtering through your system. He rubs body wash over you, making sure to get all the crevices, and pulls some giggles from you in the process. You want to wash him in return, prove you’re not totally useless with your arm wrapped up in the cast cover. He picks up his shampoo and opens the lid, and you hold your right hand out.

“Y’sure, baby?” he asks, wet hair covering his face and eyes. He looks so handsome like this—curls dripping on his face, chest, and neck, squinting at you so he can see.

“Let me. Please.” He nods and squirts soap into your palm and a little more on his scalp. You do your best to massage his scalp with your free hand, but your arm gets tired fast.

“Sit down, Joel,” you offer. He prods over to the seating area, giving you a full view of his cute butt. You smack it lightly and laugh.

“Watch it, sweetheart—I ain’t got the energy to chase ya,” he warns, smirk on his face and eyes playful. He sits, eye level at your chest. He’s staring at you, hard. You’re trying not to get flustered, but his intense gaze is not helping.

“Close your eyes, babe,” you command softly. He smiles at you calling him that.

“Can’t look at my girl while she washes my hair?” he says. My girl. You ignore the fluttering of your heart.

“Nope, I have stage fright. Shut ‘em,” he rolls his eyes and obliges.

You work your fingers into his scalp, noticing how entranced he is by your touch. It’s nice—domestic, almost. Once you’re done with his hair, you walk back over to grab his body wash and massage his shoulders, chest, and back, pulling some moans and groans from him. Eyes still clamped shut, you lead him back to one of the shower heads and help him rinse. You watch his muscles flex as he rinses his hair, and you wrap your arms around his midsection when he’s done. He’s quick to return the favor, fingers gently rubbing the muscles of your shoulders and upper back. You two stand there for a moment before he leans in to kiss you gently.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” he murmurs, smoothing your wet hair back.

“Me? I think you have me confused with yourself,” you say, surprised. “You’re the one taking care of me.” He scoffs.

“You don’t realize what you’re doin’ to me, darlin’—just you bein’ here is takin’ care of me,” he says, tone sounding almost afflicted. You’re almost caught off guard by his affectionate words. He’s doing that thing again, trying to tell you something without saying it explicitly. His amber eyes are glowing at you. He’s happy. You believe him, that just being here with him is enough.

Fuck. You clamp your lips together, making sure you don’t say something you’ll regret and kiss him instead.

“Been in here long enough, you hungry?” he says, pulling away after a bit. You nod.

“Let’s eat and do whatever ya want—watch a movie, anything,” he offers, leaving your embrace to turn off the shower heads.

He helps dry you off and leads you downstairs. You insisted on wearing his clothes, again, which he couldn’t complain about. You decided on watching some Netflix, needing to distract your brain with some trash TV. Joel makes popcorn and gives you a big glass of water as he snuggles up next to you on the leather couch, throwing a big fleece blanket over both of you. The couch is fancy, of course—it’s a three-part sectional, and each section can recline almost completely horizontal. He lets you scroll through Netflix aimlessly for a few minutes before snatching the remote from you.

“Hey! I was just getting to the good stuff,” you complain playfully. He tsks at you.

“Takin’ too long, pretty girl—when Sarah does this, I know we’re about to watch somethin’ cringy,” he says, finally picking NCIS. He’s never watched this before.

“Season 8, Joel,” you direct him. You’ve seen most of these episodes at least twice. He picks a random episode and leans forward to put the remote on the coffee table in front of your feet before sinking back into the couch with you. The theme song starts playing and you immediately bob your head from side to side—it’s so catchy, you probably do it every time it plays. Joel looks down at you and laughs.

“Take it you’re a dancer, then?” he asks.

“Depends on the type of dancing. Not a square dancer, that’s for sure,” you say with a playful snub, knowing already that that’s the only dancing Joel does. He feigns offense, mouth dropping open.

“That’ll change, baby – I can guarantee you that,” he says with a smirk.

“Fine, but then you have to go to a club with me—only fair,” you challenge him, shrugging matter-of-factly. He raises his eyebrows at you, expression saying this girl is losing her shit.

“They have an age limit, darlin’,” he lies, one side of his mouth stuck in a half-smile. You smack his arm playfully.

“They’d only know how old you are if you showed them your ID,” you remind him. He scoffs and points to his greying curls. “They’d see these and know immediately.”

“What, your hair or your perpetual scowl?” you tease, finger rubbing the wrinkles in his forehead. He emits a loud, guttural laugh and grabs your hand, giving it a quick kiss before he releases it.

“Fuckin’ comedian over here, god damn,” he says, chuckling and shaking his head. “Eat your damn popcorn before I shove it in your mouth,” he warns jokingly. You’re in a goofy mood.

“Shove what in my mouth, Joel?” you tease, eyes glued to the TV. His breath hitches for a moment and you see him lean toward you in your peripheral vision. His lips rustle the hair by your ear, making you shiver.

“Don’t get me started, baby—you know how much I love your pretty mouth,” he rasps in your ear, Southern accent laced with a lusty warning. Your core tingles and your face heats up. You’re not exactly sure what it is about him that does this to you, but you’d let him have his way with you anywhere, anytime. He kisses your temple and pulls you into him as the episode continues. He sneaks a hand up your shirt and rubs your back, the warmth and comfort lulling you to sleep.

Friday, October 22nd | 0643

The sound of skin sliding on leather pulls you from slumber. You’re on Joel’s couch, snuggling into his warm chest. He must’ve turned over on the couch, causing the noise—his shirt has ridden up just enough for you to see his happy trail cascading into his boxers. The couch is reclined all the way down, forming a makeshift bed in his living room. You must’ve fallen asleep, and you bet Joel was too tired to carry you up to his room—there was no way he was going to try and wake you. You tighten your grip on him and take in his scent—cotton, sandalwood, spice. His body wash mixed with clean laundry. You could lie here forever, but he’s a light sleeper and notices you’re awake.

“S’early, baby—go back to sleep,” he says, eyes still shut and voice grumbly from sleep. You giggle softly.

“What are you, Father Time? You haven’t even opened your eyes yet,” you tease. He chuckles and pulls you on top of him, your head still tucked into the nook of his neck. His warm hands slide under your shirt and scan your back softly.

“Don’t need to, I know it’s before 7,” he murmurs. His sleep-soaked voice is enough to arouse you right now—raspy, deep, sexy. You’re tired, though, and your arm aches. You roll off him and sit up, wincing audibly at the throbbing of your arm.

“Need medicine?” he asks you, leaning over to put his head in your lap. You smooth a hand through his stubble and admire him, sleepy eyes struggling to peek at you. Soft morning light outlines his cheekbones, nose, and chin. He’s quick to tell you how beautiful you are, but he’s a stunner in his own right. You brush some stray curls from his face and stroke his cheek with your thumb. A soft mmm escapes his throat as he leans his head into your touch.

“Don’t wanna get up,” you whisper, still staring at him. Finally, he opens his eyes and deep chocolate stares back at you. His gaze is longing, tired, happy.

“Kiss me,” he pleads softly, placing a warm hand over yours, still busy caressing his face. You oblige and lean down to press your lips softly to his. Neither of you try to deepen it just yet—you’re both cherishing these softer, more domestic moments between the two of you. Your lips are communicating what your words can’t just yet—but you both understand. After a while, your arm starts bothering you again, prickles of pain dancing up your arm to your shoulder. You pull away and start massaging your shoulder with your free hand.

“Yeah, y’need your medicine, baby. Hang tight,” he says, rolling off your lap and standing up from the couch. Your soft kisses clearly drove him crazy—there’s a tent in his boxers. He catches you staring at it and smirks at you.

“Once you’re feelin’ better, it’s all yours,” he says with a tired wink. Fuck. You already know you’re wet and ready for him. This man is so good to you in all ways, you can’t tell if your arousal is from seeing him turned on, or from the way he cares for you.

He grabs the now-empty glass of water from the coffee table and pads into the kitchen to retrieve your pills from their hiding spot. He comes back, glass full and half a pill in hand. You pop the pill onto the back of your tongue and chug until the glass is half empty.

“Good girl,” Joel praises as he watches you. His words make you choke a bit and you sputter, some water spilling out of your mouth. He laughs and leans in, kissing the drops of water leaking down your chin and neck. He continues kissing down your neck, pulling your collar down so his lips and teeth can graze your collarbone and top of your chest. Your body responds quickly, breaths quickening and pussy throbbing.

“Darlin’, I don’t know if I can wait. I want you,” he says, pulling back to look in your eyes. He looks fucking wrecked again.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you plead, staring back at him. His eyes widen slightly, then flash with mischief and lust.

Suddenly, your sweats and panties are gone in one swoop, tossed into a pile on the floor with his boxers. He’s slotted between your legs, tongue licking into your mouth ravenously. He pulls back and rubs the head of his cock on your clit, watching your slick coat him with a moan.

“Fuck, baby— ‘s’all this for me?” he groans.

“Yes—all of it. Need you, Joel,” you whine impatiently, craving him inside you. Your clit is on fire from his teasing and you’re dripping for him.

“Okay, okay. I got you, angel,” he soothes. He pulls your shirt up over your breasts, leaning down to suck one of your needy nipples into his mouth. You gasp at the sensation. It’s not enough, though—you need him to fill you up. Now. You reach down with your good hand and tug on his curls, pulling his mouth up to yours. He moans as your lips mesh with his and he lines his cock up at your entrance. He pulls back to watch where your bodies meet and groans as he slowly enters you.

You gasp again at the stretch, still not used to his size and girth. Your eyes attempt to squeeze shut, but you remember how much he likes seeing your eyes and try your best to keep them open. Salty tears sting as they well up in your eyes.

“Good girl, baby, shit—I love those beautiful eyes,” he croons. He fills you to the hilt and pauses, feeling your pussy contract around him. His neck is flushed, veins popping out—he’s trying so hard not to let go and just fuck you senseless. You want him to, though. You reach up and touch his cheek. He looks down at you, surprised.

“Take what you want, Joel,” you tell him. He turns his head to kiss your palm.

“Not yet. Need you to come for me first,” he says, slowly pulling out of you, eyes still locked on yours. He presses himself flush to you and cradles your head in his hands. Your fingernails are glued to his broad, strong back, digging half-moons into his skin. He starts a quick and hard rhythm of thrusting in and out of you, pulling deep moans from you every time he bottoms out. The pressure and stretching are so intense, it feels like your body is incapable doing anything except gripping Joel’s back muscles, staring into his amber eyes, and taking his hard thrusts. Your chest and stomach tighten, breaths escaping at quick intervals. You’re at a point now where you can’t make much else noise—the pleasure is stealing the air from your lungs. You’re close. He knows it—but needs to hear it from you.

“Tell me, darlin’—tell me how it feels,” he urges, eyes squeezing shut as you clamp down on him.

“Feels so good, Joel,” you finally huff. He growls and slots his lips onto yours, sucking on your bottom lip as he pulls back.

“Perfect as fuck,” he curses, trying to maintain rhythm. You’re squeezing him so tight and you’re so wet, he won’t last much longer. He licks his fingertips and reaches down to rub your clit in circles that correspond with the timing of his thrusts.

“Oh, god!” you cry out, shockwaves of pleasure reverberating through your body.

“C’mon, baby—come for me,” he pleads, watching your facial expressions as you approach orgasm. He swipes his fingers around your clit a few more times and your world shatters. Your vision fades to black as you climax. He continues to fuck you through it, slowing his pace as he praises you. That’s it, baby girl. Fuck, you’re beautiful. Best pussy ever. You’re so fucked out, you don’t even register when he cries out your name and latches his mouth on one of your nipples as he empties himself inside you. He lies his head on your chest and rests on you for a moment before pulling out of you and standing up to throw his boxers back on. You grunt at the loss.

“Shit… can’t keep my fuckin’ hands off you,” he says, panting and staring down at you as he pushes some stray curls off his sweaty forehead. Your breasts are still exposed, nipples taut from the cool air. Red marks from his mouth dot your chest, droplets of sweat gathered in the middle. His eyes swipe down your figure and continue their admiration. Your mound is covered in short stubble—you haven’t shaved in a while, with everything going on. Joel looks forward to it scraping his face the next time he tastes you. You’re watching him stare, a smirk creeping on your face.

“Take a picture,” you offer, winking at him. His eyes widen and he chuckles, shaking his head. “I’d never be able to stop lookin’ at it—might get me fired.”

“Well, the offer still stands. Expiration date is never,” you say with a sly smile. His eyes rake over your body once more and he whistles before going into the kitchen to find a towel to clean you up. You pull your phone up from the coffee table and check the time. 0716. Still early.

“D’y’want coffee, darlin’? Or d’y’wanna go back to sleep?” he asks as he wipes up your thighs. You shrug. It’s not like you have anything pressing to do today. He walks back into the kitchen and starts a pot of coffee. You stand up slowly and put your panties and sweats back on, stretching once you’re fully clothed again. Joel calls out to you from the kitchen.

“Got ya somethin’,” he says. You make your way to him, yawning and rubbing your eyes. You look on the counter and see a stainless steel frother, humming softly as it spins around some half and half. You smile and pull Joel into a hug, kissing his neck as you embrace.

“Thank you—you’re so thoughtful,” you whisper. His hands rub your back, and he turns his head to kiss you chastely.

“Anything for my girl,” he whispers back, soft brown eyes flicking between yours. His eyes are so emotive—he’s always telling you so many things simultaneously. Even though it’s been a short time since you’ve known him, you know that he does love you. He wouldn’t ever need to say it out loud—the eyes would always let you know. He kisses you again before releasing you from his embrace.

“So… coffee and sleep. That’s what I choose,” you tell him as you get mugs out for both of you from the cabinet. He laughs softly and takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Sounds good t’me—gotta do some work later, but I got all day for that. Y’want me to arrange have your car brought here? I know y’can’t drive yet, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped… Y’got the garage code and can come and go whenever you need to, darlin’,” he says, watching you bring the mugs over to the table. He looks apprehensive, worried—like part of him thinks he’s suffocating you. You frown at him as you set them down.

“I’m in no hurry to be anywhere, Joel, but you can have it brought here. I really appreciate you taking care of me, seriously,” you say as you sit down across from him, reaching to embrace his forearm in a reassuring manner. “I don’t plan on driving until I’m done with these pain meds, anyway—my first psych appointment isn’t until next week.” He nods and reaches for his mug, eyes never leaving you as he takes a sip. He sets his mug down and laces his fingers with yours, eyes still blazing into yours.

“Just wanna make sure y’got everything y’need, baby,” he says softly. He brings your hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it tenderly. His phone rings from the other side of the kitchen, interrupting your sweet moment. He apologizes and releases your hand as he stands to go find his phone. He picks it up and stares at the caller ID.

“Sarah,” he mouths, showing you the screen. You nod. He walks into the living room and answers with a “Hi, sweetheart.” You grin at his greeting. He’s a sweet man who loves his daughter—and you, clearly, given the fact that he also greets you the same way. They chat for a bit, and it reminds you to check your phone for any notifications. Your mom has called about a dozen times. Fuck. She’s probably listed as your emergency contact, so no doubt the hospital called her after the incident. You decide it’s probably best to call her back and let her know you’re okay. She picks up after the first ring.

“Thank goodness you’re alright,” she exasperates, voice clearly panicked.

“Hey, Mom. Yeah, I’m good. Crazy donor came back to get his vengeance,” you say with a sarcastic tone. To your surprise, she laughs.

“I hear you got some stitches—are you alright? Is anyone helping take care of you? I can drive down and h—,” she stammers quickly. You interrupt in a calm voice.

“I’m okay, Mom, really. I had fourteen stitches and yes, I am being well taken care of,” you promise her, choosing your words carefully and peering over to Joel. She’s going to ask anyway.

“By whom? Anybody from work?” You swallow nervously and prepare to tell her the truth. Wait, why am I scared? I’m an adult—she can’t do anything.

“No, actually… I sort of have a boyfriend, and he’s been taking care of me,” you reply, voice slightly hesitant. The line is quiet for a few seconds.

“Oh—boyfriend? I had no idea. Hopefully he’s a nice young man,” she says. You smirk. Young man. She’ll find out eventually.

“It’s fairly new, but yes—he is awesome. Met him at work. He has a contracting business here in Omaha,” you add, careful not to add too much information.

“Wow—successful, then. Hopefully you bring him out here to meet everyone,” she says, clearly surprised. You feel your cheeks turning hot at the prospect of Joel meeting your crazy family.

“Yep. He’s going to come with me to visit Grandma at the beginning of November.”

“Ah, good. So, you have dates? I’ll let your aunt and the hospice home know in advance. Do you know where you are staying?”

“November 1st through the 8th, I believe. And no—not yet. Might just find an Airbnb out there,” you add cautiously. You don’t want to stay with her—she’d probably make you and Joel sleep in separate rooms.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here or at Grandma’s—I’m sure the place needs some tidying up, but nobody is there now. I go out each week to make sure everything is in order,” she says. That’s not a bad idea. Your grandma has a nicely sized farmhouse. The animals have long been gone since your grandpa passed, but the scenery is gorgeous. And—you and Joel would have the house to yourself.

“Maybe we’ll do that. Joel can probably fix up some things around the house, too,” you offer, realizing after the fact that you shared his name with your mom.

“That would be lovely, and your grandmother would appreciate that. The house will have to be put up for sale at some point, I would assume,” she says. You see Joel come back into the kitchen out of the corner of your eye. You turn and look at him, and he gives a questioning thumbs up and raises his eyebrows at you. You close your eyes and give him a quick close-lipped grin and nod.

“Sounds good. Well, I gotta get going, but I’ll see you soon,” you tell her lightheartedly, hoping you don’t sound eager to get off the phone with her.

“Okay, dear. You let me know how you’re recovering, alright? I worry,” she adds, tone stern but caring.

“I will. Bye, Mom,” you say, hanging up after she parrots her goodbye to you. Joel comes over to the table and starts rubbing your shoulders as you set your phone down.

“Sounds like a civil conversation,” he croons, leaning down by your earlobe. His velvety voice tickles your eardrum and sends goosebumps down your neck and arm. He kisses the soft skin anterior to your tragus and continues working his mouth down your jawline and neck. You moan softly and reach up to grip his hair. He growls at your noise and touch.

“Hmm… reckon we’re teenagers, eh?” he says into your ear, deep voice muddled with lust. “Can’t go two fuckin’ seconds without you makin’ me hard as a rock, sweetheart.” He sucks your earlobe into his mouth with a quiet moan, and your stomach drops with excitement. He stops kissing you abruptly and stands up straight, adjusting himself in his boxers. You turn and look at him inquisitively, raising one eyebrow. He grins—he loves that he does this to you, makes you squirm and lust for him just like he does for you.

“Soon, baby. Y’need to get some rest. Sarah is coming up tomorrow ‘n’ I want you to meet her.” Your stomach flips. You’re not nervous that she won’t like you or that you won’t have much in common, but this is a big step in your relationship with Joel. You puff out a deep breath.

“I’m in no condition for visitors, I’m afraid,” you say sarcastically, lifting your bandaged arm. He spits out a laugh.

“I’ll make sure you’re in tip-top shape, baby girl. Promise,” he says with a wink. Yeah… you believe him.

Taglist: @burntheedges, @syd-djarin, @anoverwhelmingdin <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #centrifugation #pedro pascal fandom

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